Archive for the ‘Signs and symbols’ Category

Annals of sexual slang: peacocks

April 1, 2020

News for penises, in Latin.

Mike Pope, posting on Facebook yesterday, this Duolingo example:

(#1)

Eyebrows were immediately raised.

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St. Martin des Poires

March 29, 2020

(Nothing actually crude, but a lot of mostly high-falutin’ sextalk that might give some people the fantods.)

In yesterday’s mail, a postcard from Ryan Tamares (a Stanford friend who is now socially but not postally distant from me) with this crate label from the 1920s and 1930s, featuring a character I’ll call the Bartlett Pear Kid:


(#1) We’ve been here before, in my 2/14/12 posting “Suggestive”, where I wrote: “The newsboy is hustling pears, but to modern eyes the label suggests something more salacious.”

I pursued this example further in a 6/14/16 posting “Crate labels”, which I’ll take up in a little while. But first the literally fabulous history of the Bartlett Pear Kid, who eventually became St. Martin des Poires, B.P.I.

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Three men

March 25, 2020

More News for Penises. About three men who make a living by “bodywork”: Jack Vidra, Seth Fornea, Hayden Clark. About their penises as the driving elements of their livelihoods; their penises as cultural and aesthetic objects; and especially about their penises as elements in their presentations of self.

It’s a lot of dick, all of the time, and thoroughly unsuitable for kids and the sexually modest. Most of this material appeared first in my AZBlogX posting earlier today, “Vidra Fornea Clark” (though actual dicks don’t appear here, to satisfy WordPress modesty).

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Mexican dicks with super-spiny nipples

March 24, 2020

(The penises (and nipples) are all symbolic, but if that troubles you, the title should be a warning.)

Yes, the News for Penises is back in business, with a bulletin from our floral department, beginning with the truly stunning image of plants of what was described as the Mammillaria cactus species pilcayensis:


(#1) A collection of what are variously referred to as sock, finger, thumb, or penis cactuses — the last especially because of the color-marked analogue of the glans penis, complete with a purple analogue of the corona of the glans penis (alternatively, those could be finger tips, or toes)

(On the corona as bodypart, see my 3/6/20 posting “Tragedies of the pandemic”.)

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Higashi Day cartoon 5: hoods and newts

March 15, 2020

(Little kids, but I pursue them into the weeds of sexual anatomy, though without the photos or raunchy talk. Take appropriate cautions.)

The One Big Happy cartoon from 2/9:


(#1) Once again, about the kids finding a word (un)familiar in a particular sense: the apparel noun hood

And the OBH from 2/17:


(#2) And minute ‘extremely small, tiny’

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Tragedies of the pandemic

March 6, 2020

(Penises play a significant role in this posting, so it might not be to everyone’s taste.)

We regret to report the end of Lord Alfred Douglas, famed devotee of fellatio. Yes, it’s

(A) goodbye to Bosie, the queen of coronas

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A clean t-room is a *happy* t-room

February 28, 2020

(T-rooms, lots of men’s naughty bits and raunchy doings, so not for kids or the sexually modest.)

From David Preston on Facebook, this public service ad from the US Centers for Disease Control, which David and I, and a number of others, chose to interpret as depicting a scene in an unusually clean and bright t-room / tearoom (from NOAD: “North American informal a public restroom used as a meeting place for homosexual encounters”; more in postings inventoried in the “Sex in public” Page on this blog):


(#1) One in a recent series of CDC Clean Hands ads. I have no idea what the CDC intended the heavy circle and 4-point starburst symbols to convey, or the color difference between yellow and blue (some of the ads have white symbols as well), though they do seem to associate that shade of blue with cleanliness (in a simple world of binary symbol distinctions, that would associate the bright yellow color with dirtiness — but for what purpose, I have no idea)

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Timothy and Agrimony

February 25, 2020

(Plants, but also gay male life, with the latter focus leading to talk of mansex in street language (also with some deeply carnal (but fuzzed) photos of 69ing), so not for kids or the sexually modest.)

