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Friday, March 25, 2011

Acquired Tastes, Chapter X: Poppers

Lots of things get my heart racing: a big dick, walk-in scenes, being blindfolded, stalking sexual prey in the woods, etc., but Poppers is the only chemical agent that I actually inhale on any basis that causes that effect. Poppers have become part of my modus operendi and my sex kit – and I’m not talking about the jalapeño kind that get Paul Deen all wet in the panties (although, she’s a progressive gal, so who knows).

Poppers have been on the scene for a long time. They were hella popular during the 1970’s and remain a consistent part of gay male sex. They remained a foreign element for me for the longest time. I remember the ammonia capsules that I were part of my First Aid Kit as a football manager. Someone shoved one of those under my nose once; I recoiled and never messed with them again. That stimulant is created when ammonium carbonate is mixed with perfume. The ammonia fumes from the salts irritate the membranes of the nose and lungs which triggers a reflex causing the muscles that control breathing to work faster. You may know them as “smelling salts”. Brett Farve was caught last season on the sidelines using them as a sort of performance enhancer (for the game, not for those dick pics he sent to that woman). Their use is also prevalent among certain college athletic teams and power lifters.

During the 80’s I worked at a convenience store next to one of Ferris Alexander’s porn movie theatres. There was an occasion when a fellow came in, bought a can of Lysol spray, went outside and promptly sprayed the whole can into a washcloth. He then put it to his face and passed out on the sidewalk. At the time, I thought that was just crazy business, but it turns out it’s something that was prevalent among the Native American population. This is an overt example of huffing, but I didn’t recognize it as such at the time.

The whole concept of huffing really wasn’t on my horizon until the late 90’s. And thanks to the A&E show “Intervention”, I now know only too well the pitfalls and means of excessive huffing.

Now, let’s not kid ourselves here -I do my best to not be my own fool. I don’t think I’m going to ruffle anyone’s feathers, but let’s face it – Poppers is huffing; it’s just a more socially accepted form of it. Granted, The Merck Manual of Diagnosis and Therapy once reported that there was “little evidence of any significant hazard associated with the inhalation of alkyl nitrites” and a 1983 U.S. Consumer Product Safety Commission stated that "Available injury data did not indicate a significant risk of personal injury or illness from room odorizer abuse."
, but there are still side effects – usually mild, though in some cases more severe.

I’ve often wondered what law enforcement thinks about them. Recently, Poppers manufacturers came under fire by the FDA. The plants producing them were shut down and sex shops pulled all product off their shelves. A month later, the plants were allowed to reopen, production resumed, and sex shops were selling them again (at a higher price, of course). As far as local laws, I am not aware of any that prohibit one from possessing Poppers. However, if I was stopped by a police officer, in my car or in the woods and had a bottle in my possession would I be ticketed or censured in some way? If anyone knows, please write me.


Scope of Activity:

The inhalation of nitrates during sex (gay male sex).

The Official Line:

With information from Wikipedia:

Poppers are a class of chemicals called alkyl nitrites. These are chemical compounds of structure R–ONO. In more formal terms, they are alkyl esters of nitrous acid. The first few members of the series are volatile liquids; methyl nitrite and ethyl nitrite are gaseous at room temperature and pressure. Organic nitrites are prepared from alcohols and sodium nitrite in a sulfuric acid solution. They decompose slowly on standing; the decomposition products being oxides of nitrogen, water, alcohol, and the polymerization products of the aldehyde.

Nitrates were initially prescribed to treat angina. At one point they were made available without a prescription (1960), but due to a rise in recreational use, that decision was reversed in 1969. Other alkyl nitrites were outlawed in the USA by Congress through the Anti-Drug Abuse Act of 1988, but the law included an exception for commercial purposes – which is exactly how the sex shops get around the law and why the terms “room odorizer” or “head cleaner” appear on the labels of bottles of Poppers.

Inhaling nitrites relaxes smooth muscles throughout the body, including the sphincter muscles of the anus. Smooth muscle surrounds the body's blood vessels and when relaxed causes these vessels to dilate, resulting in an immediate increase in heart rate and blood flow throughout the body. This produces a sensation of heat and excitement that usually lasts for a couple of minutes. It is unclear if there is a direct effect on the brain.

Alkyl nitrites are often used as a club drug (while dancing) or to enhance a sexual experience. The head rush, euphoria, and other sensations that result from the increased heart rate are often felt to increase sexual arousal and desire. Supposedly, Poppers enhance and prolong orgasms. However, this euphoric experience is not universal; some men report that Poppers can cause short-term erectile problems and headaches. Also, if one’s skin is exposed directly to the chemical in liquid form, minor burns may result.

With prolonged use, you will find that the rim of your nostrils will become inflamed or ‘scorched’ and your eyes will become red. Poppers can also mess with your immune system. The next day you may have plugged sinuses and a sore throat (although the sore throat could be due to having had a big old dick massaging your tonsils for an extended period of time).

For a time, during the peak of the AIDS scare, use of Poppers was thought to be a possible cause or source agent. That has since been disproved, although if you have HIV there is some evidence that that use of Poppers can have a very negative effect on your already damaged immune system.

Poppers are not for everyone. If you have a heart condition you should not use Poppers. Viagra and Poppers should not be used simultaneously, as in combination they may cause heart issues. And never smoke (period) and do Poppers at the same time - that shit is flammable, childrens! You gots to be careful!

Psychological Aspects:

I do happen to experience the euphoria described above. Initially, when I first began to use them it was incredibly intense; I felt like I was melting. Now, I still experience something akin to that, though since it’s no longer a new a sensation it seems less intense. I also have to inhale them more deeply, for a longer period of time before I am satisfied and the desired effect is achieved.

They are definitely a means of escape for me; as in, I seek to be less conscious of what I’m doing. Part of that is because I want to get over myself; prevent myself from being too critical, or too aware of my surroundings. In a way, they become a means of giving myself permission to do something – like whore my ass out – that I would not normally do. I also use them when confronted with a larger-than-average or thicker-than-average dick. In those instances, inhaling Poppers allows me to relax my muscles, which in turn relaxes me psychologically. When in such a relaxed state having one of those monsters stretch my hole, while still an intense experience, is a much less painful one.

I worry that I use them as a crutch to get through less-than-wonderful sexual encounters. At one point I was very concerned that the only reason I was having sex with anyone was so I would have an excuse to do Poppers.

I discovered that doing them alone is not much fun, or at least I don’t enjoy them as much. I’ve also entertained the idea of being ‘addicted to Poppers’. However, I have managed to resist the urge to use them, time and time again, and have had sex numerous times without them since that concern was raised. There is also no evidence that Poppers are addictive, although I think they can be habit forming.

Maintaining an erection while doing Poppers can be difficult for me, so I don’t do them when topping. I have had success flip flopping with them, and that is especially true when their use is combined with 420. In those instances maintaining at least a three-quarter erection was possible for an unusual length of time, as were multiple orgasms.

My Experience:

The first time I tried them was in 1987 – and I HATED them. Why would anyone do this to themselves, I thought. They were awful. It didn’t make me feel sexual at all; instead it scared the hell out of me. I didn’t try them again until I switched over and became a hard core bottom, which was about 2001, I think. I was working downtown, spending a lot of time cruising the skyways and checking out the active Tea Rooms. The person responsible for turning me onto Poppers at that time was this little black stallion that I used to meet up with once or twice a month in this warehouse space in the basement of a certain downtown landmark. He was very short, had a tiny, tight body, and was extremely cute. He also had a huge dick, which I didn’t appreciate nearly enough at the time. Anyway, I do believe he was the reason I started to do them. I started purchasing them about that time, too.

The other person who was influential was this older, redheaded dude that I used to host at my place from time to time. Initially, I just adored that sense of fading away I was able to achieve with him. He had a thick dick and it was early in my career as a bottom, so melting onto a dick definitely was preferable to getting all anxious about it.

Shortly after that I started doing them while cruising in Tea Rooms. One learns quickly in those situation that little brown bottles coming in contact with ceramic tile will result in a loss of Poppers, broken glass, and a big mess. I also learned, the hard way, that Poppers when spilled on linoleum can cause serious damage to the floor. I think it was also about then I began to grow concerned about the harmful effects of Poppers. I mean, if they can do THAT to linoleum, then just think what they are can do to soft tissue and brain cells.

I love it when my tops use Poppers. There is something super sexy about them taking a hit and then fucking me. It’s like the Poppers have the opposite effect on them, like they become Superman or something. It makes me view them as very powerful. I also love watching porn or amateur porn (on XTube) where dudes use Poppers, either while having sex with someone else or while masturbating. The baters who talk about it while doing it, as if you are in the room, send me over the edge every time. I also love it when a top orders his bottom to take a hit. God, that gets to me, big time - I feel like a school-girl talking about Justin Bieber, for Christ-sakes. Jeesh.

