The lure of rough trade is unquestionable. I guess it is the promise of hot, no-strings-attached sex and a little bit of desire for danger what really drives this trend that many a gay man seems to follow. The myth of the never-sated straight guy who would plow any hole just because it's available is, I guess, too strong to resist for some.
I remember having talked to some of my gentlest, most caring friends and they have always admitted to giving in to temptation at least once, when a piece of hard rough trade has forced their way into their lives. It may have been at at public restroom, a party or just school or work. But there it was. In all its juicy, hard, forbidden splendor.
I'm thinking about this because I went to the gym yesterday and noticed all the macho posturing, the averted stares, the sweaty, uncompromising strut of the male cock in action that ambulated throughout that sanctuary to pheromones. Some of them were actually attractive. The sight of young, taut flesh flushed with hormones is always welcome.
But I could not help but think that it was all a game. A cat-and-mouse game in which the cat shows the mouse what a sweet death it would be if only the mouse were willing to die that sweet death. Not worth it, I thought. Too ephemeral. I'd rather go without, or just come online and ogle the kind of fleshy ways in which I won't let myself indulge in real life. Because it would be even more bittersweet than the shaky satisfaction that the men in the web bring. At least I know for sure that I won't get roughed up or even worse, left with a gift that would require penicillin at the end of the day.