Monster Cocks

Since the days of Tom of Finland, it has been traditional in gay art to present guys with monster cocks, footlongs or more.

Some are merely unlikely.

Some are humanly impossible.

Of course, the monster cocks are not always on a human. There are furries, angels, demons....

And literal monsters.

When anal is involved, the bottom sometimes concludes that hooking up with a monster was not such a good idea after all.

More after the break.

The 10 Worst Hook Up Ice Breakers

Whether you're looking for a date, a hookup, or a friend, making contact online or in person, the first step has to be a conversation.  We used to call it an interview, because you have to acquire some basic information: the guy's name, his age (if he looks young), the type of relationship he wants, any traits that are immediate deal-breakers.  After that, it's up to you to pique his interest, present yourself in a way that makes it seem worth the risk of an hour in his bedroom, two hours at gym, or four hour at a dinner and movie plus an overnight.

But there are some questions and statements that have the opposite effect, making you appear sleazy, needy, creepy, vulgar, pretentious, or otherwise a problem.

Here are the top 10 worst questions and statements you could make during the first ice-breaking conversation:

1. How are you?  That's the world's most boring greeting.  The proper response is "Fine, thanks," and then you're back to nothing.

2. Are you having a good time?  Huh?  Who stops in the middle of an evening (or while cruising on Grindr) to evaluate the quality of the time they are having?  I can tell when I'm having a bad time, but otherwise I'm just existing.

3. Are you happy? An even greater "huh"? I don't have time to evaluate every instant of my life and determine if I am feeling generally more positive than negative.   

4. Where are you from?  That may work in big city gay neighborhoods where everyone is from somewhere else, but in small towns, everybody is from "here" or nearby, a small town that you've never heard of 20 miles away, or even worse, a small town that you never heard of with the same name as a big city: "Oh, you're from Prague!  That's my favorite town in Europe!"

5. What do you do?  Heterosexuals may ask that of each other, as they tend to be more defined by their jobs than gay people.  But in gay communities, the question is either embarrassing or meaningless.

6. Who's your hot friend?  Bringing up another guy's attractiveness?  Who thinks that will work?
















7. How big is your cock?  The 10% of the male population with big ones will be offended, thinking that you want them just for their equipment, and the 90% with average or small ones will be offended.  You don't need to know.

8. Do you know how hot you are?  Yes, he knows that you find him attractive, or you wouldn't have started the conversation.  Besides, if he actually is hot, he hears it a dozen times a day, so telling him will not pique his interest.

9. Do you work out?  Of course he works out.  All gay men work out.  Not very interesting.

10. Do you want to f*k?  You may think that you are saving time by getting right to the point, but the question is vulgar, and he may not even know yet.  That's the whole point of the initial conversation: to convince him to spend time with you.

My Date with the Most Conservative Professor on Campus

West Hollywood, May 1986

The University of Southern California in the 1980s was extremely elitist, stuffy, and conservative, and Charles Bertan was the most elitist, stuffy, and conservative of the faculty.  A little shorter than me, slim, with an oval, slightly irregular face and a crooked smile.

He had stuffy degrees from Harvard and Princeton, always wore a suit, carried a briefcase, and spoke with super-correct grammar.

This isn't him -- I couldn't find a picture that did the conservatism justice, and also showed some muscle.

He was only a few years older than me, but he had already published a dozen books and articles on Restoration and Augustan literature: John Donne, Henry Fielding, Alexander Pope, 18th century pastoral...

His classroom skills weren't great: he called students "Mr." and "Miss", never joked, rarely smiled, and called out mistakes tactlessly.  When asked a pleasant question like "How was your weekend?" he fumbled and stammered.

Other students disliked him; I was fascinated.

What kind of life did this guy have?  What did he do at night? Who did he go home to?  Did he watch tv, collect antiques, volunteer at a homeless shelter, go camping at Yosemite?  Or were Tom Jones and An Essay on Man life enough? 

I could not imagine Dr. Bertan taking off his shirt, getting naked, lying in bed, kissing someone, having sex.  Not that he wasn't attractive. He just wasn't a sexual being.

