(About men’s bodies and mansex, in very plain language. Not for kids or the sexually modest.)
The trigger is an e-mail ad from the gay porn company Falcon Studio for their recent video I Spy — shown here in a cropped version, though Devin Franco’s penis is a significant part of the story. The posting is about body types and “having a type” in sexual attraction, and Devin Franco is here because he’s very much one of my types, since his body so much resembles my man Jacques’s:
(#1) Devin Franco displaying his body: a nicely muscled swimmer’s body, with a long torso, just my style; plus extravagantly erect nipples, for extra hotness
The whole shot, with his very nice dick, can be viewed on AZBlogX, in the 8/23/20 posting “Devin Franco”. (Well, one reader got that posting without the image, I don’t know why, and I’m finding it desperately hard to get through these days of high temperatures and fires and I don’t know how to fix any of this. All I can offer in these terrible times: if you can’t view the image, send me e-mail and I will send you the image by e-mail. One reader by one.)
Franco’s cock is cut, while Jacques’s was not, but then nobody’s perfect. Franco also has a pornstar cock, signficantly longer than the mean; however, it’s nicely thick and fits the rest of his body well (rather than looking like a huge protrusion from his body) — all in all, a handsome cock, so I find the photo very pleasing. Look, I’m into dick, unapologetically. (I haven’t engaged with one in any fashion for more than 15 years now, and surely never will again, but even an old man can indulge his imaginative pleasures.)
[I haven’t viewed Falcon’s I Spy and probably never will, so its story line is pretty much beside the point (though Franco is not), but the Falcon p.r. release is in my AZBlogX posting. It’s clearly intended to be one episode in a multi-part video. Though it is relevant that Franco the pornstar loves to get fucked.]
Franco the actor. Just to remind you, there’s “Devin Franco” the actor in gay porn, and there’s the character he plays in I Spy, and there’s a guy with a totally different name whose occupation is as an actor in gay porn and leads a life we know absolutely nothing about (and who might share with the other two the ( to my mind) admirable pleasure in getting fucked, though that’s not a sure thing).
About the actor, in p.r. from the Lucas Entertainment site:
model Devin Franco: position: bottom/versatile, dick size: 8”, height: 5’10
Devin Franco is known for his woodworking skills — and no, that’s not a cheap sex joke. Devin builds custom furniture at his Albuquerque home as a profession. But he also spends a lot of time at the gym and is working toward a personal trainer certification. Devin believes in working hard, and that’s one of the reasons why he performs in the adult industry — he’s not going to waste any of his assets, and that includes his boyish good looks … More specifically, Devin enjoys an audience when he’s with men: “I like to show off… I am a bit of an exhibitionist. I also love getting fucked and pleasing hot muscular guys.”
(that last tossed-off sentence is just wonderful)
The man photographed by Jesse Ashton in DNA Magazine on 9/13/18:
(#2) Front view, about as close to the line as you can get (in gay porn, no matter how much of a bottom you might be, you have to offer a hard porn dick to your audience, and deliver it)
(#3) Rear view, offering the main attraction
Types. Beyond #1, there are other male types I’m pretty much spontaneously attracted to: short compact men, especially with dark hair; athletic black men; and more. Then … if you’ve had an especially satisfying sexual experience with someone, their body type is likely to get added to your hot list — which is how chunky Mexican guys got on my list, thanks to a very sweet trick at the baths with the character Hector (from a sex-at-the-baths posting from 8/30/10 on AZBlogX, recalling a much earlier occasion. The text is frankly and intimately sexual, in very plain language:
New world San Jose
I am lying, naked, on my stomach on the bed in a mirrored room, my face turned towards the open door to the narrow hallway. In principle, this means I’m offering my ass to be fucked, but in fact the signals are more complex than that. Men passing by will read my exposed ass in combination with my outward gaze as a general openness to sexual connection, including but not limited to a willingness to be fucked. If I turned my face away from the door, I’d be making one request – fuck me – not any kind of offer. If I lay on my back and contemplatively stroked my cock, it would be understood that my ass probably wasn’t on the program. If I sat up stroking my cock, offering it, then it wouldn’t even be clear that I was interested in other guys’ cocks. If I used my towel to cover my crotch, I’d be presenting a puzzle and a challenge.
I always lie naked on my stomach, eyes towards the door.
Several men have paused at the door, checked me out, and walked on. A few have leaned against the doorframe and asked me how things are goin’; when I rolled onto one elbow, they scoped out my cock, and said they’d be seein’ me.
