Why every man should have sex with another man
"I mean full-on, soul-shaking, intense, mouth-upon-mouth sex."
Why every man should have sex with another man
This is a public service announcement: The Guyliner would like you to know that we'd all be better off if you explored the many sides of the Kinsey scale
By Justin Myers, The Guyliner
26 August 2021
I’ll get to the point: every man should have sex with another man. I’m not talking adolescent circle jerks and mild fumbling that are staples of the boarding school experience, I mean full-on, soul-shaking, intense, mouth-upon-mouth sex. I don’t want to wipe out heterosexuality; I actually find it quite endearing. Where would we be without Ross and Rachel from Friends, for example, and their decade-long insight into the crushing predictability of straight relationships? But I have a feeling the world might be a better place were all men to bunk up with another at least once. It won’t fix everything – we’ll still gently broil in rocketing temperatures and social media’s hate preachers will still peddle divisive venom – but, generally, were men to open themselves up (quite literally in some cases) life might be more bearable for those with most to fear from straight men. So, all of us.
Look, I know not all men are horrible and it’s testament to my character I can still say that despite 15 years of school alongside Yorkshire’s premier juvenile homophobes. Most straight men are trying to live their lives, go to work, pay bills, fix the Wi-Fi and find someone willing to laugh at their jokes. Most don’t mean others physical harm, but whether you’re gay, bi, trans, nonbinary, a cisgender woman or any combination, your attacker is most likely to be a straight guy. We’re frightened of them and never know if they’ll hurt us until it’s too late. In fact, a straight guy’s attacker is most likely to be another straight man, so we have a problem. An empathy issue? Some kind of residual evolutionary entitlement that stops many men expressing themselves in any way other than extreme paranoia and bullishness?
Many straight men are reluctant to compromise or understand the rest of the world because they’re so comfortable in it. This may come as news to the underdogs who don’t feel privileged, being a straight man doesn’t automatically mean zero problems. So when they see the playing field tilting the tiniest amount away, they might become angry or protective over your domain, perceiving that justice or equality will result in a personal loss to them. This isn’t new – society likes men to think that way. I digress, let’s get back to the man-on-man action.
How will sex with another man help? As an author, I often hear about relatable characters, how to make readers root for them. Perhaps the answer is make the rest of us more relatable to straight men, for our humanity to become more apparent, for men to give some part of themselves to put us on a more equal footing. Like the NHS or a union, their survival depends on collective agreement, on everybody having a stake, rich or poor, an ability to see the greater good. To borrow a reality TV cliché, straying from your comfort zone – and sex with another man may make you very uncomfortable – may leave you more open-minded. Perhaps the intimacy of being with another man might cultivate empathy.
With the exception of women who exclusively have sex with other women, you’ll finally know what the rest of us are going through. You’ll be closer to another man than ever. He’s like you, but not the same. You may not share identical genitalia, but you know a man’s mind, you know the consequences of every move, how it feels to be touched – although levels of intensity and pleasure will vary. As a straight man, you’ll perhaps never have considered the trust needed when sleeping with a guy, the risk we’re taking. There’s an unspoken contract, you’re making yourself vulnerable, every part of the process relies on you looking out for each other.
For this to work, it can’t just be a functional rutting; it should be a sensual, romantic coupling. Jacket off, you accept a drink, sniffing it, in case something’s amiss. You know what men are like, after all. Do you ask about protection or assume? As you kiss, do you force your tongue or wait, then push back? So much to think about. Every touch or thrust is a promise you’ll both make it out alive. Cupping the balls carries the risk of tearing them off. How gentle will he be? How do you tell him to go slow or calm down or rev things up? Will he listen? Have you located the exits in case things get rough – oh, we do that by the way. You feel his fingertips running over your skin; can you hear his thoughts through them? You may stare into the eyes of this man and see the truth of our existence, that labels are useful tools that offer us identity, protection and a sense of pride, but also, in that divine moment, mean nothing. They’re no more important during sex than your passport number would be or your list of GCSE results. Imagine letting it all melt away.
This man, grinding upon or moving under you, who grips you and claws you, your two bodies welded tightly like a coat of paint on a railing, he has the same fears you do, experiences joy as you do – he has people who love him and those who fear him. However you manage to be inside each other, it’s like you have an extra sense that picks up every vulnerability. Of course, as dynamite as many of us are in the sack, an unlucky few may not enjoy it or find heterosexuality too overpowering to let go and take the act of sex for a brief exchange of ideas with mutual benefits. You may not like it or manage to sustain an erection throughout, but stick around, watch his face as he gets there.
You don’t have to do it again; nobody is forcing you. No need to come out or anything. It isn’t “the answer”: gay and bi men have our own problems within our community – racism, misogyny, transphobia, ageism, ableism, I could go on… We really are just like you, I’m afraid. We’re still prone to violence: some studies suggest same-sex relationships are more likely to be violent than heterosexual ones.
I have selfish reasons for championing this cause. No, I’m not volunteering my services: I know it’s a common gay fantasy, but I’ve no interest in deflowering my straight pals. No, I’m keen on the idea that you’ll have one less hold over us. If you’ve taken a length, or slipped another man one, your homophobic jokes will be meaningless. You’ll have done the very thing you pillory us for. A lot of isms and phobias come from fear of the unknown, of relinquishing masculinity and power, of seeing things another way. But we don’t want to eliminate masculinity, it has value. As writer Cheryl Lynn Eaton tweeted recently when talking about what alt-right men might do next, “We are collectively exhausted as a people with the bigots… But we still like stereotypical masculinity when it is carved away from abuse. No-nonsense men who protect the abused and champion fairness.” So maybe once you’ve done it, even if you hated it, you’ll know there’s nothing to fear.
Imagine if it was OK that you did like it, even as a one-off – a society where we could express our sexualities more freely, including you. You might be “mostly straight” on the inside, but if the world was more forgiving, if every man shared that common ground, you could show it on the outside too. Not necessarily subscribing to a “gay lifestyle”– whatever that may be, I’m still wondering – but occasionally delving into that part of your psyche and sexuality. Would LGBTQ people be as scary or puzzling to you? Stigma, fear and suspicion would seem much less powerful once you’d felt the clutch of another man’s fingers around your own warm dick.
I live in hope. Do your part. Take one for the team.
