Powerman

The Olympic Champion Greg Louganis

Gay rights without sexual liberation is practically meaningless. That is, civil and political rights cannot be divorced from our ability to love, suck and fuck. They’re all of a piece, they belong together, sacred and profane. Same for us as for Straight people.

The purpose of marriage laws (Hello, New Hampshire!) is to regulate human sexuality and to channel it in socially-desirable ways. As Gay guys we’re naturally suspicious of regulation, but maybe there’s something to it.

It really is not so good to have people fucking in the bushes, the roadways or the halls of Congress. The civic purpose of marriage is to say, Keep it private, keep it exclusive, make a commitment and learn how to keep it. Make a relationship and learn how to sexualize your desire for the one you love, despite all the temptations that surround you.

“Golden Girls” theme song: “Thank you for being a friend.”

Friends are committed to each other; a friend comes through when his buddy is hurting. A friend celebrates when his buddy does well. In great friendship, friends ask each other to marry them, so their commitment can deepen and their friendship can last forever.

That’s what marriage is, regardless of all the cultural baggage. “I want to hang out with you for the rest of my life.”

It isn’t about kids or male-female roles, or even tops and bottoms. It’s about friendship that deepens into love.

It’s about finding myself in your eyes, and mutual recognition. I know you and you know me.

We’re neither of us perfect, but that’s okay. I love you and I know you love me. Of course we’ll disappoint each other, and get mad, and say things we shouldn’t, and act like idiots, but in the end if I love you and you love me, we find forgiveness somewhere, if only through the passage of time.

Gay men are uniquely capable of love. Yes, I know you’ve been told our relationships are unstable, we’re incapable of love, we’re all promiscuous, “men are visual” and all that crap. There’s truth in all these statements, but the fact is we are extraordinarily gifted in our ability to love—and at our best, our love lasts decades.  We make lifelong friends.

Fall in love at 20 and you’ll still love each other at 80. You may have split up at 21 but you’ll still love each other. This is the great holy gift of being Gay. Fall in love once and you’re a dead man, in the best way. He will always have a power over you, and you over him.

It’s funny and tragic to watch Straight people divorce; they hate each other and fight like dogs in court, whether they’re worth $20 million or $20. Gay guys? They yell and scream for a night, then accept reality, and two weeks later they smile and kiss, and maybe fuck for auld lang syne (or that big dick and hungry hole). No one gets along better than Gay ex-lovers. Time heals everything and a big dick is, well… ready for a hole, even if you can’t live together.

It’s my belief that Gay men are the best lovers on earth.

This is not to put down anyone else’s love; two men, two women, a woman and a man who commit to each other and stay together—all these lovers are holy and divine. Every marriage is a revelation. Every set of lovers shows people at their best.

But then there’s sex, which we are uniquely good at—when we let ourselves be, when we’re not compulsive and fucked-up and addicted, but real, in the moment, “I see you, you see me.”

Damn, we’re hot, whether we’re muscleboys or not. It doesn’t matter, when we have the courage to be ourselves as we really are.

Great bodies are nice, but great minds and hearts are better.

I’ve never in my life wanted a Straight guy. A few of them are pretty to look at, but as a group they’re really stupid. They can’t help it; don’t discriminate against them, just let them be. Never impose yourself upon them. Don’t justify your predatory behavior by saying they all want it; they don’t. Leave them alone; they’re not that imaginative. They’re not superior for wanting femininity instead of masculinity. Let them be.

If you want hotness you have to go for a Gay guy, who can suck deep and fuck hard and love you the rest of your life.

It’s totally wrong to want Straight guys and reject Gay guys; that’s pure self-hating homophobia. A macho Gay man is far more desirable, and there are tons of them waiting for you; show up and have the courage to want what you want. Get yourself out there, make yourself known. Stick your ass up in the air so he knows who you are, what you feel, how deep your love is; get ready and get plowed.

Realize the great journey he’s gone through in this Gay-hating world to become a man who’s Gay. He’s made an incredible achievement. Battered on every side, he’s still emerged as a top; honor him for it, and submit to him.

Don’t be afraid that you’re sacrificing your masculinity by sucking his dick; not at all, you’re expressing your masculine courage to be yourself, no matter what your stupid high school friends said. They were ruthless in enforcing conformity on each other—but a man follows his own lights and doesn’t conform.

Think. Breathe. Be yourself, no matter what.

That’s the essence of masculinity, your ability to swim across the tide when all the other poor fuckers are conforming, like it or not. If you’re Gay you’re already more macho than they ever thought about.

Football player or theater major, having the courage to be yourself is the most masculine way there is. Never let yourself be intimidated.

Straight men conform all the time; their friends are ruthless because they’re so afraid of themselves.

Don’t be afraid; be yourself. In time I guarantee you’ll discover the total hotness of Gay men. ∞

Daddy Jeff’s got his independent blog back up after some trouble with Blogspot;  link in the sidebar too. He’s into “emo boys” (over 18), though the term emo has outgrown its music roots; they’re too young for me, but he’s way into making his boys obey, and they line up for him.

