Tag: LGBTQ

Why Do We Need Films Festivals? 我们为什么需要电影节?

When Stanley Kwan came out to his mother at the end of Yang±Yin (1998), he framed it in the context of his own teenage desire for cross-dressing actress Yam Kim-Fai. LGBTQ people have found themselves in big screen queer heroes for over a hundred years, but so too has the cis straight world. Kwan’s brilliant documentary traces a century of Chinese cinema, and finds queer characters and desire in every corner of every decade. “It’s normal,” responds Kwan’s mother. She knows lesbian, gay, bi and trans and queer people. She’s been watching them her whole life on the big screen.

In our inaugural year, ShanghaiPRIDE Film Festival is themed around ‘Queer Family.’ Bring your mom. You will find films on marriage and adoption, on parents and teachers, on queer community. Stories
of acceptance into institutions, and of reinterpretations of old traditions. You will also find our short film competitors, exciting new voices who we strive to support. Chinese Queer Cinema has long been underground, but thrives on the support of a family. To our family, at ShanghaiPRIDE, across China and internationally, we are thankful.

There is no shared experience like sitting in the dark room of a cinema. ‘Dark rooms’ hold a very specific meaning in queer male circles. Watching in the darkness, those who gather are not merely an audience,but performers. They reach out and touch, feeling and sharing every fibre of their experience. A cinema should be no different. Touch hearts, share minds. A film festival demands engagement, collaboration and intimacy. This is a festival for our community, for all mothers and queer children. For our queer family.

By Matthew Baren & Alvin Li (Festival Coordinators)

当关锦鹏在《男生女相》(1998)一片的最后向母亲出柜时,他将其构建在了其母年少时对反串演员任剑辉的崇拜的背景之下。一百多年来,LGBTQ人群在大荧幕中找到了他们的酷儿英雄,但异性恋的世界也未尝不是同样。关锦鹏精彩的纪录片回溯了一个世纪的中国电影,并在每个年代的每个角落都找到了酷儿角色与欲望的影子。“这是完全正常的。”关锦鹏的妈妈回应道。她了解男女同性恋、双性恋、跨性别者以及酷儿们。她一生都在大荧幕上看着他们。

尚属首届的上海骄傲电影节今年以“ 酷儿家庭”为主题中心。不妨带上母亲前来参与,你会找到有关婚姻与收养、有关父母与老师、有关酷儿群体的各种电影;你会听到关于个人被群体所接受,关于旧俗新解的故事;你还会结识我们短片竞赛的参赛电影人们–我们全力支持着的令人激动的业界新声。中国的酷儿影线长期处于地下状态,但又在一个大家庭的支持下壮大着。我们对上海骄傲节、乃至全国全世界的这个大家庭,怀有感恩。

没有任何一种体验能与坐在一个影院的暗室里相比。“暗室”对男性酷儿圈子有着一个极为特别的含义。在黑暗中观看着、集结着的不仅仅是观众,更是表演者。他们伸出手去触碰,感受着并分享着他们的每一丝体验。影院亦无差别:触碰心灵,分享思想。一场电影节需要参与度、合作度、以及亲密度。这次电影节,便是给我们这个群体,给所有的母亲和酷儿孩子们,给我们整个酷儿大家庭的节日。

马修·拜伦 & 李佳桓 (电影节策划人)

*For ShanghaiPRIDE’s full list of events, please visit www.shpride.com.

Image courtesy of CINEMQ
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June 13, 2015
ShanghaiPRIDE 2015 promotes LGBTQ movement through its inaugural Film Festival

This weekend, ShanghaiPRIDE will present their inaugural ShanghaiPRIDE Film Festival to celebrate the 7th year of its event. While supporting cultural events has always been the trademark of ShanghaiPRIDE, this year’s festival will be the first full-fledged film festival for ShanghaiPRIDE. According to Matthew Baren, the festival coordinator of ShanghaiPRIDE, film is significant to the LGBTQ movement globally, and Chinese queer film makers has often been the leaders in advancing equality and visibility. This belief pushes ShanghaiPRIDE to become part of this growing force.

The inaugural festival includes a features program themed around the idea of “Queer Family”. Films in this category explore how LGBTQ people reinterpret the traditional idea of family, find love, raise children and form community through the process. The festival also includes a short films’ program that raises the profile of Chinese queer experience. They hope to help assist Chinese queer experience through cinema and raise the visibility of emerging Chinese filmmakers.

Among all the featured films, a documentary called “Lesbians Marry Gay Men” that talks about contract marriages for lesbians in northern China is highlighted by the organizers. The director adopts an honest and humorous way to showcase a hidden but fairly common lifestyle among Chinese queer women in rural areas. Women receive lots of representation at this year’s film festival, but the festival maintains its versatility by showcasing stories of all ages, background, genders and sexualities across the Chinese world. Additionally, there are films from Europe, Pacific Islands, and North America that will be showcased throughout the festival.

As a fully volunteer-based event, it has not been an easy path for staff of ShanghaiPRIDE to organize this year’s events. However, the domestic and international joint efforts from different NGOs and filmmakers have helped to fulfill this year’s ShanghaiPRIDE. They have been hosting a monthly queer cinematic event called CINEMQ since January 2015. It helps the team to secure a sizable local and international fan base. As the first queer cinematic event in Shanghai, the staff expresses optimism about the upcoming film festival.

“There isn’t really anything like this in Shanghai at the moment, and people seem to want it,” said Matthew Baren.

Aside from film screening, the film festival also offers workshops, talks, Q&A sessions and parties for participants. Those who are interested can start downloading a full digital program from www.shpride.com/film and on social media starting June 7. This year’s keynote talk “Queer Cinema and China” invites several key figures to offer their insights into the queer film scene, the culture, the market, debates about the past and future, and advice for aspiring and emerging filmmakers.

With the slogan championing “Love Is Our Future,” ShanghaiPRIDE hopes to convey the idea that love means many things, and they hope to strengthen the idea through the film festival.

*For the full list of ShanghaiPRIDE event, please visit www.shpride.com.

