The Spice of Life

by Michael Kirwan — August 17, 2012

Here, I present a random group of men who've drifted into an impromptu cock-appreciation session at the local mall. It doesn't take much for men to turn restrooms (even well-appointed ones) into mini-orgy sites. Just the socially-acceptable occasion to pull your dick out, a modicum of privacy, and, of course, the balls to give your prick a little surprise outing is all that’s necessary. I love this stuff. Guys acknowledging they're following the most basic male instinct to exercise their dicks outside of the conventional boundaries. Guys who know that the only real joy in this life is having their cocks worshiped. I particularly like the fact that these men would probably have no reason to ever socialize with each other, but they are drawn into the Brotherhood of Masculinity courtesy of an eager, young cocksucker who is indeed sampling "The Spice of Life."

The Aside —

I doubt that anyone other than other artists understand the degree of concentration required to pull off a drawing like "The Spice of Life." Five or six brain functions are all put in participatory focus overdrive and those parts of the brain not engaged in the creative process shut down completely.  So, the technical aspect, the conceptual gears, the management issues department (which area to color when, how to effectively collate where each pen needs to be), and a few other mental functions for which I have only inadequate language to describe are put into play.

I spent about 19 hours in this green-tiled corner thinking exclusively about these men. Even after all of these decades of doing this, once the drawing is finished, I'm in a weird state where I don't know anything else. Each and every time, I have to reacquaint myself with whatever "real life" is all about. I have to reformulate my corporeal identity, and I don't have much of a mechanism to ensure that whatever I piece together afterwards is consistent with whatever I understood before I put ink to paper. Thus, I have a fairly tenuous relationship with what passes for reality as I practically have to reinvent my life on a regular basis.

Oh, I'm still ridiculously broke, still an aged homo, still like smoking and drinking... but some other stuff does change. For a long while, I enjoyed bleu cheese and honey on English muffins, but after completing a recent drawing I lost my taste for it altogether. Shit like that. Once, the smell of soap that I'd used for years made me seriously nauseous after a drawing. It keeps things fresh in life, I guess.

Anyway when I was about three-quarters done with "The Spice of Life," it occurred to me that "trans-men" could never relate to this scene. From infancy, every male intrinsically understands that they've got this special thing attached to them that gives them pleasure. Here we've got this delightful forever-companion between our legs who's always up for a little fun. The little friend pees which feels good, and rubbing it against stuffed toys, a mattress, or pressed against a cousin's butt is just a joyful experience. A squeeze, a tug, a pull, a stroking, or a pinch of our excitable tubular cohort can elicit anything from comforting reassurance to ecstatic thrills. When puberty rolls in and we can ejaculate, the fun escalates tenfold.

Men just love playing with their cocks. It's a very primal activity and core to our male identities. Jerking off out of frustration or boredom or desperation or horniness is pretty much a routine experience for every guy on the planet. By the time we've turned twenty, we've masturbated at least a few thousand times, and our appreciation for having the magical appendage that affords us almost unlimited personal joy is an essential part of our manhood.

The characters who've gravitated to the scene in "The Spice of Life" understand that part. They are aware that the sexual charge they get from another person touching and sucking their cocks has absolutely nothing to do with any other part of their lives. The wives, kids, friends, and co-workers on the other side of the mall are absolutely inconsequential for the seven minutes or so they spend with these like-minded men and whoever else may wander in to participate or watch. I suspect scenarios similar to "The Spice of Life" happen thousands of times daily across the globe. These men have a life-long, genuine affection for their dicks and are happy to give the little guys a special treat when a situation like this one mysteriously arises.

"Trans-men" don't have the history of having a cock to constantly play with while growing up (and even if they were furiously pawing their clitori during their entire youth, it's just not the same thing). So, they are missing an essential component of what being a man is all about. They can mimic the behavioral brutality, the buffoonery, and boorishness associated with being male, but without having logged-in extensive time spent masturbating as 99% of men have, they're never really going to attain the organic manhood they lay claim to.

