Impaled love

Love is so much more than just sex. The very best kind is where your cock is connected to your heart.  These guys may just be porn models, but you can see a genuine connection.  Friends with benefits, and more.

Deep connection

I loves ya

So beautiful and heart-warming.  How can anyone think this is wrong?

In the real world

Above and beyond

It's just like mine!

From FuckYeahQueer

Cuddling

From the Guys Cuddling blog

Cuddling is more important than fucking.  But so many men are terrified of it.  What if it leads to sex?  What if my friends think I'm gay?  Or worse:  what if they think I'm effeminate?

So we turn aside loving.  It's not manly enough, we think.  But it is.  And it's good.  And we would all be happier for it.

Aging men and their friendships

An interesting piece.  I struggle to make friends. I don't like sport.  I dislike talking about trivia.  But I am loyal and giving (I think so, anyway), even though I'm sure I'm sometimes a pain.  I doubt now that at my age I will make new friends.  Acquaintances are easy.  But trust, intimacy, affection, are not. The roles allocated to us by society leave no room for male friendship, as the article discusses.

Ah well.  It is what it is.

Artistry of Male is back!

E-x-c-e-l-l-e-n-t!

You can find the new AOM here.

This is one of his images from the loving couples series.

Sadness

A reader sent me this email:

Just got up to date in Majorca Flats.. U are a great writer Nick. Characters are nicely drawn, likeable, and u make me care what happens to them. 

Difficult for me to believe you can write that way about man to man tenderness, and you say you've not had it with the guys you've had sex with. You write so realistically, not cloying, just DTE.. You got a nice imagination! 

I suppose empathy comes in to why i was so engrossed..as I can see myself potentially in some of them. Especially Cody... Makes me very glad I've made the decisions that I have. 

It made me a little sad.  Not because he praised my writings -- I love that.  (And thank you, buddy!)  I earn no money from what I write, so to have someone tell me it hits the spot is satisfying and pleasing.  It encourages me to go on writing.

No, it was because it made me think. And the truth is that no man other than my father, and then only when I was a liitle boy, has ever held me with love.  And you know what?  Now, no man ever will.  All the men who fucked me didn't love me.  It was just sex.

Are men capable of love, real love, not just a rush of oxytocin as they come?  Love when the man they love is sick or grumpy?  Love when he's old and warty?  Love, the love which conquers all?  I must go on believing that it does exist, and yet ....  yet I am starting to wonder.  To wonder whether there isn't something in the male psyche, in our genes, which makes it hard for too many of us to love, dispassionately and selflessly.  I know there are some men who love other men in this way.  And they give me hope, but a general and impersonal hope, because there won't ever be one for me.

There's no point grumbling.  It is was it is.  And we must bear our burdens without complaining, and I do try to do that (believe it or not!)   Other people endure worse.  Yet love is so central to our humanity, to our sense of worth, to our happiness.  Not money, not possessions.

Love.

I never wanted more from the men I loved.  And I've never had it.

Men are bastards

Obsessed with sex, driven by their small heads, not their big ones, afraid to love, afraid to care and hyper-competitive.

Yeah, yeah, I know.  It's a generalisation.  And I know one or two top blokes, who are loving, kind, caring, compassionate, thoughtful, honest and good.  Some of them -- will wonders never cease! -- are even straight.  There ya go.

But the broad male culture ... I hate it.

Nick Riewoldt (again)

A beaut pic of Nick Riewoldt hugging a younger team member, Arryn Siposs.  Nick Riewoldt is straight -- yet he manages to interact with his male team members and in fact members of opposing teams in a way which is kinda ... touching.  And warm.  And heart-warming.

I don't have much time for straights any more, but Nick Riewoldt's interactions with other men show he's not squeamish about the affection and love which can grow between men, nor is he afraid to show his tender side.

Nice.

Oh, and I don't think for one minute that Nick or Arryn and the other bloke (whoever he is) are gay or even mildly happy.

Love on a green sheet

Even if they are just porn actors, there's tenderness and mutual concern between them. At least, I see that.

ElvenSword, chapter 5

From this website

I've been rewriting, in some places very substantially, my first novel ElvenSword.  I've uploaded chapter 5 to my website.

“The man who died, died by accident. He and some fellow ruffians attacked a—friend—of mine, who was defending himself with difficulty. I intervened, and the man attacked me from behind. When I turned, I threw him as far as I could. Most unfortunately, he hit the wall, and broke his neck.”

“Yes, I had heard much that story. And where is your friend?”

