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| Ever heard of the Ben and Jerry’s flavors called "Cubby Hubby," or "Chunky Monkey?” |
Okay guys, I can keep quiet no longer. I believe there is a deep conspiracy in place and I intend to call it out, because it keeps me, and maybe you from happiness. You might tell me I have a fetish, or call it an attraction quotient. Course that’s why we’re attracted to the same sex, right? We know what we like and we’re not afraid to admit it. I am convinced I am not alone in my tastes, but the media and advertising have conspired to make me think I am. And YOU haven’t stepped forward to prove me wrong. Yes, I’m doing this for altruistic reasons, but most importantly, to improve my sex life and dating pool.
Here’s the deal. I have a wide variety of tastes and have tried lots of flavors, but show me a line-up of men with their shirts off and I will pass on the guy with the 30 inch waist and six pack. Okay, that’s sexy, but my first pick would be the guy who’s not afraid to eat, (i.e. he understands oral pleasure and could almost suck my tongue out of my skull for half an hour) and has a little shadow, a little curve over the belt. I’m gonna walk down the row till I see the guy who looks me in the eye, smiles like he knows a secret and wears relaxed or loose fit jeans. I’m looking for a man with lots of attributes including (but not limited to) a spare; not for a tractor, or an SUV, but definitely more than a bicycle. Lets say an economy or compact. A surfer boy pushin'’ down the jams with more waves than angles. A little stress on that velcro. If I can hide my index finger up to the first joint (minimum) in his piko (bellybutton), he passes the first test. My fantasy man has at the very least 10 extra, better yet 30+ and about a 38 inch waist. Sure, big arms, muscles underneath, but smooth and soft on the outside. No V-shaped torsos please. CURVES and a profile. Shirt size; just over the line of large. Love handles? Hey gay boy, ever notice they’re strictly a male feature? How ‘bout it Sherlock, how do you think that nickname came about? Of course I’m gonna love all of you and not just one sexy feature, but I harp on this because there’s this myth that we’re all supposed to swoon over the same thing. (Don’t get me started on the convict haircut.)
I’m tired of looking at close-calls and thinking: "Mmmm, he'd be nice if there were just a little more there.” I’ve looked for the jerk-off zines and web sites that would appeal to my tastes and my choices are slim to none. There are basically two options: gym bunnies in high school or white sumo wrestlers of the world wrestling federation. Snore. Bears can be great, but just a little heavier and hairier than I care for. I’m not looking to hibernate, just cuddle, roll around and tickle maybe. "Met” a great guy via the web. Turns out he loved my photo but was afraid I’d be disappointed once we met cause he had put on about 10 since his pix was taken. Couldn’t convince him I was even more excited! We never met in the real world. The Hawaiians knew it: your piko connected you to mom, and that’s where the manna is on the body, your inherited power. Their navigators stood in the ocean belly-level to feel if the waves were right before starting a journey. Healthy, sexy and sweet to them was a little extra manna: AMEN bradda.
I have rolled with an International Male model (literally, and too many like him), and I’ve moved on. He was so solid and lean he sank in the mattress like a bowling ball. My ear fell asleep when I tried to use his belly, or lack of one, as a pillow. And his skills were best left to a cameraman. Now before you call me a chubby chaser, change that to husky and drop the sneer. And know that if I met a bean pole with a heart of gold and sweet eyes, I wouldn’t think twice about shackin’ up with him. Of course he might have a hard time catching my eye initially, and I give it six months before I start buying him Haagen-daz. Okay, kidding; its not about me trying to change him. If I had my ideal man and he wanted to "improve” himself, I would support him, but I would hope he would work on the self-esteem first, and the waistline latter, (okay never, but...). Go to the therapist hon, not the ab machine. Without the attitude, the size will never be right.
You say you had issues in childhood with your body? Who’s gonna cure you faster, a therapist or someone like me who will love you just as you are? Like using the word queer for yourself, just imagine somebody being attracted to you for that sweet little opu they made fun of in grade school. There must be more guys with taste like mine; I’ve never been that original. If you’ve never tried a hunky, husky guy, then you don’t know what you’re missing. Oh well, more for me. I’m not saying skinny men are god’s gifts to the voluptuous ones. The babes who have a honey their size know what’s going on. But if you are a buxom boy, then please take pity on those who don’t measure up to you and try a skinny guy, namely me. Maybe skinny guys (me) will work harder to compensate. If you make assumptions on what I’m looking for based on my build, we both loose. Smile, look me in the eye; I won’t bite, just nibble.
Want to drive me crazy? Take your shirt off, or better yet, wear an old t-shirt cut half-way up (teaser!), now rub the buddha nice and slow, and watch me wreck my car. Here’s the real rub. I’m the one with the 30 inch waist and abs, but I don’t stay up watching infomercials on how to do that. In fact, when I have, I’ve always liked the "before” guys best. I like my body as is and don’t want to change it so I can "be who I want to hold.” Yes, there are some guy-couples who look totally opposite. Not all couples seem to need to wear each others clothes or look like bookends. Of course, nothing wrong with that, but not for me. I’ve done the math: my steamiest trips have been with boys beefier than me, hands down. So why can’t I find true love? Because YOU believe THEM. THEY’VE GOT YOU FOOLED. Because when the DJ says "Only the sexy people take their shirts off,” the cut boys do, and the best , the sexiest boys don’t. They don’t know they could put me (or some other savvy man) in their back pocket and ride me home.