Or was he?  Maybe I could find out.

If I cruised him, he would probably rush off in horror, like a squirrel when you get too close.  I had to be subtle, make him think that he was cruising me.

1. Setting the ground work.

I began working out just before class, so I would still be pumped, and came in with the tightest t-shirt I could find  to show off my chest -- 50", my best feature.  Dr. Bertan kept trying not to look.

We met in a conference room, around a rectangular table, with Dr. Bertan at the head.  I started sitting adjacent to him, so occasionally our legs would brush together "by accident."  Once he got flustered and scooted his chair to the far end, but the next class session, he was in the middle of the table again.

When he passed me a batch of papers to hand out, I made sure that our hands touched "by accident."  He quickly moved away -- I just smiled.  

2. Piquing his interest.

His reactions suggested that he was gay, but just to make sure, one day I said, "I know we skipped over John Wilmont, Earl of Rochester in our anthology, but I read him anyway.  One line has me puzzled.  What does he mean by There's a sweet soft page of mine, does the trick worth forty wenches."

"Oh, well...." Dr. Bertan blushed a little.  "No doubt Rochester is suggesting his preference for...um...homosexuality."

"Right, right!"  I pretended it had just now dawned on me.  "I know all about that trick."

The class laughed. "Pages or wenches?" someone asked.

I just smiled.  Dr. Bertan stared at me for a moment, as if expecting a response, and then moved on.

Definitely gay.

3. The seduction.

I waited until final grades were posted, in case he had scruples against hooking up with a student, and then went to his office.  It was small but elegant: walnut desk, two chairs, small couch, Persian rug, floor-to-ceiling bookcases.

"I just wanted to thank you for a very interesting semester," I  began," "accidentally" slamming the door behind me.  "Wow, I wish I had a library like this.  A copy of The Rape of the Lock, illustrated by Aubrey Beardsley!"  I pointed to an old book on the top shelf.  "I love Beardsley!  Can I take a look at it?"

He beamed at my interest.  "Why, of course.  That's a beautiful edition.  I picked it up at a bookstall in Paris."  

It was too far up to reach, so I had to stand on a chair.

"Wait -- it's rickety -- let me support you.  There's a stepladder in the main office, if...."  Dr. Bertan's hands were pressing on my sides.  I tried to steady myself with a hand on his shoulder.  I grabbed the book -- and the chair slid out from under me.  I collapsed onto the floor,

Dr. Bertan knelt beside me.  "Are you...are you all right?" he stammered.

I just planned to leaf through a book, but this was much better!  "Fine.  A little shaken. Maybe I better sit down."

"Of course, of course."  He helped me onto the couch, and sat beside me. "Do you want to go to the Student Health Center?"

"Oh, no,  I'm fine.  Except I think I hit the chair on the way down.  Could you check for bruises?"

"Um...ok."  I raised my t-shirt.  He reached out and gingerly ran his hand over my chest.  "Anything tender?"

"No."  I put my hand over his and squeezed.  "You have a soft touch."

"Um...thanks."  He was staring in deer-in-headlight terror.  I had to make my next move carefully.

I retrieved the book, sat down beside him again, and put my arm around his shoulders, squeezing hard so he could feel my bicep rise. His hand moved to my lap.

"So, ready to look at those Beardsley illustrations?  Or did you have something else in mind?"

Dr. Bertan blushed red, and drew his hand away.  "I don't...I don't...I mean, I've never...."

"Well, isn't it about time you did?  We're the same age, and I'm not your student anymore, so what's stopping you?"

"Um...well...um...I suppose we could have dinner."

 So I didn't get a hookup, but I did get a date: very nice dinner at the Cafe Etoille  -- he was a little nervous, but warmed up quickly -- followed by a walk through West Hollywood, a stop at the Different Light Bookstore, then back to my apartment to spend the night.

We dated once or twice more, but then I flew off to Australia and Japan for the summer, and he went to London to research Alexander Pope, and by the time we returned, the moment had passed.

Besides, I kept calling him Dr. Bertan instead of Charlie.

See also: Cruised by a Young Republican; 8 Harvard Yard Hookups