Meat the Spornosexual

The second gen­er­a­tion of met­ro­sexu­als are cum­ming. And this time it’s hardcore


by Mark Simpson

What is it about male hip­sters and their strange, pal­lid, highly ambi­val­ent fas­cin­a­tion with bod­ies beefier and sex­ier than their own? Which means, of course, pretty much everyone?

You may remem­ber last year that last year the Guardian colum­nist and TV presenter Charlton Brooker had a very messy bowel-evacuating panic attack over the self-sexualisation of the male body exhib­ited in real­ity show Geordie Shore.

Now the hip­ster bible Vice have run a long, pas­sion­ate – and some­times quite funny – com­plaint about today’s sexu­al­ised male body by a Brooker wan­nabe (and lookali­kee) titled ‘How sad young douchebags took over mod­ern Britain’.

At least the Vice writer isn’t in total denial. Brooker was so threatened by the brazen male hussies on Geordie Shore and the con­fu­sion their pumped, shaved ‘sex doll’ bod­ies, plucked eye­brows and pen­ises the size of a Sky remote pro­voked in him that the poor love had to pre­tend that they didn’t exist out­side of real­ity TV. That they were some kind of sci­ence fic­tion inven­ted to tor­ment and bewilder him and his nerdy body. Perhaps because he’s rather younger than Brooker, Mr Vice on the other hand has actu­ally noticed that these guys really do exist and are in fact pretty much every­where today, dipped in fake tan and designer tatts and ‘wear­ing’ plunging ‘heav­age’ condom-tight T-s.


In a media world which largely ignores what’s happened to young men Mr Vice is to be com­men­ded that he’s clearly spent a great deal of time study­ing them. Albeit with a mix­ture of envy and desire, fear and loath­ing – and a large side order of self-contradiction and sexual confusion.

He laments that these ‘pumped, primed, ter­ri­fy­ingly sexu­al­ised high-street gigo­los’ have been impor­ted from America, but uses the exec­rable impor­ted Americanism ‘douchebag’ to describe them – over and over again. What’s a douchebag? Someone with big­ger arms than you, who’s get­ting more sex than you – and prob­ably earn­ing more than you, des­pite being con­sid­er­ably less expens­ively edu­cated than you.


But by far the most infuri­at­ing thing about ‘sad young douchebags’ is that they are so very obvi­ously not sad at all. They and their shame­less, slutty bod­ies are hav­ing a whale of a time, thank you very much. They’re far too happy being ‘sad young douchebags’ to sit down and write lengthy, angry ration­al­ising essays about why someone else’s idea of a good time is WRONG. Or read one. Or read any­thing, in fact. Apart maybe from Men’s Health.

A strong smell of nos­tal­gia eman­ates from this Vice jeremiad, like a pickled onion burp. The writer laments a lost Eden of mas­cu­line cer­tain­ties and whinges that these young men with their sexu­al­ised ‘gym bunny wanker’ bod­ies have replaced older, more ‘authen­tic’ English mas­cu­line arche­types, ‘the charmer’, ‘the bit of rough’, ‘the sul­len thinker’ (which, I won­der, applies to him?) and that as a result:

Nobody wants to be Sean Connery any more. With their buff, waxed bod­ies and stu­pid hair­cuts, the mod­ern British douchebag looks more like a model from an Attitude chat­line ad than a poten­tial Bond.

Ah yes, Sean Connery – the former Mr Scotland gym bunny wanker ex chorus boy who wore a wig and fake tan in those glossy, slutty Bond films. Masculinity is never what it used to be. Even back in Ancient Greece every­one was whin­ing that real men went out of fash­ion with the Trojan War. And what’s so wrong with want­ing to look like an Attitude chat line ad, rather than a hired killer?

Oh, that’s right – coz it looks gay.


All this moan­ing, along with the writer’s com­plaints that these buff young men are dis­ap­point­ingly ‘soft’, crap in a fight and don’t have nearly enough scars, reminds me of those gays on Grindr who stip­u­late in their pro­file ‘I like my men to be MEN!!’. Or the camp queens who over the years who have sol­emnly informed me: ‘If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s camp queens!!’ Actually, it reminds me of myself when I was much more hope­lessly romantic than I am today, and before I real­ised real men were really slutty.

There is noth­ing gayer than the long­ing for mas­cu­line cer­tain­ties like this. Especially since they never really exis­ted any­way. It’s like believ­ing that the phal­lus is the real thing and the penis is just a sym­bol. It’s Quentin Crisp’s Great Dark Man syn­drome, but sans the self-awareness, or the arch­ness and the henna.

