Why do gay men look like prostitutes?

I remember when I was young and gorgeous men looked more, well how should I put it, more dressed up and civil.

It seems London of today is infested with either fat and hairy gays boozing all-day-long calling themselves “bears” instead of old, hairy and fat, or guys looking like prostitutes half the arse hanging out, tattooed head-to-toe and with hairstyles more commonly found in Berlin produced gay porn movies. Of course you still have the accidental “stereotypical” gays with

tight, too short tank-tops and jeans with piss-colored hair and the “suit-men” looking for only “discreet” fun – whatever that is. I asked few questions from myself just to test the idea in my head:

1. Do men like their sex partners to be, or look like prostitutes?
2. Is there a reason for gay men wanting to look slutty?
3. Does the London drug scene have something to do with the fact men look slutty?

I do think that overly imposed with sex and porno, gay-scene has changed to be more accepting of prostitution and its caricatures. In effect, looking like stereotypical gay porn star straight from the scene filming isn’t actually a bad thing but this slutty look is seen as somewhat hot and desirable – that is, for quick sex and encounters. Would anyone actually want to date with one is a questions which still needs some further research.

So, if the case is that the sluttier you look the more chances you have to get laid should I dress-up as one?

I went to the notorious “gay-clothing” stores on Old Compton street in Soho to find out what it had in store for me. Well then. I had no idea that one could buy briefs where the ass is left bare while cock is positioned in a cup like enlargement - sewed into the frontal part. Ah, I think I am getting the point; “Ass out and dick up!” I thought rather not to wear that piece. I also tried a wrestler-suit; you know a one-piece Lycra clothing where speedos are combined with braces. I looked rather funny in them. Made me giggle, but not really tempted to buy. I also saw a long row of socks, footballer socks I thought, on one of the walls. I had no idea how they are related to the slutty look so I asked the guy at the store. “Well, some people have football player fetish, some like socks and some like to have an image of an athlete,” he explained. “Now wait a minute, are you saying people get kicks out of the image of an athlete only by wearing the gear?” “Yeah mate and some like to smell the socks and sports clothing too,” he continued.

I imagined what would a 120kg, 156cm, 56yo hairy guy in a wrestler suit wearing white socks and trainers look like … What a ghastly thought! I thanked guys in the store and exited. I guess I am more a Prada-boy.

Now how about drugs then?

Drugs have been around us as long as the prostitution as a profession. Whether its cause and effect I cannot tell. But what I can tell is that no sober minded would act like the gays in the gay clubs of London. I have been questionably privileged to witness the ghastly atmosphere in the clubs in this town. The clubs are like birthday cakes. They look wonderful, colorful and fun at the outset but once you open your eyes, like cutting the cake, you see all sorts of weird zombie-looking people waving their bodies and cocks around hundreds of like-wired. I witnessed a really hunky and sexy guy on his early 30’s nearly awake totally wasted with a line of guys behind him wanting to test his asshole with their fingers. Now I do love sex but quite honestly being fingered by tens of men on a dancefloor, and those fingers been in god knows where before, isn’t sexy. Quite far from it.

These places and people are most probably swarming with STD’s (=Sexually transmitted deceases)! When I turned around on the dance floor I saw bunch of hormone-stuffed beefs snorting something up-their-nose. Given that this took place on a dance floor I suspected it wasn’t cocaine but instead ketamine - you know the infamous horse-tranquilizer. In the toilets I saw people smoking crystal meth – the life sucker. Now, I am not an angel myself but what I witnessed here was an absolute horror of an evening. I got an entirely new meaning to an expression “H&H” (high and horny) on that night – and no, it wasn’t an uplifting experience.  

 

More from classy London again in my next post.

Cheerio J