Tag: gay

IT’S OUT OF THE BAG

The cat (and a few other things) are out of the bag.

After a few days at Riverside, I finally had to pack up and head back to the real world.

Damn, work can get in the way of your life, can’t it? As I’m saying goodbye to my good buddies, Patrick gives me a hug and says “see you on the 15th”, Greg shoots him a dirty look, not sexy dirty, but “Dude, he’s not suppose to know” dirty.

As far as I know – up to this point – the 15th is a brunch that Justin and his hubbies are planning for me, followed by a little frolic (as often happens at their place) for my birthday. Now I know differently, but I have to backtrack a little.

A few months ago, after a particularly experimental session Justin and I were lolling about in a sweaty mass of post coital glow when the topic turned to unfulfilled sexual fantasies. Well, neither Justin or I have been particularly reticent in this department, so the list was small…unless you include truly fantastic fantasies (I have yet to have sex with an actual satyr) but there was one thing that had never quite come together, butt – and this is a big butt – it’s happening on the 15th.

My awesome man is planning a gang bang on my birthday.

Followed by a lovely brunch of course…we have to be civilized about these things.

Now…I need to get my hands on that guest list…and the guests. I promise a full report when it’s over and I’ve recovered.

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Shakin’ it at Studio 54 (kinda)

I’m at Riverside, an awesome gay campground outside Tweed Ontario, with my friends Patrick and Greg who have a trailer here all year. I’m having a great time reconnecting with good friends and making new connections.

Last night there was a Studio 54 themed dance. I was dreading it. I’d survived the actual 70’s as a closeted teen and I had no desire to revisit. Having the most conservative parents in a very conservative town meant that a good time was had by none.

I’d stolen…I mean borrowed…a flashy shirt from Justin and reluctantly shuffled my way to Studio 54 at the pavilion. I don’t think I was pulling off more than a Studio 51.5 but there was some serious spectacular spandex out there and some of those dudes were almost making Studio 69.

I danced.

This may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but it was to me. I let loose and for the first time since I was a child, I danced like no one was looking…it turned out a few of them were looking and I was never dancing alone. Maybe it was the Abba in the air, but I embraced my wee inner dancing queen and let her out.

Suddenly Sister Sledge was singing about their sisters and I realized just how far I’d come. I want to reach back to that scared awkward kid and tell him that it’s going to get so much better, that there is family that loves you, there are guys who will want to dance (and SO much more) with you, and yes, you will indeed shake your sexy bootie on the dancefloor.

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Just the tip…of what I’m writing now

It’s been years since I’ve written erotica and I’d forgotten how fun it is. Sifting through my memories from last weekend, deciding what details to include, which ones to leave out. Figuring out to manipulate the words on the screen so you, the reader, gets the full impact of the amazing sex that happened and hopefully get off is challenging but SO MUCH FUN. I have to admit that thinking about people all over the world getting off to my writing, sharing the physical and emotional pleasure of my own experiences is a huge turn on.

I’m hoping to have my next story and Then His Husband Came Home  up by the end of the weekend, but here’s a short excerpt of what I’ve got so far:

***

He holds my gaze for a moment before brushing his lips gently against mine. I can barely feel him and yet…

We’ve been dating for almost a year, his kiss shouldn’t still be taking my breath away, but it does. His lips are intoxicating and his touch leaves me owned. My hand reaches around his neck and I pull him harder to me, my mouth opens for his tongue and he takes full advantage of my invitation. He pushed me further into the sofa, my back arching to meet him as he slides a hand under my T-shirt, pulling it impulsively from my jeans, the cool air against my lower back makes me shiver, he grinds himself against me, pushing my thighs apart with his knees. Today is going to be his day to have his way with me; I’m more than happy to submit. I’ll turn the tables on him later.

His mouth works hungrily down my neck and over my collar bone, my shirt is jerked up, exposing my pecs. He’s impatient. His hunger made me horny as fuck, and horny for a fuck. I pull his head to my chest.

