Irresponsible Beauty Syndrome Identifies Attractive Gay Men Who Struggle with Hoe Management


We’ve all heard the phrase, “With great beauty comes great responsibility”, my good friend Darren adds, “and if you can’t handle that, then you just end up a hoe.” Truth. We all know someone who’s totally stunning, but has a hoop like a calamari ring. Yes, the key adjective… is ‘battered’.

As gay men, we understand the need for validation, (unfortunately it’s something that usually comes with the package), and sex offers that; though there’s many ways for us to receive it, sex is undoubtedly the most fun. The thing with random sex is, the balance is only temporarily restored. Quite simply: no matter how many dicks you devour, you’ll never feel full. And I know 4’s that have backdoors like the deflated tire of a Borrower’s bike, so if you’re a 10, you better tread very carefully, girl… In other words, don’t slip on a puddle of lube and end up in bed with South London. I did alright, and I’m not even that pretty – so Lord knows can only imagine the struggle when you have model looks.

“This is the story about a gay named Loosey…” (Although the only reason she cries at night, is when she’s being double-fucked).


Loosey has typical Irresponsible Beauty Syndrome. He has gorgeous blue eyes, a nice smile, and a champion 2-Dimensional personality. Of course he does. Because when a pretty bitch is told she’s pretty every single day, she grows up expecting men to throw themselves at her feet. And, like the dumbest race in the animal kingdom, they do. She’s had no reason to develop her personality, because she gets attention anyway; whether she’s an interesting and valued part of our community, or servicing our society by getting on her knees in the Gravity toilets.

Although, just ‘cause a bitch has issues, it doesn’t mean she’s the slightest bit vulnerable. Unless you’re rich or can impale her with your 10-inch dick, she doesn’t wanna know. But she’ll still acknowledge you for a split-second, before throwing her nose up in the air and walking in the other direction, like when she first met me. Must’ve been rushing off to get to the top of my hate list. Although it’s about time she topped something. Evidentially she doesn’t shake hands, just cocks.

Or maybe, he was just shy? Although he seemed to be getting very friendly with everybody at the after-party following that. That was the next time we met. Well, I say “met”, I mean the glimpses I saw of him when he wasn’t in the bedroom with strange men. But hey, that’s none of my business.


But actually no, he was just plain rude. That’s another thing, when everybody comments on your beauty, it can quite easily turn you into a Grade A cunt. Hence why she was looking down on somebody that wasn’t up to her standards. But honey, what have your shallow standards of beauty got you, apart from a list of men that have used you?

It goes without saying that he got my back up, rudeness always does. But as I’ve grown, I’ve realized that the only emotion he’s deserving of right now, is sympathy. Because the sooner you realize that using sex as a cure for how you feel about yourself, is like putting a plaster on a war wound. (Or over that gaping gash between your legs). It’s understandable. Because if men are offering you validation while poking your G-spot, it’s difficult to say no. Especially, when you’ve barely developed a basic personality, let alone a strong-willed, independent one. He’s so bland even his bone marrow taste like vanilla, but men will still pander to him – so why bother trying? I probably wouldn’t, it’s the natural human reaction to an inflated ego.

The temptation to resist hoeing can be real for any of us. So it’s even tougher when men are pulling out their cocks left, right and centre, and accepting them is the only way you know how to feel good about yourself. To survive the Irresponsible Beauty Syndrome (not to be shortened to IBS),  you need to learn how to stay humble, dignified, and value yourself. I’m sure she’s had a great time, but you wouldn’t trade your hole in for a wet scrunchie, would you?

It’s the oldest story in the book, pretty country boy moves to London, while everyone panders to the fresh piece of meat, before she’s passed around a couple chill outs, and then nobody wants the nardy leftover bits. Hopefully she’ll avoid the drug addiction, before moving back home to her parents that love her no matter how loose she is; ironically if she’d have known that in the first place – there might have been more of a guestlist for her suitors, rather than everybody sneaking in the backdoor.


Author: AnthonyGilet

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