As a gay man I started out a weekend Hippie. Being close to Nature was goal and practice, and being naked was honesty. It wasn’t something I could do working for the Mayor, but every chance I got, off went the clothes.
Sex has always been naked, but there was a time when leather was de rigueur, so of course I followed suit. A trip to Folsom Fair or later IML meant I came home with cock ring, ball stretcher or some other paraphernalia thinking it would enhance the experience and make me one of them. For a time, in my mind, it did, but physically it was dressing, and deep down I knew it. Sure, a chrome cock ring looks sexy, but when I’m with a man I want to experience him, not his appurtenances. These days, when I cruise the Internet I look at men’s eyes and smiles, not what they’ve strapped to their cock or nipples. That soft curve that runs just below the belly is erotic, a leather band around a bicep it just apparel. Is this what comes with age, familiarity that breeds contempt, or is it having been there and know human touch, unencumbered, is the most sincere way to be with a man? I don’t hold it against a man because each of us has his own take, but it puts a distance between us, a barrier to reaching the whole man. After thirty years as a sexual athlete, I’ve come full circle, and it feels good to be home.