Wait a second… I gotta get a hold of myself. Whoa!

Okay, heart returning to near normal level.

I use Poppers so frequently that I can’t single out an instance when they were more responsible for me having a good time than any other time. They’ve become such a part of my act that no single instance is distinguishable from the others. I have written about Poppers previously on this blog. That post can be found here:

It is more fun when the person you’re with does them, too. Or enjoys them. Or likes you enjoying them. Or forces them on you. A dom top who holds a bottle to my nose and orders me to inhale? Hot. Sharing them face to face can be sweet, too. Weirdly romantic – probably something akin to what those goth couples doing absinthe experience. It’s interesting… writing about this? It makes me feel like a drug addict. Next, I was going to compare it to something that Courtney and Kurt must have experienced when they did heroin together, but I think that’s going too far. Heroin seems so selfish and withdrawn. Poppers temporarily touch on that sort of feeling, but really are more about the initial rush. And Poppers are social – I mean, what’s more social than getting fucked?

Oh… Brands! Which have I had good success with? I really like Man Scent and Amsterdam. But really? I think they are all pretty much alike. It comes down to keeping them cold and sealed tightly once they are unsealed. A lot of users will tell you that once the seal is broken, it’s all down hill from there, but I have found that if I mix what’s left in all my mini-bottles into one bottle, sometimes they come back alive.

I’ve gotten over that whole – never snort from a bottle without a label thing. It used to freak out when someone would hand me a plain brown bottle. I mean, what are you handing me? Who knows? Are you trying to gas me or something? In instances where I feel unsafe, I just refuse. No harm in saying no. Better safe than sorry.

The one thing I have not experienced? Have you ever seen one of those gas masks with the hose on the end and they stick a bottle of poppers on the end of it? I’ve seen this on Xtube and it looks intriguing, but then again, it also looks like something that might make me vomit. Yes, too much of a good thing is rarely a good thing, and in the case of poppers, I have a feeling that less is more… as in more fun. But because I have never tried it, I can’t say for certain whether or not it is something I would enjoy. So, if the opportunity presented itself – I’d more than likely (provided I felt safe with the person I was with) I would try it. The one thing about those Xtube vids that I’ve seen that disturb me a bit? The guys are also bound at the time, so they have no ability to resist or take the mask off if it would make them ill. Being tied up at the time certainly ramps up the amps, making the whole scene more intense, but I would probably ask to try it out without my hands being bound first. Again – better safe than sorry.

My Conclusion:

Writing about Poppers has been rather like the product itself – kind of a rush. That said, I have tempered my usage quite a bit. About three years ago I wouldn’t do anything sexual without them. Since that time I’ve relaxed that rule and discovered that getting fucked without them can actually be more pleasurable. Without them I remain hyper aware of my body and more responsive and sensitive to changes; such as the stretching and pulling of muscle tissue. There have been times when I think my performance as a sexual partner has indeed suffered because of my use – nobody likes a dead-weight bottom; one who just lays there and makes the top do all the work. That’s boorish, boring behavior. Excessive Popper use, I have found, can lead in that direction.

At the same time, I doubt I will ever give them up, or at least not until I withdraw from the field of sexual encounters. And I don’t see myself doing that anytime soon.

Next week: Twinks

Sunday, March 20, 2011

The Kinky Report: March 16, 2010 - March 15, 2011


On March 16, 2009, I began keeping a diary of sorts in order to capture information regarding my sexual exploits. I published the statistics I was able to glean from that recorded data last year here:

The following is a list of statistics from this year’s (3/16/10 – 3/15/11) data. The diary is fairly accurate as I did a good job of consistently recording my exploits. In fact, unlike last year, I managed to record every sexual encounter I had during that time period.

It should be noted that this year a “bath house” opened in Minneapolis. I put that in quotes because it really isn’t an official business; rather it’s something of a best kept secret/underground sensation. I’ve visited seven times since it opened, and while I initially limited the number of guys I would play with when there, during my last two visits I just went with the flow and had an over the top time. I also attended two, small-scale sex parties in private homes (a first). Those events probably had some impact on this year’s numbers.

I’m thinking it might be important to compare this year’s stats to last year’s, so the data will be presented in the following format: This Year’s Stat / Last Year’s Stat.

Closed for Business: 34 / 40
Stood Up: 15 / 8
No, Didn’t Find Anything or Not in the Mood: 161 / 157
Total Days of No Sexual Activity: 195 (55% of Year / 205 (58% of Year)
Number of Days I Did Look and Find: 157 (2.47 Men per Day) (45% of Year) / 160 (1.67 Men per Day) (44% of Year)
Total Number of Times I Participated in Sexual Activity: 388/267 (45% Increase)

No Cum: Number of Times Guys Failed or Chose Not to Cum: 99/ 38 (161% increase)
Flip Flop: 4 / 6 (33% decrease)
Me Top: 12 / 16 (25% decrease)
Oral on Me: 76 / 18 (322% increase)
Oral: 181 / 148 (22% increase)
Anal: 25 / 4 (525% increase)
Oral and Anal: 137 / 92 (49% increase)
Kiss: 125 / 65 (92% increase)
Rim (me or them): 56 / 26 (115% increase)
J/O: 46 / 19 (142% increase)
Menage a trios: 28 /12 (133% increase)
Group Activity: 15 / 5 (200 % increase)
Blindfolded: 33 / 35 (6% decrease)

Total Outdoors: 162 (42% of all sexual activity for year) / 160 (60% of all sexual activity for year) (4% decrease)
Bog/Wirth: 27 / 50 (46% decrease)
Prairie: 81 / 74 (9% increase)
St Paul: 0 / 3 (100% decrease)
East River Road: 54 / 33 (64% increase)

Car: 29 / 14 (At the listed parks) (107% increase)

Total Indoors: 226 (58% of all sexual activity for the year) / 107 (40% of all sexual activity for the year) (111% increase)
Rehab House: 48 / 33 (45% increase)
My Place: 13 / 11 (18% increase)
Their Place: 54 / 47 (15% increase)
Hotel: 14 / 4 (250% increase)
Public (Garage, Restroom, Sauna, Gym, or Their Office): 97 (20 of which were in a garage) / 12 (708% increase)

The Experience
Exceptional: 46 (12% of experiences)/28 (10.5% of experiences)
Good: 99 (26% of experiences) / 74 (27.5% of experiences)
Average: 182 (47% of experiences) / 108 (40.5% of experiences)
Bad: 61 (16% of experiences) / 57 (21% of experiences)
Repeat: 115 (30% of experiences) / 122

White: 335 (86%) / 225 (84%)
Black: 18 (5%) / 20 (7.5%)
Asian: 5 (1%) / 2 (1%)
East Indian: 6 (2%) / 6 (2%)
Hispanic: 24 (6%) / 14 (5%)

SizeOver 8: 62 (16%) / 54 (20%)
7 to 8: 114 (29%) / 99 (37%)
Under 7: 144 (7 to 6) and 68 (Age20’s: 53 (14%) / 35 (13%)
30’s: 98 (25%) / 74 (28%)
40’s: 167 (43%) / 102 (38%)
50’s: 60 (15%) / 53 (20%)
60’s: 10 (3%) / 3 (1%)

Physical Condition
Excellent Shape: 80 (21%) / N/A
Good Shape: 148 (38%) / 89 (33%) – (Means: This year 228 were in Good or Excellent Shape, which accounts for 59% of all experiences)
Okay Shape: 123 (32%) / 124 (46%)
Bad Shape: 37 (9%) / 54 (20%)
Long Time (over an hour): 29 / N/A
Handsome: 98 (25%) / 64 (24%)
Bald: 41 (11%) / 42 (16%)

Definition of Terms

Closed for Business: 34
Due to a series of minor surgeries that took place during the year and the aftermath of recovery associated, I was physically unable to participate in sexual activity on these days. These may have also been days when I had a cold and abstained. This accounts for 9% of the year.

Stood Up: 15
These are occasions when I had plans with an individual and that individual failed to show. This would not necessarily sour my mood and curtail activities for that day.

No, Didn’t Find Anything or Not in the Mood: 161Data failed to distinguish between these two reasons for lack of sexual activity.

Flip Flop: 4
Describes occasions when an individual would perform anal sex as a top with me in the role of bottom and then I would perform anal sex as a top with them in the role of bottom.

