Category Archives: Male Nudity

Mark MacKillop: The Solitary Masterpiece

“You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.” ~ Franz Kafka

The empty room.

The sound of solitude.

The languorous shifting of light.

The art of being alone has produced works of staggering beauty. Only when faced with ourselves can we get to understand what we are really like. You have to be all right with being alone before you can be good company for anyone else. There’s a gorgeous irony in that, and it’s explored pictorially in Mark MacKillop’s coffee-table book ‘Room XIV.’ Released a few months ago, Mr. MacKillop has been making the book tour rounds and putting in appearances at bookstores to spread the pretty word. Reaction has been supportive and enthusiastic.

“I’ve been most surprised by people’s love of the book, MacKillop explains. “It was a really fun project that when I started it had no real intention for it to become a book or continue like this. I love that people are interested in seeing my life touring with a musical depicted in hotel rooms. I don’t think anything really bothered me about this process because that’s all part of the learning curve of trying something new you haven’t done before, like publishing a book. It’s all been a really cool learning experience.”

“You can get help from teachers, but you are going to have to learn a lot by yourself, sitting alone in a room.” ~ Dr. Seuss

The book itself is a beautiful study on the human form, but also the human condition of solitude. There is a loneliness at work, but a contentment in that loneliness. There is also a sense of connection, or trying to make some connection. He reaches out with his gaze, seeking to impress with a pose, and the end result is a complex examination of the human condition, veiled in the gauze of beauty. According to MacKillop, it was an invitation: “Very rarely do people get a glimpse into the life of a touring actor’s day-to-day life.  I wanted to be able to share that with my friends who were across the Atlantic and any new friends that I met on the road. It was my way of being creative and letting people into my world.”

“When you get into a hotel room, you lock the door, and you know there is a secrecy, there is a luxury, there is fantasy. There is comfort. There is reassurance.” ~ Diane von Furstenberg

In a world of social media overload and online-only interactions, a physical book feels old-school and quaint. It lends a warmth and sturdiness to the experience, something that will never quite be matched by the cold glare of a computer screen. A photograph on paper somehow resonates more than an image on screen. It demands a bit more.

“I love the physical appeal of a heavy book,” MacKillop admits, offering insight into the technicalities of the creative process. “There’s something awesome about physically turning pages, feeling the texture of the paper. That was an important factor when I was choosing what textures went into my book. I chose a paper that had some weight and feeling to it. I didn’t want a high gloss page I wanted the book to feel like it was from a different time, the pages really soak up the ink of the image. That being said as much as I love traditional books the Internet has made it so incredibly easy to share new images instantly so there’s an appeal for both, my love for the physical and the instant.”

That juxtaposition has made the marketing for the book an interesting amalgamation of teasing shots, evocative video, and traditional in-person bookstore signings.

“I used to live in a room full of mirrors; all I could see was me. I take my spirit and I crash my mirrors, now the whole world is here for me to see.” ~ Jimi Hendrix

When confronted with the question of whether he is happier alone or surrounded by people, MacKillop straddles both states. “Everything in moderation,” he says. “Sometimes I crave the interaction and conversation of others. Although sometimes after a long day nothing is more nice than being alone. They say you can’t truly be happy with others till you are happy and content by yourself.”

“All men’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone.” ~ Blaise Pascal

Which brings us back to that room, where a man stands by himself, gazing out at the world, at the mirror, at the camera lens. It is a moment of reflection, of solitude, of seeking out some understanding of his place here. It is his way of connecting, through the portal of a look, a photograph, a book.

“Being alone was the premise of the project. The year on tour with ‘West Side Story’ was a demanding year both physically and emotionally. It was a big year of personal and artistic growth. I spent a lot of time alone thinking. People always comment, ‘Oh you look deep in thought in the photos.’ That’s what I wanted to capture, that moment.”

