Everyone seems to be getting naked this summer, and Justin Bieber was one of the biggest stars to go nude a few weeks ago in Hawaii. While I’ll never be a Justin Bieber fan, some of you are, and who am I to deny a few shots of Mr. Bieber’s naked ass? You’ll have to look elsewhere for those full-frontals though; this joint is clean.
“It is still illegal to be gay in Tonga, and while I’m strong enough to be me in front of the world, not everybody else is. Respect that.” ~ Amini Fonua
The amazingly courageous Amini Fonua is an openly-gay athlete competing in the Summer Olympics this year. He represents Tonga, where it is illegal to be gay. His openness is both brave and heroic, and he puts a very powerful face on the fact that there is still hatred and discrimination in this world. For those who have never had to wonder whether being themselves would endanger them, I ask that you think about what it would be like if your sexuality was a constant source of angst and worry, if you had to be concerned that who you love might land you in jail, beaten up, or killed. Mr. Fonua is fighting against that, and that deserves more than a gold medal.
While David Boudia and Steele Johnson may have the hold on Sexiest Olympic Pair, Tom Daley and Dan Goodfellow are arguably the Cutest Pair to medal with Olympic Glory. As we ooh and ogle over the fittest forms the world has to offer, it’s a good moment to remember that, perhaps more than anything else, the Olympics are about teamwork. There are definitely (I was absolutely riveted by a women’s volleyball game, for instance, even more than a men’s swimming event, and that goes to show you just how powerful the pull of human teamwork can be). In this instance, we have the best of both worlds.
Tom Daley is no stranger to these pages, from reading in his Speedo to jumping around in his Speedo to doing it all almost without his Speedo. Dan Goodfellow is a newcomer here, but stay tuned for his impending Hunk of the Day honor. Taken together, they spun through the air in glorious tandem, and with enough skill to earn a medal.
Born in the year of our Queen’s ‘Ray of Light’ triumph (1997) British gymnast Brinn Bevan flexes his impressive muscles for this Olympic treat. His body betrays a growing trend in Olympic champions: body ink. Many opt for the five linked Olympic rings, but some branch out to words.
{Note: The Madonna Timeline is an ongoing feature, where I put the iPod on shuffle, and write a little anecdote on whatever was going on in my life when that Madonna song was released and/or came to prominence in my mind.}
Smoke hung in the air, gray like everything at that time of the year. Somewhere, someone was burning leaves. It was already November, and fire would inform everything for the next few months. In summer we smolder; in winter we burn. Though the ‘Like A Prayer’ album had been out for two years, I was just getting into the deep cuts, and ‘Pray For Spanish Eyes’ came on the walk-man as I raked up the oak leaves in our endless backyard.
I KNOW FOR SURE HIS HEART IS HERE WITH ME
THOUGH I WISH HIM BACK I KNOW HE CANNOT SEE
MY HAND’S TREMBLING, I KNOW HE HEARS ME SING.
The earth was dry, which was best for raking and bagging, and all life had died back in the frosts and frigid nights of the weeks before. From my hands, decayed and desiccated leaves sifted through my fingers, as if I was Father Time sprinkling the sands of history over a barren land. Beneath the leaves was the brown ground, still scorched from the end of summer.
I LIGHT THIS CANDLE AND WATCH IT THROW TEARS ON MY PILLOW
AND IF THERE IS A CHRIST, HE’LL COME TONIGHT, TO PRAY FOR SPANISH EYES
AND IF I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO SHOW BUT TEARS ON MY PILLOW
WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THIS? IF GOD EXISTS, THEN HELP ME PRAY FOR SPANISH EYES.
Looking up, I peer through bare branches and pine boughs, one running into the other, weaving a tapestry of limbs and needles. A cold wind moves overhead. Soon, snow will appear, but not on this day. We teeter on the edge, not quite ready to plummet into winter. It is dreary weather. It ebbs away at the soul with its overriding monotony, the dull way a barren landscape blunts the viewer’s gaze.
HE HAD TO FIGHT LIKE ALL THE REST
IN THE BARRIO ALL THE STREETS ARE PAVED WITH FEAR
I DON’T UNDERSTAND; AT LEAST HE WAS A MAN.
It is a difficult time in my life. The scent of fallen oak leaves will remind me of it in the years to come. A mournful, earthy scent fronted by the tomb-like mineral mist rising from the soil. I look around. A line of black garbage bags stands closer to the house, a conflux of short, abstract watchers, mute and faceless against the white house. The cleared expanse around me looks neat and clean. A small sliver of pride surfaces, but I tuck it away. No one extols the virtues of a spoiled teenager.
