BijouBlog

 

I've often heard from many guys, both online and in person, that their tits are hardwired to their cock. Hardwired? That term could be one way of saying that the person gets hard when someone plays with his tits, but could it mean that the person's tits get stimulated when one plays with his cock? Both are probably going on at the same time, but in many BDSM scenarios, the tits end up being the first point of entry for painful and pleasurable delights.
 

Even in more vanilla scenes, one person often becomes the recipient of a tongue on a tit (and because it is male/male, one could argue the act isn't overtly connected to a cliched Freudian “mommy fetish," which is often why I use the word tit rather than nipple when I discuss its presence in adult sexuality. Nipple for me evokes baby items like pacifiers).

Yet, the tit-sucker could be subliminally craving some kind of nurturing comfort. Could be … Yet, if the tit is larger in size and even slightly protuberant on a meaty, hairy chest, the feeling of comfort, warmth, and ultimately that all-enveloping sweaty scent of a hot, dominant guy could be like a Liebestod, which is like sinking into a soft, fleecy sofa if the chest is hairy. Or, if the guy is muscular, the tit could kind of resemble the head of hard, firm cock.
 

Yet the tit-sucker could also be the dominant one, because in many BDSM scenarios, the top stimulates the tits in order to play with them. And play, in many cases, ends up becoming tit torture. In this case, the submissive bottom is sexually stimulated by various sensations the top wields to his tits. What is how an erogenous zone becomes not just a zone of comfort and pleasure, as above, but a site of the tortures of hell.
 

I can boast extensive BDSM experience; I've seen variations of torture ranging from a simple pinch between the thumb and forefinger to extremely painful metal clamps. And I've been the torturer far more often than the willing victim, I must admit!

Some of my favorite tortures that can drive that hardwired tit bottom to his own infernal love-death:

I take one larger-sized plastic clothespin (I found them at the dollar store), attach one to each tit, and keep attaching. Test the bottom's willingness and endurance (slowly and gradually, which complements the exquisite sensations), and you might end up with as many as six clothespins on each tit.
 

For those bottoms who enjoy sudden, powerful bursts of pain rather than slow, exquisite torture, I wield various sizes of riding crops. The type with flaps work well, because one can run the flaps quickly over each one to accustom the tit to further pain. A crop with a flat, round head will create a less painful effect because the surface hits the tit as one large, even surface; a crop with a thinner, elongated head will sting more. Vary them, but start with a softer, flatter head.
 

Metal clamps vary greatly in size and thrust; I start with ones that have rubber tips and can vary in pinching power. The key is grab enough of the tit to get a firm grip, but not so firm so one can't increase the intensity. Someone gifted me a pair of what look like scissors, but aren't. In the medical profession, they are called hemostat forceps, a surgical tool for stopping the flow of blood. They attach to the tit, and one can vary their pinching thrust by adjusting the spread of the rings at the bottom.
 

Variations abound, as variations of person's sexual proclivities abound.

And keep in mind that tit play doesn't necessarily mean getting out the admittedly nasty clover clamps on the first round; sometimes even gently massaging the tit of that hardwired bottom and not letting him orgasm for hours can end up being the means to the most blissfully infernal love-death for the top and the bottom.

In the recent funny and campy and touching movie Florence Foster Jenkins, Cosme McMoon, her naive waif-life closeted gay accompanist (played by the absolutely adorable Simon Helberg), is late to Madame Florence's infamous 1944 Carnegie Hall recital. Why? He claims breathlessly, implying perhaps post-coital euphoric exhaustion, he was “jumped” by a bunch of sailors, and that they were “most disrespectful.” (Interestingly enough, the real McMoon later in his life was a judge at ostensibly straight bodybuilding contests; some even claim he also ran a gay escort service or even brothel, but the latter is probably more faux news.) 
 

So, apparently, that “little McMoon” was into rough trade. I've thrown the term around a bit in blogs and tweets and other communiques, but I've always wondered what it actually meant, and, as it turns out, it isn't just the cliched doin' it with sex-starved sailors on the wharf (apparently, by the time McMoon experienced the joy of rough trade brothels for women weren't located seaside, another cliché, or were they?) 
 

Another variation is in comparison to regular trade, rough trade is more likely to be working-class laborers with less education and more physical demands of their work, therefore with a body developed naturally rather than in a gym. They may also exhibit a less polished or clean-cut style than an office worker or professional businessman. 

For example, remember that book Maurice by E.M. Forster and the movie made of it starring Hugh Grant as well? Aristocratic Maurice Hall, after being rejected by the bisexual Clive Durham (Grant's role) falls in love with Alec Scudder, the lower-class gamekeeper, played by Rupert Graves. Maurice and Alec's future as a couple is thus doubly doomed, not just because of their gayness, but because of the social division. It would be more acceptable if Alec was just a rough trade fling rather than a partner in a loving relationship. 
 

 

 

In fact, rough trade sexual encounters resulted in the deaths the gay silent film icon Ramon Navarro and the famous Italian cinematographer Pier Paolo Pasolini. 

Now, based on the above tragedies, I might think twice about the phrase “dick of death,” but I also remember how sex and violence and even death can erupt as one terrifying conflagration. Orgasm is after all le petit mort, both beautiful and terrible. 

Lon Flexx, born David Lee Anderson, was one of those performers who did so much and died so young. He wasn't wild and at times unfocused like the great nineteenth century opera singer Maria Malibran who would ride a horse all day and sing all night and also find time to visit a hospital for dying children, or like THE Judy, who could sing and dance and act all night but killed herself to do it. Lon, as one Bijou reviewer notes, “might have been fucking like Whitney and Bobby on a crack binge, but at Little Jackie-O always shone through the sweat.” 

