Karl August

I used to think that I lived in a world that was pretty much black and white. Something was either right or wrong, good or bad, legal or illegal, moral or immoral or, well, you get the idea.

Silly me.

Evidently the laws and ethics under which we human beings operate are actually very flexible.

Take speed limits, for instance.

Theoretically, if I am driving down the highway going 60 miles per hour (which is the speed limit), I should never have anyone on my tail during my entire trip.

So why do half a dozen people not only catch up to me, but pass me?

The question of how this can possibly happen is, of course, rhetorical. They are going over the posted limit, therefore breaking the law.

I don’t have any personal beef with these people and I would much rather they pass, even breaking the speed limit, than riding my tail all the way into town, but I wonder how it is they justify what they are doing. Breaking a law is breaking a law, right?

Some of the folks who think it’s okay to go 70 or 75 mph in a zone marked 60 would probably never dream of, say, shoplifting a jar of peanut butter from the grocery store. But is speeding a less “important” crime than shoplifting?

Biblically, shoplifting is a sin. After all, one of the commandments is ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ In court, however, the penalty for speeding will far outstrip the court costs for shoplifting a jar of peanut butter.

When do people decide which laws are okay to break and which are not? Is it a weighted risk? Is it when they think the law is silly, unjust or simply does not apply to them?

Folks usually associate stealing with lying. Growing up, I was taught that lying was one of the ultimate “sins,” but lying isn’t even a commandment. Oh, sure, there is the thing about bearing false witness against your neighbor, but that only addresses a specific type of lie, not all fibs.

To this day, I am loath to lie, and yet I have been asked to do it by friends, relatives and even employers.

In a specific example, when my aunt asks me if I like the creamed corn she made for dinner, do I tell her the truth, which is that creamed corn makes me want to hurl, or do I smile and say, sweetly, that it was wonderful?

It’s easy if it’s something I don’t care for, like creamed corn. I can simply say that it’s not one of my favorite foods, but what if it’s something I really like, but is improperly prepared? Do I tell the truth and risk hurting her feelings, or do I tell a “white lie” and risk having her make it again for me sometime?

Guys, what do you say to your wife or girlfriend when they ask, “Do these pants make me look fat?”

And what about half-truths? Teenagers seem to be especially experienced with this one. I remember a scene from the movie “Ode to Billy Joe” where a parent asks her daughter, before going to bed, if she read ‘the good book.’

The daughter replied, “Oh, it was a good book.”

The lie was apparent to the parent, of course, and while some fibs are told to keep the teller out of an unpleasant situation, they are also used by marketers for financial gain. For instance, diet pills may work well on one in 50 people, but it’s only those rare examples of it working that you’ll see in the television commercial.

Censorship is, of course, a way to keep the truth from the people, but is there a point where censorship could be justified because it is prudent?

An easy example of censorship in the name of prudence is the criminal cases where law enforcement doesn’t release details of a crime so as not to hinder their investigation. Most folks would be okay with the withholding of the information if helped as a means to a positive outcome.

Being in the newspaper business, it’s in my DNA that censorship should be avoided at all costs, but even I have to admit that a gray area exists where prudence is more important than principal.

But what if the censorship is a government that is intent on deciding what citizens can read, watch or buy? In other countries, this is a very common fact of life.

In the United States there are numerous groups, who probably honestly believe they are doing society a great favor, trying to control not only what their children read, but what your children are allowed to read as well. I am thinking of those parents who think Harry Potter books should be banned in libraries because they glamorize sorcery and banning Huckleberry Finn because of the use of the ‘n’ word.

When I was growing up, the concept of what was right and what was wrong was very easy. Over the course of my adult life, however, I’ve learned things are not always simple. Have I changed? Or has society changed since I learned those lessons?

Last week the Supreme Court began hearing arguments in the case for gay marriage. It may not be decided for several weeks, but there are hopeful indications the justices may rule that barring legally married same-sex couples from receiving federal benefits after the death of their spouses will be ruled unconstitutional.

That may open the gateway to making gay marriage a federal issue, rather than one of the state. It would also remove the ability of conservative states to force their religiously-driven objections to same-sex marriage into a non-issue, which is how it should be.

The role of the justice system is to prevent the “mob rules” mentality from affecting an entire population.

Comparing marriage status with types of milk, Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg said that a gay marriage endorsed by a state, but not recognized by the federal government, creates two types of marriage - “full marriage, and then this sort of skim milk marriage.”

So much for all men are created equal.

While the courts may be still be undecided on the issue, there has been a big shift in society in its attitude toward gays and lesbians, especially when it comes to marketing.

