Saturday, December 3, 2016

Nude Photos of Kurt Russell

Kurt Russell (1951-) is a child star turned fresh-scrubbed Disney Adventure Boy, the subject of my first crush.  In adulthood he played cops, fast-talking con artists, taciturn man-mountain heroes, and finally grizzled old guys.  

















We got a nice view of his muscular backside in the buddy-cop movie Tango and Cash (1989).  He's on the left, next to Sylvester Stallone.















But for a frontal, we had to wait until 2007, when the beefy 56-year old was photographed nude in Malibu.
















Kurt's man-boobs and belly disturbed many long-term fans who expected him to look the same as he did in 1989.  Or even in 1968, when he starred in The Secret of Boyne Castle.

He doesn't have the same face or physique that he had at age 39.  Or at age 17.  None of us do.  But no matter how much your body changes over time, your penis stays the same.

There are two posts about Kurt Russell on Boomer Beefcake and Bonding:
Kurt Russell's Secret
Kurt Russell: Teen Idol Turned Man Mountain

Thursday, December 1, 2016

First Day of Class Beefcake and Bulges

Plains, August 2016

I love the first day of class.  The campus has been mostly deserted all summer, but today it springs to life with thousands of new students and faculty members, dozens of new opportunities.

8:30 am.  Meeting with my new teaching assistant, a tall, buffed former football player who just began grad school.

I can't wait to start sending him on errands.











9:30 am.  Office hours.  I walk out into the hallway to go to the bathroom, and hit a huge crowd of students waiting for the large lecture hall to clear.

I get five smiles and three cruisy eye-crotch-eye looks.














11:00 am.  My first class.  112 students in the large lecture hall.  I never stand on that stage; I always make a circuit of the aisles while lecturing, to make it easier to call on random students.  Cute, nervous freshmen, nerds in button-down shirts, collegiate jocks fidgeting in their chairs.  Biceps and bulges everywhere.  A shirt lifts up so I can see a flash of abs.  A hand moves absently onto the crotch.















12:30.  Lunch.  I eat lunch in my office to avoid the crowds at the Student Union.  Five students are sitting on the couches in the main office, waiting to talk to faculty members, in front of a plate of brownies left over from a meeting last Thursday.  I walk over and ask "Do you think these brownies are still good after five days?"

A slim hipster says "Let's find out."  He picks one up and tries to feed it to the cute boy sitting next to him on the couch.

"I'm not eating that!" the cute boy exclaims.

"Why not? You've had worse things in your mouth."  He grins at me.





2:00 pm  My advanced class.  The buffed blond guy from my intro class last semester is sitting in the front row.

3:30 pm.  My other advanced class.  There he is again!  He's enrolled in both.

I also see the Hispanic bodybuilder who was in my intro class twice (he failed the first time).

I can't wait to start calling on them.









5:00 pm.  Gym.  It's packed with the "new year's resolution" students, who vow to get in shape every fall semester.  It's like the gym in January.  I have to wait for my turn on the machines.

Two guys who were in my intro class earlier today are using the shoulder press, at 40 pounds.  I lift four times as much.  They stare.

Another cute guy is using the incline press, at 60!  I move it down to 180.  

"How can you lift so much?" he asks.

"I used to work for a bodybuilding magazine," I tell him.

"That must have been exciting.  Did you meet anybody famous?"

We make a coffee date for tomorrow.



6:00 pm.  I go upstairs to walk around the indoor track a few times.  There are at least four shirts vs. skins basketball games going on.  I did a long run yesterday, but nothing says I can't do a nice mile and gawk.

6:30 pm.  The locker room is packed!  Stripping down next to me is a tall, thin guy.  He turns his back to change underwear, but I still get a glimpse of an enormous package.  Then a third guy returns from the shower and needs to get to the locker between us.  We step out of the way as he removes his towel, his gigantic penis in full view, and fumbles with his lock.








7:30 pm.  Back home, I order dinner from the pita place downtown.  The delivery guy gives me a shocked smile and starts stammering.  "Hi!  Um...your total is...I mean, here's your pita..," like I'm a famous movie star.

Maybe he was in my class earlier today.













