Masculine Gay Guys

There's a New World Coming, and It's Just Around the Bend

2012-01-02T19:21:00.003-06:00

He was beautiful. He looked like Vin Diesel. The only difference was that his hair was grown out a quarter inch.

He caught my eye at the airport. I was returning home after the holidays. He was seated playing around with his smart phone, while waiting for our flight. It was an ungodly five in the morning.

I looked at him from time to time, while reading the newspaper, and he quickly caught on that I was checking him out. He returned my occasional attention with a cold expression.

So, I knew I wouldn't be chatting him up anytime soon. We later boarded the plane with the other passengers, and irony of ironies, he was in the seat next to me. I don't think he was very pleased with the coincidence. He put on his sunglasses and went to sleep.

The chance seating at least gave more time to enjoy the eye candy. His strong arms and chest contoured his gym franchise shirt, and he sported a slight double chin, suggesting that he was around 30. (Vin Diesel at 44 is also starting to gain weight.)

I soon fell asleep, too. Most everyone was tired from the New Year's parties, but the day after was a great time to fly, due to the low number of passengers and zero probability of delays.

My muscle boy travelling companion and I woke up to the stewardess's prelanding announcement about seat belts, tray tables, and returning seats to their upright position. I wished him a Happy New Year.

He was looked shocked that I had broken our uneasy silence, but he muttered "Happy New Year" back. I'll give him credit. He didn't ignore me or call me a goddamn faggot. He didn't cause some over the top, homophobic drama, either.

My initial attention was unrequited, and exchanging a holiday wish was all I wanted in the end. So, we both went our separate ways.

This little story is a sign of great progress. The gay panic excuse is becoming obsolete. Americans are generally abandoning the antigay insults and violence.

In the future, gays, bisexuals, and straights will negotiate flirting and social conventions without much fuss. Unwanted attention will be handled with a cold stare, averting the eyes, or a simple "No thank you." This is especially important for American males. Gay guys will be freer to pursue their interests, and their unrequited attentions will no longer be seen as an attack on straight masculinity, but rather just one of those things --something to be shrugged off.

This emerging tolerance of gays will have a positive effect on masculinity in general. Homosexuality will no longer be feared. After all, aren't guys supposed to be brave? Males will finally be themselves, and they will be free to experiment with their sexuality whenever they choose.

The future tolerance will also confirm what we have all known is true. Many straight guys go through a gay stage, and many gay males have had some straight experiences. Male sexuality cannot be contained; it overflows like an eternal spring.

When I was growing up, people would often say this about an alpha male's libido: He's so horny, he screws everything that moves. Even in that repressive time, the team captains and Homecoming kings were given wide sexual latitude. The popular guy privilege will soon be enjoyed by all males.

What of all the school bullying and religious repression that still goes on? Well, you can't pray the gay away, and you certainly can't beat the gay away. Those that fight us viciously often are trying to destroy a homosexual part of themselves. A classic 1996 University of Georgia study found that homophobic men became more aroused when watching gay male porn, compared to nonhomophobic men: http://www.philosophy-religion.org/handouts/homophobia.htm.

So, my little exchange with an airplane muscle dude on New Year's Day was inconsequential in itself, but it spoke volumes about our future. We are living in exciting times. This may very well be the Gay Century. With emerging freedom, we masculine gay guys are going to have the time of our lives.

Photo Credits
Vin Diesel 1, 2, 3, 4 -- Unknown origin;
Naked Male Hug 5 -- Unknown origin;
Vin Diesel 6 -- http://wallpapers99.com/Vin_Diesel.htm;
Buddha Sex 7 -- Unknown origin.

Rub Piss on Your Dick, Shower, and Then Fuck Like No Tomorrow

2011-07-27T20:42:00.001-05:00

I want to burst out laughing, whenever I see a guy buying Solarcaine. It's obvious that he's trying to prevent premature ejaculation, but any lover would notice what he was doing. Grabbing a dick with that stuff on it instantly feels weird.

We talked about ejaculation control in our post How to Become a Multiorgasmic Stud. Guys can learn to delay their splooges while jacking off. It takes a little practice, but approaching the point of no return several times and stopping to enjoy dry orgasms can make you a better lover.

This technique, sometimes called edging, requires stopping and restarting during sex, but what if you wanted to suck and fuck all night? What if you got tired of interrupting everything, taking a deep breath, and waiting for the dry orgasm to subside? What if you had total cum control?

The answer has been inside you all along. Urine can soften and thicken the skin. Athletes have known this for generations. Many of them use piss to prevent blisters. Pee can also make you a sexual dynamo.

The first time I tried this, I stepped in the shower and pissed in one of those big, plastic, fast food, drink cups. I poured and rubbed my urine all over my dick and waited five minutes. Then, I took my shower as usual. I did this everyday. I even encouraged my then-boyfriend Diego to do the same. It toughened up our schlongs, but it surprisingly made them very soft, too. We loved how different they felt.

It was as if we had brand new penises, but the real surprise was in the bedroom. We had been a half-hour couple before, but then we had an all night fuck session for the first time. We took turns sucking each other off, doing 69, banging each other's ass, and screaming on every thrust. We had loud, rough sex until dawn. We never came anywhere near cumming!

Exhausted, we lubed up our dicks again and jacked each other off violently to get some satisfaction. We finally blew our loads and covered each other's abs with globs of postponed cum. To top it all off, I squeezed Diego's tool hard and made him scream and laugh. He struggled to pry open my grip. (A guy's dick is very ticklish, just after he spews.)

After that experience, we only put pee on our dicks two or three times a week. We still enjoyed the occasional all nighter, but sometimes, we were just as happy with half nighters, as well as quicker times. Putting piss on our cocks every once in a while opened a new world of options. It gave us control of the clock.

We became men's men. Our uncanny wad control boosted our self-confidence enormously. We became more aggressive at work. We walked around like cocky motherfuckers. We even started attracting women of all things! Everywhere we went, we knew in the back of our minds that we could fuck any which way for as long as we wanted to. I'm sure our sexual pride shined through.

Every guy is different. Some need to put pee on their weiners everyday, and others, like my then-boyfriend and I, not so often. Experiment. See what happens in bed. Adjust accordingly.

I don't call my then-boyfriend my ex for a reason. We never officially broke up. Life separated us. We had to take better job opportunities in other places to support our respective parents, but Diego and I never forgot the insane sex we enjoyed. It brought us closer together at the time.

We have gone our separate ways. We have had other relationships, but once every few years, Diego and I find ourselves in the same town, and we fuck each other like jackrabbits. It was all so simple, really: piss on your pecker five minutes before showering. We wished we had known this trick earlier.

Photo Credits:
Grocery Store Boy 1 -- Flickr Photo by Tony Alter, 2011
Vintage Ad 2 -- Solarcaine, 1962;
Masturbation 3 -- Gabriel from Sean Cody;
Hot Boy Showering 4 -- Kumar from Fratmen;
Penis Inspection 5 -- Brodie and Calvin from Sean Cody
     (Calvin is feeling up Brodie);
Table Sex 6 -- Hawaii: Isaac and Jake from Sean Cody
     (Isaac is bottoming);
Couch Sex 7 -- Ryan and Brodie from Sean Cody
     (Ryan is sitting on Brodie);
Floor Sex 8 -- Doug and Jake from Sean Cody
     (Doug is topping);
Common Shower 9 -- Four unknown guys, 1939.

Alan B. Stone's Beefcake Rises Again

2011-03-20T02:09:00.026-05:00

You're a criminal. Your attraction to men is illegal. You're a young queer living in the 50s. Why, they even call you a pinko commie, which is odd. You made an A in your Americanism vs. Communism class.

The closet is Hell, but the movies speak to you. You saw Rebel without a Cause several times, while necking with the projectionist guy. Everyone raves about James Dean as Jim, but you know better. Sal Mineo as Plato is the real rebel. He keeps trying to get Jim alone at the abandoned mansion. Plato is like you and your handsome movie theatre boy. It's like a secret fraternity. We have our own codes and symbols.

The magazines also speak to you. You frequent the local newsstand. There among the confession and science fiction glossies are the Holy of Holies: the fitness and physique magazines. You buy them one by one, along with newspapers to hide them, so as not to arouse suspicion and horrible reactions like, "You goddamn, fucking queer!"

You collect Vim, Your Physique, Tomorrow's Man, Body Beautiful, Physique Pictorial, and others. They cost next to nothing. One is 35 cents; another is maybe 50. You take them home, choose your favorite Greek gods, and jerk off in ritual worship of their sacred images.

The magazines feature photography studio ads! You order more beefcake pictures. They thankfully arrive in plain envelopes. You have more semi-naked athletes, cowboys, sailors, lumberjacks, and Roman soldiers to add to your collection. You jack off all the more, when you can't be with your boyfriend.

The pictures make life bearable in this bland, repressive, and dangerous time. Mark One is one of your favorite mail order sources. The envelopes come from Lachine, a city near Montréal. The photographer dares not speak his name. You understand why. A man can get arrested for "crimes against nature." For you, his is the unknowable, unspeakable name of God.

You don't know Alan Bentley Stone. He fell into beefcake photography through an unlikely source. Stone grew up in the Boy Scouts of Canada. When he began his photography business, he naturally took pictures for some Scouting publications. To illustrate some exercises, he photographed bodybuilder Billy Hill, a former Scout. Stone suddenly saw a lucrative future beyond that contract.

World War II has ended, and interest in bodybuilding is growing. This has led to an explosion of muscle mags, and homosexuals like you represent the majority of their readers. You don't know Stone's name, but through the years, you love his pinup boys: Martin Reid, Gilles Leonard, Steve Belding, Mike Mangione, Gérald Desfossés, and many others.

You don't know that Stone suffers from arthritis, but in spite of his disease, he becomes one of the most successful beefcake photographers in Canada during the 50s and 60s. You don't know what becomes of him. You don't know the sacred mystery --until now.

In 2006, Amérimage-Spectra produced the 49 minute documentary Eye on the Guy: Alan B. Stone and the Age of Beefcake. It features an audiotaped interview of Stone, as well as his pictures and home movies of his models.

It also includes commentary from fellow artist Peter Flinsh, anthropologist Ross Higgins, former curator Jean-François Larose, bodybuilding entrepreneur Ben Weider, and Concordia University (Montréal) cinema professor Dr. Tom Waugh. The documentary was directed by Philip Lewis and Jean-François Monette.

The documentary DVD is sold by the Archives gaies du Québec (Gay Archives of Québec), where Stone's photo collection is now preserved. Even though the Archives website advertises the DVD, you cannot buy it online. You have to order it by mail. Talk about retro.