Me Top: 12Times I served as the only top during the encounter, describing occasions when I would perform anal sex as a top with them in the role of bottom.

Oral on Me: 76
Occasions when I received oral sex from another – this may, or may not have been done in conjunction with other types of sexual activity.

Oral: 181Occasions when the only activity engaged in, other than kissing, fondling or frottage, was me performing oral sex on an individual

Anal: 25Occasions when the only activity engaged in was me being topped by (receiving anal sex or bottoming) an individual (no kissing, fondling or frottage).

Oral and Anal: 137Occasions when I performed oral sex on and individual and received anal sex from the same individual.

Kiss: 125
Occasions when kissing was involved.

Rim (me or them): 56
Occasions when rimming was involved and I performed it on them and/or they performed it on me.

J/O: 46Occasions when masturbation (mutual or solo) – this may, or may not have been done in conjunction with other types of sexual activity.

Menage a trios: 28Occasions when two individuals and myself participated in sexual activities with one another at the same time.

Group Activity: 15
Occasions when 3 or more individuals and myself participated in sexual activities with one another at the same time.
Least number present (includes self) to qualify as Group Activity: 4.

Blindfolded: 33
Occasions when I wore a blindfold during sexual activity. Typical scenario featured me wearing blindfold before other(s) arrived, until other(s) departed.
Total Outdoors: 162Number of sexual encounters that took place outside, typically in wooded areas
Bog/Wirth: 27, Prairie: 81, St Paul: 0, East River Road: 54Parks/Wooded Areas where sexual activity took place
Car: 29 (At the listed parks)This number in included in the number of total outdoor sexual encounters and is accounted for as they related to the park/wooded area where initial contact and subsequent agreement to engage in sexual activity took place.

Total Indoors: 226
Number of sexual encounters that took place indoors (Private House or Public Building)
Rehab House: 48Occasions when an individual(s) would come to a house I was rehabbing for the purposes of sexual activity

Hotel: 14
Scenario where I traveled to their (out of town visitor) hotel room, here in the Twin Cities

Public (Garage, Restroom, Sauna, Gym, or Their Office): 97 (20 of which were in a garage)
Occasions when sex took place in a non-traditional location other than outdoors
The Experience (Exceptional: 46, Good: 99, Average: 182, Bad: 61)These ratings are defined by my personal likes and dislikes as relating to sexual activity and/or the physical attributes or behavior of the individual(s) involved. Ratings are of a purely subjective nature.
Repeat: 115Occasions when I engaged in sexual activity with a given individual on more than one occasion. It includes individuals with whom I engaged in sexual activity with prior to the beginning of the defined year, but had occasion to have engage in sexual activity during the defined year.

Size (Over 8: 62, 7 to 8: 114, 7-6: 144, Under 6: 68)
As it relates to the length of an individuals fully erect penis in units of inches. Measurements based on personal visual determination or claims of individual as stated in emails and then verified via personal visual determination. (Note: Last year there was not a category labeled “Under 6”.)

Age (20’s: 53, 30’s: 98, 40’s: 167, 50’s: 60, 60’s: 10)
In terms of years, based on personal visual determination or claims of individual as stated in emails or during conversation and then verified via personal visual determination.
Physical Condition:As it relates to an individual’s body in terms of muscle tone, percentage of body fat and a visual determination of physical health. Determination subjective in nature. (Note: Last year there was not a category labeled “Excellent”.)
Excellent Shape: 80Individual displayed one or more of the following attributes: Very Muscular Physique, Washboard Abs. A build that could be described as Extremely Athletic or Very Muscular.
Good Shape: 148Individual displayed one or more of the following attributes: Muscular Physique, Toned Physique, Low % of Body Fat, Flat Abdomen. A Build that could be described as: Muscular, Toned, Trim, Worked-Out, Somewhat Worked-Out, Buff, Swimmers, Thin, Wiry, Athletic, Jock, Slim, Twink
Okay Shape: 123Individual displayed one or more of the following attributes: A Somewhat Muscular Physique, A Somewhat Toned Physique, Average to Somewhat More Than Average % of Body Fat, A Slightly Protruding Belly (Hard). A Build that could be described as: Beefy, Bear, Average,
Bad Shape: 37Individual displayed one or more of the following attributes: A Lack of Muscular Tone, More Than Average to Excessive % of Body Fat, A Distended Belly (Soft). A Build that could be described as: Flabby, Large, Big, Fat, Obese, Soft, Unkempt
Long Time: 29Sexual encounters that lasted over an hour in length

Handsome: 98
As it relates to the construction and contours of an individuals face, determination subjective in nature.
Bald: 41Includes individuals with shaved, closely buzzed or naturally bald heads. Does not include individuals who are balding or have an “eagles nest” hair style.


I’m a dirty, filthy slut; granted one that runs a clean house, but a big whore none the less.

Last year I actually said “But there is room to grow.” I guess I grew. Or something did. Like that was something I needed to work on?

My down time was actually pretty much the same as last year. So the only explanation I have for the huge increase in sexual encounters is the opening of that “bath house”. It is a pretty amazing scene. I’m a little paranoid about it though; I keep expecting the cops to catch on and raid the place. Hope I’m not there when it happens. They have talked about extending their hours of operations. We’ll see. I know I’ll be there.

I actually ended up staying away from the Prairie area for over a month last year – during high season – due to some rather unhappy events in my life at that time (two of my dogs passed away). This year I am so looking forward to being there, but the Park and Wrecks department keeps trimming away at our area, making it more family friendly and accessible. I’m sure I’ll be writing about developments there on this blog. I just miss the sun and the woods.

In any case… I’m exhausted. I’ve continued to see my doctor every 3 months and was checked for all STDs at each visit – so I’m not sick (okay, you can argue that I am), but I am tired. Weary, really. I think I’m a little overwhelmed at the number this year. Sure, I bet there are those who get it more often and do more, and more power to them – I’m just not that kind of sex addict; I’m just not built that way. I think I may have been in competition with the last year’s numbers. I also seemed to be racing toward the end of the year to make sure my numbers were up. Given that, I have come to the conclusion that keeping track of my sexual activity actually spurred on my desire to make sexual contact with others. In other words, it fed the madness. Last year, I remember feeling exhilarated and turned on by my stats. Well, what a difference a year makes. I’m getting more tired just writing this.

I’ve already admitted (last year) that I am a sex addict. Has being one had a negative impact on my life? Not so far. When things occurred that called for my attention (business, family, and friends), sex took a back seat and I did what I needed to do. I’m a fairly self-aware person and constantly check in with the world to see if more is required of me than what I’m giving. Sure, I could go back to school or buckle down at work and be one of those eager beavers who act on their ambitions, but I don’t harbor any such fantasies (though I may take a music theory class this year). I have been getting more serious, in a non-neurotic way, about my singing. I think one of the few things that prevent me from becoming more of an authority or more authoritative when it comes to my music is my lack of music theory. Well, that and confidence and talent.

A good friend of mine (one of very few) told me that I have sex in order to bolster my self-esteem. He said I work out for the same reason. I would probably have to agree with that. But so what? I also volunteer my time and energy to non-profits, have a full-time job, a flourishing side business, and am closer to my immediate family than ever. So, I don’t think anyone or anything is suffering. I even go to church every weekend and sing in the choir. How do I rationalize going to church with my sex life? I just do. Sex is part of my being spiritual.

The one thing I have noticed is that I’m less likely to throw anyone a mercy fuck, less likely to stress myself out in order to arrange a tryst, and more likely to say “no” or walk away when approached by someone I could live without doing. That’s a new development. I was thinking I might not record my stats for next year. Doing so feels out of control, pushing me beyond what I would normally do or seek out. That seems to contradict my statement regarding walking away or saying no, but that also indicates just how sexually available I made myself this year. That said… I have in fact already begun recording stats for the year.

Last night I stopped at this park I like. I spent two hours hiking around, exploring the melting snow in relation to the rising water levels. No one else was hiking; they were all sitting in their cars. When I got back to my car there were a couple of cars in the parking lot and it was still nicely sunny out. I stripped down to nothing in my car, in order to change my clothes, and noticed a guy with a beard and dark glasses sitting in his car, staring at me. So I took my time, thinking he was going to eventually get out of his car and wander over to see what I was doing. Sure enough, he did. I wasn’t hard yet, and still had on a t-shirt. He was cute. Older, slim, short, nice compact body and a nice chin, after walking close enough to my car to check me out, he leaned against his car. He was wearing a nice pair of dark blue jeans and his fly was open. Eventually he opened them up and revealed a nice, uncut, seven and half incher with a wicked curve. I emptied my passenger seat, unlocked my door and he slipped inside.

