This horny newsletter is celebrating sexual diversity, differing desires, relationship structures, and individual choices based on respect and consent. Sexuality is an important part of being human. This newsletter is best read with an open mind and open heart.
Have A Horny Day.
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Horny Newsletter Issue Twelve:
Horny Holiday Edition Newsletter
A Horny Holiday Hook-Up Story Starring Santa
Written by Christopher Sherman
Being a raging homosexual has been one of the greatest gifts I could have ever asked for. It has allowed me to explore unconventional ways of living and to forge my own path. Although being queer offers numerous incredible benefits, no one warns you about the unpredictable people you might encounter in the world of closeted random sexual hookups. In fact, when Charles Dickens wrote, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times," he may have been reflecting on his sexual encounters of 1859 similar to those we navigate today. The internet has empowered us to create avatars of ourselves, both physically and sexually, but sometimes these avatars can be as fictional as Mickey Mouse.
I began exploring gay hookup culture as a teenager during the dawn of the World Wide Web, primarily in the popular chat rooms of the era. Everyone was on dial-up, and most people didn’t have digital cameras or even digital pictures. Instead, we traded our stats like baseball cards: 6'1", 190 lbs, 32" waist, 38" chest, 9 inches uncut, hairy etc.
Once you made your horny match, you would move past the chat room to be discreetly picked up at a local parking lot or city park. That’s when the real adventure began. Often, you would discover that the human stats provided by your hookup were greatly exaggerated or simply delusional.
Sex brings out the crazy in everyone - especially in a culture and community that oppresses it. Over the years, my chat room sexual encounters have ranged from a straight married fireman to a meth addict who was obsessed with golf balls, a homophobic politician who loves sucking dick, a lot of farmers, a family member of a regal French fashion house (also married), a gyrating pop star, and several Madonna impersonators. However, one of the most memorable hookups I've ever had was with Santa.
Looking back on the chatroom banter, I realize I should have been suspicious. I was deep in my youthful daddy issues always asking myself how old is too old. This man said he was 69. His username was JollyOldSaint69, and he kept asking if I was on the naughty list. Every time I shared what I was into sexually, he would reply with, 'Ho Ho Hot!'.
On that tranquil night when fate led me to Santa, our designated meeting spot the park was silent; not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse. When out on the street there arouse such a clatter, I sprang from the park bench to see what was the matter. And what did my wondering eyes behold? An old, battered cranberry red Dodge Caravan rolling up the street. With a little old drivers so lively and quick I knew in a moment it must be my daddy issue hook up.
When he finally pulled up, we chatted through the minivan window. His name was Kris—spelled with a K. He sported a thick, white beard and looked older than 69, but his kindness radiated warmth. Growing up in a small town, I had learned to embrace a "take what you can get" mentality regarding closeted homosexual hookups, provided my internal warning alarm system stayed quiet. He seemed cool, and as a restless late teenager eager to explore my daddy issues, I found his allure horny. Without hesitation, I climbed into the old Dodge Caravan.
We decided to drive to his house. I was living with my parents at the time freshly back from first year university, and he told me it would be a 25-minute drive to his place in the country, which I suspiciously accepted. As we drove, we shared stories about being gay in our small town, and I opened up about my own experiences. When I asked him how long he had lived there, the conversation took a somber turn.
He revealed that he had lived in the big city of Toronto and dedicated his life to theatre and performance, finding great joy in helping people escape their everyday worries through art. In the late '70s and early '80s, he felt he had it all—friends, jobs, art and a strong sense of community. Being homosexual was finally becoming accepted he said. Then, tragically, his friends began to die. Throughout the '80s and 90s he lost most of his friends to AIDS. This profound loss changed him, leading him to move to the country to find solitude and step away from sharing his joy with the world.
It was the late '90s, and AIDS was still wreaking havoc around the world. The atmosphere in the minivan took a dramatic turn as his honesty opened my eyes to his reality. Young and very naive, I couldn't help but ask more questions, including, "How can you just turn off your passion?"
Kris sensing that my initial horiness had shifted to intense worry, he decided it was time to change the mood if we were going to have any form of sexual encounter. He had not driven an hour for nothing. He popped in a cassette tape of "Believe" by Cher and shifted the subject. "You know Cher is an angel, right?" he quipped, and I had to admit I was clueless to Cher’s powers too.
As we drove, the van's headlights created swirling beams of light in the dark forest and farmland we kept passed. Breaking the silence, Kris said, "I'm working on healing. Once a year, I get to use my performing skills to make people smile again." Just then, we pulled into his long driveway.
Once we stepped inside his house, I immediately sensed that a gay man lived here. It was the '90s, and every home had that signature style reminiscent of the popular show TLC's Trading Spaces. He handed me a beer, and we settled by the fire. Still pondering our earlier conversation in the minivan, I had more questions.
"You mentioned healing. What do you do once a year to reconnect with your passions and art?"
Kris set his beer down and locked eyes with me; despite his older body and aged skin, his blue eyes were youthful. "I am Santa Claus," he replied.
At this point, my manners escaped me. "What?" I blurted, struggling to comprehend his statement.
"I am Santa," Kris revealed. "After moving into seclusion in the woods, I found myself missing both performing and being around people. So, every December, I dress up as Santa for local retirement homes and business parties. Once, I even had the honor of filling in for the original mall Santa at the big city mall, just an hour away," he added, beaming with pride. “That Santa had bad food poisoning.”
He quickly stood up, grabbing our beers from the particleboard Trading Spaces-inspired coffee table. "Come join me in Santa's Village," he beckoned. I quickly worried if I was going to be forced into some horrible Christmas roleplay - I had merely wanted a blow job.
He took my hand and instructed me to close my eyes - guided me down three wooden steps into an unfinished basement feeling the cold concrete on my feet. I stood there, eyes closed in the darkness, but the room was filled with the vibrant aroma of Christmas spices.
What was once dark beneath my closed eyelids transformed into bright, colorful lights. Kris told me to open my eyes. Before me was Santa's Village. Kris had crafted a mesmerizing world filled with all the magic of a capitalist Christmas. Suddenly, I heard the distant sound of a train—the basement village was encircled by a working train set circling Santa’s Village.
We climbed under the train bridge to enter the perfect Christmas Village wondering to myself will I ever get laid. Kris gave me an exhaustingly long tour of Santa’s Village. I saw the houses. I met the people who live there - and learned 10% of Santa’s Village was edible but he hoped to be closer to 30% by next year. Bored and horny I finally just turned and kissed him under some dusty mistletoe. Tasting the beer on his white moustache.
And there among the cookie citizens of the gingerbread village; the Dicken’s Carolers, the sugar plum fairies, an army of Nutcrackers, and the shinning bright Christmas Angel - Kris blew me. All while Bruce Springsteen’s and the E Street Band let us know that “Santa Clause is Comin’…” too .
"That's the most action Santa's Village has ever seen," Kris said as we slowly got dressed again. In that moment, I realized that despite the peculiarity of the hookup, its intentions were purely good. Two men, one young and one older, both trying to figure out how to live an honest life in an often challenging world.