This reminds me of how important blogrolls are in finding the kind of guy you’re interested in. Any one site, especially this one, may not do it for you, but the network of Gay bloggers is ever-growing.

I won’t link to Gay men’s sites that I consider homophobic or abusive, and there are many of them. It’s a terrible psychological mistake to sexualize your shame at being Gay.

Meanwhile, MC Jock is into erotic hypnosis and ageplay. He’s a Daddy who’s looking for young ones too. (I say you can still be a Daddy even if there’s no age difference at all; it’s about obedience, not about age to me.) His site is well-written for the most part and the hypnosex is really hot. I use some of it in the novel I’m working on. Erotic hypno isn’t about the Amazing Kreskin or some stageshow you might have seen, but about using the power of suggestion and known principles of conditioning to relax your guy and induce him into following you. No one can make a person do something they don’t want to do; your boy won’t turn into a kangaroo. But he may turn into the submissive boy he’s always wanted to be, but was afraid of. In hypnosex, Daddy takes charge and keeps him safe.

Consider MC Jock’s slogan:

Seduction and Induction. The same idea really. One is “obeying desire” and the other is “desiring to obey.” One is “willing to give in,” and the other is “giving in to will.”

Mind Control Jock even runs some revealing polls of his readers (not scientific). Two-thirds of them are bottoms, and of that group there are twice as many goodboys as badboys. This also fits my own experience and turnons. My Boy is a good one; I don’t spank him because he’s been bad (I withdraw my presence instead); I only spank goodboys.

Don’t reinforce homophobic guilt and shame; these two sites don’t. Thanks for reading. ∞

(Click the headline to view the video.)

Here’s a sweet video, which I post because it’s evident these two guys care for each other. No one’s off in his own private headspace; they’re into each other. The well-built bottom provides devoted tongue service to his well-hung, handsome top, who never takes his eyes off his boy, even when he’s thrusting hard.

They want to please each other, which is the difference between lovemaking and ordinary common fucking. Anyone can fuck in a selfish way; these guys get off on each other.

The scene’s a bit slow to develop, but it heats up. I like that it’s shot in a wealthy house and not in the back alleys, Brazilian slums and crackhouses many producers are determined to give us, as if we were all skulking around in shame.

Eventually the boy gets down on all fours, where he belongs, because that’s the best position for offering his ass to his man. Think about it; don’t lie passively on your back or your side, don’t sit on him so you’re above his mighty cock; get down where you belong, with your ass in the air so he can mount you. Take it doggy-style, like a male animal.

Give your top the thrill of being on top. It increases his confidence and makes him harder, so he can fuck you; it’s what you both want.

These two unselfish men show us something worth seeing; a real man pleases his boy, and a good boy pleases his man. This is how a relationship is built.

Everything else is just fucking, and even the retarded can do it. Be better than that; be your whole self, and whatever your preferred role, please the one you’re with.

The beauty of sex with an open-minded man is that he’ll please you right back. ∞

Here’s an unusual clip, of a sort I’ve never seen before: Gay veterans of the Israeli army. It’s macho and romantic, and it’s got a great attitude; unlike 98% of California porn, there’s no homophobia in this movie. “After you’ve spent 3 years in the Israeli army and everyone knows who you are, fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.”

Here’s to Gay Jewish men.

In my spare time I continue to peruse some Gay pornography, hoping to find examples of my kind of man-to-man sex: dominance and submission without sadomasochism or abuse. I also read articles on Gay psychology and occasional works of fiction, because we’re more likely to see ourselves illuminated by science and art than by hyper-conventional, stereotyped, packaged sex for sale, or the amateur junk on streaming sex sites.

I want to see how other guys get excited by male power without demeaning themselves or their partner. Sadly, the pickings are few and the porn is mostly boring; often what I find are examples of exactly what I don’t want. For instance, today I watched a fuck scene that took place in a public bathroom; two guys, apparently strangers, hooked up, then moved to a corner, where one guy leaned against the wall and the other guy fucked him. Not a word got said. Finally it was over, the top pulled up his pants and walked away without so much as a “See ya around.” Then the camera focused on the bottom, who hastily dressed and left, probably feeling ashamed.

This was not an uncommon scenario years ago, and I suppose it happens just as much today. But I found myself wondering what each guy was thinking as they went their separate ways. Did the top feel elated? Did he feel deflated? Did the bottom think, “Yeah, fucked by a stud!” Or did he think, “Good grief, a public bathroom.” Or even, “He could have said thank you.”

Maybe you find this scenario exciting; I don’t judge another guy’s turnons. But it was a huge turnoff to me. It all seemed so furtive and 1950s, impersonal, dehumanizing. Having the top walk out like he was done with the bottom, embarassed to be there, makes a negative statement about both guys—and by extension the audience. Are you someone other guys should be ashamed to be seen with? Don’t you resent the idea?