We got right to business. He complimented my body, played a little bit with my dick (which was now rock hard) before I went down on him. Curved dicks are always fun to play with; his curved to the left. Nice thing is he was hard as a rock, too. His cock slid easily down my throat and he was definitely appreciative of my efforts. I was now completely naked as he began playing with my hole while I sucked him. He wanted to fuck me, but there was no way that was going to happen right there and then: it was too bright out, and that sort of thing rarely goes well in a car. I told him we’d have to wait until summer when we could go fuck in the woods. After cumming in my mouth, he zipped up and asked me if I wanted to exchange phone numbers. I pretended I hadn’t heard him. I sat back, my dick still hard, thinking maybe he might help me out, but no go. We parted, promising to look for each other in the future.

The future… well, I guess we all know what that holds for me: lots of time on the prairie! Bring on summer!

Yeah, so little changes here…

Next week: Back to “Acquired Tastes” with the topic – Poppers.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Acquired Tastes, Chapter IX : Size (Queen)

I think by now that I’ve gotten the idea across that Acquired Tastes are really all in the eye of the beholder. In this instance, there is nothing my eye likes to behold better than a big, fat juicy, dangling dick (or a hard one, if you please). That qualifies me for the title Size Queen; something I have fought and denied my whole life. But what’s the shame in that? I don’t understand. If a straight man likes big titties, he can say so with pride, but in the gay community, telling someone that you prefer a big dick to a small one is some kind of anathema. Why? Because there are many more moderately sized to tiny sized dudes out there than there are those who are truly blessed. So we compensate. We tell ourselves size doesn’t matter, so we can feel better about our own relatively average sizes.

In other words, we lie. We lie to ourselves. We lie to the world. We deny ourselves the pleasure of relishing in something we really enjoy. We deny ourselves the opportunity to celebrate it. We put others down in order to feel better about ourselves.

Fuck that. Man up.

Size Queens of the world? It’s time to unite. It’s time to free ourselves of the shame. I can’t tell you how many times someone has hurled the term size queen at me as if it was an insult meant to hurt (and it did – more the queen part than the size thing, but that’s a topic for another Acquired Tastes). But that’s my fault. I allowed that to happen. Fact is… liking a big dick pretty much goes with liking dick – as in – being gay. Why put up with all the bullshit you have to deal with being a gay male and then deny yourself one of the pleasures of being gay? There are enough people putting gays down out there as is; let’s not be part of that problem.

Do all dicks need to be big in order to qualify as nice? No. I can think of a number of really pretty cocks I have had the pleasure of seeing in the locker room or up close and personal. I may have not gotten the opportunity to help them rise to the occasion and fulfill their potential, but I certainly have appreciated just being able to look at them. That said if it happens to be a bit on the large side, swing with a healthy weight as in possessing a pendulous quality, then so much the better. Big can be pretty, too.

Now, I know there are those dudes on Craigslist that advertise that they are looking for those on the small side. Good for them. How commendable. When offered a smaller portion, I never turn it down; a free meal being a free meal. It just means that I have to make a few extra trips to the sex buffet that day, if you know what I mean (until I meet my meat quota – not). Nice thing is I always know when I’m full and when to stop. True, frequently my eyes are too big for what I can stomach, but then I just excuse myself and push away from the buffet.

It’s all a matter of perspective; you use your own size as the jumping off point for comparisons. If you’re six inches, then 7.5 seems large to you, than say me, someone who has 7.5. For me 8 is great, 8.5 is generous and anything over nine is huge. I like my dick. I like its size, shape, color and texture. It does the trick, so to speak. I wonder if that’s true for everyone? Do we consider what we have as the norm and everything else is different, pro or con, depending on our experience with different kinds of cocks? Does everyone wish they were larger?

Is this an adolescent thing to contemplate? Is that why size queens are put down so vigorously? Because being enamored of big cocks is considered juvenile?

Then I guess I’m still an adolescent, because I am.a…

Size (Queen)

Scope of Activity:
The objectification of the male penis (erect or not) based on length and width.

The Official Line:
From Wikipedia:

A study undertaken at Utrecht University found that the majority of homosexual men in the study regarded a large penis as ideal, and having one was linked to self esteem. One study analyzing the self-reported Kinsey data set found that homosexual men had statistically larger penises than their heterosexual counterparts. One potential explanation given is a difference in the exposure to androgen hormones in the developing embryo. Evidence points towards men of each of these two orientations being equally likely to exaggerate the size of their penis.

Perceptions of penis size are culture-specific. In Ancient Greece and in Renaissance art, an uncircumcised and small penis was culturally seen as desirable in a man, whereas a bigger or circumcised penis was viewed as comical or grotesque. Ancient Rome may have had a contrary view, and a larger penis size was preferred in medieval Arabic literature.

Another study, conducted at Groningen University Hospital, asked 375 sexually active women (who had recently given birth) the importance of penis size and concluded: "Although clearly in the minority, a nevertheless considerable percentage of the women respondents attached substantial importance to the size of the male sexual organ".

The term size queen is slang for a person who prefers their sexual partner(s) to have a larger-than-average penis.

Growers not show-ers: the phenomenon of penises that appear small or average when flaccid, but exceed expected length when fully erect.

There is evidence both for and against a link between penis size and the size of other body parts. One study found a weak correlation between the size of the stretched penis and foot size and height. Another investigation failed to find any evidence for a link between shoe size and stretched penis size. A potential explanation for a link is that the development of the penis in an embryo is controlled by some of the same Hox genes as those that control the development of the limbs. Mutations of some Hox genes that control the growth of limbs cause malformed genitalia (hand–foot–genital syndrome).

Most of human penis growth happens between infancy and the age of five, and in five years after the onset of puberty. Age is not believed to negatively correlate with penis size, and studies have not found a relation between penis size and race. There is evidence both for and against a link between penis size and the size of other body parts. Some environmental factors in addition to genetic, such as the presence of endocrine disruptors, can affect penis growth

Psychological Aspects:

When it comes to penis size, insecurity abounds. Society, as evidenced by television sitcom content, is obsessed with male genital size. There’s not an episode of Two and a Half Men that doesn’t crack at least one penis size related joke, most of which are at the expense of those less endowed.

Males may quite easily underestimate the size of their own penis relative to that of others, and many men who believe that their penis is of inadequate size have average-sized penises. The perception of having a large penis is often linked to higher self esteem.

For women, width rather than length is a more important factor of sexual stimulation. A study published in BMC Women's Health surveyed women's preferences concerning penis size and concluded that width rather than length is a more important factor of sexual stimulation. Similar results were found in a cover story published in Psychology Today, which surveyed 1,500 readers (about 2/3 women) about male body image. Many of the women were not particularly concerned with penis size and over 71% thought men overemphasized the importance of penis size and shape. Generally, the women polled cared more about width than men thought, and less about length. "...the number one reason women preferred a thicker penis was that it was more satisfying during intercourse."
Widespread private concerns related to penis size have led to a number of folklore sayings and popular culture reflections related to penis size.

Penis panic is a form of mass hysteria involving the believed removal or shrinking of the penis, known as genital retraction syndrome.

Products such as penis pumps, pills, and other dubious means of penis enlargement are some of the most marketed products in email spam.

At present there is no consensus in the scientific community of any non-surgical technique that permanently increases either the thickness or length of the erect penis that already falls into the normal range (4.5" to 7").

My Experience:
Based on my experience most dudes are 6-7 inches (and trust me, I’ve done a lot of independent research). Nothing wrong with that, but if that was all that life offered, I have a feeling I wouldn’t be such a damn sex addict.

For me, if a dude has a big penis it can make up for his other short comings – like say, the inability to carry on a conversation, or use words with more than two syllables, or having poor taste in music, movies or television, or poor hygiene.

Like everyone else, I remember checking out and comparing other guys penises since the first day of gym class. It was an absolutely innate thing to do. I began in fifth grade and have never stopped. I especially being infatuated with a couple of high school coaches with big members. As a kid, seeing an adult penis was like seeing a great painting; a locker room was like visiting a fine art museum – my eyes could simply not take it all in.

