Psst, You'll Get Old Too

I am very fortunate to not look my age.  These days, it's usually my pop culture references that reveal my years.

When us 40-somethings were young, we were captive to the new technology.  Colour TV broadcasting really was an incredible leap forward for technology and communication.  It was so captivating I'd argue it was (and still can be) addictive.

This adorable dude played some computer guy.  Isn't that enough of a reason???

Back then if we were lucky enough to have one our computer had only what information we were able to feed to it, either by keyboard entry or by cassette tape.  The TV was a better communicator, so we all grew up with a common culture, fed to us by the television.  Everyone watched Gilligan's Island re-runs.  Everyone watched Three's Company.  And if you had good Canadian friends, they'd laugh at your Beachcombers or Danger Bay references.

And they knew Hammy and they didn't question that a mouse could fly a plane. Hell, Matty probably had a fucking train locomotive somewhere.  And no, he never went into a gay guy's ass (hopefully no rodent ever has and all of that nonsense is just a sick joke).

Our computers very slowly became connected to our home phone line, but when we connected, our home phone line was in use.  You would drop any time someone picked up the phone.

Oh, and you called another computer directly.  Forget YouTube, or even hearing or seeing anything other than text (not that there's anything wrong with that ;).

Oddly sexual.

Not everyone was online, but everyone knew "Boss, the plane !". Everyone knew that all bartenders should be named Isaac.

Then an amazing thing happened.  Re-runs fed a new generation the previous generation's pop culture en mass, so for a while there we all knew what everyone was talking about, very nearly to the person.

Then, shortly after, the  (gasp) Internet came to town.

The generations that follow it were no longer restricted to a dearth of live video content ranging from 3 fuzzy stations to (gasp) 13 glorious cable channels, and sometimes they even all broadcasted something.

Remember what happened next?

There are still plenty of ways to consume the classic TV shows and movies to be sure, but Magnum P.I. can barely compete with new HD shows made for hundreds of channels and networks.  And there's internet shows and networks that let you watch whenever you want to.  The traditional networks are letting us watch on-demand now too, ensuring that the water cooler talk of yesteryear is probably gone forever, at least where TV shows are concerned.

Today we have viral videos and millions of minutes of home-made content on virtually every subject imaginable, with even more fresh content being added whenever dude with the new content's sister doesn't pick up the phone when he's uploading to Compuserve at $59.99 per hour.

Though we all certainly grow old over the years, this phenomenon has caused (gasp) accelerated gay aging.  This is especially terrifying, as the loss of the re-run generation means we won't all get to understand the same cultural references from one generation to the next.

Cultural references of today rarely come from television (unless from TV's bastard offshoot, Reality Television).  And with audiences allowed to be as fragmented as they want, perhaps our old ideas of cultural references are never coming back.

Lines from Cheers aren't worth repeating.  Even quotes from The Simpsons are borderline banned. Does anyone watch SNL anymore?

It's a brave new world for us "getting older" gays.  And that's all of us.  Just you wait.

Abs, Gays, Gyms, Bears: A Connection ?

I can't believe I haven't mentioned this much on my gay blog because it is has made a "massive" impact on my whole life.

I'm not ripped.  I'm not skinny.  I'm a big boy.  Not fat, but certainly "gay fat" or more acceptably, "a fattie" (but for the record, not as sorry as the abused body below).

My genetics and nutrition (Canada is a very giving land) ensured I grew an impressive frame, to be sure, but my lack of interest in sports (except hockey of course) and a love of all things food gave me quite a paunch in my younger years.

Most gays learn to appreciate a healthy physique and we try to stay in better-than-average shape.  Of course this is a blanket statement with many exceptions, perhaps no other category as complex as that called the "Bear" (more about that below).

For my frame, I'm mostly kept together today and I look wonderful clothed, thank you.  And I can flex myself a proud smile most of the time in the mirror, but unless I'm deep into tequila or something I'm by no means imagining myself to be an underwear model anytime soon.  Probably not even in a full thermal waffle suit, and then maybe only after a 12 week regimen.

Aww, you rest girl.

But there's no questioning that being gay has made me lose weight and keep it off.

Maybe there's a message there for fat closeted Republicans (though I can't think of any offhand nor would any images appearing here suggest otherwise.  Thanks lawyers).