8:30 pm.  Do I dare go on Grindr?  First week of class, all of the new guys will be on.

Sure enough, there are dozens of new profiles within a mile radius.  I change my profile picture from chest to face, but still, I get a barrage of "Hi, Daddy!" and "Come over and do me!"

This will be a fun semester.

See also: Wagner's Top 10 Turn-Ons.






The Shy Guy at the Gym with the Supersized Penis


Plains, November 2016

At the YMCA the other night, when I was stripping down after my workout, the guy at the locker next to mine found an excuse to play around on his cell phone instead of taking off his gym trunks.  He was obviously going to wait until I was gone.

He was in his 20s, probably: his round baby face and short dark-brown hair made him look like a teenager.  Very tall, at least 6" taller than me, pale, with a smooth soft chest and a little belly.

"Poor thing," I thought.  "Being so tall will make his tiny meat look even smaller."

A rule of thumb for locker room cruising:

Guys with big ones walk to the showers with their towel in hand rather than around their waist, then stand around chatting nude at their lockers.

Guys with small ones hide behind a towel at all times, even putting on their underwear beneath it.  Sometimes they even refuse to take off their clothes until the bank of lockers around them is deserted.

I locked my locker, grabbed my towel (I never wrap it around my waist), and headed for the showers.  I was nearly finished when Baby Face finally arrived, and chose the stall across from me.  He carefully and deliberately faced the shower head, so none of the othe guys could see anything but his backside.

I soaped up a second time, hoping to get a glimpse of his penis, tiny or not.

A glimpse: my mouth dropped.  It was enormous!  Kovbasa+++ hanging halfway down to his knee, easily 7", ruddy, uncut.  Horse hung.

Come on -- you have to turn around sometime!  You have to shower your back!

But he didn't.

Eventually I had no more excuses to hang around, so I toweled off and returned to my locker and began to dress -- slowly.

Soon Baby Face re-appeared, hiding beneath a towel.   He turned his back to me to put on underwear, but I got another glimpse as he swung around.

I wasn't mistaken -- enormous.

He turned back to the locker without making eye contact.  I pretended to fool around with my gym pack.

He put on a sweatshirt that said Россия моя страна {Russia, my country).

An in!  My best friend is Russian!  I learned a little of the language.  

"Um...vy Russii?"  I began.

Baby Face looked up, surprised to be spoken to.

"Ya uznal russkiy yazk tri goda."  I studied Russian for three years.   That's a lie,  but I was thinking fast.


"Huh...oh, I don't speak Russian.  I got this shirt in Sioux Falls.  I'd like to learn someday, though."   He turned away again.

Think!  Pique his interest! "I can give you some basic conversation, like 'Where's the train station.'  Gde poyezd."

"Gde poyezd.  That's cool."  He picked up his gym bag.  To walk away forever!

"'Um...um...kiss and cake are the same word, potseluy, so you have to be careful when you go to a bakery."

He laughed.  "Or you might get a kiss!"

"I teach Russian history at the University."  Why was I lying so much?   Was I blinded by the glimpse of a Kovbasa?

Baby Face -- whose actual name was Justin -- had to rush off to meet his friends, but we exchanged phone numbers, and he agreed to come over the next night at 7:00 pm to "learn Russian."

I spent the day feverishly transforming myself into a Russian history professor.  I put out lot of souvenirs from Russia, years of birthday and Christmas presents from Yuri.  I dug up my few books on Russian history and literature, and bought a few more, at the used bookstore, so it would look like I had them for years.  I reviewed my Russian language lessons, especially slang and dirty words.



I want to eat your sausage:  ya khochu yest' vashu kolbasu
Let's go to the bedroom: mi idem v spal'nyu

7:00 came and went, and no Justin.  I texted him, but no answer.

At 7:30, he finally knocked on the door, ruddy, nervous.  "Um..sorry I'm late.  I almost didn't come."

We sat down on the coach -- Justin as far from me as he could get, looking down at his hands, nervous, miserable.

Ok, I would have to take this nice and slow, maybe not do anything at all. 

"Ok, Justin, first lesson. In Russian class they tell you that 'hello' is 'zdravstvutje', but my friend Yuri just says privet.  Repeat."