My morning names for 2/15: timothy and agrimony. A familiar crop grass (for grazing and hay) and a yellow-flowered bitter-tasting medicinal herb. Then these personified as two queer types: Timothy — called Timmy — the twink, a cute country boy, a hayseed, sometimes found with a stalk of grass between his teeth; and Agrimony — called Agro — the bitter old queen, jaded, sharp-tongued, largely disaffected with the queer community and feeling alienated from those in it.

The two men are of course unlikely to hook up, or even have anything to do with one another socially, but they share one bit of their sexual makeup: they both adore 69, find the exchange deeply satisfying. But characteristically, they prefer different positions for the act.

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Lincoln Darwin Valentine Day

February 13, 2020

(Uncompromisingly raunchy references to male bodyparts and mansex, so absolutely not for kids or the sexually modest.)

Lincoln Darwin Valentine Day lies in the cleft between Lincoln Darwin Day, February 12th, and Valentine’s Day, February 14th. It is a day of unbridled mansexual excess, coming as it does between the high seriousness of the day that honors two towering figures — two Great Men — of the 19th century and the romantic heterosexual excesses of Valentine’s Day. It’s Carnal Carnival without reference to the religious calendar (actual Mardi Gras can fall any time between February 3rd and March 9th).

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Another Super Bowl Sunday

February 2, 2020

(For me, Super Bowl Sunday frequently erupts into a festival of sex, either literal or fictional, between men, so this posting about my relationship to the event will be awash in male bodyparts and mansex, described in street language, and will therefore be entirely unsuitable for kids and the sexually modest.)

That would be Super Bowl LIV, the San Francisco 49ers vs. the Kansas City Chiefs at Hard Rock Stadium in Miami Gardens FL, game time 6:30 EST, so going on as I type this:


(#1) The logo for Super Bowl 54, in all of its boring shininess

I have an unbroken record of not viewing Super Bowl games, and not giving a shit about any of their details — I had to go look up the facts above — so my custom has always been to do something out of the public eye, where my homonormative sports-averse masculinity won’t incite thugs to harass me. Chamber music concerts used to be a favorite alternative, along with occasional Super Bowl days reveling in cock at the gay baths (some notes below), but I’ve been a lone homebody for some years now, and get my Super Bowl mansex in videos; today has brought me many pleasurable hours re-viewing the oeuvre of the sweetly smiling hunky Damien Crosse, that exponent of sexually democratic, mutually attentive sex, intense assfucking, and cum facials, among other things. (I’ll expound further on DC’s charms in another posting.)

After some brief notes on that logo — the hell with the game, let’s talk about design, honey — I’ll run through some Super Bowl notes roughly in reverse chronological order. Backwards will run the postings until reels the mind.

The logo. It follows the pattern established ten years ago, when someone introduced the shiny metallic dick ejaculating a great big shiny metallic football as a design element. (I believe many people think the vertical element is just supporting the football, but sharp-eyed viewers know otherwise.) And then, in the place of complex and varied logos, we got this:

(#2)

Yesterday: the demise of Mr. Peanut as a Super Bowl ad event. From my 2/1/10 posting “Revisiting 42: stalked by a giant anthropomorphic squirrel”, with a David Sipress cartoon:

(#3)

the cartoon is exquisitely topical: Mr. Peanut has in fact just met his death (though not as the prey of a giant squirrel), and will be mourned at the Super Bowl [on the 2nd]

(Further details in the posting.)

And now: Sexy Sunday, ooh, what have you done?  (in 2016, 2014, and 1996)

2016: Gridiron Gang Bang. In my 2/6/16 posting “The Super Bowl looms”:

On Super Bowl 50, a gay gangbang, language play in porn, and the careening career of gay pornstar Dayton O’Connor, all of this inspired by an ad today under the header “C1R Locker Room Super Bowl Pass”, with two stills from the Channel 1 Releasing gay porn flick Gridiron Gang Bang: a locker room scene and a rear shot of Dayton O’Connor in football gear.

