b r a v e c r e a t u r e s

I have had a serious case of the coverts for the last week or so.

For some reason I am all wet over the Apple 23" Cinema displays and I am really not sure as to why.

I have always had quite the thing for screen real estate, and because my household got a new baby MacBook late last year, I am all aware of the sort of peripherals it might need or want.

And they are so damn beautiful.

The 30" feels like gilding the lily, and I am concerned I might pull a neck muscle turning my head far enough to see all of it. Can you say IMAX screen. Also I feel that at AU$3,200 its not something I will prioritise anytime soon.

Still its nice to dream. 

So my peeps over at Boozhy pointed this out and I thought I would do the the kind favour of dragging their really quite insightful piece of journalism in to the high traffic light we enjoy here at Brave Creatures.

Is it my imagination or does Iran's President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad look uncannily like super hot French porn star François Segat? Long lost brothers? Cousins? Certainly the world would be a whole lot safer (and sexier if) the Iranians were just trying to develop love missiles like this rather than all that nuclear fuss ..

I was up in Sydney a little while back. I was having breakfast at the Tropicanna when a handsome guy came in to by himself a coffee, presumably on the way to work. Tall, blond, thirtyish with wide shoulders and a solid back end on him, the kind of butt that implies great legs no matter what pants someone is wearing. He went out of his way to catch my eye and gave me the cheekiest smile. All in all, you couldn't ask for more to get my attention.

Once he had his coffee, he came over to my table and struck up a conversation - I think the line was "you're not from around here", but whatever he said in a few seconds he proved himself to be not only handsome but smart and funny. He was off to work and I was off to some meetings so he didn't stay long, but he did give me his number and asked for mine. He asked me if I would like to meet him for a coffee or a bite to eat before I went back to Melbourne.

I managed to restrain myself from saying HELL YES and mumbled something that skirted complete uncool.

The next couple of days were busy and not particularly conducive to socialising so, we didn't meet up. To be honest, while he was a stunner, a number of things that happened on the trip put him out of my mind. As a result on my last morning, when I got an SMS from him at 7 am (WTF!!), I grumpily ignored it. I figured I would see him another time.

As I was on the train on my way to the airport I got another message from him. This time it included the text - "what are you up to for the next two hours" along with a picture of his handsome, smiling face and quite a bit of naked torso.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING!!! 

I messaged him that I was on my way to Mascot to catch my flight and that unless he felt like coming out there we were out of luck this time. There was a bit of a delay and then he messaged me "that aside - are you interested?". My response - "VERY". The next message got me a lump in my throat, not to mention my pants - "If you're on QF Blah Blah, your flights been delayed. On my way to the airport to meet you, see you in 20".

As I finished checking my bags in, I turned to see the sexy bugger sauntering through the crowds of grey and black clad business travellers in a low slung pair of chocolate puma trackies, and a bright t shirt. And either he wasn't wearing underwear or he was blessed in more areas that I had previously realised†.

My flight was indeed delayed and that on top of me being early anyhow meant we had nearly 2 hours. Over the last few years the Qantas terminal at Mascot has become a fully fledged and pretty up market shopping mall with some good food outlets and great shopping. We had a bite to eat and talked. Turns out he is as interesting and funny as he is sexy and I laughed and laughed with him. With him all the while rubbing against me discretely to keep me always at least slightly aroused.

OK, pretty much fully aroused the whole time.

We teased each other constantly. I really enjoy being sexy in public is ways the other people don't notice. Its dangerous and exciting, and he was not only up for it, he was REALLY good at it. After about 40 minutes of this he said "Come on, I have a girlfriend who works out here, lets go visit her". He could have talked me into almost anything at that point, so adjusting the lump in my pants I followed him.

We went into one of the fashion outlets in the terminal and chatted to his friend for a while. A nice girl who clearly knew him well and was happy to support our ongoing flirting. He had been looking at some clothes when he tuned to me and said - "what do you think of these pants on me?"

