Sunday, December 18, 2011

Sunday Morning Questions: Courage Edition

It has been brought to my attention that I neglected to include a link to Beardos, Indies, and Baddies last week. Whoops. Sorry, Seph.

I had a conversation this week with an older gentleman—older than I, anyway, as he's in his fifties—on the eve of his first sexual experience with a guy. He'd built his life according to the blueprints he thought was supposed to follow Married young, to a high school sweetheart. Respectable job. Two children. A position in his church. He'd been starving for a man-on-man encounter all his life. Watched gay porn like crazy. Masturbated with dildos.

Finally he'd decided to take the step of meeting up with a total stranger to whom he'd been chatting on the internet, rent a hotel room together, and take care of business. He was writing me to ask questions about how he should prepare, and what to expect.

I know that some of my readers are impatient with this guy already. I understand that. When one lives with a certain degree of honesty, or has taken the risks and suffered the consequences and the fallout, it's easy to brand others as cowards. It's simple to point a finger and insist that others tread the same path you have, or risk your censure.

And as I spoke to this gentleman—I use the word in its most complimentary sense, as he was a true gentleman—I realized how extremely fortunate a life I've had. I've always had a clear view of my sexuality and the determination to do with it what I wanted. I've always set my own metaphorical destinations, and felt free to jump track when I wasn't heading where I wanted.

Talking to someone for whom making his own choice was new made me much more grateful for what I've had, all along. This was a guy who was giddy with happiness because his wife had been away the night before and he was able to experience the novelty of sleeping in the nude. Except for a period in college in which I donned briefs at night to spare my roommates, I've slept in the nude since I was out of diapers. But I went to bed that night appreciating the freedom I've enjoyed all those years, a little more.

For the record, I think anyone making a stand about his or her sexuality and choosing to explore it is a brave individual indeed—no matter what time of life.

Enough of that. I wanted to warn you guys that for the next couple of weeks I'm not going to hold myself to the same schedule as usual. I'm sure there will be entries, but as I am going to be busy with family stuff and the holidays (don't forget you have a week left of Christmas shopping), I'm not going to try to make near-daily entries again until probably after the new year. I won't be abandoning Breeder's Readers altogether, though, don't worry.

Let's get to some questions from

How many sexual partners have you had?

I would be unable to count, at this point.

However, when I go to a mainstream movie and a number (usually it's 30, for some reason) is thrown out to show that the romantic lead has been quite a hardcord Lothario, all I want to do is stroke the poor little Hollywood star's hair, make a pained face, and say in that pitying way that we Southerners have, "Oh, honey."

How many loads have you given or taken in one day?

The most I've taken in a single day was about 17, when I was in my teens. The most I've given was 8.

Do you (or did you at some point) know someone like Edina or Patsy on Absolutely Fabulous? Who is it and what sort of relationship/friendship do you have with them? What aspect of him/her do you relate to Eddy or Pats?

As much as I would like to be a Patsy, I'm afraid I'll always see myself as an Edina. I've known a few Patsys in my life--they didn't resemble her because of the style, or the boozing, or the drugs, but they did seem to be the essence of cool compared to how I perceive my relative oafishness.

Secretly, though, I dread I'm a sweater-wearing Saffie.

Your best fag hag girl says she has a friend who needs to be "broken in" as a bottom or top (the natural opposite of you) and suggests that you would be perfect. When you finally meet him, it turns out to be her 18-year-old nephew. Do you fuck?

Why wouldn't I?

Are you a member of the jihadists for peace movement?

No. Do they serve good refreshments at meetings? That's usually the criterion by which I decide to join groups.

Just to expand on a question posted today: Do you ever fear being outed to your wife? Sounds like friends and colleagues know.

Among the couple of assumptions here is one that I'm closeted. Though I don't intend either to confirm or deny it in this forum, I would say remind you that it is an assumption.

I don't fear being outed. I'm not ashamed of my sexuality.

What would you do if your kids found your blog?

No child is going to stumble over a blog like mine. Not by accident. He'd have to be looking for it.

Sexuality is nothing to be frightened of. Not at any age. I'm not ashamed of the fact that I have a sex life. Anyone who wants to picture me reforming my ways and vowing to sin no more, because of the wide-eyed reproach of a sinless child, has been reading too many fucking cheap Victorian novels--or hasn't moved past that sentimental level of thinking.

I would hope that any child of mine who read my blog would come away with the message that sex is fun, erotic, and meant to be enjoyed, even while it's strange, messy, and sometimes uncomfortable. Most of all, I'd want him to know that it's a part of life that can and should be examined and celebrated.

In other words, the same things I say without the blog.