Justin refused to make eye contact. "Drastvutje."

"Look at me, so I can see if you're saying it right."

He looked up, but only for an instant.  "To be honest, I didn't come here to learn Russian.  It's cool and all, but...this was crazy.  Maybe I should go."

But he didn't move.

I scooted over to the other side of the couch and touched his shoulder.  He caught his breath.

"Why are you so nervous?  I'm not going to try anything."

Justin sighed deeply and continued to look down at his hands. "The thing is, I've seen you on Grindr.  I was too scared to say anything.  Then I saw you in the gym, and...well, it doesn't matter.  You just want to be my teacher.  I should go."



I leaned in close and kissed him.

Soon we were on the floor, where Justin went down on me while working on his super-size.  I flipped him over onto his stomach and pushed between his legs.  He moaned and spurted onto my stomach.

"Sorry," he said.  "It doesn't take me long."

"That's ok.  I'll get something to wash off with."

I wondered if Justin was the same super-sized guy I saw in the locker room on campus last year.  That guy tried to hide, too, but he had red hair, not brown.

"Have you dyed your hair recently?" I asked while carefully wiping him off.

He grinned.  "Yeah.  How did you know? I go red sometimes, or I get green and blue highlights."

What about Monster Cock from the urinal in the bathroom outside my office?

"I've seen you around the campus.  Are you taking Psychology 101 in ___ Hall this semester?"

"No, I'm not in college.  I graduated last spring."  He drew me down on top of him again as his Kovbasa++++ began to rise.  I could barely get my mouth around the head.

So there are still two mysteries:
1. Who is Monster Cock?
2. Why was Justin so intent on hiding his Kovbasa++++

See also: The Boy at the Urinal with the Kovbasa++++; A Gigantic Sausage Sighting in the College Locker Room; and My Sausage List

Wednesday, November 30, 2016

The Ins and Outs of Oral Sex

I've never met a guy who didn't like giving or receiving oral sex, and for many guys it is the most erotic of sexual acts, more intimate than anal, more satisfying than interfemeral.

It seems simple: you put your mouth over your partner's Bratwurst, take it past your uvula, and through a combination of tongue and lip action, suction, and sometimes hand action, bring him to orgasm.

But it's not just a matter of going down.  You have to intermingle hard and soft, light and heavy, head and shaft.  You have to modify your technique based on a thousand unspoken signals  You have to be aware of his entire body, his muscles contracting, his heart beat, his intakes of breath.

You have to make sure that he doesn't progress too quickly, or too slowly.  He should finish in five to ten minutes, depending on his age and the amount of time since his last orgasm.





Swallowing is essential: the orgasm is diminished if you don't follow through, and HIV is not transmitted that way.  However, if you have a mouth sore or abrasion,  you should avoid giving oral sex.

Or, for that matter, if you have a cold.  You need to breathe through your nose.

Very important: he's not finished until three or four thusts after he ejaculates.

Afterwards, etiquette demands that he go down on you, or open himself up to some other sexual act.  And kissing and cuddling are mandatory.

The basic position is on your knees while he is lying prostrate or sitting, so it goes in vertically.

If he's very big, he should stand, so it goes in horizontally.  That makes it easier for you to take him past your uvula without gagging.







If he's very small or not fully aroused,  you can involve his balls without switching to hand action













Two guys at once works best when they are of approximately the same height and size.  They can be standing or lying down.

But I always feel left out when two guys are kissing, and I'm stuck beneath the belt.

Three guys at once is impossible.  At most you'll get the heads.





If he prefers to thrust, you can lie prostrate or sit, and ask him to kneel over you.  Your neck doesn't get tired, and a third guy can work on you at the same time.  However, this position does not allow for variations in technique, and it's easy to gag.

Many people swear by 69, when one partner lies atop the other, or side by side,in head-toe position.  They can work on each other simultaneously.  But I find it difficult to concentrate on technique when someone is working on me, and if the guy is husky or muscular, the weight of his body can make it hard to breathe.

Glory holes and dark rooms provide the most basic experience -- a disembodied penis or mouth belonging to no one or anyone, your fantasy guy.