The biggest one I ever played with? Probably eight years ago? Fifteen inches - hard. Belonged to this really tall, really thin older white dude. We hit it off on-line and out of total curiosity, I decided I had to go and play with it. I get there and we end up talking, sitting opposite each other in his living room for about forty minutes. The entire time I’m thinking, hey, where’s the magic rod? Where’s the sex? Finally he gets the hint, or comes to his senses, and realizes that while the conversation is fine, this is a hook-up and he needs to serve up the salami. He walks me to his refrigerator and tells me to pick out a bottle of poppers. The butter holder on the fridge is filled with dozens of tiny brown bottles, all left, he tells me, by former tricks of his. I pick something out and then follow him to his bedroom. His bed is really, really high up from the ground and I don’t remember all the specifics, other than, he has no trouble getting his dick hard and keeping it hard. It’s definitely on the thin side, but when dealing with that length, maybe there is some type of optical illusion at play and it would turn out, if measured that his is quite average in width. At this time, I hadn’t been bottoming all that long, but I decided this was definitely a dick I had to experience. I think he said something like, “Well, now I suppose you’re going to want to sit on it. So, knock yourself out.” Or something to that affect; very nonchalant and rather bored with the whole thing. Ignoring this, I stood up on the bed and began sliding my way down his member, sucking down the poppers the whole time. It was intense and oddly soothing. Once I reached the bottom and was sitting firmly on his pubic bones… I immediately shot my load all over his face and chest. I mean, the stuff just flew out of my dick. I remember making some silly whooping noise as it happened and being rather amazed by the whole thing.

Apologizing, I began sliding off his dick, thinking we would continue. “No problem,” he said, “happens all the time.” But that was it. Game over. I commented that I felt bad that he didn’t get to cum, to which he replied, “Oh, not a big deal. At my age, cumming is not that big of a deal.” I’m not sure if he meant that at his age orgasms were boring or if it was just not visually impressive. (I think he meant the latter.) We chatted a bit more. He showed me his extensive art collection and I left. So, been there, done that; saw the mountain and I climbed it; my volcano erupted, his did not.

Recently, I’ve gone through a period where all I seem to attract are those with really average dicks. They’re fun to play with and I am grateful for their efforts, it’s just some times what I really want is to have my hole stretched and filled to the brim. I was about to resign myself to living in a world of 6.5 inch dicks, when something in the universe shifted and I was granted access to a couple of fucking awesome cocks in a single day.

It’s late morning on a Thursday. My boss is out of town on business, so my schedule was really flexible. If it had been during the summer I would have been out at the prairie sunning myself and cruising. But it’s winter… that part they refer to as the dead of winter, which also adequately describes my recent run of luck when playing online. Bored, I go to a site I visit often. I immediately notice that there are two ‘quick ads’ posted for my area. Quick ads refer to notices members seeking instant gratification – as in ‘right now’ – post. Usually there are no more than three in my area at anytime and usually they are all bottoms, but I always check just in case. This time there is an ad posted by a dude called TotalTop. He’s on my ‘friends’ list, but I rarely see him online and have never had an opportunity to hook up with him. There’s not a lot of info in his profile and his pics are all headless body shots, featuring his big old nine inch pole. He’s in good shape, slim, tall, smooth and several years younger than me, but I decide it’s worth a shot, so I shoot him an email asking if he’s up for some ‘hot lunch’. Much to my surprise, he hits me back. His message is very cryptic and I am thinking this is probably not going to go anywhere. But what the hell, I have a limited number of emails on this particular site and wasn’t anywhere near my limit, so why not waste them on this dude? So I do. In his second email he mentions something about wanting to fuck somebody in his workroom. That triggers something in my head, but I’m not certain – maybe it is just a coincidence. I tell him where I am and ask for his location. When I read his reply I realize I know this dude – as a total bottom. Turns out he has two profiles on the site – one for when he is in a bottom mood and another when he wants to top. He tells me it is pretty rare for him to want to top, but it does happen and today he is definitely in the mood to seed some hole. I race to clean up and then set a time to meet.

It’s nice when you know where you’re going, especially when sex is on the mind. I pull into his parking lot, gather what I will need and head to a metal door that is cracked open. Last time I entered here, I found a nice, smooth bottom bent over a covered crate, waiting for my dick. It was hot and sweet. His workroom is like something out of a gay porno, in other words, it’s perfect. Even the lighting is cool. I loved working my dick into his hole amid all the tools and miscellaneous shit that collects in these kind of shops. Not having topped in a long time, I surprised myself by doing a pretty good job, changing it up, varying my tempo and thrust, and lasting just long enough to have made it worthwhile for both of us. We’d talked online before and he had claimed to be versatile, but based on the profile I knew him by, I doubted that was true, but I figured if I could do it, then this dude was capable of it, too.

Sneaking in, I immediately disrobe, letting my clothes fall to the floor right next to the door. I slip on a jock strap and my cock ring before moving toward the cloaked crate. Checking my ass one last time, I get up on the crate on all fours, crouching down low enough to spread my cheeks. Then I take a monster hit off the brand new bottle of poppers I happen to have with me. Immediately, I sense someone walking up behind me. He crouches down and places his tongue on my hole. Instinctively, I press back onto his mouth and allow myself to slip into the warmth of his talented mouth. After eating my hole for about five minutes, he stands and moves over to my left, so his crotch is right at the level of my mouth. I turn my head as he unzips his jeans. Big dicks, in their flaccid form, vary quite a bit. Some are growers, not showers, some hang pendulously, while others are just a cocoon of mouth watering temptation. His was the latter. Greedily, I take his soft dick in my mouth and begin massaging it with my tongue. In no time at all he’s skull fucking me, holding my head in place on the crate as he rams his full nine in and out of my mouth. I’m a tad surprised, because, in spite of his length and thickness I am still able to swallow the entire thing with no discomfort (Yay! I guess all that practice does pay off.) He’s really getting off on fucking my throat and there is a little voice inside my head that suddenly fears that he may fill up on the appetizer and skip the main course. But never fear, he eventual disengages my mouth and moves behind me.

Throughout our playtime, he’s been huffing poppers as much as I have. There is something about a top who can stay hard and snort poppers that is such a turn on for me. As he stands behind me now, he’s got the bottle to his nose and I decide to do the same. He pulls me down from the crate, which is a little on the high side and makes me bend over it. I do and manage to push my ass up in the air, which gives the small of my back just the sweetest bend (or at least I hope it does). I ask him to go slow and he does. I’m sucking poppers the entire time until I feel that thing – whatever it is – deep inside me, relax, and that when my insides go all liquid. Dude turns out to be a first class top, dicking me with all sorts of variations on my favorite theme – ram and jam. We alternate who’s doing the work, too. As far as I’m concerned, unless asked not to, fucking back is part of a bottom’s responsibility. I love bouncing my ass back on a dude’s rod with as much intensity as possible before slowing down, tightening my sphincter and languidly milking a dude’s fuck stick with my hole. Nice thing about big dicks? They really give you something to work with!

His dick feels so good in my hole I’m thinking this won’t last long at all. But it does. He puts me on my back and works me that way for about ten minutes. I love looking into his eyes and there actually does seem to be some kind of connection between us, even though neither of us makes a move to kiss or make this a more intimate fuck. I usually don’t push the issue of kissing unless we’ve discussed it specifically before meeting. Some dudes don’t want to lock lips unless they’re in love with you and I respect that. That, however, doesn’t mean we can’t fuck.

TotalTop manages to live up to his name. I’m loving every minute he’s using my hole right up to the moment when he announces that he’s going to cum. Egging him on like a gay porn cheerleader, he plows my hole deep, delivering a hot four-day load. He’s one of those guys who rams up until the moment he starts to shoot and then freezes, allowing the cum to pump it’s way out of his dick head on it’s own accord.. He stays in me until I jerk off my own and then pulls out. I immediately drop to my knees to clean his dick with my mouth, working out the last of his sweet load. We talk. Sweet and somewhat shy, he’s a super nice guy. Discussion centers around his two profiles, how likely it is he’ll be topping again anytime soon, if he’s planning on going to the warehouse party that Friday and this other nine inch dude we both know who used to be a die hard top, but recently has become something of a hard core bottom. I dress, pick-up my stuff and head back to work, reasoning that I can grab a quick shower in the locker room at my gym when I get there. I’m pretty fucking satiated and really would have called it a day… if I hadn’t already made other plans.

There’s this other dude, another TotalTop. I have known(?) him for a number of years. He’s stood me up, blown me off and in general jerked me around like a fucking string puppet for quite awhile now. At one point I was convinced that his profile was a complete con job and that he got off on setting dudes up and standing them up. I even began to think that the dude in the pics on his profile (headless body and dick pics) didn’t actually exist. We fucked once six years ago. It was okay, as I remember, but, at the time, I sensed he wasn’t all that enthused. It was one of those hook ups where it took me forever to get there and the whole affair felt rushed and more about the poppers than the sex. After that, we would chat on line, but I felt he was holding me at arms length. Turns out he has a partner, blah, blah, blah. 

