Sexy Shaved Legs

shaved leg

I love when men shave their legs. Bikers do it fairly often. So do swimmers.

It’s funny to see a recreational biker who shaves his legs. Yeah, like he’s really going to go that much faster with his legs shaved! I think they secretly stand in front of the mirror after they shave and admire their sexy legs.

One guy passed me the other day with beautiful legs. Yes, I meant to say beautiful. He passed so fast (must have been the shaved legs) that I didn’t know what sex those legs were until I got a good look. And I thought it was a really muscular woman. Those legs were “shapely”. (I love that vague description) I just wanted to run my lips down them. Maybe not up them, unless I knew the shave job was fresh.

Men who shave their legs get extra manly points in my book for shedding a masculine layer to expose sleeker, softer muscles beneath the gruff exterior.

Sexy Straight Men

Straight men need to learn to relax and enjoy being thought sexy by other men. They need to open up to a very healing energy. Both parties benefit.

I really don’t see why most American straight men get so uptight when complimented on their sexiness by gay men. If I smile at a good looking man on the street, it’s a gift to him, whether he’s gay or straight. Unfortunately, most men will interpret a smile as a sexual advance, and head it off by looking away or frowning, or worse.

In Europe it’s not so bad. Most men there are more confident in their sexual skins and are not threatened by a look or a smile of all things. Any sexual tension which arises from the impossibility of returning that attraction is defused by simple acceptance. If the situation escalates, a man only has to say, “Thanks, I’m not interested.” Done with a flattered smile, it’s a harmless way to sever the misunderstanding. Most men would quickly move on. It happens all the time between straight folks.

If I think someone is sexy, and show it in my eyes, or perhaps by glancing at their body, they see it as a threat. It’s taken as an invasion of their personal space, a sexual advance. What if those same men were to just enjoy the advantage the attention gives them? What if they just soaked it up and basked in it? I think everyone wins. I’m given an affirmation, an acknowledgment of the beauty that I see in someone else, and the other man reaps positive energy from my attention.

I would never, for example, frown at or fear the attraction of a woman to me. I’m delighted for the attention. Bring it on. Tell me more!

Faced with the praise of attraction from another man, most men should be truly flattered. After all, gay men usually have pretty good taste in men!

The Source

i bend
to stretch
tight hamstrings,
yoga breathing
deep, cored
waves, committed.
your hand floats
above my
naked globules,
unsunned white,
pressing humid air
to your palm’s stare.
the blond hairs bristle
with electric city
beginnings, endings, poems,
stormy at first,
stirring down to1880 logcabin
laps of gentle
consent, warmth,
and finally
desire for connection,
fuel of transference.

my breathing deepens,
windy, pomegranate scented
rings to be
shared, anointed.
we weave stringed loops
into cat’s cradles,
bridges across
desserts of thirst.
thirsty creeks
flow into
larger and more
insistent undertows.
crashing, breaths
draw you into
me, down to bone, to
implacable source.
message to
answer to message.
your gift to
my givance.
our river, our odyssey.

salvaging divine
beads of innocence,
we sew sumptuous hoops of
priapic demons,
ecstatic circles of fire.
we join hollow desire
with its own lava.
Niagara falls, deafening,
roars savage
as fused water and earth,
slag over waterfall
into the Great River,
steamy transformance-
peak emergence
in the curtain dance.
original signals of
original redemption
bring us to
a hidden palace,
guarded by fear, whose
barbed gates
open into
a garden of grace.

Exposed to the Elements

Three hours from Columbus, after maneuvering up a treacherous switchback hill and over a road dangerously washed out in several places, we arrived at Roseyland campground. A scary ride, but worth it, because this place is: Remote, Private, Gay, Nude. YES! It’s like being in a video game and getting past the first set of obstacles, and thinking, I’m made for this game.

We checked in at the store in the center of ‘town’, which has maybe 5 buildings, including a small guest house, several decks with views of the hills, a hot tub and a small pool, plus numerous simple cabins, and lots of flower beds. Driving along the ridge to our site, our car bumped and rocked past some of the largest tents (several rooms each) I’ve ever seen, surrounded by blinking colored light ropes, planted flower gardens, a camper with a bubble machine, and a hot pink camper, among other ‘tres gay’ treasures.

These sites are sturdy, semi-permanent sites, used all summer. Some have huge, permanent decks which dwarf the camper trailers. R dubbed this section Hobbit land, for its open, sturdy, sunny spots atop the field. Our site was down in Elf land, near the end of the ridge, nestled among the trees, with dappled light which rendered all things magically delicious. I liked it down there, quietly away from the relative bustle of the center. (For this busy Labor Day weekend, this campground probably had at least 200 men, yes, all men.)

We set up camp and walked around. Everyone said hi. A nice start. (I was a little bummed to see most guys wearing clothes, but chalked it to the cool evening air.) Folks were very friendly, and soon we had met several along our ridge. Most were from OH or PA or WV. Anyway, we whiled away the evening. Later we went up to the “bar” and had a brew or two. Again I was disappointed. I came here to get away from the loud, excluding mood of the typical gay scene.