In New York, bus shelters display ads from American Airlines in 2010 that read “Here’s to his and his beach towels” and last month Amazon.com launched a new television commercial featuring a good-looking woman seated on a chaise lounge next to an equally good-looking man. The man complains the glare on his tablet prevents him from reading his beach novel while the woman touts the wonderful features of her Kindle Paperwhite.

He buys one and suggests they celebrate with a drink.

“My husband’s bringing me one right now,” she smiles.

“So’s mine!” He exclaims and the two turn toward their two male companions, who are at the bar ordering drinks.

According to an article from the Associated Press, Mark Elderkin, CEO of the Gay Ad Network, said marketing toward gay people on mainstream television has “passed the tipping point, where there’s more to gain than there is to lose” for the advertisers.

“Things have changed signicantly in terms of risk and reward,” agrees Bob Witeck, who consults with Fortune 100 companies on LGBT marketing.

Indeed, gone are the days when companies are driven into withdrawing advertising geared toward gay men and women in response to the outcry of a bigoted minority. In fact, many have learned from their more closed-minded colleagues that speaking out against LGBT rights is more costly than can be imagined. The buying power of gays and lesbians is estimated at $800 billion a year and when that segment of society is discrimated against, a loud outcry tends to follow and the fallout is financially painful.

After all, a chicken fillet sandwich can be bought anywhere, not just from one chain restaurant.

Even more conservative folks are wondering what the fuss is when it comes to gays and lesbians marrying.

Uber-conservative Bill O’Reilly from FOX News said that while he doesn’t care one way or another with gay marriage, which is legal in New York and New Yorkers seem okay with it, he says the argument for it is certainly in favor of the gays.

“The compelling argument is on the side of homosexuals,” O’Reilly said. “That is where the compelling argument is. We’re Americans, we just want to be treated like everybody else. That’s a compelling argument, and to deny that you’ve got to have a very strong argument on the other side. And the other side hasn’t been able to do anything but thump the Bible.”

Shepard Smith, also a Fox News conservative, said last summer that Republicans were on the wrong side of history in regard to gay marriage and that businesses that decried gay rights were “intolerant.”

While attitudes of the public, mainstream advertising and even a few well-admired conservatives may not be enough to sway the opinion of our government, perhaps the justice system, in June, will do the right thing.

Equality for everyone is idea that is long overdue.

I just returned home from a vacation to San Francisco, which I think of as 1) the gay capitol of the world; 2) the food capitol of the world and 3) the Asian capitol of the world.

Well, maybe it’s not the Asian capitol of the world. I am sure there are actually more Asians in Asia, but there were plenty of good-looking Asian men in S.F.

My libido was in overdrive last week and it seemed as if every Asian man I saw was beautiful. Nobody has ever accused me of being a rice queen, but the thought has crossed my mind from time to time.

We all have our likes. Am I more turned on by Asians?

A friend of mine likes to date “daddy” types; another friend goes the opposite direction and only dates guys that are in the age range of 18-23, although he is nearly 50. Dates are so rare for me, I am not usually particular, as long as it’s with someone who is reasonably personable and can carry on a conversation.

It’s a rarer commodity than one might imagine.

My attraction to Asians isn’t completely sexual. My interest extends into their culture, food and worldly sensibilities.

I had a Japanese boyfriend once upon a time. He introduced me to many facets of Japanese culture that I never knew existed and my attraction to him transcended the physical. Even now, more than a decade after we parted ways, Whenever I go into a Japanese market, I am reminded of how much I know and recognize because he took the time to teach me.

Urban Dictionary says a Rice Queen is:

A homosexual male of non-Asian descent who is predominantly attracted to Asian males. Contrary to derisive stereotype, rice queens may fall within a wide age range, as may the objects of their physical and romantic attraction. The professed rice queen does not necessarily project a racist ideal of the submissive Asian onto his desired partner, though cases of this kind of projection do exist. Moreover, relationships between rice queens and potato queens in which the Asian partner enacts the sexual bottom role are not inevitably plagued by an unequal or exploitative power dynamic. Nor does rice queen status necessarily signal an Orientalist fetish; in many cases, the rice queen will simply tend to be attracted to certain physical features genetically common among males of Asian descent.

It’s a definition that doesn’t seem to fit me, so maybe I am not a true Rice Queen. I don’t want to dominate my partner, but be equal. I want to nurture, yet also be the student. I want to give love and accept love in return.

But if being a Rice Queen means that I appreciate the beauty of smooth skin, black hair, deep brown eyes and the other stereotypes often associated with Asian males of all ages, then I happily accept.

