Saturday, October 23, 2010

Learn from the Strange, the Normal, and the Beautiful of Hot Model Zack Vázquez

There he was: A Greek god wearing nothing but a bowtie and a New Year's party hat, holding a strategically-placed champagne bottle. This was the first picture I saw of Zack Vázquez. He was gracing the December 21, 2002 cover of the now-defunct Florida gay publication TLW Magazine.

Zack was sitting down holding the champagne bottle in a masturbatory pose, which was fizzing --or jizzing-- over his right hand. He overwhelmed me with his tall muscular beauty. The cover teaser read, "Pop this cork, baby!" I'm sure I wasn't the only guy who jerked off to this picture.

Since that Kevin Gore photo spread, Zack has had a strange and varied career. He has done conventional modeling, but he's no stranger to porn and nude photography. He made a solo jerkoff video for Mark Wolff.

Some of Zack's most interesting nude pictures come from the now discontinued Men magazine. In the October 2006 issue, there's a picture of him standing in a patio doorway, overlooking a beautiful forest. The sun softly highlights his rockhard muscles, and he also gives the camera the requisite "Want to fuck?" look. He sports a nice-sized penis that's been fluffed a little, as well as some well-manicured pubic hair.

Vázquez has done less risqué work for more visible venues. He flexed his muscles for All American Guys, he did a photo spread for the August 2006 issue of Men's Exercise, and he played a US Marine in an ad for the San Francisco area Gold's Gym franchises. He even appears on the covers of a few Ellora's Cave romance novels.

There's a school of thought that says if you flash your dick for adult modeling gigs, it'll hurt your career. We're not sure if that's true, but Zack's career has taken some strange turns. He's modeled for Fleshjack. Even though their ads are common on gay websites, it's debatable whether hawking a sex toy is a good career move for a fitness/fashion model or not. Solo porn and nude pictures are one thing, but a sex toy may be too low status.

Stranger still was his appearance in the straight to DVD movie Dead Boyz Don't Scream (Sharpie Films / 2006) --pun intended. The film was supposed to be a spoof on the slasher horror movies. Vázquez plays Anthony, one of a group male models who are working on an extended photo shoot --not much of a stretch there. One by one, the models are murdered in gruesomely funny ways. (Anthony's death is particularly insulting.)

Dead Boyz Don't Scream is basically a gay man's wet dream, because the models walk around nude during most of the movie for no apparent reason. While I love watching hot guys walk around buck ass naked, there has to be a reason for it in a movie. The film is supposed to be a parody, but it comes off looking stupid with all the gratuitous nudity. Maybe that's why it had to bypass the movie theatres.

Another strange aspect of Zack's career is his very name. He generally uses Zack or Zachary Vázquez for conventional work, but he tends to go by Zack Johnathan for more low-status jobs. That isn't a typo. He spells his second last name with an extra h. It gets a little confusing, because the name change doesn't depend on whether he gets naked or not. He's credited as Zack Vázquez in Dead Boyz Don't Scream. It isn't a porn film, but Zack frequently walks around balls out and bare assed.

Perhaps his weirdest gig is This is a throwback to the old erotic amateur-wrestling websites of the 90s. Our hero is known as Zack Johnathan here. There's no midsection nudity, but it's a low status job. The site basically features male models in professional wrestling matches. While I never get tired of watching Zack, this tame stuff is really for WWE fans, as well as people over 50.

Zack, like the vast majority of models, may never become a household name, but he's at least an Internet star. He's done all types of work: high status, low status, pornography, nude photography, and conventional work. History will judge his wild career. He's a 29-year-old Cuban American, who grew up in Florida, but we don't think he speaks Spanish. His now-closed MySpace profile used to feature audio of him mispronouncing Vázquez, his high-status last name.

Maybe the most interesting thing about Zack is that he forces us to face our own pathological relationships with mass media. We all admire his sculpted body in conventional, artistic nude, and full frontal photos, but do we look down on him for his Fleshjack work? Do we enjoy his Mark Wolff porn, but consider it a bad career move at the same time? How do we feel about his retro Rock Hard Wrestling videos? What about Dead Boyz Don't Scream? We love his numerous nude scenes, but can we endure a spoof that doesn't work?

