If you’ve spent any time on the so-called “dating” apps over the last decade, odds are you’ve received at least one unsolicited dick pic. Probably several. Possibly enough to assemble your own traveling art exhibit called Tom’s Dick Is Hairy.
And maybe you’ve sent one or two yourself. No shame in the game. Technology changes, but human behavior rarely does.
Personally, I’ve never been especially scandalized or even particularly titillated by dick pics. I’m gay. I like men. Penises kind of come with the territory. And apparently, for some people, so does photographing them.
Some people collect baseball cards or records. Some people collect vintage photos. Some people collect what appears to be an endless archive of nearly identical crotch shots taken from the driver’s seat of a Toyota Corolla.
Live your truth. Do you, boo.
That said, I’ve never been much of a sender myself.
Maybe I’m old-fashioned. Maybe I’m paranoid. Maybe growing up queer in an era where privacy still mattered rewired my brain a little differently. But I happen to enjoy a little mystery. A little anticipation. A little “to be continued…”
I don’t necessarily need to see the full monty five minutes into the conversation.
Besides, once you’ve seen enough dick pics, you begin to realize there are only about six camera angles in circulation. At a certain point, it starts feeling less like seduction and more like a catalog shoot for a very specific department store.
And yet, refusing to send one can apparently short-circuit an entire flirtation. The moment I politely decline, some guys disappear faster than a drag queen after hearing “last call.”
Poof. Gone.
No follow-up questions. No more flirtation. No attempt at actual human conversation. Just silence. As though my refusal to immediately provide photographic evidence of my genitalia somehow violated the terms and conditions of modern-day homosexuality.
Oh. Well.
I suppose we all have our dealbreakers.
The funny thing is, I’m actually pretty friendly, frisky, and fun with the right guy. Or guys. I’m not exactly auditioning for sainthood over here. I simply happen to prefer genuine chemistry over parts management.
Call me crazy, but I still think attraction involves more than trading nudes like they’re Pokémon cards.
Maybe it’s conversation.
Maybe it’s humor.
Maybe it’s intelligence.
Maybe it’s energy.
Maybe it’s tension.
Maybe it’s discovering someone shares your deeply unhealthy emotional attachment to obscure 1980s sitcoms. Maybe it’s the tiny spark that happens when somebody slowly reveals themselves instead of immediately uploading their entire sexual résumé before you’ve even exchanged first names.
Of course, I also understand why dick pics became normalized in queer culture.
Historically, queer people didn’t always have the luxury of openly flirting, openly dating, or openly expressing desire. Technology created shortcuts. Signals. Confirmation. Proof of interest. Proof that the person on the other end wasn’t secretly somebody’s aggressively heterosexual cousin looking to “teach you a lesson.”
So in some ways, the whole phenomenon makes perfect sense.
Still, somewhere along the way, the apps started feeling less social and more transactional. Less curiosity. More marketing materials.
Everybody branding themselves.
Everybody packaging desire.
Everybody trying to appear available while pretending not to care.
And honestly, it’s exhausting.
Maybe that’s why I still appreciate mystery. Not because bodies are shameful. Quite the opposite. Bodies are wonderful. Penises included. But mystery leaves room for imagination. For personality. For discovery.
For the possibility that somebody might actually want to know you beyond your dimensions and preferred lighting setup.
Then again, what do I know?
I’m just one gay man wandering through the digital wilderness, dodging crypto scams, thirst traps, couples “looking for a third,” and enough unsolicited anatomy to medically qualify as an honorary urologist.
So yes. So many dick pics. So little time.
And somehow, despite the endless parade of furry chests, thirst traps, unsolicited dick pics, and disappearing dickheads, I remain hopeful there are at least a few guys out there looking for genuine connection instead of just recruiting new lab partners for Anatomy 101.
Keep calm and carry on!
Clint 🌈✌️
COLLIDE PRESS is a reader-supported publication.
Please consider becoming a Paid Subscriber or Patron.
MAY OFFER = 25% OFF ANNUAL SUBSCRIPTIONS
thru 05-31-26
FROM THE ARCHIVES
BORN THIS WAY ON THIS DAY
05-19 = Charles Sorley (1895-1915) = British Army officer and war poet 🌈
05-19 = Gee Vaucher (1945- ) = British artist 🌈
05-19 = Grace Jones (1948- ) Jamaican-American singer-songwriter and actor 🌈
05-19 = Grethe Jürgens (1910-1997) = German painter 🌈
05-19 = John Vernou Bouvier III (1891-1957) = American stockbroker and socialite 🌈
05-19 = Lorraine Hansberry (1930-1965) = American playwright 🌈
05-19 = Michael McConnell (1942- ) = American activist 🌈
05-19 = Pete Townshend (1945- ) = English singer-songwriter 🌈
05-19 = Peter Wildeblood (1923-1999) = British-Canadian writer and activist 🌈
05-19 = Sam Smith (1992- ) = English singer-songwriter 🌈
MAN CRUSH OF THE DAY
“The bad part about growing older is I’m going bald. The good part is my nose seems to be getting shorter.”
Pete Townshend
I'm completely onboard with your feelings here. I remember when gay flirtation and socializing practically disappeared in the face of overwhelming pressure to go "yes/no" to hooking up. And this was in bars, mind you. When actual sexual connections became all about orgasms and zero percent about possibly getting to know something about one's partner. I came out in the 1970's when all that was happening. I'd rather have a friend than a blow job, or a fuck, or whatever. Just sayin'. So yes, titillation is the name of the game for such as me. Thanks for all you do.
indeed after a while one simply asks: is that all there is…