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Straight, Gay, or Bi, Neal Boulton's BastardLife.com is the only online sex & relationships magazine for all of us.

Flab Abs

Neal Boulton

In a BastardLife poll of 5,129 men, 27% told us to hold the abs—they preferred guys with flab. 

Jeremy from Dallas said, "Most gay men don't look like the men on the cover of magazines. We're men—we like junk food, watching TV and having a few beers. It's the same for women, few come close to the images on the covers of their magazines either. No, my husband and I aren't bears, or twinks, or chubby chasers. We're not a label; we're men who fell in love with each other and who make love without worrying about age or pounds. Besides, I'm not one for skinny guys—I like holding on to something. I like the heft of a man with some extra meat on him."

"You haven't lived until you've been with a heavy-set man," Thomas of Miami told us. "I never sought out thin guys because that's just what's around here. But I hooked up with a guy with a big perfect cock who was really heavy. I was so horny, I went for it. We sixty-nined and at one point right about the time we were both going to climax he was on top. During my orgasm I just wrapped my arms around him and grabbed and pulled on his extra weight. It was hot just having so much man. I'd do a larger guy any day after that experience."

A small percentage of you said it was six, ok maybe four, abs or you'd walk, but something tells us that there may be something you're missing with that criteria.—N.B.

By Neal Boulton at 6:49PM on May 13, 2014

Misery Loves Company

Neal Boulton
By Neal Boulton at 4:42PM on May 10, 2014

Marriage Counseling

There are times I am convinced my wife no longer finds me attractive. She walks around in her "all business mode," rarely smiling, and even speaking to me in a cold tone. We're in our forties, and yes, both of us have changed a bit since our twenties when we met. I've gained a tiny bit more weight than I want to, and so has she. But it's nothing grossly out of proportion. We both work long hours and have teenage children which means they are a major part of our day and evening. Because of that, sometimes there are weeks where it's hard to find time for sex. Thing is, I don't like "no," I don't like authority, and I don't like generalizations about age, marriage, and sex. So, just when it seems like my marriage has become impotent, I make damn sure to bed my wife with all of the passion of my twenties. The result—always—is her completely restored mood, the smile that returns to her stunning face, and the way she seems way more relaxed as she goes about her stressful day. She's herself again. I say, to hell with therapists—sex is the best marriage counseling any couple can find.

By Neal Boulton at 2:49PM on May 08, 2014

Condoms Killing You?

Neal Boulton

Nothing could violate the rules of political correctness more than being anti-condom like I was. But I had my reasons.

My girlfriends and I have always been bisexual. All of them, and I, had had many other partners of both sexes, always, or at least usually, adhering to the rules of safe sex. I of course assumed that the girl I would start to date around that time would demand I use a condom. We didn't have sex for quite some time into our relationship; we both had been around the block so many times, we wanted to hang out on the corner for awhile instead. 

Sex was inevitable though, and we both knew it, given the instant and intense attraction we shared for each other. And like we had with all of our other partners—we were safe. I was so used to condoms at that point they were second nature. But that didn't make me hate them any less.

Still, I'd never even considered fucking without them. 

In the early 1990s, my friends and I had said goodbye to many who had succumbed to AIDS; one friend who was still alive, was declining fast and my new girlfriend joined me in taking care of him at the hospice. It was a slow ugly death.

My girl and I were getting close to being together for a year. As we neared that milestone, we also neared the milestone of safe sex monogamy. She said yes, and I did too. It was as simple as that: we wouldn't be with anyone else unsafely, and if we were, we had to be honest about it.

I was pleasantly surprised when she asked that we get tested for HIV—because she hated condoms. 

Both of us tested negative. But smartly, she, nor I, tossed out all of our condoms; instead, we waited four more months and got tested again. When we both tested negative again—we hailed the first cab and commenced the most intense intimate relationship I had ever had. We didn't used condoms, which in my case meant I could keep it up. Condoms always made me go sort of soft. Condoms also made it nearly impossible for me to cum. Women loved it because, if could keep it up, I could go for hours without cumming. Fun for them, but after awhile, not for me. But without a condom, not only did it feel transcendent for me, she said it felt death defying for her because the latex in condoms irritated her, made her dry, and also made it hard for her to climax. 

I was well aware of the risk I was taking. Trusting another person to be 100% safe, given we were in our early 20s, was more than a risk, it was Russian roulette. But I went with it—until I got hit by a bullet. She had unprotected sex with someone else. As bisexuals, it was ok to be with someone else, as long as it was discussed in advance—and was safe.

I stupidly forgave her and after awhile we started having safe sex again. I got tested on my own after a few months and was thankfully negative. I didn't bother asking her to get tested because I knew I would never have unsafe sex with her again.  

Problem was, now condoms were killing us because they were a reminder of the event that made us bring them back into the picture. Every time I rolled one on, I was thinking about trust, AIDS, and anger.

Ultimately, I needed to find someone else who was serious about safe, trustworthy—and hot. And after a few sulking months on my own, I met a bisexual girl who was mature enough to established very clear relationship rules with me. The first one was that this would be a safe sex relationship: safe with me and safe with others.