Ultimately, Zack reminds us that there's such a thing as too big. A lot of people fantasize about men with humongous dicks, but in reality, those guys have trouble getting dates. In real life, most gay males and straight females don't want those huge things in them. (For you size queens, we're not talking about above average; by humongous, we mean python size.) Vázquez, from the looks of his Mark Wolff video, is a grower, not a show-er. He has a regular-sized penis that gets bigger when it counts --but not too big. Zack demonstrates that normal-sized dicks are just right. They make most everyone happy.

If anything, Vázquez helps us look at ourselves --pun intended-- and how we size up other guys --another pun intended. That's the higher purpose of hot muscle boys in porn. They inspire us to become better men through exercise and weightlifting --for sure-- but they can also make us reexamine our social boundaries and help us appreciate just how wonderful normal guys with normal dicks are. When these things happen, we make everyone around us a little happier.

Photo Credits:
TLW Magazine cover 1 -- Photographer Kevin Gore;
Patio nude 2 -- Men Magazine;
Dead Boyz Don't Scream still 3 -- Sharpie Films;
Full erection nude 4 -- Men Magazine; 
Back nude 5 -- Unknown origin;
Side nude 6 -- Zachary Vázquez Model Mayhem portfolio;
Double nudes 7 --

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Washington, Washing--ton! 6-Foot-8, Weighs a Fucking Ton!

Ha, ha, ha! Check out this funny rap video about our first president. United States history was never this hilarious. Cox & Combes' Washington is the creation of Brad Neely of Neely grew up in Fort Smith, Arkansas, but now resides in Los Angeles.

The rap video of course takes wild poetic license with Washington's biography. For example, did you know the Father of Our Country had more than one dick? (The rappers Cox and Combes can't seem to decide exactly how many.)

Just as funny is the background music. There's the minimalist presence of a drum and bass guitar. There're also cheap, human-voice, hip-hop sound effects, but the principal instrument is the kazoo of all things. Anyway, enjoy! You'll never think of history the same way again.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Go Down on Yourself to Improve Your Posture, Look Hotter, and Get Laid More

This dude from is trying to fellate himself, but he's also straightening his head and neck alignment. He probably has great posture.

 We talked about doing a set of pushups everyday in the post Walk the Walk of a Fucking Hot Male Model (March 2, 2009). This ritual improves posture by pushing the shoulders back and opening the chest. However, the neck is another problem area for guys.

We all lose sleep by doing too much work, studying, and/or partying, and frequently our neck pays the price. The neck literally gets tired of holding the head up. So, the head is pulled forward by gravity, out of vertical alignment with the shoulders and hips. Unfortunately, this change becomes hardwired in the neck muscles.

How can we fix this? No one wants to look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Fortunately, there's a fun way to correct this problem: Try to go down on yourself. That's right; lie on your back and try to suck your own dick. I'm serious. It works. Here's the most effective technique:

1. Get naked and lie on your back on the floor.
2. Make your dick hard.
3. Stretch out the back of your neck.
4. Extend your arms above your head on the floor.
5. Bring your straight legs forward until your toes touch the floor above your hands.
6. Breathe and hold that position for 20 seconds.
7. Bend your knees.
8. Lay your knees and lower legs on the floor above your head between your arms. 
9. Breathe and hold the position for 20 seconds.
10. Suck your dick, if you can.

Get up, go to a wall mirror, stand sideways, and check out your new posture using a hand mirror. See? Your head, shoulders, and hips are lined up now. You look like a bad ass motherfucker. People will say you look military. Translation: Your hot straight posture makes them horny, and they want you to fuck them. Of course, good posture is about the only thing straight about us gay guys.

Disclaimer: Make sure you have your doctor's permission to "practice yoga." We don't want any motherfuckers getting hurt. If your doctor's a fag, tell him what you're doing. He might want to do the same thing for his posture.

Guys should do this everyday. If you're athletic, you can add it to your daily stretching routine. If you can service yourself, well, God blessed you so much, dude. Only about three out of every 1000 guys can do that.

If you can't suck yourself, don't worry. You'll still be doing yourself the biggest favor by improving your posture, which will help you get a date. If you can't service yourself, get a boy to do it for you.

There's some anecdotal evidence that suggests if you keep trying everyday, over time you might develop the flexibility needed to pleasure yourself. Did you know that Wikipedia has an article about autofellatio? The article even has this picture of some dude sucking himself, albeit while sitting down.