"Do you want to cuddle?" I asked.
Almost in shock, he replied, "Yes, please."
We went back upstairs to cuddle by the fire, which was now a collection of beautiful, hot embers. The room had grown much darker as we lay on the couch. Kris fumbled in the cupboard looking for some candles, I asked him more about his life as Santa. "What do you GET out of being Santa in the community every year?"
Kris stood in front of me, lighting a table full of candles. "It has nothing to do with what you GET," he said. "It has everything to do with what you GIVE. A candle loses nothing by lighting another."
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Sexy Santa: Josh Williams
Shibari by Sanchez
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Have A Horny Day.
Love you.
Christopher Sherman
Instagram @hichristophers
Find the beauty in your life - no matter how small. This sort of mindset has a snowball effect on the psyche. Once you start to see a few beautiful things it keeps happening. Whether a beautiful smile, a bright beautiful sky, the flame of a candle or beautiful ass - Find the beauty intentionally.
I challenge you to find 3 things a day that you think are beautiful. Not what your partner thinks is beautiful or your boss thinks is beautiful. What do you think is beautiful? And go after that. Happy Horny New Year. With Love xo
The Queens Christmas Speech 2024
An Important Message from Candy Darling for You!
This audio clip is taken from the incredible audiobook
Candy Darling: Dreamer, Icon, Superstar by Cynthia Carr.
I truly recommend this book / audiobook to every reader.
Polaroid of Candy Darling. Used without permission from the Andy Warhol Estate.
Give The Gift of Porno For Christmas
Now Showing | Your Shame Bores Me on Digital VHS
Blue Jeans for a Cocksucker
Written by Daniel Ramalho
The hungriest years for the cock must’ve been in the mid 1800s. They decided to strap tough woven cotton and copper rivets to blue collar, heavy working, sweaty men. The blue jeans were invented. Hugging the body to keep asses and jocks in place as men worked tirelessly in silver, gold and coal mines.
A lot has changed in the denim game since those early years, we tried from skinny to raver, but the classic fit never went out of style; Straight leg, sitting at true waist and blue. No matter how you cuff it, 100% cotton is your most important feature. They are tools, fitted and fading as you wear them more and more. The blue on your knees and ass becomes lighter and lighter until one day beginning to fray. And either you let it fray showing more of your skin with each wear; or you take the more conservative route and patch them as you go, keeping prying eyes off your hairy legs.
As someone who is severely fascinated with denim and bulges I have come to the conclusion that there are 2 styles of jeans every faggot needs in his closet.
First pair: Cowboy cut Wrangler jeans.
I recommend these for the cocksucker. You will find no other cut can emulate the western style as well as these jeans, because the cowboys are wearing these exact ones. They stay on and work hard, bending and folding as you do. Made for ranching and roughhousing, they sit high up on the waist, ideally right at the naval; protecting your lower half from saddles and rough ropes. These jeans invented the cowboy ass. They ride right up the crack and snuggly at the hips, surprisingly comfortable and mobile you can ride many a horse in these pants.
Second pair: Levi’s 501
These jeans I recommend for the cocksuckee. Nothing says macho man, Castro clone like this classic cut of denim. Breaking in a new pair of these bad boys will give you the best fitting jeans of your life. They hug the body in all the ogling good ways. Any and every crotch looks full and voracious in this tight comfortable cotton. They are button fly. 5 buttons and you’ve unlocked your prize. Admittedly a little difficult at first to get them open, but once you’ve unbuttoned a few of them you can do it with your eyes closed (or blindfolded in some cases). Nothing is more satisfying than the thump of denim being busted open by the thickening cock and the unfastening of each little metal stud.
Confidence is key. Who the fuck am I, who the fuck are you? It doesn’t matter. Walk into the room like you are the headliner and you are set. Put on your best outfit, think about it, why, what, where, who. It’s important, the colour, shape, reference, make reason to these things and all that is more. Intention is your best foot forward. Getting a look together is good but, ethos is hot.
Favourite Horny Book | Faggots by Larry Kramer
Written by Nicholas Bernard Lopes
I read Faggots for the first time 30 years after it was published. The title caught my eye on the bottom shelf of a used bookstore that I used to browse regularly. It is a place where I discovered many of the books that schooled me- Giovannis Room, Dancer From the Dance, The City and the Pillar, City of Night…
The book's title up until then had only ever been used against me. Yelled at me from a moving car or spat at my teenage boyfriend and me while we held hands while waiting for the TTC. And now it was calling out to me in what would come to be a form of reclamation. There is a quote on the cover of my copy from Tony Kosher that says “There are few books in modern gay fiction, or in modern fiction for that matter, that must be read. Faggots is certainly one of them” He was right.
For most of my adolescence, fiction was my main access point to gay culture. Most of my role models only existed in books. I learned the reality that by the time I came of age the majority of the influential gay men that had come before me - the men that Larry Kramer was writing about, had probably died of AIDS or at the very least been harmfully devastated by it.
Faggots was published in 1978. The same year that Harvey Milk was murdered. Almost a decade after Stonewall, right before the early onset of the AIDS crisis. A turning point for gay identity and political activism. Larry Kramer changed gay culture. Discovering Larry Kramer changed my life.
Reading Faggots again this year made me consider my inheritance of its themes. Promiscuity. Superficiality. Sexual Capital. Intimacy. Self Loathing. Internalized homophobia. The pursuit of pleasure. The value of friendship. Love. Lust. Freedom. Fear. Cynicism. Hope. Connection. Mourning the past while dreaming about the future.
I’m one of the Faggots that he wrote about. If you’re reading this there’s a good chance that you are too. We’re still here. We always have been and always will be. Celebrating and indulging in the very things that people STILL want to prosecute us for and have told us to be ashamed of. Being gay is an exceedingly complex negotiation between societal expectations and personal convictions. We all play our part in honoring and perpetuating these themes, for better and for worse.
Faggots taught me a lot of things and introduced me to lessons that I’m still learning. Our freedom to pursue endless sexual gratification doesn’t necessarily lead to happiness or satisfaction. Is that what we are after? What does it mean to treat sex as a borderline impersonal and unimportant act? Our bodies are sexual but not immortal. Our needs are not only physical. I think Larry was trying to tell us that we DO have the capacity for lasting love. Love can be whatever you want it to be. It’s worth figuring out what that means for you.
Don’t let shame steal your joy.
“There will always be enemies. Time to stop being your own”
- Larry Kramer, Faggots
Father Figures
by Brendan Healy
It’s Christmas Eve, 1987 and I’m 12. The cassette of George Michael’s Faith is playing on my parents boombox which I’ve brought to my room. I had asked for this album after seeing clips of the video for I Want Your Sex on Entertainment Tonight. I needed to have it.
Father Figure comes on. The vaguely orientalist chords off the top announce something exotic and forbidden.
That's all I wanted: something special, something sacred.
