"Bedrooms and Hallways"

One “must-have” for the film shelf is a 1988 comedy-drama called Bedrooms & Hallways.  For anyone who likes cut-up comedy, can appreciate British humor, and likes the goofball antics related to sexual tension, this is the movie for you.  It also poses some interesting questions on the “fluidity of sexuality,” as its characters try to identify with themselves and each other precisely who they love and why.

It also profiles actors who were on the verge making it big, so it’s nice to see them “before they were stars.”  Included in the cast are Kevin McKidd, best known to American audiences as Poseidon in Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief and Owen Hunt on Grey’s Anatomy; James Purefoy, who has battled zombies – and became one himself – in Resident Evil, and let it all (read: ALL) show in HBO’s miniseries Rome (which also co-starred McKidd); Hugo Weaving, “King Elrond of Rivendell”/“Agent Smith” of The Lord of the Rings/The Matrix trilogies; and Tom Hollander (Cutler Beckett) of the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise.

The main gist of the movie revolves around Leo (McKidd), who is in the middle of an “it’s complicated” love triangle.  He’s joined a men’s group run by an oddball married couple (the hilarious Simon Callow and Harriet Walter) and has met Brendan (Purefoy).  He develops a crush, but Brendan is a “straight” man currently living with his ex-girlfriend Sally (Jennifer Ehle), who just happens to be Leo’s high-school sweetheart.  As part of a group exercise, Leo confesses his attraction to Brendan (making another group member jealous in the process) and tries to navigate the “Is he a friend who’s a boy or a boyfriend?” labyrinth after they hook up.

Meanwhile, Leo’s roommate Darren (Hollander) is busy with his own relationship problems – he’s dating real estate agent Jeremy (Weaving), who’s not into doing “couply” things but likes to have sex in the houses he’s selling.  Jeremy and Darren make quite a splash in the English real estate market, but a misadventure finds Darren handcuffed to a bed (his underwear having been cut off by Jeremy) when they’re surprised by the unexpected return of the homeowner: Sally.  Jeremy bolts, and Darren is forced to do a hilarious send-up of a mistaken “S & M-a-gram” in order to get out of the handcuffs and the house.

The film culminates at Leo’s surprise birthday party, where the figurative “bedroom doors” are thrown open and the cast’s principals have to re-examine which bedrooms they’re in.

Although the plot lines may seem cliché, it is a funny, original film, and it doesn’t hurt either that many of the male actors aren’t bad to look at.  There could be more underwear scenes, certainly, but “Not my Calvins!” will definitely become part of your daily vocabulary, as will “I got a wank,” and “I’m so glad I’m a (wo)man.  Not because of you … but because of me.”

The saddest part is that a perfectly good pair of Calvin Kleins had to give their life for the movie, but Tom Hollander makes it look so easy to be handcuffed to a bed, doesn’t he?

The "Gee" Spot

Sexism is a hardy thing.  Men and women have known for centuries that they’re different.  We figured it out on our own, back when Austropithecus was tromping around Africa.  Of course, mating rituals were a little bit more simple then: there was no dating dance.  Just hit her with your club and take her back to your place (cave).  And I’m sure that, even in the worst of situations, Broll was able to convince Urga that he was the right guy for her, and showed her how gifted he was in bestowing affection.

Now let’s fast forward about four million years.  We perform the dating dance, but it’s work.  Regardless of your sexuality, there’s always getting ready (“Normal underwear or slut underwear?”), the question of which restaurant to go to, what movie to see … and then, if all goes well, which position to try and the issue with turning your partner on by finding the one spot that makes him/her crazy.  Now, it figures that erogenous zones are basically different between the sexes – that’s a given.  But they’re also different between every individual, in that what works for Eve doesn’t for Steve, or what works for Adam doesn’t for Madam.

I ended up having to do quite a bit of reading on this one … did you know that, technically, a “G”-spot refers strictly to female anatomy?  Somehow, I couldn’t help but feel that men are being short-changed, and we need to have our spots highlighted, too.

They’re not “G”-spots, but “Gee” spots.  (Some of them are even “Oh, gee” spots.)  I don’t want to get into a sexist debate here and I hope that any straight readers won’t take offense, but women are much harder to please.  The “G” usually stands for “GOD!”  For guys, the “Gee” spot is simply touching us, because whether you believe it or not, and as I have often stated in my posts, guys are programmed for sex.  We think about it all the time.  We think about doing it all the time.  We think about doing it with you, your best friend, his twin brother, and the guy at the gym (another “Gee” spot).  Guys are supposed to be intuitive enough with women to know what they like – again, the dating dance – and women are disappointed when they have to drive the bus and you run out of gas.  But with guys, it’s three little words: “Touch me there.”  And, lo and behold – “Gee!”  Your partner hits the spot and you have a slap-bang time and are already making plans in your calendar for the next romp.

(And the “Oh, gee” spot?  That’s the one that indicates, “Okay, I like that, but I think I would like this more.”  You know, the one that indicates you appreciate the try but you’re disappointed.)

I feel it necessary to interject here some more wisdom from that sage of sex, Dan Savage.  In his latest book, American Savage, he indicates that “people in romantic relationships should be ‘GGG’ for their partners.  ‘GGG’ stands for ‘good, giving, and game,’ as in, ‘good in bed,’ ‘giving pleasure without expectation of immediate reciprocation,’ and ‘game for anything – within reason.’”

Amen, brother.  In my opinion, Dan has hit the d*** right on the head.  You can’t be “GGG” without knowing your partner’s “G”-spot, “Gee” spot, and/or “Oh, gee” spot.

So, by now you’re wondering: what in the Sam-holy-hell does this have to do with underwear?

