Allan Rae

 Welcome to my online portfolio, home to selections of original writing, links to published work, photography, art, and the occasional editorial or research update. To contact me, feel free to send me an email from the contact page.

Welcome to my online portfolio, home to what I feel constitutes my best literary nonfiction, poetry, flash fiction, & photography, with links to my published work, as well as the occasional editorial or research update.

Things We Want To Say But Never Do

The Basics

48, 5'10, 170–180 lbs, athletic, with a level of fitness in direct proportion to the veracity of laps logged in the pool. Goatee or trim beard, the later the current incarnation, short buzzed brownish, blondish hair, blue eyes. Completely easy to spot, the one out of the other 3000 or so guys with the same, not so unique look. Way more J Crew plaid and khaki than Body Body half shirts.

If you have an eyebrow raised with interest, read on. Though if you are stuck on facial hair as reminding you of your dad (your real dad, not a gay construct), sorry, not the best match. Since that identity, taken on by me and having anything to do with sex, does an exacting job of making me incapable of anything! Not your daddy. But, if you want to be daddy?

Only half kidding.

Oh, by the way, please don’t expect me to offer stats on how big my cock is. The narrative of this profile is importance based, not penis based. Because really, the idea of my penis having to be pre measured for you, is more than slightly offensive. Let’s put it this way. If you are a size queen, no doubt I could hold your attention for more than a few minutes, however, no thanks, my experience has been you are usually greedy.


WOOF, GRR! Oink, Oink. Rinse, repeat. So much for the gay = creative stereotype.

And yes, I realize it is a compliment. Yes, I am always gracious when it is offered. Yes, I have myself utilized the term on more than one occasion. But so has my dog. And she is a dog, in no way is she a bear, or any other member of the current cast of the animal farm. Am I the only one that finds this slightly weird?


Out of current available choices in the gay animal farm option pool, I have had “cub” more often than not used by others to describe me. Personally, I prefer the radical new concept of my first name. Perhaps one of the reasons ”opinionated asshole” has been said to my friends once or twice in an attempt to describe me. In my estimation, so much more appropriate than cub. So, if all you expect from the answer is “bear, cub, otter, wolf, beaver, hedgehog, gazelle with a glandular problem etc.”. Guys, chill … it’s a concept, not a lived reality.


Once again the answer to that question, beyond guys who don’t have to say “like” and “dude” in the same sentence (I’m guessing I’m not alone on that one), is dependent on who is doing the asking. Since I really can’t think of many times I would offer a default, “I like to be fucked til I’m hamburger meat by anyone who offers, anywhere, anytime”.

But, not dodging the question, what do I get into? Well, presuming a comfort level that is very high, most everything you can suggest has some potential. However, when I tell you my limits are:

  • lack of consent for anybody involved
  • my dog or anyone else’s pet having anything to do with sex
  • the following is not a small one, anything with me being less than the you, because it’s an ego stroke for your fractured sense of self esteem to dominate and humiliate a guy.

Now, I view this as me offering you the respect of telling you what my limits are. And that is not because I want you to push them. They have been set for many years, and I, for the moment, don’t feel the need to move them. You may view that concept as self limiting. That’s fine, many do. You may even be correct, and I’ll gladly discuss the paradigms of my inability to submit to all manner of twisted fun. But, understand, they are still my limits. And if your belief translates into an attempt to push said limits, you will think twice the next time. Or, more specifically, you may be using a lot of ice for your very blue genital area that I promise will connect with my knee, or anything else nearby that interrupts your attempt. If you are larger than me, I’m not worried, as often you will fall faster; human nature in its most confounding form.


Looking at the individuals I know, and those who are closer to me than a passing bar nod, with little exception, even if we have not detailed it in every way, they more than likely have an awareness of the off center things that I like to experience sexually. Some of them even have personal experience with that. Great.

Why then, do we need to categorize and sub-categorize every singular element of sexual diversity to an exacting detail? Not trying to be harsh, but Pig, Slut, Raunchy, Twisted, Nasty, Edge, Holewhore…whatever, let’s stop the identity parade. If you are a pig in the bedroom, I would be willing to bet those you sleep with know it, and more than likely are too.

