THEGAYUK

Author: Tom Driver

  • COMMENT | Just because you can’t see disability, doesn’t mean it’s not there

    The writing is on the toilet door.

    On a recent visit to a supermarket, I was caught short and had to avail myself of their facilities. I chose what was previously known as the ‘disabled toilet’. There was a double whammy of relief as on approach there was a sign on the door which read “Not every disability is visible, Accessible Toilet.”

    Now I can walk in and leave a toilet without the guilt I previously had when people would say either under their breath or with an accusatory tone, “What’s his disability; he can walk alright?”

    These are no longer disabled toilets, which in itself is grammatically incorrect as the toilet does not have a disability as implied but its user. They are accessible toilets and show a man, woman and wheelchair user.

    I have diverticulitis, ulcerative colitis, and an enlarged prostate.

    In the past I have stood at a urinal desperate to urinate and not a drop would pass; waiting, lingering and straining to the point of arousing the suspicion of other users as to my purpose. Not a pleasant experience, humiliating, embarrassing, and making me potentially vulnerable to abuse.

    “The other conditions are unpredictable and an urgency to use the bowel can be unpleasant in a public place. This can be an uncivilised theatrical event of some duration, accompanied with my crying out in pain”

    The other conditions are unpredictable, and an urgency to use the bowel can be unpleasant in a public place. This can be an uncivilised theatrical event of some duration, accompanied with my crying out in pain, voluminous flatulent sound effects and a pebble dashing with force, not dissimilar to the noise of emptying a coal bucket into a fireplace.

    Dignity has long since been lost, and I have over the years adopted an approach of making fun of myself. In a motorway service station (and you know how busy they are) all fell silent at the sound of ‘parking my breakfast.’ I heard myself saying “You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!”, and rapturous laughter followed.

    Now I can suffer and recover some composure in privacy before re-emerging, and the handrail is bloody useful when getting back up these days, damned arthritis!

  • COLUMN | Sleaze please

    Once upon a time in the 1990s when AIDS and HIV were still at their most prevalent and unchecked there was funding for the role of “safer sex fairy!” in Devon.

    A friend encountered him at a local cruising ground, Haldon Forest. I was informed by the friend who was as agile as a wood nymph that as he skipped gaily along; from behind a tree a man stepped out and introduced himself. He had a longer job title than I have given him but in essence, he gave advice on safer sex and handed out free condoms and lube at local cruising grounds. Now that is what I call a community service.

    Since that time of more than 20 years ago I have always prayed to the safer sex fairy when I want something. This year, I wrote him a letter and not Santa with my Christmas wish list. All I wanted was sleaze, please! My wish has been granted.

    On Christmas day for reasons of loneliness and nostalgia, I logged onto what was once the busiest of chat sites Gaydar, and it is back! Whether you are of a mind to call it sleaze or kink, interspersed among the plethora of rooms for various locations are those for Bondage, CP/Spanking, Domination, Master & slave and others. Oh, happy days.

    The rooms are currently quiet, though bondage always was, so hard to type when you are hogtied and voice command software is of no use once the ball-gag has been fitted.

    What is needed is for people to tell each other. I would phone a friend, but it is the middle of the night as I write this, so I am telling you.

    Must break off and go to see if the spirit of the safer sex fairy is in the forest tonight, for me to thank.

  • COLUMN | Thoughts on and a Christmas message from an old queen

    What is it about this time of year? A never-ending procession of lists, the good, the bad, the best, the worse, achievements, failures, the dead!

    Christmas is a time to celebrate. Reflection used to come in the limbo period between the Yuletide festivities and before the joy of looking forward to the New Year.

    There seems to be more of a loss of the Christian message with each passing year in favour of a commercial bonanza. What has gone wrong?