Most guys are innately programmed to get out of their shorts as quickly as possible, and I believe this to be a mistake.  When you’re wearing a pair of underwear, your sensations can be heightened as your partner drags a fingernail across the fabric; massages your glute; outlines your “cum gutter,” (a term referring to the groin crease, courtesy of a Randy Blue video); or pretty much just fondles your junk.  While skin is a perfectly reasonable erogenous zone and well used, in the interest of “GGG,” you should try your second skin the next time you have the opportunity.

I can only speak for myself here, but I think most males will agree that the entire nether region is a “Gee” spot.  For myself, if it’s covered by underwear, it’ll get me going; the tighter the shorts, the better.  I’m probably the result of my previous experiences – an underwear version of “nature vs. nurture,” if you will – but like Savage suggests, I’ve learned to be a proponent of “GGG” with underwear.  (I just didn’t know what “GGG” was called back in the day.  Since Savage’s book just came out, he obviously deserves all of the credit for naming and expounding on such a simple concept.  All of us know these rules innately, but people just don’t talk about this f***ing stuff, which just drives me absolutely insane.)

So, the next time you’re confronted with the option of doing “GGG” instead of just plain “Gee,” go for it.  Enjoy it.  Remember Dan’s rules; wear your favorite pair of boxer briefs and have your partner do the same, and focus on that area.  I’ll be surprised if you don’t find it to be an eye-opening experience if it’s something you’ve never done before.  www.Health24.com also published the following list as a guide of male erogenous zones, more than half of which happen to coincide with my underwear regimen (so you can work these into your “GGG” routine):

His ears: Lots of nerve endings are concentrated here and this means plenty of pleasure for your partner.  Use the pads of your index finger and thumb to massage the outer ears with slow, firm movements.  You can also squeeze the earlobes, and then use your tongue to target the area behind the ear through nibbling and kissing.

His neck: The neck is always a great place to turn on your partner, especially after he has been passionately kissed.  Target different areas of the neck with kisses using the area under and behind the ears for variety.  Try light nibbling and soft bites [but be careful not to leave hickeys!]  Start out gently and become more passionate to really turn him on.

His chest: For many men, the chest signifies masculinity and it is a huge turn on.  It is a great erogenous zone – massage it, kiss it and caress it.  The nipples are very sensitive and should be sucked and nibbled on.  Start out gently and then try a firmer approach.  Watch for his reaction – some men love it rough but not all, so feel your way gently.

His inner thighs: The inner thighs are a neglected erogenous zone as not many [partners] target them, heading for a nearby area too quickly.  Touching, kissing, licking or gentle biting will all feel good for most men.

His groin creases: The creases at the top of his thighs [just below the belly button] are very sensitive to gentle stroking and blowing.

His glans: This is the most powerful erogenous zone a man has and is a place which will always bring massive pleasure if targeted correctly.  This is obviously the most sensitive part of his body and you need to go carefully as some men have a very sensitive glans.

His perineum: There are a lot of nerve endings [here] and it can be very sensitive if you fondle or stroke it.  You should also try massaging and fondling the perineum [to] heighten the pleasure.

His scrotum: The scrotum holds the testicles.  This is a very sensitive and a very delicate part of any man’s body but remains a highly erotic area.  Applying too much pressure … will cause pain, [so] keep in mind to go gently.  Play with the testicles gently with your hands.  You can also suck or lick the scrotum and if you put them into your mouth (with minimum pressure), you will see your partner lost in the moment.  All of the body’s creases are very sensitive (the inside of the wrists, elbows, and the knees).  The [two] creases between [his glutes] and the top of his thighs [are] very sensitive to stimulation.

The end GGGame is to make the dating dance fun instead of work.  (You know how you dread going to work and look forward to the weekend?)  This is what underwear does, people.  Use it to your advantage and double your pleasure, double your fun!  After all, if you’re going to have an erogenous zone, shouldn’t it be one that’s clearly visible and easily marked with easy-to-follow instructions?  Ab-so-frackin’-lutely.  It makes the bus so much easier to steer.

Underwear Profile #9: Zinedine Zidane

I know we’re seeing a pattern here with the underwear profiles, but Zinedine Zidane deserves inclusion on his own merits.  And to be fair, he’s not a rugby player.  He’s a soccer player, which is all the difference in the world.

Like previously-mentioned underwear and nude scene specialist Salim Kechiouche, Zidane is of French-Algerian lineage.  His parents are ethnic Berbers who emigrated to Marseille before the start of the Algerian War, and in 1972 he joined an already large family with four older siblings.  Zidane is a non-practicing Muslim by his own admission, and his first name roughly translates from Arabic as “the beautiful one of the path.”

Beautiful one, indeed!  Zidane got his start in “football” (soccer) at the age of five, citing Marseille veterans Blaž Slišković, Enzo Francescoli and Jean-Pierre Papin as his heroes.  When he was fourteen he went to the Cannes training center for a six-week program, and ended up staying for four years, making his professional debut in 1989.  He followed up this tenure with successive playing seasons at Bordeaux, Juventus, and Real Madrid (where he played with David Beckham), and rumor has it that he was asked to play for Algerian team although he was ineligible due to his dual citizenship.

Zidane’s signature year was 2006, and it was The World Cup matches that year where he actually made a splash outside of Europe and became familiar to Americans.  He had actually retired from professional play (Real Madrid) earlier in the year, but came out of retirement in order to be a part of France’s championship team, in the process earning Man of the Match and Golden Ball (best player) designations.  But his real moment in history came in the 110^th minute of the match against Italy, when he famously head-butted Italian defender Marco Materazzi in the chest, knocking the Italian to the ground.  As a penalty, Zidane was red-carded and removed from the game.