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The Last Swim of the Season – Part II (The Naked Ones)

The day after what I assumed would be the last day in the pool was just as warm and inviting, so I extended the life of summer for one more moment. It was a joyous bonus in a summer that found us in the pool less often than we would have liked. Some summers are like that. We don’t miss them any less because of it.

The last skinny dip of the year. This blog always returns to gratuitous male nudity. On that you can depend and never worry, even if it won’t always be me. (You’re welcome.)

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A Birthday Suit Twist

I’ve gotten into my birthday suit so many times here already that I’m taking this day off and letting someone else do it. A few someones, in fact, whose bodies are better than mine will ever be.  At this age I’ve given up on the six-pack of my twenties. (I’d happily settle for a three pack.) And speaking of three, let’s get down to business with this trio of pics featuring Harry Judd, who has been cheeky enough to be featured here numerous times.

Thanks to the gratuitous male nudity clause inherent in every Attitude cover shoot, Mr. Judd has displayed his wares in fetchingly-fine fashion over the years. Here is further cause for rejoicing, times three:

Let’s continue with Hugh Jackman, whose portrayal of Wolverine in the X-Men series has resulted in a few naked sequences, as seen here in a grainy GIF.

James Franco, who recently did his ALS Ice Bucket Challenge without a pair of pants, has already flashed his flesh here, but it’s always worth another look-see.

Matthew Camp looks cool while keeping it hot. He smells good to boot, which is just as important.

Finally, bringing up the rear is Zac Efron, who has been no stranger to showing off his body in these electronic pages, and here he is again giving a glimpse of those hot buns.

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Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered

It’s a memory that may not have actually happened. The time of the year is accurate, the weather quite distinct, and the location a very tangible one. The tail end of August, after a rainy day, on the very tip of Cape Cod ~ Provincetown. It was still summer, but barely, and the first hints of fall were seeping into the night. The year was 1995, and Suzie and I made our virgin trip to what might as well have been the edge of the world. Foolishly, we hadn’t thought ahead to make any sort of reservation (things were slightly different back then) so we entered the town after a long drive, exhausted and not in the mood for the lack of vacancy that was going on. Finally, we found a place – well, Suzie did – and I went along, relieved to lay down on a stationary object.

It was on a quiet side street, and after the rain the town had seemingly gone to sleep. The forecast had not been a happy one, but Suzie and I were just glad to be out of upstate New York, and near the water. Overcast and cool, we couldn’t care less. Depositing our suitcases in the room, we rustled up some grub and had a leisurely dinner. That night, Suzie stayed in while I took a short walk along Commercial Street.

A long line of men stood watching me pass by. In a tight black t-shirt and flowing linen pants, I must have looked like a cross between ‘The Birdcage’ and the clearance section of International Male. I was too young and inexperienced to know any better, and I strutted down the street like a bashful peacock, a haughty, arrogant air defying anyone to say hello, a mask of outward confidence barely betraying a bottomless well of insecurity. I pretended so long and so hard that it would eventually come true, but back then it was ordinary make-believe, a case of flimsy affect that I was certain people could see right through. Quickly, I passed the crowd, much quicker than it felt I’m sure, and made my way further into the evening. The air had cooled from the rain, and that glorious fragrance of its aftermath, the scent that always made the rain worth it, was lingering like a few scant straggling blooms of the privet. A few still managed to hang on, perhaps tricked by the upcoming change in season.

I’m wild again, beguiled again, a simpering, whimpering child again
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I
Couldn’t sleep, and wouldn’t sleep when love came and told me I shouldn’t sleep
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I…

That much of the memory is clear. Pristinely so. The only haze was that of the actual evening – my head recalls every nuance perfectly – until this moment. On a street off of Commercial – and it may be directly off, or the one just above, running parallel – a quiet portion of Provincetown revealed itself between green hedges and immaculate yet lush landscaping. There stood a guest house, and through its windows a warm amber light glowed. It was painted richly in shades of purple and lavender, with accents of brick red that somehow worked (though I would never combine them in any outfit outside of a circus). Gold was at play too, either in gold leafing or brass handles or some sort of filigree that wound its way into my memory. There was music too, faint at first, but it came to the ear if you stopped pushing gravel around, if you stood still and listened like we never really do. Scratchy at first, like the muffled old spinning of a true record player, it smoothed itself out into a soulful and creamy voice singing of love and sex and loss and relief.