So, self-cocksuckers and self-cocksucker wannabes, go down on yourself everyday, do a set of pushups everyday, walk with your head up, and always look straight ahead. Your improved posture will attract attention --and you'll get laid more. Do us proud, motherfuckers.

Photo Credits
Countertop 1 --;
Posture 2 -- Unknown origin;
Floor 3 -- Unknown origin;
Seated 4 -- "Autofillatio" from Wikipedia.

Monday, May 31, 2010

I Lost My Top Virginity to a Hot, Muscular, Alcoholic, Well-Endowed Whore

I was so fucking clueless. I had never fucked a guy. Oh, I had fooled around a lot, mind you. One by one, I had kissed about 20 cute boys, I had jacked off with about half of them, and I had even sucked and had been serviced by a couple of them, but now I wanted to fuck guys, guys, lots of guys. I was no longer scared. I resolved to get laid no matter what. This would be my Great Leap Forward, or better yet, my Great Fuck Forward.

I went to my favorite gay beach bar, and there he was: the man I wanted to put my penis in. He was average height, with an angelic face and big muscles. I couldn't keep my eyes off those pecs, those biceps, that butt. He was beautiful. He was at the counter ordering a beer.

My mouth went dry. I was afraid, but I told myself, "Go for it!" I walked up, said hello, and asked how he was doing. He face lit up. He said he was fine. His name was Roberto, and the conversation flowed from there. I couldn't believe my luck. We must have talked for a couple of hours. He also put away a good many beers --much more than me.

I looked at my watch and told myself, "You better make a move, big guy." I held his hand and caressed his arm. He smiled and asked, "So, are we going to fuck?"

"If we want," I answered. Roberto and I talked some more. Then, he took me to his hotel room. It had a big beachfront patio. The view of the night ocean was breathtaking. There I was, with a hot guy in a high-rise room in the sky.

We sat down on the bed and started French kissing and touching each other. We got so horny, that we stood up and undressed. His pecs were big and gorgeous. He had obviously trimmed down his body hair, but it had grown out a little, and that was hot. Then, Roberto took off his pants, and out popped his dick.

"Damn!," I reacted. "You're huge!"
"Thanks, man," he said.


We jumped on the bed naked and went right to it. We kissed, sucked nips, and serviced dicks. We especially enjoyed running our lips up and down the undersides of each other's shafts. Roberto told me to suck his balls, but I said I was afraid. (I hadn't gotten into teabagging yet.)

We made out some more. Then in the heat of it all, he said, "I want to fuck you, I want to fuck you, I want to fuck you." Clueless me! I hadn't taken the initiative. What was I waiting for?

"You're not fucking me with that big thing!" I answered. He laughed. I got on top of him and told myself, "It's now or never." I slipped on a condom, slapped on some lube, and started caressing his ass with my dickhead. At first, Roberto was apprehensive, but I kept gently rubbing my dick on his starfish, and he started to relax. My hot boy looked into my eyes and began to breathe slowly and deeply. Without words, he wanted me to enter him.

I pushed my dick in a little, but withdrew, because I was about to cum. I was so inexperienced! I tried again, but had to withdraw. I was too close to the point of no return. Ironically, Roberto enjoyed me tapping at his back door. He began to say, "Oh...oh...oh..." over and over. I slowly got control of myself and pushed my dick a little in and a little out, a little in and a little out, back and forth, back and forth, and slowly, slowly, I finally got my dick inside my beautiful muscular stud without blowing my load.

Another irony: My inexperience had inadvertently taught me how to slowly and softly enter a guy. A triple irony: I had started to learn how to separate dry orgasms from ejaculation. What first time luck!


I began to fuck Roberto. I couldn't believe it. I was actually fucking a guy for the first time --and not just any guy: a hot, beautiful muscle boy with a big dick. It felt fantastic! I was fucking a Greek god. Why did I wait so long? Oh God, this is too much. I'm losing control. I came inside of Roberto after only a minute. (I was still green on the dry orgasm vs. splooge thing.)