"They're not on you, so I cant tell" was my reply. "Thats easy fixed" he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me towards the back of the shop and the change rooms. His friends comment of "take your time" only just registered as I was completely focused on the fact that I might be about to get to kiss this amazing sexy man, a possibility I had ruled out given where we were‡.

He pulls me into the surprisingly large back change room, calmly closes the door, carefully hangs up the pants and turns to look at me - wicked smile splitting him from ear to ear - "I have been dying to do this" he says, and then with no rush, he kissed me.

I say with no rush, because to all intents and purposes my sense of time was completely suspended. He kisses beautifully and his strong body pressed up against me was completely intoxicating. I am not sure how long we were in there, and I am not divulging ALL Of the details, but there is not much we didn't do given the limitations of space and a pretty hard floor. The change room mirror certainly came in very handy.

We finally extracted ourselves when I heard my flight. His friend had actually closed the shop and was doing some sort of stocktaking with her iPod on, which was fortunate because there were some points where I think we were making a lot of noise.

He walked me to my gate, holding my hand the entire way. When we got there he said - "I really like you, are you interested in seeing me again?" This time I didn't hold back, I said 'HELL YES" and in full view of two (bitter, evil) stewards I am acquainted with kissed him.

Since then he has been down to Melbourne once and I have been up to Sydney once. I am not sure were its going, and it doesn't matter. I am having fun with it, and thats all that counts.

 † The latter - he was wearing a swimming jockstrap, which I now posses and am in fact wearing as I write this

‡ I am all for PDA's (public displays of affection) but snogging someone I have really only just met, and desperately want to shag, does seem a mite tacky.

---

For the record, this is more or less a complete fiction. What is more and what is less, you can figure out for yourself.

 Oh and thanks to http://www.britdoodz.com for the artwork,

I have been talking to a number of my single friends here in Melbourne about the dating scene here, and I have to say it’s not inspiring.

On the available I think my vow of celibacy actually seems a sensible strategy.

My nearest and dearest, Barbie, has met a nice boy, “No S”, and has been out on a couple of dates with him. He is nice, funny, handsome, interrupting, not a Melbourne local (meaning he isn’t ridiculously parochial), has a good job, is keen on Barbie and based on the bulge in his pants, well hung. What’s not to love?

They had a great date this week, dinner, great conversation and then back to Barbie’s glamorous and fashionable penthouse where some sofa groping and tonsil hockey inside. And then after much rolling around together fully clothed, “No S” went home.

WAH?!?!

Now this is Barbie we are talking about and usually they don’t get out intact unless Barbie inadvertently over self medicated and slips into the valley of the Barbie’s. Ignoring that for a second, given all the pluses I don’t get why they didn’t proceed past second base.

Now I completely get it that sex isn’t everything, that’s not what I am saying. Its just that sex is fun and when presented with:

A/ a guy that I am into
B/ who is into me and
C/ a reasonable opportunity

I guess I would rather shag than not.

When I think about that, I can see a couple of reasons. I tend to see sex as something fun, and passion is a different opportunity for communication. Sex is not sacred; clearly since both J’Ho and Senator Goebbels Vanstone have children and if you think sex with them is sacred we clearly have differing perspectives on the divine.

I don’t think I am, or was, that slutty. Maybe I am wrong. I am pretty picky, but once I made pick is made, I am all for the follow through.

There is only one boyfriend of note that I stopped wanting to sleep with, and he turned out to be a bad person, and a bit of a dud root. We called him starfish, if you catch my drift.

Actually my desire to get to third base may be because I had a bad experience with taking it slow and I want to get the issue of sexual compatibility cleared up early.

I had b een living in Sydney for a few years, enjoying the “kindness of strangers” but I was not making any roads on the emotional front. On the evidence my prey base seems be for emotionally troubled but physically hot men, so while there were plenty of return visits there was no real romance or dating.

So I decided it was time to take a different approach. I would try and get to know someone BEFORE sleeping with him.