Materazzi’s agent, Phil Smith, claimed their exchange went something like this: Materazzi grabbed Zidane’s shirt, which pinched the Frenchman’s nipple.  Zidane snapped, “If you want my shirt so much, then you can f***ing have it after the game,” to which Materazzi responded, “I’d rather have the shirt off your woman.”  According to a Brazilian television channel, which employed lip-reading experts to get their take on the incident footage, the offending exchange involved Materazzi making the same comment twice (referring to Zidane’s sister as a prostitute), before the Italian added an invective aimed at Zidane himself.  Once back in Italy, Materazzi later added he had not insulted the Frenchman’s mother or sister: “It was an insult of the kind you will hear dozens of times and that just slips out on the ground.”  He also denied referring to Zidane as a terrorist, as had been reported by various news outlets.  “I certainly didn't call him a terrorist; I am ignorant, I don't even know what an Islamic terrorist is.  I certainly did not mention Zidane's mother; for me a mother is sacred.”

“[I would] rather die than apologize” to Materazzi, Zidane later said, including that “[I] never could have lived with myself” if he’d remained on the field with his teammates.  Italy ended up winning the Cup that year in the penalty shootout, five to three.  Whatever it was exactly that instigated the incident, once off the pitch Zidane was more than willing to complete three days of community service with FIFA children’s charities as a “substitution punishment,” since his retirement precluded the FIFA suspension from three games.  Très gentlemanly, non?

In his post-retirement career, Zidane has assisted the soccer world in numerous posts, most recently assisting with Qatar’s bid to host the World Cup in 2022 and accepting the post of Sporting Director with Real Madrid.  He has continued working the charity activities in the form of exposition games, and has filled in his off-time with endorsements including Adidas, Lego, Audi, Louis Vuitton and Christian Dior, among others.  And, in addition to his job, charity work, modeling and spokesperson gigs, he plays one of the most important roles of all – the family man.  He’s husband to extremely lucky Vèronique Fernández, and father to four sons: Enzo, born in 1995; Luca, born in 1998; Theo, born in 2002; and Elyaz, born in 2005.  Enzo, Luca, and Theo are following in old Dad’s footsteps, as all three are currently members of the Real Madrid Academy.

Is it any wonder, after looking at M. Zidane, that he wore jersey number (Perfect) Ten?  Didn’t think so.  (And apparently Marco Materazzi has learned not to f*** with perfection.)  Like most Frenchmen and soccer players to boot, he’s not shy about stripping down to his skivvies in front of the cameras.  Here for your viewing pleasure is the studly Zinedine Zidane in all his underwear and other glory.  Vèronique Fernández is a lucky woman, indeed.

Underwear Profile #8: Frédéric Michalak

What is it about rugby players?  The rippling muscles?  The hard bodies?  Their ability to take a beating and get right back up?

Whatever it is, take that, double it, add a spice of French zest, and you have my latest underwear profile, that of Toulouse native Frédéric Michalak.

I got turned on to M. Michalak courtesy of one of my French exchange students, who just happened to be from a small town outside of Toulouse.  Not only does Michalak visit this tiny slice of heaven for an occasional scrum, it’s also played host as a stop on the Tour de France, which means that southern France seems to be the place to go if you’re searching for a bevy of hot guys or want to retire into some impressive scenery!

In any event, Michalak is not only known for his play in France, but in South Africa as well.  He’s made several trips there, including for humanitarian causes.  He debuted in 1998, was a member of the French championship team in 2001 and the Heineken Cup teams in 2003, 2005 and 2013.  He’s been a part of two Rugby World Cups (2003 and 2007), and he is currently under contract with Rugby Club Toulonnais through 2014.  As a fly-half and scrum-half, he has a career 1422 points.

Physically, he’s an impressive specimen as well.  He’s six-feet, 190 pounds, and has several distinctive tattoos, including a Maori tribal that runs up his right thigh and arches up onto his back (I liked the artwork so much, I had a local artist duplicate it for me), and a swath of Arabic that runs diagonally up his chest and over his left shoulder.  Michalak will be turning 31 in October but isn’t one to let opportunities pass him by or injuries to keep him down, having posed for numerous rugby publications in France as well as advertising campaigns for Nike and Levi’s.  Like many of his fellow ruggers, Michalak varies his appearance by appearing clean-shaven in one scrum and scruffy in the next.  And although he has a luxurious head of hair, he likes the short stubble of a buzz cut.  That isn’t to say that this is his preferred state: he’s been known to bleach his hair white-blond for matches, too, just to make a point.

Nothing is off limits for Frédéric Michalak – good boy, bad boy; rugby pitch, bearskin rug; bare-chested or bare-bodied, he’s the spicy Gaul who’ll show it all!  Bon appétit, mes amis!

Where'd The Underwear Go?

Something has always bothered me about pornography and the little voices in my head just won’t let it go.

I don’t hold value judgments on porn, nor on the people who watch it.  I don’t necessarily think it’s good or bad; positions and actions in porn films fall into three categories: “I do that,” “I don’t do that,” and “I have no earthly idea what that is.”  Like any red-blooded American male, I spent a majority of my teenage years and early adulthood fixated on porn as it related to the human body.  (How else are you supposed to learn without a partner?)

There’s a quiet respect for porn actors.  There are those of us who would never perform in such a film, and there are those of who couldn’t perform in such a film.  (In the interest of full disclosure, I am one of the latter.  The ability to handle pressure isn’t a dominant trait in my genetic line.)  But I get it.  There are people who feel that acting in porn is their one shot at a more lucrative career (right, Traci Lords?), and there are those that are simply gifted enough to be drafted into the business (right, Jeff Stryker?).  The abilities necessary to be a good porn actor are few, but they have to be free of psychosomatic interference.

But as I said, there is something that has always gotten to me about porn.  Yes, I understand that it’s not real.  And yes, I know it’s supposed to represent something akin to a fantasy.  What you see in pornographic films doesn’t happen: the pool man doesn’t decide to remove his jean shorts on a hot day.  The delivery man with the big package (groan) won’t come into the house and get something down off a high shelf for you.  And the cheer leading team holding a car wash won’t get bored as a group and decide a gang-bang is in order with the captain of the football team, who has just happened by in his truck.