Fast forward four years, I’ve had his profile blocked and been ignoring him as best I could. That’s when I join a new site, which he is already a member of, and he starts hitting on me again. I’m pretty cool towards him, but he really seems interested and so we set up a time to meet. I’m to come into his condo, strip, go into the spare bedroom, get on the bed on all fours, don a blindfold and wait for him. Things are going really well. His dick is a definite nine inches, but it is also super thick, which makes giving head difficult, but certainly not anything I’m not capable of. I swallow him down to the root, stretching my mouth and throat to their absolute limits, and that seems to impress him. He likes getting head, which is good, because that particular day my douching is less than perfect and I have left my kit in the car. I excuse myself, go the bathroom and do the best I can to rectify (cool pun intended) the situation, but to no avail. Once I take getting fucked off the table, he dismisses me and, dejected, I head home without getting any.

So for the next six months, he ignores me, before going on yet another campaign to get me to his place. I finally agree. He’s moved to yet another building (his fourth in the time that I have known him). It’s another case of too little information (in fact, the wrong info – wrong apartment number, wrong floor, etc.), and everything is rush, rush. I finally find his apartment door only to learn he decided I took too long and got another dude to come over and fuck. I’m standing outside his apartment door, knocking, but he won’t come to the door. And… that’s it, right. End of story. I go back home and block him all over again. Enough is enough.

Last month I joined yet another site, and he’s on it (of course he is, we’re both raging sex-aholics, what do you expect?). He hits on me. I decide to give it one more shot, and that shot ends up on the day that I hook up with the dude I just talked about above.

Fortunately, this guy hasn’t moved, and is still in the same building and apartment. Cool. Advantage; me. I know the lay of the land and arrive a half hour early, park in guest parking and sit in my car (last time, I didn’t know about guest parking and spent 40 minutes trying to find on-the-street parking). Another thing? This time I have a new phone – my Droid, which has internet access, so I am in communication with the dude the entire time. I actually see him drive his truck into the parking garage, so I know he’s there. At the agreed upon time, he summons me up to his apartment. He’s left the door unlocked, so I let myself in, strip, and slip into the bathroom to check my ass. When I come out, he’s lying naked on the bed. His cock isn’t hard, but I’m pretty sure I know how to fix that.

Kneeling before him, I take his dick in my mouth and work my magic on it. This guy is one of those tall, super thin, not an ounce of body fat, types. There’s something very blue collar and Midwestern about him. He reminds me of a lot of guys that live a few hours north of St. Cloud. As he’s working the bottle of poppers like it’s a tank of oxygen and he’s on life support, he compliments me on my dick sucking skills, talking frequently and calling me ‘baby’ in this super sexy, masculine, former-smoker’s voice. It makes me work all the harder. I think it’s rare that he finds a cocksucker he’s attracted to and possesses the skills necessary to deep throat him. He’s enjoying the head so much I start to wonder if he’s ever going to get around to fucking my ass.

After twenty minutes of head, he orders me to my feet and tells me to bend over and show him my hole. Taking a huge snort of poppers, he lines up the head of his dick with my hole and fucking drives that huge mother deep in me all in one, massively hard thrust. I’m seeing stars, but he could give a fuck. There is nothing subtle about this dude’s technique. His attack is brutal and straight forward. The whole thing lasts about three minutes and then he deposits his load in my ass. I know that he’s in a hurry for me to get out of there; his partner is on his way home from work, so he pulls out immediately. I turn around, drop to my knees and shove his spent dick in my mouth; hey, I want to get off, too. Just as I’m about to shoot my load, he reminds me to make sure to shoot it on the small area rug we’ve been playing on. He doesn’t want any strange DNA on his carpet. No worries. As soon as I’m finished, I jet to the bathroom, do a quick hole rinse, wash up and start getting dressed. When I come out, he’s dressed in a pair of sweat pants and suddenly in a chatty mood. The conversation is nice – about our animals, how we can’t wait for summer to get here, how sick we both are of the winter… As soon as I’m put back together, I double check to make sure I’m taking with me everything I brought with me and bolt. We have plans to see each other again in two weeks and I’m thinking that’s cool. Having a big dick that wants your ass again? That’s a nice feeling.

My Conclusion:
I’ve come to embrace my inner size queen and think we all should. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s like being offered a two layer cake or a wedding cake – same cake, same frosting. Which would you choose? If you’re being honest with yourself, you will say you would take the wedding cake – hey, more cake for everyone, right? (Not to mention more frosting… so not true). Truthfully, when I eat a meal I want to leave feeling not just satiated, but a tiny bit stuffed. It makes me feel secure, and when I’m feeling secure I sleep much better. And when I get a good night’s sleep? I am a much happier person.

Sure, there are those out there who seek out tiny dicks, but I think their numbers are much smaller (no pun intended) than those preferring big cocks. I just don’t feel there should be any shame any longer in saying, “Hey world… I want more!”

Next week: I take a break from Acquired Tastes and delve into my personal sex stats for the year, which ended on 3/10/11. There will be some eye opening surprises revealed (or not – yeah, I’m a whore, like you didn’t know that already) and perhaps some life changing conclusions made (or not – could a year of celibacy be in the cards?). In any event, it will serve as a kind of state of the union address. Where do I go from here? I think I will probably just keep treading water and work on the Acquired Tastes series for awhile. You know… until spring, when the snow begins to disappear along with most of my clothes and sense of modesty.

Friday, March 04, 2011

Acquired Tastes, Chapter VIII : Rednecks and White Trash

What is the allure of a mullet-headed, crappy-tatted, facial hair wearing, Marlboro-smoking, Pabts Blue Ribbon swilling, Nascar watching, confederate flag loving, gun toting, truck driving, Lynyrd Skynyrd listening, fried Twinkie eating, duct tape using, ignorant redneck man? For some, none, but this Acquired Taste is like a fine wine… scratch that – more like a bottle of Boone’s Farm; it must be tasted to be appreciated. And not unlike that bottle of Boone’s Farm, some will be repulsed at the mere thought of it, while others will become totally enamored.

White trash and rednecks do not necessarily have to come from the south, sport a mullet or live in a trailer park. Possessions, status, income, livelihood, political affiliations and beliefs aside, today I am talking about a certain look and attitude; one so potent you can almost smell it (and sometimes do.)

I come from white trash, albeit one with a decidedly Slavic slant, but trash none-the-less. I’m not sure I will ever be able to escape those trappings as those values are deeply hardwired into my being. That said, I’m not sure I would want to completely separate myself from that world or deny it’s existence.. In my case, it keeps me grounded. Sure, it raises hell with the self-esteem on occasion (a chip on my shoulder, the underdog, less than, blah, blah), but in no way would I ever want to disavow my trashy roots – some of that stuff is fun; like, say, that culture’s ideas about manhood and what constitutes masculine behavior. As a youngster, I shied away from it, hid from it. Growing up, it repulsed me, but now I see its charms and understand what Loretta Lynne and Patsy Cline were singing about. Yes, I understand and appreciate on some level the power that fueled all those seasons of The Jerry Springer Show.

Rednecks and White Trash

Scope of Activity:

Just the usual fucking, sucking and kissing. Nothing out of the ordinary, in fact, other than getting sweaty and maybe a little beer-soaked, I don’t think the sex could get more vanilla. Hell, if you try anything too fancy with these boys, like say, start nosing around their a-hole with your tongue and you could find yourself being shown the door. Or, you could open up one hell of a dirty little secret, as in, Junior really likes that sort of thing.

We ain’t talking about Cowboys here. They are a different (much quieter, stoic, and tasteful) sexy breed. And we’re not talking blue collar men, also a whole ‘nother level of sexy. And I’m not talking about the homogenized, sanitized version of a redneck that keeps threatening to take over Comedy Central in the form of Jeff Foxworthy, Larry the Cable Guy, etc. That’s not reality; that’s show biz; pandering, dull-witted, lazy-ass, appeal to the lowest denominator show-biz.