Just send a $30 check ($25 for the DVD plus $5 shipping and handling) to this address:

     Gay Archives of Québec
     4067 Boulevard St. Laurent #202
     Montréal, Québec
     H2W 1Y7 Canada

Include your name, address, the DVD title (Eye on the Guy: Alan B. Stone and the Age of Beefcake), and which language you prefer: the French version or the "English/International" version.

Before Calvin Klein popularized homoerotic images in the 80s, Stone and his fellow photographers advertised their hugely profitable mail order businesses in the beefcake magazines under the guise of art, health, fitness, and historical reenactments. Many pictures seem dated now. The posing straps that some models wore look especially obsolete, but they were required by law. They couldn't show their dicks or pubic hair.

However, there's still a timelessness to Stone's work. Many of his pictures are minimalist in style: Just the models, ma'am. Unlike other photographers, Stone wasn't big on props --maybe a chair here or a rope there. He also wasn't keen on sets. He photographed men in junkyards, bare studios, abandoned houses, and natural settings. This is in contrast to Bob Mizer's models, who are upstaged by huge and woefully outdated Hollywood sets.

Alan B. Stone was a Canadian Scout made good, and he's starting to gain a new following through vintage beefcake websites. He died in 1992, but his photos have clearly outlived the magazines that first published them. As the United States catches up to Canada's more progressive attitudes about homosexuality, it's high time we celebrate the iconic beauty of his pictures.

You're legal now. They can't disapprove. You and Stone's boys no longer have to live in the shadows.

Ross Higgins and Martin Reid (née Marcel F. Raymond) of the Archives gaies du Québec contributed Photos 7, 9, 10, and 11, and answered numerous questions about Alan B. Stone. The biography Martin Reid: The Life and Times (2001) by Christopher Frey is also sold by the Archives.

Photo Credits:
Car Boy 1 -- Alan B. Stone;
James Dean (left) and Sal Mineo 2 -- Rebel without a Cause. Dir.
      Nicolas Ray. Warner Bros. Pictures, 1955;
Newsstand 3 -- Alan B. Stone, 1951;
Mike Mangione 4 -- Alan B. Stone;
Alan B. Stone 5 -- Unknown photographer;
Billy Hill 6 -- Alan B. Stone;
Martin Reid 7 -- Alan B. Stone;
Eye on the Guy ad 8 -- Studio oneonone design of Amérimage-Spectra
      documentary (2006) information superimposed on Mike
      Mangione by Alan B. Stone (1962);
Gérald Desfossés and Mike Mangione 9 -- Alan B. Stone;
Physique Illustrated covers 10 -- Keith Fisk (left, April 1963) and
     Mike Mangione (September, no year) by Alan B. Stone;
Cliff D'Arrow 11 -- Alan B. Stone.

Old Facebook's Getting Pissed; So, Take Off All Your Clothes

2011-01-17T01:37:00.009-06:00

We're bad --according to Facebook that is. Last fall, our fan page got a warning for the picture above of Florida model Zack Vázquez. What's funny is that we really, honestly didn't notice that he was sporting a boner under his camouflage bikini swimsuit until weeks after posting it, and then we thought, "Well, it isn't that obvious." Hard-ons or no hard-ons, we just enjoy pictures of hot, strapping guys.

I liked this picture, because I imagined that I would be walking on a garden path one day, and Zack would jump out in front of me to show me something naughty. Facebook took it down, but then they put it back up! Go figure, but what really got us shut down after Thanksgiving was this nipple play shot.

Here, Jonathan is sucking Jamie's right nip in a still from their Sean Cody flick. We thought it was a nice, wholesome picture! This photo shows the guys from the waist up; so, we didn't have to crop it. Jonathan sucks at just the right angle for the camera, while caressing his friend's chest. Jamie is leaning back and looking like he's having the time of his life. He casually touches Jonathan's forearm, which heightens the overall impression of intimate pleasure.

Guys love to have their nipples serviced. It's just good, clean fun, but apparently the Facebook boobs didn't see it that way. They just thought, "Sex act!" and panicked. We could understand if it was a guy sucking on a woman's titty, but two men? Guys go shirtless all the time. If they want to suck nips on Facebook, they should be allowed.

Anyway, we sent messages to Facebook asking to be reinstated, and they finally gave us permission in December. We were gone for the holidays. So, we didn't reactivate until January. Our fans were happy to see us back, and they sent us some great "welcome back" comments, but wouldn't you know we got an additional warning for this picture?

This is Nick Ayler, looking all steamy and rugged. He's very manly with his big muscles and vacation beard. Facebook allows pubic hair. So, we thought this shot passed muster. I guess holding your undies around your dick is forbidden, even though there's no woody and no visible penis lines (VPL). In fact, we post VPL all the time, and no one says anything.

We recently put up this portrait of male swagger. The mushroom head of Matt Stone's half-hard dick is clearly visible, and his clinched fists, tightened six-pack, and rock hard physique complete the singular message of sexual bravado. He looks as if he wants to jump out his briefs and fuck the living daylights out of us!

Facebook allows pictures like this, even though we think they're way more risqué than Nick Ayler's shot. We understand that minors aged 13 to 17 use Facebook, but we can't make sense of the rules. The Statement of Rights and Responsibilities vaguely prohibits nudity, but doesn't define what's kosher and what isn't.

At this point, we're not going to worry about it. We'll try to behave and follow Facebook's byzantine photo policies. This is the second time we've gotten shut down. (The first was for profanity.) If it happens again, you can find us at the Facebook Masculine Gay Guys Censorship Shelter.

Why do we bother? Well, our fan page has really increased traffic to the blog. So, we put up with the puritanism and wish Facebook was a European company. The children in Europe grow up surrounded by naked pictures and statues, and they turn out all right. That's the trouble with some Americans. They don't know the difference between art and pornography.

Well guys, you've put up with this cocktease photo essay long enough. So, we leave you with Jeremy of Sean Cody. Here he is, naked and erect.

What a combination! His tall, athletic body belies his look of innocence, and that tool: a nice, long, hard shaft with low-hanging balls. He makes us want to do everything with him. Enjoy jacking off, you wankers. This is what being a gay guy is all about. We give ourselves the pleasure of lusting after good-looking men.

Photo credits:
Zack Vázquez and His Garden Boner 1 -- Unknown origin;
Nipple Play 2 -- Jonathan & Jamie from Sean Cody;
(Jonathan is sucking nip);
Nick Ayler Holding It 3 -- Unknown origin;
Matt Stone's VPL 4 -- Michael A. Downs for All American Guys;
Gym Hard-On 5 -- Jeremy from Sean Cody.

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

2010-10-23T18:09:00.032-05:00

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. The teaser preview is here: http://wolffpachosted.com/galleries/2010/03/zack-jonathan-video/index.php?id=1992322

Some of Zack's most interesting nude pictures come from http://menmagazine.com/. 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 http://www.rockhardwrestling.com/. 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 -- 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 -- http://wallpapersbywwc.blogspot.com/.

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

2010-08-04T11:23:00.002-05:00

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 http://www.creasedcomics.com/. 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.

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

2010-07-17T23:37:00.023-05:00

This dude from www.hornyboy.com 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? Here's the link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/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.

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

2010-05-31T01:25:00.010-05:00

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 could father children the same way. 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 an alcoholic whore. 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;

Solo pictures 2, 4, 11 -- Jeremy from Sean Cody;

Loud trade picture 5 -- Kurt & Trey from Sean Cody;

Shower picture 8 -- Hawaii: Isaac & Jake from Sean Cody;

White sheet picture 9 -- Gay Amsterdam from bestgaycities.com;

Nightclub picture 10 -- Unknown origin.

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

2010-05-15T15:09:00.019-05:00

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

http://www.comedycentral.com/

Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs

Black Comedy

True Hollywood Story

Chappelle's Show

Frontline - Clayton Bigsby, Pt 2

http://www.comedycentral.com/

Buy Chappelle's Show DVDs

Black Comedy

True 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: http://www.nofear.com/.

I proudly wear my http://www.flagclothes.com/ 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 http://www.dixieoutfitters.com/. 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.)

Facebook All American Guys Bans Blogger

2010-04-02T04:26:00.010-05:00

Model Anthony C is the cover boy for Facebook AAG -AllAmericanGuys.com. 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 - AllAmericanGuys.com 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 - AllAmericanGuys.com 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 - AllAmericanGuys.com 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!

Blogger Swims Nude, Wins Comment Contest

2010-03-26T14:04:00.006-05:00

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 manhunt.net. 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 http://www.manhunt.net/. 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!

Worship the Fertility God Warren Cuccurullo

2010-01-05T18:58:00.005-06:00

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 the 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.

The Time's Always Right for Nature's Viagra

2009-10-24T23:06:00.009-05:00

Andre 3000 of the group OutKast eats a banana, which is one of the foods that's good for guy's dicks.

It's the worst kept secret. Many young guys use Viagra, Cialis, and Levitra as party drugs. Some want to be sex gods. Others try to compensate for the dick-killing effects of alcohol and illegal drugs --sometimes with fatal consequences.

That's so fucked up. There's nothing wrong with young wankers. We get hard in a snap, we spew strong, and we recharge fast, but believe it or not, some among us want superhuman performance. Isn't there a natural alternative to all this?

There is. Eat some or all of these foods: almonds, celery, bananas, avocados, and watermelons. They're good for your dick. How do they work? They improve your circulation, and they relax your blood vessels. That spices up your sex life --food pun intended!

Want more? Exercise regularly and eat those foods. Conditioning exercises are best, such as jumping rope, doing wind sprints, and running stadium steps. The combination of dick foods and strenuous exercise makes you happier. You get hornier, your hard-ons get harder, you recharge faster, and you splooge more often.

This particular combination of diet and exercise is completely healthy. There are no side effects. There is no substance abuse. There is no psychological dependence.

Are there other dick-friendly foods? Yes, but they have some down sides. Garlic works, but it gives you bad breath. Chocolate gives you a thrill, but it can make you fat. Red wine improves circulation, but that's the last thing alcoholic guys need. Eating more broiled fish and chicken works over the long term: Just don't expect results overnight.

The best thing dick foods and rough exercise gives guys is confidence. Real men don't need drugs. Real men take care of themselves. Real men become good lovers the natural way. Real men work out, eat right, and fuck well.

Fucking Talk Like a Man!