Controversial, huh.

One night out shortly after my new, cunning plan was laid I met a very attractive young man, Greyson, a recent arrival in Sydney from the UK. He was quite obviously taken with me, as was I with him, and we proceeded to have a fab night out. Much dancing, laughing, talking, frolicking with friends and generally tearing up Oxford St ensued. It was a night where I would completely agree with my ex James belief, now apparently abandoned, that the dancing can be the best bit.

At the end of the night I decided to leave and presented him with my phone number saying “I am going, but I have had a fantastic time with you. Here is my number; I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I didn’t want you to use it”.

Such a sad face I got. It was like he had been given a puppy and after playing with it all night it was being taken away.

While generally more articulate “bu ,bu, bu” was the best he could manage.

“Don’t worry, I really like you. Use the number and I will show you how much”. And then I left.

The next day, at a decent hour, I get a phone call from Greyson asking me to Redleaf. Not one to miss the opportunity to see cute boys I am interested in wearing speedo’s, of course I went, and lets say I was not disappointed.

Again he was a lot of fun what with the sunning and the swimming and the lunch and the gossip and the Kristin Bejorn-esq sunscreen rubbing scenes. Late in the afternoon I explained my cunning plan to Grey.

He was completely charmed by it. That I was actually interested in getting to KNOW him first was very flattering, particularly since my interest was very clear*.

So over the next week or so went on a number of very sexually charged dates, traded many an SMS/e-mail, and worked our way through first base (kissing), to second base (a bit of clothed humping)� and we were ready to, nay gagging, to take things all the way.

The dating period had done a fantastic job of allowing us to get to know each other and nothing in that process had reduced the attraction, quite the opposite. Then one Saturday night it was clear we were both really ready.

We had a great night out, we enjoyed ourselves immensely with no sense of urgency or uncertainty. We both knew where we were going and what was going to happen. It had all of the excitement of a dirty pickup and all of the comfort of a long term relationship‡.

At the end of the night, but before dawn, we headed back to my place. No nerves, just happy sexual tension. Tonight was the night.

After a relaxing cup of chamomile tea on the sofa and some sensual snogging we went up stairs to my room. But once we started to get into the main event something strange happened, once Grey got his clothes off, his sense of rhythm COMPLETELY ABANDONED HIM! Even his kissing, which had been ok previously completely went off form.

This boy fucked the way Seinfeld’s Elaine dances and kissed like the demented love child of a vacuum pump and a woodpecker, alternating trying to rip my tongue out by the root and bashing on my face. It took WEEKS for the skin on my tongue and lips to recover.

After all of that work and effort in getting to know him, Grey turned out to be the single worst root in my life.

Now I know what you will be thinking, if I wasn’t such a shallow bastard, if I had really liked him I would have persevered, but there was absolutely no way I could have sex with him again. I barely got out the first time with everything intact; I was not going to be risking it again. Actually I did go back twice more, with the same disasterous results.
The result of this experience is that I am highly skeptical of the “waiting until the time is right” approach, or keeping yourself “nice”. It’s just too Jessica Simpson for me.

Sexual compatibility is part of the mix in a relationship and it is as important to sort that bit out as the rest of it. Balance in all thing say.

As an interesting post script, I ran into Grey at Trade in London in 2001. He is still a fine looking man being the kind that as and keeps a 28″ waist and huge shoulders on a 6′ frame. To all of this he has added some very serious skanky tattoos which is hot on him particularly considering his serious corporate career. Turns out though, and I got this from his boyfriend who I know from Sydney, that he has become a voracious fisting bottom into some pretty serious pain scenes. Given his native violence in bed, this comes as no surprise.

*wearing speedos remember
� had actually both happened in the first night in the clubs, but whose counting and its my story any way
‡ interestingly, that’s pretty much how I felt about James for 6 years

After a long pause, the Jumper has returned to my gym and there has been another encounter. I am going to keep the complete details to myself under my blanket policy of not kissing and telling*, or at least not telling identifying details. In this case it very important to not limit the kissing potential since this boy can REALLY kiss.