Lon made over thirty gay porn films, the bulk of which were made between 1989 and 1992, including two Bijou classics, He-Devils and Tough Guys Do Dance. He made other films such as Sleeping Under the Stars (according to one gossipy source, Lon wore a hairpiece in this one), Heat in the Night, and Davey and The Cruisers. 
 

One memorable scene in He-Devils features Lon Flexx dreaming of beefcake Alex Stone in a railroad tunnel. Alex strips from macho clothing and fondles his chest and tits. Rubbing his tits hard, Alex jacks off as the camera offers larger-than-life close-ups. Both Lon and Alex take to beating off in this red-lighted segment. 

Later, after Lon wakes, his buddy and traveler, Michael Braun, imagines himself with lovely Lon in a bathroom of a hotel. Uncut and handsome Michael sucks Lon off before being fucked up the ass. Their oral sex is excellently photographed, too, with lots of saliva dripping from cock and mouth. 
 

In one scene from Tough Guys Do Dance, called “Phone Call From a Stranger,” a young man in a tuxedo (Lon Flexx) is seen cruising dark alleys when a nearby pay phone rings. He answers it and a mysterious voice instructs him to come to an apartment across the street. He arrives to find a nude man masturbating. The man reveals an extraordinarily large cock. The young visitor slowly strips out of his clothes and joins the stranger for sex that is sensuous and also somewhat threatening. 

The consensus about Lon's legacy is that he was passionate, not mechanical, in his performances. He combined, as he shows in the scene from Tough Guys Do Dance, sensuality and power. 
 

And perhaps the power came from a confidence about his own sexuality. In an interview with Manshots magazine in October 1990, he mentions how he danced with other guys in a straight bar after helping in a fundraising drive for a local opera company (class act, he was!) when he was going to the University of Oklahoma. Not exactly the jolly tearoom for gays, especially in the 1980s.

Lon reflected, “We danced all night – and sure we got some stares, even some gawks, but nobody said a word to us. And at the same time, at the other college, guys were getting beat up for just attending gay meetings on campus. People don't mess with you when you feel strongly about something. I never forgot that, and that's how I decided to live my life.” 

And he lived his life with power and passion and integrity, but we lost him too soon, as he succumbed to something unfortunately more powerful, AIDS, at the age of thirty. 

Gordon Grant! He's the total rock solid muscle hunk with a 9 inch uncut cock who's featured in several magazines and brochures we carry and on the covers of our titles Pleasures in the Sun and Hot Truckin'. In Hot Truckin', tough-looking Gordon, called Buck, is a handsome deliverman who sucks and fucks blue-collar types while on the job - first a carpenter, then a painter - both young, handsome, and horny. He and his co-worker (Nick Rodgers) end up picking up a hitchhiker … in more ways than one.
 

Born in Alaska of Dutch and Nez Perce Indigenous heritage, he appeared in such films many of the FalconPacs, like The Lifeguard, Working Late, and The Crotchwatcher in the 1970s and 1980s.
 

He also appeared in Dirty Words, billed as Falcon's first feature film (as opposed to loops). He also went by the name of Don Bowman.

According to a vintage Colt magazine, he worked for two years as a construction worker on the Trans-Alaska pipeline. Ripe fantasy material …

Gordon also did some stunning Colt photo spreads, often modeling two figures in the Village People gamut: cowboy and construction worker. Wow! Such big arms!
 

 

He pretty much epitomizes the original Colt man, a direct descendant of all those muscle beefcake types that appeared in magazines like Physique Pictorial and Tomorrow's Man.

Gordon has passed on, but information is obscure. A couple of sources claim he died in the early 1990s from AIDS related causes, the fate of so many porn stars of that generation, but I could find nothing specific.

Still, he pretty much has entered the Mount Olympus of gay porn icons.
 

In 1907, Mcfadden was arrested again for publishing a story in Physical Culture Magazine which was judged to be "obscene material." This time, Mcfadden was convicted. He attempted to have the case heard before the Supreme Court, but was denied on the grounds that the case did not involve constitutional questions. He campaigned nationally to have his conviction overturned, and finally in 1909, received a presidential pardon from President Taft. 

Mcfadden's philosophy was essentially a combination of the naturalistic and self-reliance New Thought (much of it watered down Ralph Waldo Emerson) philosophies: any type of physical weakness took on practically criminal proportions, but one could, though much self-reliance and both physical and mental discipline, overcome such weakness (like he did; he was considered a weak and sickly child and not expected to live long) and improve not only the body (including the sexual organs), but the mind as well.

The mind exerts a tremendous influence over the body. According to Macfadden, one can improve through structured exercise and nutrition programs.

In 1906, he wrote and published a book titled Muscular Power and Beauty, in which explains how to use tension and resistance exercises to develop muscles. A couple decades later the iconic muscleman Charles Atlas would successfully market a course based on these exercises. 
 

One of his more revolutionary ideas was his emphasis on women being physically healthy. Mcfadden encouraged women to exercise and even show more of their bodies than was considered respectable; he campaigned against corsets and high-heeled shoes (which items later became prominent in the fetish-oriented sexuality as early as the 1920s; see description of Bizarre Magazine to appear later on this blog).

Mcfadden was a proponent of "natural movement" in both sexes, which hardly meant sexual indulgence, but rather a disciplining the body so it functioned at full capacity, not only so it could compete in, but also enjoy the benefits of, living. Living of course includes sex, which was natural and wholesome; prudery only encouraged unhealthy shame and guilt. 
 

 

This publication lasted until 1941, after several lawsuits against Mcfadden Publishing Company (he used company assets to finance his own ventures). Macfadden relinquished his interests in the corporation.

After retiring, Macfadden bought the rights to publish the magazine, but he was unsuccessful. The magazine died with him in 1955.