Inside The Mind of a Writer: Real Life Experiences That Shaped My Art

Now I’m certainly in no position to criticize other writers of serious erotic male gay fiction, but based on what I know about them, I surmise that much of what they write about comes from their imagination. That’s fine, but as a seasoned gay man, just about all my stuff is based on reality, a reality I’ve personally experienced. Over the coming weeks, I would like to share with you some of those real life experiences – not all of them pretty – that have influenced and shaped my art.

Number One on the list is a trait I was born with. I’m a furry man who likes furry men, so it comes as no surprise that hairy guys play a dominant role in a lot of my stuff.

Yea, everybody’s hardwired for a certain type and I respect that. But sorry, smooth guys, while I certainly wouldn’t kick middle aged Brad Pitt or Tom Cruise, or current hottie Zac Efron out of bed, if I had my choice between a so-so guy with a so-so body who was hairy, and a smooth-as-silk guy with a face and body by God, I’d grab the fur ball any day of the week. Even the hint of chest hair sticking out of the top of a guy’s T-shirt or a pair of furry forearms or – shit! – hairy muscular legs on some jogger – is enough to get my motor running.

Prescribing to some out-of-date fucked up Freudian psychology, I think I’m a str8 gay man today and unloaded any sissy boy tendencies I may have had a long time ago because I had no interest in mimicking my mother but definitely sexually worshipped my father. He was a humpy hairy fuck and, I’m not ashamed to admit, my first sex object. I saw him near naked or naked more than a young boy should see his dad (no, he wasn’t a pedophile – I just got lucky), and jerked off over him before I did any other fantasy man in my life. I also inherited his Slavic hirsute genes. While

I felt awkward in high school when I took my shirt off for gym, a few years later after I started playing the scene and saw how much my fur turned other guys on, I became a certified exhibitionist. Down here in Florida, I don’t frequent a bar unless I can leave my T-shirt in the car.

Bottom line, as best as my self-psychoanalysis goes, I think I’m attracted first and foremost to furry guys either because I was infatuated sexually with my furry father, or because I’m in love with myself and searching for my clone. Take your pick.

So what’s so hot about hair?

In my mind, and I know a lot of you smooth guys or guys into smooth guys will disagree, body hair on a str8 gay guy (nothing will save a furry queen) is the ultimate in masculinity. For me, it separates the men from the boys and certainly the men from the girls. (Except for those poor Sicilian girls I knew on Staten Island, the most Italian American county in the U.S., who buy Nair by the truckload.)

Secondly, there’s nothing quite as sensual for me as running my fingers through a guy’s furry chest hairs or across his fuzzy abs, even if he has a bit of a belly. Hell, I give myself a hard-on just doing it to myself in the morning. Chest, arms, abs, legs, shoulders, back, butt, I want it all. In fact, when it comes to fucking, I have a hard time keeping Mr. Peter stiff unless he and I are feeling a furry butt.

I know and I’ve met hairy guys who only want them smooth – when I hit them up, it’s “thanks but no thanks, buddy” – and smooth guys who go ga-ga over furry men (there’s at least one Asian a week on the web who wants to support me).

Ah, but when two furry guys dig each other, well, shit, its fucken Gay Heaven.

Sure, there are downsides to being hairy as you guys who share my happy dilemma will recognize. Hairs clogging your shower drain, heavy lint in your dryer, and, a real bitch, gray as you grow older not just in your beard or on top of your head but all over your body that’s harder to cover unless you’re taking a body dunk in Just for Men. But I guess that’s a small price to pay for being hot, right? (Just ask me after some hottie has combed his fingers through my chest hairs.)

That’s why, since I’ve been on testosterone therapy, my body fur has gotten thicker and even more luxurious, and you know something – fuck, man, I like it! And while I admit I’ll get my back clipped during those hot sweaty summer months, I have only one thing to say to those guys who buzz their bodies or – God help them – permanently obliterate their fur with a laser because they think that’s sexier:

HUH?

And to that 39 year old smooth guy on Grind’r who said in his profile “seeks younger – hair is not sexy,” why not ask the 27 year old I had last week what he thinks?

Tuesday: Inside The Mind of a Writer: Furry Men I’ve Known and Loved

Inside The Mind of a Writer: Real Life Experiences That Shaped My Art

I’ve always had an existential view on life and that view permeates through much of my writing. I loved Camus’ “The Stranger,” just as I was an addict to the AMC series, “Mad Men,” about as existential as you can get. And this often brutal but honest philosophy came to me early when I was just eight years old.

At the time, my mother worked in a cookie factory, and one of her co-workers offered to pick up her, my younger sister and I for a Saturday romp to Seaside Heights on the Jersey Shore. How I looked forward to that day. So that morning, with sand pails and shovels and blankets and beach chairs in tow, we trotted down to the pre-designated spot where Mom’s friend would swing by and pick us up.

Only she never came.

After an hour of our futilely waiting and me counting cars as they whizzed by, Mom forced us to face reality and turned us right around for home.

What I learned that day I never forgot and has, rightly or wrongly, guided me throughout my life: never put your faith in other people; always rely first and foremost on yourself; and always, always have a Plan B.

That philosophy has never failed me, and is the DNA behind many of my characters, floundering through life, surrounded by users and abusers, with only themselves to depend on.

Next: My Life as a Hirsute Man