My cardio buddy, Dingo, had just shot through when I spotted the Jumper on the gym floor. Based on his previous comments about wanting to keep me in the realm of mindless fantasy, I expected him to not acknowledge me but he made eye contact and winked at me.

Now some people can’t carry off a wink. It just comes out dumb and awkward. The Jumper however is not one of these people. There is something confidant and sexual about him, so the wink got a twitch out of my crotchital region and added some extra ooomph to my workout. There is something about knowing someone turned on by you is watching that makes one train harder. Or at least it does for me.

As I said last time, he isn’t the biggest boy in the gym and he is carrying a few extra pounds, but then aren’t we all. He is handsome in a blond and cute sort of way but he has a direct and passionate stare that makes him really appealing. It’s that old thing about confidence without arrogance being sexy.

We ended up in the change room at the same time, no surprise there, and with what I will admit was some for thought on my part I selected the cubical at the far end of the row. Again, no surprise that he chose the one opposite me. What did come as a bit of a surprise though was when the other cubicles emptied, he invited himself, along with a raging erection barely covered by his towel, across into my stall where he proceeded, in signature fashion, to kiss the living daylights out of me.

I have to say that on general principals, I am not a pick up in the showers kind of guy. I get the fantasy value, but to me it’s tacky and the guys involved tend to be either not my type (i.e. ugly) or chronically creepy or both. I am sorry, furtive is just not hot.

Also, the sex in public places thing is not my bag. Shocked as I am sure anyone will be who knows me, or for that matter has ever even heard of me, when it comes to sex at least I don’t need to show off.

I did my best for one boyfriend who really got off on it, but frankly he was pretty self propelled on that kink. He was perfectly happy to go off on a solo round of golf and on a secluded fairway strip, shove a gold club (handle) up his arse and beat off, all the while reveling in the delicious possibility of getting caught.

I tell you, it’s always the quiet ones.

Back to my story. So there I am, naked in the shower, having my ability to stand robbed from me by this boy who has a tongue made of warm, electrically charged velvet. After whatever eternity that lasted he pulls back, gives me that mischievous smile of his and says "good to see you again". Then he walks out leaving me to deal with me screaming erection.

After lowering the dam levels running cold water, I went out and changed. He and I talked a bit, he apologized for the "don’t talk thing", I told him that was ok. I told him I figured he had a boyfriend (he does). It turns out he is not only sexy, but interesting.

With all this chatting we ended up walking out together and catching the lift. This time unfortunately three other people got in so I figured there would be no more kissing for now.

Wrong!

We got into the lift so we were at the back. The other folks were in front with their backs to us. Again with that wonderful smile he turns to me and completely silently kisses me.

Now I see the point of the hand rails.

So it would seem my luck is changing, even if I don’t want it to. Apparently Eros is tired of waiting out my sexless sulk and has sent his incubi out to find me. I am still sticking to my story of never having sex again, but I am prepared to concede that something or someone is conspiring against that plan.

So what is the moral of this little story, apart from me shamelessly bragging? I guess it is that I have found something interesting and new about myself. After decades of being attracted by the shy, quiet types who turn out to have golf clubs rammed up their arses, literally as well as figuratively, I think I am coming to terms with the fact that loud, confidant and strong guys are hot.

Given they seem prepared to make an effort to let me know they are interested, probably much better for me.

 

 

*my blanket policy on not kissing and telling is that I don’t tell identifying details 'cause I like the kissing too much

Recently I wrote a post giving a bit of a rave to a couple of bloggers that I enjoy reading. In this blog entry,

I also admitted to finding Oliver, art dealer and Author of Thought Not, to be quite yummy. I even went so far as to post a picture of him and link to a photo of his naked rear end, a rear end I would love to give a good whiskering to truth be told.