Suppose instead the director had said, “We’re going to be taping in a bathroom and I want it hot and hard. But when you’re done, before we cut, I want the top to ask for the bottom’s phone number.”

That one little direction would have suggested the possibility of post-fuck friendship. The message of the video would have been pro-Gay instead of pro-shame.

I write this as a guy who met my Boy in a bathroom in a leather bar in Chicago. It doesn’t matter where you meet, but how you treat each other does matter. Don’t walk away ashamed.

This isn’t the ’50s, ’60s or ’70s, when Gay men didn’t have many places to meet each other but tea-rooms and parks. We have Gay auto clubs, Gay synagogues, Gay political caucuses. Last summer Boy and I put on a Gay golf tournament! You can meet a man anywhere.

How you treat him says everything about who you are as a human being. Don’t be a user, and don’t be used. It isn’t fulfilling. You end up jaded, cynical and lonely. You end up jacking off by yourself because you can’t be bothered with another human being. That’s no way to live.

Again I find myself thinking how intimate it is to be naked with someone else. By the time you’re done fucking a guy you can tell his whole life story. You know whether he’s selfish or giving, whether his mind is open or closed; you know where he’s vulnerable. Perhaps you know where he’s strong. You know how desperate he is, what he’s willing to put up with, his drug use, his mental and physical health; you know how much money he makes, what kind of job he probably has, how much education, his intelligence or lack thereof; whether he has an imagination or is just going through the only motions he knows. You know what excites him and what turns him off, and from there you can probably figure out his entire history. You know whether he drives or takes the bus or subway; you know what kind of car he has. You know how long it’s been since he saw a doctor or dentist; you can guess his HIV status. You know him as well as a family member who was there the day he was born; in some ways you know him better than his family.

You know whether he’s got a wife or a boyfriend; you know whether he just got dumped, or dumped someone. You know whether he can read and write, and whether he actually does those things. You know what kind of music he listens to. You know the state of his soul, whether he’s damned or blessed.

That’s a lot to know about someone. Fucking will teach you everything about him. And the guy who walked away without even saying thanks or “I enjoyed it”? He’s a guy you never should have been with in the first place, so now you also know to get thee to a therapist and what to talk about.

There are a lot worse turnons in this world than SM—in the right context it can be a healthy thing to do—but even vanilla guys can be users or the used. Don’t be one of them, it doesn’t help you.

Instead, cherish your feelings—notice them, honor them as part of your most important reality. If you feel good about yourself, keep doing what you’re doing. If you feel bad, change it. Don’t get into a compulsive rut.

If you need help, talk to a friend as you really are, not as you purport to be to the outside world. We only go around once in this life, and there are no prizes for the phony self you’re tempted to project. Get naked and the other guy will see right through you, just as you see through him. There’s no substitute for honesty and being the authentic self you really are.

With any luck at all you’ll find a compassionate Gay man who cares about your wounded personality, because he identifies with you. Gay men are the best lovers ever because the vast majority of us have compassion built into every muscle and bone. I’d sooner trust my life with Gay men than anyone else; Straight women second. We all need compassion, and somehow evolution has given us more than the average person. Suppose that director had said, “Before you walk away, get his phone number”? It would have turned an exercise in sleaze into a dawning of nobility. That’s what friendship is: a willingness to postpone or even sacrifice your own immediate impulse for the sake of your friend’s need.

It’s a noble and holy thing. Don’t blow it. There’s no substitute for a friend who knows you and accepts you as you really are.

* * *

Since last we met Boy and I have been through a few things; nothing bad, just the frustrations and pleasures of life. We’re both a bit inclined to procrastinate about things that need to be done, which never helps us. My computer died; I bought a new one but still haven’t taken in the old to be fixed, though it contains data I must have to function. He needs his hair cut but keeps putting it off. I’m finding he tends to get depressed around the holidays; unresolved family issues which he doesn’t want to talk about. We had a good Thanksgiving, though, and we keep plugging away at our jobs. It hasn’t been too cold here so far, though this morning we got our first dusting of snow. They say there’s more to come.

We’ve been watching movies at home thanks to Netflix. He loves oldies, and I love hearing him talk about them afterward, or even pause to point out something in the middle of the show. He knows all these dead actors I never heard of; when we watch a film he’s already seen, I love seeing his body help act out a scene. He’s also the kind who loves conducting the orchestra with his magic air baton; we saw “Oliver!” the other day, and You’ve Got to Pick a Pocket or Two.

Boy’s so smart when he analyzes; I love to hear him talk.