It's about to hit the fan. Who's at your back? Keel, King, Gale, Smith, King(2), Purdey, or Gambit?

Oh my god. I don't get to take Mrs. Peel? Then it's got to be Purdey. She might be a clotheshorse, but she can karate chop like no one's business.


  1. I was like that gentleman (closeted, married, father, etc.) until I was 50. I'm out, divorced and in a long-term relationship with a real gentle man for ten years now. It's never too late. I certainly didn't want to be on my death bed and regret my life.

    Merry Christmas everyone. Peace

  2. I too have trained or indoctrinated guys interested in the notion of male/male at the suggestion of people who know me. Though I haven't done so in a while, two things are certain. The person has been brave enough to tell someone he needed an experience, but more importantly they want some kindness on their first time. Regardless of how vigorous the sex may or may not be, there is an inherent kindness born of gratitude for being allowed to be the guy's first. I absolutely agree that sex between consensual adults should be fun and erotic and carried out as both people wish it to be. I run with a cadre of older wealthy men here in Bakersfield--some of whom lived closeted because they had to--and what I gain from them when we hang out is amazing. Loved this post.

    Matthew Darringer

  3. I'd say it probably takes more courage to come out when you're over 50 than it does when you're 20. You have more to lose, for one thing.

    You write: The most I've taken in a single day was about 17, when I was in my teens.

    I can't seem to find the blog entry about this. I feel certain you've written one, but if I'm wrong...well, would you? :-)

  4. Now you've embarrassed me my posting my typo. Keel was supposed to be Peel.

    Purday has a special spot for me, 'cause she was my first, but having seen them all now, I'd definitely wnat Peel at my back, too. Besides, she's Canadian.

  5. Did you see "Beginners"? It's a film that deals tangentially with this topic of coming out at a certain age. Christopher Plummer is great in it as well as Ewan McGregor, who plays his straight son.

  6. I feel so much like the guy coming out in his fifties (though I'm only 48!). Thanks for mentioning him.

    Along the lines of coming out, I wish many more of us could really adopt your positive attitudes regarding sexuality in general. I think of my kids finding my blog "by accident". They are both adults and it isn't like they are prudes or living in a bubble; They know that people have sex - I just think it would be creepy for them to know that their own parents have sex!

    Kidding. A little.

  7. I grew practically up with gay men and women and as a European woman born after the revolutionary year 1968 (coughs ... much ... er, later of course ...) I was fortunate enough not to have to understand certain concerns about same-sex love. Of course I was told that not all life choices were accepted everywhere but to me it all sounded rather fantastic–like reading about the Witch hunt in the medieval ages: something long past and absurd. Until I lived for the first time in the States and in Asia.(I don't want to imply America is less tolerant; merely that I had my first encounter with a closeted homosexual person in Washington DC.)

    If I had children myself I'd let them read your blog ;)

  8. Rob, thanks for the link to the Beardos, Indies and Baddies site, holy crap there are some hot guys on there.

  9. I've always felt blessed that when I was younger no one ever thought to try and teach me that same-sex love was bad. In fact, it wasn't until after I had already had sex with men that anyone ever tried to convince me of it. I had heard people making rude jokes about gays in middle school, but back then we didn't really know what we were talking about, and wouldn't have known a homo if he was in drag and singing Cher. Before I was in 8th grade I already knew a boy who had come out and we were good friends. I don't know how I missed all that repression, but I think part of it was my mother being very liberal, part was my dad being too lazy to teach me his conservative ways, and I was introduced to sexual stuff early on. By the time my father had "the talk" with me (a week before I went to college *snort*) I had already had sex with more people than he had in his life. Everything he told me I pretty much just rolled off my back.

    Anyway, like you I always applaud those willing to push their sexuality to where they are comfortable, and to try new things. Sex is fun, and sex is about having fun. When it gets boring, you're doing it wrong. That's my thoughts, at least.


  10. Man my ears started burning...I wonder why???

    Thanks for the plug, but now I'll have to post regularly. Darn. And while there's no shortage of beardolisciousness to procure, I'm trying to keep it to a certain "look", which is more limiting. Perhaps on slow weeks I'll have no choice but sneak pics of me in there.

    In the past 4 weeks I've gone from zero to a full beard and rocking handlebar. If I don't tire of my mustache in my mouth or Salisbury Steak on my face, I should be a beast in no time.

    As for the Ab Fab conundrum goes, my bestie and I both lay claim to Eddie, although he's adamant that I'm Pats and I'm certain he's a Saffy-Gran hybrid.


  11. Oh PS...your "Oh honey" quip reminded me of the King of Mississippi.


  12. Someone once told me I was a mix of Patsy and Karen Walker....