I have learned that there really are size queens in this world [my cock is on the lower end of normal in length so in America I count as having a small, and therefore undesirable, cock], though not nearly as many as you might have supposed from the surface of gay male discourse, so I persist, and I don’t take these rejections to heart.
One guy – short, broad-shouldered, solid and rectangular – gives me a big Pancho-Villa-moustachioed smile, closes the door behind him, sits on the edge of the bed… and pulls me up to kiss him, in a new variation every ten seconds or so, for minutes on end. Hector and I have half-hard-ons, but somehow that’s not what’s important. I lick the ends of his long moustache; he rubs his nose against my neatly clipped one. He smells and tastes delicious, completely unlike me, cinnamon and chilis. He tells me I smell sexy, dirty but good (this would be my muskiness), nibbles my ears delicately, one after the other. I run my tongue slowly, systematically, between his teeth and lips, top first, then the bottom.
We take a break, exchange c.v.’s. Hector is a gardener, for a small family service, him and his brothers and a couple of cousins (“All estraight”, he adds, pulling an unhappy face.) I demote myself to a schoolteacher, junior high, not wanting The Professor to freeze this nice man up, wanting to locate myself in an occupational world he understands, can continue to feel comfortable with (as I am comfortable in his daytime world of soil and mulch and pruning shears).
We fall to a bit of childish silliness, comparing our very different bodies. His neck is short, thick, powerfully muscled; mine is longer, thinner, shows off my adam’s apple (which he kisses, delicately). He has very little hair on his body, while mine is moderately furry; each of us is slightly repelled, and also much aroused, by this gross difference in the surfaces of our bodies. His cock is only a bit longer than mine, but quite thick (a perfect mouthful), uncut (before Jacques came into my sexual life, I had no particular preference on this dimension, it was just another way for cocks to be, but now uncut cocks remind me sweetly of him), and darkly veined.
Hector is astonished to see my flow of pre-cum, the petit orgasm he has already given me. I tell him that my lover is utterly dry beforehand but leaks for ten or fifteen minutes afterwards, and that my boyfriend Tim, like Hector, saves it all for the main event. He is suddenly withdrawn, sad, confronted with a world where one can not only have a lover but boyfriends as well. I would like to lend him Tim, ship Danny back from Japan for him. I want to introduce him to Jacques, but Jacques is three thousand miles away.
I lick his ears (compact, like all the rest of him), with just the tip of my tongue. In the low yellow light of this room, they are golden brown. His spirit returns; he wraps his arms around me (does he understand how thrilling I find this sensation of power in reserve?), kisses my eyebrows, then gently closes my eyes by kissing my eyelids. He sighs deeply. He might, or might not, just have come, it’s not important.
My crotch is soaked with pre-cum, from one petit orgasm after another. I feel distraught, angry, that a gay bathhouse is apparently the only place in the world where this earnest, dignified man can find someone to hold him and tell him how desirable he is.
We hold each other, sharing the warmth of our bodies, for a few more minutes, then part without good-byes. At the door, with the knob in his hand, he raises one eyebrow, and I nod my head. He opens the door all the way, walks off down the hallway.
I lie back on my stomach, enjoying the wet spot under me, courtesy of Hector.
The crucial part is in boldface, and I am still fucking angry. And of course chunky Mexican guys are now totally hot for me. But I have worried for years how Hector — his sex name, surely not his real one, just as my name was Alex — ever managed his life, without bringing terrible consequences on himself.
(When I remember this event now, I recall that Hector and I traded blow jobs, as is everyday custom for gay men, but I see now that neither of us took the other’s cock into his body; if he had wanted to fuck me, well, that was what I was advertising, and if he had wanted me to fuck him, I would have given him that, but I see now that neither of us even sucked cock. It was all about intimacy and connection, and that was enormously pleasing. A moment of sexual grace.)
August 24, 2020 at 6:48 pm |
I guess I have a problem with vocabulary. Aren’t these two in contradiction?:
1. I recall that Hector and I traded blow jobs
2. I see now that neither of us even sucked cock
August 25, 2020 at 2:49 am |
No contradiction. The first statement is about my current recollection of the facts, which turns out to be inaccurate, as so many memories are. The second refers to a description of the event written very soon after it occurred and so is a more accurate account of what happened.
August 25, 2020 at 6:13 am |
Well, one reader got that posting without the image, I don’t know why
For the record, this was me, and it turned out to be a transient problem on my end, about which I should probably have kept silent.