In fact Mr Vice is so nos­tal­gic – and so young – that he seems to think met­ro­sexu­al­ity is some­thing prior to, dis­tinct from and more taste­ful than these sexed-up shame­lessly slutty male bod­ies that insist on grabbing his atten­tion, wist­fully con­trast­ing how the ‘nat­ural con­fid­ence’ of met­ro­sexu­al­ity ‘has been replaced by some­thing far more flag­rant’. Take it from metrodaddy, today’s flag­rantly sexu­al­ised male body is merely more met­ro­sexu­al­ity. More sexy, more tarty, more porny, more slapped in your face. So stop bitch­ing and suck on it. Metrosexuality has gone hard-core –the ‘sexu­al­ity’ part has gone ‘hyper’.


The met­ro­sexual was born twenty years ago and had to struggle to sur­vive in an untucked ‘no-homo’ 1990s — but the second wave take the revolu­tion he brought about in mas­cu­line aes­thet­ics for gran­ted. Steeped in images of male desirab­il­ity from birth and mas­turb­at­ing furi­ously to hard-core online porn from puberty, they have totally sexed-up the male body and turbo-charged the male desire to be desired, which was always at the heart of met­ro­sexu­al­ity rather than expens­ive fash­ion spreads and fas­ti­di­ous lists of ‘dos and don’ts’. Their own bod­ies rather than clob­ber and cos­met­ics have become the ulti­mate access­ory, fash­ion­ing them at the gym into a hot com­mod­ity. Nakedly met­ro­sexy.

If we need to give this new gen­er­a­tion of hyper met­ro­sexu­als a name – other than total tarts – we should per­haps dub them sporno­sexu­als. These mostly straight-identified young men are happy to advert­ise, like an Attitude chat line, their love of the pornolised, sporting-spurting male body – par­tic­u­larly their own. Along with their very gen­er­ous avail­ab­il­ity to anyone’s gaze-graze. Especially at premium rates.


And every­one is call­ing their num­ber. Though admit­tedly not many do it via the extremely kinky route of writ­ing long essays denoun­cing them and explain­ing why they’re TOTALLY NOT INTERESTED. Hipsters, who of course think them­selves above the vul­gar­ity of sex­i­ness, are simply the ironic, anti-sexual wing of met­ro­sexu­al­ity – which is to say, abso­lutely fuck­ing point­less.

It’s the obvi­ous, if often obli­vi­ous, visual bi-curiosity of today’s totally tarty, hyper met­ro­sexu­al­ity that alarms people even more than its ‘vul­gar­ity’. Male bisexu­al­ity is still largely a taboo pre­cisely because it threatens the final, fond, sac­red, and highly phal­lic myth of mas­culin­ity: that it has an (het­ero­norm­at­ive) ‘aim’ and ‘pur­pose’. The scat­ter­shot slut­ti­ness of sporno­sexu­als sig­nals a very sticky end to that virile delusion.

Mr Vice argues repeatedly that these young men enjoy­ing their bod­ies and their lack of inhib­i­tion com­pared to their fath­ers and grand­fath­ers, are hav­ing a ‘crisis of mas­culin­ity’. This just smacks of more middle class resent­ment dressed up as ‘con­cern’ – a pissy, pass­ive aggress­ive way of call­ing them ‘sad douchebags’ again. Or ‘gay’. When people talk about a ‘crisis of mas­culin­ity’ they’re usu­ally talk­ing about their own – in deal­ing with the fact that mas­culin­ity isn’t what they want it to be. And par­tic­u­larly when work­ing class chaps aren’t what middle class chaps want them to be.

It’s true that our post-industrial land­scape often doesn’t know what to do with the male body apart from shag it or sell it, but that’s not neces­sar­ily such a ter­rible con­trast with the ‘glor­i­ous’ past. For a younger gen­er­a­tion of young men no longer afraid of their own bod­ies there’s no crisis – but rather a lib­er­a­tion. From the dehu­man­ising, sex­ist con­straints of their fore­fath­ers. Men’s bod­ies are no longer simply instru­mental things – for fight­ing wars, extract­ing coal, build­ing ships, scor­ing goals, mak­ing babies and put­ting the rub­bish out that must renounce pleas­ure, van­ity, sen­su­al­ity and a really good fin­ger­ing and leave that to women and pooves.


Instead the male body has been rad­ic­ally redesigned, with the help of some blue­prints from Tom of Finland, as a sen­sual sex toy designed to give and par­tic­u­larly to receive pleas­ure. Maybe it’s not ter­ribly heroic, and admit­tedly some of the tatts are really grotty, but there are much worse things to be. Such as a slut-shaming writer for a hip­ster magazine.

Of course, I would say that. Because I find these sporno­sexual, totally tarty young men fuck­able. But that’s kind of the point. They des­per­ately want to be found fuck­able. It would be extremely rude and ungrate­ful not to find them fuck­able when they have gone to so much trouble doing all those bubble-butt build­ing bar­bell lunges at the gym for me.

And in fuck­able fact, it’s their fuckab­il­ity which makes the unfuck­ables hate them so fuck­ing much.