Then the time came when I had to admit it: I hated condoms.

That's when the fun began. She led me through an amazing exploration of all kinds of lubes and types of condoms. She showed me how hot it felt when she put it on for me. She taught me about the new extremely thin condoms—that were hotter for me and her and were so thin that during sex it didn't feel like I had one on. 

After months of stunning sex, I could honestly say that I was cool with condoms. But not for any political or being a responsible partner reasons. For me, the new condoms, my girlfriends excitement about them, plus my trust in her was a game-changer. That, and I could finally go for hours and still have utterly amazing orgasms.—Jake C., New York City

By Neal Boulton at 2:10PM on May 08, 2014

How to Stop Fucking Women

Neal Boulton

It's a lost art: that of picking up a girl and not fucking her. BastardLife reader Dylan T., from New York City explains.

Julia, Stephany, and August were mulling around the bar shortly before last call. I knew none of these woman, but I knew I was taking home at least one of them. Knew, aka, hoped to. 

Like any woman at a bar giving off that I'm available vibe, she probably didn't have great expectations of the sex we'd have. But like me, she too would satisfy that urge that is hard to deny after enough time. For me, unusually, it had been a month since I had sex last.

Being in my early forties, but knowing I looked far younger, I laughed at how obviously the bar's lights were set on 'makeout low,' which seemed a bit high school for me. I also laughed because bar's music was clearly set to that high pitched level that made girls oblivious to their drunkenness until one of their girlfriends was holding back their hair in the girl's bathroom. 

I ignored all of it—I had my eyes on the three girls who kept flirting with me for another drink. I obliged every time, not to get them drunk, but to get me laid. August was my most frequent customer. I kept my eye on the clock, and the evolution of her buzz, which was going in my favor. That's when I just said it, "Come on, let me take you someplace else," while I sort of expression that we could do better than this loud, drunk bar.

Most women would have declined my outreached hand; the odds are always stacked against us, which is why we're thankful for that once a month girl who says, "Ok, yeah, let's leave." But when August also accepted the invitation to my apartment about a block and a half away, I knew the hunt was over.

In the elevator, I lived on the seventh floor, I was still holding her hand—and I pulled her closer so that I could kiss her. Another, "Yes." Given this, I kept on kissing her from the elevator to my hallway where I fumbled with my keys, making us both laugh as we tried to maintain our seven story lip lock. 

Inside my apartment I pushed her up against the wall to kiss her more; she pushed back, kissing me harder. We wasted no time falling into my bed and undressing. 

Ok, freeze the frame here: we're naked, on my bed—you know what's about to happen.

But do you? 

Gentlemen, we spend too much time trying to hook up. In my experience, that is wasted time, because if we follow a few old-school tips, tips that come from a couple of generations past, we could have more of what we want in bed and less time standing around in loud, drunk bars taking home sloppy chicks. The tips below were passed along to me from a guy almost twice my age. I use these tips and as a result I have the same girls(s) who want to see me in five different cities (I travel a lot for work). Each month I hit each of these five cities, and each month I have one or more girls who live there come to my hotel to see me. On average, that's 6 repeat girls a month—girls that like what I do, and how I do it—enough to keep coming around.

Here's what I learned:  

1. Use Your Mouth
Don't stop kissing her passionately. That means before, during, and especially for a good ten minutes after sex.

3. Use Your Hands
Caress (yes caress) her before, during, and after sex. Use the back of your fingers. Caress the curves of her breasts, the curves of her hips, her lips and cheeks and eyebrows, her inner thighs, and around her bellybutton. I'm not saying don't grip her like a man; do that, just make sure you touch her with tenderness, too.

4. Use Your Skills
Go down on her and apply pressure and movement slowly with you tongue, increasing intensity slowly as well. Bring her to orgasm this way, then and only then, begin intercourse.

5. Use Your Cock
During intercourse, focus on what speeds and positions she likes. Pay close attention—if she likes it fast and hard, deliver; if she likes it slow, deliver. I once had a girl who only wanted me to push in deep, then deeper, then as deep in as I could. Then she'd ask me to hold it there, as deep in as I could. She'd ask me to hold it there until she came, which was fast if I did what she wanted. As she was about to finish cumming, I'd pull out and go back in again at my own speed until I'd cum, too. 

6. Use Your Control
Make sure she cums before you do; this kind of sex is about her, not you if you want her to come back for more.

7. Use Her iTunes
But what's the absolutely best way to insure she's a return customer? Do all of the above—to music. Use her iTunes play list, or yours. It's an oldschool trick, but it works—whether it's from a record, an 8-track, a cassette, CD or iTune. Music (that she likes), will transform love making into something far more memorable than just fucking without it?

No matter what I call it: art, skill, or god given talent, there are certain things a woman wants in order for her to return to my bed. The difference between me being a guy or me being a man has been my mastery of those things she wants. As for August, she was amazing, but so was I—each time she and I were together for the months that followed.—N.B.

By Neal Boulton at 3:41PM on May 04, 2014

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