Coming out is often portrayed as a daunting, scary moment in a gay man’s life. A moment filled with fear of rejection, and uncertainty. For many, it can be an emotional minefield, a quest for acceptance by their friends, parents and, most importantly, by themselves. My story, however, is different. It’s a journey of early acceptance, open conversations, and a supportive environment that allowed me to embrace my identity as a gay man from a young age.

As I moved into my twenties, I observed a big contrast between my journey and that of many other gay men. The early coming out shielded me from the prolonged periods of uncertainty and self-doubt that haunted and isolated other young boys. But there ’s another side to the early acceptance as well.

Since my coming out was so early on in my puberty, my pure sexual desires hadn’t been
awakened. I hadn’t come further than a first secret kiss, a clumsy mutual first hand job and a first attempt at topping. Also in my early twenties, I grew up in that same heteronormative environment where I felt that I was accepted, as long I colored between the lines. There were some adventures here and there, but nothing like the extravagance and sexual liberty of what was shown in the series and movies I watched (in secret).

The real sexual awakening only occurred when I met my (now ex) boyfriend. He faced a whole different path. He grew up as one of the guys, and lived truly a double life where, to the public, he was a traditional straight guy, but secretly met up with other (older) gays, frequented gay saunas, and had dates on high way parking lots. He only came out in his late twenties, but the scale of the secret life had taken such a magnitude, that he lost himself in it.

When we met, I really had no clue of the so called sexually liberate gay scene that was home to so many struggling gays. Through our relationship, I learned to give myself over to my sexual desires and shed the self shame, the expectations and prohibitions I felt when I was a teenager and young
adult.

I discovered that I had both a dominant and submissive side to myself. A certain dominance where I get rock hard from spitting in someone’s mouth, thrusting my cock in a throat, slapping someone’s
butt and loading my sperm in a hairy hole. But it was more my submissive and feminine side I embraced during that journey. Servicing a big cock with my mouth while jerking off another one, getting fingered and penetrated by a throbbing penis, even two at a time. Getting pounded hard And asking for more. Putting on sexy lingerie, sniffing lines, popping pills and burying my tong in
hairy cheeks. A side that I until then, never dared to show but was hidden away. I learnt what I liked, what I didn’t like, I tested my boundaries and crossed them to a point where I couldn’t recognize myself any longer..

When the relationship ended, I went back to my old habits, and surrounded myself with my heteronormative (straight) friends and found myself back in the safe environment. I locked the black dildo, the red thong, the anal beads and the jockstraps into a hidden box, together with the sexual awakening.

Unlike many gay men who face rejection and loneliness, I navigated my teenage years with a sense of freedom and authenticity. This open and affirming environment was a privilege that I never took for granted. Although the hidden desires are stored in a box, I feel, as I am becoming older, less self shame about the horny teenager I still am and about the lusts I have.

Times like these – I try to let my guard down and let myself live in the moment. Not crossing my own boundaries, but playing on the edge of them. And who knows, who makes me put on the red thong again?

My dear queer slut chimera body

My body is a territory. A place traversed, claimed, gazed upon, desired, sometimes rejected
but always there. I’ve hated it, corrected it, staged it. I’ve sculpted it, abandoned it, offered it.
I am queer, I am a slut, and my relationship with my body is a polyamourous story of
liberation.

Being queer means being exposed from the start: to the outside, to norms, to gazes. From a
young age, I was made to understand that my body didn’t fit in the right boxes. Too
effeminate, too thin, not strong enough, too expressive. Too visible. I was taught to control it,
to hide it. But soon enough, I realized that my body would be my first tool of revolt. That I
could reclaim it, show it, offer it according to my own rules.

Being a slut, for me, isn’t a provocation. It’s freedom. My body is a space for pleasure and
connection. I love sex, I love touch, I love intensity. My body allows me to explore, to feel, to
exchange, to forget sometimes. It is the place of a language that only touch knows. It is
alive, vibrating, open.

But this relationship is also full of contradictions. There are days when I look at myself and
doubt. Moments when I don’t feel good enough, not beautiful enough, not young enough. My
body carries fatigue, the marks of time, the accumulated scars. It carries the memories of
wild nights, lonely mornings, unfulfilled desires.