© Mark Simpson 2014

Mark Simpson’s Metrosexy: A 21st Century Self-Love Story is avail­able on Kindle.


Totally tarty Dan Osborne gifs from here - h/t DAKrolak

It’s a Queer World

Deviant Adventures in Pop Culture

Saint Morrissey

The acclaimed ‘psycho-bio’ of England’s most charm­ing – and alarm­ing – pop star.


A bio­graphy of the metrosexual.

By his dad.

End of Gays?

What’s left of gay­ness when the homo­pho­bia stops?

Male Impersonators

The book that changed the way the world looks at men.

Sex Terror

This book will change the way you think about sex. It may even put you off it altogether.

God Save The Sea Queen

An excerpt from Mark Simpson’s Sex Terror: Erotic Misadventures in Pop Culture’, now avail­able on Kindle

Gibraltar, oth­er­wise known as ‘The Rock’, is the full stop to the sen­tence of Europe. It has been besieged no less than four­teen times. The Ancients thought it was a pil­lar hold­ing up the end of the World. In the Middle Ages Jews fled here from the red-hot instru­ments of the Spanish Inquisition. Aeons ago, the last sur­viv­ors of the ancest­ors of Homo sapi­ens also retreated to this toothy promon­tory of the Iberian pen­in­sula, last­ing a few, increas­ingly lonely, thou­sand years more in the dark caves that abound here, before being finally snuffed out by Progress.

Even today, rare and exotic creatures sur­vive here that have long since become extinct else­where in Continental Europe. Off one of the nar­row, steep, cobbled streets, down some worn steps, there’s a dark cel­lar bar, that holds out against not only the Twenty First Century but much of the lat­ter half of the Twentieth. This is the domain and refuge of the last of the Sea Queens, Lovely Charlie, land­locked in the last corner of the British Empire.

The brick walls and vaul­ted ceil­ing of Charlie’s domain are com­pletely covered in battered Royal Navy Ensign flags. All of them have per­sonal mes­sages scrawled across them in Secondary Modern hands: ‘To Lovely Charlie, from the lads on HMS Sheffield — We think you’re magic!’ (dated 1981, the year before it was sunk by an Argentine Exocet in The Falklands); ‘Donkey Nob Was Here – 1979’’; and ‘Royal Marine Commandos do it in boats – 1989’. Signed pho­tos of sun­burnt, laugh­ing young men with cans of lager in their hands and their arms around each other’s shoulders cover the wall next to the bar, together with post­cards from Hong Kong, Belize, Brunei, Germany and Kuwait.

Tonight how­ever Charles’ Hole-in-the-Wall bar — the finest bar on the Seven Seas — is com­pletely empty, except for Charles him­self, a well-preserved, hand­some middle-aged man with glit­tery ear-studs and immacu­late hair, sit­ting at the bar, and his snooz­ing big black lab­rador, heavy eye­lids sag­ging. ‘Well, come in, luv,’ he says, happy to see a face. ‘Sorry it’s so quiet tonight. The Fleet’s out. Mind, it always fookin’ is these days! Are you a mate­lot? ‘No? What’s that you say? You’re look­ing for one? Aren’t we all, luv!’ he laughs, and gets me a bottled beer.

It was best when the fron­tier with Spain was closed,’ he remin­isces, in his effort­lessly camp but strangely butch Gibraltarian English, com­ic­ally spiked with some coarse, regional Brit expres­sions he’s obvi­ously picked up from his cli­en­tele. ‘When Franco shut the bor­der in 1967 that was the begin­ning of twenty years of bloody bliss, y’know. When hun­dreds of sail­ors have been out at sea for weeks and they dock here, they’re not going to let the fact that there aren’t enough single women on Gib to make a foot­ball team stop them hav­ing a fookin’ good time, luv!’

And they didn’t mind their mates find­ing out; they’d just say, “I bet you had a fookin’ good time with Charlie gob­blin’ yer last night!” and every­body would laugh. Of course, who gobbled whom wasn’t always the way they painted it – but that was some­thing private between me and them. Things aren’t the same now. I still get offers – but they’re much more furt­ive; they’re afraid that every­one will think they’re gay just because they had a bit of fun with Charlie. And then in 1987 they only went and opened the fookin’ fron­tier, didn’t they? Now most of the lads head off for the bright lights of Marbella. I can’t com­pete with dolly-birds and disco, can I luv?’

But it isn’t about sex,’ explains Charlie, sip­ping a min­eral water (he’s tee­total). ‘It’s the com­pany. The camaraderie. It’s my duty to run this bar! I’m a legend in the Royal Navy, y’know. I’ve been to Portsmouth and Plymouth. They treated me like a real Queen. There was noth­ing they wouldn’t do for me. I was really moved. I was in Edinburgh once, and a lad came up to me and said, “It’s Lovely Charlie, isn’t it!’ He was very sweet. He whispered, “Look, Charles, you can’t wear that much jew­ellery around here. They won’t under­stand”.’