Lost my heart, but what of it?
He is cold, I agree…
He can laugh, but I love it
Although the laugh’s on me.
I’ll sing to him, each spring to him,
And long for the day when I’ll cling to him…

I looked deeper into the house through the windows. A bookcase stood on one side of the room. A chair was placed by a small table. I thought of two old men having tea and coffee together, sharing a moment, sharing a lifetime ~ a lifetime of twists and turns exemplified by the languidly-paced music.

This was, I believe, my first brush with ‘Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.’ I’d just heard it in the film version of ‘Love! Valour! Compassion!’ so looking back it was probably that soundtrack that was playing. Ella Fitzgerald’s version, so dreamily slowed down into a dirge of desire, a meandering tale of the blossom and decay of romance, the tricky, capricious nature of love, and the way most of us would do it all over again no matter what.

He’s a fool and don’t I know it, but a fool can have his charms
I’m in love and don’t I show it like a babe in arms
Love’s the same old sad sensation
Lately I’ve not slept a wink
Since this half-pint imitation put me on the blink

I stood there, alone outside a guest house that wasn’t mine, near rooms that would remain forever closed to me, and looked into the dark sky. I wanted for something I could not put into words, for someone who seemingly did not exist. If you’ve ever wondered whether it’s possible to miss someone you’ve never met, yes, it is. I learned that then, as Ms. Fitzgerald told her wonderful, woeful, wild and winsome tale.

I’ve sinned a lot, I mean a lot
But I’m like sweet seventeen a lot
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I
I’ll sing to him each spring to him
And worship the trousers that cling to him
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I
When he talks he is seeking words to get off his chest
Horizontally-speaking he’s at his very best
Vexed again, perplexed again, thank God I can be oversexed again
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered am I

Not having ever had your heart broken doesn’t mean you can’t access or know heartbreak – and sometimes loneliness exists even when you’ve never lost someone. I listened to the end of the song and walked back to our room. The next day, before departing, we’d visit the beach. A windy and wild day, it remained slightly overcast. The photos we took show us squinting into the rush of air and sand, hair blowing messily, propped against a travel pillow for whatever buffering effect it might produce. We read a bit there on the beach, listening to seagulls and the occasional snippet of conversation carried by the wind, and then it was time to go.

On our way back from the Cape, we brushed Boston, where these photos were taken. In a few weeks I’d return to Brandeis, but there, in the sudden dark, driving with Suzie, I was in a holding pattern. Waiting. Wondering. Watching for signs. The turn of the song, then, a surprise twist lending whimsy and humor and pathos, and for the next few years I’d find it all, even, and especially, when I didn’t want anymore.

Wise at last, my eyes at last are cutting you down to your size at last
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered no more
Burned a lot, but learned a lot, and now you are broke, so you’ve earned a lot
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered no more

Love, then, was a difficult business. It came in fits and stunts, it arrived unwanted and unheralded, it was there when you least expected it and elusive when sought out. It was a funny thing, made that way out of necessity. We’d all be crying if we couldn’t turn it on its head, but for me at least, it was hard to make a laugh out of such sorrow. Ella knew this, and her voice comforted and soothed. She said it would be all right, it would work out in the end, because sometimes we end up with the wrong people. Sometimes we have to go through the silliness, the sexiness, and the sadness, as she took us through the last lines of the song. Determined to leave it all behind, the words are a final declaration of defiance, and a chance to start it all over again with someone else. Back then, that was hardly an appealing notion. I wanted to fall in love once and for all and have it last forever. That was the romantic in me.

