The bed has a way of pulling you into it. Pulling you deep beneath covers, under pillows and blankets and sheets, drowning in an ocean of thread counts and fibers and the entrance to sleep. It lifts and carries, calls and cajoles, lilts and lulls ~ the combined effect of which serves to deliciously disorient on the order of the lotus-eaters.
Rippling water like waves of desert sand in Egyptian cotton.
The folds of the body of the earth.
Hazy, ambient noise of gauze and womb, soft and warmly inviting yet cold and hard as glass. A throw, a reflection, a question of indeterminate origin, lingering in the grainy atmosphere.
The erudite world collapses. The edges dissipate and disappear. The straight lines bend and sway and drop off completely. The corners curve and bounce back.
It is sucking you in, and there is no way out.
And then you are gone.
Now that the Holiday Card 2012 has been revealed, I can show you a few shots that didn’t quite make the cut. The inspiration for these was a combination of disturbing and sometimes disparate things that caught my eye in the last year or so – particularly ‘American Horror Story’, a few bits of ‘Dexter’ (blame Andy for that infiltrating my life), and a classic Janis Joplin tune (‘Piece of My Heart’). The notion of doing a somewhat scary image was intriguing, as I’ve actually never thought to marry that to one of my holiday cards (I don’t consider S&M all that frightening, so those don’t count). This, however, incorporated some blood and guts (or at least a substitute heart), and it ranks high on my amusement list. The look on Andy’s face alone as the various props were being assembled was a priceless highlight of the year. (The work involved in getting stubborn fake-blood stains off my hands was not as fun.)
In a blatant bit of pandering to those who loyally return here day after day (and have asked for it), here are some bonus skin shots from my recent trip to NY and The Out. It seems slightly less tasteless to post these now than, say, Christmas or Easter. Not that I’d have a problem with either (and I believe the latter did provide the backdrop for some latex and lace fiasco one year…)
“Do you know how sometimes you see a man, and you’re not sure if you want to get in his pants or if you want to cry? Not because you can’t have him; maybe you can. But you see right away something in him beyond having. You can’t screw your way into it, any more than you can get at the golden egg by slitting the goose. So you want to cry, not like a child, but like an exile who is reminded of his homeland.†~ Mark Merlis
Hope you have enjoyed our Thanksgiving Parade of nudity. Now stuff it. (The turkey, of course.)
I’m still in Boston, so the lazy parade of gratuitous black-and-white artfully-shot nude poses will continue for a little while longer. With all the skin, there seems little need for a Hunk of the Day post (and I refuse, in spite of all evident vanity, to put myself up as such). Fittingly, these were shot on location at The Out in NYC. The bed was heavenly, the sheets were like clouds, and the mirror was divine.
Only the trained eye of the Voyeur could imagine the power the watched wield.
The focus fades. The light grows dim. The afternoon asks for more.
A gaze, off in the distance, indirect and uninviting. The bleak brittleness of solitude.
This could quite possibly be my new favorite outfit – a modified birthday suit of soap bubbles – as transitory as it is tingly. I was considering wearing it to the Beaujolais Nouveau Wine Festival, but it didn’t pass the hug test (I usually end up hugging a lot of people that night, and it just wouldn’t stay on). It also doesn’t travel well – it barely lasted for the duration of these photos. Still, it tugs at my heart, recalling childhood flights of fancy , of ephemeral innocence, of fantastical fairy garb.
I’m not even going to attempt to christen myself ‘Hunk of the Day‘ until I can get back into some sort of fighting shape. That said, some of the weight I’ve been gaining has fortuitously gone straight to my ass, offering something for the booty and the mind, at the same time.
Let this make amends for my misleading ‘hairy woodpecker‘ post earlier. (Even though I delivered exactly what I said…)
As promised this morning, here is the infamous naked Ogunquit Beach shot.
This was taken a number of years ago, and I do miss those younger scandalous moments…
But if I did this today, I’d miss my clothes more.
You know we don’t do full-frontal male nudity on this site (well, almost never), but we often come pretty damn close. And this is about as almost-full-frontal as you can get, courtesy of Nick Youngquest who clearly has no problem, nor should he, getting naked at the drop of a hat (and everything else).
Leave it to ‘Attitude’ magazine to get the boys to drop trou and cup it. As the great Bonnie Tyler once sang in her raspy voice ‘Turn around…’
Meet male model Joseph Sayers, whom I recall from an ‘xy magazine’ spread he did about 15 years ago. He’s aging much better than me, but rather than envying that I’m going to be happy for him. It’s always nice to see someone from xy make something out of their life. [See: Benoit Denizet-Lewis.]
But enough of my blabbering…
What would you do for an uncropped version?
