Odds and ends from 2003
Over the last few weeks I've been thinking about this blog, which started out as just an experiment and has now gained something of a following. I'd like to take it a lot further in 2004, because underneath the wanking fun, Brooklyn Jack represents a certain... worldview that I'm trying to promote. You know, 2003 marked ten years since I'd come out to my family as gay, and over those ten years, I've come to the conclusion that gay ''culture'' leaves a great deal to be desired. I mean, there are times when I look at mainstream gay media and think Geez, no wonder those ''ex-gay'' Christians are so desparate for something better. I'm not saying ALL gay culture is bad; I'm just saying there are a lot of really vile attitudes out there. So I like to think of Brooklyn Jack as a sort of counter-meme -- my attempt to nudge gay culture in a direction more to my liking.
Here's just one example: Functionally, there isn't always a clear difference between a trick and a buddy -- sure, ''buddy'' implies a stable, ongoing casual sex relationship, but in practice it sometimes turns out that a dude who seemed like buddy material online isn't really very compatible with you in terms of sexual style, and it ends up being a one-time thing. One-time, no-strings, just like a ''trick.''
So, not much difference on the practical level between a ''buddy'' and a ''trick,'' sometimes. But there is a vast difference in the terms themselves -- trick is slang taken from the world of prostitution; a trick is someone that you really don't care about, unless you're one of those legendary hookers with a heart of gold. A trick is a transaction.
But buddy -- well, etymologically it may be an imitation of a baby trying to say "brother." Whether that's the origin or not (my dictionary is unclear on this point), buddy has always signified emotional brotherhood -- and while Girl Scout troops have adopted it as a gender-neutral term for swimming and lifesaving exercises, the word has deep associations with male camaraderie.
So, I'd like to suggest to all the gay men reading this that you permanently banish "trick" from your personal vocabulary. Eager to tell a friend about your sizzling encounter with a handsome guitar player during a one-night stopover in Prague? Well, call the guy your ''buddy,'' because ya know, he probably would've become a regular sex bud if you'd been able to stay a little longer in the Czech Republic.
Now, if someone else uses "trick," you don't have to nag 'em; just avoid using it yourself, and thereby set a good example.
But enough of the serious talk; I know that you're here because you're looking for some stimulation to make your penis stiffen in your jeans so that you can once again enjoy the manly ritual of unzipping your fly and slowly eaaaasing that rigid erection out, exposing your masculine pole for all the world to see. So let's see what I've got to stimulate...
Well, I just saw this picture posted by a guy on Clubstroke. You don't have to be into watersports to appreciate how good it must've felt for the dude as the piss flowed through his fully erect cock.
What else? Let me think a bit... oh, here's something to make you hard. On the bus ride home today, I saw a guy who looked kinda familiar -- turned out to be a dude from my high school. We even had some of the same classes. What he didn't know is that I had a huge crush on him back in school -- I was the faggy nerd genius, he was the scary glowering proto-Goth loner. I thought he was really handsome back then, though -- broad shouldered, five o'clock shadow -- my idea of a Real Man. He remained one of the stock characters in my masturbatory fantasies for several years after high school, especially because of a rumor I'd heard (just once, but I grabbed on to the notion) that he was bisexual. I guess in another universe, he and I might've been boyfriends in school.
Anyway, he has a girlfriend now -- I learned during our brief conversation on the bus -- so good luck to him. But damn, that chance encounter churned up some memories of teenage j/o fantasies... the guy who sat in front of me in Algebra 2... Matt was his first name. Broad shoulders that I wanted to caress; big jock grin. Or Eric -- damn, but his chest fueled my fantasies and made my penis throb as I sat there copying down the teacher's notes from the overhead projector.

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