I’m passed down, father to son. I had an eighteen-year-old sailor come in here last month, his first time. He said: “That door’s new,” point­ing to that door over there to the pool-room which I had installed about ten year ago. “How did you know that?” I asked. “Oh,” he said, ‘my dad’s got a pic­ture of him sit­ting on your knee. It was the year before he met me mam.”

They like to tell the new­bies that they’re going to sell them to me for a round of drinks, y’know. Of course, that doesn’t hap­pen. I’d never take advant­age. But they like to wind up the young­sters. One lad came here with his Dad – the Navy has a Father’s week where they fly fath­ers who were in the Navy out here to travel home on board ship with their sons. He said: “Well, ‘ere you go Charles, you can ‘ave your wicked way wiv ‘im if you keep the drinks comin’!” I laughed and said, “Well, you’re his dad, so I sup­pose that makes it legal!” You should have seen the poor boy’s face!’

Oh yes, occa­sion­ally you get trouble-makers. They come here say­ing how much they “’ate fookin’ queers”. Everyone goes quiet because they know he’s going to get a tongue lash­ing from me. I usu­ally say some­thing like, “And I ‘ate fookin’ ugly cunts like you, luv!” Everyone usu­ally pisses them­selves laugh­ing. And usu­ally,’ adds Charlie, wink­ing, ‘they end up stay­ing the night…’.

I can’t go on forever, though y’know. I’m not as young as I used to be. But the mate­lots, bless ‘em, they don’t notice any of this decay! They always say, “Oh, Charlie, you never change!” and I say to them, “Well, no, but the wattage does!” Charlie laughs. ‘Every year a bit less. I star­ted off here with 100W bulbs. Now I’m down to 10W. And tin­ted!

What’s that? Why do the lads love me so? Oh it’s because they know I love them,’ he explains with a shrug. ‘And I’m always here. Unlike bar­maids, I don’t regard them as a prob­lem or as a meal-ticket. And, of course,’ he smiles, wink­ing, ‘they do like my out­rageous beha­viour. They always insist that I wear all my jew­ellery when they come to visit.’

A few hours and a crate of beer later I’m stag­ger­ing back to my hotel and can’t help think­ing that the reason the sail­ors treat Charlie like a star is simply because they recog­nise one when they see one. Lovely Charlie is, well, lovely. And price­less. When he finally calls last orders, or runs out of wattage, a little but pre­cious piece of British mari­time and marytime his­tory will be lost forever.

This piece was ori­gin­ally writ­ten back in 2000, but I’m very happy to report that Charles is still going full steam ahead, and so is a recently-refurbished Charles’ Hole-in-the-Wall bar — he’s even upped the wattage! (Castle Street, Gibraltar; opens at 9pm.) 

Bisexual Men Exist! But Does Scientific Sex Research?

Those kinky penile plethysmo­graph fet­ish­ists at Northwestern University just can’t get enough cock.

Dr JM Bailey and his chums have been strap­ping a fresh batch of pen­ises into their sex-lie detector machines again, show­ing them porn and fever­ishly twid­dling their knobs. But this time – hold the front page! – their ‘sci­entific’ find­ings very kindly allow men who like cock and pussy to actu­ally exist.

Which might not in the real world seem such a major find­ing – but it rep­res­ents a major flip flop for this out­fit. Six years ago, using the same cranky equip­ment, they claimed they had demon­strated that male bisexu­al­ity didn’t exist. That their data sug­ges­ted that bisexual men were in fact ‘really’ homosexual.

A ‘find­ing’ that was trum­peted around the world. Because of course it told people, straight and gay, what they wanted to hear, and what com­mon sense tells them to be the case. Gays have always wanted bisexual men to join ‘their’ team. While straights don’t want the dirty dogs on theirs. However lib­eral they might be. Especially in the devoutly mono­sexual USA. ‘Straight, Gay or Lying?’ was the infam­ous, shame­ful head­line in the New York Times which greeted the 2005 paper from Bailey ‘prov­ing’ male bisexu­al­ity doesn’t exist.

Just as all women are ‘really bisexual’, no men really are. Since vir­il­ity is dir­ectly related to a man’s abil­ity to per­form com­puls­ory het­ero­sexu­al­ity, any man who is aroused by cock can’t be virile. He is, by defin­i­tion, emas­cu­lated. Impotent. A fag. Or ‘gay’ if you’re lib­eral. No won­der the vast major­ity of men attrac­ted to other men don’t advert­ise the fact.

All this des­pite of course the way hard­core ‘straight’ porn watched by most men when they’re not strapped to a plethysmo­graph in Northwestern University fea­tures pussies AND cock. Usually lots and lots of ENORMOUS cocks – and a sorely-tested pussy or two. By way of con­trast, I’d point out that I’ve never seen a single pussy in gay porn. (Except once in the art-house porn of Bruce La Bruce – who was any­way only doing it to wind up The Gays.)

