Steve McQueen – Tales Of A Lurid Life (Darwin Porter)

Darwin PorterSo Steve was a Queen. According to notorious biographer, Darwin Porter. There is more gay sex contained in these pages than even George Michael could handle. I needed asbestos gloves to protect myself from the social diseases leaping off the text. The author is one sick bastard. He lives with cats in a New York city apartment. Of course he would. It’s ridiculous semi-fiction, with personal conversations somehow “recorded” and enough smutty talk to fill a swamp. I was laughing every other paragraph or so from the way this writer lays out each scene for us. This is like two schoolgirls gossiping behind the bike sheds. Man, this dude Porter must have been a very busy fly on many walls. Where is a swat when you need one?!

His mother was a prostitute and so was he. After being kicked out of her apartment “for being too gay” by his mother’s boyfriend, Steve McQueen spent months hustling men on the down low. At one point he finds himself in a bar, trying to sell his body to any passersby while his dear old Mama is doing the same thing just a few feet away. He joins the navy and gets to play cards with President Harry Truman. He also gets to sample the joys of “grab ass” with the other sailors. Steve decides to quit this past time because it is too faggy. He becomes a stripper somewhere in Central America, ejaculating into a cup of coffee every night on stage, in front of audiences who cheer wildly for the young gringo. The kid grew up fast!

Also on his resume is towel boy at a brothel where he gets to sample the delights of the whores after their clients have just vacated the premises. The young McQueen gets his kicks by entering the warm, quivering vaginas that still contained the cold secret sauce of other men: “I dig sloppy seconds!” becomes McQueen’s mantra. For some reason I can picture him saying this with a shit-eating grin. He turns down the opportunity to become a rich bitch’s husband because of the demands his would-be- father-in-law makes on his nubile young body. Everyone wants a piece of Stevie. He can’t please everybody! Get to the back of the fucking line! Then he reaches the Big Apple in 1950. And he’s not wearing a shirt.

steve-mcqueen-the-blob                    (Don’t worry, Steve’s out cruising for a piece of fanny…the American kind)

Television has just been invented and an army of frustrated house wives need their new contraptions fixed. I can’t recall what happened in order after this; method acting with Lee Strasberg, Marlon Brando teaching him everything that Jewish women know, motorcars, motorbikes and an exotic wife with a bloke’s name appear at some point…oh yeah, he circles restlessly around Paul Newman. They talk trash to each other and end up in bed. I think McQueen pokes Judy Garland on a beach or in a car. What else? Elvis Presley pops up to invite Stevie back to his joint to meet a Japanese masseur. After McQueen is stretched out naked – with the Nippon pounding on him – Elvis delivers the crushing news: “Tokyo Rose here is as queer as a three dollar bill.” Damn! Where do all these fags come from? Maybe he attracted them after swimming in the man-slop of all those strangers in his brothel days.

The King of jailhouse shenanigans persuades McQueen to drop some unconscious-inducing drugs so they are both nude and completely at the mercy of Tokyo Rose. Just like real he-men do, ya know? His little-man syndrome erupted at the most unlikely of times. At the funeral of Sharon Tate our boy revealed his whopper to the mourners – a loaded revolver. He befriended two penniless hippy dudes in the desert. One night, after his psychiatrist diagnosed him as homosexual, he turns up at their door trying to kick their balls in. “You faggots turned me into a fuckin queer!” They managed to calm him down and it turned into the usual threesome. The two hippies deny any taint of gayness because a chick was sometimes in the bed with the three men. So that’s alright then. We can all breathe easy.

McQueen did not seem to be much of a judge of character. His opinion of O J Simpson was “that boy would never hurt a fly.” He turns down the plum role in Play Misty For Me because the male character is too submissive. In 1977 Steve McQueen wears granny glasses and grows a beard with long hair. He means business. He is going to bring great Norwegian writer Henrik Ibsen’s An Enemy Of The People to the motion picture screen. The only problem is he is way out of his league. The finished product empties theatres all over the western hemisphere. One Hollywood schmuck commented: “Ibsen my ass! This is the problem you have when you take a cowpoke from Missouri and turn him into a star.” According to Mr Porter, Steve’s greatest film achievement was starring in The Blob; “he never looked so beautiful…” But getting back to this biography all I can end this with is to say – its a scream!

mcqueen and wife



  1. Oh dear lord this book sounds like hysterical trash, I can’t wait to read it ha ha! XD I LOL’d throughout this entire review, my fave (somewhat understated) lines of “Then he reaches the Big Apple in 1950. And he’s not wearing a shirt.” hit me right in the funny bone. Hilarious review!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks! Hunt it down, my dear. This is every celebrity’s ultimate biography from hell. He supposedly rode his bike through New York districts topless. While men (and some women) catcalled and wolf-whistled…ha ha! It is fiendishly funny but also sickening. I found a copy in the public library but its worth buying on Kindle. If you want sleaze – Darwin Porter’s got it! 🙂


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