Following his popular Dazzler of the Day crowning here, Paul Anthony Kelly turned in the naked scene seen below, giving new meaning to the term ‘bottom glory’. His bum is giving these all of these bums run for their money shots.
See also ‘Male Nudity’ here for more… much more.
The opening ceremony of this year’s Winter Olympics in Milan, Italy begins today, and this website always celebrates that event as a moment the world comes together in unity. I’m not sure how the rest of the world feels about the United States right now – well, I have a pretty good idea, and it’s not at all good – but hopefully none of that bleeds through for these hard-working athletes. We’ll keep things as sexy and superficial as possible, because that’s what this site was once for, and what it may be again.
This year’s festivities are fronted by Gus Kenworthy, who returns for another run at Olympic glory, and I can’t think of a better front-man. Or back-man based on nude posts like this.
For me, the Olympics are always about the figure skating, and this year all eyes will be on the Quad God Ilia Malinin, who is aiming for Olympic Gold with his impressive litany of quad jumps, and a super-nova star quality.
Speedskaters Erin Jackson and Conor McDermott-Mostowy look to defy human speed limits, while ice dancers Madison Chock and Evan Bates have been on Olympic ice before as seen here and here.
Finally, Adam Rippon will be playing a part in Olympic commentary, adding to the gay glamour of these games – see him in this nude spread to whet the appetite and set the stage…
If there had only been an OnlyFans when I was in my early twenties I’d be so fucking retired right now.
Or dead.
Either way, better off financially than today.
Even out-of-focus ass shots are forbidden on Instagram these days, so I’ll give you the uncensored version below, which Instagram so unceremoniously removed from my feed. Oh, the tarnishing of such a legacy is what’s truly obscene! Down with censorship! Down with banning books! Down with this selective freedom of speech and expression when so much hate and vile rhetoric is otherwise allowed!
Just kidding – these sorts of censorship blips have only served to gain more visitors and clicks to this site – which marked over a million hits last month in some strange surge of blog action that has also brought in over 100,000 visitors thus far this month, so censorship seems to be working in my favor. Call it the Barbra Streisand effect. And while this practically-pornographic jockstrap post may have some justification for being removed, the removal of the photo below just shows America’s puritanical hypocrisy. It’s not like I proudly proclaimed I grabbed someone’s pussy without their consent…
PS – Happy anniversary to Madonna’s ‘Erotica’ album and ‘Sex’ book – great day for it!
At what age should one gracefully and demurely retire from baring one’s ass for all the internet to see? Surely by fifty, no?
Hell no.
It wouldn’t be ALANILAGAN.com if there weren’t a birthday suit post on this day, so here you go, along with a look back at previous birthday posts below. Scroll for me, baby…
Birthday #49: The silver wolf hair was in full effect by last year’s birthday – the last one of my 40’s, and I was definitely starting to feel the wear and tear on the body.
Birthday #48: A somber and serious fade to black, my 48th year was informed by Dad’s death and this look back (way wordier than this one if you don’t want repetition).
Birthday #47: This was a traditional birthday suit post followed by a moody midnight dip post.
Birthday #46: A proper skinny-dipping post fronted birthday #46, which was otherwise celebrated in relatively quiet fashion.
Birthday #45: Forty-five years young feels quaint now, as does this vintage birthday suit pictorial.
Birthday #44: A different kind of birthday suit rang in my 44th but my ass gave good face before the day ended.
Birthday #43 and #42: The summers of 2017 and 2018 were ones that I took off from blogging, but this night-swimming birthday suit post still made it up.
Birthday #41: Bad hair began my forty-first year apparently, followed by a blatant butt-shot, and later some birthday suit mayhem.
Birthday #40: A milestone of sorts, forty found me in a philosophical mood, and also entirely out of clothing.
Birthday #39: Birthday cake by Andy cloud out my thirties here, while other men doffed their attire for a twist on the birthday suit post.
Birthday #38: This looked like a quieter birthday, backed by a basic birthday suit post, or two.
Birthday #37: A family-oriented throwback, and not much else for #37.
Birthday #36: The merry-go-round of life spins around… with some help from a best birthday friend.
This blog doesn’t go back any further than #36… and that’s probably for the best.
Thank God this shit-show is over for another year. Good night.
“It is best as one grows older to strip oneself of possessions, to shed oneself downward like a tree, to be almost wholly earth before one dies.” – Sylvia Townsend Warner
“The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.”~ Robert Frost
~ The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale ~
It is striking how lonely vanity can become.
Someone once wrote that some people have what is called ‘contagious vanity‘ – that is, they believed so strongly and fervently in themselves that while you might actively dislike them, you cannot take your eyes off of them. Their fascination with themselves lent them a fascination to others. It was possible, then, to become a person of interest once you became interested in yourself. What a strange and bizarre concept, I thought, even as I began to challenge myself into making it happen. To rise above the chattering criticism of the world and the mirror, into an echelon so high that even if it all fell down, you’d still be on top.
