Over the weekend I managed to explode two gay urban myths; Gay Urban Myth #1: Ugly men make better shags; Gay Urban Myth #2: Large bloke=large poke.

On Saturday night I met James. My immediate impression of James was that of a really big lumbering guy with a deep voice, clumsy manner and the appearance of operating at slow speed. He was no stunner by any means and looked like he dressed himself with large, clumsy hands; his clothes were too baggy in some places and too tight in others; his face also looked as if it wasn’t on quite right. As I spent more time with him I did discover he has an annoying habit of laughing dumbly and puzzlingly during serious moments of conversation, but he did have a sweetness, a sincerity and almost child-like innocence; to use a cliché, he was a gentle giant, and you couldn’t imagine him being mean to anybody, and in a room full of bitchiness, it was terribly endearing. Plus he made me laugh, got me drunk and reminded me of those two urban myths, that large ugly guys are likely to have large cocks and be good in bed, because they have to be. After a few too many glasses of wine my Pinot Grigio-goggles must have appeared in front of my eyes and he was looking like a better proposition. If those two myths really were true my hole was about to go from “.” to “0″, an arse-stretching marathon of a bum-pounding fuck-fest. And if not, I could always mark it down as charity work.

So I went back with Lumber-James, who, being clumsy enough when sober, had some trouble getting out of the taxi and making it through his front door; but, hey, there would be no room for clumsiness when I had him horizontal, or so I thought. It continued to go badly as he knocked my drink off the coffee table and over my trousers, and then elbowed me in the head during a fumble on the sofa. Next stop: his bedroom, where he had some difficulty getting my trousers off, so I intervened and then also helped him free himself when he got caught up in his own t-shirt. On discovering that I could put a strike through Gay Urban Myth #2, I thought that at least this guy would be getting ‘A’ for effort.

After we both collapsed on the bed, Lumber-James stubbornly rolled onto his back, cock in the air and with his huge hands, tried to push my head towards it. This wasn’t how it was meant to go; I wanted this guy to forcefully, but skilfully dominate me; take me up in his big arms and plunder my resources; I mean, I could have been giving head to a sexy guy. I ducked from under his hands and started to kiss him again, while attempting to roll him on top of me; managing only to get him on his side, and his kissing was just as clumsy as all his other movements. The second myth was being extinguished and my cock was going soft; it wasn’t going to happen, and he seemed to be losing movement anyway. I brought a halt to the action; he made me a cup of tea (well, half a cup by the time he got it too me) and we chatted. Turns out he makes a bit of cash on the side by selling copies of porn DVDs, so, after a taxi ride home, I spent the rest of the night having a very horny time thanks to some very well-endowed guys who had no trouble putting in the required effort. I think in future, for as long as I can manage it, I will try and go home with the cute ones; they may still be crap in bed, but at least you have something nice to look at in the morning.