In the fifth grade I was Greg’s “second” best friend. Sometime over the summer between our fifth and sixth grades, Greg didn’t officially announce I was his best friend, but he stopped hanging around Joel so much.

One day he said, casually, that Joel gave a blowjob to a kid on the coast.

Contrary to the wisdom I now have, I was a dumb kid. I had no idea what a blowjob was.

“You take another guy’s cock in your mouth and he pees in it. Then, you blow it back in.” He looked at me expectantly.

“Wow. Salty,” Was all I could manage.

Greg seemed to accept this as a valid answer to his statement and, reflecting on it later, I was glad he hadn’t brought up the question, “How do you know piss tastes salty?”

When we returned to school in the fall, Joel was in a different class than we were, but when I saw him at recess, he avoided eye contact with Greg and I and I never quite looked at him in the same light, again.

I had no idea if he was gay, or even if I was gay, but the fact that he liked to give blow jobs didn’t seem so awful to me.

Of course, I never told Greg that. 

When we started school in the fall of our seventh grade, Greg spent less time with me and eventually he found a new best friend. 

Once again, I was number two.

Growing up as a gay teen in a small town where, seemingly, no other gays existed, and before there was an Internet, I found the underwear section of department store catalogues to be my sole sexual outlet.

After my mom had looked at the mail order catalogues and moved on to other tasks, I would sneak the slick magazines into my room, stashing them away to be recalled later as fuel for teenage masturbatory fantasies.

In the 1970s, the models of men’s underwear were airbrushed so there was no hint of genitalia, other than a slight slight bulge, just enough to let shoppers know the model wasn’t a eunich, but there was never anything so bold as to suggest the bulge was actually a penis.

Forget about ever hoping for a VPL —Visible Penis Line— where a cockhead can be discerned through the taut fabric.

These in-the-flesh Ken dolls quickly became boring as my sexuality developed and I started experimenting with the real thing and the underwear section of these catalogues were quickly forgotten.

Department store catalogues are extinct now, but there are still a few specialty shops out there that produce photographic images of models donning their wares.

The other day I received a catalogue specializing in men’s underwear and other gear. I leafed through it, seeing what kind of eye candy might be on display between the slick pages.

Imagine my surprise when I discovered that photographers have caught on that sex really does sell merchandise and these days not only is the penis not airbrushed out of the picture, it has been made front and center, literally, in these catalogues.

I’m not talking about a penis line here and there—these models are baring it all. With the exception of a little sheer fabric drapped over their packages, these men are naked and shoppers can now plainly see not only the size of the model’s cock, but the slight ridge of the circumcision scar on his shaft!

If the presence of a soft cock isn’t enough to keep your eyes on the page, the descriptions of some of the briefs and trunks remove any doubt that sex is what is being sold.

Wording like “maximizer,” “shape enhancer,” “man zone” are all used to bring the focus of attention on the penis and if subtly doesn’t catch all of the readers, there is the large font stating “Minimum Coverage, Maximum Bulge.”

Other gear in the back of the catalogue includes cock rings, both leather and silicone, although the warning “don’t wear for more than 30 minutes,” is displayed.

Although it sounds like I am disapproving of these new catalogues, I actually am not. In fact, I am envious.

I have done enough sexual experimentation in my life that I am pleased that something as mundane as a catalogue can still get me morning wood hard.

I can only imagine what today’s young gay men think of these new underwear catalogues. Or have they already seen it all on the Internet?

Any one of these four guys would make a fine protagonist in a story. Put two of them together, and the plot would really start to simmer.

Sparkle and Glitter

When I was 13 or 14, I had a paper route and after school each day I would walk the dozen blocks from my home to the drop off point for the papers and wait. Sometimes they were there immediately, sometimes we waited for what seemed like hours, but in truth may have only been about 20 minutes.

The papers were dropped off alongside a furniture store that had long since gone out of business. Also in the area was a gas station, a convenience that had also closed shop, a bar and a second-hand store.

The second-hand store wasn’t like the Goodwill stores of today. It was a mon and pop operation. The building was a two-story affrair; dark, musty and full of old things. Not antiques, per se, but items that had been cast aside in favor of more modern versions. Think 8-track and cassette tapes in a MP3 world.

The shop was owned by an older couple. Him, I don’t remember too clearly. Robust, bald and not vry friendly. His wife usually attended the shop. She was a shorter version of her husband, also balding.

The Ring

One day I found a ring in the shop. It wasn’t a wedding band, or a class ring, but a huge brassy looking thing with a big, fake ruby stuck in the center of a large, round face. The round face snapped open to reveal a secret compartment.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t a secret compartment. It was most likely a container for medicine. It was about the size to hold two aspirin. Remember-this was back in the days before liqui-gels.

