Take me, please

(All about men’s bodies and mansex, described in street language, so utterly inappropriate for kids or the sexually modest. As usual, I have more general points to make about sex, gender, and sexuality, but there’s no getting around the flagrant raunchiness of the content.)

An e-mail ad yesterday for a Daily Jocks sale, promoting their DJX fetishwear, specifically their very handsome harnesses and jockstraps, that comes as close to being flat-out gay porn as possible. A beautifully (but not extravagantly) muscled male body, lying prone on the silky sheets of a bed — simultaneously tough and high-masculine and also sumptuously queer — with his knees drawn up to offer his very muscular male buttocks for sex.

The ad:


The photo has been doctored to smooth out the buttocks shot, so that we don’t see his actual asshole — that would definitely have been over the porn line — but do get to appreciate the promise and potential of his asscleft. It’s a Fuck Me shot, with a substantial tradition behind it.

And it’s beautifully done (credits to the photographer and editors). Look, when I was sexually active, I was mostly an enthusiastic bottom (like the character presented in #1), though nowhere near as butch-gorgeous, but still I find the presentation in #1 moving enough to make me fantasize about doing him, rather than being him; it got me hard. Of course, the point of the ad is to sell the goods, and the DJX people understand that their prospective customers mostly fantasize about being him and getting fucked in DJX fetishwear, but they’re offering both perspectives.

Fuck Me shots. From my 4/2/20 posting “Astride the jockstrap trail”:

a regular feature of this blog: advertisements for premium men’s underwear that treat men’s bodies simultaneously as the engines of vigorous athletic pursuits and as the loci of hot sex between men. And, correspondingly, that view the underwear — especially the quintessentially masculine undergarment, the jockstrap — as simultaneously a piece of sports gear and a vehicle for sexual advertisement, displaying a man’s package prominently in front and his bare buttocks behind.

… from my 12/30/18 posting “Sexual displays > offers: prone, supine, lateral”, in a section on prone displays of the naked male body, focused on the model’s buttocks (this is a version of a more explicit AZBlogX piece):

Many gay men, responding to their predilections and desires, would look upon these butts and find them arousing, would be inclined to view them as implicit offers; but they’re just posed bodies. Sometimes, however, the offer is explicit: the subject spreads his legs and humps up his ass, making his asshole available (and his cock and balls visible), as here…

(#2) Richard Vytniorgu, spread and humped up…

Spread and humped up, … in a variant of the prone position, but now offering his body. He could be easily fucked in this position, or he could raise himself up on his knees, offering himself for a doggie fuck

Vytniorgu is a twink, slim and adorable, and frankly presents himself as faggy (in my world, this is not a criticism); the hunky male model in #1, on the other hand, is presented as really butch, but as equally sexually receptive. They are both delicious, each in his own way.

In fact, the model in #1 is one step past Vytniorgu above: he has drawn up his knees partway, so that his ass is seriously humped up. Just one step from the sexual litany of oh fuck me fuck me please fuck me.

Notes on getting fucked. After getting hard, one of my first reactions to #1 was to think that the model really could have used some support under his crotch, to make it more comfortable for him to take a cock up his ass. I say this from personal experience as a pussy-ass faggot (in a previous life).

A great many years ago, I had come to appreciate (with enormous shame and pain) my desire for cock, and explored sucking guys off, often inexpertly and with great awkwardness, but I persevered. At the same time, I had appreciated my asshole as a source of pleasure from my earliest teenage years, regularly fingering my hole while jacking off. Eventually I realized that, well, I really wanted to combine these two themes and get fucked.

I bought a obvious gay sex magazine — Mandate or something like it —  in a shop in Boston’s Combat Zone (long gone) and took it a few blocks to Boston Common, sitting on a bench and displaying it prominently in the hope that I would attract a man to fuck me.

A very sweet man sat down next to me and  told me that I was doing something dangerous, there were guys who preyed on boys like me (well, I was 26, but the definition of boy is elastic), and flat out asked me if I wanted to be fucked. If not, he’d go away; if so, he could provide me with what I wanted, it was what he did for young men and he was good at it. He was both sweetly concerned and electrifyingly direct.

