The founder of a web site that focuses on female nude scenes in films, Mr. Skin, has broken the double standard and created something brand new that now focuses on male nude scenes in films. And even more interesting, he's been marketing the naked male actors toward women but the majority of hits allegedly come from men. The article to which I'm linking claims it's "gay" men, but since there's no measure I know of that could accurately determine what kind of men are viewing the web site I'll just stick to using the word men in this post.
McBride's explanation for the gender gap? The stigma of homosexuality has faded even as male nude scenes have multiplied, making 2013 the “perfect” time to launch the counterpart to his 14-year-old forever teen, Mr. Skin. He's also of the opinion that men are simply more “pervy" than women. "They'll walk through a wall for a good nude scene."
I'm not too sure about that, at least not from what I've seen and heard from the wonderful women readers of gay erotic romance. I think it's more about women and men (of all ages) being more comfortable with sex, nudity, and all the pleasures erotica of any kind provide us. Fifty Shades of Grey did NOT become a bestseller for it's recipes or its strong plot. And I think there just might be as many women out there that will walk through a wall for a good nude scene as there are men. But even more important, I don't think that makes either men or women pervy for enjoying nudity or sex. I'd bet the owner of the web site Mr.Man.com doesn't think so either and he only used pervy in jest. It's the blithering idiot who wrote the Huff Po article with pithy undertones and that snarky Internet-y voice that's the real perv.
In any event, I will be linking to this web site in the future and sharing what I can about male full frontal nudity in TV and films. If that makes me pervy, tell me where to sign up. You can read more here.
You can check out MrMan.com here, where you'll find not just a handful of male nudes from films, but what seems to be every male nude ever done. I can't post photos here from the web site for copyright reasons, but you won't be disappointed if you follow the link.
Photo is in Public Domain, but here's the... Credit Line: Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, Carl Van Vechten Collection, [reproduction number, e.g., LC-USZ62-54231]
FREE Gay Excerpt: Glendora Hill Series Cowboy Christmas
Here's a free excerpt from a 65,000 word holiday novel I'm just finishing up right now that will be released this holiday season. It's from the new cowboy series I'm working on that focuses on the fictional town of Glendora Hill in Texas Hill Country. In this particular novel, along with so much holiday cheer you might get overwhelmed at some point, the love story is focused on a three-way gay relationship that's long term and happily-ever-after. It's not Debbie Macomber. But in my lifetime of experience as a gay man I've known several long term committed relationships that included three men, not just two. It's more common in gay culture than most will admit or recognize, and even though it can get highly complicated I have seen relationships where it works...and lasts.
Keep in mind this is pre-edits and I haven't even submitted it to the publisher yet. I'll post the first part of the excerpt here and you'll have to click to read the second part at my other web site because Google might think I'm pervy if I post erotica here. Also keep in mind this isn't about a gay couple who take home all kinds of men and throw them into their bed. This is about three gay men who love each other deeply and want to spend the rest of their lives together.
By Thanksgiving Day, all the storefronts, homes, and professional buildings along the tree-lined streets of Glendora Hill, Texas were fully adorned for the Holiday season. The hardware store’s display windows were covered with pine wreaths, garland, and big red bows to the point where customers couldn’t even see the merchandise through the windows. The dog grooming parlor with one huge boxwood topiary of a French poodle near the front door had red velvet wreaths made out of faux poinsettias in its windows, perfectly strung multi-colored holiday lights framing each window, and the poodle topiary had a big red bow around its neck. On each corner in town, stood a fully decorated real Christmas tree set in an old whiskey barrel, with more multi-colored lights and a big gold star at the top.
In fact, everywhere Dr. Keith Elliot looked he saw something glitter, sparkle, and shine with holiday expression. When he stopped at the first traffic light on Main Street and glanced up at the pine garland swag and gold silver bell hanging from the traffic light he rolled his eyes and made a face. And when he lowered his window to get some fresh air and heard soft holiday music being piped through the streets, he groaned aloud and took a quick breath. For a moment, he felt as if he’d lost touch with reality and wound up in one of those old Hollywood Christmas films where everyone believes in Santa and lives happily ever after.