It was also, obviously, a woman’s ring. Oh, but how I wanted it. It had a secret compartment and that was what I was focused on.

I went into the shop each day, asking the curator to bring out the ring from the glass case where it was nestled among the souvenir spoons and rusty harmonicas.

I would hold the ring, snap open the container, imagine what I could hide inside the secret compartment and then I would consider the price. It was $4, which is not a lot unless you’re a 13-year-old kid with a paper route. That was like two days worth of pay.

The Coach

Like any kid, I looked to my teachers for advice.

I asked my P.E. teacher for advice on whether I should buy the ring, telling him about the secret compartment, but leaving out the bit about it being a woman’s ring.

He got a look on his face like a dog might get when someone moves his food dish. Confused, I thought, but would later learn “this has nothing to do with exercise, muscles or being a male.”

To his credit, he vaguely said something about weighing cost versus enjoyment, emphasizing cost.

I, of course, focused on enjoyment, which I tend to do even to this day. For instance, I gladly pay $4 for an iced latte because I enjoy the little caffeine rush.

Later, when I showed my teacher the ring, he got the concerned look again, but I didn’t care. I had a ring with a secret compartment.

Present Day

Unlike many gay men, I’m not particularly attracted to sparkly or glittery assessories, secret compartment or otherwise. In fact, I don’t wear any jewelry at all.

My heart does skip a beat when I see something shiny, though. Usually the shine has to be associated with new electronics, like the iPad mini, an eReader or even a Kitchen-Aid blender.

I do recall the ring fondly, though, and I suppose if I were 13 all over again, I would still buy the garish thing.

When you’re 13, it’s all about the secret compartment and what world might lie within.

Concluding the lyrics from ABBAcadabra.

I Am The Seeker
(Benny Andersson / Björn Ulvaeus / Don Black / Mike Batt)

If I had to make a list
of all the pretty girls I’ve kissed
That list wouldn’t have one name.
My face is not the kind of face
anyone would like to face
If I were them I’d feel the same

It is no secret information, I’m no work of art
I’ll never be a Fairbanks or a Gable
I shy away from conversation but I have a heart
I’d give it to you, if only you knew
Til then I’ll search in the dark

Refrain:
I am the seeker, the dreamer, the believer, I know I’ll find you one day
I’m walking through a forest and it seems without an end
As though I’m losing my way.
I am the seeker, the dreamer, the believer, there’s only one thing I know
I’ve come too far to give up now to go back to the start
For you must be out their waiting I can feel it in my heart
I am the dreamer, the believer, but where are you

If only I could change my looks
Like the beast in story books
Somebody might come my way.
I wish I had a wishing well
To wish someone would cast a spell
Maybe they will one day.

And then my flashing eyes would twinkle and my smile would shine
In a while I’d have style and charisma
I wouldn’t have a single wrinkle I’d be so divine
My search would be through, I know I’d find you
In just a matter of time.

[Refrain]

Continuing with the lyrics from ABBAcadabra

When dreamers close their eyes
(Benny Andersson / Björn Ulvaeus / Don Black / Mike Batt)

Magic carpets in the sky
Pirate ships go sailing by
Distant world where stallions ride on clouds
Drifting though a land of dreams
Oh how warm and safe it seems
Flying dragons from the sea
Not too close to you or me
In this place that’s full of magic things
No one cries
It all comes true when dreamers close their eyes

Waterfalls and circus clowns
Kings and Queens and golden crowns
Mountains made of cream and chocolate cake
Handsome heroes bold and brave
Search for princesses to save
Clouded hearts and summer skies
Hum with birds and and butterflies
In this place that’s full of magic things
No one cries
It all comes true when dreamers close their eyes

No one cries
It all comes true when dreamers close their eyes

Continuing with the lyrics from ABBAcadabra

Time
(Benny Andersson, Björn Ulvæus, Don Black, Mike Batt)

Time, time
The peaceful waters shine underneath the winter’s moon
Time, time
Village bells will always chime as the piper plays the tune
Wheels are turning seasons come and go
Like the morning light
Fires are burning soon our world will know
All the love we feel tonight

Time, time
Finally we find as the evening sun descends
Time, time
The future’s yours and mine nothing ever really ends
All the love songs since the world for man
Time will never take away
Though it’s so long since the world began
We grow strong from day to day

Refrain:
Let the world change
Let it change in time
As the years go on
But the mountains
That we choose to climb
Will be standing when we’re gone

[instrumental break]

[Repeat verse 1]

[Refrain]

Time, time
The future’s yours and mine
Nothing ever really ends