In my own private ‘researches’ I’ve come across – and over – scores of straight/bi-curious/bisexual men who want to re-enact the straight hard­core porn they’ve been watch­ing. With them as the ‘greedy slut’. They tell me they decided that it looked like fun. And besides, they thought they could do a bet­ter job. (Probably cor­rectly, since the ‘slut’ fantasy of straight porn is of course a largely male construction.)

But Bailey’s yen to strap pen­ises into sex-lie detect­ors is much more respect­able than my private per­ving. The jaw-droppingly dread­ful recent C4 doc­u­ment­ary series The Sex Researchers presen­ted Bailey as some kind of sexual seer, rather than the highly con­tro­ver­sial and frankly rather dodgy fig­ure he is. Worse, it gave his favour­ite sex toy, the penile plethysmo­graph, a star­ring role in the first and last epis­ode, present­ing a con­trap­tion which is prob­ably even less reli­able than a non-kinky ordin­ary lie detector, as a pure, object­ive and accur­ate way of meas­ur­ing and study­ing sexu­al­ity, in con­trast to all that sub­ject­ive tosh and ‘dirty data’ that Kinsey and Freud came out with. By listen­ing to people.

Likewise, the series began and ended with the ludicrous but appar­ently highly reas­sur­ing asser­tion, based on this object­ive and sci­entific research, that most women are bisexual and hardly any men are.

In keep­ing with this ‘Loaded’ ideo­logy – and it really is an ideo­logy, make no mis­take – the entire series on sex research, lav­ishly illus­trated with ‘ironic’ vin­tage soft porn foot­age of naked ladies play­ing with them­selves and jig­gling their boobies, the penis and the male body was almost com­pletely absent – except when under­go­ing grue­some ‘cor­rect­ive sur­gery’ or being sub­jec­ted to ‘test­ing’ in the plethysmo­graph. We were repeatedly told that female sexu­al­ity is ‘com­plic­ated’ but men’s sexu­al­ity is… mech­an­ical.

The denial of male bisexu­al­ity and bi-curiousness has its roots in a sex­ism that keeps men in their place even more than women.

Sex’ for the C4 doc­u­ment­ary makers meant (a very par­tic­u­lar kind of) ‘female body’. It was as if the doc­u­ment­ary had been dir­ec­ted by Benny Hill, but without the laughs. The com­mer­cial breaks, fea­tur­ing tarty half-naked men selling break­fast cer­eals and mois­tur­iser were much more enlightened and real­istic than any­thing in this series based on an already highly dated het­ero­norm­ativ­ity (which incid­ent­ally is the sub­ject of an offi­cial com­plaint to Channel 4 about its inac­cur­ate and mis­lead­ing nature by sev­eral of the sex research­ers inter­viewed for it).

So why the turn­around by Bailey? Well, it seems the loud and angry protests from bisexual organ­isa­tions that Bailey’s 2005 find­ings under­stand­ably aroused has taken its toll -– and indeed one bisexual organ­isa­tion even fun­ded this recent research.

They got the res­ult they wanted, but I fear they’re wast­ing their money and merely encour­aging more bad sci­ence. Some of course will hold these find­ings up as proof that this Heath Robinson kind of bio-mechanical sex research can cor­rect itself. But they would have to be true believ­ers to see it that way. All that has been proven is that meas­ur­ing penile blood-flow in a labor­at­ory is a highly reduct­ive and highly abnor­mal meas­ure of male sexu­al­ity. Men are not just pen­ises. They are also pro­state glands. Perineums. Earlobes. Inner thighs. Brains. Nipples.

It also shows that you get the res­ult you’re look­ing for. In 2005 Bailey wanted to prove that male bisexu­al­ity didn’t exist. In 2011 he didn’t. QED.

Perhaps the worst thing about this new find­ing is that Bailey et al will now try to turn male bisexu­als into a ‘spe­cies’ to be stud­ied and dis­sec­ted. Bisexual men may quickly come to the con­clu­sion that they were much bet­ter off when they didn’t exist.

Unless of course they them­selves have a bit of a fet­ish for penile plethysmo­graph play.


The End of Heterosexuality (As We’ve Known It)

By Mark Simpson

A bullet-pointed column in the NYT by Charles M. Blow exam­ines a sea-change in atti­tudes towards homo­sexu­al­ity sug­ges­ted by a recent Gallup poll which found that, for the first time, the per­cent­age of Americans who per­ceive “gay and les­bian rela­tions” as “mor­ally accept­able” has crossed the sym­bol­ic­ally import­ant 50 per­cent mark.

Also for the first time, and even more sig­ni­fic­antly, more men than women hold that view. While women’s atti­tudes have stayed about the same over the past four years, the per­cent­age of men over 50 who con­sider homo­sexu­al­ity mor­ally accept­able rose by a by an eyebrow-raising 26% –and for those aged 18–49 by an eye­pop­ping 48%.