But no matter how much better I look as a gay guy, I'm not looking forward to a 6-pack of abs any time soon.  Not on my belly, and probably not on my boyfriend's tum.

I'm starting to understand that there is an abs scene, and then there's the rest of us.  With some exceptions, as always (one of those exceptions is the string bean whose musculature shows through no matter what they do and what they eat -- if that's you, feel free to email me ;)

And of course it only takes $20 a song to have handfuls of hot abs at the wonderful if not a bit

To erase the imprint from the pic above

pricey adult gay male entertainment clubs like Campus and Stock Bar in Montreal and Flash and Remingtons here in Toronto.

I've never been able to re-live fingertip memories with such excitement and vivid detail before (perhaps I'm destined to be a cabinetmaker after all).

I always ask a ripped male stripper, "how often do you go to the gym ?"  They're not all gay, in fact gay strippers are usually the minority, but they're obviously bisexual considering they allow guys to grope them and (almost always ;) get aroused by the manly attention.

There has only been one guy who said he didn't work out, that the abs were a gift from nature, but I could swear I saw a bit of a twinkle in his eye along with his final word on the subject: "Honest !"

The gay-guy-gym scene, the hyper-muscled, hypersexual homosexual is mind-blowingly fun to experience... through movies and pictures and some erotic stories please and thanks, that's enough for this horny guy.

I just don't think I'd want to keep up.

Not advisable if you have athelete's foot

My body enjoys physical workouts closer to home, and closer to my own facilities.  I'm not looking to slide into someone's athelete's foot puddle anytime soon.

But there has been a lot of thought put into the gays-and-gyms thing.  Working-out to protect yourself and your loved ones against a known hateful element, just at the time when you've decided to stop hiding who you are, seems like a smart thing to do.

But in the end, it's more likely just another level of man-on-man hotness that I may never get to experience in a relationship.  It's an exclusive club, you gotta give abs to get 'em back, unless you're willing to pay $20 every couple of minutes for a bit of a feel of what many, many years of hard, monotonous work can do for the human physique.

Of course, there are plenty of exceptions.  The "blue collar" man is highly fascinating to me, but the gay/straight odds seem to plummet when going down this highway.

Then there are the bears.  "A Bear" used to just mean a big burly hairy gay guy, but it turns out that covers a lot of ground.  In the gay world, anyone with visible hair anywhere except the pits, crotch, and ass became a bear, or "bearish."

Bears are not necessarily fat, and in fact last year it seemed to swing so far the other way that bears couldn't be fat anymore !  This only lasted about a month or so last summer, and for now fat, hairy guys aren't just fat, hairy guys anymore.  They can be Bears once again.

For now.  Gay culture moves forward unrelentingly.

If I'm asked on a dating site, I'm clicking the "average" button.  Choosing this body type hasn't been traumatizing in the least.  Having to choose "a few extra lbs" with my extra paunch before I came out was not a fun thing to do.

If pressed, I'd suggest I'm "bearish, I guess" for the sole reason of my chest hair.  But body hair is a whole 'nother topic we can discuss another time.

Perhaps I'm a cub, whatever the hell that means.

And though I'm a good swimmer, I don't think I'm much of an otter.

It's Not Easy Being Gay

I've always attempted to immediately shrug-off any evidence of a mid-life crisis, especially now that I'm getting close to that literal median age using the scientific data of our day.

Congratulations Navy Lt. Gary Ross and civilian Dan Swezy

It's a "basic training" gay-guy move to try to hold-on to youth, but there's no special deal for gay dudes.  Everybody has to face Daddy Time (he might be hanging out in the leather bar) and with him comes, gasp... aging.

In case you haven't heard, it's not a perpetual Gay Dance Party for us man-leaning-bi or entirely homo guys.  And as time goes on, it seems things might even get a bit tougher.

Derek Hartley's first book gave me a stark impression of "that guy."  He's a 40-something who may be hanging near the door of the big gay bar, or maybe he's holding up a pillar on the dance floor.  He's still hanging where the young gays go, but he's a decade or two over the average age of the house.

I've been "that guy" and I'll be "that guy" again.  And again and again.  And again and again and again and again.

This April's surprise suicide of an author writing a book about dealing with getting gay old stirred-up feelings of contemplation and self-doubt, muddled with the usual sadness and disappointment surrounding a person's decision to take their own life, particularly in the GLBT community.