I’m not sure, with all my reading and porn-example searching, I’ve made much progress in our singular quest of creating a lasting dom-sub relationship; nor have I made much progress in finishing a novel about it. (He’s not here to illuminate my fiction. The characters are already set.) I rewrite the same eight chapters instead of writing more. I keep pushing my mental boundaries but crashing against the wall; we understand this much but not more. I suppose we’ve settled into a routine; we both love power, get off endlessly over it, without turning up the heat where it becomes abuse, the mistake most other guys make. He’s my puppy, not my bitch, and oh, do I admire when he is powerful.

Meanwhile he’s gotten completely into a good but limited pattern at home; his two interests are fucking and cooking. He’s a wonderful cook who expands his repertoire every week. I take it he knows enough, when he looks at a recipe, to figure out what’s delicious and what’s a disaster, so he only makes the good stuff. We’ve been eating real good, me making my old favorites, him making new things he’s found. Thanksgiving really was a feast; I made the dressing and roasted the bird and he did everything else. I even ate sweet potatoes, but there’s nothing you can do to a cranberry to make it edible.

We’re still monogamous; we have a vow to tell each other if we’re not, so neither of us contracts HIV. I’d hate the day I had to tell him I fucked up, or had to hear him say he did, but we back up our pledge of honesty with retests every 3 months.

We’re also working with a lawyer on a “pre-nuptial” agreement, which is kind of a laugh considering this ain’t even Iowa; but we’re starting to have discussions about how to Provide for and protect each other in case of something bad.

A friend of mine taught me to capitalize Providing, because it’s (maybe sexist here) the ultimate job of a man to Provide for himself and his loved ones; worthy of respect and of capitalizing. I make no statement about Lesbian relationships, single Moms or anyone else. Obviously women are as capable of and as good at Providing as any man is.

But where there’s a man it’s his job to Provide. Where there are two in an equal relationship, I suppose they’re both responsible for their provisions. In a Gay dom-sub marriage like ours, I Provide. He could, but I take great pride in it, and he goes along, one of his gracious gifts to me.

I buy the groceries, I pay the rent. He pays the utes and often picks up the check at a restaurant. He makes (a lot) more money than I do and has a finance-oriented job, but he submits to my desire to Provide for him. On some level he enjoys it and on another level he’d rather we were equal in expenditures. I accidentally crimp his style, but that also means he saves more for his old age. Or mine!

At times it’s a confused balancing act. But his feelings are so tender, our devotion to each other so strong, that I feel confident in making joint financial decisions, limiting his spending and channeling any excess funds into his retirement. He’s significantly younger, he wouldn’t think of this, but I do. And he accepts that.

He’s a fantastic pup. I haven’t even mentioned how good his body’s looking these days, now that he’s got me as his Coach.

It’s funny in a way, the best rule I ever made for us is that when sex starts, he’s always down on all fours. Sometimes I’m demanding, sometimes he’s a hungry boy, but always, down on all fours.

He’s a bottom; I’m a top. I try to be innovative, but even when I’m not, he always responds with the pure unconditional love of a puppy to his master.

I’m not a control freak, but I do have self-respect and compassion for a Boy who’s got some healing to do so he stops getting depressed over the holidays; and who’s got enough courage and enough love to be open with who he really is and what he really feels.

Maybe someday this will all change, but for now my cock’s his Boss. And you’re damn right I want this puppy’s phone number.∞

A lot of guys are so used to throwing off their clothes that they no longer ask this question, but I want to back us up to the beginning of the video. There you are, both in jeans or suits, priestly robes or leather, hazmat gear or workout trunks, looking at each other and knowing that a minute from now, you’re going to have sex.

What happens in that minute of disrobing? And what happens in the minute after you get butt-naked? What goes through your mind?

“Does he like me? Am I attractive? Am I okay to him?”

When you’re naked, he sees you as you really are; your crooked teeth, your bit of flab, your gray hair, that little wad of cholesterol that has inconveniently lodged itself on your balls; your empty brain or your teeming one, your great aunt Bertha, the neglected kid, that mole that suddenly sprouted above your left eyebrow.

And you see him, wondering the same things; his hairy back, his myopic stare, his puny dick, his floppy ears, his dirty feet, his flat butt.

Workout models ask the same questions as the rest of us. Beauty does not keep anyone from asking these questions; they’re part of the human condition.

In that moment of truth and nakedness, we reveal and learn each other’s entire life story; genetic endowment, neglect and health, bank accounts, ethnic history, addictions, obsessions, fantasies, turnons, high school and since then, our scars, our triumphs, athleticism, art, spirituality, fuckableness, everything.

Naked.

No lies. Hello.

We never say it, but as we present our naked bodies to each other it’s always with one question: Am I okay to you?

And that’s not just about our bodies, but our selves, our souls and psyches.

Am I okay to you?

It doesn’t matter what we look like, a young muscled athlete or a washed-up wreck; we all wonder the same things. When we expose our entire life stories, uh, there’s a lot there I’d rather you didn’t see.

(Please don’t see how mean my mom was. Please don’t see that I overdo.

(Please please please don’t ask what that white spot is on my balls.

(You look good; I like you. Will you like me?)

