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

Quality apps for meeting the right one...

I had a really bizarre encounter on the first day I arrived here in London. I got a following message on Grindr:

"Bb Raw now? H&H!!!” accompanied with a picture of an anus sperm pushing out.

I was quite astonished. Firstly, because I knew none of the words / acronyms or their meaning. Secondly, I am more accustomed to talk to faces rather than asses, or arse holes. What makes a person to send a message like that to another stranger? And what was the purpose of the spermy anus in all of it? As I later found out these acronyms actually did hold some secretive meanings:

• RAW BB = Bareback sex = Sex without condoms
• H&H = High and horny = Being completely fucked-up and drugged and wanting to have sex while being fucked-up and drugged.

I am still kinda wondering the meaning of the spermy anus picture, but let's forget that for a second. It was quite a disturbing image.

Messages like that kept pushing in like snowflakes on a snowy January afternoon in Lapland. They were all suggesting on first sentences quickies and encounters spiced up with some form of a drug. I learned by glancing through the profiles that a "well-dressed" in this context was having no more than a thong on. In most cases even that was "an excess of garments".

The application indicated in its description field that it was built for gays to find other gays around the area. I.e.: GPS -position enabled service bringing local guys on to your fingertips. In this case, as I learned it helps boys to land on your cock very quickly - or so I thought. After completing few discussions with profile holders I deemed saner that most I learned that the app is actually for weirdos who have no intention what-so-ever in meeting you or anyone else in the real world. Chitchatting naughty and probably wanking away rest assured was the objective for the most. I managed to uninstall this messaging service of disgust by accident - and the inflow of dirt stopped coming in.

Well, I thought, this is the internet of the 21st century; apps of all sorts for "specific interests". My friends told me of some other apps I might enjoy a bit more. I’ll elaborate my experiences about them in following postings.

Cheerio J

 

I totally forgot I had a blog!

It has been two years or so since the last blog posting ... There is of course a reason for this. Firstly, I forgot I had this blog and secondly, it took a bit of effort to find out how to log-in back to edit my dear blog! But hey, I am in and quite a few stories in mind ready for publishing :)

Stay tuned! :)
Cheerio! :D

Life - right now

I know, most of us think life is lurking around somewhere next door. But you know what? It is most often around you, hugging you, kissing you, fucking you gently and quietly whispering: "We are alive and in love" :)

Ping Pong

I woke up early this morning. I felt very happy. I had a gorgeous boy lying in my room. He is actually hot. In a special sort of way. You know, a boy next door but such warmth and genuineness emanates from him… If he would not live fucking other side of the globe I would probably ask him to marry me. Well, maybe that’s too early to say J

Earlier last week we had gone to see a Ping Pong show. You know, old tarts stuffing weird stuff to their cunts. If you’ve seen a cunt before you would be surprised. But what reactions did they get from the audience. Straight guys were looking like tinkering: “have I fucked that!” and gay guys going “oh for fuck sakes, this is exactly why I am proud to be gay!” and women… well, the either laughed or puked. My close straight female friend could not watch half of the show. She really felt dreadfully ill.

So what are these ping pong shows? Well I shall enlighten you.

Setting the scene one:

First you select old females to dance around in a podium built into the middle of some ghastly and

snotty bar filled with cigarette smoke and half-lighted up with old neon lights.

Secondly you ask people to pay obscene prices for their cheap locally brewed beer or cocktails made from concentrated juices, fake Vodka Podka, and flat mixers.

Thirdly, you ask people to gather around the podium in awe. The more the merrier.

This is the setting for the show. I forgot to mention you did drive to some God forsaken joint where the only transportation back to the city is provided by the establishment for a very hospitable price. Say, half of what you happen to have.

Setting the scene two:

First tart arrives almost naked. She’s smiling without any visible teeth and the effect is bringing the audience to a halt. She starts her act by nodding to the audience. The she smiles to the north and sticks out her behind to south. And she orthodoxically repeats the act in all main directions. We all get a share of her cunt and toothless smile. The place started to have a cheerful feel. This is repeated before every act.

After the start ritual weird things start pouring out of those poor pussies. Flowers, serpentine, fluffy toys… followed by needles, razorblades, round shaped things I couldn’t make out what they were. Well that wasn’t all. Then come the weird stuff. One of the ladies stuffed two cigarettes up hers and started huffing and puffing. It was my time to throw up. Have I seen a sight like that in my life – like ever? NO! It was absolutely horrendous! How can there be such things in this universe!

And the show continues. Next flushing down the pipe came a shoal of gold fish (a bloody tank full of gold fish!) At that point my friend fall of from her chair.  We laughed – at her. Gold fish followed by turtles and frogs. One of the girls with small frogs inside her did have a bit of struggle there but there they came pomping alive as ever! After that the show was over, our drinks done and then …. A long bumpy way back home to our hotel. Gosh, disgusting!

I turned around and check my friends butt but it was still nice, small and definitely not loose. No frogs, no turtles, no gold fish… ah, but he was a guy, gay and unbelievably cute! J

Cheerio! J

Watch (out)

Yesterday I arrived to Bangkok with some of my friends. I’ve been soooo busy! J

It is probably not a wonder my blog’s name is “Fucking Factory” as I started writing it here in Bangkok. It is just amazing how much of it there is - right here. In every street corner, almost every alleyway, in malls, in hotels and even in the bars you’ll get a chance for a happy ending.

We visited Sirocco bar last night - the 64^th floor roof top bar of the Lebua Hotel. First night ever I truly felt I was unfortunate to not to be a woman. I wanted to walk on 13cm high heels and in wear a stunning night gown down those stairs accompanied by the hottest man in the city. Well as it happens I am not a woman – and so, that hottest man of the city did not make his appearance either. Well I had my lovely friends with me which made it all up.