(#4)

2014: two Todd Winters videos. Not previously blogged about, but then today on AZBogX, in my posting “Jocks, Socks & Cocks”:

Two gay porn items [both from 2014] that came to my mind for Super Bowl LIV today:

From Channel 1 Releasing: Todd Winters as a football player, in Rascal’s Take One For The Team (with a jockstrap on the cover, but no dick)

(#5)

and in Catalina’s Jocks, Socks & Cocks (with three stiff dicks on the cover, in a careful formal composition of sexually significant visual elements)


(#6) Cover cropped to hide the three hard cocks

(The AZBlogX piece has an analysis of the formal composition of the cover of JS&C, using the material cropped above.)

Note on Take One For The Team. From the Lexico / Oxford site:

phrase take one for the team: US informal Willingly undertake an unpleasant task or make a personal sacrifice for the collective benefit of one’s friends or colleagues.‘I took one for the team by naming myself the designated driver’

But then the idiom can be understood as roughly equivalent to take it for the team, with it understood as referring to a penis; take it ‘to have sexual intercourse’ (in GDoS from 1910 on) is in fact understood as receptive intercourse specifically, and can be either vaginal or, especially, anal (to take it up/in the ass). Putting all this together gets us from the neutral idiom take one for the team to the contextually conveyed ‘get fucked (up the ass) for (or by) the team’, which is what the porn video is about.

Note on the ad copy for JS&C. A bit of  excellent iconic prosody built on conventional dirty talk: four pile-driving feet followed by two lightly racing feet: hard deep fucking followed by a rapid shower of cum:

(#6)

(The vowels are also nicely chosen.) All of these poetic niceties are of course intuitive, not calculated — choices made just because they “sounded right” to the writer.

1996: Superbowl Sunday at the baths in San Jose. An account reproduced on AZBlogX in three parts on 10/3/10. Intense and personal, but also analytical: participant observation. The three parts: “Superbowl Sunday (Part I): San Jose, 1996” (link), “Superbowl Sunday (Part II)” (link); “Superbowl Sunday: notes” (link).

From the first:

Football fan.  At the gay baths, there is a noticeable outflow of patrons as the magic hour of 3 (Pacific Time) approaches: fags hurrying on to their Superbowl parties.

I know what some of you are saying to yourselves: they aren’t real fags, they are mostly-straight bisexuals, in the closet, getting a little dick on the side. And that is probably the case for the first guy I play with – a guy with hugely broad shoulders and big chest who reels me in in the porn-TV lounge by stroking his proportionally big hard-on under his towel and staring fixedly at me. I follow him back to his room, where it turns out that what he wants is to suck my cock for a little while, an experience that gets him so excited he comes almost immediately (in a spray that goes over two feet – it splashes on his face – something I’ve never seen before and find entertaining, in a Believe It or Not sort of way).

Football Fan has a wedding ring on. In the over 40 years since my first carnal experience with another man, I’ve had maybe a dozen guys ask to suck my cock and then shoot within seconds of taking it (always appreciatively, but then as far as they were concerned we were done). Every one of them was a married man, to judge from their wedding rings or their explicit testimonies.

Football Fan was, I believe, a lone patron that Super Day, looking for dick on his own hook.

But, in the other direction, it wasn’t uncommon for two or three buddies (sometimes, they were married friends, ostensibly just guys hanging out with one another) to turn up together to get serviced by willing cocksuckers, to get the easy, skilled, responsibility-free, just-the-sex-man blow jobs that (they feel) their women can’t provide. Usually completely unreciprocal sex, but not at all hostile. Still … as one of them said to me after I’d taken his load (with pleasure) and suggested I’d like him to exchange the favor, “Well, you can’t help being the way you are, but I’m not queer”. Not hostile, but thoughtlessly contemptuous.

In any case, all of these MSMs could get their quick mansex fix and go on refreshed to their Super Bowl parties. In a way, I was relieved that Football Fan was in and out so quickly, because he really was a football fan, and if we’d talked any more he would have discovered what a dead loss I was in the sports department, and maybe then in his eyes I wouldn’t have been man enough to get him off.

(Eventually, I had an extraordinarily good time, stretching over a couple of hours, amazingly intricate and satisfying sex with just one guy, on that Super Day at the baths. But no football was involved in any way.)