“Suck my tit.” I hadn’t meant to sound so desperate.

***

More to cum, I promise…

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Gay Glitter & Manly Mylar

A while ago my fourteen-year-old and I passed a bejewelled dude resplendent in mylar and sequins on Church St. We smiled, waved and high fived and I think how great that my kids live in a culture where individuals are accepted and celebrated, (there’s still a long way to go, but we’re moving in the right direction). Then I hear the question…

“Dad, are you ever going to be that gay?”

Before I could answer we ran into friends and there were hugs, laughs and a lot of “When did you get so tall?”. Later wondered what they meant by “that” gay. Was it about degrees…as in “are you ever going to be as gay as them?” because my khaki shorts, T-shirt and sneakers don’t make me less gay than their glittery spandex. Or was it: “are you ever going to be that type of gay?” that’s a different conversation. One that goes a little deeper and brings up issues of labels and our need to stick people in niches. This gay as opposed to that gay? What type of gay are you? Are you gay, or bi, or straight, or poly or trans, or a man, or a woman, or, or, or, or, or? Why do the labels matter and why do we have them? Is it how we organize the world so we can make sense of it, or are we trying to figure out who all the players are so we know how we should act around (and to) them? And what does that say about us? This is going to need more thought and hopefully a good chat or two with my youngest.

I’m thinking about banning labels from the house except on the spice rack…and I’m pretty sure some of them are wrong. I’m also thinking about adding some spandex to my wardrobe. Would that work with the khakis?

OK, rant over. I promise tomorrow’s blog will be sexier. 🙂

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Heady for Hugh

 

Is it just me, or is Hugh Jackman almost perfect? It’s not fair. He’s got a face that smolders handsome, masculine energy but can break into a boyish grin that melts hearts. He literally has the body of a superhero – I’d woof for Wolverine ANY day – and he tap-dances. Just to highlight how drastically unfair the world is, he’s also a great guy who everyone speaks well of: smart, kind, funny, charming…the list goes on.

If he were gay and into me, then he’d be perfect. He can play gay (check him out in “The Boy From Oz”) now if only he could be gay…and REALLY into me…and living in Toronto…and REALLY, DEEPLY into me.

Sigh.

Until then, I’ll have to rely on my imagination…oh…and my boyfriend…because I have an awesome boyfriend. I wonder if Justin can do an Australian accent.

I’m just kidding Justin, I know you’re gonna read this and I’m wild about you just the way you are and if Hugh shows up on my doorstep, I promise to have him wait until you can get here, something tells me there’s plenty to go around.   

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Missing my Super Bulges

Just finished watching Black Widow with my youngest (14 years) and I’m torn. I love seeing films with strong, smart women in the leads, it’s empowering without being condescending, inclusive without being preachy.

HOWEVER – I miss muscle men in speedos showing up to save the day. When I was feeling out of place and alone in junior-high, Batman would sweep into my imagination with his bulgy black Speedo, his jagged cape and his firm jaw to save me. I’m still sure it was Aquaman’s firm butt that got me onto the swim team in high school where I could wear my own Speedo without feeling self-conscious; I’m also sure he’s at least partially responsible for overdeveloped Speedo/Underwear fetish. And DON’T get me started on Spiderman…ok, let’s talk about Spiderman, who was regularly squatting with his thighs spread so provocatively. Sigh, he could wrap me up in his web ANYtime he wanted.  If only there was some radioactive spider to bite me and transform my overly scrawny frame into that muscled web spinner. WAIT, I’m confusing myself, did I want to be Spiderman or did I want to have (or be had by) Spiderman? I guess the beauty of fantasies is that I can have both.

Soooooo. Go girl power, Scarlett Johansson is great and I LOVE that a woman, Cate Shortland, directed (brilliantly I might add) but please I miss my Super Speedo Bulges.

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