My boy was enjoying being top-flipped, he was certainly very experienced, and upon feeling me squirt inside of him, he told me to keep fucking him, and so I did. I was spent, but I kept thrusting. My dick stayed hard. I was glad I worked out. I was conditioned enough to keep working his ass. Even though I was tired as fuck, I enjoyed watching Roberto getting into it.


Slowly, he began to breathe harder. I kept fucking him, athlete that I was. Roberto looked at me with the greatest expression of pleasure. I kept pounding away. At that moment, I loved him. I kept going for what seemed eternity. Suddenly, he spewed all over his large pecs and washboard abs and enjoyed orgasmic contractions that lasted half a minute. (Cumming while on your back is more intense and long-lasting.)

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen: a well-built studly guy enjoying himself. I collapsed onto Roberto and felt his warm cum on my chest and abs. I had done it! I was a real man now! I wish I hadn't waited so long. We rested together like that for a little while and kissed a few times. Then, I got up and slipped my dick out of him. He looked down and asked, "Where's the condom?"

I noticed it was gone and said, "I don't know. Is it inside you?"


He got up and laughed. "Probably," he said. He pulled the condom out of his ass and dropped it in the trash, as we made our way to the shower. We had fun soaping each other up twice. (You have to wash down two times to get the cum completely off.)

We towelled off and got back in bed. Roberto went right to sleep, but I had trouble. I was too keyed up. I had lost my virginity in the most beautiful way possible. Finally, I dozed off. We woke up at the crack of dawn. Roberto reached over and started pulling on my dick to make me hard. I asked him if he had another condom, and he said no. Naive me! I had brought only one. What a barebacker he was! A gay man without condoms in the room --or so he said.

To be safe, I decided to do a mutual jack-off. I got on top of him, put my hard cock next to his, and humped away until we blew our loads. We showered together again. Roberto said he had to visit his parents. We made a date for that night, and I walked home. I felt so different. I had taken the plunge. I was a man with one lay under his belt.

That night, Roberto and I walked on the beach and sat on a low-curving palm tree. He told me how he was going to donate sperm to a lesbian couple to father a child. He was already interviewing prospects. What a beautiful idea!  I had never thought about such a thing: to be a gay guy --and a father! I was in awe of the possibility. We made out for a little while. Then, we drove to the nightclub. Unfortunately, Roberto got drunk, saw another guy he was attracted to, and French kissed him in the middle of the dancefloor.

I was crushed. My Roberto was a slut and a lush. I knew he was a tourist. I knew it would have to end, but not this way, not this soon, not this disco. Roberto began inviting guys left and right to his hotel room. Another tourist named Humberto introduced himself to me and told me I was cute. Out of revenge, I danced with my new boy and kissed him some. It looked hot, but it was nothing serious. Roberto hardly noticed. He was too busy drinking and lining up group sex dates. My drunk-ass first lover followed me out of the club. He wanted me to come to his room again, but I told him no thanks. I was walking home. I wasn't an orgy kind of guy.


Roberto was good-looking. He had nice, big muscles. He was also a stupid alcoholic whore. I never saw him again. I was sad and glad at the same time, but I got over it. Two weeks later, I was making out with another guy. I dated another, then another, then another. I quickly learned how to be multiorgasmic: I was controlling my dry and real orgasms in no time. I even lost my bottom virginity, but that's another story.

At any rate, I've come a long way since Roberto. In fact, I've become a much better man than he ever was. I'm bulked up from the gym. Periodization is a great thing. I'm good in bed. I enjoy watching my partner enjoy himself. I'm romantic. I've had long-term boyfriends. I'm casual. I can do short term, too. Whatever you want. I'm a great guy. Want to go out?

Photo credits:
Sex pictures 1, 3, 6, 7 -- Yuri & Peter from Sean Cody:
     (Yuri is topping);
Solo pictures 2, 4, 11 -- Jeremy from Sean Cody; 
Loud trade picture 5 -- Kurt & Trey from Sean Cody:
     (Kurt is topping);
Shower picture 8 -- Hawaii: Isaac & Jake from Sean Cody:
     (Isaac is on the right);
White sheet picture 9 -- Gay Amsterdam from; 
Nightclub picture 10 -- Unknown origin.

Saturday, May 15, 2010

I've Got One Thing to Say: Fly That Fucking Flag!