    Money has taken over the season. Christmas appears to be in the media from around October. Brainwashing teenagers with expectations of the latest and greatest gadget, the most up to date pair of trainers and their younger siblings are indoctrinated into the culture of gifts, promoting characters from early years viewing. This is an initiation into the world of brand awareness that will shape their buying preference for a lifetime.

    In most towns and cities there is a shop open on Christmas Day. The larger supermarket stores are open again on Boxing Day. Perhaps 50 years ago the instrument of retail and its logistics from docks to warehouse to corner shop took a break for 5 to 10 days, but not today.

    “In a world where we are being encouraged to consider our environmental footprint and to recycle, why at this time of year does it all stop”

    In a world where we are being encouraged to consider our environmental footprint and to recycle, why at this time of year does it all stop? Why is the public still encouraged to stock up for a siege that won’t take place? In the last few days before Christmas people will be panic buying like a natural disaster is coming or the end of the world. These are my thoughts on the day Tesco pledges to be food waste free by February of next year. How much food waste does the consumer create at this time of year? I hope to see a campaign of education on buying for the Christmas season next year to end this annual routine of purchase, binge and waste, that has not been good for us or our planet but has served for decades to lines the pocket of the supermarket

    Matthew 21/12 tells of Jesus going into the temple and driving out the merchants who are selling. In our time the season of Christmas is that temple and those engaged in commercial enterprise the merchants. Perhaps it is time for the merchants to have another lesson and for the church to make a stand to reinstate its values into our lives. I doubt there are many religions that would allow one of their most sacred times to be turned into a commercial circus.

    For me this time of year is about peace and acceptance, so the Christmas message from this old queen is “Peace on earth and goodwill to all men, bisexual men, lesbians too and all of our other friends who go to make up LGBT+”

  • You need these tips if you’re planning a boozy Christmas

    “I have never gone to bed with an ugly man, though I often woke up with one next to me.” This is the problem with having your ‘beer goggles’ on.

    At this time of year, it is essential to know your limits and understand how alcohol affects the body and mind. After a lifetime as a lush, I have a few tips.

    First don’t get drunk and then you won’t wake up next to ‘Ugly bugly.’ Christmas may be a time of charity, but you don’t have to give your body away in an alcoholic stupor.

    When drinking alcohol:

    1. Know the abv (alcohol by volume) of what you are drinking, to know what constitutes one unit or ask the bartender, they should know.
    2. Each unit of alcohol takes 20 to 30 minutes to have an effect. (If you have four shots quickly the full effect is not going to hit you for up to 2 hours)
    3. Pace yourself. Try to drink in line with the time each unit takes to get into your bloodstream and affect you. (This way you get to maintain being at an enjoyable level and stay in control)
    4. Drink water. Try to drink ½ pint of water with every unit of alcohol. (This aids the prevention of dehydration, and helps to stave off a hangover in the morning)
    5. Carbonated drinks such as Champagne get into the bloodstream quicker, as does alcohol with diet mixers.
    6. Sugary mixers slow down the rate of absorption of alcohol.

     

    Sobering up

    It takes the body approximately one hour to process each unit of alcohol after the first two hours from the start of consumption. If you go out drinking and have 8 pints at two units of alcohol each starting at 8 pm, this is the process:

    8 pints x 2 units each = 16 units

    No alcohol processed in first 2 hours. Drinking start time 8 pm

    Processing start time 10 pm at a rate of 1 unit per hour

    Sober 16 hours later at 2 pm the afternoon of the next day.

    This is only a guideline as the rate of alcohol processing by the body is dependent on many factors and so not the same for everyone. For instance, eating a large meal will slow down the processing time of alcohol.