2009-10-10T15:40:00.009-05:00

A hot, naked motherfucker talks on his cell. He looks as if he had just showered and toweled off when he got the phone call. We imagine the call was a little long, and he knelt down, because he got tired of standing. This popular Internet image conveys the importance of voice timbre in a man's life. It is attributed to Sambag's Blog of http://www.mostbeautifulman.com/.

There's nothing that gives me a hard-on faster than a deep, resonant, masculine voice. I mean, a low voice can trump everything. A guy can be just a skinny-ass motherfucker with no muscle whatsoever, but if he has the voice of a man's man, I so want to start French-kissing him and fondling his package.

I was not so blessed in the speech department. I had a high, whinny, nasally voice that turned people off. It was so bad, everyone thought I was a girl on the phone! Then, I took up singing to mellow things out, but that only improved things a little bit.

Fortunately, I found the book Freeing the Natural Voice (1976) by Kristin Linklater (New York: Drama, ISBN 0-89676-071-5). I knew the Seventies were good for something besides disco music! The book is full of wild and weird exercises designed to help us discover more relaxed and more beautiful ways of acting, singing, and speaking. Classics include rolling your head while saying "hey" several times (96), chanting vowel sounds with your head tilted all the back (79-81), and singing Billy Button bought a bunch of beautiful bananas, as if you're musically walking up and down a staircase one time (159-160).

I like to work with a piano or electronic keyboard to see how low my voice can go. Also, the voice exercises with head tilted back are especially good for guys, because they stretch the throat muscles and help us develop those hot, deep, manly voices we all love.

Linklater's book almost implodes from all the Yoga relaxation techniques. (I told you it was a Seventies thing.) However, relaxing really is key. It takes some practice to undo years of stress and tension, which lead to higher, more defensive and annoying voice habits.

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of Freeing the Natural Voice is Linklater's attitude about projection. I grew up in a time when schools produced numerous plays without aid of microphones. From First Grade, we were taught to project our voices to the back of the auditorium, but Linklater cautions against voice strain during projection, which drains emotion from an acting performance. Again, we have to find more relaxed ways of filling auditoriums with our voices.

Everyday, I try to do a different voice exercise sequence from Linklater's book, and it's paying off big time. People treat you better, you become more popular, and you get more propositions. It's just like putting on muscle from periodization workouts at the gym. Now with deeper and hotter voices, we can talk our way to bed as well. Okay guys, get the book, work those voices out, and screw everything that moves!

Jack Off to the Jams of Giraffes!

2009-09-19T17:48:00.011-05:00

Hey guys! Check out this fucking hilarious skit from Saturday Night Live (NBC). It starts as a short animal program by the Staten Island Zoo. Moderator Mark Potsic introduces a documentary about giraffes, produced by students from Staten Island Technical High School. Potsic admits he hasn't reviewed the video --a fatal mistake.

What follows is not the promised giraffe documentary, but a satanic rock video featuring heavy metal rants by giraffe cutouts, such as, Vampire blood runs through our veins! Our forked tongues wag, driving you insane! Testosterone-filled rock was never this funny.

In reality, Staten Island Zoo actually exists, along with Staten Island Technical High School. Saturday Night Live even used the actual Staten Island Zoo logo. The skit first ran on November 1, 2008.

I Would Do Anything for Sex, but I Won't Do That

2009-07-06T00:44:00.008-05:00

Pete teabags Harley in their Sean Cody flick. Sucking balls is a more fun and relaxing alternative to labor-intensive up and down deep throating. The practice has also made a political splash. The recent conservative teabagger parties --against taxes and deficit spending-- inspired a slew of double entendre jokes across the political spectrum.

I hate giving head. I'm not much of a fag that way. I've never deep throated. I've never swallowed cum. I've never blown a guy for more than a minute: I suck the head, I slide my lips down the underside, and I teabag a little bit. I enjoy sucking nips more, and I do that longer. Then, I want to fuck!

I get away with it. When guys see my nice straight cock with ample precum, they instantly want to suck me. To be fair, I'm not demanding. I let my boys do what they want. They don't have to work deep throating me either. Besides, my G-spot is just below the head on the underside. It has a Latin name: the frenulum. (For a funny story, read the older post "How I Conquered My Ticklish Frenulum" December 7, 2008.)

Why do my blowjobs suck? When I screw around with a guy, I want to play. I don't want to work. Bobbing my head and neck up and down deep throating a shaft is not my idea of fun. I do 69 a little, but then I want to get on with it. Should I top or bottom? Let's flip a coin!

While we're on the subject, you can forget about rimming, also known as analingus, eating ass, and salad tossing. Keep your hepatitis, parasites, and other diseases to yourself! That's just plain nasty --and possibly life-threatening.

I know it's become popular, since gay porn is showing it more, but you can tell that a lot of the actors are disgusted by it. They lick just around the starfish or lightly lick it. Only a minority of porn actors go all out and eat ass with gusto. There's a good reason for this genaral aversion. It's an ass, guys! It'll never be Health Department clean, no matter how much you wash. (Enemas and douches are ridiculously unnecessary.)

Want to finger? Let's use condoms. Again, keep it clean. I don't want the smell of crap all over our bodies and in the bed.

What the hell can you do with me? I'm mainly here to fuck, and I do good work. I'm multiorgasmic. I have several dry orgasms along the way. If I feel like blowing my load as a grand finale, I will. (To learn more about male multiple orgasms, read the older post "How to Become a Multiorgasmic Stud" --January 6, 2009.)

What's the point to all this? The moral of the story is that you don't have to do anything you don't want to. If your boy has different sexual preferences, work around them. Have standards. If he pressures you to do something uncomfortable, disgusting, or even dangerous, show the selfish fuck the door and find another boy. There are plenty of guys out there who will respect your wishes.

You can always have sex on your terms. You may have to pursue dates a little more aggressively, but you're the man. You're the hunter. You're supposed to search for what you want. It's out there. Get it, studly.

Blogger's Precum Comment Wins Award

2009-05-20T19:53:00.003-05:00

Hey there, motherfuckers! Your blog boy Juan Sebastian won a comment contest. The guys at http://www.manhuntdaily.com/ celebrated their two millionth hit by running a competition for the best ten comments.

One post was "Name That Cock," which asked readers to match dick pictures to porn actors' names. For this story, I wrote the following comment: "Hmmm...from the looks of these guys' cocks, maybe I should do porn. Mine is nice and long with a good healthy head --and all the precum a guy could ever want! My boys instantly want to suck me when they see me naked. It's a work of art --and a fountain at that!"

This was from the heart. I wasn't bragging --honest! My boys do fall in love with my dick. At any rate, I won a free month of full access to http://www.manhunt.net/, like four other winners. The other five won DVDs of gay movies from TLA Entertainment.

Most fun are some of the winners' pen names. The name 1latenight is straight forward, and two names are dick metaphors: Mickey's Mouse and Ray Poirier. (Pourier is French for pear tree.) Tallblond Viking might be interesting to meet. Of course, Aftersakajamie wins the Britney Spears "If You Seek Amy" prize. Possibilities include After, suck a Jamie; After, sack a Jamie; and After suckin', jam me.

Gloria aestati / Glory be to the Summer

2009-05-09T13:55:00.016-05:00

Nude model Nicolas C is a mysterious icon of summer love. Has he finished swimming? What is he looking at? Is that his boyfriend's reflection to the left? His backlit hair, neck, and shoulders almost beckon to be touched. The trimmed yet slightly grown out hair on his thick chest is very hot. He hasn't bothered to trim his legs and forearms. Is he following a new trend or was he just lazy? Does he pump iron or is he just naturally muscular? Did he break his nose playing sports? The broadness of the healed break adds a masculine toughness to his angelic face. He's covering his dick with a towel --a puritanical irony-- and his posture is defensively bent. Is his boyfriend teasing him about covering up? Is he trying to grab the towel? This reflects a current reality: Some gay guys are surprisingly modest in front of their boyfriends, when they're not having sex. (Photo courtesy of Cyprien Leym Photographie)

We meet for the first time at a typical place: a bar, a restaurant, etc. The setting isn't important. Our conversation is natural. We can't look at each other without smiling. It's so on. Later, I suggest we go to a park, a beach, or some other quiet place. There we kiss and feel each other.

We enjoy our perpetual embrace, but it's the simple things that are just as hot. I have waited a long time just to touch the side of your face. You have waited just to glide your fingers along the underside of my forearm.

The next night, we take off each other's clothes. We kiss, we touch, we admire, we compliment, we play, we wrestle, we tickle, we roll around, we sexually exercise. We're regular athletic guys. We start to fuck slow, but then build up to a wild speed. We lose ourselves in lube, screams, muscle, and pleasure.

We spend many nights like this --you and I. Our predestined relationship has no name. We don't know what will happen. We don't become jealous. We don't argue. We just enjoy each other's company, each other's body, each other's hot looks, each other's nature.

In the car, we listen to church choirs. In the city, we visit museums. In the gym, we admire our strengths. Outside, we perfect our game. In bed, we talk about everything in between workouts. We find beauty in places overlooked.

We are summer nights. We are songs of crickets. We are dark cool after bright hot. We are gods without names. Every summer, countless lovers read our scripture. They say our prayers. They repeat our rituals. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be, world without end. Amen. Amen.

Revel in the Hot Comedy of Mike Polk, Jr.

2009-05-02T16:00:00.021-05:00

Want to laugh and lust at the same time? Check out the comedic sketches of Mike Polk, Jr., on http://www.runawaybox.com/. He skewers the corporate cubicle world with well-deserved satire in the Man in the Box video series. Polk plays Greg Bizjack --a rude running joke of a character name-- in an office full of pathetically inane co-workers. Driven crazy by their trivial passions, Greg often defeats them with his sadistic sense of humor.

Polk is also an incredibly hot guy. His sarcastic portrayal of Greg Bizjack reveals a smoldering sexuality. He's very masculine without even trying. You just know he's a real man. He constantly projects his alpha male status with effortless grace.

Polk as Greg gets naked in the Man in the Box episode "Full Frontal Layoffs," posted above. In spite of the strategically-placed shadow box, we see that Polk is a tall, toned, slim guy. He's no bodybuilder, but that's no matter. He has that provocative regular-guy form of masculinity.

Most people know Mike Polk, Jr., as Spanish Mike from the (One Semester of Spanish,) Spanish Love Song (2007). The video features Mike unsuccessfully seranading an indifferent Spanish-speaking girl. His broken Spanish is a devastating critique of the grammar-translation method of foreign language instruction that still plagues the United States. With lyrics like Mi mamá es bonita; mi gato es muy blanco, he lays bear the impractical limitations of traditional Spanish classes. (The more modern and effective communicative and immersion methods are better at teaching students how to get a date.)