George croons with breathy, elongated vowels. I didn’t know men could sound like that. I wonder: what is this something that he is longing for? As if answering my question, George belts: “I’ll be your daddy.”
It’s two weeks earlier. I am sitting on the bus with my mom on our way to do so some Christmas shopping. A man in tight Levis boards. He sits across from us, legs spread in a classic manspread. His crotch on full display. I am mesmerized. Not so much by the crotch but by his blatant display of masculinity. He notices me staring. He winks at me and says: “Hi, little man.” A God has acknowledged me.
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It’s 2AM and I’m 48. I’m fucking a beautiful young man as Christmas lights blink in the other room. I love the smallness of his body next to mine. I can feel him surrender to my weight, ease into my dominance. Accept it. Welcome it. As I tease his hole with my cock, I hear him whisper: “Daddy.” I have been waiting for him to say it.
This time I think that my lover understands me.
I tell him that he’s a good boy as I enter him. In our sex, he feels free to call me daddy. My hope is that he can find it in himself to say it when we’re not fucking.
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I’m 33. I’m in front of John’s place. About three weeks earlier, I had my left ball removed and replaced with a fake one because of cancer. I am told to hold off from shooting loads while it heals. Today is the day. Tomorrow, I go home for the holidays. I am very horny. But I am frightened by the prospect of my first orgasm after the trauma of that experience.
John is the longest-standing sexual partner that I’ve had. I met him about ten years earlier when he was in his mid-forties and I was 22. I liked his no bullshit gruffness. His large, uncut, veiny penis was also a draw.
John is about to receive my first load post-surgery. He greets me, as usual, naked, cigarette in his mouth. His foreskin is dripping urine from the piss I just interrupted. He doesn’t fill the air with polite chitchat as I get naked - he barely asks how I’m doing. He gets on his knees and waits. When I’m naked in front of him, he goes straight for my balls with his mouth. Softly. He uses his tongue and lips to place my fake ball in his mouth and caresses this new object with his tongue. It feels good and I relax into my body. I watch John’s own huge balls bounce as he jerks himself off with my fake ball in his mouth. He asks for my sperm and I nod. He puts my cock in his mouth and I cum almost immediately. Hard. He swallows every drop while he spills his own sperm all over the floor. I fall back into his couch.
That's all I wanted.
He wipes my cock and balls down with a care and attention that no nurse ever showed me. I find myself saying: “Thank you, dad.”
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‘Til the end of time.
Back in my room, Father Figure ends and its spell is broken by the opening beats of the next track: I Want Your Sex. It is a more accessible song to my 12-year-old brain: the allure of fucking is not lost on me even though the nuances of the previous song are. The outrageousness of I Want Your Sex takes over and I turn my attention to the chemistry set I just received from my father. I hate chemistry.
“I believe in the radical possibilities of pleasure, baby!” – Bikini Kill
What if the goal wasn’t to HEAL our wounds, our trauma or our shame? What if the goal was to INTEGRATE them? What if our erotic drive was the call from Nature to reconnect the fragmented pieces of our selves? What if sexual desire was the body’s way of reminding us that we can only experience our full selves in relationship with others? What if sexual pleasure was the technology given to us to achieve integration?
How would you fuck? How would you jerk off? How would you cum?
Favourite Horny Song | Machina by Boy Harsher
Written by Wil Canel
Released in 2021, the song takes inspiration from late 80’s Hi-NRG/Italo-Disco (think Depeche Mode bumping into Bobby O inside a New York leather bar).
The video itself is a ruby-induced choreography of our female vocalist (Mariana Sadaña of BOAN) decked out in head-to-toe fetish gear, red stilettos posing and commanding the viewers eye to her lips and facial expressions of ecstasy. Behind her is her bodybuilder / backup dancer (?) in silver wearing posing trunks, a moving statue in various classic bodybuilding poses.
For me, it’s this interplay of hyper masculinity and femininity that always ignites something deep down. Sexuality for me is the synergy and expression of these two elements: why can’t I wear bandana with a full beard, whilst pinned against the wall in fishnet stockings in service to my selected top for the night?
The cherry on top are the lyrics: a bilingual battle of the should I / shouldn’t I when you’ve found the one that’ll do for the evening.
I CAN’T END MY NIGHT WITH YOU.
I want everyone (more me) to have more sweat, spit and toe-curling moments of ecstasy in 2025. The past few years have thrown us all off balance, and sex and horny moments help us heal and put us in check.
A Horny Q & A
with a Horny Babe: Nat
What is your Favourite Book that makes you horny?
This isn't really a book but S.T.H / straight to hell zine, reading the submitted stories makes me horny
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What is your Favourite Artist or Piece of Work that makes you horny?
Robert Mapplethope, I admire his attention to detail and how he captured bodies like sculptures. I love how raw and explicit the images are, I always think about what it would've been like to come into his studio in the 80s when I walk on Bond st.
Also love Stanley Stellar, I have a big fomo of old New York and the piers, central park, etc. I like that he captures guys from all walks of lives and they're just naturally hot.
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What is your Favourite Movies that makes you horny?
Not quite a movie but I have a soft spot for 90's - 2000's latino & black lead porn. Latino Fan Club, Papithugz, etc. I remember jerking off to Tiger Tyson, Castro, and clips from "Spanish Lessons" whatever I could download from Limewire at the time. I remember fantasizing about New York through their POV. I think they deserve their flowers.
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What is your Favourite Song / Music Video that makes you horny?
Madonna - Justify my Love, just makes you want to fuck. Also love Tony Ward
D'Angelo - How does it feel - for obvious reasons...
Janet Jackson- anytime, anyplace
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What is your Favourite City that makes you horny?
NYC is a horny city, so many hot guys and it's usually the ones that are not trying to. UPS/FEDEX delivery guys , random dad on a train, firefighter...
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What is your Favourite Food that makes you horny?
Any sweet treat with a lover.
Favourite Horny Holiday
Written by Tadek Chmiel
There is something incredibly freeing about holidaying alone. It carries parallels with masturbation in that you are at liberty to be utterly selfish. A few years back, when I was living in the UK and could hop over to Europe with the nonchalance of securing a lunch-time Grindr hook-up, I booked a spontaneous two-night solo trip to the destination with the cheapest return flights for my struggling actor’s budget, which happened to be Porto, Portugal. Whilst it may not have the sex appeal of New York, or the dynamism of Mexico City, I soon discovered Porto’s quaint charm winking at me with the knowing smirk of a Daddy who’s experienced touch keeps you trapped in the palm of his hand. My Airbnb was the perfect setting for a European romance. With an elevated bedroom pouring over the main living area, and a late 19th century balcony that was begging to be sultrily smoked on, the apartment was serving me an undeniable opportunity and I knew it would be a grave injustice not to share it with someone deserving. So I set to work on my challenge.
A good friend of mine always says the first day of a vacation is like being edged. There is endless promise, but you must trust the process. Trust that you will eventually be rewarded with the climax, in the knowledge that it’s the build up that makes it all the more sweet. I soon started casting my web on the apps, hoping to ensnare a local tour guide. A manager of the local queer
bar was showing interest, but he was playing it cool. Like most gay men I know, I can’t resist mixed signals, so we tentatively agreed for me to stop by the bar the following evening.
