Because the ’50s were so much more than tailfins and pointy bras.

BUT WAIT! — THERE’S MORE! (more…)

“Softness in his eyes, iron in his thighs, virtue in his heart, fire in every part – of the mighty Hercules!”

If the above lyrics from the Speed Racer-esque early ’60s cartoon The Mighty Hercules have a special place in your heart, then you are clearly both A) gay all the way, and B) a connoisseur of the countless costume epics churned out of Italy devoted to the heroic exploits of the famed demi-god Hercules.

In a time when legal hardcore porn was a good eight years away from becoming a reality, and people had to resort to more abstract forms of stroke-off fodder, the Sword and Sandal genre — christened Pepla in the land of its origin — was all the rage when it came to turning people on across the board.

Yes, the arena’s ostensible selling points were its gaudy period detail and awe-inspiring feats of manly prowess, but adults and kids alike were really grabbing groin at the sight of all that chasmic cleavage. And the ladies racks were nice too. (more…)

No, Dr. Kylie it’s his dick’s reaction to the rest of him.

You, well, … you’re just incidental proximal stimulus.

You see, when the superhumanly studly male specimen is put on display in all his nubile glory in form-fitting boxer briefs, oiled to a sheen like a greased pig, and then directed to grunt and strain, his innate hotness will trigger an onastic response.

Quite literally, he’s getting off on himself.

As an objective woman of science, your role in the situation is not integral, but we advise that, in order to avoid shaming or berating the male’s natural reaction, you to proceed to grab or liplock that sex stick so as to aid him through this potenially confounding process.

The travails of being a type-specific male.

Whether it’s nature in the form of some congenital biological exigency or nurture arising from decades of cultural submersion, there are just certain traits in a man that trigger a Pavlovian panting in me. While physicality admittedly plays its role, in many ways it’s personality idiosyncrasies — distinct aspects of self — that are likely to get me on board. These can’t be faked or bred into a potential mate; they have to preexist.

Disturbingly, I’m beginning to wonder how many of these traits are the result of actual human interaction, or simply fantasy aspects I’ve slowly cultivated in my mind. We can never measure the depth and degree to which visual media forms have played in shaping our sex drives. Centuries ago, attraction was based on practical concerns like proximity, pressing survival constraints, procreation, and community-arraigned unions. (more…)

Operation Enduring Hotness

Shower rooms.
Locker rooms.
Jockstraps.

The words alone cast a drowsy, aphrodisiacal spell on us. And it’s no wonder. They take us back to the days when the jumble of adolescent male bodies in a high school locker room was the first place, as far as our secret desires were concerned, where the rubber met the road.

Our first sight of a jockstrap might have been in the mirror but it didn’t take on real force until it was glimpsed making its grooved, scooping way around a buoyant pouch, just slightly above eye-level as we sat tying our sneaker amid the slam of locker doors.

The trio of shower room, locker room and jockstrap has been plot enough for many a porn film, and as soon as we see the familiar bench in a deserted room with a row of lockers looking on like somber tin soldiers, we pretty much know what’s up ahead. Blowjob City: Population 2. With casual walk-ins dropping their towels and swelling our small town to, at times, an orgiastic metropolis. (Bukkake Nation, anyone?) Then everyone ends up in the shower for a bangup reprise, but with different partners. Wash, rinse, repeat. (more…)

“How verdant is the heather, how manly are my loins?”

The song rings down the glade as the Highlands meet the Lowlands.

The kilt is back with a vengeance, though it never truly went away.

Old by 19th Century standards when it was popularized by the Scots, the garments are becoming more visible than ever. The Scottish Military still requires them as a uniform. In Europe, rugby players and their roughneck fan base don them on and off the field. They’re even turning up on the runway. Now the kilt even has a fab subcultural acronym: the M.U.G., i.e. the Modern Unbifurcated Garment.

Why the resurgence at this time in history? Aesthetics for starters. The look is undeniably hot and surprisingly complimentary to nearly every type and age of man.

Legs characterized by granite thighs and vascular calves can often be a man’s best feature after all. The kilt accentuates the power of the waist, the breadth of the shoulders, the contours of the hips. (more…)

Richard Grieco put his disease in me.

It’s his fault that I have a thing for Guidos. It was fate that I just happened to be entering the initial materialization of sexual identity at the very time he was sauntering into his 21 Jump Street/Booker brief glimmer of stardom.

During that era, the teen crush objects of Saved By The Bell and Beverly Hills 90210 were Clearasil-skinned Mickey Mousers; Le Grieco was the antithesis of pre-fab Wonder Bread idols — a trashy, spike-haired, downtown slut with the class of an alley cat and a porn star smirk. My Yasmine Bleeth Reflex — the design flaw that leads the well-adjusted inexplicably drawn to ruinous headboard pounders — triggered and my formative Grieco obsession has left me forever susceptible to the wiles of the Guido.

The sexual fantasies that we always turn to are the ones that make us feel the most ashamed, the ones that make us question who we really are and what we really want. It’s when we feel the most dirty that we’re the most gratified. Our polar opposites – those we would never conceivably cross paths with and who personify everything we’re not – can sometimes attract as much as they should repel. (more…)