In Which mrpeenee Finds a New Hobby


One of the joys of living in San Francisco is the bounty of exceptional restaurants everywhere.  Secret Agent Fred and I were at one of our faves, a plain little Italian joint that tonight featured gnocchi made from sweet potatoes.  Delicious.  Our conversation turned, as it does, to smut and Fred pointed me towards his new darling

Its beauty lies in its simplicity; men, women, trannies, couples, aliens (for all I know) point their laptop’s built-in camera at their own laptops and get nasty and then broadcast said nastiness through the site.  The lucky rest of us get to view and comment on the stream live.  For free.  Just now, doing research for this post, I scanned through the pages and made a rough calculation that there are more than 1,000 people flashing their bits at this very moment.  I think we should all take a moment to thank our respective gods for allowing us to live in such an excellent time.

In addition to the ageless thrill of the peep show, the site has landed on a way to monetize the experience (natch.)   The viewers (or “peepers” as I like to think of us) can purchase “tokens” which they then can then cough up in various denominations through the site for the performers as “tips.”  The boys I was watching were without exception gracious and polite about thanking their fans for the tips.  One demure little star never even removed his sweatpants; his stunning face and luscious lips were apparently enough to rake in the schekels.

The ecdysiasts seem to be from all over the world, the background noise often sounded like hip-hop in the languages of many nations.  Once again, we are all sons of Adam.

I also stumbled onto an even more thrilling refinement of the experience.  Some of the boys would insert a wired-up dildo into their love chute.  The amount tipped would then be translated into some kind of zap.  Their expressions for this zap varied from startled to delighted to unsure about the whole thing.  It was certainly not as uncomfortable as being whipped, I can tell you, but it did seem to demand a certain level of attention from the boys.  But god love them, nobody bailed out and the butt zappers remained in place.

Here’s the blurb explaining for the novice (me):

Notice: ■ Level 1 – Tip (1-14) Sweet pleasure
Notice: ■ Level 2 – Tip (15-99) Wet level
Notice: ■ Level 3 – Tip (100-499) Oh YES, I love this toy
Notice: ■ Level 4 – Tip (500-999) OMG! OMG!
Notice: ■ Level 5 – Tip (1000+) Deep in my heart…and pussy

Tips are about fifty cents each, which is cheaper than stripper boys dancing on a bar.  The chat transcript includes not only whatever mindless drivel the other old pervs were able to type with one hand, but also tracked who had tipped how much, again in real time.  I was fascinated to see the differing techniques people had developed.  Most spring for 5 or 10 tokens, sort of the equivalent of slipping a buck in dancer’s g-string followed by some pretty embarrassing  drivel gush over their crushes, but some others would splurge on something in the “Wet level” for the more gratifying result of the boys’ eyes bulging and their backs’ arching.  And then they all said, very politely “Thank you” and “You’re welcome.”  It was very demurely well behaved for a mild form of butt torture.  Did I mention the boys don’t know when the tip will hit?  It’s part of the charm.  Surprise!  ZAP!

One of my favorites was some guy who would tip one tip at a time, but did so in as rapid a fashion as possible so the dancer kept bouncing around the room as his door bell was repeatedly buzzed.  I counted up to 40 before I got distracted.


Matti and Tomas.  Just the latest in the evolution of Burlesque.  God love ’em. 

The performer I liked best is the one here on the left, doggiboy.  Tippers seemed sort of stingy, considering what lovely satin skinned, round muscles he has, so I plunged for 25 big ones.  That certainly got his attention after which he addressed a string of friendly thanks to me, trying to pronounce mrpeenee with a thick Argentine accent.  Adorable.

Eventually I wandered off to an even more muscular beast, a football player type who was even more undone by the watts in his Cave of the Unknown.  I tired a fairly brief rennactment of the Death by a 1000 Tips idea, but I got bored after about 15 so I just settled back to watch and read groveling chats, all of which could have come word for gushing word from Taylor Swifts’ twitter account.  He deserved them, too.  “You have the body of a Samson.  We need to get married.” fawned some fan.  Imagine the electric bill in that home.

By this point I had 105 tips left.  I considered spreading them out sensibly, but that seemed like it would take too long and I wanted to go to bed. And so I gave him fiver, just to get his attention and as he was composing his thank you note, I let fly with a 100.  Have mercy.

His back arched and he actually levitated off the bed with his eyes wide and focused on some faraway land.  It lasted quite a few seconds.  When he got back to earth, turned to the camera, and in the most sincere voice possible deeply thanked me.  I think if I had replied that WE were the ones who should be married, I would be picking out a wedding planner right now.

So.  Am I bad person for being both titilated and amused by the experience?  Probably.  But I’m already a bad person for plenty of other things with a longer history than a surprise bug zapper up the ol’ back road.  Besides, hellrazr, or Karlosz 99, or deliciousfridirc, or whatever his name was (and I do love these stage names) was on this site by free will.  A little mildly rough sex to pay the rent and an old man a continent away amused beyond all hope for a quite Tuesday evening.  Sounds like everybody walked away happy.


8 responses »

  1. Goodness, at first I scanned too quickly and saw “fine restaurants” of San Fransisco and “tips”….
    and I thought you were talking about tips for the waitstaff.

    Or, maybe you were after all?


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