Image courtesy of ShanghaiPRIDE
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June 10, 2015
Why Gay Men Retire to Palm Springs

I recently vacationed in Palm Springs with my husband, who was curious about the resort community. I had vacationed there several decades ago, enjoying the time spent with other gay men. What I most remembered was the exhausting, hot, humid weather of August, during the monsoon season, and the heat from sexual escapades with other gay men. Typically the weather is hot and dry, and so it was on our recent vacation. I have known many gay men, from San Francisco especially, who have retired to Palm Springs, and I wanted to know what attracted them to spend their time there. One definite attribute is the weather. A nearly year round climate of hot, dry days and comfortable, warm nights is to be expected; a big draw for anyone who enjoys a more stable weather pattern.

In talking to the men who reside there, I found them more laid back and relaxed than in the big cities. The men who retire there adapt easily to the heat, finding the dry, hot days and warm nights a better choice than hot, humid summers and cool, wet winters. When my husband and I were there the temperatures were in the eighties. The locals found it almost too cool in the mornings, where as we enjoyed the relief from the heat. They like the quiet atmosphere, and the lack of sirens and noise from construction and traffic. The affordability and the cost of living, like housing, is another plus. They also enjoy the ease of traffic and less congestion, unlike in overpopulated cities.

The off-season in Palm Springs begins in May and lasts through October, the hottest months of the year. In November the snowbirds arrive; retired folks who run to milder climates from places like Canada. Many annual vacation events take place in Palm Springs, like spring break when college kids from all over the world throw wild parties and have little inhibition. There is also the White Party, an annual event catering to the LGBTQ community, so named because party-goers are encouraged to dress in all white. On these occasions some locals either hibernate or leave town to vacation or return to visit friends in the cities they left behind. The Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival also brings tourists to Palm Springs. The downtown area is an array of upscale restaurants and shops. The trendy and friendly gay bars have modest prices and are laid back during the day. We were not there during a weekend to experience the nighttime crowd, but I am sure, much like Streetbar, they were packed with revelers. All of these attractions are within walking distance while in the midst of downtown. We saw regulars at Starbucks getting their morning coffee, and then again in the bars when we went in the afternoon. Uptown has a shopping district full of designer studios and boutiques. The town also has a plethora of golf courses, if the men are inclined.

There are plenty of swimming pools for getting a year round tan or just to cooling off, and Indian casinos offer gambling for those who are inclined. For those gay men who have fatter wallets, they can rub elbows with movie stars and the jet set by buying prime real estate in the area. The houses, for the most part, are single story compounds with hedges and rock or concrete retaining walls surrounding the property for privacy. Now what gay man wouldn’t be attracted to the glamorous lifestyles of people from the stage, film, music, and television, who have had houses here since Hollywood’s hay day? For those interested in the arts there is a museum, and a performing arts center is under construction. The surrounding desert is mostly inhabitable, so fishing, waterskiing, and swimming in a lake or river are not available. Residents say Palm Springs is a ghost town on weekdays during the prime season but swells to a crowded, gay mecca on weekends, bringing in men who travel for weekend getaways to lounge by the pool and enjoy the busy nightlife for cruising and partying.

I asked a friend why they retired to Palm Springs but then left after only a few years. He and his longtime partner thoroughly enjoyed vacations there, even buying a house in Palm Desert. They lived there for several years but found they were bored and limited in the activities they enjoyed. They liked entertaining, but it was too long of a drive for their guests, at least ten miles, who lived in Palm Springs. Most of their socializing revolved around cocktails, which rather excluded them since they are light social drinkers. They did not golf, and the summer heat found them staying inside, dealing with the sting of high electric bills from the constant use of air conditioning. It was also difficult to find affordable medical care, which as a retiree is most important. They found cultural stimulus lacking too. After deciding they needed more, they sold their house, bought a condo in Long Beach, a city they thoroughly enjoyed, with a comparable sized, per capita, gay community, and more of the amenities they needed from an urban culture.

It appears Palm Springs would be a nice place to retire for older gay men who are looking for predictable weather and would be content with what is offered. I readily enjoy the four seasons and love rain we have in our region. I also like a diverse community to interact with. I tolerate the congestion and rapid pace of the urban lifestyle. But when I need to escape, I visit places like Palm Springs to relax and enjoy the slower pace of life there. I can see, however, why gay men who live in the Northeast, the South, and the Midwest enjoy their retirement in Palm Springs.

Image courtesy of Shutterstock
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June 8, 2015
It’s Not You, It’s The Other Straight People: Heteronormativity, Allyship, and Trauma

A lot of people don’t understand why microaggressions wear marginalised folks down a lot. Many people also don’t understand why sometimes, queer personal politics mean that queer folks are constantly wary of allies and others who proclaim that they’re not oppressing you but supporting you instead. (Read: my personal politics are aligned along this vein too.) An incident that just happened to me illustrates the above two points exactly, so I hope people read this.

A while back, my three friends and I faced a dilemma about our bi-weekly movie night. Should we watch Pan’s Labyrinth, or The Way He Looks instead?

The only distinction we made between the two movies was this: the latter, The Way He Looks, was a gay film, and the former — Pan’s Labyrinth — was not. Of my three friends, one is gay (friend 3) and two are straight (friends 1 and 2). I consider myself queer on the twin axes of gender and orientation, and hence I strongly supported Friend 3’s request for The Way He Looks — Friend 3 rarely has movies he wants to watch, and I was heartily tired of seeing straight romances on-screen anyway.

Somehow, someone said: “We can watch Beauty and the Beast after watching The Way He Looks to recover.”

Usually, I’m privileged enough to forget that I’m in the company of straight friends because my (lack of a) sexuality/sexual orientation is a non-issue, and so is my (queer) romantic orientation. But sometimes, things like this crop up, and the usual plain sailing makes microaggressions, when they occur, all the more painful.

Friend 3: “Recover? You need to recover?”

Me: “They need to recover from seeing a relationship that doesn’t closely mirror their own desires on-screen, despite seeing relationships that match what they want everywhere and on-screen all the time.”

Friend 2: “Not recover. Recover was the wrong word.”

Me: “Really? Oh, maybe recalibrate then. You need to recalibrate your minds away from the gayness.”

Friend 1: “No… It’s just a gay movie, with a homosexual relationship…”

Me: “Gay. It’s a gay relationship. And why are you so uncomfortable with the idea of seeing a gay relationship on-screen when everyone expects those of us who aren’t straight to be ok with watching straight romance in a movie?”