The Official Line:

From Wikipedia:

Redneck: Originally used in reference to poor, white farmers, redneck is a historically derogatory slang term to refer to working class Southerners in the United States It is similar in meaning to "cracker" (especially regarding Georgia and Florida), "hillbilly" (especially regarding Appalachia and the Ozarks) and "white trash". The most common American usage, referring to the poor rural white Southerner, is probably derived from individuals having a red neck caused by staining of their skin; a result of a mixture of sweat and the dust of red clay dirt common in the southern states. A citation from 1893 provides a definition as "poorer inhabitants of the rural who work in the field, as a matter of course, generally have their skin stained red and burnt by the sun, and especially is this true of the back of their necks". In recent decades the term expanded its meaning to mean bigoted, loutish, and opposed to modern ways. It has often been used to attack Southern conservatives and segregationists. At the same time, many members of the U.S. Southern community have set out to reclaim the word, using it as a self-identifier, and the term has also been claimed by individuals outside of the United States.
Psychological Aspects:

Psychologically, there’s a lot at play when you sleep with a gay redneck; so many conflicting emotions wash over me. I’m thrilled to be with him, because he’s got a touch of the forbidden about him and a touch of that “he’s a real man” thing. Let’s face it; there is something macho about that confederate flag thing, even if it stands for the kind of racial subjugation that normally turns our stomachs. But slap it on a trucker hat, a belt buckle or the rear window of a pick-up truck and you got yourself a twisted, gay wet dream of sorts. And those tats of theirs, usually pretty badly configured, are just this side of jailhouse tats which push all sorts of gay-fantasy-by-the-numbers buttons.

Guilt. We must address the guilt. A portion of the real redneck population suffers from buyer’s remorse almost immediately after orgasm when they lay with another man. They are a skittish lot, in general, when it comes to gay sex, but if you want to send them running for the hills just start talking about HIV, AIDS and safe sex; they just sort of fold into themselves and skitter away. And don’t talk about your feelings; in their part of the woods, men when it comes to other men are not supposed to have any of those.

Then there’s that part of you that recognizes that the redneck basically represents a lot of what we gays find reprehensible about society in general (and that feeling, I’m afraid, is quite mutual).. I’m talking about political positions, here, not tastefulness, although their politics are pretty tasteless. This is definitely a case of where we’re sleeping with the enemy (but then again, so are they).

There’s also that aspect of danger… you know, the whole ‘Deliverance’ thing? That’s hot and tasty in a real sick and perverted way. Right? It’s a type of degradation, and for some, that’s orgasm material. There’s a power imbalance there that needs to be examined. Ignorance is power. Power is sexy. When ignorant people, people you consider your inferior, have power over you that can be a sexually enticing circumstance.

We also need to look at that part of us that pities a redneck for being such a clueless mass of puppy boy/man. You want to examine his life and try to point out all the places he could have made better choices (that couch, that haircut, that tattoo) or at least point out the ones still left him (get your GED, go to college, educate yourself, better yourself). But then the whole idea of someone bettering themselves… isn’t that in the eye of the beholder? And possessing a lack of ambition… isn’t that what being a redneck is partially about? Who are we to judge their choices and lifestyle? Such judgments are all perspective and it’s all based on our personal biases. It took me a long time to recognize that; it’s presumptuous and disrespectful to assume otherwise.

Their dicks are highly likely (in my experience) to be uncircumcised, and that in itself is fetish material – it brings to mind poverty, as in too poor to be born in a real hospital where they take care of that sort of thing at birth. But that’s old thinking – today, gays wear their foreskin as a kind of badge of honor, there are groups of fetishists dedicated to capturing the uncircumcised in all their whorey-glory, and even those who attempt to reclaim theirs by stretching the skin just below the head of their circumcised penis.

My Experience:

My year in Iowa… a lot of sentences for this blog begin that way, which is kind of amazing considering how little sex I had during that time period. But I did have sex during that time and most of it was with rednecks.

My first redneck? He was a delivery guy who worked for this towel service. I met him out at that wayside rest with the outhouse. We played a tiny bit at the wayside rest, but he was too nervous and asked if I would follow him to his motel room. I agreed. He was short, slim, and smooth as a baby, except for that big old mustache that warmed his upper lip. He wasn’t unattractive, but he was one of the whitest dudes I have ever been with. There was something slimy about him, and that would be his redneck view of the world. Some of the things that came out of his mouth during general conversation were so fucking ignorant I winced. We shared a beer and played real coy with one another before getting naked and flopping around on the bed on top of one another. It was not great sex, by any means. There was no kissing. He probably would have let me fuck him, but I didn’t trust the cleanliness of his hole, so I passed. We did both manage to get off and almost immediately after I felt a door between us slam shut; he got all paranoid and mentioned something about his wife (wife?). I got the sense that he wanted me to leave as soon as possible, a wish I was only too happy to grant. It was a distinctly dissatisfying experience, and while I saw him around in the future, I never wanted to play with him again.

Another little redneck that comes to mind would be this super cute twink dude I met at a bar in Waterloo. He was shaved bald and always wore a pair of farmer overalls with no shirt at the bar (there was only one in Waterloo). Cuter than a bugs ear, I wanted to get naked with him the moment I laid eyes on him. Fortunately for me, the pickings in Waterloo were slimmer than Newt Gingrich’s chances of being President of the United States. I was fresh meat, so the odds were definitely on my side. We did a bit of courting at the bar for a couple of weekends without ever getting physical. Because Waterloo was like two hours from where I lived, I always left the bar before closing time, so I never did get to see him sloppy drunk, which would have significantly improved my chances of undoing the straps of his overalls. I loved those overalls; they left so much to the imagination while making what you were imagining so within reach. Just reach in there and….

Anyway, eventually I convinced him to step outside with me. We stood on the street corner where we hemmed and hawed (which isn’t as much fun as hee-hawing) for a half hour before going back inside. You have to keep in mind that at this time in my sexual development I was still quite shy. The idea of simply asking “Can I fuck you?” would never have crossed my mind, let alone my lips, although that was all I was trying to hint at. During our conversation I found out he lived on a farm out in the middle of no where and that he wasn’t likely to invite me back there. We also determined that I lived too far away for him to come and stay at my place for the night. So we left it there, returned to the bar, and went our separate ways for the rest of the night.

Well, I’m not sure what it was (probably my burning desire and need to have physical contact with someone), but on my next trip to that bar (which he always seemed to be at) I laid it on the line and told him I’d be happy to spring for a hotel room. He said sure and we made our way to the local Super Eight or Motel Six where I had one of the most uncomfortable conversations with a motel clerk ever. The clerk insisted we get a room with two twin beds and since I felt like I was in a foreign country and did not want to get gay bashed, make a scene, or get arrested, I just went with it.

We got to the room and fell into one hell of a passionate embrace. The kisses were deep and hungry and I had a great time undoing the straps of his overalls, letting them fall to the floor. He was so incredibly smooth and had such a cute butt. He was so cute and boyish that part of my brain that worries about being a pedophile (we were the same age) kicked in for a moment, but soon we were both naked enough and busy enough that such thoughts were pushed aside to make room for more grownup ones. We got incredibly sweaty (the sheets were so wet we ended up having to use both beds). I kept trying to move him into a position where I could fuck him, but he’d slither out and move onto something else. I shot my load for the first time all over his stomach as we nut fucked each other like a couple of third graders. Not that we were done. We messed around for three hours before calling a halt to it. I came a second time while he… he didn’t cum at all. WTF?

Initially, we couldn’t talk about it because we were both shy with each other. I wanted so for him to get off. Did this mean he wasn’t attracted to me? Really? Because his kisses said otherwise. Was it me? Did I suck that bad in the sack? Well, the three hours spent sort of ruled that out, too. Our bodies drenched with sweat, we took turns showering and then laid on the bed together. In talking around the subject, I learned that he never cums. Huh? Not with men, anyway. Apparently he has an ex-wife and a child he sort of forgot to mention. He tells me that he feels so guilty about being gay that he can’t have an orgasm with another man.

You’d think that would be the end of it for me and him, but keep in mind that we are talking about Waterloo, Iowa, where, in my eyes, he was the only game in town. I should also like to point out a little habit I used to have regarding tricks I felt sorry for – I would decide it was up to me to rescue them! Yeah. I know. Right!

So, we kept ‘dating’ and eventually he invited me back to his farm. I was to follow him there. There was a full moon that night. I remember it vividly for it cast an eerie glow over everything in the front yard as came up the drive. Walking toward the house, we had to wind our way around a myriad of rusting, spiky-fingered, ancient farm equipment. It was like a scene out of a Stephen King novel. Part of me kept thinking it would all spring to life at any moment. Entering the house, I immediately sensed there was something very wrong in this little agricultural wonderland. My little man was a class A hoarder. There was so much stuff stacked on other stuff, I had to duck and weave as he led me to the couch, around which there loomed layers and layers of clothing and miscellaneous stuff. There, in the vast darkness, were birds in cages, making noise and pecking away at their food, excited by the presence of an outsider.