Here I note several important things: J was not only significantly older than me, he was also black and very prissily faggy — a gay auntie, in some people’s terms. I had no problem with either of those things (in fact, after the event, they both became sexually charged for me, thanks to J), so he took me to his flat on the back side of Beacon Hill, where he had a setup to engage in what he referred to as “annual intercourse” with his boys.

He was a hospital attendant at one of the big local hospitals. His setup included a gurney, well cushioned and at its lowest height (also, crucially, very stable) and it came with a hospital cushion to put under his boys’ asses so that they would be comfortable when he fucked them (there’s the connection to #1 above).

He then gave me an expert blowjob, explaining that that would relax my asshole and open me up for his cock (an excellent idea),  and he lubed my hole and finger-fucked me while he sucked me off. I came incredibly fast, and then me moved up on the gurney to mount me.

He slid his cock into me very slowly and carefully, not wanting to hurt me, asking me to tell him how it felt along the way, so he could give me what I needed. At some point I disintegrated into moaning, and then I was giving him what he wanted and he came, with an oh-fuck-fuck shout, inside me.

I don’t think this could have been more perfect. The hospital equipment I had not imagined, but otherwise this was my fantasy first fuck, and it was unimaginably, devastatingly, pleasurable.

Devastating because before that moment I thought I was just a very kinky straight guy who liked to suck cock sometimes and fantasized a lot about men, but now I appreciated that I was truly a fag, this was home and it was deeply satisfying, and somehow I would have to work out how to try to live a decent life in this identity.

Of course, it was a long hard slog, poisoned by shame from within me and hatred from outside.

In any case, in my experience, a pillow or cushion under your crotch when you’re getting fucked is an excellent idea.

On masculinity and getting fucked. The standard view in the straight world is that a guy who gets fucked is feminized by the experience, is in fact expressing a feminine identity. I know that there are guys for whom this is true — I’ve interviewed a few of them at some length, and I think I appreciate their sense of feminine identification and also think it should be honored — but it isn’t the way things have worked for me at all.

When I have a man’s cock inside me, I feel vibrantly masculine, like I have all of mine and he is sharing all of his with me; we are guy-squared, we’re juicing each other up. It feels astonishingly powerful. The physical sensations are complex and very satisfying (though they can be achieved with sex toys), but the emotional satisfactions are far beyond what I imagined when the 13-year-old Arnold played with his asshole while jacking off.

That was one of the lessons of getting fucked for the first time by J (see above), and I totally was not prepared for the possibility that J wasn’t just going to satisfy my anal itch (wherever that came from, who knows), but that he was going to take me to a fresh state of being, just by giving his dick to me. (I remind you that J was nobody’s ideal of masculinity, but he had a dick and he shared it with me and generously gave me his cum, the physical essence of his masculinity, within my body.)

Yes, I know. Earlier postings might have told you that from earliest childhood I was perceived by others as being insufficiently masculine — not nearly aggressive enough, deeply aversive to playing sports and to sports fandom, artistic and nerdy instead, given to close friendships with girls, and so on — though my own perceptions were that I was just a guy, but an unusual species of guy. Well, yes, it turned out I was also queer, which amplified other people’s perceptions that I was a failure at masculinity. But I continue to feel that I’m both male and masculine — just with my own brand of (homo)masculinity.

But there’s no way I was deaf to all these outside opinions about my failures as a man. It actually seems reasonable to me to think that I’ve responded to these negative views by seeing sex with other men as a way of taking their own masculinity within me (both figuratively and literally). My pleasure at getting fucked might have its roots in a kind of mutually reassuring trade: you give me your masculinity, buddy, and I’ll give you mine.

Thinking about it this way, I say, well, that’s not a bad deal. So what if my intense pleasure at getting fucked might have originated in my anxieties about my masculinity? Why should anyone care? It works for everybody involved, it harms no one, it doesn’t frighten the horses in the street. Why mess with that?