Friend 2: “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to end with all of us not talking to each other.”

Me: “I’m just winding up Friend 1 and being mean, don’t worry.”

Friend 2: “But you’re being mean to me too…”

Me: “Ok! It’s the OTHER straight people, not you two! Other people!”

I didn’t think much of our conversation at the time, but it’s startling upon introspection, because it perfectly illustrates heteronormativity, allyship, and the concept of queer trauma.

~

(1) Heteronormativity

Heteronormativity is when a heterosexual relationship is deemed to be the norm — aka, when everyone is assumed to be straight, and everything around you (media, advertisements, products…) is catered for the straight masses — aka, status quo.

Heteronormativity leads to the assumption that because straight relationships are the (constructed!) “norm”, everyone should be alright with them. This relegates non-het relationships to the fringe, resulting in things like straight friends (Friends 1 and 2) never considering the possibility that Friend 3 and I could even be, maybe, just a tiny little bit uncomfortable with straight romances and sex scenes on-screen because it’s not an accurate representation of who we are and it’s compounded by how we’re constantly bombarded by these representations with which we have no recognition in real life and on-screen.

We either never see people like us, or see people like us portrayed negatively or the flat-out villain. And when you sideline our identities and the kinds of relationships we have and deem them “non-mainstream”, what are you telling us? That we’re unworthy of the same screen time or of seeing ourselves reflected back at us because of something pretty intrinsic within us? Thanks, heteronormativity. Thanks very much.

(2) Allyship

I’m referring mainly to the last two sentences in this conversation here:

“You’re being mean to me too…” and my reassuring reply “It’s other straight people.”

It is not about you. It is not about your feelings. Not when your feelings are the ones considered all the time. Not when you get to see people with similar feelings around you and reflected in art all the time.

Heteronormativity is something straight people benefit from because they have straight privilege, and my friends didn’t understand it. For them, their understanding of gayness starts and stops at their friends liking people of the same gender rather than a different (binary) gender. I’m not being mean to you when I’m telling you about what your privilege does for you. Being mean would be telling you that you’re scum because you’re privileged.

Why do I have to constantly reassure straight people (not just these two friends, either) that the kinds of behaviour and thought I dislike belong to OTHER straight people, and that I don’t include them when I say ” straight people, ugh”? They know their own personal politics best, and if they’re decent, they should be sufficiently secure in their own decency and not require the marginalised folks around them to hold their hands and tell them they’re wonderful human beings every single time privilege comes up.

If you consider yourself to be an ally, stop asking us to prop you up with kind words whenever you do something good. Or when you do something wrong, apologize and move on. You should be using your privilege to prop us up instead.

(3) Trauma

I really, really detest the notion that watching a queer relationship on-screen is traumatic for straight people. Unless, of course, they have a huge epiphany about how seeing straight romances literally every-fucking-where is incredibly traumatic for queer folks and shut up about it forever after that.

But straight people always have to have the last say (see: heteronomativity).

If you’re privileged enough to have your relationships reflected around you everywhere, viewing one piece of art that bucks the trend isn’t traumatic. This queer trauma belongs to us.

I’m getting a little tired of repeating this, but sometimes straight people just don’t get it. Why is it important that we have accurate, fair representation for queer people on-screen? Because sometimes media (like songs, movies, TV shows etc) are the only ways in which queerness is accessible for some queer people. It’s important for queer people (especially those just coming into their nascent queer identities) to know that they’re not a singular oddity in their area — there are other people, in other places, who feel similarly and have similar experiences. When you don’t show queer people on-screen, we’re erased.We’re invisible. We don’t exist, and it’s because the people with the money don’t think people like us are worthy of screen time.

And if you show queer people on-screen and you fall back on the time-honoured tropes of the “slutty bisexual” or the “HIV-positive gay man” or the “man-hating butch lesbian” or the “transgender sex worker”… If I had to count on fingers and toes the number of times that I’ve seen an L/G/B/T character being the punch line of a joke (thankfully, not the literal PUNCH line), I could round up all the people I know to borrow their digits and I still wouldn’t have enough. Do you have no creativity or decency at all, or are you just hell-bent on telling folks that being cishet is the only way to go? That’s incredibly detrimental, especially for closeted young queer youth who don’t have many sources of information. I remember thinking that I would be expected to grow up and fall in love with a man and turn feminine, because the storylines of TV dramas I watched as a child that featured tomboys or women who weren’t stereotypically feminine had them all follow the same trajectory. I was expected to grow up and fall in love with a man and be feminine — but what TV told me was that it was the only way. I had to figure out on my own that discarding this narrative was a viable path to take, too. (That took a long time and a lot more introspection, but that’s not the point of what I’m saying now.)

~

There is very real trauma caused by erasure. There is very real trauma caused by misrepresentation. There is very real trauma caused by the unintended incidents where people reinforce that we’re not the norm. And this trauma? It’s caused by heteronormativity. It’s caused by people misunderstanding allyship and perpetuating microaggressions instead of actual allyship. And this trauma is queer — it belongs to queer people and is actively done to queer folks, so please leave your privileged selves out of it and be glad you don’t know what the fuck we’re talking about.

For the original article please see https://medium.com/@in__flux/it-s-not-you-it-s-the-other-straight-people-heteronormativity-allyship-and-trauma-ef60de58d394

Image courtesy of Shutterstock
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June 5, 2015
Tis the season to feel proud

So its late Spring and throughout many countries in the world Gay (LGB&T) Pride season starts. I still remember my first Pride in 1992. I was 23 and I had just come out a few months earlier. I had made some gay friends and they took me to London Pride. Where I lived and grew up in a small town, there were no Gay role models at that time, there was no internet, no apps etc so as far as I knew I was the only gay in the village. It was the early 1990s and LGB&T people were only beginning to be accepted in society, although there was still a lot of homophobia around, and here in the UK, the age of consent for gay men was 21.

Now I recall my excitement and amazement at just how many LGB&T people there were, just how many handsome gorgeous men were GAY! My heart burst open with excitement of all the opportunities for sex, romance, love and pleasure that were now possible for me (I was moving to London later that year to study) Anyway, only two things really marred that day, the homophobia from the Police on the march, their aggressive stance and body language and how amazing that just a few years later the Gay Police Association would lead the Pride March. The other was the homophobia we encountered when we got off at Brixton Tube to go to the event in Park. The street was lined with people who spat and called us Batty men. The event in the park was amazing and was mostly hosted by LGB&T popstars and activists and it was FREE! None of these boybands and popstars charging £50,000 to perform.

