Idle Hands, Errant Loads: The Dirty Gay Sinfulness of Self-Stroking
By Shawn Baker / Thursday, November 10th, 2011
Imagine as a gay man that you had to forever be trapped in your worst phase of emotional development. Frozen in your most naked uncertainty, shame, self-doubt, isolation, and vulnerability. This is your beginning and your terminus. Do not pass go. It doesn’t get better.
Now you know what it’s like to be a hardline Moral Conservative.
This is the zone of arrested sexual maturity that all the Family Researchers, Concerned Mommies, and Don’t-Teach-The-Wittle-White-Kids-Anal NOMers not only are condemned to abide in but choose to abide in. And this is the emotional dungeon they expect us to dwell in.
You see, being a sexual hysteric who has to avert thine eyes from exposed lady parts and men’s high-sitting, provocative hindquarters is a choice. There’s nothing natural about it because it requires so damn much work. Yes, you may be able to have an adult sexual relationship with a man you have a genuine regard for in which you navigate issues like STI prevention and dating exclusivity with a certain adult grace, but sexual moralists instead worry about aping the unions of mythical people who lounged photogenically by waterfalls and talked to the animals. You can enjoy porn in the same manner that a moderate drinker can handle booze, but self-flagellators fancy themselves sexual werewolves who’ll terrorize the countryside if they see anybody jizz onscreen. And yes, you can crank one off by yourself with the knowledge that you’re not hurting anyone, but these latter-day buckle-heads? If even one motile sperm cell doesn’t end up in wifey’s Garden of Eden and fertilize an egg that will become a precious cherub, then they’ve just committed murder.
So really, that curvaceous, hirsute, marble-fleshed hot piece with the cascading stream in the corner of your screen is a flagrant genocidal maniac.
Like Hitler.

“Masturbation can be a form of homosexuality because it is a sexual act that does not involve a woman. If a man were to masturbate while engaged in other forms of sexual intimacy with his wife then he would not be doing so in a homosexual way. However, any man who does so without his wife in the room is bordering on homosexuality activity, particularly if he’s watching himself in a mirror and being turned on by his own male body.”
— Pastor Mark Driscoll
I’ll be frank: lately I’m sick to my dick of all these flamboyant heterosexual morals mongers. It’s absurd to me that they’re so anti-sex ed. when it’s so obvious that they have no clue how the act works. They can’t grasp how women’s menstrual cycles function. Whatever the hell they’re picturing in their heads that goes on between gay men in the hay sure isn’t my scene. Now even crankin’ it is some sort of gateway for the dreaded Gaaaaaaaaay to creep in.
I’ll paraphrase a response I once read from a bodybuilder who took flak in a forum for doing some solo modeling for Colt:
How can it be gay when I was alone?
You’ve probably heard of Pastor Mark Driscoll at some point. He’s the douche-attired preacher who’s responsible for giving Calvinism a pathetic man-child macho make-over, which basically means you get lots of Ultimate Fighting and beer cans crushed against foreheads on top of all the guilt and shame. His church seems to attract a male audience made of guys who cry when they masturbate and feel men aren’t really men unless they’re spearing a mastodon and charring the carcass afterward.
Look at that quote above and ask yourself if that kookery has ever even occurred to you. It really raises far more questions than it answers. Has he never actually done it before? Is he a complete narcissist? Is it all permissible as long as you’re using a visual aid?
I can’t.

The sense I get from this type is that deep down they suspect that everybody is gay, and good, moral people simply use their will power to stay on a hetero crash diet while bad ones gorge themselves on high-calorie dick. A libido is like breathing; it’s not something you should have to constantly work at and obsess over. I’ve never been confused about my orientation, so in many ways I have to marvel at the number of men who are well into adulthood. I guess I must have sort of an alpha gay presence, because I find that young men who are questioning things seem to want to confide in me about it.
I always ask the same question of anyone who’s wondering if they’re gay, with the preface that if they answer honestly with the first thing that pops into their head or equivocate even slightly that both responses are equally revealing:
The last time you masturbated, did you think about a man or a woman?
Still, if you’re like Aaron Eckhart in Your Friends & Neighbors and opine that nobody’s ever gonna be better than yourself, then that’s a whole other bag.
So yes, I have to figure that the majority of men have a lust object in their head other than themselves when they have at in private. Also, sitting in front of a mirror is both somewhat creepy and oddly antiquated given the amount of visual stimulus available. Admittedly, there’s a certain amount of self-reflexivity to the art of jacking off in the digital age. I’ll give on that.
We know there are plenty of men of both persuasions who enjoy filming themselves and sharing. Most men consider it a real show-stopper to spray themselves in the face, and if you pushed them, even straight guys will admit to unconsciously opening their mouths when they do. It all just shouldn’t be this big litmus test for purity or machismo. Years ago I can recall Dennis Miller joking that Lyle Menendez probably had a Hustler centerfold taped to the back of his head whenever his cellmate banged him out — as if that were somehow less gay — and since Driscoll is essentially applying that same prison logic to flying solo, you can guess how well adjusted he must be when he pounds his own pulpit.

Is it gay to be aware of your own erogenous zones? What if you massage your taint or rub your own abs? Does that mean you’ll call out your own name when you finally pop? I can’t say that I’ve ever looked at myself in the mirror mid-stroke and though “Oh yeah baby! I wanna put a hurtin’ on you!,” but you know how slippery that slope that can be.
Even if I play with my nipples it’s not my hand I’m thinking about — the hand just metonymically stands in for Joel McHale’s tits or the Supernatural brothers’ tongues. Yes, that’s very gay, but if you’re picturing the Swedish Bikini Team then you are certifiably straight, regardless of whether or not you might have a girlish thrill to your moans or lick your jizz off your hand.
I realize talking about jacking off is like dancing about architecture, but when dealing with people who are a few hundred years behind the times, you have to speak slowly.
And really enunciate.
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