There he/she was: RuPaul in a sequined Confederate battle flag dress, playing the role of Miss Rachel Tensions in the 1995 movie To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar. This was the shocking image to end all controversy. This was gay, drag, black, and Neo-Confederate --all at the same time. What could uptight, puritanical civil rights leaders say?

Here he/she was: A black man playing a woman in a sparkling Southern nationalist outfit. This was the minor role that roared. This was power, irony, comedy, and independence. What could deferent white liberals say?

What could anyone say? It's amazing. RuPaul is still a phenomenon that dares not speak its name. It's 2010, for God's sake! Many blacks still can't own up to the down low --and that flag! That flag! RuPaul completely disarms the white supremacists, when he/she wears it from time to time. The racists are speechless. The politically correct pussies are dumbfounded. He/she is not afraid.

There he was: A black model sporting --gasp!-- a Confederate battle flag shirt --but wait! The flag's colors are different. It's red, black, and green: the African nationalist colors first suggested by Marcus Garvey (1887-1940). (Africa sometimes favors the red, gold, and green of Ethiopia, but we won't belabor the point.)

Get this: Garvey, like Abraham Lincoln before him, wanted to send American blacks "back" to Africa. He didn't get very far with that idea, but he was the father of Pan-Africanism. The red, black, and green are his most visible legacy.

There it was: the shirt's unlucky number 13, or was it? The flag has 13 stars, which stand for the number of Confederate states. Weren't there only 11? Yes, but Missouri and Kentucky sent delegations to the Confederate Congress. So, they counted. Don't you just fucking love American history?

Who made this shirt? NuSouth Apparel of Charleston, South Carolina did. Owners Sherman Evans and Ángel Quintero sold clothes bearing the refashioned symbol. They came up with the idea in the early 90s, while promoting the rap band Da Phlayva. Evans and Quintero later opened NuSouth in 1997. The Confederate battle flag in Pan-African colors was an attempt at racial unity.

People had lots to say about this one. It made quite a splash in the press. Some liked it, others hated it, but everyone agreed that it was an original idea. Unfortunately, NuSouth is no more. It closed in 2004, according to the South Carolina Secretary of State's Office.

There they are: Two black men sporting Confederate battle flags! Are you fucking kidding me? This image is an Internet favorite, but not everyone knows the story behind it.

Anthony Hervey (left) and his brother Harry are protesting the 2000 closure of the Eight Flags Display on US 90 by Harrison County, Mississippi. The County closed the beachfront monument after receiving protests about the Confederate battle flag, which symbolized one of eight historical governments that ruled the area.

Anthony Hervey claims that he's a descendant of a Black Confederate. What the hell? Who was a Black Confederate? A slave who worked for Confederate troops? A slave who defended his master's family and property? A free black who fought for the South? While historians debate the definitions and numbers of official and unofficial black fighters of the Confederacy, today's black Neo-Confederates take up the flag against racial polarization, political correctness, and anti-Southern historical interpretation.

What do all these guys have in common? They're strong. They're courageous. They take the flag and make it their own. They refuse to be drama queens about history. They refuse to give ammunition to the enemy. They've taken away the only weapon white supremacists have.

Perhaps the funniest take on this nuclear bomb of reverse psychology is Blind Supremacy from Chappelle's Show (Season 1 / 2003). Comedian Dave Chappelle plays Clayton Bigsby, a blind white supremacist who's unaware that he's black. The two-part sketch takes the form of a fake documentary by Frontline, the PBS documentary series.

Chappelle's Show
Frontline - Clayton Bigsby
Buy Chappelle's Show DVDsBlack ComedyTrue Hollywood Story

Chappelle's Show
Frontline - Clayton Bigsby, Pt 2

Buy Chappelle's Show DVDsBlack ComedyTrue Hollywood Story

The Confederate battle flag only makes a cameo in Part 2 of this hilarious skit, but the greater point is that Chappelle turns racism on its head. All the insults lose their power, when blacks take ownership of them. It's like black rappers saying nigger a gillion times.

We've heard all the reasons against the flag: It's racist. It's a Klan symbol. It symbolizes slavery. It's a redneck banner. It represents segregation. The South lost; get over it.

Can a flag be racist? Well, if it can be, then the American flag is the most racist flag of all! The Stars and Stripes flew over the Northern abandonment of Reconstruction, which set back civil rights a hundred years. Count them: one hundred fucking long years! A century of Jim Crow! It also flew over the genocide of Native Americans. It was even the flag of Japanese American internment. We could go on and on. Its sins are many.