I must say I find Gay men remarkably supportive of each other; this is not the conventional wisdom, where it’s somehow common to label each other the scum of the earth.

But that’s not how we usually react when we’re naked; we kind of like each other, we kind of turn on.

Any little support we get, any little touch, we like.

All these questions run through our minds when we’re naked, regardless of what we look like.

Too short, too tall, too fat, too skinny, too young, too old, too hung, not enough; too bruised, too battered, too successful, too greedy, too tattooed, too conservative, too pierced, not enough, too religious, not spiritual enough, too Republican, too Democrat, Libertarian, anti-capitalist, too muscled, too flabby, it’s always somethin’. Always!

The best way to present yourself naked is just to get naked.

I’m not saying we’re all congenitally insecure. I’m saying that when we’re naked, we expose ourselves to every human vulnerability, including rejection and acceptance.

The vulnerability is what matters; that is, the entire life story written on my body or yours.

A corollary: physical beauty is not the biggest Gay turnon; behavior is. A masculine man with few obvious checkoffs is always more desired than a less masculine man. A submissive man who’s still masculine is a topman’s catnip; big kitty just goes nuts.

Among the naked and vulnerable, certain principles apply; not moral laws, but emotional observations:

Gang-bangs extinguish individuality; one cock feels a lot like another, so none of the personalities matter.

What really makes the gang-bang wrong is how it numbs my senses. I stop caring that the last guy got tired and the new guy’s raring to go; why did my last guy get tired, and how can I ease him up, so that he knows we were naked together?

Glory holes sexualize complete impersonality; the sucker doesn’t even get to see the man’s face, just his appendage. It may protect my feelings and his both, but we’ve precluded that vulnerable moment (”See you? See me?”), so we’ve also precluded the real connection of mouth on cock.

That’s not something I want to give up. I want to see Boy’s face, admitting he’s sucking my cock.

I  want to feed him more cock, so he smiles at me.

That smile matters a whole lot more than his body mass index.

The best sex is highly personal, where I see you and you see me and we groove together.

No masks; you may not steal my face. You may not like how I look, but you may not steal my face.

When two guys are grooving together the whole world disappears; so why does so much Gay porn force a 3rd, 4th, 5th, 6th, 12th into the scene? (They’re afraid you weren’t turned on enough by the first two—and like the rest of corporate America, their only concern is profit.)

Porn is not life; duh. Life is when I get naked with you, and the entire history of our bodies and our lives is right there on view for you to accept or reject.

We almost never reject each other; behavior is what matters, not body type, and we are compassionate men. It’s built into us, I believe, right with the Gay gene.

But we do not help ourselves or our partners if we ignore or minimize our vulnerability when naked, because of some self-protective denial.

The most beautiful men in the world have been rejected, so who the fuck are you?

There is no body type, no personality, no individual history that appeals to all of us; we’re individuals.

When we get naked, see the man in front of you, that’s all I’m saying. Chances are he’s someone you’d love to know.

Go ahead, get naked, flaws and all, beauties and all; just get naked and say Hi. “I see you; I am me. Hi.”

That’s one-on-one, which is why guys fall in love.

I guarantee that sex with a man who loves you is better than sex with a guy you’ve never met. Beauty is beauty, but it comes in a million different types.

Love me by name, or don’t fuckin’ bother.++

In my last post, which linked to Topper’s Bad Bois and a wild video, I wrote that “protection” is a key concept in the master/boy, dominant/submissive relationship. In this post I want to explore that idea, while warning you I’m just thinking out loud here. I don’t have a definitive statement on the subject, but Topper’s video sure caused some cum-flying discussion in these parts.

(In later posts Topper’s said it’s the most popular video he’s ever put up, and has changed his philosophy of posting. He loves smooth twinks, but he’s decided that if there isn’t explosiveness in the sex, maybe he shouldn’t bother. I think he’s right.)

My topic here is protection, without the artificial prison guard/innocent victim scenario in that video’s hot fantasy.

My Boy needs protection; all boys do. But what do we mean by this? What is it my Boy needs, and all boys need?

Short answer: he needs protection for his innermost feelings.

Boy’s fully capable of defending himself if confronted by thugs on the street. If violence is threatened when we’re together, he needs backup, not protection; he is nobody’s coward. But like anyone in that situation, he appreciates backup, and so far we’ve never faced anything we couldn’t handle. Bullies like to test your mettle first, and if you stand up to them, like my Boy does, they usually scatter in search of an easier mark. I’m very proud of Boy’s ability to stand up to a challenge. He’s courageous and he’s tough, and I get hard when I see him that way.

Still, there is that very private spot in his heart that needs protection; that needs to know he’s got a Daddy who will fight for him.

That private spot, I think, isn’t just his Gayness but his love.

