Sunday Morning Questions: Facebook Sucks Edition

There’s always something, isn’t it?

This week, Facebook decided I wasn’t a real person. That is, for those of you who had added my Facebook account as a friend, I’m no longer visible or able to be contacted on the service, because Facebook has declared that I’m not a real person.

(Admittedly, there’s a certain amount of truth behind the accusation. The name I was using for the account is not my own. But I’m certainly real enough.)

Unfortunately, the only way I can find to rectify the situation is to participate in a test I’m sure to fail in which I’m challenged to look at photos of my Facebook friends and then to type in their names. This is not a test I’m certain I could pass on my 100% genuine Facebook account under my 100% genuine name, despite the fact I have less than 200 friends on the service. For an account with 1500 friends, few of whom I actually know in real life, it’s nigh on impossible.

And my chances of success are severely impeded by the fact that a lot of the photos that are supposed to be my Facebook friends are of various porn stars and celebrities, most of whom I’m pretty sure are not actually following my account there, as well as Hanna-Barbera characters, red equality signs, and plates of burgers and fries.

To top it off, some other branch of Facebook keeps emailing me almost daily. You haven't logged in in a while! it tells me. All these cool posts from all your friends have been posted while you've been gone! Follow this link and log in to see what you're missing! YOU DON'T GET TO HAVE IT BOTH WAYS, FACEBOOK.

There’s no visible way to appeal to Facebook for reconsideration; the help button at the bottom of the page takes me to help content that’s unrelated to the photo-matching game they want me to play. I attempted to do some Google image reverse-matching, but that was unsuccessful (and you try reverse-matching an Instagrammed shot of a Wendy’s Chicken Sandwich and fries to see which of your fifteen-hundred friends might have posted the damned thing). Anyone else have a suggestion for a solution? I’m open to your ideas.

If worse comes to worse, I’ll just start over on Facebook. I primarily use the account for publicizing new blog posts—the rest of the time I spend there is usually ignoring apps like Candy Crush and Wonderful Color Birthday Calender [sic] 2, and then leaving groups to which I’ve been invited without asking like UKRAINE GLORY HOLE LOVERS and Young Gay Bros Wantin’ Abuse. Hmm. Now that I think of it, maybe I could do without a blog Facebook account altogether.

Until I figure out what I want to do, I remind you that you’re welcome to follow me on my Twitter account. I tend to post there more often, including notices of new blog posts and occasional sex pics.

Let’s get to some questions from formspring.me.


When first experimenting with anal what was the first thing you inserted in there?

I believe it was a finger, when I was 9 or 10. Later on I experimented with a carrot, and then moved up to a broomstick handle. I finally got dick a couple of years later and didn't play with any toys again until my twenties.


Some people ask you the most random non sexuaal questions & others are just plain bloody rude. I enjoy your blog, thanks for sharing, keep it up.

I'm actually fine with the non-sexual questions. I'm not banging butt twenty-four hours a day after all (try as I sometimes might). I have other interests as well, and if people are interested enough to ask about them, or about my childhood or earlier experiences, I'm happy to share.

The rudeness I get from a very small handful of people is the single most daunting and dispiriting thing not only about Formspring, but about interacting with readers. For some readers the rudeness is inadvertent—I suspect they're so unused to, and so intimidated by, someone who's not frightened of his own sexuality that they manage to project all their own fears and self-hatred on me in the guise of being clever or condescending. Yet I also attract hypocrites who in their questions and comments insist that they're above the low vulgarity in which I wallow, and yet they for some reason follow every dirty sex blog or nasty Twitter user out there. And then I just get the crazies, who suck the life right out of me—as we all saw earlier this year.

I'd rather have some weird-ass questions about my favorite childhood cereal over those freaks, anytime.


Does having sex outside a private home (cars, public toilets, etc.) thrill you in a way and make the sex feel different then meeting in a private home?

I first started having public sex in parks, cars, public washrooms, and alleys in my youth simply because I didn't have a private home to which I could take men. I lived with my parents. They were permissive, but when it came to bringing home a strange adult to bang me in my childhood bed, they weren't that permissive. So it arose as a means to an end—a necessity, rather than a preference.

In the era in which I came of age during the late seventies and early eighties, however, public cruising spots were how gay men met each other to have sex. Not every small city or rural outpost had a bar. We didn't have the internet, so we couldn't hook up via Craigslist. Heading to the park to cruise, or catching eyes with a stranger on a city street, or hanging out on the trails by the riverside and taking the action into the bushes was our only means to an end. It was a way of life for many of us who had no better alternatives to meet like-minded men.

These days, of course, it's different. But it's still possible to hit a parking lot, or a restroom, or a park, to find some hot guy, and to have sex with him there. For me, the thrill isn't from the locale. I'm not standing there thinking, "Damn, I really like the pee smell in this restroom!" I'm not standing there thinking, "Hey, lookit me having sex behind this vending machine, I'm a bad, bad boy!" I'd infinitely rather be fucking on a bed, any day.

What’s sexy about public sex is the thrill of the chase. It's knowing that I took a risk and came up with a hot reward. It's the convenience, or the sheer whim of it that I like. I like knowing that men still stick to the old customs, and that human nature doesn't change. I might not do it as much as I did when I was in my teens and twenties—which was daily—but I still do it from time to time to keep my hand in.


What forms of Southern manners do you continue to observe?

What an interesting question. In the time and place where I grew up in the South, manners were a big part of the culture. They weren't so much taught as hammered into one's DNA.

A lot of those genteel customs have gone by the wayside thanks to a certain lassitude of etiquette in today's modern culture, and because we communicate differently as a texting and emailing society from the days when all we had was the postal service and the telephone at our fingertips.

However, I find that I'm unable to hold open the door for a woman in public. I don't care if she looks perfectly capable of swinging it back herself. I am there to hold it for her, dammit. I also have a hard time keeping myself from writing hand-written bread-and-butter notes on stationery with a pen, after someone has had me over for a home-cooked dinner or has let me stay overnight. I realize I could get it done with email so much faster, but it just seems less nice that way.


First time reader found your blog while looking for a web site for my family, your runt story made me cry & gave me hope, my gorgeous 17 year old son came out & his father left when i couldn't & wouldn't kick my darling son out.

Gloriosky, it's quite something to run across someone's graphic gay sex blog when you're looking for a family web site. It makes me wonder what the hell search terms you used.

But I'm glad you found the entry helpful, and not mentally scarring. Thank you for standing by your son. I know he thanks you, too.