Gay Vintage Blog

It's a gaggle of geese and a pride of lions and a murder of crows. So what's a group of nude guys showering? How about a stark? As in stark naked? I'll try it in a sentence.

"Hey stark! Can I join you all? I'm sure you have plenty of sexual tension to work out and that's what I'm here for." Yes, that would work fine.

The solo bodybuilder goes from dunes to kitchen to living room quite easily. He's very versatile. Let's hope he doesn't spill on his white underwear. It would be a shame if they were to be stained with something that didn't come out of a penis.

Print gay porn is mostly dead I guess, though some titles are still around. Maybe it could be revived if people thought of each magazine as a tablet computer with extremely realistic page turning abilities, a convincing paper texture feel, and a massive bug that didn't allow the internet to load for some reason.

Basically, these are tablets stuck on an individual porn mag file, but with the benefits of infinite battery life and semen absorption. Just try to get some ejaculate on your tablet and it won't soak in at all. A tablet has zero ability to capture your DNA for decades like magazines can and there are no pages to stick together.

The only thing I see in all these pics is pure romance. I'd say "true romance" but as that movie co-starred Christian Slater and I don't want to be reminded of his disappointing career after he showed such creepy promise in the classic Heathers, we'll stick with pure. 

Because it's romance when a guy is on his back and another guy is seated on the floor by him and lovingly attacking his nipple. That's something you normally only see in a doctor's office, depending on your insurance.

And it's romance to stand on a boat with one's hair flowing and muscular body mirroring the steel power of the boat's hull. Or whatever.

So shiny. So swollen. So intense. So totally, awesomely objectified.

Without these ridiculously wonderful caricatures of the human male form, body oil manufacturers would have had to go out of business. And thanks to the myriad muscle magazines gracing the newsstands with their throbbing, veiny presence, a good number of very creative (and semi-ridiculous) photographers and graphic designers were kept busy.

Fitness magazines still exist but they are much more wise to that objectifying gaze and don't quite go "gay as hell" in their aesthetics. It's more muscles as armor, less muscles as seductive.

You've got a sophisticatedly lit physique model. And naked guys on or near a tacky couch or shag rug. And a guy in scandalously tacky cut-offs.

Then a guy who is totally nude posing on and off a stool. I can't decide if that's tacky or classy. I suppose for it's support of carpentry, the stool photo is classy. While the one without the stool is completely tacky.

I'm a big fan of tacky. In addition to meaning in poor taste (yum!) it also can mean retaining a certain stickiness. That's not unlike the carpet or couch after the photoshoots are over.

Those were the good old days. When you could squirt in your underground porn magazine and cause the pages to stick together. There's not really an online equivalent of that. Though you could try squirting on your lips and see if that makes them stick together. But it will likely be a futile effort.

Is there an equivalent medium in which messing it up is the highest form of approval, the most sincere flattery, a splat of applause? Ejaculating on one's laptop screen and closing the laptop and seeing if it sticks together is not advisable.

The closest I can think of is the classic throwing of rotten tomatoes at a failing vaudeville performer. But never at a successful one, so that's basically the opposite. And as I've repeatedly stated, "Rotten tomatoes are not ejaculate!" 

OMG, I like totally have major crushes on these guys! I don't just like them. I like them like them. But for some reason, they don't seem to notice me at all. What's up with that? Men!

I was just watching hilariously pathetic clips of the Dr. Phil show in which a woman's daughters are desperately trying to convince her she is not in a relationship with Tyler Perry but is being catfished. The fact that she has never met the online entity in person or talked to him on live video (something I've heard is possible online) does not deter her from her steadfast belief.

So with her delusions as my inspiration, why can't I have crushes on softcore models from the 50s and 60s?

Besides their near or full nudity, these fellas have something in common. It's a sheen, an aura brought on by lighting, sweat, oil, or, admittedly, retouching. And it's special.

That sheen is what makes some photos look otherworldly. And whatever it takes to reach that other world, I want a ticket. Warning though: after prolonged exposure to perfect pornography, probably don't apply the same expectations to the real world (unless you live in West Hollywood).

Little known, and for some reason not on IMDB, was an early television show called Focus on the Cock. It was a syndicated documentary-style show airing from 1962-1975, hosted by Walter Cronkite. Not famed newscaster Walter Cronkite, but the other Walter Cronkite.

Each week, he would show pornographic images to viewers hungry for cock, starting off each broadcast with simply, "Welcome. It's time to focus on the cock." For most of the audience, that came naturally, but in their everyday life, they had to hold back from focusing on the cock, say on the street, else potentially get socked in the mouth. As opposed to the more preferable activity of being cocked in the mouth.

Okay, maybe not all the guys frolicking in the water are equally handsome but the nudity does help. Clearly it's something not intentionally erotic as nobody had that kind of budget to pay all those guys their five bucks. It's probably some navy guys on their time off. 

Or maybe some rich homosexual celebrity guy paid them for their time. Because five bucks around 1964 would be around $40 today, times a thousand guys, is a lot of money. So probably just some horse-playing military guys being silly. I approve. And I wonder which one of the was trying hard not to get hard. I'm guessing all of them.

So every vintage photo has a certain load count. A certain number of guys have jacked and shot to each of these going way back until now. In order to honor the brave souls who bared it all (or mostly it all) when such exposure was more scandalous, don't we owe each of them some solid jack time?

That can be added to all time totals that they've inspired. So add your strokes to the very community-minded group effort. And there's a subsection of that as well: load count.

Something about a guy showing it all or mostly all will never go out of style. From artistically posed bodybuilders to guys hanging out on the beach, showing skin is a classic pastime. Or for the pros, a way to earn a few bucks.

That's an all-guy group at the beach in case you're counting. No idea if they are friends or more. Let's go with more. Let's go with this was the only time that day they had any clothes on.

And with those five, from left to right, top row to bottom it's for sure: top, versatile, bottom, versatile, top. Obviously.

The romantic guys aren't naked but the rest of the guys are. And those two sailors probably got naked minutes later. Then again and again. Or they were just huggy heterosexuals. Or huggy homosexuals who didn't fancy each other specifically. The important thing is they're a cute couple. Anally.

Now the other guys are stripped down and ready to go. Now since they didn't do hardcore, what they were ready for was more of the same. Such as the guy threatening to break a chair with the weight of his cock.

I'm guessing these guys may have known each other prior to the photo shoot. One of them got into modeling first then got his workout buddy into it too, maybe for a $5 finder's fee, which was a lot of money back then.

$5 could buy 75 jockstraps or 100 handjobs. You haven't lived until you've experienced a nickel handjob. They are everything.

Sure, each of them is selling his good looks. But, just like the semi-handsome local news weathermen (who are selling knowledge of the weather), there is something else going on. The good looks are the opening play. What else is being sold?

Bulge. Cock. Ass. All of it. And the awareness of one's own desire that may somehow carry into the real world. And that may be it as far as fantasies go. But, just for giggles, I'm preferring to think of each of these guys as a door-to-door salesman. What would each of them sell?