When I arrived, I quickly realized that those signals had been mixed for a reason. The manager with whom I’d been speaking was actually on-shift, and after saying a few quick words of welcome, left me to my own devices under the judgmental gaze of his staff who were clearly wondering what this slightly desperate looking foreigner was doing drinking alone at their bar. That was, until Victor walked in. Victor was all the clichés, tall, dark features, but with kind, welcoming eyes that locked with mine the moment his tan leather shoes made contact with the cold wooden bar floor.
There has only been a handful of times in my life where I have felt an irrefutable, palpable chemistry like it. Victor’s English was almost as limited as my Portuguese, but who needs words when your pheromones are already saying so much? We settled on broken Spanish as our form of linguistic communication, and after a couple of Negronis to loosen the tongue, my wish was granted and I was whisked away on an intoxicated tour of the historic city. The final destination was my apartment, and once we arrived, no inch of it was safe. I was hard with anticipation before even unlocking the front door and the moment we set foot inside, I was butter in his hands for him to mold as he pleased. His cock was even more beautiful than his face, and I wanted it all over and inside me, slapping my cheeks, my lips, my hole. It was the kind of all consuming, animalistic sex that is equal parts rough and tender, where you want to inhale every ounce of them, each chasm of their body becoming an avenue for pleasure. We fucked in the kitchen, on the sofa, pressed against the balcony door, I hung off the ladder to the bedroom while he feasted on me, trying our upmost to compress the sexual trajectory of a devoted relationship into the one night we had together. After sleeping for a mere two hours, we welcomed in the new day with morning fellatio, only to be rudely interrupted by the knocking of the Airbnb’s cleaners; the cue that my stay in Porto had come to a close, and in-turn, so had our brief but passionate encounter.
As I wait for Saturn to return, I torment myself with questions over my use of its first cycle. Have I delved into my desire as deeply as I should? Have I translated my fantasies into tangibility or have I too often allowed them to lay in submission? As we enter a new year, my horny words of wisdom to myself, and to you, are to cast aside this futile self-judgement. Let this be the year we peruse the crevices of our sexual appetites and indulge in the fruits of our imagination.
Favourite Horny City | Mexico City
Written by Yair Thome
What is your FAVOURITE CITY that makes you horny? Why? Definitely Mexico City! I was born and raised in a very small and forgotten town in the south of Mexico, with a population of less than 82,000 of which 49% are sexist and straight men.
I grew up feeling insecure about my sexuality, I knew I was into men but I wasn’t completely sure if I was gay and I didn’t have any chance to explore my sexuality because I used to live in fear of people talking about me and the way I wanted to live my life. But then… when I was 17 years old I had the opportunity to move to Mexico City for school and everything changed.
I studied in a military university for 1 year and it was surrounded by men 24/7 when I realized that I was gay af. Those toned, sweaty and naked bodies when we shared showers made that part that I hid all my life awaken. But I can’t lie, I got bored and disgusted of seeing the same guys after a couple months and I was afraid of trying something with any of them and that was when I got Grindr for the first time.
This 57 years old man invited me to meet in the gay area of Mexico City (known as Zona Rosa). It was in one of many dark cabins, hidden behind a sex shop where I felt that thick and uncut cock. He taught me how to suck his cock and after a few minutes we both cum at the same time: he did it because he was using my mouth roughly and I did it because I enjoyed feeling used by that old masculine men.
That’s why I always wanna go back and I get horny when I think about Mexico City, because It was in that big, intimidating and full of culture city where I discovered WHO I REALLY AM.
Don’t Be Afraid of Being Rejected. Talk To Your Crush.
Favourite Horny Art | Tabula Rasa (2018)
Written by Miles Greenberg
Last week, I saw a Doris Salcedo in Miami. It was called Tabula Rasa (2018), which was part of a series. At first glance, it’s a wooden table. Look closer and you realize it’s been chopped up into smithereens and painstakingly reassembled, piece-by-five-millimetre-long-piece. I’m talking about a fucking astonishing level of main d’oeuvre here. Art Basel isn’t somewhere you often expect to be moved, but it made my body hair stand up.
Maybe it wasn’t only the piece itself, but the contrast it had with its gaudy surroundings; this artwork could've easily been the most banal-looking object in the building, and yet it was also doubtlessly among the most cared for by its maker. It reminded me of a human body, and the history of touches it holds. Every stroke, every scratch, every kiss, every bruise, every fuck. From a few paces back, tabula rasa. Take a few steps forward, scar tissue emerges. The distance threshold at which one notices what the work truly is must be different for everybody; while some may not notice at all.
I guess this excites me because I’ve been feeling especially drawn to romance lately. Anonymous, transactional shit has its place, but I decidedly want to fall in love just a little bit – if just an iota – with everything I do and everyone I meet. Even if it’s for an hour. Even if it’s for a minute. Even if I’m doing taxes. Even if I’m getting choked out. Everything is romantic, as it turns out (Brat? Anyone? No? Okay...).
In coming to terms with my twink death and emerging into twunkdom (27), I’m learning that the places where I leave my love are how I remember who I am. The ways in which the world has touched me, for better or for worse, are how it remembers who I am. Everything fundamental in us takes place through love and violence. The rest is detail. My favourite part is the love.
I’d only write down a piece of advice here that I know I myself need to hear; know what’s for you and what isn’t. Know when to be finished with something. Know when to leave a party and when to close a chapter. Holding on quickly becomes greed which becomes stagnation. Allow things to metabolize, to flow, to live on in your history; keep a diary. The passage of time only treats you favourably when you treat it with respect in kind. Savour what’s current, and you’ll find it tastes a little sweeter.
Favourite Horny Song | Teenage Dream
Written by Tommy Hart
I was exactly sixteen when “Teenage Dream” by Katy Perry came out. It feels silly talking about it now, but the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The seductive breathiness of the opening vocals plus the electrifying punch of the guitar in the chorus balanced out this perfect equation for the song of the summer, every summer.
I have such fond memories of being young and insatiably horny, my first time with unbridled access to the 2007 Honda Civic that my mom and I shared, barreling along the massive highways in Texas and blasting that song with the windows down, just like she does in the music video. I remember buying the director's cut of the video on iTunes for $2.99 back then because I thought it might be sexier. In the video, she cruises down the Pacific Coast Highway in the passenger seat of a vintage convertible, while this dark and handsome model drives with his other hand running down her inner thigh. She hooks up with him in a motel room, dances with her friends on the beach, and finishes by jumping in the pool with all her clothes on. I desperately wanted my life to be like that, to touch someone and be touched. It felt like pure aspirational pop music at its best.
