Gay Voyeur Blog

Writing this to Ukulele Anthem by Amanda Palmer. Look it up. Trust me. And maybe it can inspire some flashing. Because do whatever, do it, play your ukulele.

Or flash your dick. Or your ass. Or if you're in Italy, you can masturbate in public legally (though if seen by a minor you're legally absolutely fucked). 

Still I'm really running low on the random naked guy parts (or whole naked guy) in public thing. If seeing a naked guy would recharge my naked battery, I'd be pretty much almost out.

Hey, look at me. Or don't. I don't care! Which is pretty much the attitude of these guys.

Though for some, I'm betting more on the please look at me, please remember me, please jack off to me now and/or later. That's more likely what's running through their minds. You kind of have to be thinking that to wear those obscenely revealing tights. 

And you kind of have to be thinking of that to supposedly not notice when your dick falls out of your shorts in public. Which for 99% of the population I'm glad when that doesn't happen. But the other 1% I wish would.

These footballers are all very handsome and have great, athletic bodies. They are about to get dressed after a shower following the game, and Sneaky Peek managed to plant their spy cam in the locker room to capture all their swinging dicks and bare butts on film. The players parade around the changing room with their naked bodies, engaging in the usual banter, oblivious to the fact the world can see their dicks.

Set a jock time alarm and let it ring in your mind and pants. Because it's jock time. Those of us who don't train for years to win a medal of whatever color still train for our own reasons. 

Like so you can spend time in a locker room and watch guys in various states of sexual undress. Or so you can sort of fit in with other jocks at various points throughout the day. Because, hell, maybe you're a jock too.

Or you just want to watch, which most jocks secretly (or not so secretly notice) and heartily approve of. Tends to feed their egos too. Which may make them workout harder, set bigger goals, and give you more to see next time. Win and win.

If you're lost, is it better to stay in the same place so someone can find you? Or keep wandering? If you're searching for a certain guy, is it better to stay in the same place so he can find you? Or wander in hopes of finding him?

Neither thing with neither thing. Rather shout it from them the rooftops. A giant cosmic I WANT YOU. YES YOU.

I swear it will work.

Some guys show off accidentally on purpose and you may find yourself accidentally on purpose at the right angle to stare like all hell at them. Also known as winning the beefcake lottery.

Or as a precursor to filing a sexual harassment lawsuit. Whichever.

As much as they tout their utility, those trip planning sites just don't offer a Bulge World Tour. And I mean ass bulge, muscular arm bulge, ass bulge, and of course the most important one of all.

Wallet bulge. 

Isn't that what makes jeans bulge out in the front? THat's where I wear my wallet. Meanwhile, I wear my dick in my back pocket. It's complicated.

Guys go inside and out. Go go go guys. Preferably with bulging muscles and other things. In a dreamworld with a wet pink shirt.

Because that is so gay. A wet pink shirt gone semi-transparent.

Trend alert: wet pink pants gone semi-transparent. Is that a trend now that I said it? Damn, I'm not a Kardashian so no.

Outside is where you see guys and inside is where you take them. But sometimes inside is where you see one too because he's on his way to outside and his way to you hopefully. Admiring people is complicated.

Especially from a distance.

I'm beginning to wonder if all guy watching carries the risk of lost opportunity. Though hopefully some of these guy watchers who snapped these followed up with an approach, such as:

Technically, that would be muscle and crotch bulges and muscle bulges. And why not throw in another bulges while we're at it. Or a dozen.

I must assert that it's wrong to grab a guy's pecs out of nowhere. Definitely say hello first. And not with your hands but with your words and eyes. Or hands and eyes if you speak that way. As long as he understand and accepts.

That mix of clothed and dressed is everything. The fabric (or rubber or plastic wrap or macrame or whatever people where) caresses, highlights, partially exposes, hides, teases or shows off the body. And I want to see.

I get that it's something simple often, like a t-shirt and shorts. But compare the full nudity (which has its own definite charms) to partially clothed and you can feel the seduction.

What's better for you? A major bulge ready to explode out of super tight jeans? Or flopping cock and sack doing their thing out a shorts leg?

Frankly, I would prefer a flopping cock and sack hanging out the bottom of a pants leg, as in by the ankles. Though as that size package is only a Photoshop thing, I'll have to settle for cock out of shorts.

And what an arousing way to settle it is. Not like settling for soggy french fries. This is serious cock we're talking about.

Thank you male nipple privilege. That's the protestable double standard in which biological men are (depending on one's exact location) generally allowed to be bare chested in public.

Including, if you live in Florida, at an alligator funeral. You know, when the alligator died from a meth overdose. Which is pretty much what happens someone in Florida at least once a day. Or probably.

Not "double-dicked" but "double-dick" as in two dicks. His two dicks. He has two dicks. Which is one more than required. Or if you're FTM dude friendly, then potentially up to two dicks more than the zero required. 

I get that it's the fold of the singlet. I get he doesn't have two dicks. Except, facts show he totally does! Two dicks! Double! And he hasn't let it hold him back from great athletic success, such as jacking himself off two times at once. 

That's like Wonder Woman but men and more than one. But still the overall effect is superhero. And I like superheroes. 

Pity none actually exist. I mean for all the movies out there, there has yet to be a person who can fly. For all the radioactive spiders out there, there has yet to be a nerd bitten by one. And for all the muscular guys in shorts sitting outside, there has yet to be one whose shorts spontaneously disintegrate, despite my attempt to use my nonexistent telekinetic powers.

Which means I guess I'm not a superhero either.