Why I Love Men


I love men. It’s a simple thought, really. And as an average looking, thirty something year old teacher with a few extra pounds, a little less hair, and more and more gray hair all the time who is well equipped with a sweet disposition and a fabulous brain, I can somehow manage to keep certain relationships with men intact.

I think about the men I’ve slept with, the men I want to sleep with, and those I simply admire and adore in a platonic context. So many of those men have a certain effect on me. When I see them, hear them, smell them, or just get a text from them, my heart can skip a beat and a smile comes across my face. It’s a weakness that I have for men who are nice to me.

I love the easy going conversation I can have with them. Often it doesn’t matter what the subject is, but that the conversation flows from one topic to the next, until you have no idea how you got on the subject you’re on an hour or so later. Those conversations can be so amazing and create an energy within me that’s overwhelming but calming at the same time.

I love women as well, but not in a hetero-male perspective. I admire their soft curves, physique, and snarky comebacks. I understand the poems written about them and the paintings that burst with gratitude for their existence. Women are necessary, obviously we wouldn’t be here without them, and while they might cause me to smile, they never cause my heart to skip a beat. Women also can’t hold you and comfort you and make you feel safe the same way a man can.

But I love men. I love their arms, their eyes, and their jawlines. I love the hardness of a man (yes, that kind of hardness too), but mostly the hardness of their bodies. The strength that it conveys.

I love when you get that unexpected glimpse of skin as they raise their hands, bend over, or simply when they move a certain way. I love the way a pair of Wrangler jeans hugs a man’s behind perfectly, or they way he looks when he walks in a pair of boots. I love how a nice pair of slacks perfectly hangs over his butt or gently caresses the bulge up front.

I love their calloused hands, broad shoulders, and how innocent and vulnerable they look while they’re sprawled against the sheets. I love to hear them breath as they sleep and the warmth of their body next to mine. I love the feel of their skin when it’s soft and relaxed which is a perfect contrast to their rough hands.

I love their scruff and how they feel against my neck. Sharp needles that soften; rough textures my skin eventually loosens up to. I love they way his lips feel against mine, the velvety texture of his tongue, the kisses and sucking on my body. I love the roughness of a man when he is so turned on he can’t keep his hands off of me, and I love the tenderness when we simply lay in each other’s arms.

I love seeing them cum. Explicit, but it’s true. Heavy breathing, chest rising, and their shaking thighs. Bright eyes and a wet kiss; it’s like watching a beautiful death, la petite mort as the French say. It’s a beautiful moment, that’s made even better if you get to have his hot spent load spray across your body. I love how just before he has an orgasm his manhood engorges and expands, begins to spasm, and his balls are drawn up. It’s a moment of magic that I think only another man can fully appreciate.

They are gross and intoxicating, beautiful and cautious. Just when I think I have them figured out, something changes. A different ending and a perfect lie. He comes back knocking on your door and asks for another kiss. He calls you back. He does not. He can love you enough to hold you from behind and rest his chin on your shoulder. One day he’s there and the next he’s gone. Maybe he comes back, maybe he doesn’t. Something has changed and unless it’s worth working for and keeping, then the moment is over. I keep hoping that I will find the one man for whom the moment is never over.

He will be he one that I never tire of hearing my name on his lips.

This is an adaptation of a Thought Catalog post called “Why I Love Men” by June Tegon. However, I adapted it to suit me personally using some of his writing but adding my own as well.

About Joe

I began my life in the South and for five years lived as a closeted teacher, but am now making a new life for myself as an oral historian in New England. I think my life will work out the way it was always meant to be. That doesn't mean there won't be ups and downs; that's all part of life. It means I just have to be patient. I feel like October 7, 2015 is my new birthday. It's a beginning filled with great hope. It's a second chance to live my life…not anyone else's. My profile picture is "David and Me," 2001 painting by artist Steve Walker. It happens to be one of my favorite modern gay art pieces. View all posts by Joe

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