We sank, side by side, onto the sagging couch and proceeded to watch a movie. After a few minutes, we started making out and I was thinking… hey, tonight’s the night. Instead, he announced that he would give me a tour of the house. That meant going upstairs, where there was not a single piece of identifiable furniture, but the floor was littered with clothing, toys, candy wrappers and empty soda cans. He showed me his bed – which was basically a sheet on the floor with a blanket and a dirty pillow. Then he showed me where his ‘friend’ slept. By friend, I think he meant partner, and that only registered once I realized I knew who he was talking about – the black-haired, curly headed DJ at the bar who I thought was such a cutie and with whom certain vibes had been shared (and whom, I am sure, I would have slept with eventually had I remained in Iowa beyond that year). I asked my little cutie if his ‘friend’ knew that I was there, with him at the farm, and my little friend said, “Of course.” The concept of an open relationship was foreign to me at the time and I felt weirded out big time.

Well, information and stimulus overload took over. I wasn’t sure if he thought I was going to get naked with him in all that mess or not, but it didn’t matter as I made excuses and hightailed it out of there as soon as I could. As I fled the scene, I realized as much as I wanted to rescue him, I was more interested in saving myself. We never got naked again, although we did stay on friendly terms. It wasn’t long before his DJ boyfriend started batting his eyes and dropping hints. Yeah, if he’d come onto me today – I would have hit that, but at that time I still believed in fairy tales like monogamy and that sex should be, as George Michael had so eloquently put it ten years earlier, one on one.

I fell in with a different group shortly after that – the popular kids. They were reasonably educated, well-employed guys in their late twenties, early thirties – the movers and shakers of the gay community in Waterloo. Yeah, there were about six of them. Their sophistication level was a tad higher than the farm boys that surrounded them and in short order I began to fuck my way through their preppy, snobby ranks.

On one of my final visits to Waterloo, before leaving for La-la land, I got invited to an after hours party at this crazy-ass guy’s house. I decided to check it out. Our host was a tall, thin, dark-haired dude with a big smile and a very loud demeanor. I liked him – from a distance. The house was in a residential section of Waterloo, not far away from the bar. In order to get into the house one had to climb through the ripped up screen portion of the screen door. Inside… there was very, very little furniture, in fact, nothing to sit on at all. There was some heavy metal music blaring from a tinny stereo and everyone just sort of stood around in a circle in the dining room, as it was one of the few rooms with lights on. There was beer, but I didn’t get one as I never found the kitchen. I went to the bathroom at one point and was struck by just how un-party ready this dude’s house was… it was a mess. I thanked my host and bolted. Beer, heavy metal music and standing around in a circle? Not my idea of a party.

Needless to say, in L.A. there were no rednecks to run into. It wasn’t until I returned to Minneapolis and began prowling around some of the cruising areas that I ran into any again. One of my first encounters at the Prairie was with a redneck. He was in his late twenties, tall, thin, smooth and extremely white, save for the farmers tan on his arms. Not comfortable with fooling around at the Prairie, I followed him to his place – a farm out by Maple Grove. It was a nice, traditional spread. We walked around the farm naked, holding hands. In a picture postcard way, it was very sweet. Then we went into the house. Like the farm itself, the house was very neat and reminded me of a lot of the farmhouses I grew up in the Midwest – except this one felt like a movie or theatre set; like an approximation of a farmhouse. It was all a little too on the nose.

We played in his bedroom, which lacked any sign of a personality; which wasn’t surprising since my farm boy turned out to be lacking in that department as well. The sex was almost identical to what I had experienced in Iowa – lots of movement, lots of sweat equity with very little payout. It was frustrating. I came, he didn’t and there was no penetration. Is this something common with rednecks? Is the guilt of gay sex so overpowering that they can’t allow themselves to enjoy it? Then why bother? On top of the lackluster delivery, this dude could not kiss to save his soul, although the fact that he was willing was surprising – you have to give him credit for that. I ended up leaving feeling highly dissatisfied and a tad wistful, since the life I had envisioned for the two of us, living on a farm, wandering around naked, was not going to be happening.

So, I think guilt does play a role in inhibiting a redneck’s ability to enjoy gay sex, but only the Caucasian ones. Yes, there are indeed non-Caucasian rednecks – white trash of the Hispanic kind; a better groomed variation with clean, but cluttered houses. While guilt might inhibit their white counterparts, the Latino redneck has no problem diving in the waters of homo sex only to come rising back to the surface saturated and dripping with it.

Take my experience with a hot dude out in Apple Valley – actually it may even have been beyond Apple Valley, but close enough. We chatted back and forth until I made up my mind to commit myself to the hour drive it would take me to get to his place. Distance is always an issue when considering whether or not to hook up, and I tend to waffle about committing to anything that takes more than 20 minutes (that’s true about the actual sex, too). He confessed early on in the conversation that he rarely got guys to visit, so I decided to man up and get behind the wheel. I arrived a little later than I had hoped, only to discover that he lived in a trailer park, in a trailer home. Not a big deal to me, I’m no snob. I took note of all the seasonal lawn decorations that littered his front tiny lawn and walk way. I felt like I was entering Santaland! He greeted me at the front door. In person, he seemed much shorter than I had expected – never a deal breaker, just surprising. Little guys can be very tasty. He had a mop of black hair that had a bit of a curl to it (done in a John Oates sort of mullet), a handsome, macho mustache, a beautiful smile and a bit of the devil in his eyes. Oh, I know – he looked like a short version of Jim Croce! Really!

The house was clean and neat, but stuffed to the gills. He led me down a narrow hallway, made all the more narrow by the mounds of stuff that lined one side of it. With just enough space to leap onto the bed, I made myself at home as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light. They grew wider the more they took in – dude had a serious home shopping network addiction. For the first ten minutes we sat side by side on the bed as he pointed out, with pride, his various acquisitions, which he referred to as art. Ah, art, like beauty and acquired tastes, is in the eye of the beholder. He seemed particularly proud of a touch lamp he had recently purchased – it had three light level settings, and was made of brass and glass!

As I lay on his Marilyn Monroe bedspread, staring at his collection of bedroom tchotchkes, that very familiar feeling of wanting to rescue this little well-appointed redneck swept over me. I shook it off and reminded myself that, for him, this – all this stuff – represented, not future kitsch, but achievement of the American Dream. At that moment, I looked over at him, his smile and eyes wide and alert like a delighted child, leaned in and planted a deep, hot kiss on his mouth. His mouth immediately responded, meshing with mine instantly and we were off to the races. He was a good kisser. And rimmer. And dick sucker. And arm pit eater. And ear licker. Oh! Oh, my… my ears! Passionate and good to go from the get go; I had a great time exploring his tiny frame and gigantic cock. Those short dudes, man… God may fuck them in the head by denying them height, but he frequently rewards them elsewhere. I think we spent 30 minutes alone just 69ing. We were at the 45 minute mark (I knew this because of the LED display lodged at the base of his Betty Boop Alarm clock on the night stand continually beckoned my eyes throughout the evening), when he hauled my legs up in the air and began to tease my hole with the head of his dick. After slipping on a condom, he dove in and proceeded to fuck me every which way but loose for a solid half hour. We kissed the entire time and when he was ready to shoot, I begged him to pull out, remove the condom and baptize me with his load. His load flying was a thing of beauty. My chest and stomach sufficiently glazed, I added my own load to his and ended up feeling like a fresh, warm, cum-covered Crispy Crème.

Unsurprisingly, after toweling, off, the romance was over, but the tour had just begun. I met his dogs, a couple of tiny, yippy Papillions, before being shown his plastic encased living room which was filled to the brim with what-nots and knick-knacks. Dude had a lot of shiny, new things. Not my taste at all, but more power to him. So what qualifies him as a redneck? Well, he’s not so much a redneck, as white trash. I guess it would be the trailer, the dubious taste level, the tasteful mullet, the hoarding tendency and overriding pride that kind of helps pigeonhole him. I thought he was really a nice guy, and a great fuck, but we never got together again. The overall experience was bittersweet, and I tend to avoid things that make me sad.

My Conclusion:

I believe that our roots have a lot to do with whom and what we seek out or appreciate in our adult lives. Preppy, suburban kids grow up unexposed to real white trash culture, so they simply aren’t able to relate to it. For them and those like them, ‘those people’ will always exist in another world, over there, as a foreign concept; a cliché, a cartoon. The more privileged an individual is the less likely they will be able to see the charm that exists in a man who embodies some of the baser, rural, backwoods qualities of Americana. Having come from that, it speaks to me. I have tried to better my lot in life, and succeeded up to a point, but not to the degree where I can deny that part of me that appreciates the masculine appeal of a redneck man. So, I’m thinking this particular Acquired Taste is something one doesn’t so much acquire, but is born into.

‘nuff said.

Next week: Size (Queens)