Sometimes we can't live with ourselves, but sexual freedom means we need to know ourselves first.  There's no cheating here.  You must know yourself. You must take your life into your own hands.

"Love yourself first" as caller Jimmy reminded us on tonight's Derek and Romaine Show on OutQ.

I might be completely at peace with my own life today but I must pause when I think that parts of the world want my head cut-off because I'm choosing to follow my passions instead of "making a decision" to ignore my true feelings.

I can't tell most of my beer-swilling guy coworkers these thoughts.  Regardless of how adorable fag hags appear in gay cinema, I can't confide in the girls at work either.  It wouldn't kill my career but any negative impact to my business that has nothing to do with my business is, obviously, unwelcomed.

Few are ready to confront their own feelings, let alone mine.

If I had someone special in my life, this would totally change, of course.  I have no interest in hiding a relationship if it seems it would be lasting.  Work sometimes involves "couples events" and I very much look forward to bringing my stud along, when... if I find him, that is.

I've learned to loathe dating websites and I haven't been out and about as much this Spring as last.  It's shockingly easy to allow work to create the bulk of your human interactions, but if there's one work lesson to learn, it's to not shit in your own backyard.  Or your front yard.  Or on your desk.

But the chance to instantly befriend a person after meeting them decreases dramatically over time, in case nobody's told you yet.  Getting old seems to add a multiplier of sorts.

There are probably too many variables here, but believe me when I tell you that gays aren't the only folks pondering the curse of time and the results of aging.  For gays, one added variable is the age when we declare our true feelings to ourselves, to friends, to family and then finally to the rest of the (civilized) world.

I've tried to tell my 80 year old dad as clearly as possible, but he keeps "forgetting" and asking me when I'm bringing a girl to the next Family Dinner.

Jesus.

Can't blame him, though.  I haven't exactly declared my homo preference with Broadway lights, yet.

I even catch myself continuing to sometimes challenge my own sexuality.  Perhaps all the hetero guys are faking it, too.  After all, it's amazingly homo how most hetero guys talk -- they might think it's keeping them straight, but maybe it's all about self-doubt and pack-driven negative reinforcement.

Add this new "gay dead" illusion to being gay and over 40 and pop goes the weasel -- shitty pun, to be sure, but this man's suicide doesn't tell a story about anything except the life of this one man.

The rest of us will get through our 40s.  And 50s.  And 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s and beyond.

Together, hopefully.

Imagine This

Gay test: Do you see abs, or ___ ?

I haven't posted any images of hot dudes holding hands or kissing recently, and that seems easy to fix.  Ironically after my last post I should be the first to admit that a picture can really make a story.

It's not that imagery is needed.  That said, it's only on second glance that I noticed that the guy on the right is among a line of cots.

That one detail could mean all the difference in a story.

If you're lucky enough to be able to read this, which is around 74 percent of the world according to this faith-based link (I hope they enjoy following back) then you are also graced with the massive ability to augment your mind's eye with something similar to how High Def TV can make reality even sharper than it actually is.

A hot nerd (in my book)

When the Red Light District of your mind's eye could use a suggestion or two, an erotic story is certainly the closest thing to "being there."

For me it all started with Penthouse Letters.  In the magazine they slipped a gay(ish) story in now and then, and in the small booklet exclusively composed of letters, there was at least one guy-on-guy story in every single issue back in my day.

You can create stories or ideas in your mind, and if you're generous you might even write some stories -- fiction, fact, or fact-based can all be very very hot.

Pen names aren't a dime a dozen anymore, they're totally free.

But before you begin, there's a great place to start, and that's to experience what's already out there.  As usual, the Internet provides, with vast stores of legendary stories already told.

Measured in bits and bytes, erotic stories are without question the best thing a pleasure center could ever experience.  A typical story can blast you to Mars and back and still come in around 18k.

That's some sexy, nerdy goodness.

Are A Thousand Words Worth A Coffee Date ?

"Do you have a face pic ?"

Asking the question means you've already started communicating with someone without knowing what they actually look like.

Sure, you might have a cock shot, or an ass, or a torso... maybe even a matched set.

So far you don't have any reason not to continue (and maybe a couple of reasons to continue closer to that torso).

Unfortunately, that eventual face pic can, if you're like me, more often than not provide a good reason to flee.

For whatever reason (the fashion industry ?  Television ??) I'm very much into good looks and I don't care to settle.  Hot torso or not.