For the record, I'm a goddamn, card-carrying member of the NAACP. Look and learn. I have fought against de facto segregation. I have produced fair media depictions of different races and ethnicities. My human rights credentials are in order.

I believe that minorities --be they gays, women, blacks, or Martians-- should always fight from a position of strength. We should take up the flag, reinvent it, make it our own, and rally everyone around it. We should recognize positive uses of the flag: We use it to stage battle reinactments. We use it to honor the Confederate dead. We use it to teach students about the Civil War. We use it to round out RuPaul's wardrobe.

Speaking of which, what does RuPaul have to do with masculine gay guys? Nothing --and everything! We may not ask him/her out on a date. We have hard-ons for butch and athletic guys, but we do admire his/her courage, we certainly enjoy his/her comedy, and we appreciate his/her honest ambiguity about gender: hence, his/her use of he/she, his/her, and him/her.

Back to the flag, we should defang racist abuses of the rebel symbol:

Hey cracker, put down that flag! Robert E. Lee looked down on white trash like you.

Go on! Get out of here, you goddamn rednecks! How dare you desecrate the flag of Southern honor?

Hey, hey KKK! How many relatives did you fuck today?

Yo' mama is a nigger-lover.

Forget Oprah and her sniveling, crybaby drama over the mere sight of the flag, the mere mention of slavery, the mere suggestion of segregation. Suppression of history is a pathetic tool of the weak. Black history is a courageous, glorious, riveting rag-to-riches story. African Americans literally built American civilization with their own hands. We do them honor by bravely using the flag to disarm our enemies. No Fear should be our motto, just like the clothing company that bears the name:

I proudly wear my Confederate (battle flag) polo shirt, and sometimes people say I look like a Neo-Nazi skinhead. I show them my NAACP membership card. I tell them I'm honoring my two Confederate soldier ancestors. I say, "You judged a book by its cover. Isn't that what racism is all about?" Talk about having a conversation about race.

For something different, there's always Their clothes range from the overt to under-the-radar symbolism designed to subvert school bans on Neo-Confederate imagery. There are countless other stores that sell the South in all its glory.

The campaign to bury the flag and forget American history is a complete failure. It divides people. It makes for silly political melodrama. It trivializes the civil rights movement. It makes liberals look like a bunch of weak, cowardly, namby-pamby whiners.

It's time for a new approach. It's time to stare at the flag. It's time to imagine new positive uses for it.
What about the gay rebel flag? Well, that's a step in the right direction. If it becomes popular, it could be the biggest reinterpretation since NuSouth's African nationalist version. Why, it could even be the quinessential Southern symbol of the fucking Twenty-First Century!

We can all have fun with this. We can reshape the future with this. We can bring constituencies together with this. The opinion, "The flag belongs in a museum," is such a goddamn cop-out. In politics, that's called sitting in two seats with one butt. It never ceases to amaze me how many politically correct wankers there still are in the Age of the Internet. The Confederate battle flag no more "belongs in a museum" than the First Amendment does.

Civil rights leaders, deferent white liberals, and the politically correct speech police treat minorities like children. We don't need to be "protected" from racist speech. We don't need to be "rescued" from homophobia. We can fight this battle ourselves, and we have just the flag to do it. The thing we feared most will be our salvation.

(John McDermott contributed the information about NuSouth's closing. He is the business editor of The Post and Courier in Charleston, South Carolina.)

Friday, April 2, 2010

Facebook All American Guys Bans Blogger

Model Anthony C is the cover boy for Facebook AAG The beefcake company apparently has a low tolerance for humorous gay comments, even though it sells artistic and stripper nude images of athletic young men. AAG bizarrely maintains a puritanically heterosexual corporate image, in spite of its gay subscribers.

Well, it happened. Your boy Juan Sebastián got banned! Facebook AAG - unceremoniously stripped me of my commenting privileges. This is a riot! My gay humor finally pissed someone off!

What the fuck got me blackballed? God knows. The prissy wankers ain't talking. So, let's have a blast reminiscing. Of course, I'll have to reconstruct my comments. AAG erased everything I ever posted. (I no longer fucking exist there.)