Straight people often ask, why Gay Pride? Why do we need to do this? Well remember that there are still many LGB&T people coming out, coming out in small towns and villages where they feel like the only gay person in the village. Some still experience discrimination and prejudice and are rejected by their families for doing so and society still has stereotypical images and perceptions of who LGB&T people are. In many ways, Gay Pride challenges that and for the newbies it’s a powerful reminder that they are not alone, that they have a whole new family of LGB&T brothers and sisters out there, with so many choices and support if they need it.

We also need to remember that in far too many countries, our LGB&T brothers and sisters face persecution, death, imprisonment and don’t have Pride marches to go on. They don’t have the luxury of marching down the street with rainbow flags and crowds of people waving them on and celebrating with them.

So this Pride season march is for them, March for the ones who are just coming out. For the ones in the closet and afraid to come out. March to acknowledge how far we have come and how much work we have to do to help free our LGB&T brothers and sisters around the world who live under homophobic and transphobic laws, tyranny and persecution.

Have a happy proud pride season.

Feature image courtesy of Shutterstock
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June 1, 2015
The Oldest Profession

Something a little different this time if you are a regular to my column. If you are new – welcome! Whatever the case dear reader, want to know how I got started in ‘The Business’? Then read on. All will be revealed (and you might want to grab yourself a cuppa…).

The Oldest Profession
A True Story

I wander alone and untamed by my life’s experiences. Blindly stumbling into no-man’s land as my blood-red XR3i convertible chaotically cavorts through the dimly lit suburban streets.

It’s midnight and I’m on my way to my ‘other job’ – the host with the most in a brothel situated in the unlikeliest of villages in sleepy Cheshire, not too far from home but far enough to enable me to keep this a secret. I also work as an escort for an agency, that’s all in addition to my day job as an underpaid skivvy, or care worker if you prefer. I am also a nurse part time for the Health Authority and still earn only just enough to make my rent and put fuel in my car. So when this guy who runs the brothel called me on my work mobile to ask if I’d be interested in doing ‘massage’ for him I jumped straight in. That was several weeks ago and I am beginning to settle in now. It is a world away from the mundane occupations of nursing and care work and although my senses ring out with alarming and increasing regularity: “NO!” I choose to ignore the cry of reason as I hurtle towards my new-found family and let’s face it, right or wrong; I am behind the wheel of a fabulous car.

My new family consists of the best of society’s rejects. There’s Jason the ‘adult baby,’ Jonty the chef, Ben the other “boy” or host, like myself, Derek the milkman who doesn’t actually work at the brothel but he lingered so long once after delivering the milk that he kinda moved in. Oh yes and every brothel wouldn’t be complete without the ‘Madame’ who in this case is an older man called Roy. Roy is a dark and mysterious character with a certain charm to complement his sleazy undertones. He is bald with a long pointy face, crooked teeth and a crackly chest-voice which is mainly a result of too many Marlboro Lights.

The brothel is poignantly placed between a delightful village church and the local funeral home. Discretely nestled in the middle, the building is an old converted coach house with cobbled driveway, whitewashed walls and a stable door leading into the kitchen. It is charming.

As my mean machine pulls into the bumpy driveway my body thrills with excitement. I am distracted from the sickness in my stomach by this longing in my groin. It makes me feel alive.

“Oh hi Matt” welcomes Roy as the door to my exclusive new life opens and beckons me inward.

“Or should we say: C-H-R-I-S-T-I-A-A-A-N!” Jason Teases as I walk into the kitchen in a vibrant bubble of nervous energy. ‘Christian’ is my alter-ego, we never use our real names in this business, it helps to keep a professional distance, or at least that’s the left-brain justification anyway. Pretending to be someone else makes us feel like we are stars performing for the adoring crowd – it’s a rush like no other. So I begin preparations for the rush of this evening as it’s a very special night. Tonight Roy is launching a social club at ‘The Cottage’. Punters pay just a fiver to get in and they have free food, wine, music and use of the play room. That’s where guys ‘play’ but it depends very much on your definition. The play room is fully equipped with a sex sling, massage table, latex gloves, whips, chains, cock rings and every size and shape of dildo you could ever imagine. Oh yes and of course there is 24/7 porn played on the TV which is suitably situated facing the table so the punter, sorry I mean client, has a good view when he’s on top of whichever boy he has chosen. The room smells of sex; a musty, pungent mould that cleverly works its way into my psyche, filling me with desire as it thrusts me sharply forward into this other world. The rush of adrenalin helps me to dance more effortlessly within the walls of this darker side to my nature.

I can be anyone I want to be – not everyone can say they have a true alter-ego, a whole other person living within them and living a completely different life. I can.

We are all still gathered in the kitchen as the clients haven’t arrived yet. There’s me, Roy, Jonty, Jason, Ben and a couple of regulars, Daniel and Karl, who always arrive early to try and avoid paying. They make out they are friends instead of clients and it pisses the boys off because Roy never seems to notice. Not that I’m getting paid tonight as it’s my first night in this role so I’m on trial. I have done massages for Roy before, he pays me ten pounds per punter and he pockets thirty five for himself. He says he will give me more when I’m more established. I must do my best because I need the money. I get just enough from the care work, nursing and escorting but I still need more to live on.

I love standing in the kitchen chatting. Jonty always has something on the go in the oven and the room is filled with the smell of security housed within the aroma of roast beef, potatoes or hot pot that gently rises from the range. As I stand here, with the glass of Merlot Roy gave me, talking to the guys surrounding me, I am comforted by the flutter in my abdomen and the tingling round my head and face: “This is how it’s supposed to be” I think to myself as I look on at my family – all guys together laughing and talking shit but knowing deep down that we are all meant to be here in this moment. Troubled souls who collide into this temporary fantasy, trying to get by the best we can.

“Shall we go through to the dining room boys?” Announces Roy as the timer on the oven pings the arrival of tonight’s feast.