At the time I was totally in love with my beefy best friend on the football team. He was a year older than me, and something about our repressive private school environment paradoxically made it more okay for us to hump each other against the lockers than for him to hold his girlfriend’s hand in the hallway. Sometimes we would drive each other around after school to grab a burger or go to a movie and I would fantasize about running my hands all over him, just like Katy’s boyfriend did to her in the music video. Later that fall, I painted a big sign on poster board that said #57 is my Teenage Dream and brought it to one of our last home football games to watch him play. I was so obviously in love with him, but everyone brushed it off as just boys being boys.
Nothing ever happened between him and me, but the sexual tension was always there, which we tiptoed through the rest of our high school years. We had a funny sort of explorative camaraderie, like a forbidden brotherhood that still makes me horny. I had a lot of misplaced sexual energy back then, being stuck in the closet in a hyper-religious and homophobic environment, but that song let my teenage dreams run wild that one day I was gonna fall in love, and it was gonna be hot as fuck.
In times of uncertainty such as these, I turn to Tilda Swinton.
In a recent interview, she referred to her work as an actor as really only being a function of her need to be in communion with others—that her work was contingent upon and only excited her because it involved a group of other creatives to play with. According to her, her successful career is not built upon some dedication to a “craft” or an obsession with skill or technique, but rather through a desire for connection. She discovered this longing for connection and fellowship very early on in life, in small and simple ways, and stayed true to it, letting it guide her as she grew older, allowing it to pull her away from things that weren’t meant for her and draw her nearer towards the direction of her destiny.
Like Tilda, I think it’s important for us to discover what our “factory setting” is. That is, beyond specific passions or interests, what drives us to do the things we do? Getting to the root of your psyche can feel daunting, but I believe this is the best place to start to know oneself. Then once you find that original setting, honor it, don’t betray it, and let it guide your path.
This manifests itself not only in achieving the life we desire on a grander scale, but also in navigating day to day decisions, sexual encounters, and artistic endeavors. Instead of falling in line with cultural tendencies, expectations, or social norms, what would your life look like if you knew yourself well enough to know what is “for” you, and what isn’t?
How to Fuck that Hot Disabled Guy
Written by Andrew Gurza
Hello there, fellow horny readers. Usually when we think of hot queer sex, there are certain images that come to mind: big muscles, big cocks, nice asses and all the dirty things that turn us on. One of the images that we can’t conjure up is fucking someone with a disability. In our ever perfect gay world full of body dysmorphia and boy dramas disability rarely, if ever crosses our path. Well, I want to change that for you. I am a hot disabled guy who likes to fuck with my thick crip dick, and I want to give you some pointers on how you make your first fuck with that hot disabled guy a good one.
1. Confront Your Own Ableism
Before I let you touch my big throbbing joystick between my legs, I need you to do something for me. Ineed you to interrogate your own ableism around sex and disability. So many hot as fuck queer guys have ableism to work through that they aren’t even aware of. I’ve had porn stars tell me that they wouldn’t enjoy being with someone like me, and I have had first dates remark that I was just “too much work” for them. All of this is ableism – and that means you probably have some too. So, I would suggest before the clothes come off (or before I cum off), consider why disability scares you so much. Is it because you’re worried about your own mortality? Are you worried that deep down inside you see disabled guys as less than? Or is it more basic – you’re worried that we don’t fuck good? These are all fair questions, and ones that I think you should ask yourself before you ask to flood my throat. By doing this work, we can wank off together in peace, and I can put things in your mouth instead of worrying about the ableism that might come out of it.
2. Hoist Me Daddy
The way that I, a full time wheelchair user get into bed is by using a ceiling track lift in my room. A lot
of guys have seen this lift and have been scared to fool around because of it. But, if you wanna straddle
my face, getting me into bed is the first thing to do. It involves a sling (hot, right?) and a lot of straps.
One time when I was in the lift, a guy and I made out really passionately while he was transferring me
into the bed. Another time, this really hot dude grabbed my lift so that he could get leverage while I ate
his hole. I love the lift because it can easily be used as part of sexual play, and that way it becomes far
less scary and super hot.
3. “I Can’t Walk, But I Sure Can Use My Mouth”
It’s true that sex with a hot disabled guy with a big dick like me won’t look the same as what you might
be used to seeing in a dark room or on your cracked iPhone screen at 2 a.m. when you want to nut. I can’t walk, which means for me, I can’t really move around at all in the way you might want a sex partner to. While I can’t use my body the way that you might want (or I might want), I can use my mouth. I love it when a guy has to do most of the moving in our sex play only to be rewarded by my hot, wet mouth. I give head like a champion, and this is one of my favorite sex games. I also love proving guys wrong who think we can’t give pleasure. Oh, how you are missing out. I remember once I blew a guy in an elevator, and it was so hot because he had to maneuver on top of me, but once he did he was in heaven. I also love using my mouth to eat a guy’s hole out. Finding ways to give crip pleasure like that is so fucking hot, and knowing that the rest of my body may have trouble, but my mouth will save the day is a huge turn on. These are only some of pro crip tips to help you fuck that hot disabled guy you have seen on the apps. If you want my hot, wet mouth wrapped around you you’re gonna have to confront your ableism first, big boy! Happy horny holidays!
Favourite Horny Book | Gengoroh Tagame’s Pride
(1997–1999)
Written by Raphael Sanchez
Ohashi, a confident jock who thrives on attention and being the "top dog” at a late-night cruising park, crosses paths with Dr. Shibazaki, a psychology professor at the university Ohashi attends. After an intense evening together, Ohashi is left humiliated, while Dr. Shibazaki sees untapped potential in him—an opportunity to transform a cocky top into a submissive bottom, and a prideful hunk into his devoted sex slave.
Note: This series is not for the faint of heart. Gengoroh Tagame is a renowned Japanese manga artist specializing in gay BDSM manga. His artwork is detailed, erotic, and graphic, often depicting hypermasculine, bearish men in intense and sometimes violent scenarios. These elements, while explicit, serve as a lens to explore deeper emotional and psychological themes.
Tagame’s Pride has become an annual reread for me. Each revisit uncovers new details and complexities in the dynamic between Ohashi and Dr. Shibazaki. Tagame-san brilliantly explores themes of love and control, domination and submission, power dynamics, self-discovery, emotional vulnerability, trust, and personal transformations that can occur in intimate relationships—all within the context of gay relationships.
Back in 2015 (almost ten years ago, wow!), Pride was my introduction to BDSM and kink—communities I’m still exploring and helping to create today. There was something about the acts of bondage and submission that attracted me and yet at the same time it felt so taboo. I found myself getting skittish as I scrolled through poorly scanned and translated pages. It wasn’t until 2022 that I worked up the courage to hire a Master for a couple of sessions, an experience that has allowed me to explore the full spectrum of my desires—discovering kinks I enjoy, confronting those I don’t, and challenging my own boundaries along the way. This journey has also inspired me to delve into the intricate and meditative practice of shibari, an art form that combines creativity, trust, and intimacy in powerful ways.
All of this started because a horny, closeted university student with a love for video games and anime got curious about gay manga. That curiosity opened a door to a world I hadn’t imagined—one where art, storytelling, and identity collided, sparking not only self-discovery but also a deeper exploration of kink, intimacy, and queer representation. What began as a casual interest turned into a journey that is shaping how I understand myself and the communities I belong to.