I do not, of course, think I am alone in my feelings. So I’m talking to other guys here. Pretty clearly, there are lots of us. In fact, we fuel much of gay porn, the part devoted to the proposition that

Real Men Take It Up the Ass

(examples all over my blogging on mansex). A defiant assertion of shared masculinity though fucking.

You should probably see this (very strong) Real Men theme of gay porn as reassurance to its customers that their desires to be fucked are not only acceptable, but both customary and laudable. (I’m not disagreeing with that.)


4 Responses to “Take me, please”

  1. kenru Says:

    My life as a gay man would have been incredibly more enjoyable if I had any predilection towards bottoming. My first experience in a car at age 18 was so painful, and being raped and damaged by a straight boy that I loved in my 30s, were my only anal experiences…so no wonder I feel cheated. Fortunately, I enjoyed topping and sucking; and my libido has never been strong, so my life as a K-5.5 wasn’t a total loss.

    • arnold zwicky Says:

      (First, lt me say that my extravagant openness about my sexual experiences has invited others to come forward, and I think that’s a very good thing, because in general people have very little clue about other people’s actual sexual lives, which is a great shame; everybody’s expected to somehow puzzle it out for themselves.)

      So every story should be valued.

      The brief version of Kenru’s story turns out to be an unfortunately familiar one. Guys, straight but also gay, rape other guys with some frequency; it’s about dominance and humiliation and has little to do with sex.

      Ok, another chapter in the World of Boys.

      Even when I was a little kid, taunted as a fairy boy, I took the verbal abuse but absolutely protected my body. If you proposed to beat the shit out of the fairy-boy, I made it immediately clear that if you touched me I would try to kill you, I was that crazy, I would smash your fag-hating face in. It only took one application, and no one ever tried to touch me again; word got around. They still abused me verbally, but I could take that, and in a way surmounting each round of abuse just made me stronger. (Sex hint: if you are inclined like me, your sexual partner can give you a good ride with a display of humiliating dirty talk.)

      I am frankly disturbed by the rage that unwanted advances inspired in me — it’s truly scary; that was the first time that I realized I would actually be capable of killing someone, but it was not the last. If as a group they overpowered and raped me, I would hunt them down and maim or kill every one of the fuckers. YOU DO NOT MESS WITH MY BODY.

      Fortunately, I was never put into situations that called up these responses. Probably, I just gave off a ton of aggression signals, and guys just backed off.

      But Kenru reports on a much more distressing scenario, in which friendship works as a cover for abuse. A lot of straight guys think that fucking a fag in the ass makes them lords of the universe. I think we should just slice their dicks off. (see Diane DiMassa’s Hothead Paisan)

  2. kenru Says:

    I’m not sure that Richard even thought about it as rape. In his mind, I think he thought that forcefully banging away (to the point of damage) was something that despite my protestations of pain and stated unwillingness to be fucked was something that I secretly longed for from him anyway, since it was clear during our long friendship that I had real feelings of love for him. He was drunk and I think frustrated by his girlfriend at the time, and I guess just sort of ignorant of the consequences of his act. I don’t think he was doing it out of malice or to prove his manhood. But even so, my feelings for him were so strong (and all my relationships have had a tinge of masochism on my part) it didn’t end our friendship (him dying in a car accident in an old 4-wheeler that was a gift from me) did end it eventually. Every male I’ve ever been in love with died (murder, accident, disease) while I was involved with them. That says something about me that I really need to confront but can’t.

    • arnold zwicky Says:

      “Every male I’ve ever been in love with died (murder, accident, disease) while I was involved with them. That says something about me that I really need to confront but can’t.”

      Please don’t beat up on yourself for what’s just the nature of the world. Terrible things happen to everyone, and more and more of them collect as you age. It never occurred to me that having both Ann and then Jacques die was somehow my fault, as if I were some sort of curse. That’s just preposterous.

      You’ve lived a long time, so you’ve accumulated a trail of tragedies. That’s life. Please don’t think you somehow invited them.

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