I’m not being a prude, far from it. Just getting sick of my sexual tastes being marketed into Disney characters. We have an entire animal farm developing based on the proclivities of gay men. I don’t believe that every new thing one enjoys needs a barnyard incarnation to help one enjoy it. That just allows some annoying party boy to call himself a pig, because if he is not spun on meth, eating the inside of his cheek, he can’t lick ass, because “it ‘s gross”. I’m not a label fan, but I don’t think I would call that a pig. Just a boy with a few oral, anal crossover issues.

Let’s face it, we are not reinventing the wheel here. We have one organ, two orifices, and a rather limited number of body fluids, even if we use them all. Everything that will be done, has been done. Variations on a theme. Lets just realize we like men, be proud of that, reflect it in the way we have sex by being assertive and confident, strong enough to say what we want and how we want it. Leave the detailed paradigms of sexual construction and role invention to the ones who are not fucking anyone.


Let me be clear before I begin. I am referring to mind alternating substances. Drugs. Whatever your deal is, that’s fine. But again, enter the concept of limits. If you are shooting heroin in my bathroom behind my back, yes, that is an issue. If you want to smoke up, okay, but open a window, or better yet, go outside. If you’re doing coke, understand the dog is weird enough on her own, please do not give her any. And if you are prone to being the paranoid type, not around me please. Good karma generation on my own, has on occasion been a monumental task. I do not require your assistance in doing stupid things, as my own history with stupid is quite stellar. I am hoping you sense my vibe here.

This is an important one: If you are in the mood to play the polite host or hookup buddy, cool, because chivalry is never dead. Having said that, if you offer me some of your “exotic candy”, nine times out of ten I will thank you for the generous offer, and decline politely, and I will mean it. And that level of politeness will measurably decrease if you feel the need to keep asking.

If however, you are referring to crystal meth, then another level of clarity is required. Be aware, I have been there. More than a few times. Notice I did not say “once”. Nor did I say “ten”, or “ten thousand”. I said “more than a few”. Define as you must.

But let’s see if we can agree on some basic starting points.

Sure, it can be hot.
Sure, sex can be wild, nasty, fucked up (in a good way) and last all night long and then some.

But…and it’s a big but, here’s the thing. Somehow the concept of moderation by many who frequently and enthusiastically indulge, is absent, or does not exist concurrently. Call me a kill joy, but at 48, I really don’t need the freak show brigade and it’s morose band of malcontents making a weekly march through my living room on their twisted parade to sketchville.

Call me crazy.

So for me, the rather exhaustive side effect with all this is that after you assure me, intensely and often, that you are in control; you blink, you twitch, your eyelids vibrate, and you spew forth guttural sounds not dissimilar to Satan. All the while while carrying on completely clear conversations with yourself.

Apologies if that raises a flag or two.

The bottom line? if your experience of “party and play” consists of dusting the apartment at three am, followed by taking an impromptu (and uninvited) tour of my drawers, desk, computer and fridge, all the while yanking on your cock that will not be remotely alive for the rest of the day, slow down sunshine! This is way too Julianne Moore and Wondergirl doing lines on the bed in “Boogie Nights”.

To be crystal clear, if moderation is not your deal, then neither am I.


Consider the relative order of gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning, as well as my all time favorite, men who have sex with men and don’t self identify as gay. In my mother’s day, they called that “married”.

So, after consideration, is the relative order of the identity parade remotely important to you?

It is? Really? Okay then. But, if I can, let me suggest getting your head out of your ass, and realizing it is 2014, and the existence outside SF, Toronto, LA or any other major city is a profoundly different one for most gay North Americans, and being thirty four years into a battle that has taken your friends and mine, and unfortunately is not going away any time soon, is enough reason to say who gives a fuck to name order in identity parades! Redirect the fucking energy.


Step out of your padded comfort zone enlightened one.


About obtaining power and domination over someone else, and I don’t mean role play or BDSM, but by treating them like shit so your perceived butch factor enhances; if it is about social status and bagging the next ass to get you a party invite; if it involves severely discordant power dynamics, or animals, or some weird variety of pay back to a third party not involved in your drama.

