Hey, sexy fuckers.
I saw online that my friend Bruce LaBruce has just made a new film called Gerontophilia, that he is premiering here in Europe. I saw photos of the guy playing the boy in Bruce’s new film — HOTTT!!! Well, more beautiful than hot, I guess, hehe. Anyhow, the term gerontophilia refers to the sexual preference for the elderly. The word derives from Greek: geron, meaning “old man or woman” and philie, meaning “love.”
The subject intrigued me. At first I thought I couldn’t quite relate to it at present but then it occurred to me that when I was young myself, often I sought out the company of old men in a sexual context. Take the Parisian saunas I used to visit, for example, when I lived in France. I was often in the situation where I would choose an older gentlemen as pleasure giver rather than a young hunk. I don’t think it had anything to do with searching for a “father figure.” I just used to enjoy the sex more. But afterwards I always used to feel a bit guilty, almost as if I was not allowed to or supposed to be allowed (from society’s “normal” viewpoint) my sexual pleasures with the older guys.
So maybe it’s a stage of sexuality we pass through in our development as we find our own sexual identity.
One other thing I remember thinking when I went with the older guys was that they probably were young once too and they probably hadn’t had sex with a young guy for a while, judging by the hunger in their eyes (haha, I was very naive back then). I used to justify it to myself in terms of thinking of it as charity to the elders, although I’m actually sure I got more out of these small encounters than they did, haha.
It was not all happy stuff, though. Sometimes I bit off more than I could handle–like I remember one encounter with an older guy when I allowed myself to be picked up in his car. I had been cruising along the river next to the Citadel Forest and was feeling a bit down and lonely. (I guess I often used sex as an escape route from depression.) This man was eager and I entered into his car. He drove off, saying he wanted to take me to his place to fuck me. I felt something wasn’t quite right, though. I’m usually very good at “feeling” people (one of the perks of being a dancer and spending lots of time in saunas watching people’s body language when they are totally exposed, I guess).
Sure enough, instead of taking the road into centre town, he took the highway, driving fast and furious towards Belgium. I was terrified but didn’t show anything. In a way I was also excited–was this the time I would be kidnapped and sold as a sex slave (something I fantasised about since my early teens, reading all those articles in the news)?
But no, not this time: he took me to another forest that he called a cruising ground, although I didn’t see anyone else. I gave in to his violent advances, as I could read that if I hadn’t played along things would have totally got out of hand.
After he shot his load, the werewolf was gone and replaced with a sweet older man asking me where I wanted to be dropped off. I saw him after that, in a club I was go-go dancing at, but I didn’t say hi.
Anyhow, hope you all had a super week. I’ve been babysitting, which is always fun. And seeing a lot more of my sexy French guy; can’t wait to see more of him, miss him already, hehe.
Have fun and don’t let the bugger bite you.
Hugs,
Anton