Vanity thy name is…
Satin sheets are very romantic…
What happens when you’re not in bed? ~ Madonna
~ The Divine Diva Tour: A Fairy’s Tale ~
First of all, if you think the site is porn, thank you!
Second, if you really think this website is pornographic, your definition of porn is such that we will likely not be aligned in a lot of our views. To me, porn is the depiction of a sexual act – not nudity or nakedness, full frontal or not. The more literal definition, in most legal citations, is “material that depicts nudity or sexual acts for the purpose of sexual stimulation.”
That’s never been my purpose here. Not that I am blind to the varying responses to the scantily-clad men that get posted here, but the purpose – the intent – is not to turn anyone on.
“I am not trying to seduce you. Would you like me to seduce you?“
From what I’ve experienced and seen online, too many people confuse the naked human form for pornography, and that view and attitude just isn’t something I agree with or understand. The human body shorn of its clothing is a beautiful thing, and to shame us into feeling embarrassed or shy about our natural state is one of the most damaging things society has done to ourselves.
So if you find this in any way pornographic, that’s entirely your prerogative, but if that is in fact what you think, what exactly are you doing here?
Yes, my friends and bait-clickers, the Feast of the Ass is a very real religious day.
I’m not here to educate on the official Feast of the Ass Day – Google that shit if you are so inclined.
All I can do is add my two cents to the pagan-like celebration that reportedly formed a part of this day’s history, and should inform it every day going forward, which means putting up these pics taken several years ago in service of the ‘PVRTD’ project. These never made the proper cut, but they seem perfectly serviceable for Feast of the Ass Day (at least until my next project gets off the ground).
Within the category of ‘Gratuitous Nudity’ (click and scroll if you are so inclined), the human body is accepted and celebrated, without the shame and prudishness that this country so often, and so hypocritically, espouses when it comes to nakedness and pornography and the blessed like. We have no such hang-ups when it comes to nudity here; this is a safe space, a sex-positive space, a space without judgment or sanctimonious posturing. We celebrate the human body in all its endless variety and mystery and beauty. And we celebrate our own version of Feast of the Ass Day – back it up, pack it in, let me begin…
“I understand very well how it is possible sometimes to slander yourself, to admit to all sorts of crimes solely out of vanity, and I have a very clear idea of what such vanity can be like.” ~ Fyodor Dostoevsky
Marking this milestone half-century year for me may involve some looking back, and I began by perusing The Pictures section here, which goes back about two decades. Found within were these two photos from a fun trip to San Francisco for my friend Alissa’s wedding. It feels so long ago, and since she died a few years ago there has been nothing to really keep those memories alive other than the pics here and whatever remains in my dwindling brain cells. Time stops for no one.
Ensconced in a hotel overlooking Union Square, the memory blurs into other memories, and I’m no longer sure which hotel or which trip it was anymore. We bury so many things that once meant so much, at the midway mark of life I wonder how much ever really mattered. When vanity creeps into a deeper place, it threatens its own existence. A certain fascination with self-destruction is a necessary element of survival. Perhaps it’s best if we leave the veil in place for now.
“He makes it his business to extract from fashion whatever element it may contain of poetry within history, to distill the eternal from the transitory.” ~ Charles Baudelaire
Since we’re revisiting ‘shades of gray’ and all things written long ago, here’s a featured pic to remind everybody that I’m out of fucks to give, and if they have a problem with it they can kiss my ass. My attitude seemed largely the same way back in 2004 as I re-read some of my thoughts then – sometimes shadows transcend time. Now on with our tranquil recap of the previous week…
A prescient respite from the world before we realized it was ending.
A late recompense of floral color.
Spoiler alert: America is racist, sexist, homophobic and filled with dumb fucks. See any comments section for ample evidence.
The real final swim, maybe.
Gray Ghost 2. (Which is neither a movie nor a sequel.)
Gray Ghost 3. (And still not a trilogy.)
Idle.
When distance lends enchantment.
There were no dazzlers because no one is dazzling these days. Prove me wrong. I want names. And pics at least 760 pixels wide.
Much like the way ‘Vulgar’ energized last summer with a chaser of ‘Popular‘ (before the summer all went wrong), this season’s surprise gay jam comes courtesy of Kesha, whose ‘Joyride’ is stampeding across all the social media trendsetting scenes. It’s providing the precise level of stupidity and ridiculousness – the very breath of fresh air – that this moment requires. Having fallen into a bit of a funk lately, I’m doing what I can to stay emotionally afloat, and this nonsensical ditty was designed as an escape, led by an ear worm that’s crawling about in my head and driving me absolutely crazy.
ARE YOU A MAN?
Cuz I’M A BITCH
I’m already rich
Just looking for that MMMMM…
THIS PARTY SUCKS
I’m ’bout to ditch
Don’t even try to give me shit, I’VE EARNED THE RIGHT TO BE-BE LIKE THIS
Oh, you say you love me? THAT’S FUNNY.
WELL SO DO I..
