No explanation necessary.
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I usually reserve Gay For… for hetero man-crushes based as much on respect and admiration as the wrong twinges in my groin - but digging out tunes for a party in tribute to Electroclash, the gayest genre of the Naughties, flipped me into all-out bum-lust.
The object of my infections is Fischerspooner, the New York artcore scene’s answer to the Pet Shop Boys; specifically, frontman Casey Spooner, who comes across (you) like Neil Tennant dragged from his dressing up box into a dungeon where the walls drip with semen, blood and engine oil.
As a performance artist cum actor cum honey-tongued singer, Spoony C embodies a modern day Renaissance man, only wrapped up in glitter, drag and drama. Like he told Suicidegirls, “I need it all. I need sensuality, I need intelligence, I need expression, I need physicality.” Well said, Casey - now shut up and lick me.
Vintage Gay For…!
First appeared on Manflet in March 2010.
If I was his girlfriend? Forget about it!
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Although I am gay for the Wild West, and gay for money (that sounds wrong), this post is about Josh Brolin - seen here scorching up the screen on No Country For Old Men. I’m trying not to saddle him with the nickname The New Clint Eastwood, but his IMDB page bangs on the “rugged features and a natural charm” that make him perfect for westerns - and what westerns! With Brolin, Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon and Barry Pepper, True Grit is a Gay For… waiting to happen, which would have John Wayne turning in his grave… to cover his arse. Aaaanyway, Josh Brolin: a Man’s Man-crush.
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You make it look so easy
Pen to paper
Mind on overtime
Like you just need two hours sleep
Two cups of coffee
Thick and black as crude oil
Like all you need to be a poet
Is to reach into the pit
Of your stomach
And spill its bile over the page
Screw up your eyes
Screw your face
And hope that what comes out is more than
Pile of shit
You know that urban myth about the guy who bets his friends he can get a girl to touch his dick on the first date, and wins it by poking said member through the bottom of his popcorn box? Well that guy was Mickey Rourke, in his breakthrough performance as “Boogie” in 1982’s Diner.
What’s so charming about this scene, what makes you fall in love with young Mickey, is not the dicky trick itself - which isn’t big or clever, and more than a bit gross - but the way in which he explains himself to his date: he was just trying to relieve the pressure from the massive hard-on she was giving him. In a way (although he leaves this unsaid), the whole thing’s her fault, and besides, it’s a pretty huge compliment.
With his cheeky grin, Rourke sells this line - and you completely forgive the girl for buying it. Hypnotised by his dirty-dog, come-to-bed eyes, you think you can make out the faintest hint of guyliner. This juxtaposition of masculine and feminine features - the boxer’s nose (before the boxing caved it in), sitting between sky-high cheekbones and above bee-sting lips, all framed with a strong jaw brushed with stubble - meant that women wanted to be with him, and men wanted to be him. And then jack off in front of a mirror.
Time hasn’t been kind to Mickey Rourke, and neither have violent sports, substance abuse or plastic surgery. You have to agree with his character in The Wrestler, that he’s an “old, broken-down piece of meat”, and if you were feeling cruel you’d suggest that the meat he most resembles is bacon - a Francis Bacon. But behind all that bruised flesh hides a heart throb, and one who now sports arms the size of tree trunks. Put a bag over your head, Mickey, and hold me..
Vintage Gay For…!
First appeared on Manflet in September 2009.
Not for any gay reasons. OK, not for many gay reasons. Mostly because the man is a Fucking. Legend.
A C T I V A T E !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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Bonus bad thoughts courtesy of ironwilled
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It feels wrong taking man-crush suggestions from my wife, but I suppose I should be glad she’s supportive of my virtual alternative lifestyle. Top of her worryingly long list of men much sexier and more butch than me is young Marlon Brando. And I have to agree - there’s something about those exotic, ever-so-feminine features framed by that square jaw, set atop that mountain of man, that just buckles my knees. And while I’m down there…
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You want me to put it where?
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