We all top up our glasses and make our way to the small but perfectly formed dining room at the end of the hallway, to the right of the kitchen. As I sit at the table, adorned with shiny silver cutlery and beautiful candelabra as the centrepiece, I chuckle inside as I think where we would be if we’d turned left out of the kitchen – that’s the playroom, which leads onto the dungeon, bunkroom and dark room. If only people outside knew what goes on here. The place was raided once by the police but that’s another story.
As we all settle down in our designated seats – Roy at the end, Jonty at the other and the ‘boys’ placed on display around the table so all guests have equal access, the door bell rings and Jason rushes to answer it.

WOW! My heart leaps and genitals stir as in walks ‘the army guy’ Conner. He’s straight, apparently, but he makes a bee-line for me and plonks himself very close, so his thigh is touching mine. I calmly and politely say:

“Hi mate. Welcome to the Cottage”. My mouth dries, lips chap, heartbeat thickens and fastens and I desperately want to lean over and kiss him. I refrain.
As the evening progresses more clients turn up throughout the meal and are welcomed enthusiastically by Roy and insincerely by me as all I am now interested in is Conner. I dream about him asking me on a date, taking me on holiday and holding me in his big strong arms. I am suddenly aware of Roy’s unhealthy stare into my guilt. He’s spotted I am showing more attention to one guest and that is against the rules.

“Why don’t you take Damien into the play room Christian?” Roy bosses me as my hand lowers discretely under the table to stroke Connor’s leg.

“Erm, I haven’t finished my dinner yet.” I shyly say, noticing a familiar rampant thump in my chest. I feel consumed with guilt and fear, as if I’ve done something very wrong but desperately wanting to have some alone time with my new man.
“Anyway” Jason interrupts “Christian is far more interested in a certain army boy!” To my surprise, Conner, who has previously been very quiet until now, turns to me and says:

“So how about it then?” as he knowingly turns to Roy with a nod, as if he realises that as a paying guest he has the final say.

“Ok. Off you go then and suck his cock.” Roy flippantly says as he gives in.
Both Conner and I simultaneously rise from the table, taking our wine glasses with us.
As we both nervously stand outside Conner’s night-blue Ford Focus, occasionally taking a jittery sip from our glasses, Conner again tells me he’s straight and asks if we can sit and “talk” in his car. He didn’t want to go to the play room so I suggested we go for a walk instead and this is as far as we got.

“Okay” I say as he pushes the electric remote to open the doors. I land into the inviting leather bucket seats and wonder what he will say to me. Maybe he will take me for a drive, or gently kiss me or hold my hand. Maybe he will say that he wants to have a relationship with me. My heart is beating so fast now, I can taste his kiss already and the smell of his aftershave is planted deep in the pit of my secure dreams. He is wearing a trendy woolen jumper, grey with ecru stitching, dark grey jeans and I can just make out his leather belt with a huge silver buckle on it. His package is big, bulging and a perfect rounded shape, as I place my hand tentatively on his thigh, I notice his bulge moving. This brings a sense of warmth to my own loin and makes me realise that I must be very special to turn him on like this. He must like me.

“Wanna suck me off?” he says as he unbuttons his Levi’s. I ignore my sadness and sinking feeling in my stomach. I just go down.

“Oh man! Oh fuck!” I fill my emptiness with Conner’s manhood as he groans. He quickly adjusts the driving seat so I have more room to perform my duty. Although I can’t pretend I am not feeling used, I still have this exotic rush shooting from my perineum straight into my lips that are now vibrating around his desperate phallus. It’s like a drug.

“Oh don’t stop! Don’t stop!” He shrieks. God this is just like the movies. I never heard a guy shout so loud before. The girls he’s had must have been shit. I have a great technique you see, it’s kinda a natural gift I have. My ego takes over to remind me how great I am at this and I bring him to a magnificent climax as his hot creamy liquid erupts into me. For a split second I hesitate but then realise that I always swallow.

With the job done, I lean back into my warm seat and he says “Cheers” as he quickly buttons himself up. I hand him my card with my number on and say I’d like to see him again. Note to self… this isn’t a date: stupid! But I really would like to see him again so I figure I’ve got nothing to lose and he definitely had a good time so maybe he will call. I hope so. Conner says he will come back inside in a minute and I kiss his cheek, trying not to notice his flinching and I return to the family in the dining room. I wait alone as they must have all gone to the dungeon or playroom. He doesn’t return.

Fuck it, who gives a shit anyways? I follow the sounds of pissed giggling and innuendo and find my family all in the bunkroom getting it on. Now the bunkroom is a themed room, based on every gay man’s and some straight women’s fantasy – army barracks full of testosterone-fuelled men who haven’t had sex for weeks. It is kitted out with two plasma TV screens showing porn, two huge bunk beds with each level big enough for four people, camouflage netting on the ceiling and the walls have paintings and murals of army boots, semi-naked guys in army gear and the walls are also lined with green metal lockers on two sides. There is a table under the TV screens which is just like a picnic bench that you would find in a park, only it’s painted green to resemble the benches you’d see in a locker room or gym. The lighting is typical of the rest of the cottage – red and green. It adds to the ambience of sleaze, debauchery and public toilet sex. Works quite nicely I think.

As always, Roy is standing charge telling people what to do and who to do it to. By this point everyone is naked, there are a few new faces that weren’t at dinner and Ben is tied face down to the bench. Roy is stood giggling with a pot of chocolate body paint in his hand:

“Eat his ass Christian” Roy orders as he plasters Ben’s buttocks and fifty pence piece with the sweet feast. Not having time to respond, thank fuck, Damien ploughs in and starts to eat the brown substance from Ben’s hole. Not one of the guys has a bona and I wonder just how sexy this scenario is.

