Manual A Furtive and Hidden Embrace: Gay Erotic Submission

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It's rather heart warming, really. Actually, now that I've scrolled back to the beginning, a lot of the early stuff is from Gloria's Oversexed Mind. So, if you like this blog, check out the one that has fewer comments between pictures And it's tricky to categorize old photos like this -- some of them look more like jokes, while others scream "gay! I'd like to submit this photo of some Michigan outdoorsmen. It's vintage and it has man touching. Just sayin' posted by zzazazz at AM on November 10, There's just this modern stratification there, the whole notion that you're gay or you're not, the gathering of teams and tribes that makes everyone have to stake a position and stop being naturally handsy with each other.


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I look to photos of men in poses of intimacy, from the adorable to the provocative, and I read them as representing my sort of feeling, regardless of what's actually in the photograph. It's my right, as a guy from a category that's been so meticulously rewritten out of history by the powers that be, and while I know that many of the men slouching luxuriantly against each other, hands clasped in what is clearly some form of intimacy, are principally dear, dear friends who've never stepped over the manufactured boundaries of sexual class, they are the loving couples I choose to celebrate.

It's my right, to read them as being like me, after centuries of being taught that Gilgamesh and Enkidu were just very good friends, or that Rock Hudson and Randolph Scott were just chums, sitting around their pool in matching monogrammed bathrobes, or that that thing we do is really a modern invention. It's not just a demise of intimacy between males, either--it's something worse, as we're all so cynical that we have to let everyone drop into precise little slots like falling pachinko balls.

Oh honey, that guy's clearly gay. When the boundaries are less proscribed, and when they aren't enforced by our own obedient little policemen, relentlessly drilled in the tiresome regimentation of post-seventies acceptable roles, people drift in and out of those intimate roles as we're designed to, the raucous lot of us touching and holding and leaning into each other like bonobos , sometimes serious, sometimes playful, in a whirl of touch. I see all this in photographs of men and men and women and women, the stacks of what's real, what's a daydream, and what I see because it's my right to look at the world as if what I am, and who I love, and what I do is as true and real and worthy as what you do, whoever you happen to be.

People like me had to work harder for what we had, and we had to be impossibly subtle--masters of context, subterfuge, and the lush, illegal world tucked in neatly behind an ever so slightly raised eyebrow. I choose to see myself in the past, even if things were different, as we put up with the ten thousandth year of pulpit-fueled bullshit.

My absurdly detailed five thousand word online sex personal ad used to wax romantic about my twitchy, obsessive interest in the amateur pornographic snapshots of the men of the Civilian Conservation Corps. That's the place for me, in that sepia-toned masturbatory dreamland where guys bent and sucked and pulled and twisted and displayed the untold realm of the joyous possibilities inherent in bodies with protuberances, sensitive surfaces, and a variety of holes, where they're almost always smiling, posed in states of captured wonder as they fucked each other in front of enormous Kodak box cameras, as if to say "this is something we can do, and it's fucking AMAZING!

What's the 'Civilian Conservation Corps'? Your hot. You wanna fuck or what? So I drag the time machine out of the closet, carefully dusting off the wiring and the tarnished crowns of the old-style rheostats, fire it up, and bear myself ceaselessly back into the past.

GayTwogether's Vintage Photo Memories is the source for some of these photos. Porn these days is worse than fast-food: it's the protein pill; all that is required for reptilian satisfaction and nothing more. Even the high budget parodies in their sex devolve into fifteen-minute long circus tent exhibitions of the stamina of toned thigh muscles and high performance lubricants.

a Furtive and Hidden Embrace Gay Erotic Submission Gideon Elliot

It's a sport, nothing more, and I suppose it won't be much longer before there are tattoos from edgy beverage and fragrance manufacturers. One thing it isn't, is intimate. I like fumbling. I like uncertainty.