What bothers me about porn, fantasy or not, is that it’s supposed to mirror real-life situations in as similar a manner as possible (without the power sex).  Now I’ll admit I’ve watched a lot more guy-on-guy porn than straight porn, but how come – here it comes – the male leads never wear underwear?

I honestly can’t believe there are that many guys who go commando in that many situations.  And from what I’ve seen from both well-acted and bad-acted porn alike, 99% of these actors are completely buck in their pants.  Randy Blue actors seem to be exception.  They always have their undershorts on in order to increase the length of the scene (unless it’s just one guy servicing himself, and even then, it’s a toss-up).  But you never see that in older films – the actors are reading their lines from the dry-erase board off-camera (and in some cases, off their hands), their pants come off, and next thing you know, you’re 48 seconds into a scene and it looks like a laundry hamper threw up.

I actually happened upon an old, forgotten porn tape the other day, a rogue that had been tossed into a box for transport during a move and promptly misplaced.  When I found it, I smiled … old memories die hard.  For old time’s sake, I popped it into the VCR and immediately found myself in Bad Acting Heaven.  The “plot” (a word that rarely applies to porn) of The Coach's Boys deals with a coach and his various athletes in different scenes – you have the ubiquitous shower scene, the guys getting together to complain about what a d*** the coach is, etc.  We get eight seconds of dialogue and then the pants and the football uniforms come off, and we have a free-for-all with the towel guy.

But there’s no underwear.

Like I said, it doesn’t follow that so many guys would go commando, and I doubt that even the coach would.  “Artistic license” notwithstanding, it seems to me that this is a pretty important detail, especially since these are adult males playing “younger” roles.  (“Gee, Coach … don’t take me out of the game ‘cause I’m flunking geometry.”)  Please.  If porn is really the fantasy we’re expecting, there would at least be boxers … and for the sake of porn and subject of underwear, that’s saying a lot for me as boxers would always be my last choice.

This brings me back to the Randy Blue videos I’ve seen.  There may be a subtle difference with how all this material is marketed.  We’re talking VCR vs. Internet, after all.  The acting is a bit better, but I think we can all agree that porn stars aren’t hired for their ability to recite Shakespeare or the fact that they’ve worked summer stock for the past three years. Uh-uh.  It’s because they can … perform … on demand.  (Chris Rockway, bless him, even had a scene where his partner for the day didn’t show up, so what did he do?  “What about the new camera guy?  He’s hot.”  I’m pretty sure it was actually scripted that way, but every time I watch it, the look on the new camera guy’s face seems to suggest it wasn’t.)

It’s a little thing, I know, and you’re probably wondering why I’m so fixated on it.  I’m not really sure.  The only thing I can equate it with is that small list of pet peeves we all have – mindless stuff that drives us mad only because it’s something we can’t really change.  For example, I label individual pairs of underwear with the name of the donor (drives Tom crazy, especially if I throw out, “These were from that stripper I met in New Orleans,”); Tom has a habit of leaving used toothpicks on flat surfaces where our cats can get at them.  They always end up on the floor ready for bare feet to step on them.  Or, perhaps more to topic: like those advertising boards where companies use an inverted “3” for an “E,” or the “S” is upside-down and it looks funky.  You know it’s not right, it drives you crazy … but you can’t change it.

Short of doing an underwear drive, I can’t clothe every male porn star in Los Angeles.  But then again, just imagine how popular I would be if I did, and not necessarily in a positive way – I can’t imagine that the police officer writing up the report would be very sympathetic.  But still, I could fix that whole “Where’d your underwear go?” problem and address some of my obsessive/compulsive disorder at the same time, which isn’t necessarily be a bad thing, right?

Instead of working with hobos and passing out sandwiches, I could rub elbows with some of the nation’s sexual elite (“Would you like a pair of underwear?  How about you?  Underwear?  I’ve got Calvins, Unico and Joe Boxer.”) and then none of those nagging voices would bother me again.  (Then again, Benjamin Bradley, the tattooed actor pictured below with his scene partner Rom, doesn't seem to be troubled by his lack of underwear or tiny voices asking where his undershorts are, so if he can muddle through, why can't I?)

When “David” = Perfection

There is something about the name “David” which brings to mind age-old standards of perfection.  “David” is of Hebrew origin and means “darling” and “beloved,” and it’s easy to automatically think back to the ancient story of David and Goliath, where young battle novice David takes on Goliath, champion of the Philistines, in the Valley of Elah.  Everybody knows how that story ends – the little guy wins and becomes the “darling” and “beloved” of many for years to come, setting the stage for hundreds of battles between supermen and underdogs.

If we think of the form of David, then instead of heading right for the Bible, we think of Michelangelo, who sculpted the famous statue between 1501 and 1504.  It’s one of the most recognizable pieces of art in the world today.  And there’s a lot to think about with this David, how he compares to the other Davids of today.  There’s a mythology of the statue that I learned about after I visited Italy, the kind of stuff which becomes fascinating over time.  Kind of makes you wonder if people choose the name because of the story; because their David is going to be their “darling;” or if they’re hoping he’ll become the picture of perfection like the statue?

Michelangelo’s David is relaxed; unlike many other renditions, which depict him with the head of Goliath between his feet.  David appears to be in deep thought – Michelangelo was probably trying to show him before the battle instead of after it.  Another interesting facet of the statue is the stance.  Because of the way Michelangelo has posed him, with one leg bearing all of the weight, it gives the statue a curve not usually seen with male figures.  It allows the shoulders and the hips to rest at contrasting angles and gives the observer a better perspective of a true human, male form.  Since the statue was actually started by Agostino di Duccio and Antonio Rossellino, the idea behind the work changed in between inception and when Michelangelo was given the block of marble to work on.