And yet, I come back to it. My body doesn’t lie. It guides me, reminds me that I’m here,
present. It makes me vibrate, laugh, sweat, tremble. It is my anchor, my refuge, my stage.
Every intimate encounter is an act of affirmation: I am here, I feel, I desire. And I no longer
apologize for it.

Being queer and a slut is also political. It’s existing against the grain of what’s expected,
against the patriarchy, the hegemony. It’s refusing shame. It’s giving value to what others
would reduce to “too much.” It’s making the body a manifesto. I fuck, I love, I feel: these are
my soft weapons against the cis hetero normativity.

Today, I try to love my body with more tenderness. To treat it as an ally, not an enemy. To
respect it, even when it gets tired, even when it doubts. It has allowed me to survive, to exist,
to love. It is imperfect, but it is true.

Also, in the eyes of my partner, my body is perfect.
Queer, genderfluid, fem, slut, playmate, a lot of proteiform identities.
I’m a chimera.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: VICTOR

I watched him standing silently on the hill, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow behind him, silhouetting his figure in a striking contrast. His masculine body was perfectly sculpted: defined arms and legs, a light fuzz of hair in just the right places, each detail subtly revealing itself. He was grasping his erect cock firmly, slowly moving his hand. Sometimes it was just a dark outline, sometimes you could see more of the body. The scene was so mesmerizing, that I found it impossible to look away. I just couldn’t. You could never get enough of it.

It has always been cocks. Male beauty, but cocks in particular. It’s not always about explicitness; sometimes it’s simply curiosity, a silent intrigue that draws me in. Strangely enough, this curiosity predated my full awareness of my own sexuality.

I don’t remember exactly how old I was, probably around primary school age, when these feelings first began to take root. We had a collection of old newspapers stored in the garage, and I would often spend hours flipping through their pages, driven by simple curiosity. One particular memory stands out: reading a letter from a father, grappling with his son’s decision to come out as gay. I remember thinking at the time, “Wow, I’m so glad I don’t have problems like this.” Little did I realize that, someday, I would be confronting similar questions myself. Thankfully, my family has always been remarkably accepting, and I am grateful for that. Another find in these pages was a reprint or a fragment from Artur Żmijewski’s thought-provoking project, “Eye for an Eye.” Żmijewski had photographed men with missing limbs, yet those missing parts were “recreated” by other men standing together, an act of transformation and resilience expressed with stark honesty. I was very young then, not fully aware of my particular tastes. Oh boy, I didn’t know at that time I’d be into bearded, well built hairy men, but I remember feeling an intense draw toward these images. Their raw, unstyled nudity resonated deeply within me. Polish critical art movement of the ‘90 in its finest. I can still smell the musty, earthy aroma of that garage.

Oh, yes, and the smells. There’s nothing better than an attractive man wearing really good perfume. I wasn’t into perfumes until I discovered some higher end ones, and recently I’ve been dipping into the niche perfume category. Really expensive, but definitely worth the experience. Some smells alone can be dreamlike and put you in an ecstatic realm. Having a sweaty, hot and horny man before you, sprayed with some rich composition makes this almost unbearably ecstatic. Atmosphere becomes combustible.

Male beauty is an evergreen subject for me. I can never seem to get enough of it, whether in photographs, films, or in real life. Ironically, despite this persistent admiration, I’ve rarely explored this subject directly within my own art practice. I tend to focus on abstract concepts and universal human emotions, yet somehow I’ve never touched this subject. Was it because I didn’t want to fall in the category of a clearly queer artist? Or because working with live models makes me anxious? Will I ever get back to making art? Working full time leaves me with no time for the things that I love. So I keep living in these fantasies.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: MICHAL

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Tale of Men project was born out of my passion for photography and storytelling. As it grows, the cost starts to mount. You can help the project stay alive by becoming a patron or purchasing the Tale of Men magazines. Thank you!

The most important thing I learned is to never stop learning.

And that there’s so much more to learn than academics.