After having some drinks we took off and went to Silom Soi 4. It is a gay strip of a street full with gay bars. Couple of my other new friends joined us too. It’s amazing how you meet such a great bunch of people while travelling.

We had an interesting chat about lux watches yesterday. We talked with one of my friends about the reasons of wearing a lux watch - or just a watch, whatever. You know Rolex, Piaget, Omega Breguet, Blancpain, Patek Philippe etc…  Personally, I haven’t worn a watch since 1985 when I realized it gives you tan lines, yeah I was around 5 but already then quite particular about tan lines. Watches also make your wrist sweat. It is always hanging on your clothes.  Weather when you take your shirt of, when you put on or take of your jacket or overcoat - and you always think you might lose it if you misplace it. Watches also come with weird combination of materials and colors, you know silly things like; gold, diamonds, silver, platinum, leather, stainless steel, white gold, rubies etc… almost always in combination of more than few of the latter mentioned. So how do you combine them with simple silver attire, gold or metallic accessory collections? Well, I truly do not know. I have not even tried.

 

For me watches stand for old status symbols – nothing to do with fashion. Who wears watches anymore these days! Nice Balmain’s wristband is so much nicer. And hey, you don’t necessarily have to spend a penny less! And better yet, when you loose them you only lost a leather wristband with some nicely bent aluminium...

But, these luxury houses keep buying watch houses. Why, because if you can create a silly story like Philippe Patek's: "You never actually own a Patek Philippe, you merely look after it for the next generation", you can make a fortune! Not you, the seller. Catchy, and good advertising though, but honey, it's a watch! Could Samsung and LG come up with similar slogans please! I want my f**ing fridge and washer last more than a year!

Many do though

My friend told me that Rolex is not that copied in Australia. So, getting a Rolex replica from China or Thailand is worth the 50 dollars one needs to pay for the fakes. And, they are so good copies that without thorough inspection you couldn’t make out the difference. He told me the service he gets in restaurants, after placing his hand on the table and asking for something special, is always flawless. He’s got style, he’s got money, and he is wearing a Rolex! Phew! 

When I sit down to a restaurant I do it with my incessant leer. First, they cannot take their eyes off from mine, and secondly, they cannot say no to any small and modest wishes. I mean what does it cost for a small joint to offer a meager salary earner like me a complimentary bottle of Bollinger Blanc de Noir, eh? Yes, I do it with my eyes! :)

My other friend has a Philippe Patek watch. Fake as well. He wears it like most women here their fake Luis Vuitton bags. And do I consider that elegant?

One of my friends has a large watch collection. You know expensive watches. I asked him why. “Well, I have either inherited them or bought them as investments,” he told me and continues “I don’t wear them really because they are too expensive and it would be distasteful to show up in a watch, which is some ones three years’ salary (before the taxes).” What a predicament! “Why then?” I asked. He continued that some people collect art, some clothes, some watches. “You see, it’s not all that different” he said and looked a bit sad. “Okay, so if you are a collector I understand. But if you are saying that you’d wear them only in rare occasions like during total solar eclipses and only were there no common or poor people around ... I do have to say it’s probably not worth it.” He looked at me and snorted. “Whatever…”

So watches are a bore. ...Unless of course you are boring and have no idea what to tie around your wrist that is.

I am waiting for my date to arrive. He is sooooo handsome! But, if he is wearing a watch I am going to give him a boot. First of course I will check if it is a fake. Fake gives an automatic boot. If it is not, I have to correct him that I am in a wrong pay grade and would highly recommend him to leave the table before I need to reveal something far more disturbing news about myself... J

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Change of scenery

Oh, fantastic three days of absolute bliss behind and I have pretty much nothing worthwhile to say… J Eh, well…

Gulf of Thailand in front of me with tens of its islands, emerald blue sea greeting me with a gentle faint breeze... Oh what a bliss indeed! Piano concerto’s playing in the background as loud as these Bose’s could muster and all the sliding doors in this villa sled open. A wind played its little play with white see-through curtains and I thought for a moment that I had landed on to heaven. No, not heaven - not quite yet.

Fourth night to come and whole day still ahead I felt supercharged. I hadn’t done anything worth mentioning for three days. Grilling under the sun, getting tanned, was hard work it did take its toll. I really felt rested but at the same time quite worked out. You know, at the same time feeling absolutely nacked and rested one just wanted to sit tight and relax. “Stepheeeeeen, bring me a Vodka Tonic!” Nothing happened; well maybe he’d hoisted himself into a flagpole. Anything darling, anything to get away from my loving arms… Phew, that poor bastard was most probably still sleeping in upstairs. Why do people sleep and waste whole days’ worth of sun without any particularly good reason. You can take “cloud” when it’s raining, but right now I preferred to be at our infinity little pool and see the magnificent views and write about it while tanning myself. See, one can show little productiveness in action if one just spends a little time before to plan it all.

 

Oh well. Concerto Pour Piano N1 En by Emil Gilels’s playing in the background and the rest of the gang somewhere I had whole downstairs for myself. Gosh I enjoyed being alone music turned to north. Being Gary had been fun so I decided there and then that being Alexander could be great too. I amassed myself a harem of boys and felt like little tart in a Sunday tea & cake party - the biggest one of course. Past days had been fun – well grilling in the evenings at the big patio and swimming during the day. I had not had this much laughter since… well few months!

I need to plan my evening now. What shall I invent for tonight? I guess more boys could do. Yes, sounds like a great idea – and why not, it’s mine! J  

Cheerio J

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