The Runaway Box video was such an Internet sensation, that the Spanish cable station Telemundo invited Polk to sing his song to Kim Kardashian. Spanish Mike also made the sequel 2nd Semester of Spanish, Spanish Love Song (2008) with Erik Estrada, star of CHiPs (1977-83) and later of Spanish telenovelas. Polk rounds out his repetoire with other features, such as Boyfriend with Health Benefits.

In addition to www.runawaybox.com, Mike is on www.myspace.com/mikepolkjr, where his comedy is darker and more local. His blog and video clips gleefully target Ohio politics and the economic decline of Cleveland. The more sadistic comedy is another excuse to see our studly comedian in action.

Polk is seemingly Irish, with his red-hot hair, blue ray eyes, and a blinding white smile. In an e-mail interview, Polk said he was "Celtic as a pint of Guinness." He started his career by helping produce The Phat Phree (1996+), a satire magazine for college students. The publication later morphed into a book and a website.

"I started doing this malarky in college at Kent State," Polk said, "writing for the paper, and campus TV, and have not grown up yet." Polk said he grew up in Ohio and that he's 31, but his My Space page says he's 54 --an obvious joke. He's most likely in his 30s.

Polk is also adept at guerrilla comedy. He kissed a male friend for The Today Show street camera, which generated a story on Access Hollywood. Polk also posed as an audience member on The Jerry Springer Show, and his on-microphone comments earned him a kiss from the transgendered guest. (That stunt was probably less spontaneous. It's difficult to believe that former Cincinnati mayor Jerry Springer didn't recognize Cleveland comedian Mike Polk.)

At any rate, Polk is easy on the eyes and he makes us laugh. Sounds like boyfriend material to me. He said, "Let me know how that suck-off poll on the side of your blog ends up. Some friends and I are making a drinking game out of it." We sure will.

By the way, what's his sexuality? His My Space page says he's straight, but his guerrilla antics are more butch gay. So, is he or isn't he? Who knows? Who cares?

Act Like You've Got a Pair: Kiss Your Hot Studly Guy in Public!

2009-04-18T16:39:00.005-05:00

Public male kissing is a necessary requirement for gay equality. It's also a gesture of enormous beauty and eroticism, partly due to the sexual outlaw status. The normalization of male kissing will liberate all forms of masculine affection in the public arena. American males presently grow up starved for physical touch, due to homophobia --a state of affairs that Generations X and Y are struggling to change.

Focus on my new hot boy. He's handsome, talkative, and so into me. I couldn't wait for our first date. There we were: sitting close to each other at a restaurant. The conversation was going great. We couldn't keep our eyes off each other. I couldn't stand the tension any longer.

I told him, "Come here. I want to tell you something." We leaned toward each other, and I gave him a nice, respectable five-second French kiss. We smiled at each other, and I said, "Sweet!" He looked down and blushed. He's fucking cute that way.

Pan out to the restaurant. Our kiss caused a bit of a stir. A few people went into "Oh my God" mode. They didn't know they were being played. My boy and I weren't that spontaneous. We had talked about doing our first kiss in public before.

We thought it'd be a ballsy, bad ass thing to do. We'd so admire each other for taking a risk. We'd so get hot for cowboying up and christening our date in public. We'd win one for the movement and look as horny as straights do.

Switch to a medium shot of a college girl who walked up to our table with her man in tow.
"Are you guys boyfriends?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "It's our first date."
"Well, do it, do it, do it!"
We all laughed at her sexual cheerleading.

Move to a close-up of a baby boomer who approached us with his ex-hippie second wife.
"Hey," he said, "you shouldn't be here. This is a family restaurant."
"Oh, yeah?" I said as I stood up. "Well, what're you going to do about it?"
My date jumped up and told him to move on. (Whoa! My boy has balls! I couldn't wait to suck them. He shaves them, you know.)

That guy's eyes got real big. He wasn't going to win against two big, strapping boys. I mean, we probably didn't seem like alpha males sitting down. The wife tried to recover by threatening to complain to the manager. My boy told her to do it already. Our money was just as green as theirs.

That was the end of it --and the beginning. My boy and I were so psyched. We were so proud. We were so hot for each other. We wanted to clear the table right then and do it. It was fucking tough not getting naked that night, but we had promised each other no sex on the first date. The second one was a different story, and the third, fourth, fifth, and so on.

Cut to other public places. We're a couple of obnoxious frat boys. We cuss like motherfuckers. We laugh at each other's jokes. We push each other around. We put our arms around each other. Funny thing is, all the young straight guys do the same. What's different? My boy and I sometimes kiss out in the open, and of course, we go home to fuck.

We're not stupid. There're still places where we'd get shot. We find acceptable risks, we kiss, and we ultimately get away with it. Those who dare say anything instantly have two aggressive guys on their hands.

Kissing in public has made my boy and I better men. The constant risk-taking makes our blood race. It unites us. It makes our sex life better. We lose ourselves in each other's eyes. We also help each other in daily life. We look people in the eye more. We assert our interests more. We back each other up more. We'd do anything for each other.

Have our public displays of affection (PDA) actually helped us fall in love? My boy has talked about wanting to be in love. I've said it'd be great to be someone special in a guy's life. Gay male love is a rare commodity, but refusing to hide our affection is not just political. Rejecting invisibility has pushed us into a new personal direction. Is it love? I don't know. Stay tuned.

This is what I know. We enjoy laying bare our lust. We enjoy the intensified masculinity of it all. We enjoy commanding respect wherever we go. We enjoy building Rome one arena at a time.

Follow the Bad-Ass Urban Acrobatics of 3Run

2009-03-26T14:23:00.005-05:00

Whoa, dudes! Check this video out. It fucking rules. In Brothers' Journey, 3Run's Cole and Chase Armitage showcase their free running skills in various settings. The stunts and choreography are bad-ass, but they're also fucking beautiful. Cole and Chase glide through the air with athletic grace, and some of the park, coastal, and architectural settings take your breath away. It's an obstacle course on steroids.

3Run is a British production company specializing in free running. Their website is www.3run.co.uk. The British urban sport grew out the Twentieth Century French military obstacle course tradition, known as parcours in French and Parkour in English. Free running began hitting the media in the 90s. Americans probably know it best from the 2006 James Bond movie Casino Royale and Madonna's Jump video from the same year.

Free running is a combination of Parkour, acrobatics, martial arts, and good old-fashioned movie stunts. Those who like to watch skateboarding will love free running. It takes on obstacles that are out of reach for skateboarders.

The free runners I've seen are lean and mean. They tend to be on the tall and toned side. When they do their stunts shirtless or in muscle Ts, they're so fucking beautiful, man. Wish I could move like that. I'd love to impress a date with a free running move. Talk about sealing the deal. I'll start out slow and very, very safe. It's a dangerous sport, but that's why it's so fucking hot.

Fuck Yeah, I'm a Butch Faggot! You Got a Problem with That, Buddy?

2009-03-24T15:32:00.016-05:00

Bailey (left) and Jess show off their muscles in the Sean Cody classic Bailey's Fuck Buddy. While Sean Cody's website features some of the most artistic scenes in gay male porn, the claim about its actors being straight strains credibility. The Sean Cody men do not seem naive about gay sex.

Okay guys, here’s the deal. We've been wallowing in testosterone. We've been real men talking about manly things. We've rapped about sex, porn, sports, nudity, and bodybuilding, but we've never breached the subject of our effeminate counterparts.

We've called them fems, queens, flamers, sissies, fairies, nellies, pansies, fruitcakes, limp wrists, and girlie men. They've called us down low, closeted, homophobic, and self-hating, but behind all the name-calling is a debate that's raged on since the 70s: To be masculine or to be effeminate. That is the question.

I freely admit that the term straight-acting is problematic. We're gay men. There's nothing straight about our sexuality, but straight men don't corner the market in masculinity. There are plenty of straight men who are more feminine than the women are!

Masculine is a better name for butch fags. Masculine gay males love all things masculine: athletes, cowboys, tradesmen, policemen, military trade, frat/college boys, etc. They love the gym, they love muscle, they love sports, they love the locker room, and they love the world of men.

This is not self-hating or homophobic. This is just what gives them a hard-on. Masculine: The dick goes up. Effeminate: The dick goes down. Effeminate men are even more divided. Some want masculine boyfriends, while others like flamboyant ones such as themselves.

All minorities have internal divisions. Lesbians and gay men don’t always see eye to eye. Lighter-skinned and darker-skinned blacks don’t always like each other. Feminists used to call lesbians the Lavender Menace. Asian, Latino, and Hispanic are ridiculous names that ignore nationalism. Chinese and Japanese immigrants have different histories, and Puerto Ricans couldn’t care less about Mexican-American issues.

Gay males cannot argue away the butch/fem divide. It’s just something we’re going to have to live with. In fact, it’s a division that’s bigger than us. Every gay man has heard jokes about lipstick lesbians and butch dykes on bikes. Our lesbian sisters have a similar divide.

The so-called straight world is even worse. Weight gain and administrative power tend to masculinize women. Christian churches, with their constant denial of the body, feminize men. The sissy, limp-wristed family man is Christianity’s answer to the drag show.

Speaking of which, drag shows have been a source of comedy since time immemorial. Effeminate men shouldn’t complain when some people laugh at them. Drag is drag. It comes with the territory. We all enjoy RuPaul and that new Internet drag sensation Kelly. Role reversal has always been universally funny.

Some people have called the hypermasculine gay male culture a form of drag, that is, an affected behavior which tries to prove that masculine gay men are just as manly as straight ones. That’s too much of a stretch. Gay male athletes and gym rats aren’t overcompensating anymore than other men are.

Masculine gay men enjoy bulking up at the gym. They enjoy improving their sports skills. They enjoy the comradery of games and workouts. These activities are physically and socially healthy. The only difference is that masculine gay men appreciate the sexual side of all that male swagger.

Once in a great while, funny things happen in sports, but athletics mainly derive their entertainment value from competition and self-improvement. There's no comedy of gender role reversal here. Hypermasculine gay males are men’s men, not drag in any sense of the word. Even hypermasculine subcultures, such as bears, clones, and leathermen, are rather unfunny. They make interesting choices in clothes, but drag they aren't.