This, complexly intermingled with my mild self hatred and a curable case of body dysmorphia is not helping my anxieties at all.  I don't have many awesome torso shots, and quite frankly I have been a bit obsessed with my own face pictures lately, and for good reason.  I don't photograph all that well.  For whatever reason(s), statistically I am way more attractive in-person.

I've tried the dating sites and I've tried circulating out and about, and based on my brief exposure as a fresh gay there's just no comparing what I can attract on a web profile to what I'm able to attract in person.

If you demand evidence, here are 3 examples of how, so far, I've been far better able to find physical attraction in a person in-person:

Guy #1 saw me on the patio of a bar in the village, and came on in for a drink.  He was a young, sexy brunette that was well-dressed and seemed interesting so we exchange numbers.  He then went on his way.  When we met-up another night for a drink, he told me he was getting over a long-term relationship and rarely ventured out into the Village, but when he did he liked to set his sights on a target and went for it.

Guy #2 was an exotic dancer.  Originally from Europe, he was young and cute and blonde (I'm a sucker for this combination) and we had a great private dance (he tore my clothes off !).  Afterwards, I hung out in the club for a while and he spent the evening with me (as much as is possible in his particular line of work) and told me that he was totally into me.  Though, he explained, his boyfriend was a Toronto guy who was a lot like me.

Guy #3 worked in the Toronto gay village, and I found him really sexy.  He was young, cute and blonde (clearly this combo helps the odds with me), and only after I saw him checking my profile on a dating site did we have more than a basic "Hi" "Hey" "What's up" conversation.  Based on our limited (yet visceral) real-life interactions, it turned out he thought I was pretty neat, too.  And he was always sober when we interacted.

For the record, Guy #1 was sober too.  And I probably bought Guy #2 his first drink of the night (I like to go to "those places" really early [or really late]).

All three of these guys are hot, believe me -- and I'm incredibly picky.  And they're into me.

But when I send a warm greeting to a guy on a dating site near their level, I rarely, if ever, get any reply back.


On dating sites,  I try to present a realistic view.  I do want to scare-off anyone who is looking for mindless hook-ups, but I don't want to scare-off a guy after we meet if I haven't presented an accurate portrait.

I've been on the other side of that story, and it's a hard lesson learned -- don't paint a picture of a person without first meeting them.

Don't paint a picture of a person without meeting them.  Don't do it.  You will be disappointed.

Good luck not painting that picture, by the way.  It's probably impossible.  But keeping this in mind helps keep my profile a realistic description of what a guy can expect should he actually want to venture out on a coffee date with me.

Recently I've had to remind myself of these Three Guys because quite frankly I can get a bit disappointed when I hit-up the dating sites instead of hitting "The Scene."  Though we've had a mild winter I just haven't had the opportunity to "get out" as much as I'd like this year.

I can get to know a guy over chat or email, and I've even had some very personal cam-to-cam experiences.  But these pen pals are rarely in my neck of the woods, in fact some of the hottest cam gods have been Aussies on the other side of the Earth !

Unlike my pen pal back in grade school (yes,we literally sent physical letters back and forth, long before the Internet was just a missile launching chat site) today I'm fiercely interested in what a guy looks like from "all angles" and that includes a mandatory face pic.

Pen pals and C2C dudes are just not dating material for me.  Gazing into the sweet face of my man is what I dream about these days.  The rest comes from that.

I wish gay Speed Dating was all the rage instead of a novelty today because I usually know who I'm attracted to within a few seconds -- I take-in a man with my eyes, and then once I hear the utterance of a 3-or-more-word sentence, I'm ready to pass judgment.

Pass or Fail.  Done deal.

Yes, I judge guys.  Quickly.

Of course I feel my own personality is more difficult to get across.  I need more than a look and 3 words.  I have decent writing abilities and I put a good amount of effort into my dating site profile descriptions.

You'd think all that attention to detail would help me attract a perfect match.

If my magical prose doesn't attract a man, only my images remain to represent me.

I'm decently handsome, but... ugh, not so much in pictures.

Does this suggest I shouldn't have a face pic on my dating profile ?

"I don't date torsos, nor dicks for that matter.  Face pic or you have something to hide."

Considering I've posted the statement above on at least one dating site, there's no way I could ever take back my uggo self-snaps.

Guess I'll just have to get back out there instead.