“We’ve all got brewer’s droop” Roy excuses as he sees me glancing downward as I mentally and physically scan the group for any sign of arousal. Yeah, Roy’s gatherings are often non-starters, so I’ve heard but I need the money and I need to impress him if he’s to take me on as a full time boy here. Just as I disrobe and throw my clothes down to the cold, green painted concrete floor Bill, the local farmer, walks over to me. He is forty two but looks about thirty with an amazing masculine physique. He has a perfect triangular shape from his shoulders to the waist and right now his cock is not hard but definitely, as a very pretty woman once said “has potential.” He winks at me as he walks by, turning his head to look at me as he passes. I know he wants me to follow him and without hesitation, after all this is what I am here for, I follow him into the bathroom where I lock the door behind me. Well I’ve already broke the rules once tonight so I know Roy’s gonna give it to me tomorrow anyways. We start kissing and I feel a turgid presence pressing into my own manly reminder. I drop to my knees as if on auto pilot and to my pleasure Bill pulls away, gently stroking my face and guides me back to standing. My body is warm and I never felt so much blood rush to my shaft before. I feel whole and strong as we both collapse to the floor of the bathroom, clumsily wedged between the toilet and sink. I am now on top of him gently yet passionately writhing against his tanned torso, my smooth chest tickling and giggling as his soft brown down brushes next to me. Fuelled by lust, loneliness and Merlot I am consumed with the heat of the moment as I find myself sliding deep into him. We do not speak. It just happens. Neither of us mentions the need for wearing a condom. He wants me and I want him – and now we have each other.

We emerge sheepishly from the bathroom after our heated liaison. Neither of us climaxed but it didn’t seem to matter. I want to hold his hand as we walk back into the bunk room but he goes over to join the others, occasionally giving me a cheeky glance. So I remind myself of my role here tonight and Roy must notice my flirtation as he leads me to the bottom bunk of the bunk bed and pushes me down onto the khaki mattress as he climbs on top of me. The other boys join in and we all cavort in a group sex act of plastic proportions. No one is truly aroused and I feel absent in my presence. I have naked bodies all around me; everyone seems to be touching me at the same time. Jason leans over me and whispers that I have a face like a porcelain doll:

“You look so perfect. I’m afraid to touch you in case you break.” He says as I hold him closer and he rests his head upon my chest whilst the others seem to fall silent as they limply stroke each other in drunken lethargy.

“I love you” Jason whispers as he squeezes tighter with his arms around my naked waist, snuggling his face further into my neck. A chasm of sadness opens up as I hold this broken little boy in my arms. I have only known him a short time, the few weeks I’ve been popping into the Cottage to introduce myself and do the occasional massage, but I know so much about him. He was put in a care home at eleven and was forced to have anal sex with the manager and the staff. He said he “loved it” and that he was the “slut of the home” but the cold blood running through my veins tells me that is just his way of coping. His other coping mechanism is embroiled in his life as an adult baby. Adult babies shave all their body hair, wear nappies, soil themselves and play with baby toys and eat rusks. All the usual stuff a baby does, obviously. Some babies will have ‘parents’ to change their nappies and take care of them. Jason has another baby friend he chats too on the internet and they are both looking for parents at the moment. Roy understands Jason and his needs so he is making a cot for him and has already decorated Jason’s room with Noddy wallpaper and mobiles. Jason feels at home here and loves being allowed to finally be himself now he is twenty eight. Me; I want to help him into therapy and ask him more about what exactly being an adult baby does for him. But I don’t do either.

As I lay here, in the dark with men all around me I cannot sleep. Jason is still asleep on my chest and I suddenly have the urge to run. Run anywhere. So despite being several glasses of wine over the limit, I gently slide my now cold moist body from under Jason and get dressed, grabbing whatever clothes are nearest. I let myself out, making sure the door locks from the outside and hesitate for a second or two. I fear that I am locking myself out of my home but still desperately wanting to run away.

I jump into the car and make my way down the by-pass towards the sleepy town that I now live in, remembering that I have work at eight in the morning for the care agency, an old lady I help to get dressed and make breakfast for. Although tired, drunk and cold with fear I am still charged with sex. I want sex and I want it now. I slowly drive down the by-pass and notice a lay-by with just one dim light reluctantly illuminating the darkest corner. I pull in with this thumping need still taking me over and turn off the lights and car engine. My eyes rapidly search into the darkness for signs of life, the glance of a stranger, the look of lust but nothing. I open the car door and swing my legs round as I unbutton my jeans and start to masturbate frantically. I can feel a sweaty, smelly sensation all over. I am blind yet fully alert knowing that if a passing police car saw me I’d be in big trouble but I am beyond caring and so I abuse myself until at last I am relieved of the night’s burden. Post-ejaculation paranoia takes over so I take the back lanes back home to avoid a possible run-in with the police. I stumble into the quant terraced cottage I’m renting and clamber into bed fully clothed, still wearing the ‘Slave’ T-shirt I quickly grabbed on my way out of the brothel.

It hardly seems a minute since my head hit the pillow for a drunken sleep when the alarm bellows in my ear. I stay in bed far longer than I should and am an hour late to get Annie up and ready. I’m not bothered because she lives alone and no-one will know I’ve been late. She’s a dolly mixture short of a quarter anyway. I pull up outside her cute little bungalow in a small village in Cheshire, very close to the medieval town I now live in and look for the key under its usual hiding place under the wheelie bin. It’s not there. I go to the back door which leads into the kitchen and there’s a woman of around forty stood there, staring at me through the window with glaring eyes:

“Yes. Can I help you?” She storms, eyeing me up and down with a cutting distaste.

“I’m the carer, come to get Annie up.” I say wearily through my dry lips and alcohol fumed breath.

“Well you’re late! And I’ve already got her up!” She snaps. She is intently staring at my white grubby T-Shirt with ‘SLAVE’ splattered across the front in big black letters as I try to jolly her up and say the office gave me the wrong time to come, unconvincingly.
I go through into the living room where Annie is nibbling on her toast with marmalade, the room smells of moth balls and piss. Annie is wearing a turquoise dress with horrid pink flowers on.

“Morning Annie!” I force as I make even more excuses for my bedraggled state:

“Ooh what are they like in the office Annie? They told me nine o’clock today and I’ve been on a night shift too.” Well let’s face it I have been on a night shift. She does her usual grunt at me and continues to fill her miserable face with her new servant’s morning offering and I tell her I’ll see her later.

The stern prissy women who I assume is Annie’s daughter continues to look at me as if I’m some alien from planet scum as I briskly walk passed her and swiftly exit back to my gorgeous car.

I’m back home in no time and safely snuggled back into bed. No fucking point doing this crap job anyways, I only get a pound per visit. I’m supposed to go back at lunch time but I don’t wake up till gone four. Whoops.