AAG launched their Junior Muscle Guys campaign in early February, and I had a lot to say about it. In the promotional video, the guys hilariously twitch their pecs around police cars and a fog machine for no apparent reason! Check it out.

I started with a mild popular culture comment:

Did you know Bewitched! actually has an episode about twitching pecs? Some bodybuilders are twitching their pecs at Darrin's office, and Larry doesn't quite know what to say.

Then, I really went to town:

What's with the police cars? Are the guys getting arrested for being hot? Love the double entendre comment, "We go in." Hey AAG, you forgot the question mark on "Are you prepared to experience it?" Oh well, I guess we're all supposed to be dumb jocks who can't write.

Later, I asked a sincere question:

Is there a height requirement for the Junior Muscle Guys? How short do they have to be? Seriously, I'd like to know.

I was asking a serious question --honest! I wasn't making fun of them this time. I love, love short guys. They can do any position!

Anyway, AAG ran a photo shoot of their men posing with female models in late February. (What? No gay pictures?) Here's one of the best shots:

Since a lot of gay guys comment on the Facebook site, I just couldn't let that go. I hit it with a funny but very common reaction:

Ditch the bitch and make the switch!

Later, I wrote this about the male/female model pictures:

Is this AAG's way of telling us to "get straight." I wonder what would happen if we told them to "get gay"?

Well, wonder no more. They banned my butt! I'll be the first to admit I'm a snarky, smart-ass son of a bitch. My friends love me for that. They wouldn't have me any other way. Correcting grammar and questioning compulsory heterosexuality can get you in trouble, but then again, my statements were mild compared to the other Facebook comments. I mean, there're dudes who write, "Oh, fuck me," and AAG puts up with it!

They say you haven't made it in comedy until you make someone mad. Well, I've managed to piss off an entire beefcake company! Maybe it was the lethal combination of humor and homosexuality. I guess we faggots can be gay and we can be funny --but not at the same time! Then again, AAG wouldn't be the first company that was inconsistent in their "discipline."

What makes this funny is that AAG is such a fucking anachronism! They tell everyone that girls love their website, but last time I checked, AAG wasn't turning down any gay money. Of course, we can't say that out loud! We wouldn't want to upset AAG's straight image. Huh? This is 2010, dickheads. I mean, VH1, Bravo, Calvin Klein, Dolce & Gabbana, Abercrombie & Fitch, and other companies have made zillions of dollars openly peddling gay themes.

If you guys want to have some fun, ask Facebook AAG - what their deal is with your boy Juan Sebastián --and crack a joke, while you're at it. You might want to ask them why they suck gay guys' wallets in the dark. (They love the 50s.) You could ask them how many of their models are butchy queers and switch hitters.  (Hello! Male modelling is gay in more ways than one.) You may even wonder how many of them fuck female ass. (Birth control never felt so good.)

I actually wear the Facebook AAG - ban with pride. They're trying to silence me, but a ban will never work. It'll actually generate publicity. It'll make readers wonder what all the fuss is about.  It'll make Masculine Gay Guys look cool, edgy, interesting, provocative, and controversial. It'll also be a great story to tell on dates. Yes! I'm going to get so much tail!

Photo Credits:
Cross 1 -- Anthony C, alias Anthony Michael Cadrecha,
     by Michael A. Downs for All American Guys;
Video 2 -- Junior Muscle Guys;
Girl and Guy 3 -- Melissa and Michel Wyatt
     by Michael A. Downs for All American Guys;
Green Underwear 4 -- Anthony Green
     by Michael A. Downs for All American Guys;
 Black Underwear 5 -- Nick Bennett
     by Michael A. Downs for All American Guys;
Bed Nude 6 -- Brock Yurich
     by Michael A. Downs for All American Guys.

Friday, March 26, 2010

Blogger Swims Nude, Wins Comment Contest

John Pruitt, Bel Air (1986) by photographer Jim French is a striking illustration of male muscle in water. The contrast between light and shadow calls our attention to model John Pruitt's thick chest. His pecs are so big, they almost look like boobs! French is best known as the founder of the gay porn company Colt Studio. He retired in 2003.

