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I want to be careful about the guys' personal details here—all but a couple of these guys were Muslim and most were Qatari and so would be candidates for the chopping block—so I'll make some up to obfuscate.

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There was the bodybuilder who lived with his boyfriend, whom he considered his husband, or the guy with the sprung, rabbit-like body, all nervous energy, who got impatient with my leisurely approach to fucking him, and flipped me in what must have been a practiced wrestling move and got most of the way into me—which I'm fine with but dude, roll on a condom—before I kicked him over and restored order.

He worked for a big Qatari corporation.


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Our conversation was much like it has been in other hotel rooms in other cities, talking about home, other trips, other sex. I asked him if it was tough, having sex with guys here with the laws so strict and scary. He laughed a laugh I've grown accustomed to on the road, the oh-you-stupid-callow-foreigner laugh. No, he said, it wasn't tough. There's a quotation inscribed in the entrance hall of Doha's grand Museum of Islamic Art from the 13th-century historian Rawandi: Then there was a builder who re-upped his annual contract more than half a dozen times instead of going back to his home country.

I went to his apartment, which he shared with one other guy who seemed to be out. I asked him about the working conditions I'd heard about on the news. I asked another quiet, serious guy, about whether there was any way to meet people in Doha offline. He said there was a hotel bar he went to. Qataris aren't officially allowed in hotel bars, but it turns out that if you're not wearing your thobe, you aren't assumed to be Qatari. I went to the bar later to see for myself.

It certainly wasn't a gay bar, but there were single, young, brown men who ordered drinks they didn't drink and stood at the bar making the same kind of anxious, hungry, hesitant eye contact I've read about in novels and memoirs that describe the North American scene five and six decades ago. There are many different sorts of what we might call sexual miasmas in the world.

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There's the confident cruising of catching someone's eye on a street at a time and in a place where catching someone's eye is playful instead of dangerous, or the pressurized pick-up in a club or at a party where the whole reason to be there is to find someone so not to at least try is basically failure, and there's the desperation of that same club or party as the crowd starts to dwindle and you've got no one on the line. There are more extreme miasmas, like window shopping in a bathhouse, the mash-up of a group thing, or what I assume is the basically RPG approach that takes over in prison.

Doha felt like none of those things. Doha felt distinct. The closest thing I can come up with is what I imagine a lumber or oil town might have been like a few decades ago. It had that kind of avidity, an enthusiasm just this side of desperation, a focus on sex to the exclusion of any consideration of relationship or friendship, but with an abiding interest in at least some shared words to place you, place themselves, pick up a story or two, the talk about pent-up unspeakable things as much an attraction for some as the sex.

Most of these guys weren't trapped here by any means—they could fly to Berlin or New York whenever they wanted to—so the restrictions were contingent, fungible. On my last night in town, I took a walk through the souk. It's new, but looks old, and even has intentionally run-down bits where the spice and fabric shops for the foreign workers are. I'd wandered around for about ten minutes when a tall, broad, beautiful man fell into stride beside me and asked where I was from. I told him, and angled into a gift store.

He followed.

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His English was vestigial—he was from Sri Lanka—but he was persistent, and friendly, and hot, so we talked and we walked, and he offered to show me his favorite spots. He told me about his work, and how he lived in a dorm with five other guys, but that it was OK, because the room was free, and he was making more here than at home. After another five minutes, he grabbed my little finger with his and squeezed. Sexual content. Can a straight man hook up with a guy and still be straight?

True Life - I’m A Gay For Pay Porn Star (Highlight Scene) - MTV

Girls can. IF A man is sexual with another man, is he gay? You can kiss a girl and like it and be straight, but man on man sex is quickly put in the category of homosexuality. As it turns out, not all of them are. After investigating the issue and speaking to some of the men involved, I was surprised to find out that as well as some of these men being in the closet, there is also a population of guys out there who are hooking up with other guys just for the pure ease at which a hook up can occur.

Straight men dating men and the gay men who fall in love them | British GQ

Finding a gay man who has experience in this was not difficult at all. He also informed me of a recent encounter he had with a straight man at a sex on premises club who he thought was gay. Towards the end of the encounter, his phone rang displaying a photo of the man he was hooking up with and his wife on their wedding day. I also spoke to another man who has a glory hole a sheet in his apartment that has a hole in it which sexual acts can be anonymously carried out through and puts out ads to have encounters with straight men only.

These men will walk in and walk away without knowing who the person is on the other side but understand that it is another man. While some men might be experimenting with their sexuality and desires, Max explains that the glory hole encounters between men where one might not identify as gay could be more to do with the ease at which men can get off. He puts his bag on the hook and after making sure the space is spotless, the zipper comes down and his pants fall to his feet. After a few minutes of absolute silence, I hear the sounds I had been waiting for, the music to my ears.

We both emerge from our hiding places, and taking his big cock in my hand I begin to jerk him off. He grabs my naked arse as he pulls me closer, his moans getting louder and heavier as he gets closer and closer to climax. Especially sexual needs. Beats offer a space for men to have sex with men without the emotional baggage, allowing them to pursue sexual contact that would otherwise be frowned upon. After we finished, he told me they were right. My initial introduction into the world of beats was something that occurred randomly.

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Out of all the toilets to go to, I just happened to stumble upon the one notorious for cruising in Collins Street. With the intention of taking a leak, I instead walked out with the image of watching a hot man wank in front of me, the memory forever burned into my brain. Regardless, I was hooked. The first few times going there, I was terrified.


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