Rather than a dogmatized component of a monogamous relationship or a bottom-shelf/brown-paper-bag shameful necessity of human experience, in the hands of the writers and illustrators of Handjobs, sex became a joyful and consequence-free expression and celebration of fraternity (the fraternity of Penis, not necessarily literal fraternity. Had it been a photo journal, or a Penthouse Forum style platform for people to share “guess what happened to me!” stories, it would never have lasted beyond the first issue.īut Handjobs Magazine fully divested itself from this world’s sordid and troubled sexual realities, instead preferring to gently escort readers to a place where fantasy reigned unchecked, and sexuality was fluid and fundamental. For those, unfamiliar, Handjobs was an illustrated monthly collection of stories purporting to be about “daddy/boy” and “older/younger” relationships, and was the sort of thing that makes “conservative” voters’ buttholes tighten up just to think about. Dad would like to share with you the storied history of this peculiar publication.Ī few weeks back I finally managed to publish a long-form piece about what Handjobs Magazine meant to me as a young man, and why it was more than just another of the “jack off rags” that it accompanied on the shelves of gay bookstores.
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