Rather than arguing over the rejection or acceptance of gender roles, gays should use their internal divisions to their political advantage. Hypermasculine gay men have more in common with manly straight men. Effeminate men, gay and straight, can compare notes. Lipstick lesbians can talk to regular girls, and butch lesbians can identify with their pushy straight counterparts. Lincoln was not always right. Divided, our house can stand.

Walk the Walk of a Fucking Hot Male Model

2009-03-02T20:53:00.011-06:00

Floridian Nick Auger causes a sensation by going commando at the 2004 Fitness and Model Expo (FAME) Model Universe Contest in Miami. Catwalking without underwear was the icing on his 210-pound beefcake. Auger took home the first place trophy and later made a splash as a fitness model.

Want to stop traffic? Practice your catwalk. I'm serious. Military men and marching band guys learn to carry themselves fairly well from all that drill, but modelling really makes you a hot motherfucker.

Male models have a determined walk --not too fast and not too slow. They have a cold stare. They look straight ahead as they walk. They're a little cocky --in more ways than one. They communicate confidence. They make everyone in the room want their dicks.

The first step to turning heads is that old stand-by: the classic pushup. Commit to one set of pushups everyday. Every man should do this. It improves your posture by pushing your shoulders back and opening your chest.

A good place to practice your walk is the gym. That's where you can find the requisite big mirrors. Another advantage is that no one will care what you're doing. Most gym members pose, flex, walk, and watch themselves do reps. They won't even notice you.

Face the mirror from a distance and walk towards it. Look straight ahead. Focus on an imaginary horizon. Counterbalance: When you step forward with your left foot, your right arm should naturally swing forward. When your right foot comes forward, your left arm naturally swings forward.

Walk with a slightly cocky attitude --but not too much! In this case, less is more. This should be so subtle. Too much shoulder bouncing looks cartoonish.

When you reach the mirror, stop. The feet should be square with the shoulders. Pause. Allow your body to lean back. Step back with your right foot. Turn and begin the walk back with your left foot.

Walk. Stop. Pause. Lean back. Step back with right. Turn. Step with left. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Practice.

Catwalks are more difficult than they look. They take a lot of practice. You can perfect your turns at home and at the gym, but you can concentrate on your walk everywhere! You should always be on. With time, it'll get you noticed, it'll make you more confident, and it'll make guys want to get in your pants. You'll be the fucking man, dude!

How to Chat Up a Boy and Get Laid

2009-01-19T10:54:00.019-06:00

You see him. He's fucking hot. He makes you feel horny and scared at the same time. Your mouth goes dry. You take a drink, you muster your courage, and you go up to him. You say hello and ask him how he is. (Who needs pickup lines?) You exchange names. You ask him what he does. You talk in terms of his interests. You ask a lot of questions. You talk about yourself only when you have something in common. The conversation flows. He feels important. You don't have to ask about his hobbies for a long time. You're so in, man.

What if he doesn't want to talk? Well, move on, motherfucker. He's not interested. Don't take it personally. Some guys have things on their mind. Some have major problems. Some are just fucking weird. Some have the worst taste in men. Some are fucking slut whores looking for sex without conversation. Some are hurting and itching from STDs. It's not always about you, jerkoff. Get over yourself! Find the next fucking hot wanker who gives you a woody.

So you get a beautiful boy talking. You focus on his world. You don't get to hobbies for a long time. That's a good fucking sign. Conversation's an art, man. You work on it everyday. It pays off bigtime in your sex life. Time melts away. You guys talk for an hour --or maybe even two! You take his hand and ask him if he wants his fortune told. No one refuses. (What a slick motherfucker!) You don't know a lot about palmistry, but no matter. A little goes a long fucking way.

Now you go in for the kill. You suggest a walk. You guys go to some place secluded. You talk a little more. You hold hands, caress his back, whatever. You've done everything right. The first kiss is magnetic. It just seems to happen, but you only got close to him. You make it look like his idea, or a mutual one. All the while, you're in the driver's seat. You see, the snake beguiled him.

How far do you go on the first date? Do you just kiss? Do you feel each other up? Do you suck each other? Do you jack off together? Do you say the hell with it and fuck yourselves silly?

News flash: It really doesn't fucking matter. You do what you feel like. There're plenty of couples who fucked on the first date, and there're plenty who didn't. They're all together, because they're just so into each other. It has nothing to do with scoring base hits or home runs. All those first date questions are quaint, obsolete, old-fashioned. This is sex in the postmodern world.

You do what you feel like. You have a good time. You use flavored condoms. (The Coca-Cola ones are dick-licking good!) If something's not right, or you feel uncomfortable, you stop. You're the man. You're in control. You're supposed to enjoy fooling around.

You end on a good note. You don't act like an asshole. You still talk to the guy. You exchange cell numbers, because you never know. You might never see him again, but you maintain your drama-free zone by separating on good terms. Better yet, you might have found a good-time boy --that is, a friend with privileges-- or you might have a boyfriend on your hands. (They seem to come out of nowhere when you least expect them.) It depends on the chemistry and what you're both looking for.

Above all, you hit the showers after fooling around. You don't want a gift that keeps on giving. All tension goes down the drain. You're clean and satisfied. You're a fucking god. You smile when you look in the mirror. Great game, man!

Photo Credits:
Fully Clothed Kiss 1 -- Owen & Billy, Sean Cody
(Owen is on the right);
Talking Boys 2 -- Devin & Owen, Sean Cody (Devin is on the right);
Shirtless Kiss 3 -- Cooper & Owen, Sean Cody (Cooper is on the left);
Football Jock Play 4 -- Unknown origin;
Naked Kiss 5 -- Trey & Ken, Sean Cody (Trey is on the left);
Kitchen Fuck 6 -- Danny & Billy, Sean Cody (Danny is topping).

Real Men Take Turns Fucking Each Other

2009-01-11T13:04:00.025-06:00

Want a good laugh? Brouse any dating website, and you'll see the stupidest, most idiotic, dumb fuck comments about sex. Some guys say, "I'm 100% top," or "I'm a total bottom," or my favorite, "I'm straight as an arrow." What the fuck ever!

Gay, bi, straight, top, and bottom are nothing but social labels. They have nothing to do with what goes on in the bedroom. I've dated guys who swore up and down they were completely top, but when we got naked, they all spread their legs for me. I'd like to brag that I'm a notorious top flipper, but the truth is, it's not that hard to do.

All guys who fuck around with guys eventually come to the same conclusion: Playing pitcher and catcher is Paradise on Earth. Versatile: Now that's a label for hypermasculine motherfuckers. It fucking means something. Versatile means really experienced. It means no sexual hangups whatsoever. It means a guy who enjoys the full range of his sexuality.

A man's man fucks ass, and then takes it up his ass. What? He bottoms for some guys? Isn't that passive? Isn't that feminine? Isn't that being someone's bitch? Isn't that enjoying sex like a woman? Isn't that a flaming faggot thing to do?

Far fucking from it. A case in point: American military men are national symbols of masculinity. They defend the country, they fuck everything that moves --in several countries-- and they love --I mean, love-- having dicks up their asses. Why's that?

I think I know why. I enjoy fucking guys. I love how my dick feels when I top. I get off working a guy's ass and watching him cum, but a man's got to have some variety in his life. Playing pitcher all the time gets boring. That's why I ask my boys to fuck me sometimes.

The experience is totally different for me. Taking a dick up my ass makes every inch of my body feel so fucking great. Oh! It's not just my dick that's high, and the cumming is totally spontaneous. Man! That orgasm comes out of fucking nowhere. I can predict and control it while pitching, but catching's a different story.

I think military fuckers, like other men's men, really dig the world of difference bottoming brings. All that fucking teaches them what a riot being versatile is, and there's nothing sissy about it. Watch a Pierre Fitch video, if you want to see what an aggressive butch bottom motherfucker is like.

He says, "Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, oh fuck yeah, oh fuck yeah, fuck yeah, I love how you fuck my ass, oh, fuck yeah, fuck yeah, fuck me harder, fuck me harder, oh yeah, oh yeah, fuck me harder, oh fuck yeah, fuck yeah, FUCK yeah, FUCK yeah, FUCK yeah, OH, OH, OH, OH."

Love him or hate him. You've got to admit the guy's got balls. He tops and does ménage à trois like most gay porn stars, but his pièce de résistance is mean, rough and tough, loud trade while playing catcher. Topping and bottoming with aggressive enthusiasm is great fun, and it makes a man out of you.

Every guy should have a boyfriend to pitch and catch with. I think the straight world has so many problems, because males get bored out of their skulls topping their women. Some guys become alcoholic golfers. Others ask their girls to finger them, or worse yet, fuck them with strap-ons, but there's nothing like a dick.

For those gay guys who call themselves total bottoms because of lack of size, cut it out! Keep fucking. God gave you compatible partners to top. Find them. They're out there. Some guys really get off on the back door stimulation of a shorter dick.

The taboo against taking it up the ass comes from the Romans. To them, a real man penetrated males and females, but he was never penetrated himself. What a fucking lame tradition! Avoiding versatility is sexually ignorant and repressive. It's time to open up and enjoy male sexuality to its fullest extent. I mean, one million American servicemen can't be wrong.

Photo Credits:
Sex on Blue Sheets 1 -- Bailey's Fuck Buddy from Sean Cody
     (Bailey is standing and fucking Jess);
Sex in the Gym 2 -- Chris & Brodie from Sean Cody
    (Chris is playing catcher);
Military Trade 3 -- Man Up: Shane Frost, Alexsander Freitas
     from Falcon Studios
     (Shane is feeling up Alexsander.);
Sex on the Couch 4 -- Clark & Ford from Sean Cody
     (Clark is bottoming.);
Sex on White Sheets 5 -- Pierre Fitch and Brent Everett
     from Pierre Fitch Online
     (Pierre is bottoming.);
Sex by the Wall 6 -- Dave & Trey from Sean Cody
     (Dave is topping.)
Russell Crowe as Maximus 7 -- Gladiator. Dir. Ridley Scott.
     DreamWorks Pictures, Universal Pictures, Scott Free
     Productions, and Red Wagon Entertainment, 2000.

Enjoy Video about Premature Ejaculators

2009-01-06T20:33:00.006-06:00

"Jizz in My Pants" by The Lonely Island is a hilarious take on premature ejaculation. It first appeared on Saturday Night Live. Justin Timberlake has a cameo in this video. Can you find him?

How to Become a Multiorgasmic Stud

2009-01-06T20:12:00.028-06:00

We were all premature ejaculators. We were teenagers. It didn't take much for us to blow our loads. Sex was so new. We came at the most embarrassing times. A funny video about this theme is "Jizz in My Pants" by The Lonely Island. It's posted next.

