Midnight Tropics

(Material in very plain language about men’s bodies and mansex, so not for kids or the sexually modest.)

This began as a brief follow-up to my 7/7 posting “Navy flamingos and roseate spoonbills”, about enhanced-cup swim briefs (seen in front view) from the Elia company, in the Navy Flamingo pattern: navy-blue with pink flamingos — but it moves into other territory (heavy on anal intercourse). In any case, yesterday the Daily Jocks sale offer featured the Elia enhanced pouch swim brief “Midnight Tropics” (in rear view):


A handsome pattern, including the pink flowers (pink is a subtheme in Elia swimwear for men), and clearly designed to highlight the sexual desirability of the wearer’s buttocks (which, in this case, seem eminently pregnable already).

I was initially struck by the image in #1 because the main selling point of this swimwear line is the sexual desirability of models’ genitals, exaggerated by the cup enhancements, so that they’re usually presented in front views — as here, for the Midnight Tropics swim brief:


Plain talk. In street talk, #1 frames the model as having a really hot ass, eminently fuckable. Language familiar to me from my days in the sexual marketplace, decades ago, where my really hot, fuckable ass — arse, butt, whatever — was my big draw. Men told me so, and then they fucked me, to our mutual satisfaction, since my sexual preference, as an enthusiastic bottom (well, really, a bitch in heat), fit so beautifully with my physical attractions.

My face is sweet but nothing to draw men in, and I’m far from classically butch, and I have what counts in the gay world as a little dick (a major minus in the sexual marketplace), but my ass brought in the business. If, as often happens in the gay world, my fucker stayed around after the sexual main event, to luxuriate affectionately in our joint post-coital haze, and exchange names and brief bios and talk about our lives, then we came to develop a short-term friendship, in which the qualities of my mind and character, not just my fuckable ass, came to the fore. Two of them fell in love with me — and then of course we did a lot more fucking, meanwhile honing our understandings of each other’s bodies and feelings, which is a great pleasure in itself.

(And, I should add, from experiencing all this and talking to my sexual partners, I collected a lot of information about gay lives and attitudes, which I’ve used for my academic purposes.  No place to stash my famous little notebook while my ass was up in the air taking a cock deep within me and shouting fuck me please oh please fuck me — but I wrote things up not long afterwards.)

But my ass as a desirable bodypart. As it turns out, I have never seen anything like a photo of my ass in its heyday (I now have an 80-year-old wrinkled ass, so that’s irrelevant). I have no idea what its draw for other men was, though I can fantasize that it was something like other wonderfully fuckable asses I’ve posted about (I’m working on collecting a Page on them).

I realize now that my man Jacques, who was pretty serious about his photography, took a lot of photos of me, and was a great fan of my fuckable ass (most of our sex was just gay men’s routine sex, namely cocksucking, but fucking was a special-occasion pleasure). But he never even suggested photographing my body — I suspect he felt that that would have been too intrusive — and it didn’t occur to me to ask him to; I’ve always felt insecure about my body. I’m sorry now that I didn’t, and also that I never got him to pose for nude shots. After all these years — we last shared a bed in 1997 — the memories of his body are fading away.

As close as it gets. What I do have is a delightful photo of me and Gadi Niram (and DC motsser Ed Ricketts) at the 1995 motss.con in Washington DC:

(#3) Ed, me (in an OUT In Linguistics t-shirt), Gadi (playfully in costume for the To Wong Foo Party at the RAMA A Inn)

My comment:

Sorry about the glare off my glasses, cause this is otherwise a pretty good photo of me (I hate almost all photos of me). Damn hot for a 56-year-old guy, if I do say so myself. [Gadi was then 25.] And I manage to look significantly gay, but maybe that’s just by assimilation to Gadi’s character. (Hanging out with a guy dressed like this either causes you to absorb waves of big ol’ fagginess or to present as stone-hard butch, in contrast. I don’t think gay macho is even achievable for me, so what you see is my greybeard fag persona.)

I’ll say more about the occasion, but for my immediate purposes what’s important is my hairy, muscular thighs, as close as we can get to what was then my hairy, muscular ass. This towards the end of my 30 Years of Getting Fucked, which ran from 1966 through roughly 1996. A good run.

Then, two Facebook messages from Gadi.  From 2/26/20:

Today’s my 50th birthday. Something Aric [Olnes] posted reminded me of the 1995 DC .con. I had been on soc.motss for about two years by then, a wet-behind-the-ears little gayling. motss has given me friends, access to knowledge I never would have imagined, flamewars, in-jokes, social venues, a boyfriend or two, and a sense that I belong to a wonderful, insane, intense, intelligent, witty, infuriating, captivating, marvel of a community. Here’s to the next 27 motss.years!

Note that the community embraces men and women, from many parts of the world, of many ages (my 56 to Gadi’s 25 in #3), and so on.

Then from 3/21/20, with the photo in #3:

And me with the splendid Arnold Zwicky!

Strange as it may seem to those who know me well, I am widely regarded as having thrown the best hotel party in all of recorded history [at the 1995 DC Con]. With considerable help from the incomparable Derik Cowan.

It was indeed memorable. And I even managed to work in giving a linguistics paper at Georgetown during the weekend. (Oh yes, and no sex, just friendship. I’d been a regular at the Club Baths for Men in DC for years, but not on this occasion; hanging out with friends was much more important than getting fucked.)

One Response to “Midnight Tropics”

  1. arnold zwicky Says:

    A metanote: a larger theme in this posting is that though it seems to be laser-focused on getting fucked, it’s also about how we juggle the many parts of our lives to achieve some kind of balance. You might be appalled at the amount of time I once spent in cruising for sex (among all the other parts of my life), but it’s *utterly* neglible in comparison to the amount of time most American men spend in attending and viewing sports events (which I don’t do at all). We all seek our moments of peak pleasure, each in our own way.

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