Then the traffic light changed and he noticed a middle aged woman with two elderly people attempting to cross Main Street. The woman couldn’t have been taller than five feet in spite of her four inch red and white high heels. She leaned toward the plump side, and she was wearing a belted red dress with a white collar and a flowing skirt. Her short curly hair was stiff with cheap dime store hair spray and she had a huge gold Christmas tree pin below her right shoulder. If she hadn’t been carrying a huge tray covered in silver foil, Keith would have thought he’d just run into Mrs. Santa Claus. The older couple wore matching green and red jackets and matching green velvet shoes that looked more like bedroom slippers.
When the middle aged woman noticed the light had changed, she grabbed the older man’s arm with one hand and said, “Hold on, pop, the light is red.”
The older man and woman exchanged a confused glance and stopped to wait, trusting her completely.
Keith smiled and waved them along. “It’s okay. You can cross. I’m in no rush.” He didn’t want to run anyone over his first day in town, especially not one of Santa’s elves.
The woman smiled and nodded at him. “Thanks, we’re on our way home from Thanksgiving dinner at the sheriff’s house.” She lifted the tray higher and giggled for no reason at all. “I brought my famous mac and cheese and these are leftovers. Dot Hennessey was there, too, and she brought her God awful stuffed mushrooms. She wound up taking most of them home.” Then she tapped the older man’s arm and said, “The nice man is letting us go. We can cross now.”
The older man tilted his head sideways. “We’re not lost now, Angie. I know exactly where I am. I was born and raised in this town.” He made a fist and stomped his foot.
“I didn’t say we were lost,” the woman named Angie said. “I said we could cross. Turn up your hearing aide, pop.” She smiled at Keith again and said, “Pop’s a little hard of hearing.”
“No problem,” Keith said. He waved them on again. He didn’t want to spend the rest of the night sitting there at that light with strangers who seemed too familiar at first. He had a feeling she wanted to pull back the silver foil and show him her mac and cheese.
As they passed by the front of his truck, the woman sent him a glance and said, “Happy Holidays.”
He returned the gesture with a nod, and a forced smile. “Happy Holidays, to you, too.” She’d made it simple for him. He’d learned to be cautious about whether or not to say Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays with his more politically correct friends in Chicago.
He waited until they were on the other side of Main Street to tap the gas again. As he drove toward the address he’d been given, he noticed a few more people walking on the sidewalks, carrying big trays with silver foil. They were all dressed up, as if going somewhere special, and they were all smiling. But more than that, they all noticed him passing through town, and nodded and waved as if they’d known him all his life.
With all the twinkling lights, strands of garland, and holiday wreaths, it was hard to see the numbers on the buildings. It’s a good thing his new landlord had told him to look for the last building on Main Street with the white porch swing and a sign that read, “Glendora Hill Saddle Shop and Dry Goods,” because he would have missed the numbers 1114 completely. Evidently, his new landlord hadn’t considered the address important when he’d covered up the three ones with a silver glittered pine cone Christmas wreath. Keith could hardly make out the four, but he figured that had to be the place because of the sign over the door.
He parked in front at the curb and climbed out of the cab. He’d been driving all day and hadn’t stretched his legs since the last time he’d stopped to fill up the gas tank in north Texas, somewhere north of Dallas he’d never heard of. He was sorry he’d worn such tight jeans that day, and even sorrier he’d worn cowboy boots. He would have been more comfortable in sweats and sneakers. But he didn’t want to show up in Glendora Hill, Texas looking as if he’d just arrived from Chicago. He had just arrived from Chicago, but he didn’t want them all knowing that. The main reason he’d submitted his resume for the job as head doctor of the Glendora Hill Medical Center was to escape from the urban life he’d always known. Unlike the other people with whom he’d attended medical school, his goal had always been to be a primary care physician, and in a small western town where there were horse ranches, open spaces, and plenty of cowboys.
As he glanced up at the building where he’d rented the second floor apartment, he blinked when he noticed that every window had an identical glittery silver pine cone wreath hanging from a red velvet ribbon. Each window frame was adorned with little white lights that had been entwined around pine garland. And at the base of each window set dead center were big fluffy white bows. This building seemed even more elaborately decorated than the others he’d passed in town. Even the white front porch swing had silver and gold holiday pillows lined across the back.