Hey all you hot wankers! Your boy Juan Sebastián won another comment contest in mid-January. This time we conquered the Facebook page of We had to write about our best night outside the bar scene. Here's the winning entry:

My Best Non-Bar / Club Night

Once, I took a new guy who caught my eye to my friends' condo, because they had a pool. (I love midnight swims.) Poolside, I stripped off my clothes, and told my three companions to do the same. My boy wanted to swim in his boxers, but I wasn't having any of it: I told him, "We're all guys here," and I yanked his boxers off. After swimming a while, my boy and I went to the shallow end and fooled around a little. My aggression and exhibitionism must have impressed him. He became my boyfriend!

As a result, I won a free week of unlimited membership on Do I still have that boyfriend? No, he was a summer romance. We lived in different cities, and the distance got to be too much for him. Anyway, the weather's getting warm again, and the pool's a great place to take a guy. You'll know where to find me. I'll be swimming with the boys of summer. We'll all be naked, of course. Strip down and jump in!

Additional Photo Credit:
Four Naked Swimmers -- From left, Logan, Brent,
     Dawson, and Jesse star in The Gangbang
     by Corbin Fisher.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

Worship the Fertility God Warren Cuccurullo

Grace comes from the unlikeliest of places. A naked muscular man, sitting in a jacuzzi, christens his mouth and body with red wine, which runs down to his hardening dick. He has shaved his head and body, in an act of ritual purity, but has only trimmed his chintee and pubic hair, in erotic defiance.

The trimming/shaving contrast makes him a demigod. He is divinely beautiful, but very much a man. His lean muscles and low body fat mean he is strong and virile, yet mythologically attractive.

The red wine is the same color as menstrual blood, an expression of the female. His drinking of the wine/blood is a sexual communion, the ultimate ritual. First, the man licks and arouses the vagina. He revels in the female's fluids, symbolized by the spilt wine on his chest and abdomen. The wine reaches and beckons the dick to stiffen, enter, give pleasure, and impregnate.

The highly charged eroticism of the picture makes him a legendary lover and a fertility god at the same time. He enjoys many women and sires a multitude of children. A beautiful race springs from his loins. He also has spiritual power. Prayers to him help barren women conceive. He is father to all.

What in Hell does all this have to do with masculine gay men? The god's name is Warren Cuccurullo, and he's quite a gay icon. He was 44 when the picture was taken in 2000. It appeared in the Brazilian gay publication G Magazine.

Gay jocks want to be him and sleep with him. Wow! At 44, the guy really knew how to work out and take care of himself. He has also lived quite a life. As a rock guitarist, he played for Frank Zappa, Missing Persons, and Duran Duran. The picture was part of his sojourn into porn from 2000 to 2004.

Ultimately, the red wine serves to remind a masculine gay man that he can be a great dad. He can do the bi thing and sleep with a female friend, who recognizes his potential as a father, or he can donate sperm to a lesbian, who will make him a big part of the child's life. Either way, his children will learn from a father who is respected in the world of men, yet free from the stifling puritanism that plagues many American heterosexual households.

In spite of his potent image, Warren has only one adopted child, who is now in his 20s. Surely, Cuccurullo's blood runs through the children of many a groupie. I mean, he's been in rock since the late 70s, and has kept himself looking hot and strong all along the way. I'm sure generations of women have wanted to have his babies --and have.

I don't have children myself, but someday, I'd like to. When I think about it, I feel a strange sense of renewal and possibility --a desire to give, love, teach, and --get this-- joke around. I would certainly want to be everything my father wasn't. He was such a failure, I had to learn how to become a man by myself.

So, I shamelessly worship the pagan image of Warren Currucullo. I pray for love, strength, beauty, honor, respect, success, and independence. (Hey, I'm a father in training.) Then, when the time is right, I pray for strong sperm to get the job done! I will always love men, and my seed will mainly fall on them, but one day, I will engender a few new gods to roam the earth and spread the religion. The idol will be pleased.

Photo Credits:
Wine 1 -- G Magazine, December 2000, Brazil;
Zebra Cover 2 -- G Magazine, December 2000, Brazil;
Concert 3 -- 1999 Duran Duran tour,
     Photo by Lisa C. Meyer;
Baseball Cap 4 -- Graffiti Wall at Venice Beach, California,
     2001 Photo by Mariko Catherine;
Motorcycle 5 -- G Magazine, December 2000, Brazil.