It’s no accident now that the Gay rights argument’s been public for 40 years that the homophobes’ last stand is less over sex than marriage. The U.S. Supreme Court declared Gay sex is legal, and that’s fairly well accepted now (”life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness”). Marriage, however, is an entirely different thing; it’s about love, and our opponents don’t want to concede that two men or two women can love each other in the same way that opposite-sex couples do. They want to claim theirs is holy and ours can’t possibly be.

So in 30 states, including California, Gay marriage now violates the Constitution.

In other states, not so; love is love.

My sense is that the protection Boy needs and craves isn’t so much about his sex life, but his love life.

He needs there to be one place, our bedroom, where his deepest emotions aren’t just legal, but honored; safe and protected.

Face it, he can get hard over a million men, but he only opens himself and gets vulnerable and real with me.

Male sexuality is very malleable, but love is specific. “You, me, no one else.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, Boy.”

These feelings rise from the heart of hearts, the purest expression of self—the most primitive, the most childlike and boyish of all the feelings an adult can have. “You are the one.”

Of course there are lots of Gay guys who don’t identify with this, who think sex is recreational just like badminton; one birdie’s the same as all others.

My Boy’s not that way. In these tender feelings he needs a defender—a strong one, ready to guard him from every opponent, even as Boy does the same for the Man he loves.

You may or may not like Topper’s video, but it does illustrate the gratitude and loyalty a boy feels when a dominant man lets loose with his desire and offers some strength to help fight the boy’s fights, whatever they are; on the job, on the streets, behind bars, at the family reunion.

It isn’t fair that we have to fight these fights, but given that we do, we’ll fight them.

In Boy’s case, the most important thing is protecting his sexual/romantic feelings, which others seek to criminalize. He wants to know he’s okay and approved and loved in one place, if no other.

Give him that and man, he’s the “worst slut” and best fighting boy you ever saw.He’s never violent, but he’s got two fists and a switchblade for a tongue. He defends me—and I’m damn glad for such a studly boy.++

Boy found a video on another site, called Topper’s Bad Bois, that was so hot he called me in from cleaning out the garage. I was putting out the recycling when he said, “You gotta see this, Daddy. Would you watch it with me?” Well, sure, but why are you looking at porn videos?

See it yourself in a minute; this is a short post, though I’ll have more to say later. Boy was right about the video, it’s hotter than sweat.

The setup is a corrections officer and a “boy” prisoner he offers to protect. That’s a key concept, protection. The flick’s in Spanish with English subtitles, lots of dirty talk.

My Boy was absolutely right to find this video; we had to watch it twice, for him three times. The third time I sat him on my dick while he jacked off to it, and good heavens, was he hard like I’ve never seen him before; he couldn’t wait to spew his balls over these guys. The top isn’t that hung (but uncut and worthy) and the boy seems ambivalent at first, till he turns into the most desperate fucktoy.

Topper likes skinny twinks, which I don’t, but no matter. Turns out my Boy was cruisin’ the intertubes ’cause he wants to understand why he loves dominance and submission. This vid helped us.

I’m in love with a man, not a boy, but there is something deep within him that craves dick and protection and kindness. He understands what he wants and accepts it, but he doesn’t fully know why. It conflicts with his self-image as an athlete and a businessman; “why am I a boy with you? Why do I love it when you dominate me?”

The video doesn’t answer everything—the sextalk is all one way, from the top to the bottom—but this top knows how to dominate. Watch him as he flings the little guy like a ragdoll; I think that’s crucial. He never hurts him, but he puts him where he wants him, like a man does.

Boy and I both shot our balls watching these two. See what you think. Then come back for the rest of the story.++

Boy and I first met in a very public place, a no-holes-barred tavern in Chicago.

We had a little contact, then I took him away from there to my hotel room.

I wanted the intimacy that a private place can provide. Most guys are willing to do more in private than they are in public.

True, some guys like exhibitionism; I do too under certain circumstances. But I knew instinctively with him to get him out of there. It’s a sleazy joint, which is both exciting and cringeful, and there’s a certain shame factor that doesn’t induce mutual recognition, but encourages game-playing and posing instead. Some guys hold back, even as other guys bust out in all their glorious piggy desperation. More power to ‘em, but this Boy was one who held back; not out of shyness, but out of self-respect. Most people do not care to show the Entire World their innermost secrets; there’s such a thing as privacy, for the benefit of others and oneself, and I could tell his body language said, “Get me out of here.” So I did. We hailed a cab and sped down Lake Shore Drive to my hotel.

There he became my Boy, in a way he could not have in Sleazeville. He needed the privacy—and something else: he wanted me to focus on him, not the crowd. He wanted, as we all do, to be a little special.

He wanted to be an individual, not a hole.

(THEN he wanted to be a hole. Such a good boy…)

Regular readers know I think the best sex is between two individuals, who open themselves, hearts and minds and bodies, to perceive the uniqueness in each other. Personality is what makes people close, not their looks. Personality gives rise to unique reactions, surprises, squeals—and squeals are a total turn on.