The original positioning of the sculpture was for the roof of the Florence Cathedral, which is the main reason the head and the hands of the statue seem out of scale with the rest of the figure (the important parts of the sculpture were accentuated since they would be viewed from below and were supposed to be recognizable).  There is also the contrast of the figure’s size in comparison to its height.  Art historians have noted that David is extremely slender; while it can be argued the true height of the statue (17 feet) doesn’t render the rest of the body to scale, the proportions are still notable (and some argue, are what Michelangelo could salvage out of the work of his predecessors).

And, perhaps most interesting is, in fact, David’s junk.  Since the original David was a Jew, it would have been proper for the statue to display him as circumcised.  This wasn’t done, the purists argue, because Renaissance art didn’t note such inconsistency.

Whatever the case may be, Michelangelo’s David has set the bar high for other Davids to follow.  I’ve dated Davids, and lived with them; I’ve gone out to eat with them; and I’ve studied lots of photographs of famous Davids in their skivvies.  There are a lot of good-looking, chiseled Davids out there, but which one is closest to Michelangelo’s masterpiece?  While many replicas of Michelangelo’s masterpiece have popped up over the world, that one perfect David is out there for all of us, waiting to be seen and admired!

Below is the real David in addition to some other famous Davids I don’t mind staring at. How well do you know your famous Davids?  (You’ve got Beckham, Bentley, Boudia, Chokachi, Durante, Fumero, and Ginola here.  Know which ones are which?) 

P.S.: Just for fun, I downloaded a “version list” of “David”s so the international traveler can appreciate the numerous variations of the name.  You might want to squirrel this away for safekeeping, as it’s one of those things that just might come in handy some day.  If the language isn’t listed, then the likely spelling or transliteration is “David,” just as it would be in English, without diacritics.  Languages not using the Latin alphabet aren’t included.

Afrikaans, Polish, Syriac: Dawid	Icelandic: Davið
Albanian: Davidi	Indonesian: Daud
Amharic, Ge’ez: Dawit	Irish: Dáidhídh
Arabic: Dawood	Latin: Davidis
Armenian: Davit	Latvian: Dāvids
Bosnian, Persian, Turkish: Davud	Lithuanian: Davidas
Cornish: Daveth	Manx: Davy
Estonian: Taavet	Māori: Rāwiri
Finnish: Daavid	Mi’kmaq: Dabit
Galician, Italian: Davide	Swahili: Daudi
Hawaiian: Kawika	Welsh: Dafydd
Hungarian, Slovak: Dávid	Yiddish: Dovid

And a P.P.S.: Rusty Joiner (Underwear Profile #3) has joined The Haves and the Have Nots actor Aaron O’Connell in pitching Liquid Plumr.  O’Connell’s commercial featured him and another beefcake knocking on a woman’s door with the lines, “I’m here to snake your drain,” and “I’m here to flush your pipe.”  The new commercial shows a woman in a hardware store, and in a fantasy sequence she sees Rusty, who’s there to clear her drain.  “I only have ten minutes,” she says, to which he responds, “I’ll only need seven.”  (Sounds like most guys, doesn’t it?)  The commercial then flashes back to the hardware store, where Rusty is drilling a hole with a bit semi-suggestively, with that mischievous grin of his.  He’s a natural.  Makes me want to rush out and buy some Liquid Plumr right now.

 

Singlets

Last week I gave an expansive missive on the union suit.  Now it’s time to move forward in time with our Wayback Machine and approach another type of underwear, the singlet.

Thank goodness that men’s clothing magazines and other retailers took a hint from each other … remember how football jerseys and midriff shirts became everyday wear?  Well, the same happened for the singlet.  One day, out of nowhere, and boom!  There they were.

Singlets have become extremely popular since the 1980s – they’re comfortable, work as one layer instead of two, and come in a variety of styles and fabrics.  And unlike most underwear brands, manufacturers and designers have been adapting their styles to match what’s happening in the sports world – thicker over-the-shoulder straps; singlets that now have a “traditional shirt” top as opposed to the tank we’re all used to; the “mankini,” (not the Borat type, which is just .. wrong, and this is from a Speedo wearer), but a true suspender-and-boxer-brief-in-one combination that looks like it would be most cool; and one which rises to the mid-chest in case you don’t like one that dips so low.  No one can tell the difference between a singlet and a shirt-and-brief combination, so there’s no need to be self-conscious.  (And surprise, dear readers … they have Tarzan singlets, leopard prints which sling over one shoulder and butt-less singlets, for those nights of passion when you might need pajamas.  Or for role playing.  Whatever.)

If it hadn’t been for all those wrestlers (thank you Jarkko Ala-Huikku, Jake Herbert, Ben Provisor, and Pascal Strebel) and gymnasts (thank you Raj Bhavsar, David Durante, Sam Mikulak and Peter Vidmar), the closest most of us would come to a singlet would be a wrestling match or a gymnastics meet.  For my part, I would wear a singlet for the same reason I would wear a union suit – comfort is key and there’s always something to be said for a guy who thinks outside of the box, bucking the “normal” and “everyday” in pursuit of setting himself apart from his peers.  (And not because I’m a sucker for a wrestling match or gymnastics meet at your local university.)

Thank goodness for all of those underwear designers who do the same by making sure that we have lots of choices available to us.  (But seriously, underwear designers, we need to have a serious discussion about boxers.  Can we burn those?  Just get rid of them?  Send them into space with a payload rocket for the sun?)

More briefs, boxer briefs, sungas, Speedos, union suits and singlets for everyone!

The Gold, The Silver and The Bronze

Ask straight guys the first three things they inspect on a woman and they will invariably say, “boobs, butt, and legs.”  Tom and I often speak about girls and dating with our exchange students, whether they have a girlfriend, etc., and whenever we ask them this question, their answers pretty much fall into these categories.  (One did answer, “The belly button,” when asked, and I didn’t have an answer for that.)