Couldn’t eat, was dyspeptic, life was so hard to bear
Now my heart’s antiseptic since you moved out of  there
Romance finis, your chance, finis, those ants that invaded my pants, finis
Bewitched, bothered, and bewildered no more.

And there it ended, not with a bang or a boom but with a simple “no more.”

The song haunted me for years. I wanted it to have a happy ending. I wanted it to work out. I wanted there to be something that matched the longing and yearning and wistfulness of the music. But it wasn’t happening, and eventually, after trying to force a few failed romances to be what they would never be, I understood. If it’s meant to be it will be. If it’s not, it won’t. Once I got that into my head, once it was understood, the world of romance became a much happier one, and I became a lot happier too. It was then that I embraced the song, every twist and turn of it, from the unlikely hope at the start to the freedom of the finish.

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The Butt Report

Since we just featured The Bulge Report, it seems only fair to give a shake to the other end of the action. Here’s a collection of the backsides that have brought such joy to some of you over the years. While there’s a bit of a full-frontal male nudity embargo on this site, the butt has always been all access, all the time. Rear entry has never been denied in these parts…

The posterior of aptly-named Stuart Reardon may be one of the hottest to burn up this site’s stats, so get clicking.

Male model David Gandy provided ample eye candy when he turned around to bump and grind it.

It’s a tossed-salad-toss-up as to which side of Benjamin Godfre is better – the back or the front – so you can decide for yourself..

Todd Sanfield may have a stunning underwear line, but he’s better when baring his backside sans underwear altogether.

Dan Savage’s better half, Terry Miller, may try keeping his booty in a Speedo, but it just barely fits.

The amazing ass of Scott Herman is quite a sight to behold.

Dan Osborne’s been featured here for his bulge, but he’s got an equally-admirable booty, as seen here.

And last but most certainly not least, Harry Judd proved his butt has remained in perfect shape since he first bared it a few years ago.

PS – Who’s going to start a campaign to get David Beckham to show his tush?

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The Great Naked Male Celebrity Post

One of the more popular categories of this site is the ‘Naked Male Celebrities’ section. It’s pretty self-explanatory: photos of nude male celebrities. Not so heavy on the full-frontal scenes (despite what Amtrak may think of the NSFW nature of this site) we do feature ample ass for those who like the butt. Nude male celebrities will always garner a bit more attention than, say, non-nude male celebs. So feast your eyes upon those who have deigned to drop trou for this site.

We begin with a blast from the archived past: Ryan Reynolds. He showed off a perky rear-end in his younger years, before he got all Green Lantern on us. He should definitely put some new work out there.

Self-proclaimed gay A-lister Reichen Lehmkuhl put his shelf on display in several shower shots, while his former boyfriend Rodiney Santiago gave him a run for his booty-shaking money. Their co-star, Austin Armacost, had a bit more meat to show, so he did.

Football season is but a dim memory, but Rob Gronkowski’s naked ass lives on.

When it comes to a battle of the butts, nobody’s back-ends duked it out like Channing Tatum‘s and Joe Manganiello‘s. Bringing up how own rear in ‘Magic Mike’ was the Oscar-winning Matthew McConaughey. (Not to mention Matt Bomer’s banging ass.)

One of the more bodacious backsides to ever be featured here belonged to Milo Ventimiglia, of ‘Heroes’ fame.

Two words that have always signified something hot and usually naked: Nick Youngquest.

Harry Judd has been naked a lot of late, but I think this was the first time he was featured here showing off his clenched coin slot.

Before he had his underwear line, Chris Salvatore appeared here sans any underwear at all.

Sadly, Justin Bieber’s naked butt was also here.

