The desires of men paying for sexual contact with other men run in two broad, avid rivers, and for the enthusiasts, never the twain shall meet. On the one hand, the muscle gods: big, immovable, and often, as a plus (as these things go), indifferent. On the other, we have the boys: the young ones; beautiful because they’re fresh, and open, and either guileless or clueless (to varying extremes).
These are the two flesh-brand identities generally marketed, and as they are common, I presume requested regularly. I guess I fall into the category of the latter; a demi-athletic variety. The most amusing thing about the variety system is that presumption is part of the fantasy, and therefore, as a good business boy, I’m out to help them buy into it.
Gay male stereotypes relating to the sex trade have yet to develop into as wide a range as present in the straight world. This could probably be attributed to the fact that being the payer is assumed to be dominant to the payee. Women have been regulated to the strata of biddable comport by society for eons; the variations on the theme have had centuries to develop, and have given us the array of saucy examples: the schoolgirl, the librarian; the secretary and the nurse. The attitudes are definitely similar across the gender gap, except for one cardinal point. Implicit in the domination or seduction of the young man by the older is the promise that that boy will one day be a man. One day his rod will be the rule. The same cannot be granted assuredly for women. To take advantage of the window time allows for taking advantage of the boy, the declarative senior has to make his move before a certain age, or the tractable will become intract soon enough: opportunity is not a lengthy visitor.
(After that, your option is to lust for the other unattainable, the devoted bodybuilder: he who took the path you couldn’t get off the couch/out of the office/away from the wife for.)
So what have I got to work with? The young jock. Um… the studious dreamer. The unusually wise youngster with so much promise….
(There’s also the openly gay, single minded, sex-starved, hormone driven twink; but I consider him to be a sub-genre: he’s the psyche all those daddies want to discover in their guileless protégés.)
It remains to be seen how well I’m going to be able to pull this off. I’m going to be practicing rapt attention in the mirror. Maybe say “um” a lot, and answer everything like it’s a question.
Then again, I might be giving this whole process too much credit.
“Hey. Come in. Take off your pants.”
Can and will.