Anyway, with time, with more lovers, with more experience, we learned more self-control. We finally could penetrate without cumming. We could actually last a minute, then two, then three, etc. Finally, we learned to fuck.

Unfortunately, many guys never pass this point. Some screw for a while, cum, then quit. Others fuck, cum, and keep fucking, but feel tired doing so, because they're already spent. There's got to be a better way.

There is. Guys, like girls, can be multiorgasmic. It starts with separating orgasms from ejaculation. You can have fun learning this while jerking off.

Stroke your shaft with one hand and massage your balls with the other. When you approach the point of no return, stop. Don't cum. Just enjoy the dry orgasm. When the sperm in your dick simmers down, jack off again. Stop before cumming. Enjoy the dry contractions. Repeat again and again.

If you accidentally cum, don't worry. Practice again some other time. Learn when to stop without spewing. Find your borderline.

You may find after several dry orgasms, you won't feel like blowing your load. It may even be impossible. No matter: You'll be high from the dry throbbing.

When I fuck my boys, I can last as long as I want. We can do every position imaginable. When the guy is really hot, or I haven't jacked off in a while, I may have to stop a few times to have some dry contractions, but later I reach my plateau. Either way, I become a human dildo.

Dry orgasms make cumming more difficult, but that makes sex more fun. After fucking every which way, I have my boy lay face down, and I bang him fast and hard. I pound my guy's ass 240 times a minute. He fucking screams with pleasure. I lose myself in rapid repetition. My muscles glean with sweat. My banging becomes the best conditioning exercise ever. I pump on and on.

Slowly, sperm pressure builds inside my dick. I hold the cum back. My shaft gets fuller and fuller. I keep fucking and fucking, until finally, it becomes inevitable. I spear my boy with my deepest thrust ever, exploding inside him. He screams louder, enjoying every feeling of my final hit.

A good book on the subject is The Multi-Orgasmic Man: Sexual Secrets Every Man Should Know by Mankak Chia and Douglas Abrams Arava (San Francisco: Harper, 1996, ISBN 0-06-251336-2). Get it, read it, and enjoy the new jack-off exercises. Some of the Eastern philosophy may be a little too abstract, but focus on what's important: Fuck like you've always dreamed of. Keep your boys coming back for more. Be a god of all things sexual.

Photo Credits:
Acrobatic Doggie Style 1 -- Rodney & Wesley from Sean Cody
     (Rodney is bottoming.);
Masturbating Hunk 2 -- Dan from Sean Cody;
Bottom on Top 3 -- Danny & Billy from Sean Cody
     (Danny is fucking and jerking off Billy.);
Sex in the Kitchen 4 -- Danny & Billy from Sean Cody
     (Danny is topping.);
The Multi-Orgasmic Man 5 -- Mankak Chia and
     Douglas Abrams Arava, San Francisco: Harper, 1996;
Crab Style Variation 6 -- Mitch & Curtis from Sean Cody
     (Mitch is fucking Curtis).

Sexual Cleanliness is Next to Greek Godliness

2009-01-04T19:18:00.012-06:00

I'm always ready to get laid. I have to be. My chances to fuck are often unpredictable, but my boys always find me clean. I shower every morning. If I take a dump, I take a half bath. I also hit the shower before jumping into bed naked. Got to keep the sheets clean.

This is no surprise. I grew up in a warm climate. Men in the tropics do the same, but what the fuck can we do in colder regions? Up north, frequent showers can really dry out your skin. The trick is in the soap. When it's cold, you can still shower twice a day by just soaping up your head, pits, dick, and ass. That way, you're clean, yet moisturized. When it's hot, soap up all over.

I like to look clean too, motherfuckers. I trim down my body hair. Some guys shave down, and more power to them. I can't. It makes me breakout. I can shave my shaft and balls without any problem, though. Go figure. Anyway, we all look like hot, ancient Greek statues. I fucking love this style. Hell, I was trimming down before it became popular. When people asked, I told them I was a swimmer, which I was. I still am! The pool is a great place to meet guys.

Above all, I fucking act clean. I carry condoms and lube every time I go out. If a guy complains, I tell him, "Protecting me is protecting you." No guy protests after that. Have I had unprotected sex? Fuck yeah, but only with boyfriends I've had for a while. I have to know the fucker's disease-free and not the stepping-out kind.

When I fuck, I have good clean safe fun. I cover the bed with a slut comforter. My boy and I use condoms, but we squirt each other with lube, and sometimes sperm. We roll around and wrestle and don't give a fuck about the mess. (I don't rim. That's a good way to get parasites, bitches!) Then, I throw the slut comforter in the hamper.

I love showering with my boy after a sexual workout. (Gay male loud trade sounds like a gym!) Lathering up each other fucking rocks --and it prevents a lot of problems. We sleep together in a dry, clean bed, until we wake up horny again. No problem: I have several condoms --and comforters.

Photo Credits:
Pool Boy 1 -- Unknown origin;
Locker Room Boy 2 -- Edilson Nascimiento;
Naked Couple Kissing 3 -- Unknown origin;
Well Hung Shower Stud 4 -- Unknown origin;
Sleeping Lover 5 -- Model Johanne by French photographer
Fred Goudon.

I Fucked a Dream Made Flesh

2008-12-19T18:41:00.016-06:00

The best one I ever had was a boy from Colombia. He was a short, cute guy who walked into the gay bar on a very slow night. I was instantly attracted to him. I walked up, introduced myself, and started talking to him. His name was Juan Antonio, and he was in town for business. We must have talked for a couple of hours, before I suggested that we go for a walk. We found a clandestine place under a tree, and we smiled at each other. Then, we French kissed, felt each other up, exchanged phone numbers, and called it a night.

The second night, we went to his hotel room to fuck. We fooled around to get all horny and superhard. Then, we did the porn star pre-fuck rituals: We got naked, and I slapped on a condom and a generous amount of lube. Juan Antonio got on all fours at the edge of the bed, so I could enter him while standing up. I pushed my dick a little into his beautiful round ass, then slowly pulled back a bit, a little in, a little back, in, back, in, back, until slowly, slowly I was inside him.

The closet doors were full length mirrors, and I watched myself slowly fuck my hot boy from the back. He moaned at every thrust. Loud trade always makes me feel like a goddamn, motherfucker of a real man. I also watched my vanilla white body move against his burning olive skin, as I began to fuck him faster. His screams became shorter, faster, and louder with pleasure. A warm feeling raced through me. Our toned bodies looked so fucking hot and athletic in the mirror.

I wasn't prepared for that. We really looked good together. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. My eyes teared up. I felt like I was melting. I'd been with other boys, but it had never felt so good, so natural, so compatible, so beautiful, so overwhelming. I began to vary my thrusts. I gave Juan Antonio every fuck combination I knew: two deep thrusts and three shallow ones, three deep, one shallow, one deep, four shallow, etc.

Our first fuck got to be too much for us. He came and hollered at every squirt. I came inside him a little later. I wanted to keep fucking him, but he put his hand on my thigh. I had worn him out. I stayed inside of him and just bent over and hugged him. I had found the one. We spent the following nights naked in that hotel room. We did every position: lotus, doggie, standing, butterfly, missionary, pillar and the ivy, etc. We'd fuck, shower, sleep, then wake up horny and repeat the cycle.

Once in a great while, we'd go to the bar, just to take a break. A friend of mine got me alone, briefly tickled my stomach, and asked, "Who's the boy?" I told him what had happened, and he said, "Oh, you're kind of smitten by him, and he's kind of smitten by you." He was right. Juan Antonio and I were so fucking into each other.

Eventually, he had to leave. He lived in a different city far away. We stayed in touch for a while, but life intervened. I found a boyfriend, and he did, too. We never saw each other again, but occasionally I think about young Juan Antonio. Between us, there was no problem, no hang-up, no obstacle. It was as if we had been created to fuck each other. I hope I meet another guy like that, another boy in the mirror, another reflection in my eyes, another man in my image.

Photo Credits:
Sleeping Couple 1 -- Unknown origin;
Boy in Bed 2 -- Eric Nies from The Real World: New York
(1992 / Season 1);
Latin Guy Walking 3 -- Unknown origin; Shorts: No Fear;
Forest Satyr 4 -- Model Ryan Wood.

I Discovered Porn in a Creek

2008-12-15T22:15:00.012-06:00

Actress Pam Grier battles a Los Angeles drug cartel in the 1973 blaxploitation film Coffy. In spite of its excessive sexual content, it was one of the first major American movies to feature a black female as the lead character.

My first porn film was a gift from the gods. I was around ten years old, and I loved to play in the creek that ran through our backyard. One day, I found what looked like a home movie in the creek sand. I took it to the house and cleaned it in the kitchen.

Then, I unrolled the film a little and looked at the first images. The title was Horn Blower. Then, the first scene showed a plain-looking white woman mouthing a gun. I asked my dad to show it on the projector.

The family was naturally curious about the film I'd found in the creek. My sister was there. She was a little older than me. Also, my grown cousin and his buddy were on leave from the Navy. We gathered around the projector, and Daddy started the film.

Sure enough, the Horn Blower title ran, and the film opened with that woman mouthing the gun. She did that for a little bit. Then, she took the gun and entered a store. The film went out of focus, but Daddy quickly adjusted the lens. The woman pointed the gun at a male clerk and ordered him to the backroom.

Then, she suddenly lifted her blouse and ordered the man to suck her titty. Just then, the film jammed in the projector. My cousin and his friend burst out laughing, and my sister begged my dad to fix the jam and show the rest of the movie. Daddy said we'd seen enough.

I sometimes wonder if my dad intentionally jammed the projector. I also wonder how that cheap vintage porn film ended. I always laugh about how I watched my first porn flick with my family, no less. It was a beautiful way to start.

Deep Throat (1972) enjoyed mainstream success and ushered in a short era of tolerance for porn films. Its title was later immortalized as the nickname for the Watergate informant who helped bring down the Nixon administration in 1974.

Debbie Does Dallas (1978) was another successful porn film. In spite of the title, Debbie (Bambi Woods) never reaches Dallas, although she intends to travel there to try out for the "Texas Cowgirl Cheerleaders." Instead, she "does" people in her hometown to raise money for the trip.

Malebranche Gets Horny for Manly Men

2008-12-13T00:34:00.049-06:00

Jack Malebranche is not gay. He is not effeminate. He is not a feminist. He is not the Gay Movement. He is not lesbian/bisexual/gay/transgender/transexual (LBGTT).