I LIGHT THIS CANDLE AND WATCH IT THROW TEARS ON MY PILLOW
AND IF THERE IS A CHRIST, HE’LL COME TONIGHT, TO PRAY FOR SPANISH EYES
AND IF I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO SHOW BUT TEARS ON MY PILLOW
WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THIS? IF GOD EXISTS, THEN HELP ME PRAY FOR SPANISH EYES.
Seeking a savior of some sort, I search the sky for signs of impending change. Simultaneously, I wish to be rescued and to wreak vengeance. Punishment and forgiveness, banishment and rebirth. I suppose I was seeking God, if God is indeed Love. Where was He? Where was I meant to be? As evening descended, and the grays all around me grew darker, I walked out of the forest back to the house. There was darkness in both places.
In my bedroom, I play the penultimate track on ‘Like A Prayer’ and light a candle in my mind.
This was the album that brought us such emotional tracks as ‘Promise To Try‘ and ‘Oh Father’ – and this song was in the same Catholic and confessional vein. The greatest Madonna songs tell a story – either in their lyrics or their video accompaniment. In this instance, a loose narrative of a savior – it could be Jesus, it could be a soldier, it could be a stranger, it could be a lover – carries through the guitar-laden ballad. This mysterious male phantom figure, perhaps a ghost of her then-recent divorce from Sean Penn, leaves Madonna questioning herself, her love, and the very existence of God.
HOW MANY LIVES WILL THEY HAVE TO TAKE? HOW MUCH HEARTACHE?
HOW MANY SUNS WILL THEY HAVE TO BURN? SPANISH EYES, WHEN WILL THEY EVER LEARN?
In Madonna, I found my savior. In her I found something more resonant than a God who sent his only son to die for others. How many suns will they have to burn? Those suns could be read as sons, and the first-born will always bear the brunt of the burn.
YOU WERE NOT THE MARAVILLA IN OUR MIND
WE WERE PROUD TO FIGHT BUT WE CANNOT WIN THIS BLIND
STAND YOUR GUNS AGAINST THE WALL, WHO’S NEXT IN LINE TO FALL?
I LIGHT THIS CANDLE AND WATCH IT THROW TEARS ON MY PILLOW
AND IF THERE IS A CHRIST, HE’LL COME TONIGHT, TO PRAY FOR SPANISH EYES
AND IF I HAVE NOTHING LEFT TO SHOW BUT TEARS ON MY PILLOW
WHAT KIND OF LIFE IS THIS? IF GOD EXISTS, THEN HELP ME PRAY FOR SPANISH EYES.
My ghostly reflection looks back at me from the window, features smudged in the dirty glass, form abstract and ill-defined. In the darkness and haze, I hide my tears. Even if they ran as red as the blood of Christ, you would not see them. Though they burn my cheeks, I do not make a sound. Someone else will have to speak for me. Amid a flourish of trumpets, Madonna cries out in passion:
HOW MANY LIVES WILL THEY HAVE TO TAKE? HOW MUCH HEARTACHE?
HOW MANY SUNS WILL THEY HAVE TO BURN? SPANISH EYES, WHEN WILL THEY EVER LEARN?
There is nothing to do but sleep. That fall, it is the only place I find peace.
A guitar fades into oblivion.
A whispered prayer escapes my lips.
Tears betray my eyes.
TUS LAGRIMAS DE TRISTEZA
NO ME DEJAN OLVIDARTE
SONG #129: ‘Pray For Spanish Eyes’ ~ Fall 1991
If Zac Efron were to slip into a Speedo and dive a routine worthy of an Olympic Silver Medal, he might look something like Michael Hixon, this late evening’s spotlight guy. Mr. Hixon and his partner just won the silver medal in something of an upset, but no one’s all that upset by anything because we got to see this guy in all his glory.
What more can be said about Ryan Lochte that hasn’t been said (and linked) in this post from yesterday? Not much, but here are a few more photos of Mr. Lochte and his world-renowned Speedo bulge. If you’re looking for in-depth Olympic analysis, look elsewhere. This is for ogling and objectification. And you know you love it.
One of the more touching moments of the Summer Olympics in Rio was the medal ceremony for the gold-winning US male swimmers: Nathan Adrian, Jimmy Feigen, Michael Phelps, and our spotlight stealer of the day Ryan Held. Whether overcome with joy, happiness, relief, accomplishment, or the long arduous journey it took to get there, Ryan Held wept openly on the podium, before Michael Phelps gave him a little hug and gave some veteran comfort to the new guy. It was a nice moment to see, and the sort of thing that moves me most about these Olympic games.
We don’t need the walrus to tell us that. It’s August, people. Come the 24th, I’ll be celebrating my birthday, which means that now is the time to order the gifts for timely delivery. My Amazon Wish List has just been updated, but for those of you more dear to me (and vice versa) here are a few items that would make my early 40’s fantastically fabulous.