Now, ask a gay guy what he inspects and the answers bounce all over the place, like the choice of flavors board at Baskin Robbins.  “Eyes.  I like a guy who has nice, thoughtful eyes.”  “The chin.  My grandmother always said a man should have a strong chin.”  “His shoulders.”  “His chest, because I like nipples and I like pecs.  Chest, definitely.”  “I like a guy who works out, so his abs.”  “PACKAGE!”  This variety just goes to show you that there are as many different types of people as there are different flavors of ice cream.  Thirty-one flavors just isn’t enough.

But what about guys like me?  What are the first three things an “underwear whore” wants to see?

Let’s start by saying everybody, regardless of sexual preference, likes to look at naked bodies.  We’re hardwired that way.  It starts in kindergarten with the I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours discussion, works its way into our teenage years (“Boobs are awesome.”  “I’m starting to get hair … you know, down there,”), and culminates with the intricate mating rituals we undertake in college (“Dude, there’s a girl in my bed wearing a fireman’s helmet.” “So get her breakfast and send her home.”)  And, being human, we automatically compare size, shape, proportion, girth … again, because of the way our brain works.  We’re also under peer pressure, because if you’re a fetishist and your buddy isn’t, you’re going to end up getting chastised for something the mainstream considers to be weird-kinky-or-just-downright-strange.

Now, I’ll admit that underwear probably isn’t the first thing that enters someone’s mind, unless it’s a plan to get your prospective partner out of them.  Important, sure; but the end result.  When you cross paths with someone like me, yeah … I want to get you out of your shorts, but I’m doing the same inspection that other people have done, except I’m doing it from the point of view of the weird-kinky-or-just-downright-strange attitude of your friends.  Point is, it’s not weird-kinky-or-just-downright-strange to me.  For me, it’s business as usual, and you can apply this point to any person who doesn’t simply want to look at the outward, physical you.

So, what takes the gold, the silver and the bronze to me, the NOT-weird-kinky-or-just-downright-strange guy you’ve met, had a nice time with, and have decided to take home for that first-date-met-you-at-the-bar-go-back-to-your-place-and-act-like-a-complete-slut meeting?  Pull up your mat, Young Grasshopper, and allow Sensei to impart the knowledge to you.  Take notes.  This is important stuff.

I try not to make any value judgments until you’re down to your briefs.  I take my time.  I look for and study any tattoos or scars, because they make interesting conversation.  I take my first real good look at your eyes, since it’s probably the best light we’ve had all night (I try to judge if they’re serious, funny, twinkling, broody … you know, things like that).  And then, I begin the judging process.

The bronze spot on the platform really belongs to the type of underwear.  Most guys have their “bar underwear;” you know, the pair that represents good luck, makes them appear better-endowed, or just has the most number of notches in the waistband.  Boxers are the East German judge giving you a zero-point-zero even though you stuck the landing; the most points will go to the guy who wears something that matches his skin tone (like red for blonds, earth tones for olive-skinned guys, etc.), and who wears it confidently.  I don’t care if you’re 250 pounds – if you feel good in what you’re wearing, I will as well.  You have to consider the brand, too – popular brands speak for themselves.  Is it an everyday pair?  Is it come-hither sultry?

For the silver medal, we have to look at fit.  This makes me sound like size can be a deal-breaker (and for most people, shallow people, it is).  You have to remember that the human body is a complex machine, and it makes adjustments for what we wear.  There are guys who have so much junk they have to wear looser underwear in order to accommodate it all; there are guys who can naturally “suck in,” if you will, which makes their package look more compact until it’s unwrapped.  (Think about the ongoing debate regarding the size of men’s equipment: does the measurement start at the pubic bone or inside; is it more accurate flaccid or erect?)  There’s no hard (bad pun) or fast (worse pun) rule.

Now we come to the Gold Standard.  I’ve looked at type and I’ve looked at fit.  Now, I look specifically at what I have termed “The Triad.”

“The Triad” consists of the following:

Observation #1: Inspect the underwear at the waistline from the back.  Does the small of his back flow into his undershorts in a natural line?  Is there hair?  Is it smooth?  Is there goose flesh because he’s almost buff, or because there's subtle excitement?  Observation #2: “The Swell,” the point at which his shorts accentuate the roundness of his glutes.  You don’t get this with boxers, so the tighter the underwear, the better.  How high up does the rounding start?  Does it seem natural?  Is there “cupping”?  Do you get the hint of the furrow or is it the Grand Canyon?  Does he have butt dimples?  Observation #3: Finally, there’s his “taint” area ('taint the balls and 'taint the ass, it’s the area in-between), better known as the perineum.  Do his boxer briefs appear loose or taut in this area?  How do his thighs look, front and back?  Is there an outline of his skin due to muscles?

And, ta-da!  You’ve just done your first Under-who, Under-when, UNDERWEAR “NOT-weird-kinky-or-just-downright-strange-first-date-met-you-at-the-bar-go-back-to-your-place-and-act-like-a-complete-slut” inspection.  Don’t worry if you don’t get it right the first time – you have to remember this is a process that works for me, and your preferences may be completely different.  And, of course, this Under-who, Under-when, UNDERWEAR “NOT-weird-kinky-or-just-downright-strange-first-date-met-you-at-the-bar-go-back-to-your-place-and-act-like-a-complete-slut” inspection will really only be important if you’re as fixated on undershorts as I am.  If you’re not, well … it can still apply, just in a different way.

Sensei says, “Regardless of where your personal gold, silver, and bronze areas are, remember that we do not play to win, we play for the thrill of the game.”  Try as many or all of the thirty-one flavors and get back to me – I may have been doing it wrong all this time.