He loves men. He is masculine. He accomplishes things. He admires real men. He takes charge of his own life. He is honest, respectful, and honorable. (So he says.) He gets along with other men --gay, bi, and straight. (We hope.) He is an androphile --a masculine man who loves masculine men.

This is a quick summary of Androphilia: A Manifesto --Rejecting the Gay Identity, Reclaiming Masculinity by Jack Malebranche (Baltimore, MD: Scapegoat, 2006, ISBN 0-9764035-8-7). He says androphiles are ill-served by a gay movement that favors feminism, effeminacy, and leftist politics. He even rejects the term gay as too feminine, decadent, and superficial.

Jack Malebranche --whose pen name is a running sexual joke-- believes the present gay community is gossipy, divided, valueless, and sexually irresponsible. He calls on androphiles to live more honorable lives within the larger world of men. (Confucius would be proud.) He also asks them to distance themselves from groups they have little in common with: lesbians, drag queens, transgenders, transsexuals, and flaming faggots. Fraternity yes, LBGTT no.

Androphilia is a great read. It's no surprise that the book's becoming something of a fucking bible among androphiles. I do have a problem with the andro terms, though. Androphilia sounds like a disease, and androphile reminds people of sick, sleazoid, perverted pedophiles. No, man, gay is here to stay. It's better to jack with existing terms, such as butch fag, gym queer, masculine gay, and hypermasculine gay.

Malebranche's Androphilia also repeats history's mistakes. The book comes dangerously close to the homophile groups of the 50s and 60s. Homophiles said we were normal, we were like everyone else, and we should keep all expressions of homosexuality private, but damned if this self-imposed invisibility didn't desexualize a sexual movement! The desire for acceptance and assimilation actually expanded the closet.

We masculine gays should embrace the larger world of men, but we can only go so far. We're not like everyone else. When we leave our straight friends, we chat up men, we date men, and we get laid with men. We don't have to hang out with LBGTT organizations, but we shouldn't abandon all their political goals, either.

Gay marriage may not be our thing. (Hell! Even straight men get fucking bored with their marriages.) On the other hand, fighting discrimination can be a very butch thing to do. After all, the Gay Movement may be somewhat hostile toward traditional masculinity, but a political weapon is a political weapon. We can deal with the dandies when we have to. Real men can fucking kick ass. We can get things done, bitch!

(Editor's Note: In 2011, Androphilia went out of print. This has driven up the price of new copies to $100-200. However, used copies run about $25, and the book is available on Kindle for $8.)

Photo Credits:
Jack Malebranche 1 -- Publicity shot;
Androphilia 2 -- Jack Malebranche, Baltimore, MD: Scapegoat, 2006;
Military Trim 3 -- Unknown origin;
Triathlete 4 -- Marine Lance Corporal Anthony M. Madonia at the
2005 Catoctin Mountain Triathlon in Thurmont, Maryland;
Public domain photo by Corporal Earnest J. Barnes;
Hot Tanktop Dude 5 -- Model Leighton Stultz.

How I Conquered My Ticklish Frenulum

2008-12-07T12:33:00.035-06:00

Andreas Stich (left) and Bobby Williams service each other in the porn film Hot Properties. The actors' poses and the camera angle form an artistic composition --a rare feat in depictions of 69. Even the rug is beautiful. The photo appears here courtesy of Raging Stallion Studios.

Doing 69 tickles me something fierce. There's just something about a guy's mouth upside down on my dick. It drives me wild! When I started trying to do 69, I'd burst out laughing.

A guy can suck me right side up or sideways all fucking day. He can even lick the entire underside of my dick. Being serviced the regular way ain't a problem, but when the roof of his mouth touches my underside, it sends me to the moon. Oh God!

With time, I've been able to steel myself. Believe me; it took a lot of tickles and laughter along the way. Man, I thought I'd never start getting over this. This is yet another example of practice making perfect!

For penis anatomy students, the dick underside just below the head is called the frenulum. It's the G-spot for some cut guys. (That's me!) It can contain a lot nerve endings. (No wonder I'm ticklish there.)

Things are a lot better, now that I can stand it. I still go to the edge of laughing and recoiling --oh fuck-- but I can control it. Finally, I'm enjoying what I've been missing.

Additional Photo Credits:
69 Sideways 2 -- "Adam and Jack," BlakeMason (Adam is wearing
the necklace.);
69 Above and below 3 -- "Perfect Cock 4," Gay No Limit.

Parade Around Naked in the Locker Room

2008-12-06T13:59:00.018-06:00

The locker room used to be a nudist colony. We guys would walk around naked and bathe together in the common showers. We were fucking proud of our bodies. We'd talk, laugh, horse around, and pop each other with our towels. If any male was shy about undressing, we'd tell them, "We're all guys here." This meant, "Don't worry," and "Cowboy up," at the same time.

Then, something strange happened as the Gay Movement became more visible. Males started to become ashamed. They turned away from each other while dressing and undressing. They wouldn't be caught dead without towels or clothes on. They quit using the common showers.

Schools and YMCAs started installing private shower stalls. Males started saying things like, "I don't want gay guys checking me out." It was as if guys and locker rooms were recoiling from the world. Males were now more modest than the women!

Real men reject this state of affairs. They fucking use the common showers. They walk around uncovered. They don't get hard, because they've gotten used to being naked. (Practice makes perfect.) They are fearless. If other guys look at them, who the fuck cares? Every American male --whether gay, bi, or straight-- is taught to admire the athletic male body.

It's time to turn back the clock on this one. It's time to shed our paranoia about gays. It's time to enjoy our nudity. We thank God we're men. We thank God we have dicks. We should thank God we have locker rooms. We should enjoy this freedom from clothes and women. This is our world of men. It's where we can express an American masculinity based on fun, courage, fraternity, and self-confidence --not fear, shame, hatred, and isolation.

Take off those towels. Get out of those clothes. Shed those inhibitions. Play rough. Raise hell. Laugh big. Wrestle each other. Pop each other. Cuss up a storm. We're all guys here. Let's fucking act like it.

All three pictures are of unknown origin.

I Could Fuck a Million Boys

2008-12-05T20:14:00.009-06:00

God! How I fucking enjoy being gay! I love hunting for a hot guy to screw. I get hard for many types: tall, short, slim, muscular, black, white, Latin, Asian, and Middle Eastern. I'm also into regular guys --you know, the ones who are neither tall nor short, fat nor skinny-- just regular guys. They can be very masculine and project a smoldering sexuality. I haven't had any experience with Native American guys, but if they're hot, I'm so in, dude.

My friends express disbelief that I don't have just one specific type. Don't get me wrong. I know male beauty when I see it. A guy has to have that certain it factor. He has to make me hard. He has to make my mouth dry. He has to make me feel a little shy about introducing myself. I muster my courage. I walk up to him. I start a conversation. I'm rarely disappointed.

I want to explore what that it factor is. I can't explain it right now. I'm far too multicultural in my tastes. Maybe someday, I'll find some pattern --some structure-- but for right now, if I want to fuck you, it's for a lot of reasons. I can tell you some of them, but not all. I'll be too busy getting into your pants again and again and again.

Photographer Michael A. Downs took this highly charged shot of model Matt Stone in 2008 in New York City. Stone's zero body fat and trimmed body hair accentuate his muscular torso. The smirk and the holding of the sunglasses is pure male swagger. The pulled down Calvin Klein underwear conveys a potential energy. Stone looks as if he wants to jump out of his Calvins and have sex. The hot picture is featured on the Michael A. Downs vehicle www.masculinemag.com.

The first photo is of unknown origin.

How to Become a Muscular Motherfucker

2008-12-03T18:41:00.037-06:00

The gym is my second home. That's no surprise. I used to be way too skinny. I weighed 140 pounds soaking wet. So, naturally I wanted to bulk up. I dreamed of having big guns, big legs, a big ass, but most of all, a big fucking chest. I have lusted for big guys' chests since middle school.

I used free weights, Nautilus machines, and endured the asinine debate about which was better. The answer was: neither. It was the routine, you stupid dumb fucks, not the equipment. I even went through Body for Life by that fake-ass bitch Bill Phillips. What a goddamn disappointment! I got a little more toned from the challenge, but I was still stuck with the same problem: I was a hard gainer.

Then, I read about periodization in the November 2004 Muscle & Fitness article "Bare Arms" by John Cena -- yes, the John Cena, the professional wrestler John Cena, the hot motherfucker John Cena. He recommended periodization --generally, workout variation-- as the way to go. I had to learn more.

I found a periodization bible: Serious Strength Training by Tudor O. Bompa, Mauro di Pasquale, and Lorenzo J. Cornacchia (Champaign IL: Human Kinetics, 2003, ISBN 0-7360-4266-0). I consulted it religiously. Over time, I came up with a year-long litany of varying routines to get fucking big. Nothing was sacred. I began to constantly change reps, sets, weights, and exercises --and hallelujah, hallelujah, it fucking worked!

I began to get ripped, man, but I learned something along the way. The sample routines in the book were recipes for overtraining, in my case. When I cut back on my training --boom!-- my muscles really started to fucking grow. Every gym rat responds differently, but for me, less is more.

Periodization fucking rocks, because it fools the body into bulking up. The muscles never adapt to the point of shutting down growth. Traditional gym routines eventually fail, because they're just the same thing over and over, and the body gets wise to that.

Now I have a thick chest, nice shoulders, big guns, a "V" torso, a large ass, and legs that can kill. I look like a filled-out motherfucker. I'll always be tall, and I'll never be as big as John Cena, but there's something hot about a tall slim guy who's put on some muscle. The proof is in the bedroom. I get more attention, I get more dates, and I get more sex. That's what it's all about, guys. Now you know. Get the book, hit the gym, put on mass --and get more fucking dick!

My Year-Long Hypertrophy (Muscle Mass) Program

First, find out the 1-rep maximum of about 10 weight exercises and calculate the appropriate percentages each week. Lift the indicated repetitions and sets.