    (2 units per pint is a weak beer. Strong and super lagers have more units per pint)

    Hangover hints

    It will go away on its own over time. Manage symptoms and feel better sooner by:

    1. Get some fresh air and be in a well-ventilated room. No one wants to smell your beer breathe, least of all you.
    2. Drink plenty of water.
    3. If you feel sick, reduce the body temperature by being in a cold room or turning down the heating.
    4. My personal hangover cure – Tinned plum tomatoes on burnt toast. (My rationale is that tomatoes are moist so can be consumed even when you are not producing a lot of saliva. They also contain vitamin C and sugar without the high acidity of orange juice. I have always thought the carbon of the burnt toast will help to keep the food down by absorbing bile and stomach acid.) It works for me; normally within 20 to 30 minutes, I can start to feel recovery kicking in.
    5. Again just purely personal – I believe if I have poisoned my body by getting drunk, painkillers are not the answer, they just add to the work the kidneys have to do so I avoid them

    If alcohol were a prescription medicine, the bottle would read ‘Do not drive or operate machinery while taking this medication’ In the list of common side effects such things as:

    1. May cause slurred speech
    2. May have an adverse effect on body coordination
    3. May affect balance
    4. Can cause loss of and damage to short-term memory
    5. May adversely affect control of bladder and bowel
    6. May cause the patient to be susceptible to suggestion
    7. Can cause disinhibited behaviour of poor moral choice
    8. Can induce some patients to have violent episodes

    I would have to be seriously ill to consider taking a medication that had such potential for harm, and yet we dress up, go out and pay for it and worse still we receive and buy it for our friends too.

    These days I am old, ugly and fat. Have a Merry Christmas and follow my guidelines, and you should be able to avoid waking up next to me boys. Remember I am out there looking for a good time.

     

  • COLUMN | When all I needed was a Hand Shandy

    COLUMN | When all I needed was a Hand Shandy

    Why can’t I concentrate today?

    Kurious / Pixabay

    My browser crashed and I deleted all of my passwords and all of my history. So much porn lost to posterity. I doubt I have the wank-power to recover all the links again.

    I have arthritis in my knees. Would have thought it should have struck the right wrist years ago and only a matter of time before my jaw starts clicking! If only I had insured against repetitive strain injury as a teenage rent boy.

    Oh yes; back to my concentration. It is shot; which is more than can be said for me. That’s the problem – I need to ‘tug the junk to de-spunk’ and then normal service will be resumed.

    The clues were there all of the time. I have Recon and Fabguys open beeping with a constant stream of messages that herald the arrival of another fetish scene or dick-pic. Alongside me, on the table, my phone is demanding my attention as I get notification sounds from Grindr.

    OMG! That image has to have been photo-shopped. No, he really can go down that far on a traffic cone. Why would you do that? What chance would my tiny todger have to make an impression? Why did I open the 2nd image? Once the traffic cone is removed he has a bum hole like a chewed Orange, an old golf bag or a Wizards sleeve. That didn’t help at all, just left me with a flaccid member.

    “Once the traffic cone is removed he has a bum hole like a chewed Orange, an old golf bag or a Wizards sleeve”.

    Please, Headmaster put me out of my misery. I see you think I deserve a spanking. Well, of course, it might help, but we usually save those sorts of treats for a Sunday afternoon when the neighbour goes out for her afternoon walk. You know how the swish of the cane and my yelping in pain sets her miniature poodle off.

    Ninety-nine change hands and; better mop that up with a tissue or two.

    Now, where was I? Understanding thermonuclear gigawatt converters and their use in a DeLorean or Tardis for beginners…

  • COLUMN | Memories and Music

    This afternoon was spent with friends and taking time going through the treasures that are so important in my life.

    My friends are those who don’t answer back. They are the third, fourth or later incarnation of what was once a record collection. These days there is not a single (45) or LP among them. They are CDs, YouTube videos and iTunes.

    The vinyl collection was thrown away by two young men who I have had involvement with from the time they were small children. In 2000 when we moved home they came across my record collection in old suitcases. The records had not been played in years. The lads thought they were doing me a favour by throwing them away and saving me from carrying them. At the time I did not have a turntable, and many of the LPs had a duplicate CD in the living room. Most of my choices they had mocked in their childhood and adolescence.