What on earth has happened in the US since 2006? How did the American male lose his world-famous Christian sphincter-cramp and right­eous loath­ing of sod­omy? Have the gays been secretly put­ting pop­pers in the locker-room vent­il­a­tion shaft?

Alas, Gallup doesn’t say.  So Mr Blow does what you do at the NYT when you’re stumped: ask some aca­dem­ics.  They came up with three theories:

    1. As more gay people come out more straight people get to per­son­ally know gay people which makes it more dif­fi­cult to discriminate.
    2. Men may be becom­ing more ‘egal­it­arian’ in gen­eral, partly thanks to feminism.
    3. Virulent homo­phobes are increas­ingly being exposed for enga­ging in homosexuality”.

Now, the first two of these the­or­ies seem to me fairly plaus­ible explan­a­tions for increased accept­ance of homo­sexu­al­ity at any time, but not espe­cially in the last few years – let alone that whop­ping 48% rise for 18–49 year olds. But the third the­ory about pub­lic homo­phobes being exposed as secretly gay per­haps goes too far in the oppos­ite dir­ec­tion and is too current-news spe­cific. As if the dis­cov­ery that fam­ous homo­phobe George Rekkers hired a rent boy to give him ‘spe­cial’ mas­sages could trans­form atti­tudes towards man-love overnight – rather than just change atti­tudes towards George Rekkers.

So I give them all just a C minus.

And, as Blow points out, none of these the­or­ies address the main find­ing – that men now are more accept­ing than women, revers­ing the gender split on this sub­ject that has held since poll­sters star­ted bug­ging people with ques­tions about ‘homo­sexual relations’.

In my own spec­u­lat­ive opin­ion, none of these the­or­ies can see the rain­forest for the trees. Of course young men in the US are much more accept­ing of homo­sexu­al­ity – because so many of them are now way gay them­selves. It’s not really an issue of ‘tol­er­ance’ or ‘accept­ance’ of ‘oth­er­ness’ at all. It’s about self-interest – quite lit­er­ally. About men being less down on the gays because they’re less hard on them­selves now – in fact, rather sweet on them­selves instead.

It’s about men in gen­eral not being so quick to renounce and con­demn their own ‘unmanly’ desires or nar­ciss­ism – or pro­ject it into ‘faggots’.

Which from the point of view of today’s sen­su­ally greedy male would be a ter­rible waste of a pro­state gland. Probably most young men are now doing pretty much everything that freaky gay men were once abhorred for doing – from anal play (both ways) to no-strings fuck-buddies, to cry­ing over Glee, and using buff-puffs in the shower while demand­ing as their male birth­right ‘com­fort­able skin’ (as the recent massive ad cam­paign for Dove for Men puts it).

And the tim­ing fits almost as snugly as a fin­ger or three where the sun don’t shine. It was after all only in 2003 that the Supreme Court finally struck down the anti sod­omy laws still on the stat­ute books of some US states as uncon­sti­tu­tional. It was also in the early Noughties that met­ro­sexu­al­ity really took off in the US.

Despite a mid-Noughties anti-metro, anti-gay mar­riage back­lash that helped re-elect Bush, in the Tweenies the male desire to be desired, and his eager­ness to use product – and body parts and prac­tises – once deemed ‘gay’ or ‘fem­in­ine’ or just ‘wrong’ to achieve this, seems to have become pretty much accep­ted amongst most American males under 45. It’s con­sumer­ism and advert­ising of course not the gays that has been put­ting the pop­pers in the men’s locker room.

Along the way, many young men have twigged that in a post-feminist world of com­mod­i­fied bod­ies and online tarti­ness there is decidedly no advant­age to them any more in an essen­tially Victorian sexual divi­sion of labour in the bed­room and bath­room that insists only women are looked at and men do the look­ing, that women are always pass­ive and men are always act­ive – or in the homo­pho­bia that was used to enforce it. Men now want it all.  Both ends.

And per­haps American women aren’t keep­ing up with men’s chan­ging atti­tudes because some are real­ising how ‘gay’ their boy­friends and hus­bands are already and won­der­ing where this is all leading.

There’s plenty to won­der about.  After all, it’s the end of the road for that holi­est American insti­tu­tion of all: Heterosexuality. Not cross-sex attrac­tion, of course, or repro­duc­tion – but that sys­tem of com­puls­ory, full-time, always-asserted straight­ness for men which stray­ing from moment­ar­ily, or even just fail­ing to show suf­fi­cient respect towards in the past could cost you your cojones. What, you a FAG??

If met­ro­sexu­al­ity is based on van­ity, ret­ro­sexu­al­ity, it needs to be poin­ted out, was based partly on self-loathing. ‘Real men’ were sup­posed to be repulsed by their own bod­ies at least as much as they were repulsed by other men’s. (If they were really lucky they might get away with pas­sion­ate indifference.)