Underwear Profile #7: Chris Rockway

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If We Could Get Men From IKEA

My friend Nancy and I see eye-to-eye on many things.  She’s probably the oldest friend I have, so she knows me very well.  We went to college together, and over the past two-plus decades, she and I have established a solid relationship built on mutual respect, cooking, and sharing.

And shopping.

Now, I should probably preface all of this by adding that Nancy and I have very different ideas when it comes to men in general.  She’s married to a great guy and has three kids.  And although there is very little we haven’t shared, I’ve never been able to get her to come out of her shell regarding men, how handsome they are, what they look like in a great pair of boxer briefs, etc.  (There’s one notable exception – she went through a phase where she wondered what Pierce Brosnan and Nathan Fillion would look like in their undershorts.  It’s probably the closest we’ve ever come to an “underwear moment,” because I agree with her.  Totally.)

I’m also great friends with Nancy’s significant other.  Lincoln is affable, intelligent, hard-working, and although he knows how to cut back and relax, he’s proficient in keeping me reeled in just enough not to go haywire and make Mardi Gras a normal event in my living room.  In short, both Lincoln and Nancy get me, in their own unique ways, and I have often said the three of us should embark on some great business plan since we all have different areas of interest and expertise.  But, just as I’ve never been able to get Nancy to really cross that “underwear boundary,” I’ve never been able to get Lincoln into shopping.  In fact, Nancy and I have a great attraction to IKEA, which opened its only Michigan showroom approximately eight years ago about an hour away.  And Lincoln, love him as I do, is an IKEA snob.

Thus, Nancy and I have an “in” that Lincoln will never be able to understand (in much the same manner that Lincoln and I have an “in” by both being male).

Now, you have to understand that when Nancy and I go to IKEA (rarely, because it is a decent trip in distance, and we have to deal with various schedules, budgets, children, husbands’ dislike of IKEA), we are truly in our element.  We go there to power shop.  We simply “shop” at Macy’s, or Meijer, or the Apple store, or any number of other well-known establishments.  “Shopping” passes time.  “Power shopping” is a completely different experience.

Nancy tends to get totally into the domestic side of shopping, looking at fabrics, wondering how “x” will fit with “y”, whether or not she should buy this pillow, or that bowl.  And I get that.  I, too, can easily slip into that “Wow, if I only had the money” attitude warp that makes “power shopping” so much fun and credit card companies do cartwheels when I apply.  But I, being the fixated male that I am, also people-watch (read: man-watch), and while I “man-watch,” you and I both know I am “underwear-watching.”  And unlike Nancy, I am so much more likely to buy an item (whether I need it or not) if the sales guy is completely hot, because instead of focusing on his eyes, my gaze is mesmerized … elsewhere.

I have made a science out of gazing at a guy out of the corner of my eye while waxing philosophic about the shelving unit that will be a perfect fit in one of the bedrooms.  I don’t know if Nancy has ever caught onto this.  Knowing her, she probably has, and as an experienced Ryan-handler, she has filed that away into the little card box cataloging my more endearing behaviors.  Nancy is an expert at managing my foibles, and I have to love her for this, because although I am sure she has been dearly tempted, she’s never tried to change me.  The worst I’ve ever gotten is a sigh of frustration with an “Earth to Ryan!” type of growl.  But I still have to give her credit.  As a working mother with a husband who doesn’t shop and three children of varying temperament, she has worked as much balance into her daily life as she can.  When I come in for a day of shopping of IKEA, I’m sure that balance is thrown off-kilter and she handles it as best she can.

I do the same for her.  Many years ago, she and I established a code word as a signal to our partner that means: “Put down what (who) you’re holding (ogling), turn around, and leave the store (dressing room).  NOW.”  We’ve activated our code word numerous times, and it works for us.  Given that I am more likely to follow my inner desires and instincts, I’m sure Nancy has perfected using our code word by my outer appearance – eyes slightly glazed, mouth open dribbling saliva, etc.  She’s good at recognizing when I’m becoming over-stimulated by shopping or “man-watching,” much in the same manner as Lincoln is when he accompanies me on rare forays to the local gay bar and my “man-watching.”  (That’s right – straight men can go to a gay bar.  It’s allowed.  Don’t knock it.  If you’re straight, and you’ve never been to a gay bar, you should try it.  Don’t automatically assume guys will jump on you the minute you walk in the door.  Be polite, announce you’re straight, that you’re visiting because you’re curious … and you won’t pay for a single drink all night.  I promise.  We love it when the straights visit our establishments.)

But I think even practically-minded Nancy could appreciate the thought behind this post.  Given that IKEA is a mix-and-match build-it-yourself heaven of affordability, what if you could order a (Swedish/Australian/Brazilian/Hawaiian/Maltese) man from off the shelves?  They’d fly through the door!  I’ve covered this before, I know I have: European guy, accent, in the buff/an extremely form-fitting pair of underwear?  (I’ll take six.)  Or what if you could get your favorite celebrity (hello, Pierce Brosnan; hello, Nathan Fillion) as your nightstand?  (Nancy would take six.)

Our only problem is that Lincoln, for all of his enjoyment of a good idea, party, or bar night, would absolutely revolt at the thought of bringing home a spoon from IKEA, much less a man.  I don’t know that I would be able to talk him into it, to make him at least give it a chance.  And it wouldn’t be his resentment of having Nathan Fillion on all fours as an ottoman in the living room, it would be that Nancy bought him from IKEA with an assortment of kitsch, tchotchkes and other accessories to make sure he matches whatever else she’s doing with the room.

I do get the basic reasoning behind his argument.  He thinks IKEA simply churns out this stuff to sell to easy marks like Nancy and myself.  (And it’s working; I am so definitely an easy mark when it comes to this kind of stuff.)  I mean, seriously: if you’re gonna buy furniture, you as a consumer should buy something that’s going to last, that will age gracefully (like Stephen Dorff, Huey Lewis, Sean Connery, Daniel Craig), and which is made in Michigan (Dean Cain, Jayson Blair), since our economy sucks and the little guy needs to make money, too.  Unfortunately, I just can’t agree with him as much as logic and common sense dictates I should because …

… furniture should also be pretty and a pleasure to look at.  And instead of just sitting in a room, it should be used.  (And that really gives new meaning to the word “woody,” doesn’t it?)

