Gay porn response: Savage words

I’ve wanted to include coverage of gay male porn on The Cinesexual for a long time. But I didn’t quite know how to include it or if it was even appropriate.

To begin to understand how odd it might be, let’s start with the contraindications in my first sentence.

So, all I’m going to do is respond personally and honestly to visual, sexual presentations of men having sex with men and only the porn that I like. If I’m writing about it, then it’s made me cum, probably more than once.

First up is a fan-edited video featuring tall, tattooed & lean Savage getting his 12-inch cock serviced by Victor, the Beefcake Hunter. (Also, here on PornHub.) The tagline of his site is: WHERE STRAIGHT GUYS GO GAY FOR PAY. For me, even sexier than the cocks are these sweetly peccant guys’ initial nervousness and eventual big grins as they get their first (or tenth or twentieth) blow job from an appreciative gay dude.

I must be one of a handful of gay men who isn’t all that impressed with giant cocks, the upper-end of which seem freakish — impressive but not automatically appealing. In practical terms, I mean, what am I going to do with that thing? Well, the Beefcake Hunter showed me a thing or two in this video.

Victor seems so proud and possessive of Savage’s foot-long that’s it’s impossible for me not to laugh and cheer him on, especially when Savage encourages him, too. “Kiss that dick!” he says. He then moans in the most delicious and exciting way possible, “Aww, you fuuckin’ faaaggot!”

The second time he said that, drawing the words out and writhing on the bed, I came.

I’ve never been too verbal during sex and have often found it a turn-off when my partner seemed to be pulling quotes from Jeff Stryker movies. (Stryker might have been the originator of the overused, “You like that big dick, don’t you?”

I went out with a tall Puerto-Rican muscleboy in Chicago who sometimes came shouting my name, which was kind of cool, I guess. But it also struck me as silly and embarrassing. “Oh, Rick! Oh, Rick!! Ohhh, Riiick!” The first time he did that I actually pulled out of him and jumped back off the bed.

I didn’t understand the power of such utterances until one day I spontaneously burst out the name, five or six times in succession, of my best friend, roommate, and occasional fuck buddy while masturbating to some poorly hidden pix he’d made for his boyfriend at the time. (He’d foolishly left them on his unsecured Mac’s desktop for me to find.) Seeing the writing in marker of that lily-white, Christian dude’s name on my friend’s hairy, brown belly, I felt crushed by resentment and awed by the schoolgirlish sentiment at the same time.

Sputtering, “Santosh, Santosh, Santosh!” must have made me feel part of the transaction? Stealing (and coming to) those pix for a few moments enacted some sort of secret revenge? I don’t know really.

(I never told him about that, although it would have been just the type of passive/aggressive stunt I was pulling in those days. He would’ve been pissed but that would have been satisfying, too, in its way. I guess I was ashamed though.)

Something similarly multivalent is happening when Savage drawls that slur while getting sucked by a proficient, esurient queen. He’s having the time of his life and is thanking Victor for it; but he’s also ever so slightly traducing him, blaming him for the evinced pleasure. Of course, there’s also the puissant frisson of taboo-breaking in the middle of a sexual act that’s often called “servicing” in the biz.

Sure, Savage gets serviced and his cock worshipped. But, who’s really in charge here?

“Aw, you fuckin’ faggot!”

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