Keith hadn’t seen the building or the apartment until now. He’d heard about it through a patient he’d accidentally met in the hospital in Chicago where he’d done his residency. The patient had been recovering from an emergency appendectomy and she’d overheard Keith telling a nurse about his plans to move to Glendora Hill, take over the small medical center, and that he was looking for a place to live. The patient’s name was Luanne something…he couldn’t remember her last name…and she told him she owned a dress shop in Glendora Hill, she was in Chicago visiting family, and wound up with an appendicitis. She was being discharged that day, but she gave him a phone number to call where she’d heard someone was looking to rent an apartment. The same evening he wound up renting the space over the phone without even checking it out. But if he’d known he was renting an apartment in a building that reminded him of Santa’s village at the North Pole, he would have thought twice.
It was too late now to change things. He’d paid the first and last month’s rent and signed a lease he’d mailed to the landlord. And, the landlord had been nice enough to give him a break and let him live there for free until December first when the lease actually kicked in. He couldn’t renege now, so he walked to the back of the truck, pulled two suitcases out, and started toward the front porch.
In a show of stunning trust, the landlord had told Keith he’d leave keys to the entrance of the building and the apartment under a fake potted poinsettia tree next to the porch swing. So he set his suitcases down at the top of the porch and walked over to the porch swing. But as he bent over to lift up the fake potted poinsettia, a man with a deep voice crept up behind him and said, “Can I help you, man?”
Keith jumped and jerked to the side. He’d lived in Chicago; he prepared to be either mugged or arrested for breaking and entering. He pressed his palm to his chest and said, “I’m looking for the keys. The landlord told me he’d leave them under this poinsettia. I’m not a burglar. I swear. I’m renting the second floor apartment and I have a lease to prove it.”
The tall man smiled at him and said, “Well you must be the new doc in town. It’s nice meeting you. Sebastian mentioned you’d be coming in today sometime.” He walked over to Keith and extended his right arm. “I’m J U double D, Judd. Sorry if I scared you a little.” He spoke with a thick Texas accent and dropped the G at the end of every word ending in ing.
Keith shook his large hand and said, “That’s me. I’m Keith Elliot, the tenant. I’ll be working at the Glendora Hill Medical Center. It’s nice to meet you.” This Judd dude had such a strong handshake Keith’s knees almost buckled.
“I’m up on the fourth floor,” Judd said. “I’ve been renting here since Sebastian inherited the place from his uncle. He used to live in the second floor apartment with his son, Kick, but he married Sheriff Avery and he now lives over at the sheriff’s place. But’s he’s here at the store every day. You’ll get to meet him tomorrow.” He laughed and said, “It’s Black Friday and he’ll be open, not that you’ll see much of a crowd in Glendora Hill on black Friday, though. It’s pretty quiet around here compared to other places.”
At a closer glance, Judd reminded Keith of a dark-haired model he’d recently seen in one of those underwear catalogues that wound up in his mailbox unsolicited at certain times of the year. Judd stood over six feet in black cowboy boots, his tight leather jacket pulled at the chest and upper arms, and where his narrow waist met his solid pelvis he had a prominent bulge that made the zipper in his low-rise jeans round out in a way that fell just short of obscene. “Sebastian married the sheriff? You’re telling me they are a gay couple?” Keith asked. He knew nothing about Glendora Hill or gay life there. He’d assumed he would be living in a more provincial town, and in order to follow his dream of being a small town doctor he’d been prepared to give up certain parts of gay life he’d known well in Chicago.
Judd squared his back in a defensive way. “We’re a small town, but we’re progressive. Sebastian and the sheriff are gay, and so are a few other people in town. I hope that’s not a problem.”
“Of course not,” Keith said, with a dismissive tone. He’d been worried about this for weeks. He hadn’t decided about whether or not he would tell people in Glendora Hill he was gay. With this disclosure about his landlord and the sheriff, he decided to tell the truth, but in a more subtle way. “I was dating a guy myself for about a year, but he met someone else. You know how it is.” Judd looked straight, but at least he was gay friendly.
Judd rubbed his jaw and looked Keith up and down. “Well, pardon me for saying this, but that’s his loss, because I haven’t seen anything as cute as you in cowboy boots since I left the last ranch where I worked.” Evidently, Judd had his own not so subtle ways to let people know he was gay.
Keith had never taken compliments or sexual innuendos well. He felt his face getting warm and he glanced down at his boots. “Well, thank you, Judd. But don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t all that serious about him. We’re still good friends and I like his new partner. We both always knew the relationship wouldn’t go anywhere.”