    Music, whether it be a tune or a lyric, is a trigger to a memory for me. It is these memories that are my most prized possessions; my treasures.

    I have never been the father of a child. My sexuality has been the surest of contraceptives.

    Circumstance has prevailed, and in the course of my lifetime, I have been lucky enough to be allowed to be an influence on some children. All of whom are now adults, some of them now being proud parents of their own children.

    The most amazing compliments I have ever been paid have been said to me by these people who I knew and cared for in some capacity as children, grew to love, and who I have proudly come to know as my friends in their adulthood.

    In the circle of life, the dynamics of the relationships have altered. These days they take the lead role and care for me. Not physically, but by way of maintaining contact and with prompts, reminders and invitation to their family events.

    These are a few of things that have been said to me over the years.

    I have always thought I had been a bad influence on a little girl. She adopted my love of language and developed a sense of humour that is unmistakable for being almost exactly the same as mine.

    I had lived as a lodger with her single-parent mother when she was an infant and have been a part of her life, off and on in the foreground and always in the background.

    I may have taken her to her first day at primary school. I admit, and she would remind me if I didn’t tell you I once left her in the playground for school on a Monday morning. Absolutely nothing wrong with that you may think; sadly it was half term, and I had forgotten.

    Many years later she had asked if she could come and visit and talk to me. She came with a friend and stayed in a local hotel.

    A red Jaguar XJ6 was my car in those days. It had a CD multi-changer in the boot. Harry Connick Jnr set the tone as we cruised along the seafront to my home.  “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” was the song in the background. I was listening to the child who had grown into this beautiful young woman tell me of the counselling course she was doing.

    I was smiling thinking how proud of her I was when she turned and said, “In part of the course we have to examine our lives. In mine, you have always been the person I have looked to as a father figure, and I need to talk with you about it.”

    Generally, I am not surprised by what is said to me; I have a calm and unshakable exterior. It is a look that is hard to carry off when trying to choke back sobs and while tears were running down my face. I never knew she felt like that and had never presumed to think my feelings were reciprocated. Over the next few days, we examined our relationship and discussed the milestones and memories each of us had some shared, others that just one or the other of us recalled for different reasons.

    The next was a Facebook messenger conversation. I steer clear of webcams and Skype. Typing keeps me at an effective unemotional distance from those I talk to.

    The younger brother of the girl whose mother I lodged with is now living in the USA. He met his wife to be on the Internet and went to live with her.

    He had been a worry. He is a conspiracy theorist. This union I had hoped would be a change of mindset for him. They are both conspiracy theorists and together having potentially set them further from the convention of society, each fueling the beliefs of the other.

    They married, and he adopted her two daughters. They live ‘off grid’  in a cabin halfway up a mountain in Missouri.

    In the wee small hours of the night here it is early evening in Missouri. They are 6 hours behind GMT (Greenwich Mean Time). These seem to be the occasions we chat online via messenger.

    One late night with Neil Sedaka going through his greatest hits back catalogue on a low volume I got a message asking me if I would go to church with the rest of his family when they come over in March next year. Their wedding is to be blessed in the UK, so his brothers and sisters and importantly his mother can feel they have shared in the marriage ceremony.

    Just like his sister; he told me I had always been the person he considered to be a father figure. This I did not expect as I have been hard on him sometimes in respect of some of his theories and beliefs. Not intentionally mocking though I think my sarcastic wit may have tipped the balance from time to time but more with the intent of playing ‘Devil’s advocate’ to give perspective.

    I am a man, and I think it is inherent somewhere deep inside me to wanted to have a son. The tears poured, I could not stop them turning from a trickle to a torrent, and I found myself crying loudly and uncontrollably. Relief perhaps to be elevated by someone, pride and the ebb and flow of unconditional love are such powerful emotions.