Yes, he could have got fucked by 50 hard cocks that night, which might have been its own excitement. But somehow we were both smart enough to know he wanted to get fucked by just one, and to remember it afterward, and to hope for it again.

He wanted to see into me like I wanted to see into him. You can’t do that in a dark back room, where a cock is just a cock and a hole is just a hole.

Some guys get off on anonymity, but A) they’re self-destructive, and B) they’re superficial friends. Other guys, Boy and me, get off on intimacy.

When I look into his eyes, and he looks into mine, it feels like the whole world hangs in the balance. He is incredibly beautiful; he thinks I’m hot stuff.

So I kiss him, and he responds, and somehow the fuck gets better than ever. I know him; he knows me. We approve of each other. We love each other. I know what he needs, and I give it to him, better each time as I know him better.

He’s got 15,000 rules, but we’ve whittled them down to 9000, on our way to 4:

• Don’t hurt him.

• Don’t cheat on him.

• Don’t leave him.

• We fold all towels, sheets and pillowcases exactly as directed by his mother and the Book of Common Prayer.

He’s the cutest boy alive; what do I care how the fuckin’ sheets get folded? We got rules for this?

And yet his rules are the essence of personality, and it matters that I knew to get him out of the backroom and into a private place where he could be himself, if only I had the openness to look into his eyes and know him.

He’s pure Boy, sweet and generous and untrammeled, but ready to grow up to be a sexual man. Still, I keep him on the edge, so he’s never quite there yet. Dominance and submission excites us both. He wants to break out, but I won’t let him, and he loves that.

Last weekend at the “XXX County LGBT Open,” we raised $3,642, divided between the same-sex marriage people and the Lesbian Rights Project. It was a total blast and the celebratory dinner lasted long into the night; we pumped ten grand into the local economy and no one got arrested. A woman from Berwyn Heights was the medalist with a 2-under 208 (3 days, par 70) playing from the men’s tees; everyone knew she was trying to win, and she led from start to finish. Another woman from Munster scored 2-over 212 from the ladies’ tees and got a huge trophy for that. The closest man, a guy from Momence, had a 215; Boy and I tied for seventh at 226. I was ecstatic, one of the best performances of my life; he cussed a blue streak as I found out how competitive he is, even intimidating if you listen to him, which I didn’t. The more he mouthed off, the better my game seemed to get. It was miraculous; I can whip his ass in hoops but he’s a much better golfer. He’s now going to hate me for life, as if I care.

Our little tournament was one of the best things that’s happened to us; I’m so proud of his organizing. We were so afraid, putting it in a small downstate town, that it wouldn’t go, but we raised decent money and had a hell of a time.

As expected, he’s a far longer driver, but I’m much the better putter, and every stroke counts for one—another thing he hates, the little showoff. So LET IT BE KNOWN I won one more skin. (He hates that and keeps telling everyone, “We tied, dammit, we tied!” Poor little thing.)

He’s never before done anything for Gay rights, but on the 40th anniversary of Stonewall, we played golf in a small town, wearing nothing but shorts, jock and spikes. He added a cockring, I later found out, so I fucked him without mercy as he secretly hoped.

“We tied, dammit, we tied!” Yeah, boy, now shut the fuck up and let me kiss you.++

Recently I was on another blog, Daddy’s Bad Boys, where Jeff, the owner, was saying he didn’t much like gags because he wants to hear his boys whimper and moan. That’s reasonable, but I reacted differently and left this comment:

Oh, but Daddy, boys love to be restrained. It lets ‘em know who’s in charge. A gag doesn’t hurt ‘em, so they’ll probably let you do it, and then you’ve got ‘em in the habit of accepting your control. Gags and blindfolds are good that way. Get ‘em used to restraint, so you can tie ‘em up and fuck ‘em. They love not having the power, it makes you a stud in their eyes. A stud is what they’re looking for. A stud is what they need.

A boy who’s been gagged becomes the most eager cocksucker once his mouth gets free. An ounce of “prevention” is worth a pound of cure: yours.

Gags are especially good with a cock-shaped sucktoy, so he can practice.

Blindfolds are even better; they don’t hurt, so you can talk almost any guy into trying them once. When he consents, he’s in your power. He can’t see; he relies on you.

Two reminders: I’m not into sadomasochism and I would never touch a child sexually. I call bottomboys by a juvenile term no matter how old they are; I like bringing out the boy in a grown man. Fact is I like muscle, and kids don’t have it. I like masculinity, and men have more of it than boys.

But the primal boy inside I’m fantastically interested in, the screaming, hollering mass of hormones and emotions deep inside you. That kid’s the one I want.

Blindfolds are the most effective control mechanism to bring the boy out of a man, because human beings are so reliant on the information and feedback we get from our eyes. Most of the information we process comes from one sense only, our eyesight; take that away and we become almost helpless. Some studies show that without our vision to guide us, we lose half or more of our verbal ability; part of the cerebral cortex simply shuts down without any input, like a computer monitor that goes to screensaver after five minutes. Blindfold a guy and he goes blank, doesn’t know what to do, needs direction.