I stumble down my wobbly stairs in this old dairy house, situated next to the sub post office which is run by Hyacinth and Donald, the nosiest neighbours known to man. The stairs lead straight into the dining room which is so tiny it’s more like a parlour. It is an odd triangular shape with a brick fireplace and real fire grate. When I’ve got enough money for the coal, I like to spend evenings gazing into the flames, toasting bread and lazing on the mud-brown carpet. It is deep pile and very warm but it stinks of cat piss. It’s okay though and I love living in a cottage, I feel dead grown up.

I flick the play messages button on the answering machine as I walk towards the kitchen to make a coffee. There’s a message from the care agency I work for: “Hello Matt it’s Sharon, I’ve just had Annie’s daughter on the phone and I’m afraid she’s made a complaint…” I run to the machine and press delete with an incredible surge of “fuck it” anger. FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT! Trying to ignore this inner sense that I’ve let people down and distracting myself from the reality of neglecting another human being. Abandoning my feelings of guilt, I become arrogant, cocky and aloof. I go to the living room window and peer out through the small-town net curtains at my gleaming pride and joy sat opposite, parked partly on the pavement because the road is so narrow. Yes. She’s still there so everything must be okay. I take one last glance at my safety anchor, my gleaming XR3i Convertible before I ascend the stairs to iron my Nurses’ uniform, powder blue with white epaulettes, ready for the six to ten shift for my other ‘mainstream’ job.
And they say only woman can multi task.

© Matt Chase All Rights Reserved
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May 27, 2015
Mainland China and Homosexuality

Nowadays it is difficult for us not to mention China in any subject as it has a prominent role in the international arena. China’s economics has been dramatically growing, subsequent to the amalgamation into WTO in the early twenty-first century. As China began to have an impact on the world, western ideology and practice has also begun to influence the country. One can see, international organizations are swelling, here and there, in cosmopolitan cities such as Beijing and Shanghai, further propelling China to annex its name in the global community. With the Beijing Olympic, China used the platform to demonstrate the extensive pride of China to the global market. Making an impression to international visitors with several grand architectures such as the bird-nest stadium designed by Ai Weiwei.

For China to achieve its success today, there are many changes it had been going through. The culture and practice of China underwent a considerable adjustment following the downfall of strong socialism by Chairman Mao in 1976 and the policy of “4 Modernizations” by Deng Xiao-ping became effective. Unlike those days during the Cultural Revolution, Chinese people now have more freedom to express themselves; collectivism has made way for individualism. One of many entities to mark greater freedom of the Chinese people is “sexuality”.

During the extreme socialist era, people’s knowledge and understanding of sexuality by and large leaned towards heterosexuality, that is, intimate relationship between man and woman. Hence, the government attempted to criminalize homosexuality. Suiming (2005:120) wrote about this period saying, “Both [Mao Zedong and Chiang Kai Shek] considered it [homosexuality] as a sort of bad cultural baggage which should be jettisoned as soon as possible, handling offenders prison sentences or long stretches at reforming hard labor.” However, the alleviation of the said patriarchal custom and law came into scrutiny in the wake of Deng Xiaoping in power. Sodomy was abolished as illegal in 1997.

Chinese socio-cultural practice seems promising but not ideal. Chinese culture in its present day form is steep in Confucianism. The notion of sex as of yet emphasizes on married couples and significantly for the purpose of producing heirs. Beyond that sex is undignified. This definition venerates the conceptualization of traditional family. It is to say, parents anticipate their own children to bare off springs to continue the family name, or better known as chuan-zong-jie-dai (传宗接代). Gay people are pressurized under this culture apparently. Being out of the closet is intolerant with the majority of Chinese families. Chinese gay people create an escape with cooperative marriage, so as to appease their parents. The so-called cooperative marriage is where a gay man weds lesbian, merely in the name, or vice versa. Matchmaking websites and partner-finding applications, such as chinagayles.com, has been booming.

As seen, the upsurge of the internet, gay people have more ways to liberate themselves, albeit still under a strong patriarchal culture. They have the opportunity to get to know one another via gay websites and organize community events both in online and offline. Nevertheless, it is not at all a bed of roses. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) is always impeding gay lifestyles, barring homosexuality-related media and its pertinent movement. Surprisingly enough, last year, according to the website “Queercomrade”, the movie Like Love was introduced for the first time to mainland Chinese LGBT-themed movie in mainstream cinema. This is relatively contradicting to what they have done to the LGBT community. This leaves many questions, one of which is whether or not the CCP, which directs the hegemonic culture, remains tolerant to gay culture and people.

This is a succinct information which may lead you all to comprehend the mainland China and its gay culture. I hope to write some more specific case in next issue. Happy reading!!! 🙂

Reference(s):
Suiming, Pan (2005). “homosexuality” Sexuality in China. Nakornpathom: The Rockefeller Foundation.

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May 25, 2015
Advice for fetish models and photographers into bondage

To run a bondage website or any small niche fetish site, it has to be something that you’re just dying to do and that you’d be doing even if there were no money in it. It really is a lot of work and I’m sure there are easier ways to make a living. It’s the kind of thing where a person has to be a little crazy and obsessive to keep doing it, or else after a few years you’ll find that it’s a grind and not much fun anymore and it’ll be time to look for a real job.

I certainly have some days like that where planning the next shoot and editing the next pictures feel like a chore but for the most part it’s great, and it has been extremely satisfying. These have certainly been some of the best years of my life and I just want to keep them going as long as I can. I only wish I’d started ten years earlier.

One other thing to consider is that if you’re running a fetish website as your full-time work there’s always that little question that comes up when you meet someone new, “So what do you do?”

When I was just starting out I gave vague answers about web design but I felt uncomfortable with the question, as I wasn’t sure that my website was really going to be successful or how long I’d be doing it. Now that it’s been online for twelve years I mostly just tell people the truth, that I run an adult or fetish website. Most of the time it’s a non-issue, but I’ve certainly run into people who’ve been uncomfortable or who have told me to my face that they disapprove.

And I’m a pretty sensitive person so even now those responses can sometimes rattle me a little, but it comes with the territory when you’re doing something out of the mainstream. And yes, my family and friends all know about the crossdressing and my website, with varying degrees of acceptance. I just find that keeping it all a secret makes me feel depressed and anxious so I find it’s easier to just be fairly open about it when the subject comes up.