    Finally, one of the guilty two who threw away my record collection now lives in Eastern Europe with his wife and daughter. He is very successful, and sometimes he calls me late into the night, at a time others would consider antisocial, but between insomniacs it is acceptable. When either it is time to take a break from the punishing schedule he sets himself or alcoholic spirit tips the balance, and he wants to hear a friendly voice.

    He has a growing vinyl collection, and much of the music he and his brother mocked me for in their childhoods is now on his iTunes playlist. His growth has outstripped my intellect and musical repertoire.

    For a boy who got expelled from school for setting fire to the toilets and left without a single qualification to becoming a millionaire and employing many in a cut-throat industry, I have always had an understated pride in him.

    In an alcohol-infused conversation we spoke of his father-in-law, and this, in turn, led on to us discussing our relationship. He asked, “So are you like my stepfather then?” I have always aspired to do my best, hoping to have a father-son connection. I don’t understand why I didn’t see it and they all did. I don’t know if Wet Wet Wet were playing or if it is a soundtrack I added to the memory subsequently.

    I couldn’t discuss the relationship with him further as I was overwhelmed and there has always been a stiff upper lipped stoic unspoken bond between us.

    There was an inner fear that if I attained these roles I so desperately wanted that they came with a formality and protocol which could in the longer term be detrimental to the relationship and so I never sought to solidify my place as being anything more than a family friend.

    Today I am grateful to each and every one of them. They number eight in total. Being gay was never a barrier to a parental role, it was all in my mind, and in the mind of the society I grew up in. Thankfully the children who I came into contact with never knew my misgivings of inadequacy and did not know the prejudice of the time against gay men and parenting.

    In some part, their parents are equally praiseworthy as they did not raise their children to judge another person by any other standard than his or her actions.

    I was depressed today, having recently lost my job and not knowing what the future holds. These memories and the time spent listening to music has helped me through it.

    Tomorrow I have to go out and face the world, make an impact, take back my self-respect and continue to make them proud of me.

     

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • COLUMN | I had to choose: The Internet or The TV

    COLUMN | I had to choose: The Internet or The TV

    Preconditioning

    Around 4 years ago, in reduced financial circumstance, I was faced with making a decision. Television licence or Internet and telephone. I elected for the Internet.

    AlexAntropov86 / Pixabay

    Ditching the television meant I had gained a freedom. As an outsider of the accepted norm looking in, I gained an insight into the pointless and nonsensical world of some of the people I knew. Those whose lives are dominated by a list of commitments to television schedules or recording programs to watch later.

    The power of the ‘soap‘ is an incredible force and I don’t mean the one used to wash your hands and face. What an addiction. Do ‘soaps‘ have a responsibility for the failure of relationships and the malaise of people? In everyday life, we are not usually met in our communities by the same number of disasters, murders, intrigue, sexual deviants, aeroplane crashes into communities or de-railed trains as an opportunity to change the cast, the scenery or the location.

    Is it surprising people get bored with their everyday lives? The values not reflected in these shows to a greater extent seem to be those of honesty, integrity, common sense, and continuity of moral and social responsibility.

    Reality television creates people whose existence is carved out of being a celebrity by virtue of being on reality TV. A self-perpetuating career. The only other attributes I see regularly on news feeds and social media is an age between early 20s and mid-30s, some appeal to members of the same or opposite sex or both and a propensity for attracting tabloid attention.

    A proportionate amount of LGBT+ content and it being valid was missing when I ditched the TV. I have easily redressed the balance with access to the amount of LGBT+ relevant information I have had access to since.

    When I grew up there was only ever heterosexual TV content and only men and women kissed in a relationship context, promoted and only informing about heterosexuality.

    The law in the past had been very careful about the amount of LGBT+ content and times of it being broadcast. Was I abused by the state as child? When I grew up there was only ever heterosexual TV content and only men and women kissed in a relationship context, promoted and only informing about heterosexuality.

    Should I be starting a claim for compensation against the BBC, ITV or the state for disadvantaging and attempting to pre-condition me?

