Were we ever to write our memoirs I think we would call them A Little Romance in Sodom. Both at work and at play we are surrounded by an all-you-can-eat buffet of temptation.
We watch our Sweatbox boys in the full (mostly joyous) throws of sexual freedom. It’s not perfect, of course, perfection is such an end-stop it should be avoided for as long as you can. All we have is the journey, best make it as joyous as possible before reaching that one, final, destination.
There are downsides: sexual shame, foolish risks (often cause and effect), jealous spats, addiction (sexual and otherwise), lack of intimacy.
But mostly there is fun. Harmless, life-affirming fun.
Boys will be Boys. And why shouldn’t they be - they’re very good at it!
But this is not an argument for some new, righteous path. We’re tired of righteous paths. And even more tired of self-righteous paths. This is just an argument for another path, no better and no worse, forged by a couple who happen to believe that Pandora looks pretty good with her box open.
You might have noticed that Jason and I like to talk a lot. You might be more surprised to know that we do sometimes listen. We listen to those boys. We hear their stories, their worries, their dreams.
And what they tell us most, these rutting, randy boys, is the thing they desire the most: for their heart to have a home.
Behind every Grindr cock shot is a human being who, more than anything, more than a three-way with DP, wants a lifetime spent on the sofa watching crappy movies with somebody who will love them, care for them and make them laugh.
We’re no threat to marriage. Nothing can threaten marriage. It’s a desire and a need so primeval it predates any religion, any culture, any society. It changes and evolves as well it should. As anything that is about love and life should.
But one thing will never change. We all need somebody.