“Goon out your mind, not just your genitalia.”
The defining trait of humans is our ability to change and grow—so why not spend the new year gooning out your mind, not just your genitalia.
Read The Ethical Slut by Dossie Easton and Janet Hardy—it’s a classic for a reason.
Watch Halina Reijn’s Babygirl starring Nicole Kidman and Antonio Banderas. An homage to the days of Basic Instinct.
Learn that language you’ve been meaning to pick up—fire up Duolingo and maybe even use it to get a little naughty.
Even better, take the plunge and explore that one kink you’ve always been curious about. Push yourself into uncharted territory, challenge your boundaries, and embrace your curious, horny self.
I believe in you. <3
Favourite Horny Brand | Leak NYC
Written By EyeofPsi
Leak NYC. They’re a queer fashion brand that does sexy rave wear/lingerie. Just scrolling through their instagram will get you hot. They have this motto; leak your own sex tape, which I find funny and highly fitting since it seems like everyone and their dad has an onlyfans. They often use these people to model their clothes which just makes it even hotter.
I remember when I first started going out to parties, specifically raves, I would always want something new to wear (lol that hasn’t changed) but also I would want something form fitting and sexy. So being broke and crafty at the time I used to buy a bunch of nylons, cut them up and make outfits out of them. Very similar to Leak but at the time, I didn’t know the brand. I felt like the baddest bitch on the block, no one could talk to me! Which honestly worked for and against me because I looked otherworldly hot and free; so check but not a lot of people would have the balls to come up and talk to me. *sigh*.
It was frustrating at first but when I realised it wasn’t because I was ugly or weird and people were looking because they were interested; I realised that I had something that people dreamed of having. Me. LMFAO. But also the freedom to wear what ever you want, not give a fuck, and look sexy while doing it. I was a slut after this realization. Coming home sometimes without a shirt because some guy ripped it off my body. Ah good times. Leak NYC just gets it and I’m sure my experience is not unique. Anyone wearing Leak is a wild one.
Take a bath lol. Take. A. Bath. Being fresh is sexy but also baths are sensual. Light a candle, add some salts or bubbles, put on a sexy playlist or x rated vid and just sink deep. If you’re feeling naughty take some pics too; trust me the setting is hot.
Surrendering To My Own Human Desires
Written by Lukas Brull
Finding true friendships in the queer world has saved me emotionally, physically and sexually. More specifically, spending the night cuddling with a good friend is one of the hottest and most ethereal experiences of my life thus far. All the irritating things– like overheating, sweating, snoring, and crampedness become the best parts of your sleep. Having been sexually active for less than two years since I turned 20 (about a year and a half ago), the first year was filled with a lot of hurt, hyper-independence, sexting, loneliness, pining and dark rooms. You can be anyone on social media, or in a dark room, which made it easy for me when I had shit self-esteem, but unproductive when I was seeking out people who liked me for who I truly am in real life.
This year, instead of this gloomy tale of hyper-independence, I’m all about surrendering to my most human desires, which are to be held and to feel protected by another man. I protect myself in all areas of my life regularly, so having people, –friends especially– with whom I can let my guard down around has been hugely beneficial for my sex life and beyond. We already know that many aspects of the gay community are plagued with sadness, judgement and the desire to win as many people over as possible in a world of constant rejection. When I’m cuddled up with someone who I genuinely value, and who reciprocates that feeling, it becomes a physical representation of not caring about these useless things anymore – gradually, of course, because I’m not superhuman. I can’t really maintain any manufactured ‘mystique’ or ‘facade’ when I’m unconscious and asleep, and that’s why being physically close to someone I trust in those vulnerable moments feels like the sexiest form of agency.
I’m not only discussing horniness and sex but also the beauty of friendship which I can no longer detach from the former. Letting go of the ones who don’t want me and diving (face first) into those who do makes for connections that are not only intellectually and emotionally empowering but also insanely hot. ;)
Voice of Genesis Breyer P-Orridge
The Horniest Parts of A Wrestling Match
Written by Max Mohenu
I first got into wrestling after watching Trish Stratus vs Lita’s iconic match for the WWE Women’s Championship in 2004. When I was a teenager, I was all about women’s wrestling. Trish Stratus, Gail Kim, Chyna. Those were my girls! I didn’t vibe with men’s wrestling as much as a kid, but I became increasingly obsessed with it as I grew up. I loved the athleticism, aggression, storylines, wrestling gear, all of it! It’s pretty nerdy how much time I invest into wrestling (I watch several different wrestling shows a week).
What I love the most is the many aspects of a men’s wrestling match that are so queer-coded from in-ring chemistry, wrestling styles, etc. As much as I love the sport itself, I’ve learned to appreciate all the horny parts of a wrestling match.
Here are a few things I love.
Wrestling Gear
If you love bulges, ass, or have an underwear fetish, wrestling gear is a one-stop shop for all your desires. One of the most popular pieces of wrestling gear is the singlet, which I love, but trunks are way hotter in my opinion. One of my fav wrestlers right now, Dragon Lee, is a Mexican wrestler who always wears the tiniest little trunks with no underwear underneath. Wearing underwear underneath your ring gear isn’t something everyone does, so there’s always the possibility of a little cheek slip or wardrobe malfunction.
Wrestling Styles
Aside from professional wrestling (WWE, AEW, etc.), there’s Freestyle and Greco-Roman wrestling. Both styles are forms of amateur competitive wrestling mostly contested in college or the Olympics. The main difference is that Greco-Roman wrestlers can only grab their opponents above the waist, while in Freestyle wrestling, it’s possible to attack any part of the body.
All wrestling is pretty gay, but amateur wrestling in particular is probably the gayest and horniest. Everything is a lot rougher, with a lot of intense throws and grappling.
I highly recommend watching Olympic wrestling. It’s wild!
Gay Wrestling Moves
There’s a move some wrestlers would do to embarrass each other called “The Stinkface”. You pull your wrestling trunks to the side and expose your cheeks, then stick your ass in the opponent's face. This was one of the most iconic wrestling moves in the 90s. Sadly, they don’t do this move too much on TV anymore since wrestling got a bit more PG. A lot of indie and Japanese still use this move and have made it even gayer and campier.
Ball-grabbing is also another thing that male wrestlers do in matches to humiliate each other or as a way to cheat when the referee’s back is turned. There’s never an explanation. It’s just a silly thing they do to get a pop from the crowd and it usually works. Everyone loves ball-grabbing, especially straight wrestling fans.
Submission
Submission techniques are used in amateur, professional wrestling, and combat sports. A lot of these guys are so skilled and the moves they use are crazy. I think there’s something sexy about two guys putting their skills to the test to see who’s the toughest. Watching wrestlers use submissions is probably my favourite part of a wrestling match. It’s hot and just really cool to watch!
