Category Archives: Gratuitous Nudity

The spring of 2026 marked my 50th spring on this earth, yet for all those years behind me, I still somehow felt like a giddy virgin on the cusp of piercing my rose-budded flower for much of this season. A shift in view-point perhaps, or a subtle new way of viewing things as if for the very first time – whatever the reason, this spring was a renewal, fueled in part by a fun mid-life crisis (my fourth if anyone’s counting, and I most certainly am because this will be the last if I have to end it myself). That made for some interesting inner-turmoil, largely left unsaid on this blog because the world gets enough of a kick out of seeing me in any sort of duress. As the final post for this spring, here’s a linky look back at some of the more memorable entries of this lilac-themed spring season.

It was a lilac season symphony fit for a queen.

Lilac beads formed a necklace or a choker, and danger was inherent in either visage of prettiness.

The FAFO aspect of this current administration is LOL clown-show level.

Pulling out is my preferred method of dealing with just about everything.

Melanie Martinez released one of the best albums this year.

Back in the 90’s I was totally fruity and juicy.

This Luke Evans bulge is totally obscene and I am seated for it.

Tired in lilac lace, because spring demands a lot.

The niece and nephew turned sweet sixteen and time just carried on.

Remembering an artist and a friend in Michael Breyette.

This lone crocus bloomed and reminded me that spring is about renewal and rebirth.

A sweaty underwear post, gratuitously leading into this naked ass pic, fulfilling the ‘back end’ reference of the blog post title, and earning the ‘Gratuitous Nudity’ category click.

Lilacs in the rain continued our Lilac Scare Spring.

The guys of ‘Heated Rivalry’ shucked off their clothes for this post.

Ephemeral thrills.

Crown & sunning.

Candy of a different kind. Try some, eat one…

Shirtless Sunday night lullaby.

London dreaming.

Condiments! Condiments! Condiments!

Revisiting ‘The God in Flight’, as one should do every few years.

Nervous, but in a happy way.

Cold tea blues.

Sunday scaries at ease.

Jockstrap tease.

A pair of Empire Ants.

Fuck FOMO.

A spring star assumes floral form.

A confessional.

Heaven is love in the spring – past, present and future all at once.

The lusty month of May arrived with its sweet floral fanfare.

A sweetly-low-key wedding anniversary unfurled quietly in Boston.

Riding into the sun on this lilac rebound.

A giant lilac post.

Almost losing this website domain name had me touching grass and loving it.

Our Mother’s Day weekend on Broadway.

Rainy days and Mondays and all that jazz.

It’s hard to live in the city.

A spring visit to Dad.

Rooms of leaves.

Spring skinny-dipping.

The passion of a flamboyant flower that wants nothing more than a bang of cosmic love.

Memorializing a weekend in Maine brings back several lovely memories.

A gloriously gratuitous Ben Cohen post.

The Lilac Robe, because no season is complete without an accompanying robe.

A trio of trillium posts began here.

More trilliums were to be found here.

And a concluding rainy trillium post is here.

Spring showers of welcome.

What if you don’t belong?

And what if you do?

The end of a wagon era.

Ephemeral spring ending.

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!

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 bagel in Boston.

A prescient respite from the world before we realized it was ending. 

A late recompense of floral color.

A cozy close to a fall day.

Spoiler alert: America is racist, sexist, homophobic and filled with dumb fucks. See any comments section for ample evidence. 

The real final swim, maybe.

Mourning has broken.

A husband’s helpful shadow.

At the mall.

Gray Ghost 2. (Which is neither a movie nor a sequel.)

Squirrelly.

Brother 1.

Andy’s Mom.

Shades of twenty years ago.

Shades of ten years ago.

Gray Ghost 3. (And still not a trilogy.)

Change.

Idle.

Brother 2.

Mental replies.

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.

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. 

Sur la plage abandonnée
Coquillages et crustacés
Qui l’eût cru! Déplorent la perte de l’été
Qui depuis s’en est allé
On a rangé les vacances
Dans des valises en carton
Et c’est triste quand on pense à la saison
Du soleil et des chansons

Pourtant je sais bien l’année prochaine
Tout refleurira, nous reviendrons
Mais en attendant je suis en peine
De quitter la mer et ma maison

Le mistral va s’habituer
À courir sans les voiliers
Et c’est dans ma chevelure ébouriffée
Qu’il va le plus me manquer
Le soleil mon grand copain
Ne me brûlera que de loin
Croyant que nous sommes ensemble un peu fâchés
D’être tous deux séparés

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. 

Summer is the way.

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.