Okay, lets say I get lucky, either with a potential LTR, or at least a meaningful one night stand. We’re alone, and he starts oohing and awwing about my little waist or my flat stomach. Sure stud, whatever floats your beautiful boat, that’s fine. But let me show even a little interest in his winning assets and 9 out of 10 he’ll suck it in, get nervous, move my hands, moan about the gym, blah, blah, blah. If he starts to get off describing the details he likes about my body, I've learned I have to quietly say something generic like, "uh, you have a nice body too." or he'll freak. Can you say double-standard? He gets so self-conscious he forgets I’m poppin’ my rivets over what I see and feel. Possibly the worst thing is that he’ll move my head lower, (just when I was installing a nice hicky) and he’ll pretend from then on that his only nerve-endings are in the soldier. He’ll totally drop the foreplay and act like a straight man. Again, to clarify: I love the infantry, but there’s much more to truly steamy stuff than the war zone. There are friggin nerve endings all over your body! (Okay, maybe your shins can't appreciate a little lip action, but...) HELLO! HAVE YOU EVERY HEARD OF THE TERM TICKLISH? Don’t tell me a little attention around the belly doesn’t feel good. What the hell is he thinking? He can explore my body, get all excited about how I look, but I can’t enjoy his just ‘cause HE thinks he isn’t sexy? The irony is maybe he’s thinking when we bump into each other in the future, all the time he plans to put in at the gym will make him more appealing to skinny boys, make him look and feel better. And of course, I’m still in love with his before pix.
Some more free advice: Say you and some Tony the tiger are startin’ to raise each other’s hackles and he plants both paws on whatever piece of your own anatomy you like the least. He starts purring in your ear, telling you how good that part feels, how fine you are. Maybe he even seems to like telling you this. You should:
A: Purr back and wiggle that piece deeper into his paws, like you know you’re edible, and enjoy that he’s getting off on you.
B: Try to move his paws elsewhere and say whimpery things like you wish your’s was more like his, you don’t like yours and would fix it if you could afford the surgery, damn those genetics, you’ve tried everything, etc. (Sadly, I have actually heard men say things like this about themselves DURING sex!)
If you anwered B then Mrs. Cleo sees lots of solo late night infomercials in your future.
Yes, healthy is good, but it doesn't look the same on everyone. And the doctors have told YOU many times that healthy doesn’t always fit those height and weight charts. SNAP OUT OF IT! (sigh) Now its post-holidays (parties,big meals) and you poor brainwashed lemmings are gonna hide under comfort clothes, visually starving me till at least April. I’m gettin’ tired of waiting for y’all to start that New Year’s resolution and go to the gym. Call me from the retirement home six months from now, and six more months, etc. when you’re ready and finally happy with yourself. Isn’t life a little too short to keep waiting for tomorrow, and a "better” you? KNOW THAT YOU ARE DAMN FINE TODAY. Alas, that only works if you truly know it and own it.
I mean it. Get up, pull that shirt off and keep it off dammit. Okay, the boss doesn’t like that but at home and the beach at least. Shirt on at thebeach? Message sent = I don’t like my body and won’t know how to enjoy my whole body during sex. Might as well scowl, grab your crotch and grunt. Maybe that’s not you, but that’s what I see and hear. Now go to the mirror and see what I see. Grin, think to yourself: "There’s a great guy out there that is going to drool over me, over everything about me.” Really guys, maybe this would help everybody: put your hand on your stomach, (so you’ll be used to the sensation when I get frisky,) whether you're flat like me, or plush, well-rounded, sexy, healthy, delicious (okay, I have to stop now) and use that mirror and say those immortal words: "Its ALL good!” If you know you’re a piece of art, then YA ARE BABY, YA ARE. Don’t see a sexy man standing there? Then we’ll never meet, we’ll both die alone, and the conspirators will win! (This must be a right-wing plot: husky straight men have sex all the time, breeding like rabbits while us gay boys pine away.) I’m betting (okay, hoping) they haven’t melted your mind yet with their propaganda, and there are enough truly sexy boys on this island to keep me buying the vitamin E and condoms. I’ll corner the market while all those other skinny guys go home alone or wonder why they bruise so easily. Poor inexperienced things!
So there’s the conspiracy. You’re either buying into it or you’re ready to show us all, including the right-wingers that sexy comes in all sensuous sizes. I haven’t signed this because narrow people can be cruel; I’ve already got a reputation. I don’t want a reputation, to be typecast, or for you to feel like I’m chasing you just for your body. Heaven forbid you should get suspicious if I offer you some fresh kulolo. I just want ALL of you, SHAMELESS, happy you. We can make those gossips wonder what
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