Images courtesy of Sandra Gibson
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May 20, 2015
IDAHOT Day: No One Must Ever Know

“I want to be famous” he tells me. “And with looks and a body like that, my young friend”, I thought, “You could be famous in about two seconds!” What I said, however, was: “Famous for what?” meaning, for singing? for acting? for writing? for what? He answers: “So I can be rich” “But that’s a result,” I tell him; “It’s the result of DOING something or BEING something.” “I’ll get an agent,” he goes on, not answering my question, “and the agent will make me even more famous and richer.” Boringly, I implore him once more: “But you have to have an agent for writing, or for acting, or for SOMETHING. What will you have an agent FOR?” With two enormous, deep, soulful, sparkling dark-brown eyes that a Rudolph Valentino would envy, he just looks at me uncomprehendingly and changes the subject.

Now if this dialogue had taken place in Hollywood, or even New York, it would not have surprised me. In fact, this dialogue took place in a small village in Southwestern France, in French, and the young man, Philippe, speaks rapidly, forcefully, and remarkably unselfconsciously. His voice is husky, “with a sexy, throaty, buzz to it, and his conversation is rapid, sure, and peppered with trendy slang.

I’ve known him for about three years, having perceived him around and about the village. First I noticed him for a regal stance, a ramrod-straight carriage, an angular face with remarkable cheekbones, large, deep eyes, and a dark slender beauty enhanced by a superb, innate sense of movement. Later on I gave rides to him and some of his chums hitch-hiking from the village to one or other of the larger cities and towns nearby. Finally I got to know him better as the close friend of another youth who came from northern France to live in my house during a summer vacation.

The truth is that I lusted after Philippe since first seeing him. He didn’t look or act like any of the other village boys. He was taller, more stylish, outgoing, and talkative. Also very full of himself. Two years ago, a group of us went skinny dipping in the river, and I discovered that he looked even better naked than dressed in the baggy levis, loose t-shirts, and mounds of cheap silver jewelry so much in vogue then. I took photographs at the time, both color and black and white, clothed and unclothed. Never shy, he was more than pleased with the results of his modeling. Our friendship has grown slowly, and there’s a kind of jet lag between us culturally, educationally, socially, emotionally, as well as a considerable age difference. All those differences make our approaches and distances odd and fascinating, for him as well as for me. We’re very different animals.

Since I first met him, he’s been an apprentice to a baker, he’s quit school, he’s been in and out of the army, and twice already he’s been engaged to be married. Subsequent to a knife fight with an Arab buddy in the barracks, during which he was wounded in the knee, he was hospitalized for most of his military service. Endlessly bathed and tenderly tended by a brigade of military nurses in a hospital near Bordeaux who were only too pleased to nurse him back to health from a serious blood infection, he emerged with a slight limp which somehow makes his appearance even sexier. Released from the hospital, he spent his last several months in the military in an office shuffling papers, and his advisors are now requesting that he be awarded a full pension as a wounded war veteran. Philippe just turned twenty.

Having returned to the village four days ago after an absence of almost a year, I was pleased to see Philippe shortly after arriving. 1had gone out for an early jog, partly to fight jet lag; partly because if I don’t do it early in the day, I don’t do it at all, and partly because the morning was slightly misty and cool, a comfortable temperature before the heat of the day makes running a chore. Several kilometers out of town, a truck passed, and I perceived Philippe sitting on the deck, in the rear. He noticed me, as well, and we waved. I figured he’d stop by later in the day, but he didn’t show up until evening, just before dinner. I was very pleased to see him. He gave me a big hug and came into the kitchen where I was in the last stages of preparing a meal for Jeannette and Michel who were getting ready elsewhere in the house. I asked Philippe to join us, but he declined since he’d already dined and said he’d come back later for a coffee. He returned, almost on the dot of ten thirty, and we all sat in the living room while he recounted his life and army adventures during the past year. After an hour or so, Michel went home to sleep, and Jeannette, still suffering from jet lag, retired to her room. Philippe and I were alone for the first time in two years.

May 17, 2015
IDAHOT Day: What is May 17?

May 17th is IDAHOT day, International Day Against Homophobia and Transphobia. So what’s it about, well it was created in 2004 to draw the attention of policymakers, opinion leaders, social movements, the public and the media to the violence and discrimination experienced by LGBTI people internationally.

Some of us are lucky to live in countries where LGB&T people are protected from discrimination in the law some still have almost full equality with marriage equality being the latest to be added to the list of victories for LGB&T people, however this doesn’t mean that we do not experience homophobia, bipohobia and transphobia hate crimes, language or attitudes. It means we have some protection in the law, yet even on social media sites such as facebook, twitter and you tube homophobic language is prolific and often unchallenged by people and often when people face reported it, it hasn’t been dealt with. We hear stories of young people such as Leelah Alcorn who still feel it’s better to take their own lives than be who there are. So we still some way to go to exorcising the demon of homophobia, transphobia and biphobia from society, however we do have rights.

We can do well to remember how hard we fought for these rights and how now we need to turn our focus to countries where LGB&T people are persecuted and face discrimination, even torture, imprisonment and death! Look at ISIS and what’s happening in Syria and Iraq, where suspected gay men have been thrown off buildings and if they survived that stoned to death. Stories in the media of transwoman being murdered in Brazil and Latin America. The list is endless, what do our LGB&T brothers and sisters in these countries need, they need the media attention of the world focused on them, they need politicians and international organisations campaigning on their behalf. They need us to spread the word, to campaign as well write our leaders for them to lobby and advocate for us on their behalf.

This is why IDAHOT day is so important its for us to remember how far we have we come as well as for us to work on supporting our LGB&T brothers and sisters elsewhere have a chance of those rights as well. So donate some money, better still donate your time with a local LGB&T charity to campaign and raise awareness of this issue to our less informed heterosexual families, friends, co workers etc.

Remember we are far stronger together and international pressure will help them and let them know they’re not alone.

Jakeb

For more information please refer to the following links:
http://dayagainsthomophobia.org/what-is-may-17th/
www.twitter.com/authenticgayblg
www.theauthenticgayblog.wordpress.com
www.youtube.com/user/NorthernFella
www.lgbtv.co.uk

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May 17, 2015