Archive for November 2009
I like a man who reads books – or, failing that, a man who gets his kit off and holds a book in front of his bits.
I also can’t decide which I love most: this beautifully sexy video of Santiago stripping for a screentest for Homme Star.
Or this video of Santiago in his underwear lip-synching to Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy). Trust me, the latter will put a spring in your step. It’s joyous!
For more on that rare beast, men stripping, place your order for Issue 3 of Filament Magazine, hot off the press tomorrow! Issue 3 includes a look at male burlesque – and I really think we need to look at male burlesque a lot, lot more. Front row seat for me, please!
Ouch! Coat hangers can be tricky things.
Image via Male Submission Art
I can’t help it. I have this strange fascination for urinals. (Is it me or do you share?)
So, there are these public (sort of) arenas where men touch their cocks – no, hold their cocks – in a very casual, mundane, everyday manner. And me, I can never be casual about cock because I don’t have one. I will be forever fascinated, forever wanting to touch, forever wanting dick. Ohmygollygosh. Yes, I will.
But wow, listen, there are these places where men go (where I am not allowed, dammit!) and they stand there (but not too close!) holding their cocks and pissing and generally ignoring each other and chasing cigarette ends (what replaced cigarette ends after the ban?) down the drain with their stream.
Then they just put away their cocks and leave! All over!
Sometimes, the most ordinary, everyday things are the most strange and amazing and wonderful.
You know, it’s been a long time since I thought about what a very attractive man Ewan McGregor is (and I used to think about it quite often), but I was reminded by this clip in which he proclaims that his frequent nude scenes in films are ‘a feminist thing’
So that’s nice. Ewan gets it. Naked men = feminist thing; naked women = same old thing. This week, you’ll no doubt be as disappointed as me to learn, the erotica publishing industry failed to get this point so spectacularly I can only think that this was plan B, after going around to every straight female reader or writer of erotica personally and insulting them to their face proved too expensive. (If you follow these thing you might know which books I mean – if not, we’ll get there. Promise.)
After last week’s headless Man Candy, this week we’re all about the head. Well, Channing Tatum’s head, to be exact, and the lovely exposure of his armpit.
For more pit pics, check out The Beauty of his Armpits, an old post on my blog currently getting some fresh interest from guys discussing the merits of maschalomania and what works for them: hair or bare? subway or supermarket? deodorant or sweat?
And today’s ECW dilemma: Channing Tatum or Channing Tatum?
Hmm, maybe I’ll stare a little longer while I decide. And as I do so, I’ll send good thoughts to Scotland and wish Channing a speedy recovery from his recent scalded in a wetsuit accident. Really Channing, if you want warming up, you only need ask.