“Yeah! You like that big dick! Don’t you?!” he broadcasts into the darkness of the bedroom. Unfortunately followed by, “Come on—take it!”
And then the standard,
“Yeah! That’s it!” Accompanied by exaggerated
gyrating actions—all obviously lifted from his favorite porn film.
Gag me, I thought. Truth be told, it wasn’t that big.
And were he not attempting to stuff it in my mouth, I probably would have said something like, “Shut the f--k up! Mine’s bigger!”
Like an unsolicited threeway, once again porn had come into the picture. And (unbeknownst to my playmate) because of his exaggerated exclamations, he’d just rubbed me the wrong way—losing any chance of starring in the sequel of Dick Face-Me. The sad part? He thought he was being hot. The reality? His phony porn talk had
turned me cold!
He was cute—his face and body model-perfect. And I suppose (to give him the benefit of the doubt) because of his physical attributes, perhaps over the years he has had to contend with the fantastical expectations of other men. Maybe he thought (or grew to think) that because of the way he looked, he had to perform like a porn star. Enter, his sexually explicit and completely fallacious dick decree. Sadly, he was not the first. Nor do I expect him to be the last. Over the years, when I’ve encountered such situations, I usually just snicker to myself and “play” along. At times I’ve even had to fight off laughing out loud, which (depending on the “position”of things) has been mistaken for having a bad
gag reflex.
We men are stimulated by imagery,and I am no exception. My relationship to pornographic images began as an innocent,albeit not-yetunderstood attraction. He was a famous and nearly naked Olympic athlete named Bruce Jenner—sprawled across the glossy magazine page in bikini briefs. It was lust at first sight. That was until I discovered Mark Spitz in his Olympic stars-and-stripes Speedo. (The same unrequited attraction to Mark Spitz fueled my brief membership to the swim team.) Next came the discovery of GQ—page after page filled with fashionably shaggy, artfully groomed men. The summer bathing suit issues became my preference. And just when I thought I couldn’t wank out another wad, along came the nearly nude Cosmo layout of a hot, hairy Burt Reynolds.
It was by accident that I hit the “hard stuff.” A black and white book of naked men I found near the railroad tracks one day walking home from school. I hid it in under
the floorboards in the attic of our house, and my (now gay-not out then) older brother and I took turns with it until it disappeared one day. (Confiscated, I later discovered, by my mother—oops!)
Along with college came my introduction to X-rated movies. Still too embarrassed to rent them, after a night of clubbing, my friend and I would gorge ourselves on cake and ice cream and watch his extremely extensive collection—critiquing the lighting and camera work. Then came AIDS, and porn became the perfect—albeit solo—
safe partner. The years mounted and so did the visibility of gay porn. Even the actors were “thrust” into a brighter light. They became stars. (Think about it—whenever you hear someone talk about an actor in a porn film,he is always referred to as a star.) They worked out next to me at the gym or sat across the table at dinners. Parties were
thrown; fundraisers even, where everyone could “meet the stars.” And I did. Several I have come to know quite well—one I consider a friend.
So after my date with Dick Face-Me, I decided to have a talk with my porn star friend about dirty talk. He shall remain nameless but is definitely considered a star.
Me: “So why do you think it is that some guys feel like they need to talk dirty—like their porn stars?”
Porn Star: “Dirty talk has its place in porn because it’s fantasy. But when I’m with a guy and it feels like it’s forced, it’s a turn off—even worse if they want me to reciprocate. Just show me!”
Without gay sex education, I guess you could say porn has had “a hand” in teaching us how to be sexy with our sect—our gay tool kit. You could also say it’s a great way to add excitement to a solitary evening at home. And you could probably say, through hard times and in between relationships, it’s a gay man’s best friend. Since we men are visually stimulated beings, I suppose porn could be viewed as a good way to help us physically develop, tell and share our own stories. And I suppose sharing stories (like this column) is also a form of edification. So, in all fairness, to be truthful, I have done my share of “character acting,” too. From (believe it or not) a super hero to a repair man to—my personal fave—a go-go boy (in my younger years: I got paid a dollar and kept it proudly displayed on my refrigerator). Cops, the pizza delivery boy, the TV repairman, the cable man, a prison cell, the locker room— whatever works.
My issue is less about pretending and more about believing that your pretending is real. And getting lost in the pretending to the point that you are missing your partner’s ummm … point.
We all have to try new things—especially in a long-term relationship. And, there is a place and time for everything. Even porn talk. Where the problem lay with my porno-performing playmate wasn’t the fact that he’d attempted to bill his boner as a big attraction, but that he’d overlooked the biggest thing in the room: I wasn’t connected. He’d “erected” the scene alone. Thus, he was playing to an empty house and the only thing open was my mouth. Sort of.
In the words of famous method acting legend Lee Strasberg, “Acting is the most personal of our crafts. The make-up of a human being—his physical, mental and emotional habits—influence his acting to a much greater extent than commonly recognized.”
Pay attention to what’s going on in your partner’s head. Otherwise it can be a slippery slope from hot to not! The sexiest role you can play: be yourself. Honesty will get you part after part. And who knows? You may even become a star.
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