Finally, a few of the racier gentleman who have bared a bit more over the years, and we owe them a round of applause for that. The sultry shots of Benjamin Godfre, the awesome ass and assets of Will Wikle, the magnificence of Jack Mackenroth’s pee-a-boo booty, and one of the finest specimen’s of butt beauty that has graced this site, the sexy stuff of Stuart Reardon (who couldn’t be contained in one single post.)

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Cock In A Sock… Part 1?

A racy campaign to raise awareness of testicular cancer was recently put on by Cancer Research UK, in which men pose with a sock on their – you guess it – cock, and then post the picture to Instagram or FaceBook or wherever.  Of course I’m in favor of this sort of dissemination of information. Knowledge is power. (And barely-clothed penises are perfection.) Whatever your thoughts are on the publicity-garnering, the topic is one that merits attention, and if you are so inclined, donations to cancer research and treatment programs are never a bad thing. As for me, several people have weighed in on my cock-shot – some for it, some opposed to it. Hence the question mark of this post: I haven’t made up my mind yet. The big challenge is how to keep a cock-in-a-sock shot classy… but you know I love a challenge. So stay tuned – and in the meantime, check out these dicks. (My fave has to be Ronnie Kroell, who is no stranger to sexy fun in the name of a good cause.)

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When the Light is Soft

Morning first creeps into the Boston condo through the front rooms. The sun manages to spill directly into the space, especially when the trees are bare, as they are now. But that’s not usually where I am when I first wake in the morning. For that, you must step further into the condo, past the small marble wet bar and mirror, and into the sanctuary of the bedroom.

The light here is different. It is diffused, softer, less focused. The sun won’t shine directly in until later in the afternoon. For now, it is merely the light of the sky – no unexceptional light to be sure, but quieter in its way, more subdued and less glaring.

It fills the space slowly, beginning as the faintest glow, in shades of gray and mauve and slate. It doesn’t march in like the sun in the front room, it insinuates itself more subtly, delicately, gently.

It doesn’t jar anyone awake, it doesn’t rile with the screech of a rooster. Its nudge is careful, more of a caress or a kiss. The slightest of touches to wake a slumbering beast.

There is no alarm clock here. There is no shrill ring-tone. There is only the slowly-growing glow of light.

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The Ass Menagerie

If you’ve been coming here for any length of time, you’ve have noticed that there is never any full-frontal male nudity on this site. Mainly because I don’t want this to turn into a porny free-for-all, and full-frontal shots can be found any other number of places. As compensation, however, I have offered ample ass shots – my own and others. For some reason rear nudity is not as frowned-upon as cock shots. It’s a fine line. Very fine. And we each have to draw it where we feel most comfortable. In my own life, I’m pretty free-for-all. For public consumption, however, I put the penis away.

To that end, we focus on the other end. The tight end. The perky end. The happy end. Notable butts featured here have included the following:

Christian Bale and his bounteous maximus on shower display in ‘American Psycho.’ If it takes turning into a psychotic to get a body like that, I don’t ever want to be sane.

Ryan Phillippe has come a long way from his ‘Studio 54’ days, and I’d say his butt has markedly improved.

Another Ryan – Ryan Reynolds – just edges out Mr. Phillippe in the hot ass department.

A whole slew of bottoms stripping in ‘Magic Mike’ – and this beautiful Battle of the Butts. (I’m still partial to Matt Bomer’s epic ass work in that Oscar-robbed film.)

The magnificent backside of Nick Youngquest in all its glory.

Rhymes with man-candy, male model David Gandy.

Royalty, okay? Prince Harry’s fine ass.

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Recap: In Like A Lion, A Naked Lion

With this month just under way, and the old ‘In like a lion’ adage seemingly holding true, I’m doing a recap to encapsulate some highlights from all of February, for those lucky casual visitors who haven’t quite made this a daily-must-stop. (I don’t blame you in the least – on a good day I’m a lot to take. On a bad day, it’s simply too much.) Let’s get on with this wintry look back… so we can soon spring ahead. Despite swirling snow, I know it’s coming…

February was perhaps best-known, at least in these parts, for two seminal sporting events: the Super Bowl and the Winter Olympics. The former featured this supposedly-naked commercial for David Beckham, the latter featured these definitely-naked Olympians.