After posting this picture of Oliver, I have had a number of people email me saying they think I am handsome, what a great plaid shirt that is and where did i get those glasses.

Clearly you people are not reading the words, you are only looking at the pictures. What is more disturbing is that it appears that I have gotten a boner over a guy who everyone else thinks looks like me.

Given I have decided to never have sex again, self abuse is my only recourse so this kind of makes sense, but it is a little bit narcissic, ok, creepy.

I still think he is hot.

Let me be clear. My current plan is to never have sex again. As unlikely as that sounds, and I freely admit that it is an extreme reaction to being what can only be described as betrayed, it is a position I am very comfortable with. At this point its just easier to draw a line under it and call it done.

Of course my friends like Hardware and Joe just roll their eyes and say "yeah yeah", but for once I agree with some that just not thinking about it might be better.

Not having had sex, for what is actually quite a long time now, has brought some things up for me. Not the least of which was a short review of my indifference to porn.

Net result, porn still doesn't do it for me. I think this is partially because I just know too many people in the films and I quite simply cannot suspend belief enough to see them as anything other than a mate (or in some cases a big girl). The main reason however is that I need to see and smell and touch and talk and laugh. Just seeing aint enough.

Another thing that all this abstinence has caused me to be aware of that to an extent I have always based some of my self esteem on guys finding me attractive. And of course a sure fire way of proving that is to shag them.

Validation by fucking. How endearing.

So celibacy has caused me to re-evaluate that. Since I am not getting laid, and I truly need some self esteem, I have needed to find other sources. My skills in table-scaping and my keen sense of fashion were the first things that came to mind.

Details, and nearly terminal epididymal wedge pressure aside, its been an interesting and beneficial process. A spin off of all this is that I don't really see guys as sexual opportunities. So imagine my surprise when I get directly and forthrightly hit on this morning.

I have seen this guy around the gym, he is kind of cute and seems to look furtively in the change room. Of course I noticed, I am celibate not DEAD. He is about 5'10", 190lbs and while he hasn't got the hardest looking body in the world, he has a good solid shape on him. Sandy blond, blue eyes and a slow, sweet smile that either says he has never had a bad thought or he is full of trouble. Handsome and one of the ways I like them, buff, boyish and shy.

Anyhow, I stopped in reception on my way out to try and sort some problems out with my membership and as a result we were ended up getting into the lift together.

Lets say I was not shocked.

So as I prepared to make small talk, `cause its always good to get to know people, he jumps me. With nothing more than a smile and a throaty growl he lunged across the lift and kissed me most thoroughly. I was so surprised that it took me, oooh, three or four minutes to pull away.

Its a slow lift, so it took a while to get down to the floor we were heading for. So of course I had to see if he had meant this kissing business. And it seems he did. He is a very good kisser I have to say.

When we got where we were going he pulled back he said "Don't say anything, you are my morning sex fantasy motivation. Don't spoil it".

Then he turned and walked out of the lift.

Now there is no change in my position re: the sex thing, but I may go back and train there tomorrow morning.

OK, I am starting to suspect that I am reading too many blogs - or something. I am starting to relate WAY too much to people I have never even met. But god damn it, its voyeristicalicious. Here are a couple of my current faves.

First there is Sam [The Adventures of QueerPenguin], that 20 something, lefty think tank who just writes right - ya know.

Then there is Jaun [Boozy] who along with Jon Stewart ensures that I do not miss a drop of the shit storm raining down on America any of Persident Bush's fine policy making.

And last but in no way least there is Oliver [Thought Not]. Handsome, funny, great beard, arty and loves dogs. What more could anyone ask for? How about open access to his particularly fine "tattoo".

Thanks to RJR [Proceed at your own risk] for this fine public service. Oh dont think I know how silly that is, finding someone in New York attractive and I have not even spoken to the man. But given I am never having sex again, I might as well never have sex again with someone totally hot from New York.

At least it has an internationally tragic air to it. N'est pas?

OK, OK. I am DEFINATELY reading too many blogs.