I like laughing at odd moments and having to explain what it was, and getting a laugh or a raised eyebrow in return. I like sometimes just getting too tired to continue and falling asleep, spent yet unspent, in the embrace of my lover. I like the confidence and strength of a relationship that means there's no defined beginning or end to a sex act, it is simply something that comes and goes at its own pace, and that one can be in the moment without pretending anything and without a goal in mind. Intimacy isn't an two-column list of holes and protuberances, and it isn't a tickybox list of secretions.

Intimacy is a raised eyebrow or a little smile where there doesn't need to be one. It's a lingering glance and holding hands and friendship. These are intimate portraits of real people. Thank you for sharing. What is this from? Looks 50s era and content could be a pulp but the illustration doesn't look like it. Maybe a modern retro thing? I really recommend watching the video linked from the blog of the Chicago Gay Pride Parade.

It's joyful and heartwarming, even though at one point somebody throws something that looks like a baseball.


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  • Partly it's heartwarming because we know how things turned out. We know that today gay rights is triumphant. Sure, there are still plenty of backwards people, and some regions and countries are better than others, but on the whole things are light-years better today than they were back in and it's thanks to the people in that video and people like them who stood up and were counted and didn't back down.

    They fought for what no one should be forced to fight for, the right to love who you want to love.

    Homosexuality in cinema

    But it's also heartbreaking, because this is filmed just as HIV is starting to spread in the gay community. I can't help but look at all these happy, brave, proud people and wonder how many of them would live to the end of the next decade. I wish I could hop into a time machine and go give every single one of them a hug and tell them that they were going to win and to please use condoms. I thought about this overnight and I'm irritated at the rush of Metafilter commenters to point out "yes, but these may just be men being affectionate; they're not actually homosexual".

    It's not that I disagree factually; with the image alone and no background a lot of these are ambiguous. But so much of gay culture has been suppressed, and hidden, that I think it's only fair to err on the side of assuming homosexual content. I don't know that these guys holding hands are about to start fucking once the photo is done, but geez, they're two cute young men holding hands, why not assume they're gay? Or this incredibly subtle image , nothing explicitly sexual, but it's so, so gay to me.

    All voters and votes: The 30 Best LGBT Films of All Time

    The wry smile on the left, the spark in the eye on the right, the foot casually crossed over his partner's leg to suggest a little physical contact. Yeah, sure, I've got no evidence these guys were lovers. But it sure feels that way from the image, and it's a lot more fun to assume so. Like sonascope, I'm much happier with the more ambiguous and subtle erotic imagery of yesteryear. Speaking of which, if there's an online source for pornographic snapshots from the Civilian Conservation Corps, why, I'd be grateful to know it.

    Purely for research purposes. That one specifically says "this photo taken March 31 " - dunno if that just means it was added to flickr then, but it could easily be a stylized contemporary photo. Kind of seems more likely But I'll retract that, and blame flickr's weird wording for leading me astray. Nelson: I thought about this overnight and I'm irritated at the rush of Metafilter commenters to point out "yes, but these may just be men being affectionate; they're not actually homosexual".

    Don't have an account yet? Get the most out of your experience with a personalized all-access pass to everything local on events, music, restaurants, news and more. In the admirably ambitious yet disappointing new film Tom of Finland , director Dome Karukoski and screenwriter Aleksi Bardy cover some odd years in the life of Laaksonen a superb Pekka Strang , a turn of time in which the artist goes from hiding his drawings behind an attic wall to seeing them become celebrated and then iconic, particularly in America. Born in , Laaksonen learned early on to admire men furtively, and save his deepest feelings for the drawing page.

    A punch in the nose one day, an encounter with a future boyfriend the next.

    I Found God at Queer Summer Camp

    While photographing a motorcycle club on a Helsinki street, Laaksonen grins as the Russian appears and begins grinding his body against the motorcyclists. Such moments are potent, so why does Tom of Finland play like an over-cited term paper? From beginning to end, she stops the movie in its tracks.

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