Anatomical Adaptation Phase 1

Week 1: 15 reps x 2 sets @ 50% max
Week 2: 12 reps x 3 sets @ 60% max
Week 3: 10 reps x 3 sets @ 70% max

Long Hypertrophy Phase 1

Week 1: Try increasing your 1-rep maxes by 5 pounds.
               (1 rep x 1 set @ 100% max)
              10 reps x 3 sets @ 70% max
Week 2: 8+ reps x 3 sets @ 75% max (8+ = 8 or more reps)
Week 3: 10 reps x 3 sets @ 70% max

Week 4: (1 rep x 1 set @ 100% max)
               8+ reps x 2 sets @ 75% max
Week 5: 7+ reps x 3 sets @ 80% max
Week 6: 4   reps x 5 sets @ 85% max

Transition Week 1 (One week off)
Long Hypertrophy Phase 2 (Repeat 6 week routine.)
Transition Week 2 (One week off)

Short Mixed Phase 1 (Strength and Hypertrophy)
Week 1: (1 rep x 1 set @ 100% max)
7 reps x 1 set @ 80% max
12 reps x 2 sets @ 60% max
Week 2:   3 reps x 1 set @ 90% max
                8 reps x 2 sets @ 75% max
Week 3:   2 reps x 1 set @ 95% max
                7 reps x 2 sets @ 80% max

Short Hypertrophy Phase 3

Week 1: (1 rep x 1 set @ 100% max)
8+ reps x 2 sets @ 75% max
Week 2: 7+ reps x 3 sets @ 80% max
Week 3: 4 reps x 5 sets @ 85% max

Short Mixed Phase 2

Transition Weeks 3-4 (Two weeks off)

Anatomical Adaptation Phase 2

Long Hypertrophy Phase 4

Transition Week 5

Short Mixed Phase 3

Short Hypertrophy Phase 5

Long Mixed Phase 4

Week 1: (1 rep x 1 set @ 100% max)
7 reps x 1 set @ 80% max
12 reps x 2 sets @ 60% max
Week 2:   3 reps x 1 set @ 90% max
                8 reps x 2 sets @ 75% max
Week 3:   3 reps x 2 sets @ 80% max
10 reps x 2 sets @ 70% max
Week 4:   2 reps x 1 set @ 95% max
                7 reps x 2 sets @ 80% max

Transition Weeks 6-10 (Four weeks off)
Repeat year's routine.

This calendar constantly varies reps, sets, and weights. To vary workout length, do an extra set for about 5 exercises you want to emphasize during the Mixed Phases and two extra sets for the same 5 or so exercises during the Hypertrophy Phases.

Photo Credits:
Gym Stud 1 -- Unknown origin;
John Cena 2 -- World Wrestling Entertainment (WWE);
Serious Strength Training 3 -- Champaign IL: Human Kinetics, 2003;
Anthony C 4 -- Michael A. Downs for All American Guys;
Park Stripper 5 -- Unknown origin.

Swim Naked with a Raging Hard-On!

2008-12-02T19:46:00.012-06:00

I'm a closet nudist. I sleep naked, I jump rope nude at home, and I don't wear anything under my shorts, when I run outside or run stadium steps. I've even run naked when the coast was clear, but nothing beats the freedom of swimming nude. Gliding through water with nothing on is the ultimate sports rush.

Once, I lived in a neighborhood where everyone turned in early. There was a pool at an apartment complex nearby, and I took full advantage of it. I would do my late night running, and then I would strip down and jump in the pool. No one was the wiser. No one left their apartment. No one drove their car. No one came to the pool. It was just me, a tall naked white guy swimming laps.

Sometimes, I would get a woody while freestyling or doing the butterfly. It felt so fucking fantastic! I would swim faster while hard. Maybe it was the rush from feeling horny, but then again, my hard cock was hydrodynamic. I was fucking water.

Another time, I lived near a beach. Man, I enjoyed going out at night and jumping in the ocean naked with whatever boyfriend I had or hot boy I was dating. We would play and wrestle and splash each other, and sometimes we would end it all by jacking each other off at the water's edge.

When I was growing up, people called it skinny-dipping, but that term seems rather feminine and old-fashioned now. I prefer swimming nude, naked, in the raw, buck-ass naked, naked as a jaybird, or my favorite: swimming with balls out and bare-assed. I credit that last one to ballsy25, the http://www.dlist.com/ guy who inspired this blog.

Our male ancestors swam buck-ass naked --in times ancient and modern. The man's bathing suit dates from the 1700s, but many males continued to swim nude, especially when females were not around. In the early Twentieth Century, many pools even required male nudity. Lint from wool and cotton bathing suits would clog the pool filters of the time. When the YMCA began to admit women in the early 60s, male swimsuits became the norm there.

Real men grab every chance to swim in the raw. It's liberating. It's revolutionary. It's sexually-charged. There's nothing more inspiring than watching naked athletic guys splash around in the water. I get all precum wet just thinking about it. Okay guys, it's time to strip. Jump in! The water's fine.

All three pictures are of unknown origin.

Ancient Western History for Rowdy Faggots

2008-11-30T13:42:00.029-06:00

In the beginning, there was Gilgamesh, the Sumerian superhero. He was a strong, courageous man-god with a perfect body. He met his match in Enkidu, a wild nature boy civilized by sex with a female prostitute. (Honest! That's how the story goes.) Gilgamesh and Enkidu fought and fought, but neither could win. So, they became intimate friends, and went on to fight demons together. Their story is our first homoerotic myth, as well as the world's first great epic.

The Western love of the strong male body continues with Pharaoh, clad only in waistcloth and headdress. In statues, his toned arms, chest, and "V" torso literally express his power over Egypt. He would not be out of place in our gyms.

The ancients took human sexuality for granted, and the Greeks were no exception. In fact, they practically institutionalized homosexuality. They left us beautiful sculptures of young men and homosexual pottery art that rivals the images on our porn websites.

"What is Rome?" the movie Gladiator (2000) asks, as we admire Maximus (Russell Crowe), as well as other characters. Rome is war and sex. It transforms the Greek worship of naked male Olympic athletes into rougher, yet still erotic, gladitorial combat. Today, Greco-Roman sports culture is alive and well in America. We encourage guys --regardless of their sexuality-- to study and admire male athletes.

So, we're nothing new. When we work out, when we enjoy porn, when we help our boyfriends, when we engage in muscle worship, when we test each other's strength, we're continuing a long, glorious tradition. We're sons of the ancients. Everyday, even in small ways, we make them proud.

Photo Credits:
Gilgamesh Grabbing a Lion 1 -- Assyrian sculpture at the Louvre in
     Paris;
Pharoah Menkaura and Queen Khamerernabty II 2 -- Egyptian
     sculpture circa 2530 BC at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts;
Orgy (Detail) 3 -- Ancient Greek Plate from the Fifth Century BC at
     the Louvre in Paris;
Russell Crowe as Maximus 4 -- Gladiator. Dir. Ridley Scott.
     DreamWorks Pictures, Universal Pictures, Scott Free
     Productions, and Red Wagon Entertainment, 2000.

Jump, Jump, Jump, Jump Around!

2008-11-29T18:33:00.020-06:00

"Men Nude Running on the Beach" is an action shot by photographer Bruce Weber. He showcases his work on his website http://www.bruceweber.com/.

Okay, guys, strip! Right now! Jump up and down. Run in place. Make your dicks slap every which way. It's fucking good for you. This is the way God intended for you to work your body. If you get hard, don't worry about it. Keep running. Get used to it. Your dicks are tougher than you think.

If it hurts, well, you jacked off too hard last time. Give yourself a few days to heal. You'll live. You'll be flapping around in no time.

A funny column on the subject is "Where Have All the Jockstraps Gone?" by Daniel Akst of Slate (www.slate.com/id/2123007/fr/rss). Seems Gen X and Y guys have ditched jocks in favor of boxers and boxer briefs. It's just as well. Jockstraps never prevented hernias in the first place.

Akst is a little too old-fashioned to be talking about the subject. He's scandalized by guys who wear boxers at the gym. (Oh my!) He also makes his sons wear cups. (Poor boys!)

The male athletic body is stronger than Akst thinks. We rough boys can wear boxers to work out or even nothing under our shorts. At nude beaches, we can even run fucking stark naked. Our dicks are not going to break.

I jump rope naked inside my apartment. I don't wear underwear when I run --just shoes, socks, and shorts. I especially enjoy hanging loose, when I run stadium steps. Hell, I've even run naked, when no one was around and I could get away with it.

Yes, I get a hard-on sometimes, but I don't worry about it. Men are supposed to get rock hard. That's not a problem. (Not getting hard --now that's a problem.) If you're still embarrassed, just stop for a while. You'll calm down.

The only thing that happens to me with a workout woody is I may get some precum slung on me. Sweet! I wear it as a badge of honor.

Actually, bouncing around while exercising reminds me of rough sex. My balls jump around just as much, when I'm fucking jackhammer speed, but that's another column. In the meantime, enjoy your workouts, guys. Make those balls bounce. Make that shaft slap. Enjoy the fucking freedom. God! It's great to be a young jock flapping free.

Naked male sports, like this soccer match, have an interesting history. Some men jump at the chance to play naked. They feel they play better without the weight and restriction of clothes. They also enjoy the freedom of a flapping dick.

The jock has lost its appeal in the athletic world, but it continues to thrill as a fetish and a fashion statement. Here, Timothy John Mandala plays with his jock in Naked Boys Singing on September 28, 2007, at New World Stages, an off Broadway theatre in New York City.

Welcome to the Fucking Fraternity!

2008-11-29T03:31:00.019-06:00

These two guys are the perfect welcoming committee for our fraternity. They look like two college boys visiting a national park during the summer. In reality, they're porn actors for Cruiser Boys. We enjoy the boy-next-door act that barely covers a wild sensuality.

Hello all you porn-loving frat boys! This corner of the universe is for masculine men who love the same. Some refer to us as butch, college, military, masculine, and hypermasculine. We're also called straight-acting, but that's problematic: There's nothing straight about us.

This blog was inspired by ballsy25, a hot guy from http://www.dlist.com/. He used to have a blog called "The Language of Masculinity." Unfortunately, he took it down, but I missed it so much, I had to create something similar.

We worship traditionally masculine roles: cowboys, athletes, gym rats, college boys, military trade, blue-collar workers --you name it. We enjoy acting and feeling like real men. We admire and love masculinity in other men.

We hope you'll enjoy our periodic columns and debates about butch fags and what it means to be a real man. This is your rec room. This is your clubhouse. This is your hangout. Enjoy our pinup boys and have a beer on us. We're glad you came --pun intended!

The hot naked Mark Allen stretches out in a vacant room and captures the sensuality of athleticism. In spite of his career in stripping and porn modeling during the early 90s, this is one of only a few artistic pictures of Allen. His photographers did not do him justice. Most of Allen's photos are unfortunately cheap, amateurish, and uninspired.

In the future, hot guys will be allowed to wash their cars naked. It'll save them the hassle of dealing with wet shorts, and it'll give people another opportunity to enjoy male beauty. Model is Taylor Treavon of Bad Puppy.