Along those Olympic lines (but not bound solely to winter), we featured the hunky likes of Blake Skjellerup, Greg Rutherford, Tom Daley, Matteo Guarise, Darren Criss, Andrew Christian, Christof Innerhofer, Jeremy Abbott, Louis Smith, & Gus Kenworthy.

The Gay Soiree was a smashing success, featuring a stellar atmosphere, some killer music, and the best crowd in Albany. My outfit was an intentionally over-the-top hot mess. And it showcased my ass.

Plagued by troubling dreams and meddlesome nightmares, this was not the easiest month in which to find sweet sleep, but protection was at hand, and family gatherings like this one brightened the dark days. Cooking was a comfort too, but it was the company that made the difference.

A Vietnamese dinner, half home-made (just don’t call me Sandra Lee unless you have a connection to her boyfriend, who still has yet to make equitable salary reparation to his Management Confidential employees – ahem.)

A low-key Valentine’s Day, lacking in the usual Dorothy Parker bitterness, but resonating on a deeper plane.

The adorable and amazing Kristin Chenoweth lit up Schenectady better than anything GE could ever produce.

You’ve got style, that’s what all the girls say…

A blast from the past, and the re-booting of a series that still doesn’t excite me.

Can we be brave?

All you really need to click: Dan Osborne Naked.

Wait, all you REALLY need to click: Dan Osborne & Tom Daley in Speedos.

Ok, THIS IS THE ONE.

Sucking too hard on a lollipop?

For some less-than-super-human hunks who had nothing to do with the Olympics, we showed off  David Mcintosh, Cole Horibe, Mark Wright, Marco Dapper, Pablo Hernandez, Josh Button, Ryan Steele, Perez Hilton, Lucien Laviscount, Alex Pettyfer, Jason Derulo, Nick Bateman, a naked Jake Gyllenhaal, a naked Stuart Reardon, a naked Tom Daley (!!!!) and the amazing Chris Salvatore bulging out of his own underwear line.

The meat and the motion, and a cool little side dish to quell the heat.

Cream… get on top!

Happy Birthday to my baby brother.

Why did my lover have to pick last night to get down?

Back to Boston, with more to come, home of the best scones ever.

A couple of recaps within a recap: some more gratuitously naked male celebrities, some ferociously hot (and bordering-on-obscene) bulges from these Hunks, and some ridiculously perfect male models. Plus, one hot naked ginger in delicious motion (the guy featured in the pics above).

And there’s always room for one more gratuitous Ben Cohen post.

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Even More Naked Stuart Reardon Shots

Starting off the morning in a very sexy way… Just when you thought there couldn’t be any more naked male hotness from Stuart Reardon, along comes this post featuring more of his namesake and strongest asset. I love when a man knows his attributes, and how to use them to best advantage. In this instance, it’s his ample ass, on display as it was in this previous post. Had I known that this is what rugby could do for a body, I’d have picked up a ball years ago, instead of just sucking on them.

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Matthew Camp Smells Good

Rugged, raw, and just rough enough to keep you on your toes, Matthew Camp’s ‘8.5’ fragrance is not for the faint of heart or weak of spirit. It comes on strong – powerfully strong – like the first sting of a strap of black leather against the skin. It stays there a while ~ potent and rich, intoxicating and enthralling ~ daring you to sniff a little deeper. If you’re up for that, it unfolds into something more resonant, notes of cedar striking a natural balance to the opening chords of leather ~ a primal, raw-hide feel of the supple and the sublime. How can something so rough be so smooth?