Similarly but not in such an upbeat vein, "trans-women" run into a comparable stumbling block. From a ridiculously early age, young girls are voraciously conditioned by a severely paternalistic society. They are inundated with messages to "be nice," to make themselves attractive to men, to accept a very subtle sense of lowered expectations, and more so to fear being overpowered and physically assaulted. Girls must navigate through a world where they are constant prey. It’s a feeling in everything from wondering whether some guy really cares about them or just bullshitting to score some pussy, to walking alone in a parking lot and being followed by some creepy possible rapist. Girls must constantly calculate every circumstance they encounter to ensure their safety. They see newscasts about three girls who've vanished in their area with a similar hairstyle, and the they reach for the scissors. They hear about the girl who got roofied at the frat house and used as a cum-dump. So at the next party, they spend more time focused on what’s in their drink than having a good time. Traveling alone in a foreign country? Not very likely.

The stress of getting through life as a young woman in this world is a veritable gauntlet of very real danger.  They must be concerned about their reputations, they have to worry about unwanted pregnancies when they become sexual active, they are unyieldingly coerced about their appearance, and the list goes on and on. All of the restrictions on their behavior must be dealt with and negotiated on a daily basis. And if you think times have changed and girls can kick-ass when a man (or men) are intent on using them, just take a look at the number of sexual assaults in the military. These females are trained in hand-to-hand combat but the estimated cases of military sexual predation are unnerving. So for some thirty-five year-old dude who wants to transition into being a woman, he's going into it with a lifetime of male privilege and a lack of female instincts. He never had to worry about being violently raped and murdered for sport the way real women have. He's never had to panic about a late period. He never endured the leering, ogling and groping of complete strangers. He hasn't had the overbearing pressure from family, society, culture and peers to behave like a proper lady or be consigned to the slut dustheap. No, he hasn't endured the actual "girlhood" which is a prerequisite for being a woman.

I'm a philosophical reductionist. I see men as people who live to stick their dicks in stuff for pleasure. Whereas, women are people who give birth to other human beings. So regardless of the altered body-suits, adopted mannerisms, costume changes or demands to be respected, women who haven't had a dick since birth can't be men, and men who haven't had to adjust their daily lives to avoid the threat of being sexually exploited or violated can't be women. Ultimately, "trans-men" are just Elvis impersonators and "trans-women" are drag queens whom no one's paying to watch perform.

I'm very aware that this is an unpopular stance to take. The meme is that fags have to accept everyone's gender peccadilloes so we'll be likewise "accepted." You know what? I don't want anyone to accept me, approve of me, tolerate me, or forgive me my fucking trespasses. They can get the fuck out of my way and leave me alone. I was getting all kinds of dick when I was "straight," married and playing the conventional game. I opted to join the gay revolution because I didn't want to participate in "normal" society any longer. We could finally be honest (until just recently)! I relished the fact that folks who I didn't even know loathed and feared me because I was a full-on, extremely proud, QUEER FAGGOT COCKSUCKER. Joining GayWorld used to be a magnificent way to weed the assholes out of your life for good. Now, we have to put up with asshole "allies."

Anyway, I don't see what waffling gender issues have to do with homosexuality. Lesbians are women who want to fuck around with other women. Fags are men who want to fuck around with other men. I'll be polite and refer to the transitionally-bound by whatever designation they prefer, but I won't believe that they've actually become the "other" sex for the reasons enumerated in this aside. I don't think I draw for these folks. I can't even conceive of what kind of pornography might appeal to them. I can't imagine that "trans-men" want to look at cocks, an organ they'll never fully possess. Maybe portrayals of nubile, blonde virgins being menaced by "men" wielding enlarged clits... who knows? Or that "trans-women" want to look at cocks since they apparently don't care for their own, nor pussies since they don't want to fuck them. Ugh. Maybe I'm just too old for all this stuff. All I know is that these sidebar issues dilute the gay community's message and strength.

Anyway, this is just one of the many trains of thought I entertained for about 20 minutes while drawing "The Spice of Life." I'd like to think that my artwork inspires the viewers to evaluate and assess all manner of different topics suggested by the imagery. But then again, I'm perfectly okay with someone just jerking off (multiple times. Ha!) to the depiction on offer.

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Later, MK