For any of these reasons, let me be clear:

Fuck Off, Asshole.


We will definitely get along.


Well, I think you have missed the boat Skippy. You will be hard pressed to find a more tolerant and progressive person, however the concept sadly lacking here is an ounce of regard for someone else in any sense. “Judgmental, good or bad?” is not the current theme.


Who is devoid of any functioning ability beyond self absorption, is more comfortable for you then being seen with Stan the flamboyant queen who is funny and kind; if that doesn’t for a moment make you question your priorities and motivation:

Try the deep end occasionally.


Yes! I get it. I appreciate it. In certain contexts, I can, and have, utilized the concept. But I have also worn the uniform….at work! For over ten years. Can you begin to see the lack of sexual appeal?

And since we’re on the subject, if you are in the bathhouse when I am wearing the paramedic uniform, and I come in to deal with the alphabet soup drug cocktail overdose with his face in his own vomit, please, don’t make a huge point that attempts to tell everyone that “a sister” is in the house. We are gay men, uniform or not, we all know when we see a friend of Dorothy. However, if you would like to help, then please keep the providers of tomorrow’s gossip back, and let me save a life.


Yes, you heard me. She gave us the concept of less is more. You know, the reason your mother got dressed up, put the pearls on, then took the broach off. Less is more. Woefully underrated these days in so many more ways than fashion. It’s the elusive reason some North American women get oh so tense around somewhat horsy French women with good bags and better shoes. Less is more. You know, the “look” of the outfit vs. “every piece and all the sale items as well please.” Less is more.


Please realize that masculinity has many domains, butch. Not every waking hour do they need to manifest on the patio of your local leather bar.


Well, books and literature are staples of an intelligent mans world view, which they also inform, and in my book that is very masculine, as an element of independent, critical thought is required.


Masculinity. The gay issue de jour.

I’ll tell you one thing masculinity is not. It’s not showcasing yours at the derision of another. It’s not putting down those that remind you of you in the sixth grade. And no, I’m not talking about the self deprecating queen. That breed, out of necessity is tougher than most. The guy who more than likely knows that you put him down, but never confronts you, he’s the one I mean. You know, the way the other guys did and you couldn’t do anything but look at the ground. If that example is awkward for you, realize the reason for that, take it as an opportunity to be a real man, and go with it.

Because, maybe one thing that masculinity can be, is the ability to publicly admonish activity that dehumanizes another man. I mean, call it out! Yeah, sure it’s awkward, but is that not the point of admonishing in a public way? “Think twice the next time, as the first time really sucked!”

Let’s face it, as gay men we come in all shapes, sizes, and deportment. Butch, femme and everything that rests somewhere in the middle. And you know what? I like my team, and if that includes a big old nelly queen, I will shut you down in the blink of a fucking eye if you make a joke of his manner. It’s easy to show your weakness, and not normally something I will need to point out again. I’ll leave it to you to pick the masculine in that example.


If you allow the possibility that being gay, and everything positive as well as negative that has been for you, offers you potential to know and engage empathy on a personal level and not just play the bitter blame game while you wallow in victim hood, that, my friend, is empowerment defined.

So, if more than a few of these work for you

Total Euro trash eighties * pop eighties * goth eighties (a pattern developing here) * dogs * David Sedaris * cringe worthy cheesy musicals * British accents * friendly, welcoming gay bars * contradictions * strong women * plaid button down * someone who says they are sorry and means it * flowers in a natural state * The Baja Coast * nuance * a paradox * someone who can’t dance and doesn’t care * bodies of water * pretentious alternative cinema with exhaustive silences and painful close ups * Armistead Maupin * Ralph Lauren * Tracy Ulman * fashion commentators who make absolutely no fucking sense * people watching * women who wear long skirts and boots * real, genuine friends who have seen your warts and love you anyway * random acts of kindness * visionary concepts * a cheesy tearjerker movie * being invested in something * irony * unrestrained laughter * satire * passion * the moments that take your breath away

You’ve got yourself a date!

Southern Ambition And A Pomeranian Meltdown

Conversations With My Dog: the ear situation