But when receiving, and especially when giving, I want to know who I'm with.  His biography, his personality, his tastes, his interests, the way he talks, the way he eats.  Or, at a bare minimum, his face and physique.

After all, you're not going down on a disembodied penis.  His whole body is involved, the muscles of his legs and stomach, his heart, his lungs.  His blood. His hormones.  His brain.

His thoughts, his conscious and unconscious desires, his fantasies.  His image of himself as a man.  As a gay man.

His past.  His future.

If you do it right, you can reach out and touch his soul.

See also: Learning about Oral Sex in the Church Parking Lot; the "Late for Class Dream" and Oral Sex 101
.

 

Monday, November 28, 2016

The Promised Land of Gigantic Penises

Rock Island, July 1991

Lane and I are back in Rock Island for a week, visiting my family and old friends, going to my old haunts.

On Saturay night, we go to JR's and meet a bear named Dave: in his 50s, grey hair and beard, hairy chest.  He's lived in Rock Island for all of his life, but we never ran into each other at the bars or at the church:

"My partner and I stayed pretty much to ourselves.  When we wanted community, we went to Chicago.  It was only after we broke up last year -- he dumped me for a Cute Young Thing -- that I started looking at the gay life of the Quad Cities."

 We go back to his apartment in Davenport for "sharing."  He's an oral bottom, small-sized penis.

 Which is fine with me.

In the morning we have breakfast and tell him about life in the gay mecca of West Hollywood.  Gay men everywhere, not just in the bars, but at the gym, in the supermarket, strolling down the street.  Your friends, your neighbors -- all gay men.

"It sounds great," Dave says, "But here in the Midwest we have something that you'll never get out in La-La Land.  The biggest penises in the world."

"Well, I don't know about that," I tell him.  "I've seen some pretty big ones."

"And felt, and tasted," Lane adds.

"You haven't seen anything like these!" Dave exclaims.  "Are you guys busy this afternoon?  I can lead you to the Promised Land of gigantic penises."

We go back to my parents' house -- they're still at church -- to read the Sunday newspaper and play with the dogs.  Dave picks us up at 1:00 pm, after Sunday dinner, and drives us across the river, through Davenport, and out into the countryside to the Scott County Fair!

I'm not a fan of county fairs.  Crowded, noisy, garish, tawdry, with the sun beating down and leering carnies trying to get you to bet on stuffed animals and rubber ducks.  Nothing to eat but gut-busting fried stuff.  Nothing to do but go on nausea-inducing rides.

Besides, how is this the Promised Land of Gigantic Penises?  Everyone is fully clothed.


"Did you mean the bulges?" Lane asks.

There are some nice bulges around, but we can see that guys with bulges in any bar in West Hollywood.  Bigger, more explicit bulges, and the guys don't mind being ogled.

Here, they get suspicious fast.

"Oh, no, not the bulges," Dave says.  "Be patient.  We're getting there."

Lane and I glance at each other, puzzled.  Is there a bathhouse at the county fair?  Maybe a shower room?  Lockers?

Next Dave directs us to the bathroom.  I don't have to go, but I try a pre-emptive strike.

It's cramped, dirty, bad-smelling, but at least it's trough-style, where there's no barriers between you and the other guys, and you can get a sausage sighting.

We see a cowboy with an enormous cut Mortadella, maybe a Mortadella+, staring straight ahead as he urinates.



Nice, but...the Faultline in West Hollywood has a trough, where you can see the same thing.  And ogle openly.  And maybe even do some fondling.

"Nice try," Lane tells Dave as we emerge, "But you can get a sausage sighting at any urinal in the world.  What makes the Midwest so special?"

"That was just the appetizer," Dave says, clapping us both on the back.  "Are you ready for the main course?"

The Promised Land of Gigantic Penises!

Filled with curiosity, we follow Dave past the Grandstand and into the agricultural area.

Lane and I look at each other, puzzled.  Is Dave bringing us to a nudist camp for cowboys?  A nude weigh-in for 4-H Club teens?  A glory hole station?

He leads us into a long row of stalls.  The air is moist and hot, and smells of hay.  In the dim light, we can see...

More after the break