“Here!” said Steppan, his mouth quirking ironically, turning towards Fluin.

Fluin bowed. “Your Grace.” Magda had taught Fluin how to address each rank in the Capporean nobility. She had also taught him that, though he should be polite, he was as good as anyone, and need not feel himself inferior. Yet despite this, he found the Khedha formidable. Her face was hard and there was a manic gleam in her eyes. She wore power as easily as a coat.

Steppan stared at Fluin, with just a hint of a smile around his eyes, and Fluin stared back. The bond between them was almost tangible. How touching, thought the Khedha, sourly, observing Fluin properly for the first time. Obviously the lord’s catamite. Understandable. Very beautiful. This was an interesting complication.

You can read this chapter here.

Mates

Mates. Friends. Guys you love. Guys you're fond of. Intimacy and friendship


Sportsmen are less afraid of being intimate with other men than non sportsmen, because they have the macho credentials.  It must be very liberating.  I'm envious.  

Beer, anyone?

There's a time in your life when you are prepared to experiment, to do different stuff, including to try, maybe, sex and love with someone of your own gender.  Later on, you settle down, and get married, and start behaving. 

This image is from that period of one's life, when experimentation doesn't fill you with trepidation.  A time when the adjective bi-curious could just apply.

Beer and .... what?

In touch with your inner man

This article on gay men and masculinity is not without some insights:

• Gay men have an ambivalent attitude towards masculinity.  Well I dunno about other gay men, but I certainly do.  I regard some aspects of masculinity as pernicious: inability to express any emotions except aggression and anger, for example.

• One of the ways homophobes misunderstand gay men is in assuming we secretly want to be women.  Not on your nelly.  Or at least, not for this nelly!  I like being male.  I just like others to be male too.

• Growing up, gay boys are sometimes taunted with words like “sissy,” that imply they are deficient in the masculinity department.  Yeah, or the South African equivalent: moffie.  Jeez it hurt.

• Since gay men are attracted to other men – duh – a certain amount of testosterone is inherently attractive to gay guys.  Indeed.  But testosterone plus warmth and compassion -- wow!  

• We gay men wound ourselves when we learn to think of masculinity as something that resides outside of our own selves when we see other men as masculine, but not our selves.   Yeah, but . . . it's hard to set aside decades of negative conditioning. 

• Identifying those aspects of being a man we most value and then cultivate those parts of our selves can lead to a healthier and less distorted sense of our own masculinity.  My lady reckons I am a far better man than most because I have selected those aspects of maleness I admire and tried to discard those aspects I dislike.  Not that it hasn't been a hard, long journey.   

Letter from Thomas

I got this letter from a reader, and (with his permission) I'd like to share it with you:

I just wanted to write to let you know that I have found your blog to be very insightful. And, indeed, helpful.

I am a happily married bi guy as well, though I have in the last year or so struggled to work out exactly what I am. I was so impressed to read your postings about distaste of labels. It brought it home for me that I was really just struggling to define "what" I am, and that in fact it is pretty much irrelevant. I love my wife. I like guys. And that is that.

It also gave me some comfort to know that there are other bi married guys out there who have a lasting and strong relationship with their wife and their kids, and still can appreciate what is good and beautiful in life - be it male or female.  Though I am out to my wife, I am not yet to the broader community.

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. There is some fine perceptive writing on your blog and I greatly appreciate your point of view.

Thomas

Firstly, thanks for writing.  I'm never sure whether my own eccentric view of the world resonates out there.  I know that I am odd, very odd.  So to hear from someone who likes my writing, or my rants, or just my style, is great.

Second, I think there are so many guys like you, Thomas.  Maybe as many as one in five guys is bisexual and remain so most of their lives.  It's hard, because the Cartesian dualism in our culture inclines all of us to the view that you're either one, or the other.  But it's more complicated and more subtle than that.  For humans, sex was never just about reproduction.  It was always about bonding, too, because when our ancestors moved around the Serengeti plains, they needed social glue to bind the tribe together.  I suspect we formed extended and overlapping "families" of males and females who had sex with each other, as I discuss in Our Cheatin' Hearts.  

One of the reasons I write my fiction and this blog is that I think it vital that we fight for the right to be gay or bisexual: 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
   If this be error and upon me proved,
   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.  That's clear enough, isn't it?  Shakespeare was bisexual, without much doubt.  He loved women: look at the characters he created, full of life and vigor, sexy, feisty, thrilling.  And he loved at least one man:

A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
     But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
     Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

 As usual, I digress.