In business, concept is everything.  You have to hit on an idea that no one else has had.  You have to copyright it, protect it, and then develop it as a proprietary business model.  Once you do this, you’ll make a fortune.  And imagine precisely how popular you would be with husband-and-wife duos (both) if they walk into your home and see a guy on all fours as your coffee table.  Aside from a theme party where this happens, you’re not likely to see this.  I think it has possibilities – code words notwithstanding.  (Light bulb!  And instead of arguing about fabrics, all we have to do is make sure he has a nice variety of underwear so you can match him to the carpet or the rest of the upholstery.  We’ll sell it as an add-on – established underwear lines like Navy Sea Diver, Calvin Klein, Unico, Georgio Armani and Andrew Christian.  We’ll make a fortune.)

If Nancy and I could get this to work, it’s got the cover of Homo and Garden written all over it.  And Lincoln?  Well, I’m sure that our millions will override his well-meaning grumbling, and we’ll put him in charge of something that doesn’t have anything to do with marketing, publicity, or manufacturing … unless he wants to spearhead a "Blondes, Brunettes, and Redheads" line for bachelors (and then I’m willing to bet he’ll be all in).  As far as quality management and testing, I think Nancy and I will agree that this will be our responsibility.

Underwear Profile #6: Stuart Reardon

If you’ve never heard of Stuart Reardon, don’t worry.  He’s a professional rugger, or rugby player, and since rugby isn’t all that popular in the United States (it’s getting there), it’s not a major travesty if his name has never made it to your radar.

Reardon has been a busy little beaver since he hit the rugby leagues in 2000 at the ripe old age of 19.  He’s five-eleven, 93 kg, and has the most luscious hard of black curly hair I’ve ever seen.  (He tends to alternate between full-on hair and a buzz cut, and scruff and a beard … probably to make sure he keeps image fresh.  I’m full-on when it comes to hair – and Reardon needs to keep as much on his head and face as he can.  YUM.)  Since he’s been on-and-off in the league due to injuries, he’s been filling his spare time with modeling (most recently by being the face of an Australian underwear brand called The Navy Diver).  He’s not shy about being photographed, and he looks equally impressive in his shorts, in a suit, in a Roman centurion costume or in the buff, so he’s the picture-perfect “picture” for an underwear label – ripped to the nines, tattooed, tall … quite the bonus for underwear whores such as myself.  No matter the photo, no matter the theme: you can’t go wrong with Stuart Reardon in my book – he’s truly one of the most handsome men to walk the planet.  EVER.

Once more of Stuart Reardon and his rugby mates hit the Internet, hopefully more Americans will take up rugby as a pastime.  It’s a great sport to watch, you can’t help but build a more athletic physique as a consequence.  I’m told that unlike other team competition, it doesn’t require a specific body type to get started, so there’s a place for everyone on a rugby team.  Rugby is supposed to be a “hooligans’ sport played by gentlemen,” unlike American football, which is a “gentlemen’s sport played by hooligans.”  My Canadian friend Joel would agree with this statement, as he’s been an active rugger for years … but he also claims that his “drinking team has a rugby problem.”

Hhrrmm … I guess if you’re drinking in types like Stuart Reardon, alcoholism may not be such a bad thing since they inevitably end up in (or out of) their underwear.  Rugger up!

Body Art

The title above is a little misleading, as I touched on tattoos and piercings in a previous submission, and this missive has nothing to do with those.  Instead, I wanted to bring a cultural event to your attention – one I think is unique and ties in with our subject matter.

Apparently, there is a “Body Art Festival” every year in Odessa, Ukraine.  Instead of profiling tattoos or piercings specifically (which I am sure a fair amount of the models have … who doesn’t nowadays?), local artists use the human body as a canvas in order to profile their work.  It’s actually a pretty avant-garde idea; and because it’s Europe, the only body part covered is the bits.  Straight guys get their fair share of breasts and nipples, and gay guys/underwear fetishists have the key draw of seeing guys in their underwear or Speedos as walking, paint-covered displays on the street.  (Those of you who appreciate European men, as I do, know that some of those Slavic guys are really hot.  I’m a total sucker for a deep accent, heavy cheekbones, and big muscular guys who might be in the market for a green card.)

Neat idea, huh?  And something you would totally never see in Anytown, U.S.A., although I have been tempted to bring it to the attention of the high-school’s new, young, hip art teacher to see if she knows anything about it and would be willing to have a similar exposition in our town.  I first found out about it while reading a Ukrainian cultural magazine that had been re-printed into English, and began pounding Internet doors trying to find out more about it.

I do believe in full disclosure, so before you start your own Internet crusade, it bears mentioning that 95% of the models are female.  I haven’t been able to find a lot of information on English Internet sites, unfortunately, and even fewer photos of some of the male models, but there is one below.  I’m sure there’s something more detailed out there for native speakers, so if there are any followers out there who can read Cyrillic script and/or speak Ukrainian or Russian, drop a line if you get more information and I will post an update.

Of course, I could always just take off for Odessa on my own to see what happens.  Road trip!

The one site I found regarding the Ukrainian event was at http://www.wumag.kiev.ua/index2.php?param=pgs20053/118. Further research uncovered a site in English that highlights a similar event in Austria and other body painting festivals.  It has more photos, (again, mostly of female models) but it also features “how to”s with ideas, equipment, and media.  Take a gander at http://www.bodypaintings.com.au/body_painting_festivals.htm.  Enjoy!  (There should be more photos available shortly, as their annual event takes place during the third week of July.)