  • COLUMN | Don’t we all end up paying for sex?

    Recently I read an article about the increasing number of young men who pay for sex.

    Welcome to the club. In the gay world, middle-aged and older men have had to cope with ageism being against them and the cultural desire of a younger sexier partner driving them for the wallet, cash and for convenience – credit card.

    Men are not alone in this. These days there are many high flying single women who have the desire for ‘action, based on attraction for short-term satisfaction‘ but not the time for a long-term relationship and its longer-term complications and commitments.

    There are probably many other married men, women, and LGBT+ people too who have considered just making it a contractual exchange based on the oldest of professions.

    In the past, there have been campaigns to outlaw prostitution in all of its forms. As a society, we couldn’t do it without appearing to be hypocrites. In one way or another, we all pay for sex. Whether it is chancing your arm and buying the person who smiles at you in a bar a drink, or taking someone out on a date for a meal or a trip to the zoo. In many ways, the motivations have the same long-term objective.

    If you pay for sex, you know how long the foreplay is likely to last, especially if it is ‘on the clock.’ When you try to seduce and entice, it is an entirely different matter and in many ways more costly, whether counting the hours in pursuit or the mounting cost of getting a shag.

    It turns out most of us have something in common, and it is that we are ‘buy-sexual; if we want it, we have to pay for it.

     

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.

  • COLUMN | An MP’s Marriage Proposal

    I just loved the proposal during the debate about same-sex marriage in Australia. The time and the place.

    Australian MP Tim Wilson gave an impassioned and emotional speech with his longtime partner watching from the public gallery.

    Wilson said the debate over same-sex marriage was in many ways a “soundtrack to our relationship.” By this time he was already choking up with the emotion and significance to him of what he was about to say next.

    With a tear in his eye and a quivering voice he said “So there’s only one thing left to do,” and looking up to his partner in the public gallery he asked, “Ryan Patrick Bolger will you marry me?” The smile on his partner’s face was a beauty to behold and in a single word he confirmed his love with his reply “Yes.”

    Recorded as part of the debate and with speaker of the house confirming a resounding “yes” as the answer to the question he extended his congratulations

    In a room full of mainly middle-aged or older men a ripple of applause rang out and there were visible smiles among the assembled delegates.

    Personally, I realised the proposal had moved me greatly as tears ran down my cheeks and I heard myself sob. ‘Sentimental old fool’

  • COLUMN | Homophobic banter is still prevalent at work, even in 2017

    In the last couple of weeks, I have given up my job. I have arthritis in my feet, ankles and knees – the condition has impacted on my ability to work for years.

    As a publican, I ran a rough pub. I was ‘out’ with my sexuality, and it was commonly accepted I could deal with troublemakers, having a smart mouth and if that failed, ‘a brick in my handbag mentality’ to wade in and split up fights. I was known for standing. I never sat when the premises was open, so no one saw the vulnerability of me not being able to stand again or the difficulty I had in walking after a short rest.

    Unfortunately, like so many other publicans I lost my premises because of the economy and the cultural changes brought about by social media, among other factors.

    I had a 6-month stint stacking shelves on the night shift in a supermarket until the knees gave in. I was never ‘out’ with anyone I worked with at the supermarket. It was a small group with a cross-section of ages.

    “The workplace banter was focused on sex and sexuality, the derogatory aspect of which were gay remarks”

    While working there I observed the cleaners. The GP had told me to stay active. The cleaners either pushed around or sat on cleaning machines. When shopping I always took a trolley, it concealed my disability and made the perfect walking aid.

    I applied for and got a job managing the cleaning in a supermarket. The machines are motorised, so both an aid to walking and effortless to use. The surface of a store is even underfoot and level; the best combination for me to walk on. It is underpaid and antisocial hours, sometimes with split shifts. Again I never disclosed my sexuality. In this setting it mattered less as I discovered in society, I was less than who I was and more of what I do. In six months of employment, some of the staff neither spoke to me or acknowledged my existence.