Thanks for writing, and remember, in the end, it's love which matters: omnia vincit amor.  Love conquers all.  And if you and your wife love each other, you will make it work.  The world is full of sorrow and grief and loss and loneliness.  To reject someone for such a paltry reason as their sexual inclination is plain stupid.  My lady loves me for me, for what I am, and a key part of that is my gayness.  I'm sure your lady loves you too, and when you truly love someone, you know that they come as a package, good and bad combined.

Go well.

All Overish*

A coupla months ago I met on the train a guy I've known for 17 years.  When I first met him, he was 17, and I was 42.   He was in a ballet at my daughter's ballet school and he was cute as -- and obviously gay.  But I'm married and I try to be faithful, and anyway, even if I wasn't and didn't, I don't do 17 year olds. It's perfectly legal in Victoria. Nevertheless.  I used to see him on the train from time to time.  He was going to VCA ( Victorian College of the Arts), which has an attached high school for would-be thespians.

Rudolf Nureyev

Then he started as a ballet teacher (by then he was in his mid twenties) , and I went to him for lessons for a while.  Ballet is very intimate.  Your teacher has to show you how to do steps, how to stand, how to hold your body, head, arms, how to turn out your legs, and so on.  So there's this warm hand on you, pressing your back in or out a little, demonstrating how to improve turnout, kneeling in front of you arranging your feet into the correct line.  You are in lycra tights (with a dance thong, called a "dance belt", underneath).  He's in sweats, sometimes, and tights at others.  You are in a muck sweat from exercising, your T-shirt sodden, sweat in your groin and your bum-crack, sweat dripping off your face.  And there's this really, really nice bloke, gay, and frankly with a classic dancer's build (muscled legs, delicious bum, broad back, perfect posture) stroking you.  Well, thank goodness for padded 'dance belts' is all I can say! 

Anyway, he went overseas to pursue his career and I didn't see him for a few years.  Then I see this very handsome bloke on the train, and well, look, LOL.  And it's him.  "Nigel!"  He's genuinely really pleased to see me.  He's still cute, still slim and sexy, still very attractive.  He's even nicer than I remember.  And I get a strong impression that he might be interested in me.  He's broken up with his guy.  He's available.  He gives me his mobile number.  So as we're coming into his station, he stands up and I do too, to say goodbye, and the train lurches over some points, and suddenly I'm in his arms.  Male pectorals, male body, male arms, male stubble, male smell.  His blue eyes smiling at me, amused, accepting.  His hand light on my back.

All overish.

Am I going to phone him?  No.  I've always avoiding getting close to gay-shaded guys.  I'm not so strong-willed I can resist the desire and the need for male closeness.  Not that I would make love, but that I might grow too fond of him and get hurt in the process.  That's happened a couple of times to me in the past.  It makes me lonely, perhaps, to be cautious about friendships, because the truth is straight guys don't get it, and I try not to get too close to gay-shaded guys, but that's the way it is.  Suck it up, sunshine.

So. . .  A memory only.  But I think of him, and that moment, often.

[I talked about the beauty of ballet dancers' bodies before, here]

*"All overish" comes from one of Dorothy Sayers' novels, Clouds of Witness,  where Lord Peter Wimsey encounters a magnificently beautiful woman.

A Man and his Dog

I've been reading The Road Home by Michael Thomas Ford, his latest novel. Unlike what I feel has happened with Patrick Gale or Stephen McCauley, as he's got older, Michael Thomas Ford's works haven't become more melancholy. The cheerful aperçus of The Aerodynamics of Pork (Gale) and The Object of My Affections (McCauley) have been muted in their latest novels to the sadder, wiser insights of men who know that the joie de vivre of 18 or 25 doesn't last into your 50s and 60s. The Road Home on the other hand is filled with hope, with the belief that even older guys can find happiness. I get the feeling that Michael Ford is a very likable bloke. Somehow a writer's character is revealed in their writing.

I'll be doing a longer review of it for Wilde Oats. Meantime, I recommend it. Without being rainbow coalition or Enid Blyton, and without it being overdone, it's a lovely heart-warming story, deceptively simple and easy-going. Go forth and read.

But what I really wanted to say was that the cover of The Road Home was marvellous, and I decided to search out the artist. He's a bloke called Steve Walker, and I strongly recommend you visit his gallery. This painting makes me think of my previous post, about friends and loneliness and stubborn male perceptions about weakness and love and such (so what else is new?) Some of these old perennials are considered in The Road Home. The picture's called Dog Day Afternoon. Nice, huh?

[Update: Alas, Steve Walker died in early 2012.  You can read his obituary here]