Still later, I relaxed with a coffee mug full of good, cheap red wine, sat back in my $5 “Dick’s” (sporting store) brand camp chair, and spaced out staring into the fire. The urgent, pulsing insect chorus of summer nights filled the darkened canopy around me. Up the ridge, fires beaconed a line of campers doing the same. People began to mingle, chat. Torches where lit.

I wandered to end of the ridge, just past our site, where I met two seasoned regulars of the place. Their site was permanent, and they left their tent up all season, May to Oct. (again, Grande size tent, for two people). They had been coming for 10 years, as long as the campground was open. I found out later they had “blazed” and now maintained the 5 mile trail around the property. After dark they set up oil burning lanterns along the last 50 yards of the ridge. So now the whole ridge was lit with flickering fires. I had arrived in the land of the Elves.

Next morning, I bummed some coffee from my seasoned neighbors, had my cereal from the same mug I had drunk wine from, and headed up the ridge to shower in the main building. (we were roughing it, without a stove, so generous neighbors were appreciated, plus it was an excuse to socialize.) I dutifully wore shorts. I didn’t want to rock the boat before I knew what was acceptable.

Halfway up the Hobbit hill, I passed the day tent of Paul, a friendly, middle aged, rotund, Santa Claus type soul. I had met him and his partner the night before. He was nude, and as I passed, he said, “Now, off with those shorts. You’ll feel a lot better.” I smiled and did as he asked. And he was right. I did feel better. I gave him a hug and continued up the hill, with lightness in my step. I straightened up, held my head high, and bounced along, all aglow, feeling the flow of air across my hips, and yes, my nips.

Why I felt better I don’t know. It is certainly one less barrier between me and nature, the air, the sun, and yes, the mosquitoes, which were mercifully sparse. It is also one less barrier between me and other people, between me and their judgment, and finally, between me and my own body image, my self-judgment. At age 45, I’m in good shape, very slim and fit, but I’m no Adonis. Now I had, literally, nothing to hide. So I sauntered and flaunted what I had, whatever that is. By hiding less I had less to lose, and could care less if I did.

So most of the taboo about nudity is a myth. Sex is sex; a body is just a body. The difference is in your head. In other words, it’s no biggie. Or, if it is a “biggie”, then show it to everyone, and it becomes no biggie. After awhile, I enjoyed the tingly freshness of nudity with no apprehension, and saw other nude men the same; just happy and relaxed, no agenda.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend was delightful. I felt like a cat, moving with the day, following the sun to warm naps on the deck, frolicking by moonlight with moths and other faeries. I exposed myself to healing elements on all sides: sun, air, nature and human comfort. I think I’ll go back soon, perhaps when the leaves change, to expose myself more and hide less.

Taboo Sex as Mythic Fuel

Continuing my explorations of gay spirit through my own experience, I want to elaborate gently on the idea of difference, taboo, and androgyny as tools for healing. I often ponder why I am gay. As my mother once aptly noted, “It can’t be an easy life for you.”

In our world, with it’s focus on material existence, especially the materialism of thought, we are unbalanced in favor of control. Many folks enjoy this kind of energy, they thrive on it. They can stay in control without any apparent stress. My hat’s off to them. I don’t feel that way. Perhaps they don’t either, underneath.

In response to power and control, I find the opposite more fulfilling: to acquiesce, relinquish power, envelop strength with its opposite. I’m here to show a different view, to break down “normal” patterns, to balance the majority with spiritual and cultural difference, drawn from my taboo life. If I see myself in terms of society’s norms, I fail to awaken something essential in me. If I let go, give into the direction my sexuality takes me, forge my own path, I find I have power in my faerie spirit, a perspective few see.

Something in me tells me I need to explore the taboo in myself, and by reflection, in society. My sexuality is not just who I’m attracted to, but how I’m attracted to them. I feel a latent androgyny in my body, an ecstasy of opening rather than entering. (see Faerie Spirit) I sense in myself a burgeoning of confidence and power based on this opening, soft, letting, allowing spirit. It seems right. It connects me to something deep and rich which I barely recognize. I am also terrified of it, and lonely. I am unsure if this is an aberration of human nature, or a gift to it, or just a benign personal choice. I like to think there’s a mythical, healing reason.

I am drawn to very abstract explanations of why I exist, what my purpose is. (Existentialism worked for me when I was young, but leaves me cold now) I think it’s vital to human existence to acknowledge the need for myth. Whether we think so or not, we are constantly affected by the myth making power of popular culture. We are inundated. Perhaps that is sufficient to sustain the majority, but I feel deeply drawn to something more internal, something pure, consistent, universal.

Some find this in religion. I seek a unique spirituality to incorporate my unique sexuality. I look for timeless patterns and myths within my sexuality. And I am finding, or maybe even creating those myths by exploring the taboo ecstasy of my body. Perhaps I am here as a gay man to demystify and mythologize taboo, not only sexually, but throughout culture.

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