High on the list is this elusive pair of soon-to-be-vintage Jeremy Scott Adidas sneakers. Long out of circulation, they are only available on eBay now, which makes these a long shot – but I’m not giving up. (Once upon a time I let a gorgeous Louis Vuitton overcoat go and have regretted it ever since.) The official name of these beauties is the ‘Adidas x Jeremy Scott Men JS Wings 3.0 Gold’, size 10 or 10.5.
On the cologne front – and there’s always a cologne front – I’m enraptured by the gorgeous and decadent chords of Kilian’s ‘Straight to Heaven’ – and in spite of its atrocious name, the fragrance is exquisite, and perfect for the transition from summer to fall.
I’m asking my parents for my first trip to Rehoboth, but if there’s anything left over from that big-ticket item perhaps it might be for a massage at the Mandarin (which is another big-ticket item, but as a wise woman once put it, ‘A lot of people don’t say what they want. That’s why they don’t get what they want.’)
I’ve never been shy about wanting, so check out this bottle of glory for satiating the desire.
I usually have a longer list of bags and briefcases for birthday wishes and dreams, but after cleaning up the attic, I’ve realized I don’t need a new bag or briefcase anytime soon, or a robe for that matter. Still, I favor fragrance, and if you can’t be indulged on your birthday, when can you be indulged?
A word to the important people: as I’ll be traveling on my birthday, some foresight and planning will be involved. Tick tock, tick tock…
Ryan Lochte has been one of those charismatic, charming, and goofy Hunks who is always good for a ridiculous sound-bite or swaggering Speedo pose, but let’s not forget that he’s also a champion Olympian, where he’s played an integral role in gaining the US several relay medals. More important to those of you who come here for the guy candy, he has no problem preening and posing in all sorts of body-baring swim attire. He’s been named a Hunk of the Day, and his Speedo has graced these pages time and time again. Here’s one more.
One of the most thrilling rivalries of these Summer Olympics is that between Michael Phelps and this guy, Chad Le Clos. They’ve volleyed wins back and forth over the years, and meet up again tonight. Phelps has been featured here before (naked, no less), so this post belongs entirely to Le Clos. Let’s see who can pull it off on a night when speed is Queen
Representing host country Brazil, this is swimmer Marcelo Chierighini, making his first splash in these parts, and resplendent in smiles. A pity the swimmers have to shave their entire bodies for maximum speed, but in between competition, Mr. Chierighini managed to retain a small patch of fur. Hey, sometimes that water can be cold.
In the aftermath of Orlando Bloom’s more-than-just-a-dick-slip photos, it seems fitting to pause for further reflection and reminiscing over those male celebrities who have bared their assets for all the world to see. Male nudity is the final frontier, it seems, for prurient America, and in this wretched election year let’s turn our attention to the staffs at hand.
A is for Austin Armacost, who has graced these pages with his boffo bod, ever-improving over the years. These latest shots prove that Armacost has focused on his very best parts, and shown them off to their greatest potential.
B is for Bloom, as in Orlando, who started this resurgence of male nudity with this collection of racy fully-nude photos. It also stands for Bieber – Justin Bieber – who continued the streak, quite literally.
C is for Chris Salvatore, whose musical prowess is as magical as his disrobing.
D is for the delicious David Gandy, eye-&-man-candy, and deliriously-sexy Dan Osborne.
E is for Epke Zonderland, one of the very first naked Olympians we ever featured on this site, back in the Summer Olympics of 2012.
F is for Fusco, as in one of our most popular Hunks of all-time, Philip Fusco, who has been charming our pants off by taking his pants off for years.
G is for gingers, like Greg Rutherford – and the red carpet matched the red drapes.
We’re just going to skep ahead to Z, because it’s summer, I’m tired, and there’s more than enough naked male celebrities for you to fawn over until tomorrow.
Z is for Zac Efron, who went bottoms-up in this memorable post, and has teased us tantalizingly ever since.
Here are arguably the best bodies in the Rio Olympics: built, intense, muscle-bound vehicles designed to defy gravity and perform miraculous physical feats that the rest of us mere mortals can only marvel at. This is the US Men’s Gymnastics team, competing for the gold. Like this dynamic duo, these gymnasts have each been a Hunk of the Day solo-style, but this is a special group scene for this week’s festivities… I mean, competition.
If you want to see their solo shows, check out their featured Hunk posts:
A veteran and a virgin, clad only in Speedos, match their movements and their moments in thrilling precision. This is the American Diving Team of David Boudia and Steele Johnson. Each gentleman has been named a Hunk of the Day here on their own merit, but this post is to celebrate their accomplishments as a team. The training and trust they have put into making it all the way to the Olympics goes beyond any team-building exercise I’ve ever known. Â Congrats on their great accomplishments.