    The area manager responsible for maintaining the standard by auditing the cleaning routines was supportive of my health as was the person I worked with on most days. Even with their support, it became too much for me. I had a lot of absences.

    The commute to work was around 30 minutes in duration. I left my home at 4.30am six days per week. A couple of Thursdays ago I fell on the way to my car in the morning. Fortunately, I was between two vehicles and did not end up on the ground. Twisting my right knee on the way down caused it to swell and the arthritis in it to flare up.

    Now I find myself filling in forms and making applications for alternative work, where I will not have to stand so much. I feel I come with an amount of ‘baggage.’ I am disclosing the disability as it has an impact on what I can do and there is legislation in favour of employing someone with a disability.

    Sexuality – Now that’s a different question. I will never deny who I am, but that does not mean I have to pro-actively promote it either. On applications to large national companies and local authorities, I disclose my sexuality. They have policies in place and training about diversity. On applications to smaller employers, I don’t.

    I shouldn’t feel my sexuality is a barrier to getting a job, but I am a realist and know that is not the truth. I used to stand up for who I am, a sort of ‘I am who I am’ mindset, but lately I just seem to have lost my ‘homo mojo.’

  • 11 times guys’ peens will just have a mind of their own

    From my teenage years through into my 30s I could depend on my cock to misbehave, at the wrong time and in the wrong place.

    11 times guys' peens will just have a mind of their own

    1. Driving. In the back seat of the family car on our way to visit relatives, and the vibration of travel would wake him. “Hey, I’m here” Always the last to get out and carrying my coat!
    2. In the bath. Up Periscope “Wanna play submarines?”
    3. In school.  Just sat in class. Failure to concentrate would result in my trouser buddy jerking me back to reality.
    4. On The Buses. On a bus going to my first job. A guy in front got up, turned and smiled at me, and I shot my load there and then. Nothing worse than a pocket full of cum and no tissue. I just knew it was going to run down my leg as my stop was next.
    5. In church.  Please God NO! I think it is the low resonance notes of the organ, and mine is an instrument up for playing accompaniment.
    6. Road workers beware! Not a high viz fetish, but I just know if he reaches for that pneumatic drill I am going to “pop a boner!”
    7. Drill and Fill. A visit to the dentist – I know so sad. The thought of a cavity needing attention and my tool was ready, to drill and fill.
    8. Cinema. I am never going to the cinema again. The sound system they have, war movies, explosions and the loud noise of battle and the pocket rocket in my pants is locked and loaded, ready to aim and fire.
    9. Baking. I make cakes manually. The electric whisk and blender are instruments of torture, designed to leave a man with a leaking willy and pants soggy. I can’t watch Masterchef, and “Ready Steady Cook” might as well be “Ready Tom to F**k!!”
    10. Motorbikes. Never going on a motorbike again. He loaned me a set of leathers, and then I got up behind him. How much more erotic can it get? Mounting a machine and straddling a man in leather. Then the engine roars, my cock just throbbed and pulsed in response. After a high-speed ride of leaning, heavy braking, and racing acceleration, we arrived at his. I am spent many times over, and he wants SEX! I had just been having it for the previous 20 minutes. I had to walk home, with a shrivelled nut sac and a gait like I was mounting a Motto Guzzi or riding an invisible Shetland pony.
    11. Washing day. In my 20s I lived in a flat and found the pleasure of the washing machine on its final rinse and spin cycle was like the world’s largest sex toy. As soon as it started, I would hop up on the work surface and indulge in a wild wank. Even now the aroma of fabric softener is like an airborne aphrodisiac to me; nasal Viagra – one whiff and I’m stiff!

     

     

    Opinions expressed in this article may not reflect those of THEGAYUK, its management or editorial teams. If you’d like to comment or write a comment, opinion or blog piece, please click here.