I think it’s important to be your own lover. In 2025, I’d love to see queer people be more adventurous, feed their own desires, and fall in love with themselves again! There’s only so much romantic partners or fuck buddies can do. Step away from the apps for a minute and treat yourself better than any person could ever treat you. I just came back from a solo trip to Lisbon. I ate good food, went to museums, cruised a few bathrooms, went to sex clubs, and bought myself a new watch haha. The trip nourished me creatively, emotionally, and sexually. Don’t waste time waiting for outside validation in 2025. Remind yourself daily that you’re hot, talented, and deserve the world!
The Horny Case for Champagne in Bed
Written by Christian CZ
W.C. Fields, America’s favourite boozy Vaudevillian, once said “Never drink water. Fish fuck in it.” While the business of fish that fuck is none of my business at all, allow me to stick my nose into the nether regions of what we - ostensibly, you - might want to sip on when you’ve just had sex and the mood is still, well…horny.
Indulge my voyeuristic kink for a moment and allow me to paint a picture: it’s super dark outside. Is it 6pm or 6am? Who cares, you’re on holiday. Your Christmas tree in the next room casts a soft glow on the ball of flesh on your bed, slowly, rhythmically, hypnotically expanding and contracting with every breath: a messy collection of fingers, thighs, and mouths as halves of a seamless whole, clumsily wrapped in newly-purchased Tekla sheets. Completely drained and slick with sweat, you’re thirsty and overheated; that cold wet spot you’re lying on can provide only so much relief.
Enter: Champagne. Groundbreaking for the holidays, I know, but bear with me. Dom Perignon, the French monk who perfected the production of haute fizz in 1693, is reported to have said “I am drinking stars” upon first tasting his concoction. Personally, I’ve experienced the synaesthetic ecstasy of seeing stars while cumming so the enjoyment of petite bubbles after a series of petite morts makes absolute sense to me. Practically speaking, Champagne has the characteristics of a satisfying post-coital treat: cold and refreshing, sure. But you also want something to cleanse your palate and its effervescence with bright acidity will work wonders for that dirty little mouth of yours. Are you the type of person that insists summer bods are made in the winter? Congrats, gay: Champagne has fewer calories than red or white wine! Enjoying it is also inherently unfussy, despite how fussy Champagne’s reputation has become: put it on ice, then pop that cork. No wine opener needed. Feel like putting on a show? Pour your bubbles like the king that you are by inserting your thumb into the dimple and gripping the bottom firmly with your fingers. Yum. Much like lighting someone’s cigarette, there’s something incredibly sexy about being able to do this without averting your gaze from your bedmate’s eyes. No pressure.
Thankfully, the number of Champagnes available to us is seemingly endless and it continues to grow. But as Christopher Sherman once said, not all lube is created equal - Champagne, unfortunately, suffers from the same reality. You’ve got your Veuves, Moëts, Krugs, and Pol Rogers - House Champagnes, if you will, that are the most recognizable. These houses traditionally make sparkling wine from grapes purchased from many different farmers and in way bigger volumes. Flavour-wise, these houses are going for consistency year over year. Grower Champagnes, by contrast, are smaller-batch wines and made by the same person who grew the grapes. You can expect options here to taste a bit more wild and interesting. So which Champagne should you buy? I adhere to the belief that you should drink whatever the fuck you want, however the fuck you want it. Á chacun son gout. Ultimately, the sexy bubbles you choose to sip on is a matter of personal taste and no one wants to fuck a wine snob.
Going My Way
Written by Vivek Shraya
One of my favourite TV shows growing up was Inspector Gadget. It featured a zany (and let's be honest, useless) protagonist who is armed with a variety of technical gizmos. Every episode, his mission centers around defeating an evil, faceless villain with a metal arm and fist called Dr. Claw. The best part of the show is his know-it-all niece, Penny, who is basically the original Lisa Simpson and does all the heavy lifting for her uncle, behind the scenes.
In one episode, a handsome TV host with a slick pompadour, known as the Quizmaster, hypnotizes his unknowing guests with the phrase "going my way." There was something about that phrase - the power that the Quizmaster had over Inspector Gadget, how submissive Inspector Gadget became when he heard it - that made me very horny. He topped Inspector Gadget with just these three small words! How impressive.
I think back then a part of me wanted to be taken over like that, to be forced to go the Quizmaster's way. But now that I'm older, I love embodying the Quizmaster's energy - a good reminder that there is power in that combination of subtlety and firmness.
Los Angeles: A Gay Men’s Paradise
Written by Julien Aumont
As a French gay daddy with a claimed and assumed kinky side, you could expect me to answer Berlin or Cologne in Germany, Madrid or Barcelona in Spain, and even my own city Paris, as my favorite city that makes me horny. And it will make sense for many purposes… till I visited Los Angeles, at 51, for the first time last October. I immediately felt like home, made for each other. It’s never too late to find the place we belong to.
Los Angeles is a land of acceptance and freedom, where being gay is no more a difference or a fight but a real lifestyle. As a gay person, you can be yourself, feeling comfortable, proud and powerful, without fear of judgment. This acceptance fosters a sense of belonging and safety, allowing gay men to express themselves freely, offering so many ways to explore their horny and kinky sides.
No matter if you are young or old, skinny or muscle beefy, shaved or hairy, short or tall, Los Angeles will make you shine; this is the place where all your “crazy fantasies” can come true. For many reasons, the city will make you “horny”. Let me try to explain briefly why Los Angeles is my favorite city.
To start, let's remember that Los Angeles was at the forefront of the gay rights movement, and its progressive values have created a welcoming atmosphere for the LGBTQ+ community.
The city enjoys a Mediterranean climate, my favorite, with mild temperatures and sunny days year-round that provides ample opportunities for outdoors activities. In addition, the beach culture fosters a sense of community and camaraderie among gay men, encouraging social interaction and casual encounters. The emphasis on physical appearance in LA also contributes to create a highly visual and sexually charged environment.
West Hollywood, the Gay Mecca of LA, is home to a thriving LGBTQ+ community, with numerous gay bars, clubs, and businesses. Staying in this vibrant, safe and inclusive neighborhood during my trip, I understood why WEHO attracts gay men from around the world. The city's numerous gay bars and clubs offer a diverse range of entertainment nightlife options, from dance clubs to more relaxed lounges.
“Hollywood” also plays a significant role in shaping the city's image as a sexually charged destination, place of glamour, excess, and sexual liberation. For many years, LA was “the main spot” where were filming the major Gay Porn Movies of Falcon and Titan studios, that contribute to my sexual education.
But, at the end, the main reason I love LA so much is because of the amazing gay community, made of open-minded people, who made this chemistry so intense. As Marion Cotillard, a French comedian, said when she received an Oscar in 2008: “It is true that there are some angels in this city”. First of all, my boy Jamison, who took good care of me from the first minute we met at the gym, making me feel instantly part of the city, enjoying each single moment together (from a simple walk in the sunny city to a crazy “Halloween” night, moved by the rhythm of the music). He introduced me to so many hot, sexy, funny, smart, lovely guys, showing me the best of gay life and more. I will be forever grateful to him for making this first trip to Los Angeles a dream come true, where the word "caring" is really meaningful. Many thanks also to my other angels: Bart, Grayson, Stan & Anderson, Randy and Justin, Ricky, Ethan, Robert and Bruin, to name a few, without forgetting a crazy little monster named Tonka.
