The Secret Lives Of Gay Men
Boys love each other like this: shirts off, blue jeans, smoking a joint in bed maybe listening to some old records. They’ll take their fingertips across each other’s chests, down arms, and almost to the penis. They’ll circle it curiously and then either go for the plunge or shy away. They’ll bury their heads into someone else’s arms and have their hair stroked. It will feel like you’re getting shampooed at some fancy salon and you won’t ever want them to stop. Boys love each other like that.
Boys love each other when they’re wrestling. It’s a thing amongst gay men. We use our aggression, beat each other up and then switch gears when we feel the need to get all tender and soft. It feels strange—switching seamlessly from physical aggression to absolute devotion and tenderness—but it’s what lives inside us. We tread those lines constantly. We want to punch you hard on the arm and then hold you tight.
Boys break down each other’s walls. It’s an exercise in patience, getting a man to surrender to you, but when they do, their body explodes with feelings. They lock themselves up and when someone finally opens the floodgates, a whole lot of everything comes out. They’re a piñata and you’re carrying the bat.
People always seem to marvel at men who unravel and show their sensitive sides. A woman delights at seeing such a change. It’s such a victory to see a male become unchained to their machismo. When it happens between two men, however, it’s truly magnificent. The sight of two boys loving each other like they’ve been taught not to do is a revelation.
We know what you think of us. We know that there’s this image of gay men just being detached and hungry for sex. There is that. There is a lot of that. But there’s also thoughtfulness, concern, monogamy, Sunday afternoons in bed, I love you babe, I love you a lot, and you make me so happy. There’s so much of that and it’s never really talked about. It’s the secret lives of boys who love boys. Let’s blow the lid off of it, okay? Let’s expose every sweet moment, every kissed neck, every intense hand holding session. It’s super progressive to treat us like loving human beings rather than horny animals, isn’t it? So progressive.
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They say laughter is the best medicine, and six months ago I found myself highly medicated, that is, I remembered how to laugh.
If we are not happy now with ourselves and what we are doing then what the hell makes us think that we will be happy or satisfied later?
I remember the grass tickling my bare legs and the stains on your shirt, and you smirking at my excitement before your tongue swirled pralines and cream into my mouth.
Second semester: I wonder how much coffee it would take to kill someone?