Brussels gave me a job, it gave me a chance to discover who I am, it gave me a queer family, it gave me love in so many new forms, it gave me everything I never had and didn’t know I wanted. And yet it fed my depression, it gave me heartbreaks, it gave me the pain of seeing friends leaving, it shook my world apart and 

and that is life, isn’t it? 

I had a modest upbringing and fought my way up winning scholarships and that’s how I got to see the world outside my hometown. I used to like what I could afford and told myself I didn’t like whatever wasn’t in my reach. It was self-defense. I am the product of my environment, and since moving to Brussels I’ve felt free to live so many lives that I’m almost struggling to keep up.

Day after day I lose a piece of my armour and take a step in a new direction with a little less fear and a little more confidence.

And that’s exactly the life I want right now.

There have been plenty of experiences that broke my certainties, one of them happened in a darkroom. I had only been in the party scene for a few months. I never enjoyed partying when I was younger – but back then I hadn’t known any queer parties, I didn’t know other gay people. That night, it just so happened that I met someone on the dancefloor, and something clicked. I learned what it meant to feel desired. He brought me to the darkroom, I barely knew what that was. Yes, I was open minded, yes, I was open to discovering, yet I was partly still prejudiced toward the whole idea.

Even after decades, the Catholic guilt is hard to suppress at times. The thing is, I can’t forget that night. It was the night where I found out for the first time a more submissive side of myself. It was a night full of erotism. That night, I discovered how many things can happen in a darkroom, including the longest hugs. It was a night of bondage and slaps, but it was also a night of cuddles. I felt safe. Later on, I felt a bit all over the place emotionally – but the highs come with the lows, and I’ve been learning to handle those feelings because they make this life worth living.

A life of kindness. A life of dancing. A life of empathy, of ecstasy and euphoria. A life of first times, so many first times. Biking through the park. Kissing boys on a night out. Taking a walk on the beach in winter. Going home with a couple. Swimming in a lake. Hugging in a darkroom. Shifting the whole meaning of love and friendship to accommodate whatever feels right. There are no templates, there’s no one way to define anything, labels are there to help those who need them but won’t restrict the nature of human relationships. I am living.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: DOMENICO

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Tale of Men project was born out of my passion for photography and storytelling. As it grows, the cost starts to mount. You can help the project stay alive by becoming a patron or purchasing the Tale of Men magazines. Thank you!

Sometimes I feel like I’m living two lives. One in Brussels, where I moved almost five years ago with the thought that it would be only for a moment, just a step in a five-year plan before returning to Finland. And the other in my hometown, which feels both familiar and distant at the same time. I didn’t imagine that Brussels would hold me for this long, yet here I am, not ready to leave.

Whenever I go back to my hometown – twice a year at the height of summer and winter – I fall into a rhythm that feels both comforting and strange. My family and friends insist that everything has remained the same, but I see new buildings, new chapters in their lives, and new faces (in Grindr too). It always surprised me how they claim things are unchanged while life clearly moves on. And then I wonder what changes in my life go unnoticed, blurred by the constant movement between two places?

As a gay man, I am familiar with being in between, this liminal space where you’re never one thing or another, never fully fitting into the expectations people set for you. I’ve made peace with that, but its legacy has made me creative. Lately I realize more ways I hold myself back, traps that fool me repeatedly and new masks of my own making.

At my new workplace last year, I built a new identity for myself. A professional, credible man in the corporate world. It worked for a while since I had a sense of importance and stability, but I also feel like I forced myself to another mask, hiding behind it and giving way too much of myself to one direction. My ego wants to hold onto masks. But it’s also blinding me from what else could be possible if I would let down my cover and look around. I would like to be more abundant: not only the work persona, but a loved one and giver.

I’m trying now not only to live in between place, but myself and my many variations. To let go of the stubborn need for control over who I should be. To give room for other sides of myself to manifest in the moment, naturally. To redirect myself more of towards things that I hold dear like community and connection. It’s not easy but maybe there are more possibilities to do so than I dared to notice.

SEE MORE PATRON CONTENT: VILLE

The patron content is only available for patrons of Tale of Men. You can become one here.

Tale of Men project was born out of my passion for photography and storytelling. As it grows, the cost starts to mount. You can help the project stay alive by becoming a patron or purchasing the Tale of Men magazines. Thank you!