In conclusion, Los Angeles' combination of history, culture, climate, and community explains why it became my favorite city, that makes me horny. The city's acceptance, glamour, and emphasis on physical attractiveness have created a unique atmosphere that is both sexually charged and liberating.
Los Angeles, I love you, and I will be back to you soon.
What if we had the power to press the "standby" button to stop for a moment this all-digital, fake and crazy world, to take time to live, care and love? Looking for more quality, that brings satisfaction, fun and joy, instead of a never-ending quest for quantity, that only creates frustration, stress and loneliness. There’s no better feeling than to love ourselves, to care for our friends and family, to enjoy the present moments and to explore our sexual fantasies.
Together we can build a better meaningful “horny” world. Let’s take Time! Let’s get high on Happiness!
Under the Mistletoe
Written by Diego Law
Under the Mistletoe.
We sat cross each other on the wooden chairs, I looked up, his sight followed mine.
I glanced down, his sight followed mine.
It gently surges,
As I looked up, into his eyes. his eyes met mine.
Under the Mistletoe,
With his legs, he hooks my chair close, Feeling the warmth of it between my thighs, My legs felt his warmth, his girth.
I can smell the scent of his sweater, his sweat, his desires
Intoxicating,
Soothing
*Inhale deeply*
Under the Mistletoe,
He places his wide palm on my thighs,
Gentling rubbing his finger against my skin,
Breathing heavily with each touch, inching closer by each touch, My body trembles under his finger.
The scent of earth and winter sun clings onto his body
Under the Mistletoe,
His hands find its way to my waist,
Pulls me close,
Kisses my cheek as his palm rests on it,
Nervously reaching down to my waist,
Tracing my spine as he lifts my shirt over my head, Feeling my skin as he wraps his hairy arms around me.
An verdant landscape my fingers long to explore.
Under the Mistletoe,
His presses his lips against my shoulder, inching up feeling my neck as he inhales,
I exhale as my body shivers,
feeling his tongue inching closer to my lips, his beard brushes through my cheek
Under the Mistletoe,
His lips touch mine,
Our tongues entwine with desire and lust, His breath spread wildfire on my skin, The room dissolves around us,
As I dissolve into his,
Leaving only our bodies.
*Exhale heavily*
Under the Mistletoe,
My knees sink into the ground
I lean into his thigh, pressing deeply against it,
A poetry my lips yearn to read
His belt loosens, jingles, his zippers glides with his touch. A silent invitation impossible to resist,
My arms wrapped around the back of his thigh,
As it flops onto my chin
Under the mistletoe,
I reach out to his cock with my tongue, Kissing it as it pulls me deeper, Wrapping my lips around it,
I rock my head back and forth, as it thrusts deeper
Feeling it grow, Feeling his breath,
An verdant landscape my fingers long to explore.
A poetry my lips yearn to read
Feeling the veins pulsating,
As it is passing through my lips, My togue,
My throat,
The taste of his cock sends shiver down my arms and my spine,
His toe presses against the hard wood floor as my body surrenders, Feeling each inch,
each touch,
each breath
He lifts my face up as my lips presses against his bush, Looking into my eyes, breathing heavily with ecstasy, Holding my neck with his palm as he rocks his hips, Feeling my hunger,
Feeling my desire, Feeling my pleasure.
He gently rubs his hands against the back of my head, holding me down, My toes curls as his silhouette imprints on my throat,
My head tilts back,
A shimmering thread connecting our desire, our lust;
My skin flushes from ecstasy, the aroma of his skin
The muskiness and heat linger on me as my tongue salivates
Both yearning for more.
He places the back of his hand brushes over my cheeks, Places his lips on my lips, my cheeks, my neck,
Holding me close to his chest,
His breath rising and falling like gentle tides.
A place where time ceases to exist
Sometimes It Opens Like A Smiling Rose
Written by Hussein Omar
It’s hard to feel optimistic about the coming of 2025, pretty much anywhere. If the auguries are right, and they most certainly are, then the year to come will likely herald a rollback of many of the sexual freedoms our forebears fought so hard to achieve. It’s easy in this climate to cower in face of the forces that not only want to reshape our desires to fit theirs—but to claim that they are doing so in our own interests as well.
It’s time to abandon our assimilationist quest for respect and respectability. We must get comfortable with being uncomfortable. We must embrace risk and abandon our chimeric quest for infinite security. We must worry less about those who “hate” us and instead ask questions of how we are implicated in global systems that perpetuate inequality and injustice, rebellion against which we sometimes dismiss as “hate”.
Instead we must side with the marginal and the marginalized with whom (and from whom) the most radical impulses we have originated. We must free ourselves from our sycophantic wishes for acceptance. As the great poet Frank Bidart writes,
Thank you, terror!
You learned early that adults' genteel
fantasies about human life
were not, for you, life. You think sex
is a knife
driven into you to teach you that.
This sounds like a tall order and it is. How do we insist that “adults genteel fantasies about human life” are not for us life? Whenever I feel daunted by this question and the challenge it presents, I turn to the (obscene) poetry of some queer forebears that I encountered in the research I am doing for the gay history of the Middle East I am beginning to prepare. All three poets I’ve picked below lived in times where the sexual freedoms we imagine to be essential for our thriving would have been unthinkable. While many contemporary readers find it reassuring to remember that there have been homosexuals across all of history, I am much less interested in that and more drawn to the ways in which they charge eroticism with so much humour and mischief. Without wishing to idealise the times they wrote in (separated by centuries from each other and from ourselves) I find in their ribald rhymes an erotic appetite for risk that reminds me of what’s possible amid what feels like otherwise unrelenting pessimism.
In the bath-house, the mysteries hidden by trousers
Are revealed to you.
All becomes radiantly manifest.
Feast your eyes without restraint!
You see handsome buttocks, shapely trim torsos,
You hear the guys whispering pious formulas
to one another
(“God is Great!” “Praise be to God!”)
Ah, what a palace of pleasure is the bath-house!
Even when the towel-bearers come in
And spoil the fun a bit
Abu Nawas trans. Victor Monteil (750-835 AD)
With analists I'm intimate, at one.
And with pederasts & genderqueers!
Oh, yes. This saying reflects who I am,
"A bird will only flock with his own kind."
Mir Ja‘far Zatalli trans. Pasha M. Khan (1658-1713)
Sometimes it opens like a smiling rose, oh kun! [کون: anus]
Sometimes it closes and becomes a rosebud lip in wonder, oh kun!
It so appears a silver mug of medicine that
Fittingly I call it the cure for all, oh kun!
What if cock the dragon always pushes at its edge?
It’s is a secret treasure cave filled with gold and silver, oh kun!
Deli Barader Ghazali (16th Century)
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