a definitive figure in my ‘dark ages’ - from his early appearances on sean cody to the big shoe diaries today.
oh Colby
He’s such a babe.
(Source: animalsinnombre)
reminiscing: The Gay Sex Chat Room
It turns out that revisiting my complete sexual history has had me considering a lot more than just the physical aspects of my sexual past. My sexual coming of age occurred at a time when we knew the internet was going to change the world, but we weren’t yet sure exactly how to best make use of it.
Cue the advent of the hamster dance website, the digitisation of chain letters, and who can forget the amazing porn resource simply known as the ‘Gay Sex Chat Room’
It would seem that within seconds of the internet being invented, gay men were ready and awaiting to fileshare gay porn in one way or another.
We started up interest and fetish specific yahoo groups, where we could post pixelated video files as long as 2 or 3 minutes and ‘save target as’ onto our hardrives… but of course download rates were slow and the catalogue of online gay porn was not yet limitless, so when we ran out of material and/or patience, we could visit the constantly updating ‘Gay Sex Chat Room’.
I cannot remember the web address, but the gay sex chat room consisted mainly of a white screen, the words ‘Gay Sex Chat Room’ in large type letters, a text posting box, and then as you scrolled down the page you could browse the last 30 messages or so.
Don’t let the name fool you; aside from the occasional request for content, there was not much chat going on here.
Mostly we posted links to images or embedded images in our posts, so that the page read like a constantly updating porn board. (and by constantly updating I mean you manually refreshed the page every few minutes hoping you would not miss anything between clicks).
This resource provided us with much more than met the eye. This was long before people had carefully considered internet security, so as generous customers of pay sites free-shared images they had paid for, they were also giving away the security secrets (or lack thereof) of the sites we could not afford.
so if you were lucky enough, to right click an image like this;
the img URL might have revealed this:
hxxp://www.gay-members-only-pay-site.com/photos/wavingcock0020.jpeg
with this knowledge you then could do a little cut and paste job into your browser and get access to files wavingcock0001.jpeg through wavingcockinifinity.jpeg
Even better was when the url address looked something like this;
hxxp://misterhorny:mypassword@www.somemembersonlypaysite.com/photos/wavingcock0020.jpeg
whether he knew it or not, mister horny was graciously providing you with his username and password while posting his favourite sexy shots.
and thus started the never ending vicious cycle of porn pirating.
With today’s revival of the .gif and more gay tumblrs than you could ever hope to count, I’ve joyfully noticed our return to the lo-fi days of photo sharing à la ”Gay Sex Chat Room”
But as I admire and enjoy the way that time, higher internet speeds, and development of web style and sophistication have had a snowball effect on the way I peruse cock online… I’ll always remember how it all started on that plain white page that I expertly refreshed between strokes.
Just a little piece of homo-history direct from me to you.
*note: if you have thoughts or memories about our online porn heritage, please comment, message or get in touch.
Losing my V to K
(at least one of my V’s anyway)
I suppose that in the gay world of wild sexual roulette we all have a number of V’s to lose. This is not the story of losing my ‘Big V’ (interpret as you will), but it is the story of my first ever adult sexual encounter with a member of the same sex. Believe it or not, I was 19 and ab. so. lutely desperate to get my hands on a cock other than my own.
His name was “K” and we met on an online chat room at a time advanced enough in technology for people to have the internet at home, but not enough for anyone to have a means of getting digital profile photos. At the time, digital cameras were nearly as expensive as computers… and as such uncommon. Even if we’d had the means of getting digital portraits taken, dial up speeds would have prevented us from any successful photo swapping… this suited me perfectly as I was heavily closeted and not ready to publicly associate my online stats with my face.
K’s house was decorated like that of a 86 year old spinster, minus the cats (but oddly, not the cat smell). Just barely masking the smell of must and stale cat urine, was the lingering scent of lemon furniture polish which I assumed he applied with fervor to all his ornate, over-sized and out of date wooden furniture. Every surface was covered with little ornaments andsilver pewter photo frames all neatly laid out in place on neatly crocheted doilies. It seemed as though every piece of furniture was some kind of display case or curio cabinet, with even more knicknacks and trinkets locked inside for safe keeping.
I had no real expectations of either him or the house - I was just desperate to have any kind of sexual experience and I suppose, deep down, I knew meeting this lonely middle aged man would be the easiest way to ensure the safety of my closeted anonymity without risking any kind of rejection and/or feelings on inadequacy. As confused and scared as I was, I was at least 100% confident that I was not punching above my weight and was therefore not risking being turned down on sight.
His name was “K” and we met on an online chat room at a time advanced enough in technology for people to have the internet at home, but not enough for anyone to have a means of getting digital profile photos. At the time, digital cameras were nearly as expensive as computers… and as such uncommon. Even if we’d had the means of getting digital portraits taken, dial up speeds would have prevented us from any successful photo swapping… this suited me perfectly as I was heavily closeted and not ready to publicly associate my online stats with my face.
K’s house was decorated like that of a 86 year old spinster, minus the cats (but oddly, not the cat smell). Just barely masking the smell of must and stale cat urine, was the lingering scent of lemon furniture polish which I assumed he applied with fervor to all his ornate, over-sized and out of date wooden furniture. Every surface was covered with little ornaments and
I had no real expectations of either him or the house - I was just desperate to have any kind of sexual experience and I suppose, deep down, I knew meeting this lonely middle aged man would be the easiest way to ensure the safety of my closeted anonymity without risking any kind of rejection and/or feelings on inadequacy. As confused and scared as I was, I was at least 100% confident that I was not punching above my weight and was therefore not risking being turned down on sight.
Despite having no real expectations, I remember feeling slightly disappointed on arrival.