28 June 2012


I fucking love straight guys.

My love start's from a very base level, so bare with: they're just so sexually uncomplicated. There's no question of top or bottom - they're all tops, right?

Because if you were ever going to have sex with one of them, could you imagine any of them bottoming? Just quietly, you have to be more of a man to take it up the ass than they'll ever be, but that's for another time.

I used to find myself only falling in love with straight guys. Something about them being completely unattainable and me never allowing myself to be fully happy.

Oh the pain. I was like a self administering dominatrix. Wishing and hoping that one day they would realise girls vagina's didn't have a stitch on my mangina. Sadly, that prophecy never came true, no matter how much I tonged my shoulder length hair.

I guess if they wanted someone who looked like a girl, they probably would just go out with a girl.

Took me 4 years and a lot of split ends to realise that one.

That being said, I enjoy a lot of friendships with straight men. I'm like the straight man's gay man. I like watching sport, drinking beer and talking about girls - normally it's for the cheap thrill of watching butch men embrace each other under the guise of competition. AND it's usually a boutique beer with a lime wedge shoe-horned in. AND when I'm talking about girl's, I'm talking about what their wearing and how great their hair looks.

Basically, I'm in the ballpark, just don't ask me what innings it is.

However a bi-product of my fascination with men in sports kit is that I actually give a shit what the result is and I have something to say about it.

For instance take England's loss at Euro 2012 - the English suffer more than players in other countries, playing more games than the Italians and Germans. So no wonder they lost. They are better paid, it's taken very seriously, and so is the demand on the players from September to May. They're stuffed, that's all.

Snap, crackle and snap!

I didn't really say that, one of my straighties did. I think I said, 'So when do they take their shirts off?' 'Is David Beckham ever coming back?' 'Will he be taking his shirt off?'

Sorry, I'm digressing all over you.

I remember when I was at University, my residence friends (which consisted of a whole lot of straight girls and guys as there were no other gays on campus that I knew of) and I were at a pretty rough neighbourhood bar when there was a sense that my brown hipsters and LBT (little black T-shirt) were not going down too well with the yocals. Word quickly spread through our group that there might be a melee and with clenched fists "the boys" stood ready to defend my honour.

This has never happened to me before.

As I was bundled into a Ford Fiesta and whisked away at break-neck speed back to Uni Residence, I felt like a visiting dignitary in a foiled assassination attack.

And my drunk straight male friends were my Secret Service Agents.


I think I have a hero fetish.

There is something to be said in gaining validation or protection from a straight guy. Whether it be for my knowledge of football or burping the alphabet or just being a mate, it almost makes the bullying I got at school OK because by proxy, if these straight guys celebrate me, endorse me, like me then that disproves all those cunts at school who didn't. Well almost.

Just one thing though. When you playfully pinch my ass or hold my hand like a cheeky schoolboy or cat call like a tradesman on a building sight as I walk past, just know, for me, it's go time. You can't take it to a point and as soon as I take it a step further - like try to suck your cock - get all offended.

Because that's just not cricket.

Put your money where your mouth is or at least put my cock there.

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