The esteemed writer Edmund White says that, contrary to a wide-spread belief, not all writers are bottoms: “I have a French friend who is a poet and a top and he said he’s very campy, even though he’s a top he says, ‘Well, Darling, I’m the only writer top in the world.’ But he’s one of these guys who has a huge dick, so I don’t think people would let him be a bottom. I used to know a chick-with-a-dick, who told me that even dressing up and everything, she still couldn’t get fucked. She always had to do the fucking, because the minute they saw that huge dick....”
In his book Buddy Babylon, Buddy Cole recalls one of his more memorable brushes with bigness: “There came a knock at the door. There stood a vision covered in sweat and copper dust, holding a bundle of dirty clothes. It was Romeo Gouter, the sexiest boy in the mine. Romeo was actually a man, nineteen years old and considered a bit of a rogue because he ironed his curly hair flat. I thought he was super-fine.
“‘Where’s your maman?’ he asked.
“‘She’s taken everyone to see Madame Levesque’s goiter,’ I answered.
“‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I saw it three days ago. I was the first in
“I was very impressed. Not only gorgeous, but morbid, too.
“‘So are you alone?’ he asked.
“‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I am still authorized to take your laundry.’ I
“‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Here.’
My hand trembled as he handed me his precious garments. It was mid-July and the heat was intense. Sweat glistened on his brow and fell in rivulets into his sexy brown eyes.
“‘Sure is hot, eh?’ he said, the consonants in his speech heavy with straight intent, the vowels dancing with gay possibility. I said nothing. I just stared at his belt buckle, which announced him as a regional curling champion. ‘I forgot one thing. I hope you don’t mind.’ He undid his curling buckle and his pants fell to the floor. Quickly stepping out of them, he casually slid his boxer shorts down to his ankles. His thick, uncut penis swung out. I looked at it. It was like looking right into the sun. ‘Ever seen one that big before?’ he asked.
“Actually I had. Many times. My brothers were all bigger than him, but I already knew a lot about the male ego, so I lied and said I hadn’t. He smiled with pride and scooped the warm boxers up with his foot. He stuck the foot with the underwear hanging off it in my face. It smelled like fresh bread. I reverently took it and placed it gently on the pile on the floor. Then, mustering up all my self-control, I turned to him. ‘It should be ready by tomorrow. I’ll take care of it personally myself. Come by around noon.’
“‘Okay,’ he replied, his voice husky. We just stared at each other. This was as far as I was willing to take it. I had what I wanted. Then he slipped his pants back on, very slowly did his belt up, and went to the door. The window of opportunity had passed. He paused. ‘See you tomorrow.’ I closed the door and watched through the window as he walked down the path to the road. He looked even more beautiful from behind, which was something I didn’t understand then, but would become clearer to me later in life. Then I got his underwear and began to dance....”
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