After a dec­ade or so of met­ro­sexu­al­ity a tip­ping point seems to have been reached. Men’s self-loving bi-sensuality and appre­ci­ation of male beauty, awakened and increas­ingly nor­m­al­ised by our medi­ated world, seems to be here to stay. Even in the God-fearing USA. And might now, if it’s in the mood and treated right, choose to be con­sum­mated rather than just deflec­ted into con­sumer­ism again.

When I first wrote about how the future of men was met­ro­sexual, back in 1994, it was clear to me that met­ro­sexu­al­ity was to some degree the flip­side of the then emer­ging fash­ion for female bi-curiousness. I didn’t talk about this much at the time because I knew no one would listen if I did.  (I needn’t have wor­ried – they didn’t anyway.)

In this regard, one of the aca­dem­ics in the NYT piece was (finally) quoted as say­ing some­thing inter­est­ing, right at the end:

Professor Savin-Williams says that his cur­rent research reveals that the fastest-growing group along the sexu­al­ity con­tinuüm are men who self-identify as “mostly straight” as opposed to labels like “straight,” “gay” or “bisexual.”  They acknow­ledge some level of attrac­tion to other men even as they say that they prob­ably wouldn’t act on it, but … the right guy, the right day, a few beers and who knows. As the pro­fessor points out, you would never have heard that in years past.’

An A ++ to Dr Savin-Williams. Not so long ago, when Heterosexuality was a proper belief sys­tem that com­manded round-the-clock obeis­ance, ‘mostly straight’ would have been a heretical con­tra­dic­tion in terms – like half preg­nant. But in this Brave New World of male need­i­ness it’s just a state­ment of where we’re at.

For today’s young men the fear of fag­gotry is fast being replaced by the fear of miss­ing out.

Tip: Dermod Moore

MM4W — No Dudes! Not Gay!! We Don’t Touch Each Other!!!

Some amus­ing — and pos­sibly dis­turb­ing — MM4W Craiglist per­sonal ads spot­ted on the rather fas­cin­at­ing (not entirely office safe).

My per­sonal favour­ite is the one head­lined: ‘Probably the 2 Best Looking Men You’ll Find On Here’, which insists:

No tran­nies, no dudes, none of that creepy stuff — we’re straight!’

The pic­tures attached of the two buffed, preen­ing male tarts are indeed a test­a­ment to where straight men are at these days. The state of straight.

Now, there’s noth­ing wrong with some bud­dies want­ing to re-enacct the gang-bang, several-outsized-penises-pester-one-pussy porn that is so pop­u­lar with straight men these days.  And if they’re buffed — even bet­ter. It doesn’t mean they’re gay. It doesn’t even mean that they’re par­tic­u­larly bisexual. It just means that, like most men, they’re rather keen on cocks.

But the hys­ter­ical lengths men still feel they have to go to to refute any of ‘that creepy stuff’ — even as they spit-roast or DP an obli­ging lady together, admir­ing each other’s sweat­ing, flex­ing muscles and per­haps enjoy­ing the sen­sa­tion of their buddy’s erect penis ham­mer­ing away on the other side of the pel­vic area — or per­haps in the same ori­fice — is a bit sad. If under­stand­able. Because of course, if you’re male and ‘touch one another’, even just once, then you are GAY!!!!! Forever. Whereas if you’re female and touch one another you’re… HOT!!!!!

The slightly, how shall I put it, impen­et­rable French Freudian fem­in­ist Luce Irigary (impen­et­rable even by the stand­ards of French fem­in­ism) wrote back in the 1980s about the ‘mas­cu­line homo­sexual eco­nomy’ (of het­ero­sexu­als) in which women are merely objects and tokens to be exchanged between men — men in pat­ri­arch­ical sys­tems being sup­posedly far more inter­ested in other men than in women.

In the 21st Century we have moved on from that, of course. Now men appear to be using women as double-ended Fleshlites.

Banana-Curious: Why Men Throat Curved Fruit on YouTube

Male bi-curiousness may not be as ‘cool’ as The Daily Beast thinks, but banana-curiousity is clearly all the rage.

There has been a bit of a vogue for young men video­ing them­selves greed­ily down­load­ing curved phal­lic fruit and upload­ing the some­times messy, some­times awe-inspiring res­ults to YouTube. I’ve col­lec­ted a few examples which may put you off your packed lunch. Or make you want to get to know it a whole lot better.

Because it’s a fruit that looks like a penis and is not an actual penis, fruit fel­la­tio is some­thing you can per­form for your help­lessly snig­ger­ing male bud­dies on buses, in bar­racks and canteens and post on YouTube for the world to see without age restric­tions or, appar­ently, any embarrassment.

