Keegan Hirst On Why His First Gay Hookups Felt “F–ing Gross”
He was the first professional British rugby league player to come out, but Keegan Hirst is now talking about a different kind of challenge, the awkward, often disappointing, truth about sex and relationships after leaving the closet.
You might not expect to hear this from a 193 cm (6’4”) former rugby player, but here it is. “After you finish [sex], go ‘oh I need to get out of here. This is f*cking gross’.”
Those are the words of Keegan Hirst, speaking recently on the All Out podcast with Jon Dean. He was describing his first encounters with men, and the honesty is refreshing. He pulls back the curtain on a part of the coming out story we rarely discuss, what happens when the initial celebration fades and you have to figure out how to actually live, and love, as an out man.
It wasn’t meant to feel this way.
For many men, the first sexual experiences with other guys come with a heavy dose of shame. Hirst is open about how his early hookups were secretive and emotionally hollow. He called them “transactional,” which is a polite term for encounters that are quick, anonymous, and emotionally empty.
There was no cuddling or lingering, just a fast and anxious exit. Why? Because coming out doesn’t automatically erase years of conditioning.
“I was still dealing with internalised homophobia,” Hirst told Dean. “That probably took me years to get rid of, if I’ve got rid of it at all.”
It’s a feeling many of us know well, where the freedom you fought for is still shadowed by a shame you can’t seem to shake.
The predictable explosion after years of pressure.
Once he was publicly out, Hirst did what many men in his position do. He downloaded Grindr, hit the clubs in Leeds, and tried to make up for lost time. His therapist offered a fitting description for this phase, comparing men who come out later to a soda bottle that has been shaken for years. When the cap finally comes off, everything fizzes over.
It was a period Hirst called “freeing,” but he also admitted it was not “meaningful.” The attention was there, especially for a well-known athlete, but the connection was not. He found that the hookups, while new and exciting, often felt “dehumanizing” because they did little to address the deeper need for self-acceptance.
From person to porn search.
Being a newly out, muscular rugby player created its own set of problems. Fame combined with his story made him an object of intense fascination.
“Once I’d come out publicly, I remember my mate saying to me, ‘You are literally someone’s fantasy, like a porn search.’”
At first, Hirst embraced it. “I remember saying, ‘I don’t give a fuck. If I’m getting laid, everybody’s a winner.’” But the feeling soured when he realised what was happening. “It did become apparent that some people wanted to sleep with me to brag about it,” he said. “I remember saying, ‘I’m not a piece of meat, you know. There’s more to me than that.’”
That reality was amplified by the fact that he is a father. “I’m a man with two young children, and I can’t just go off and be a party boy.”
Helping others skip the hard parts.
These days, Hirst has channelled these difficult experiences into something positive. He now works as a life coach, specifically helping other queer men with fitness, self-esteem, and mental health. Having been through the shame, the messy hookups, and the objectification, he is now in a position to help others find their footing with more confidence.
His message is simple. Sex should feel good, and so should you. Wanting a meaningful connection over a quick thrill does not make you needy; it makes you human. His honesty cuts through the usual sanitised coming-out stories we are often fed. It’s a reminder that figuring yourself out is a process, and sometimes the messiest parts are the most important.