That’s the kind of hubris for which I was once hailed, hated and harried. That’s the cheeky side of me that once charmed and seduced and thrilled. If it was all in my mind it was no less successful for its escapist salvation. And that’s the sort of spirit that seems to have slowly drained from me over the last year. Sometimes the silliest trifle of music brings us back to ourselves.
I’m just looking for a joyride, JOYRIDE
I’m just looking for A GOOD TIME TONIGHT
Baby, I want you to rev my engine ’til you make it purrrr
KEEP IT KINKY, but I come first
Beep beep bitch, I’m outside. Get in loser for the joyride.
Making every motherfucker turn
Fell from heaven no, it didn’t hurt
Beep beep BEST NIGHT OF YOUR LIFE
Get in loser for the joyride
Joyride
GET IN LOSER for the joyride
Blaring the music in the air-conditioned confines of my Mini Cooper, lip-syncing this song saucily and trying to convince myself that it’s all super-duper, summer passes more swiftly than I think I want it to pass. I’m not sure if I’m happy or disappointed by that. Last summer I just wanted to speed through it.
Keep your eyes ON THE ROAD
A LABEL WHORE but I’m BORED OF WEARING CLOTHES
You want kids? Well, I am mother
DON’T EVEN TRY TO GIVE ME SHIT, I’ve earned the right to be-be like this
And so summer heals – in a sunny day, in a silly song, in a simple swim. You laugh again because you can, and there are still funny things in this joyride of a world. Maybe your laughter isn’t as loud or as long as it once was, so you turn up a song like this as high as it will go, until you can’t hear yourself think those bothersome thoughts. You lean into what silliness you can find, grasping at whatever easy comfort or fun falls like a feather from the sky, and you pray to not go through something sad again, knowing what a futile prayer it will eventually prove to be. You lead with a laugh, desperate to trigger happiness, even if you have to enter from the end, even if your laughter is false and forced; sometimes the physical act is enough to elicit an echo of all the happiness that real laughter once inspired.
Joyride, joyride
I’m just looking for a good time tonight
Baby, I want you to rev my engine ’til you make it purrrr
Keep it kinky, BUT I COME FIRST
Beep beep bitch, I’m outside. Get in loser for the joyride.
Making every motherfucker turn
FELL FROM HEAVEN no, it didn’t hurt
Beep beep best night of your life
Get in loser for the joyride
I don’t speak French, but anyone can translate anything on the interwebs, and it appears this song is a summery seaside tale of looking back on summer days by the sea gone by. It’s a bit early for that sort of melancholy take on the season, but such is the space of a coquette summer. And one can’t go very wrong with a song by Brigitte Bardot playing by the pool.
The mesmerizing spell of summer transcends the boundaries of language. It works its magic through melody and sound, atmosphere and environment, sun and water. A bit of escapism is welcome here. Slowly, I’m finding my way back into the pool after largely avoiding it last year. I sink underwater and listen to that quiet again. A bit of a French bop, some coquettish decadence, and the indulgence of a pool day conspire to captivate the senses. Somehow, in their distracting magic, they remind me to inhabit the moment, to enjoy what is at hand rather than worrying about the past or the future. Only and all of which we can be certain is now – this moment.
Once again, I almost missed World Naked Gardening Day, probably because it’s such an awkwardly-named and awkwardly-designated date. The first Saturday in May apparently rings in this non-holiday holiday, and I’m usually celebrating our anniversary in Boston when it falls, so I often miss out on it happening until it’s too late to drop anything. Maybe next year I’ll try to keep it in mind and pre-populate a post (God knows I needed some pre-programming this weekend).
Anyway, Happy World Naked Gardening Day! Despite the difficulty of the date, it has been celebrated here before, and more than once if you’ll take care to click and pay homage. It’s a little overcast at the moment of this writing, so I’m not taking a nude photo in the garden right now, but I’ll dig up some past images that give a glimpse of male nudity. ‘Tis the damn season. Stay safe if you’re going to honor this day the right way. Bits and baubles don’t like thorns or dirt.
Lamenting the advance of age, lately I’ve been ruminating on how music and songs and most forms of entertainment fail to elicit the same thrills they did in my younger years. Most of my friends in this same age bracket have voiced similar concerns and realizations, bogged down as we are by the typical traipsing through our middle-aged years with stultifying routine and unsurprising regularity. It does make Jack a dull, dull boy indeed.
Every once in a while, however, a song still comes along to spark some of that long-lost sparkle, to thrill in the way that music and art and friendship and love once thrilled. A combination of lyrical majesty, musical enchantment, and vocal talent, ‘Mr. Porcelain’ was written by Jude York and is a lovely little song for those just embarking on the romance of life, and for those of us who have been through it a bit, and can look back and sigh with wistful longing and sweet relief.
When I pass by a porcelain doll today, all those pretty young things just starting out on their own journeys, making a mess, a muck, and a magnificence of their own youth, I don’t envy them. Envy was never a good look on anyone, least of all me, and happily I have largely been able to avoid it. Perhaps it would have been different if I hadn’t been fortunate enough to enjoy few porcelain years of my own. And perhaps I’d mourn them if I enjoyed them more.