This happened to me once in a great bondage scene. I couldn’t see what Master Fred was doing, so I naturally went passive; I could feel he was wrapping me in rope, but I couldn’t see what he was doing, so I didn’t feel any danger. When he asked me a question, my answers were monosyllabic. I had a hard time thinking, much less putting words together. I trusted him, so I was relaxed, and when at last he finally pulled the end of the rope so that the entire structure he was building went tight, I was trapped. And enraptured.

I don’t think I’d know half the things I do if I hadn’t experienced both sides of bondage. I’ve been down and I’ve been up. I prefer up, but that’s partly because I love all the boys who go down.

Here’s an example of one- or two-rope bondage. The diamonds in the center of his chest are a dead giveaway:

What does a boy in bondage feel? Restrained, constricted, contained, limited, dependent. The ropes are tight; he can’t move like he usually does. He is vulnerable, pleasantly weakened, without any choice about what his master might do to him.

He may know he’s strong without the ropes, but as long as they’re in place, he stops having a choice—which emphasizes his partner’s choice, his partner’s masculinity.

The thing about bondage is this: it’s a temporary form of slavery. So a wise top will take advantage of the time he gets, and of its endpoint. Many boys fantasize about being sex slaves, but very few actually do it because they’re afraid, and rightly so. If they choose the wrong master they can be hurt, even killed, and how can they know who the right master is? I don’t blame them one bit for their reluctance.

Still, with time and talking, getting to know one another, you can walk a boy through progressive experiences, so that he gets a taste of slavery but ends up safe on the other side.

Boys love that! Why?

Because their deepest desire, which springs from the biopsychology of Gayness itself, is to worship the masculinity of another man. Men take charge, so they want a man who does that. Men are aggressive, in control and all those other cultural stereotypes we’ve got. Feminist critique of gender roles doesn’t apply here; Gay men want a masculine man, and this doesn’t deprive females of a single human right.

I’m the son of a feminist mother; I admire that in her. But it didn’t make me hard for girls when I got hard for guys. Women are beautiful, but I turn on to hardness.

So do boys.

There’s another level to the dominant/submissive dynamic: positioning, including restraints, induces the emotions both tops and bottoms want to feel. A 300-pound bodybuilder who’s blindfolded can be controlled by a 98-pound weakling. Little studly guys can be very, very hot, especially to much bigger guys. Without his vision, a blinded muscleman is as helpless as a baby. Tell him, “Stand here, don’t move,” and he always will, because he can’t see what he might bang into if he moved. His fear of needless pain is so great that he will automatically do as he’s told.

And that feeds directly into his sexual fantasy, of worshipping a superior man.

Don’t blame him for wanting to; cock is every bit as desirable as he thinks. Cock excites his mouth, makes him salivate, it thrills his ass, it’s what he hungers for; he’s allowed to feel what he feels and want what he wants.

My point is simple. A boy will probably let you gag and/or blindfold him in the name of play and a new adventure. Once you do, you’ll unleash a flood of desire he may never have felt.

Daddy Jeff at the Badboy blog is A-OK in wanting to hear his boys squeal. But the way to maximize the sound effects is to keep them from sucking for awhile. Some guys are shy, some are undemonstrative, so they don’t give ready voice to what they feel. But they will if they want to suck your cock and you prevent them from doing it for awhile.

Tell ‘em they can’t, and they’re very likely to say, “Yes I will!”

Blindfold ‘em, even though their free hands could rip it off at any second, and they’ll suddenly go along with whatever you say.

The boy’s fantasy is finding a man with so much testosterone he takes charge. The man’s fantasy is finding a boy who thinks he’s that much man and more.

For a top, nothing is hotter than being totally desired. For a bottom, nothing is hotter than finding a man with more cock than you can handle.

And it ain’t about inches, but brainpower. Let’s redefine what mastery is: a top who understands and empathizes with bottom psychology.

A selfish top is pretty much worthless, not a good sex partner. He may look good but he acts like a jerk. A sensitive top who knows exactly what’s going on in a boy’s mind, and doesn’t judge him for it, gets followed wherever he goes.

So have fun, be safe and get what you want while the gettin’ is good. Treat each other kindly and don’t abuse the one you’re with.

Boy here’s doing exactly right, so praise him for it. Then pull him closer and deeper, so he’s filled with masculinity.

When he looks up to you, meet his eyes. Boys, look up to the man you suck, not just the cock; he’s more than his appendage, he’s a whole personality. The looking up and looking down are what matters; it’s the moment of truth, of mutual recognition, and with luck it’s the moment you fall in love.

That split-second, when your eyes lock and you truly know each other’s deepest feelings, is worth more than all the gold in Fort Knox. Add a kiss to it and you just might hit heaven in the fast lane.++