The package I received of the 1 oz. size came nestled in scraps of black leather, in a box bearing the boldly abstract initial of the artist himself. More than a simple scent, this was an experience – a heightened brush with all the senses ~ something that captivated and provoked the sexiest of thoughts. If daring and desire could be bottled, this may just be it.

It’s rare that an artist’s fragrance embodies who they are so solidly, but Mr. Camp has turned his sexy image into something that can be seen and smelled. It’s as if a little bit of his dangerous charm rubs off on you whenever you wear it, a devilish glint of sexiness coming off the skin like the quickest flick of a whip.

Lingering there, on whatever pulse points you want to accentuate, his fragrance envelops like the slow tightening of a belt, the lacing of a restraint, or the simple pull of a collar. It’s bound to you now, tied up with implacable dark beauty, imbued with an animalistic spirit. It cannot be tamed or contained, and once you open that glorious bottle, all bets are off.

‘8.5’ is available directly from Matthew Camp’s website here.

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Gratuitous Male Nudity For All The Christmas Misfits

For those of us without family or friends on this day, and for those of us who’d rather be away from family and friends on this day, here is a post to distract and take you away from all of that, Calgon bath-style. The anti-climax of Christmas is quick and ruthless, often arriving on the day itself. I remember coming back after Christmas dinner at Suzie’s house as a kid, feeling disappointment that the build-up and lead-in was done in a few short hours, calmed and quieted only by some new toys and gadgets, and the stretch of vacation days ahead, but still bothered that it was all over already. It’s why I’ve come to appreciate the journey rather than the destination, and why, for me, anticipation usually trumps any happy ending. But this is not the time for heavy ruminations like that, I promised a distraction – and an empty and vapid one at that. (What I do best…)

Before next week’s three-part Year in Review, let’s look back at some of the shamelessly salacious skin posts, the ones that featured all that dirty and gratuitous male nudity, the gleefully naked male celebrities, and the shy but shirtless guys as well. What better day for man candy than Christmas?

This post was a Greatest Collection of sorts, Immaculate in its own naked way.

In this one, a look back at one of the greatest battles of the butts of all time.

The great and the gratuitous are on almost full-frontal display here, even if the backdoor is the preferred mode of entry.

Here is an Erection Collection, not so much in the literal sense as a jumping off point of inspiration.

A more recent post chronicled some favorite nude dudes.

And this one is a bunch of nude male celebrities masquerading as something more (but don’t worry, it’s not).

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The Gratuitous Nude Shots of Stuart Reardon

The aptly-monikered Stuart Reardon rears his sumptuously nude butt in his 2014 calendar (from which not all of these photos were culled). Shot by the amazing Rick Day the calendar certainly plays up Mr. Reardon’s best assets. He’s been naked here before (on Louis Vuitton no less) but there is always room for more nude male athletes/models. While I haven’t been the most fervent admirer of body ink, there are several notable exceptions and Reardon falls into that rarified group. Now if we can only get Ben Cohen to follow suit and remove his.

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Sexy Shirtless Santas

Everyone loves a sexy Santa, especially when the red fur reveals a finely-honed torso, as in the case of these holiday hunks. The first to make most of us turn all Ho-Ho-Ho is Olympic diver Tom Daley. You may be more accustomed to him in far less (the Speedo being his usual uniform), but he cuts a fine Santa figure too.

Stuart Pilkington is another across-the-pond celebration of Santa, and he does it with guy-liner to boot. I guess it makes sense – Santa surely has some kohl/coal for those who have been naughty.

Ryan Phillippe may seem like a strange bird to don a bowl-ful of jelly, but for his Studio 54 movie he did just that for a cheesy photo shoot. (And there’s nothing I like better than a cheesy photo shoot.)

Here’s a sexy Santa who takes his shirt off AND sings, Mr. Darren Criss. He brings a gleeful lilt to the holiday proceedings.

Finally, Austin Drage offers his take on a far racier Santa – and he does it completely starkers.

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