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1 March 2010, 9:00 am 5 Comments

The Lives of Otters: The Fur Trapper’s Guide to Gay Body Hair Types of North America


This post was submitted by Andrew Fogle

If there’s anything we here at TNG love more than exploring and celebrating the beautifully diverse patchwork of sexuality that makes 21st century gay life so exciting, it is inventing totally arbitrary classificatory schemes and using them to stereotype lots of people. In this spirit I offer today’s post.

Bears, wolves, and dolphins are widely known and just as widely loved. But what about those alternatively follicular fags whose whorls and whiskers are under-appreciated in a culture of overwhelming Mammalmetaphornormativity? Don’t they too deserve cute shorthands to describe their hair patterns, however far outside the mainstream or underwear line they range? For their sake, and for the sake of fellow fur aficionados everywhere, I venture these bold steps.

Happy hunting.

  • The Satyr, like the horny pastoral

    compliments deviantart's dronio http://dronio.deviantart.com

    demigod of Greek mythology that is his namesake, is characterized by a reasonable distribution of body hair across the chest, neck, and torso, and an inhumanly dense pelt around the legs and buttocks. Satyrs enjoyed a brief period of popularity after James Mcavoy played that one weirdly sexy thing in that crazy evangelical fantasy movie, but have since fallen out of favor owing to the fact that topping for one is to risk an especially uncomfortable kind of rugburn.

  • The Mange Man has the unfortunate problem of being endowed with baby-tender skin, magnificent ram-like wool, and everything in between, all on one body. He may be balding, he may be lacking an armpit tuft, he may possess a single sideburn that runs uninterrupted to his testicles – MM’s trademark is that in the buff he looks as if he spent his puberty playing on a slip and slide covered with Nair.

    The Naked Mole Fag is terrible at pillow talk

  • The Naked Mole Fag pushes the boundaries of smoothness far beyond twink and dolphin territory, incurring the justified ire of those of us who aren’t keen on infantilized sex objects. Ranging in age from hormonally-deficient college undergraduates to elderly testicular cancer survivors, some NMF’s even possess a fontanelle, or soft spot, at the top of their browless, lashless, nauseatingly immature, amphibiously hairless heads.  Under no circumstances is this to be considered a serviceable orifice.
  • The Lava Bar Guy , for reasons totally inaccessible to all other hair-types of guys, takes it upon himself to maintain body stubble at precisely the length, density, and rigidity capable of causing massive skin hemorrhaging after as little as a casual embrace.  Friction from his sandpaper torso is the reason why you have all those irregular lesions.  Or so you hope and pray.
  • The Al-Queerda Operative is the kind of

    I don't know what this man would think about coming across his likeness on an American alternagay blog, which is why I don't sign articles with my last name

    guy who always manages to make your heart race when he gets onto a Metro car, either because you’re terrified that whatever is in his gym bag will plaster your smoldering remains to the walls of the Green Line tunnel or because his vaguely menacing, cheekbone-enhancing terrorist beard threatens to  make you plaster smoldering remains all over the inside of your pants.  What AQO looks like under his shirt is of little significance, so long as wires and C4 charges aren’t involved.

  • The Dog is actually just a dog you mistake for a three-way partner in bad lighting. Depending on his or her temperament and your blood alcohol content, you may not realize your mistake until morning, at which time you will sigh and gratefully recall, for something like the third time this month, that few parasites are communicable between human beings and domestic canines.
  • The Otter is, as is well known, and the acme of gay male beauty, wit, and editorial prowess.

The list is of course incomplete, limited as it is by the author’s modest, poorly-lit sexual career and impending deadline. Post your favorite species, along with a brief description and links to tasteful erotic photographs, to the comment box below.


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5 Comments »

  • Andrew D said:

    eloquent finishing line… well said sir. this was funny.

  • Raphael said:

    I love the work from the guys at Studio Dronio! I used one of Jacopo’s drawings for my post on hiking in LA:
    http://thenewgay.net/2010/02/queer-hiking-in-la.html

  • TNG Zack said:

    So, so incredibly fucking funny.

  • Matthew O said:

    You forgot the 1930s Hollywood porno director with the pencil-thin mustache, greased hair neatly parted to one side, an unreasonable amount of hair from his chest pouring out of the slight parting of his loosely-secured bathrobe, and of course, with hands as soft and hairless as a female hand supermodel’s. Like a gay version of Johnny Depp from “Public Enemies.”

    Otherwise, fucking ROFLCOPTER hilarious.

  • Brandon said:

    Well, if nothing else, this post proves the consummate obsession gay males have with body types and sexual liberty, at the cost of meaningful relationships built on *gasp* emotional investment and mutual responsibility.

    Ironic how gay rights advocates like Dan Savage lambaste bullies for tormenting their effeminate male peers, donning buttons on their lapels which read “evolve”, only to turn around and say things like men are basically big, macho walking insemination machines who are supposed to be turned on by sexual images, and who long with childish impulse to copulate with anything that crawls. Ironic, too, for a gay man to say this kind of thing, given that gay men by definition have no desire to spread their seed, as it were, by hosting multiple women as their own private incubators. And then there is the whole preoccupation with sexual partners who basically serve as a fuckable mirror because they look just like you, and you are attracted to yourself. All of this fleshly fixation is the distilled essence of a single, diamond-hard, near-indestrucible nugget of narcissism. But, this isn’t the African savanna 100,000 years ago, and I’m not a biological determinist. Evolve?

    I personally find oiled up men strutting their stuff deshabille to be somewhat vulgar and tacky. I would much rather gaze upon a well-kempt, sophisticated, distingue gentleman in a crisp European suit and a dark, smouldering look of mystery in his eyes than some cocky porn star in nothing but a jockstrap dumping lube all over his waxed chest, a pair of predictably pursed lips the only mark of engagement on his vapid, characterless face. I take much greater delight in poring over the oeuvre of a professional erotic photographer than in steering my tired, dissensitized eyes over yet another glob of overcooked porn goo.

    How would you describe these particular archetypes?

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