Nor does it tell us any­thing about your sexu­al­ity — save that you’re prob­ably ridicu­lously het­ero­sexual. Though it may sug­gest that, like most straight men nowadays, you spend rather a lot of time mas­turb­at­ing furi­ously over porn fea­tur­ing gar­gan­tuan pen­ises while won­der­ing — just before you shoot all over the mon­itor again — whether or not you could do a bet­ter job of swal­low­ing it than the lady porn star ‘slut’.

It’s a shame that male bi-curiousness couldn’t be treated the way banana-curiousness is by most people: just an eye-watering laugh that doesn’t mean any­thing, still less reveal­ing some ‘inner truth’ about who or what you really are — or aren’t.  In other words, a bit like female bi-curiousness.

In fact, let’s just scrub the word ‘bi-curious’ for men, since it is appar­ently such a charged term, and replace it with ‘banana-curious’. Banana-curious guys could dis­cretely flag up their interest to other banana-curious males by includ­ing a pic­ture of them eat­ing a banana on their online profiles.

Sadly though, such is the stigma still attached to men’s interest in other men and their bits that even banana-curiousness will some­times get you flamed as… FAGGOT!!!!!  And even lads who like to throat twelve-inch ‘cock bana­nas’ on cam­era will fall over to prove them­selves fag-haters because that of course proves their heterosexuality.

There’s a furi­ous exchange on YouTube between the young chap above, who man­fully attempts what he describes as ‘a cock banana’ (of Holmesian pro­por­tions that would have me hid­ing under the bed, quak­ing like a wet chi­hua­hua) and a clearly envi­ous if some­what con­flic­ted com­menter who starts off by screaming:


The banana-throater responds wittily:

your the gay one fuck head ’

Which leads inev­it­ably to the riposte:

your gay for makin’ this video ’

Fascinating epi­stem­o­lo­gical ques­tion, that. Who is gayer? The uptight straight boy throat­ing a twelve inch ‘cock banana’ on YouTube or the straight boy watch­ing it and work­ing him­self into a homo­phobic froth about it?

your the fag­got who searched for it ‚if you like men you­tube aint the place’

you’re gay for makin’ the video for us to search for,and I never searched for it. It came up when I was look­ingh for some­thing of a com­pletely dif­fer­ent category.’

Yes! That’s exactly how I came across this clip too!

Maybe it’s just me, but whenever I come across this kind of exchange between young males it always seems clear as day that such pas­sion­ate denun­ci­ations of one another as ‘fag­gots’ is only pos­sible — in fact only makes any kind of sense — if ‘fag­got’ thoughts are extremely com­mon amongst young males and they are forever fret­ting that they’ll be found out.

The banana-throater’s girl­friend makes a some­what con­veni­ent appear­ance to prove he’s not gay — which of course in itself proves he couldn’t pos­sibly be inter­ested in pen­ises — and to shoo away the gays that are circ­ling around her tal­en­ted boy­friend in lan­guage sus­pi­ciously sim­ilar to that used by him:

sorry gay boy its only a banana if you want to see cock why dont you go buy a poofs magazine’

Mind you, dear, as one of the posters points out, your boy­friend did title his charm­ing video ‘cock banana’, so you can hardly blame the gay boy poofs can you? Your boy­friend, like you, does appear to have ‘issues’.

Here’s the banana-cock-throating boy’s own response to another poster’s offer to let him try out his skills on the real thing:

no thanks gay boy, women are sup­pose to do that kind of thing. its adam and eve not adam and steve.’

Whereas deep-throating bana­nas is of course entirely nat­ural and nor­mal and as God intended.

But the really import­ant, urgent ques­tion, er, ‘thrown up’ by these clips is of course: who has the best tech­nique? No.2 looks to have the most capa­cious throat, but I’m tickled by No.5’s enthu­si­asm, while No.6 has a very cheeky fin­ish. Please post your reviews.…

And to all you banana-curious lads out there won­der­ing how to sup­press that tricky gag-reflex: try tak­ing a deep breath before swal­low­ing. Poppers, relax­ing music and a hand around the back of the head helps too.

Health and Safety Notice: if you really are going to try this at home I should prob­ably point out that an actual penis or proper plastic dildo is prob­ably less dan­ger­ous down your throat than a banana as they’re both some­what less likely to break in two and choke you to death.


“I hurt my throat!” (Yeah, right.)


“It’s a big dick!” Not really, dear.…


Lots of eye-contact here.


A cheeky finish.


UPDATE 1/4/12

A few years on and it seems one or two of the banana-throaters pos­ted above have become a tad shy about their tal­ents and pulled their clips. So I had a quick look on YouTube and found a new banana star — a cute blond jar­head who deep throats curved fruit in the bar­racks for a dol­lar. “Will you go out with me?” jokes his clearly impressed bunk buddy.

Meanwhile someone has kindly col­lec­ted a ‘bunch’ of YouTube banana-throating vids and spliced them together: