Tag Archives: Fluffybiscuits

This morning.

In the latest dispatch from his often calamitous journey to find meaningful love in lockdown, hopeless romantic FluffyBiscuits writes:

The undertaker was a handsome devil, charming and flattering. After two cancellations and with me having a three strike rule he sauntered up for a coffee Sunday two weeks ago.

Nothing out of the ordinary except after four hours he is full on charm offensive. He bleats at me, “Im falling for you, I could fall for you,” interspersed with other random musings. At this point I picked a point on the wall and stared, a tactic I picked up from The General after reading his biography. Stare at one spot and say nothing.

The light faded and Mr Undertaker made his way home. That week he appeared to have gone to ground (see what I did there!) ,but he continued with the flattery, cancelling again on the Saturday following so I told him to take a hike. The next day he rings, apologises profusely and tries to flatter again. His job is all last minute. Anyways he ends it by saying: ‘Text you and we can chat about meeting up’.

Already being on edge with lockdown and not letting my guard down, I mentioned the situation to friends and this is where I learned about love bombing. A term that a person floods you with so much affection and then tries to withdraw it so you crave more. A form of control.

Little things this fella had mentioned clicked into place “I don’t like your beard”..” those clothes don’t suit you”…I had told him to sod off on those occasions but what if I had not been independent minded? My mental health had already taken a battering with lockdown pushing me to seek out a counselorand think my judgement had been impaired. Friends though through conversation spotted what I had mentioned,the chap was a control freak.

Last night I was chatting to a pal when my phone buzzed. This gobsh*te didn’t like my new profile photo and then an hour later when I didn’t respond tells me “Will take that’s it . No problem happy to do so . Enjoy life”…I just wrote “good luck”. Guys like this want you to fawn over them. Love Bomb, defused and sent packing!

Previously: ‘I’m Calling About The Car’

Gay men married to women in 21st century Ireland ‘exist more than we will ever know’, according to Fluffybiscuits.

Fluffybiscuits writes:

My phone rings at home on a Tuesday evening more miserable than the previous evening, surprising the weather given it is August. At the end of the line is a nervous voice that asks me “Say, ‘you are calling about the car'”.

Attempting to remember, I cop it, this is a a call on foot of a personal ad I posted looking to meet a lad for coffee and a chat and perhaps more than Friendship.

Hushing his voice down a notch, he quietly tells me “the wife is in the other room, would you be up for a bit of fun”. Straight away I have to play along as he follows up with “yeah so will I call over about the car” expecting me to go along with the ruse.

I hung up – cardinal rule, don’t mess around with other relationships, do not be a home wrecker. Lads like these are ten a penny, you couldn’t swing a large fat overweight cat for fear of striking one of these ubiquitous types.

The demographic tends to be men who are 40+ and just as being gay became acceptable/fashionable at the start of the century, there was still too much of an unwelcoming atmosphere for a lot of them.

Men at that time were feeling compelled to enter into a straight relationship with women, have children, dote on them, provide for said family. Weekends certainly came and go and these men would drop up to the park to satiate a lust for the same sex that straight marriage did not provide. These trysts 99% of the time never really became anything more than a casual hook up.

This post came about via a conversation with a man from a particular website and curiosity more than ever prompted me to ask him about his life and what his story was. Let’s call him D.

D got married at a young age going on to have three kids and said love making with his wife was extraordinary but he knew at the back of his mind that he was gay from a young age , engaging in trysts however the wife will never find out as he has too much to lose.

Growing up he suffered abuse at the hands of a family friend so love and sex perhaps became intertwined in ways that deviated from standard norms. Messages came from D either late at night well after midnight or very early in the morning, always a tell tale sign that they are trying to attempt to not let the wives find out their minor indiscretions.

TV presenter Philip Schofield came out at a time when it was reported that there was a potential kiss and tell story coming in that Sunday’s papers. The sympathy was certainly pouring out at how brave he was at coming out but there appeared to be little sympathy for his wife at the time.

I parked this article as I was writing it as I needed to run a few errands and popped back home last night to settle down with a bit of TV and a take away, standard midweek fare. Unsurprisingly my phone rang again and this time was a chap we will call B from down the country.

Married for 14 years and living in a small rural town it was fairly easy to read between the lines. B was engaged and was due to get married to the love of his life who he had been with for a few years.

Bluntly and directly I asked him was he gay, the poor lad stuttered: “No, I just like sex with men”

‘Sex with men’ was a term brought into common parlance for such men, something coined to avoid demeaning their masculinity if you were to ask me.

Every time a lad like this rings me he usually blocks his number. B then asked “you are not going to out me are you”…heavily I reassured him no as that was not what I was about but said firmly married men are not my cup of tea.

Unfortunately I have the bad habit of trying to be their friend when at the end of the day and attempting to urge them not to get married and giving numbers for helplines so they avoid future unhappiness.

Then there is the man who I met for a coffee after he insisting in calling into my place. We agreed to go to the Spar up the road from me and once we sat down he told me about his wife. He left her September last year for a man he met down the Phoenix Park, a young chap that made him realise he was truly batting for my side and took it upon himself to move into the chap’s bedsit.

Asking after the welfare of the wife and kids, he shuts me down (and perhaps rightly so, I’m nosey) he tells me that he no longer talks to them but that he is happy now, grabs his coffee gleefuly informing me of heading down the park that evening.

Ask any gay man who is out and on the prowl or on the pull and they will tell you that they have different and varying ideas on their approach to married men.

One friend of mine avoids them at all costs, scoldin’ them for their infidelity, pouring scorn on their cheating ways. Many though will accept that they are homme fatales, liaisons should go ahead because if it’s not them getting the married man then it’s going to be someone else thus they may as well enable the behaviour.

There is no right or wrong answer in any of this. Just men finding their feet among many different realities they cannot accept.’

Previously: Fluffybiscuits on Broadsheet

Pic; Allstock

Hook up app Grindr has removed its ‘ethnicity filter’

Fluffybiscuits writes:

Grindr yesterday announced it would remove an ethnicity filter from their app. Is it racist to be not attracted to certain ethnicities or have a preference for a particular ethnicity or are we over thinking this and attraction is just attraction?


Grindr dating app removes ethnicity filter to support Black Lives Matter (The Guardian)

Baku, the capital city of Azerbaijan

Going abroad next year?

Have you considered Azerbaijan?

No wait, come back.

Fluffybiscuits writes:

Various groups of friends are planning their summer expeditions along the already well-trodden paths of Lanzarote, Nice or far-flung beaches in Greece .

I am hoping to give an overview of different destinations every so often on Broadsheet based on my own travels and the first to come to mind is Azerbaijan (Azer-what? I hear you say).

The pragmatic side of things – you need a visa which costs around 20 (the price of your entry to Coppers and about one pint in there for our culchie brethren).

But what could be in Azerbaijan?

The capital Baku has been ruled over by the Soviets, the Ottamans and rests on a confluence of culture of Turkish/Russian/Middle Eastern and lately European culture. Food alone is worth a visit.

The national dish is Plov, a pilau rice based dish based on fruit, rice and cooked in a rich stock somewhat savoury and somewhat sweet but never quite both in extremis.

Baku the capital has had money poured into it by the oil rich and ‘ruler’ Aliyev. Unemployment is unheard of as those who otherwise might be unemployed are gainfully employed as car parking attendants or road sweepers.

Baku lies on the Black Sea and is a major transport hub. Standing just over the promenade is the three flame towers in which the colours of the Azerbaijani flag dance interchangeably in what counts as one of the biggest white elephants in existence.

Only about the first ten floors are used and the rest is just tens of floors of glass, however pointless it is, it is spectacular.

An old town winds around part of the city littered with stray cats but also littered with little shops, bakeries, restaurants and bars.

Ignore the carpet museum (the only other place I encountered an Irish guy who was raised in Luxembourg) as most of the tapestries are like the DUP – pointless and were probably last relevant 80 to a 100 years ago if even.

What is worth seeing is the Palace of the Shirvanshahs which is spectacular.

My only visit was December 2017. After a day of sightseeing I ended up going to a pub called The Shakespeare and happened upon a conversation between a local and two Canadians.

The Canadians stared amazingly as we had about six pints each before criticising us for how much we drank. After they fupped off, the local invited me to a basement club where there was about ten Georgians and a Russian woman.

After fending off an approach from the Russian woman and us all singing trad songs (Fairytale of New York counts) and numerous rounds of traditional liqeur (brandy and Baileys) I became engrossed in conversation with one Georgian man who tells me about his interests, one of which was Eurovision – we add each other on FB and discover we have ten friends we know in real life…what are the odds…eh?

Unorthodox, way to go if you ask me…

Previously: Fluffybiscuits on Broadsheet

Pic: Getty

The saga continues.

A status update from long-standing, love-lorn Broadsheet commenter and proud bear, Fluffybiscuits, who writes:

‘Never in a million years was it going to be humanly possible that a Ted X Talk would give me a new way of thinking about things.

Singledom is a road paved with excruciating loneliness, the wedding invite that screams plus one but it is also a time of the self – self development, learning to be more independent and learning that truly you do not need anyone but you to be happy.

It also is a time to challenge our notions of what relationships are meant to be and how we see them through a prism of monogamy.

About three months ago a man walked into my life who was a breath of fresh air.

Chatting on the long summer evenings and then a cold September weekend together consuming tourist sights, curling up against the cold and mutually bonding over a shared love of Benidorm.

S, as we will call the chap, is a free spirit and a free spirit in the truest sense of the word.

He will never see this article but I am going to give the basics – he was conceived by accident he said by parents who despised him and a set of siblings who loathed him as much. What emerged from the chrysalis was a warm spirited but free loving man who likes to share the love in the emotional sense of the word.

Which brings me to the open relationships bit – in conversation he has admitted that he sleeps with friends and that he intends to but I can accept it if I like.

Lessons learnt from relationships have told me to never compromise on things and this is one thing he appears to not want to compromise on and nor should he, it forms a very personal cornerstone of his existence.

It’s a struggle for me to understand but the more I think of it thanks to the Ted X Talk (above) the more I am beginning to see it as a way of embracing the intimacy afforded by others.

The Talk advocates communicating with your other half but also knowing what you want from life. How many of us can genuinely answer that we truly know what we want from this short existence upon the Earth?

I truly cannot answer the question but maybe S is on to something that I am not and no harm in exploring. Cynics in the comments will say it’s about the sex, trust me it is not….

“Dancing in the Moonlight, Everybody is feeling warm and bright….”

Previously: Filling The Void

Still recovering from a messy, heart-shattering break-up….

…long-standing Broadsheet commenter, contributor and proud bear, Fluffybiscuits sought solace through meaningless physical gratification with complete strangers.

It seems to have done the trick.

Warning: Over 18s only. Includes sexy chat, actual carnality and naughty random cheek ‘cupping’ . Not safe to read aloud among colleagues at work.

Fluffybiscuits writes:

Laying on my bed, I’ve the urge to write the most honest piece I can on why in the last two years I’ve probably hit the near enough treble figures with men I have slept with.

Monday just passed, I went for my six monthly STI Check Up (all clear). My head was full with a fog that clustered my brain from the weekend’s shenanigans and I thought, it really has to stop somewhere. The promiscuity has lead down one dark path, some really interesting paths and mostly fun paths.

This is not a boast, I’ve been sitting thinking about this for a while.

That dark path was an attempted sexual assault (if you can call it that) in a sauna I was in nearly a year ago. A man tried to take me from behind and I said no, straight up, no and he attempted again but was met with a very hard punch to the ribs.

I was not upset and it was no where near what others I know suffered but it certainly granted me an inside view on the principals of consent and the need for such education.

Freud eluded to sex being how we can explain the world around us. From his work he formed the Oedipus complex, mostly it was inane but the reasoning underpinning it (i.e. sex explains the world around us) drove me to understand why I was given to promiscuous ways.

A friend recently remarked (quite stupidly as he has blinkers) that this bear should conform to heteronormative values and settle down…I’m open to it but I just wont settle down with any lad and subscribe to a set of values, which are plain drab …wife, kids, car, house…bollocks to that.

Coming just out of a relationship, your confidence is on the ground. Anything will do to make you feel like you are just about alive.

The first encounter after breaking up was with this elderly chap called J. After some chit chat and down to business at 3am, I belted up my jeans and walked the 200m back to my house.

That had been the first time I had cold, meaningless sex in four years and it was a mixture of both relief and confidence. Back up on the saddle, not just the saddle but I had come to think of myself as a stallion. A day later the chap is texting me wanting to be my boyfriend. Had I led him on?

The coming months saw me fill the void of shutting down my emotions with random hook ups from bars, apps, saunas and even cruising.

Cynicism became like a shell and feeling nothing but cold mechanical one on ones began taking its toll. I even tried dating…one fella brought his female best friend and then told her to go away when he realised I wasn’t going to bury him under my patio.

Loneliness crept in at this time too.. That time between Xmas and New Year was a bloody killer. I filled the gap with everything from an unknowingly bi-married guy to a lad I knew liked big guys. All this just to keep that loneliness in abeyance.

The interesting parts mostly came with trips to England and Germany. See being in the same area for so long in Dublin, you do tend to be yesterday’s news sex-wise quite quickly.

In England, I discovered how this cheeky Irishman who did not get a look in twice in Dublin was hit on with a lot of frequency by sex-mad English men and I was happy to oblige.

Standing in a nightclub in Manchester last year, I felt a hand down the back of my shorts cup a bare bum cheek. The directness of the approach was different than at home. Into my ear, he whispered : “you are built like a shit brick house” and he spun me around to meet his stare.

A huge ginger lad from London. I left at 8am the following morning, doing the ‘stride of pride’.

The last thing I learned about sex was its intimacy that accompanied friendships. A mutual trust built up and, by extension, a deeper friendship.

These men know who they are, but they probably formed some of the most beautiful, exciting and fun times I had as I came back into being myself.

Perhaps too much honesty within this piece but, truly, Freud did have half a point…sex reflects who we are as humans…

Fluffybiscuits previously: The Right To Bear Arms

They (above) found each other.

But where can a man find stubbly, chunky love in this town?

FluffyBiscuits writes;

Men are visual creatures when it comes to attraction, personality comes a close second and while still important brings me to a point on myself. I am a large chunky gay guy, which there in itself is not that rare.

However, I am into the same type of guy as me, large stocky types.

Hitting the dating scene recently I know a lot of similar lads built like me and Im on a few apps but its rare I find stocky lads built like myself who like other big guys…hence why I go to the UK a lot….

I have dated skinny guys to see but they do absolutely nothing for me physically. Anyone else out there find a similar issue in terms of dating?


Pic via Pinterest

Never mind the bollocks.

It’s Fluffybiscuits.

Celebrating a special anniversary.

Warning: Sweary language and intimate situations.

Fluffy writes:

It’s roughly 15 years ago this month I had cock/ball cancer. Me nut swelled to a golf ball size. Doc asked ,”you sexually active?” Nope says I.. . So he says it’s either” mumps or cancer “, I got my MMR and knew it was cancer. You think the whole world is fucked.

I Informed my parents and mates. On the waiting list. Few days later I get the call, a bed was available. That Sunday felt like the longest journey ever. The doc said it will be operated on, like bringing up a conker on a bit of string.

The doc administering the anesthetic was Ukrainian. I waffled about Andriy Shevchenko and a bunch of football teams from Championship Manager and called him a ladypart as my eyes rolled back in my head. I woke up from the operation finding it had been done.

What followed was aside from all the serious stuff (I was informed it was an aggressive cancer and 80% chance of returning as it was lying against a vein) was an hilarious few weeks. Obviously I thought I was going to die. Who doesn’t?

My Da brought in Padre Pio’s glove to bless my bollix. I looked at the old bastard and said “what the fuck do I do with this”, so I blessed my cock n ball. Remember at this stage I’m atheist since I’m 12!It didn’t help the doctor was a huge bear called Ray who got me hard as nails.

Weeks and weeks of tests and it didn’t come back. I do remember a poor Malay intern who used to check my testicle (it was leftie who got removed as I was a right bollix).

I was on the examination couch with my nuts on display. She felt them between her fingers and it was ticklish. I laughed and she laughed. She started crying laughing and so did I and fell flat on my face with my trousers around my ankles tears pouting down my face laughing.

The cancer never came back but I got a pass in life. You search your soul thinking you will die of a horrible disease. I came out of it more atheist. My humour was twisted to the darkest depths that I can only but laugh at tragedy.

The other night I shaved me pubes and saw the scar. Cancer you did me wonders.. Thanks.

Previously: Cheating Cheaters Cheat Us All Part 2

Pic: Shutterstock

Two years ago on these pages, ‘Broken Hearted’ discussed an extremely messy break-up with his boyfriend.

The level of betrayal and quantity of hook-ups involved left even our more libidinous readers open-mouthed.

But what has become of ‘Broken Hearted’?

Well, firstly ‘Broken Hearted’  – we can now reveal with his blessing – is in fact much-loved , openly-cuddly Broadsheet contributor and commenter Fluffybiscuits.

And Fluffy reveals that partying, travel and an unexpected friendship has healed most wounds.

Fluffybiscuits writes:

Two years on from that particular moment, a friend reminded me it was about two years since I finished with the other half.

The aftermath of that event lead me on hair pin bends of roads I never imagined I would go down from that moment forward!

Two weeks after the event, still fresh in my mind, I was called for an interview for a job – not just one grade above what I was but two.

A prospective new position that saw a jump in salary however I was in that head space of being lonely and lost, partying and doing stupid things to make up the weekends and the week and pad out that void that just was within.

A particular manager had taken what I wondered was a dislike and she called me in for a meeting. It never turned into a meeting but a mock interview, questions fired left right and centre and obnoxiously firing flippant comments on leading me to falter and unable to answer questions. Coming out of the room, she just labelled the interview “boll*x”.

A second mock interview didn’t go quite according to plan and confidence went up and down . I went into that interview however and scored a fantastic result and it lead me into that particular job managing staff and gaining skills I never envisaged!

Post break-ups, for what it is worth are never a bed of roses. The coming months made me visit a lot of dark places in my own head and by nature being a gregarious person – the sudden pull of a rug from under my feet made me question once or twice was it all worth it.

People tell you that there is light at the end of the tunnel but when you are attempting to make sense of it at the time, it never appears that way.

Partying endlessly filled the void I mentioned above and it all hit me when I realised that I was making making Amy Winehouse look like Mother Theresa that it all had to stop.

One Friday in September I went out at 5pm after work and surfaced at 1pm on a Sunday afternoon (a weekend stuffed with debaucherous activity and unwanted proclivities).

Orientating myself, I decided to do more travel and threw all my spare cash into that.

From seeing parents holding signs for their missing kids in Pristina in Kosovo, watching the Eurovision on big screens in Lisbon, meeting the only other tourist in Azerbaijan (an Irishman!) and camping with the Bedouin and a whole lot more, this was stuff of adventures to me anyways. Freeing my head and absolving me of temporary responsibility for a few weeks gave perspective.

Dating became a minefield, the guard went up and dropped once a year and a half ago for one man. A very pleasant dad from Galway with two kids who had separated from his wife but who could not figure himself out and I ended up hurt.

That tendency to close up wouldn’t drop until relatively recently and a chance encounter that I genuinely met someone I liked however he did not feel the same but whilst it hurt a bit, I am a grown man and life moves on (and that is not including the year long Ross/Rachel fling with a now disgruntled English man – but that’s for 800 years of occupation I keep telling myself lol).

What I was really thankful for were the new friendships that came out of it though. One in particular.

After writing that piece about the cheating debacle, a person contacted Broadsheet and passed their details on to me. That person was Frilly Keane.

Straight to McDonald’s where we drank coffee for hours and not only was she the type of person who listened but she acted as a guide – (no I wont call you Mammy promise!) and from then on Frilly invited me into her home, cooked for me and what formed was a close friendship.

Every few weeks there is coffee, wine, curries etc with a dash of gossip, putting the world to rights and a general sense of reassurance that everything is going to be fine!

As I type this [last Friday] I’m off to pack for a trip to Manchester with a group of platonic friends I made on Facebook (strange where you meet people!!).

They are like myself, we are a group of guys (mostly stocky chunky builds) who like other stocky fellas – a strange niche called Bears just Wikipedia it!)

Long story short – it does seem the end of the world at the time, it’s not and far from it!  Travel, work and new friendships blossomed. I’m still single but you learn to be entirely comfortable in yourself.

Should you be in a situation where you are wondering if you should break up or are getting over one – things do get better.

Previously: Cheating Cheaters Cheat Us All