On this blog you I am going to share my world with you. What can you expect to find here -- First of all lots of sexy men, off all shapes and types, something for everyone, as I can find beauty in most men. You are going to find that I have a special fondness for Vintage Beefcake and Porn of the 60's, 70's, and 80's. Also, I love the average guy, and if you want to see yourself on here, just let me know. Be as daring as you like, as long as you are of age, let me help you share it with the world! Also, you are going to find many of my points of views, on pop culture, politics and our changing world. Look to see posts about pop culture, politics, entertainment, sex, etc. There is not any subject that I find as something I won't discuss or offer my point of view. Most of all, I hope you are going to enjoy what I post. ENJOY!

Wednesday, March 5, 2014


From: Manhunt Daily

 At the very least, Jesse Jackman and I could agree that Dirk Caber was one of the hottest fuckers on the planet this year. He scratched my “daddy” itch on a regular basis, making me feel horny to play the submissive boy or take control and plow his ass. If you only knew the things I’d do to feel his salt and pepper beard rubbing against my taint…

 Two suited guys meet in an abandoned warehouse, strip to their jocks and wrestle hard to submission. The winner gets to be on top (though when that top is Dirk, we'd argue that Jace is the winner, as Dirk's big hard cock slips up to the hilt inside his willing hole.) Jace is treated to being fucked in almost as many positions as when they were wrestling and his trophy is a gushing load of Dirk's victory juice, which he adds to with his own, before the two collapse, exhausted and very wet, on the mat.







Lionel Revaute Photographed by Lon

Using the pseudonym Domenique in London and Paris, Lon took these photographs of Lionel Revaute, who won the title Junior Mr. France in 1957.

Paddy O’Brian by Landis Smithers

 Paddy O'Brian
27 years old 
London, England, United Kingdom

About me



Follow my other world @paddyobrian86 Thought was time for a change ;-) I've been modeling and been in the Adult naughty industry for 4 years, have had the opportunity to work with world class photographers in and around the world, for those of you who know my face i'm also an erotic adult performer without giving my stage name away haha, i used to model underwear for www.banglads.com and had done for two years, have also been the front cover for QX magazine twice last year and will shortly be in the Beautiful mag this year (2011, i only put a selection of my work on here but very shortly will upgrade my account and put all my work on here.

Thanks a lot and wish everyone continued success and look forward to meeting more new friends, have met some great people on here, and weirdos lol.....


Modeling and my performing is a full time job for me and so i only do paid assignments, unless i love your work and feel we will both benefit, im a nice and honest person am just being straight...

Has been a pleasure to work with all the Togs i've had the chance to shoot with, and look forward to working with new ones in the near future. Thanks a lot for your time if you've bothered to read this hahahaha.

worked with. 


modeled for ANN SUMMER 2012 CALENDER



Lionel Ravaute

Ravaute Lionel , born in 1944 in Lyon , is a bodybuilder French, and former Apollo finest in the world .
This Lyonnais finished first in the senior category (large) to contest the most beautiful Apollo France in 1962. He placed third in the same category in the competition of the finest French bodybuilder and the first contest of the most beautiful in the world Apollon year. He finished fifth in 1963, the contest of the most beautiful Apollo France.

Alexander Giocondi by Landis Smithers




Photographer Russ Warner

I don’t know enough about Russ Warner to write his biography, but I can tell you he lived a full life till the day he died. He was energetic, passionate, hilarious, ingenious, artistic, generous and full of love. He was 87 on October 27th when he died in his sleep at home in Escondido.

This is not an obituary or a mournful tribute, but a small collection of memories I savor of a rare and significant contributor and curator of the Muscle Beach era and beyond. George Eifferman introduced me to Russ in the summer of ’63. I have recalled the scene a hundred times since, reminding me, thus, of its personal importance, persuasion and delight. A new recruit to the Weider California team (a team of three or four walking in circles and scratching our heads), I was yet to find permanent digs. There I lay sprawled on the new mustard-colored foldout couch in the small 5th Street office of the fledgling West Coast Weider Barbell Company. George -- ever-eager, Mr. Universe -- Eifferman nudged my mattress gently (George did everything gently) and apologized (George was always apologizing) for waking me so early on a Sunday morning.

"Dave, I want you to meet my friend, Russ Warner."

I rolled over and stretched and wrestled with disjointed sleep, self-consciousness, hunger, recognition of new surroundings, and the appropriate response to meeting a blurry, yet smiley figure at the foot of my borrowed and subject-to-visitors bed. Russ was engaged in chuckling, observing and expressing himself with bouncy movements of the shoulders and arms.

"George, he looks like a corralled stallion being groomed for the next big race at Santa Anita. Let’s sneak him a wild mare and run out the back door."

"Howdy, Mr. Warner. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir."

Within 10 minutes we were ordering breakfast at Zucky’s Deli on the corner, which was to become our favorite feeding trough over the amazing years to follow.

"I’ll have a chicken-liver omelet, please, thank you." My favorite.

George was heading for Hawaii to open a gym and Russ was taking his place as chief of the Weider West Coast operation. I was to spend the next three years with Russ to do what was needed to set Joe’s muscle machine in motion. The road was long and uphill; the muscle machine was running on three cylinders, three wheels and a flat, but Russ could make clunky things go, and go fast.

Soon after dear George sought bluer skies and time did its maturing thing and greener grass began to grow beneath our feet, Russ uncovered his favorite gadget, tool and plaything, hobby, mode of artistic expression and master-key to the world of bodybuilding -- his camera.

"Joe needs pictures for upcoming issues of the magazine, a few covers and some stories." Russ was looking at the ceiling when he said this; there was no one else in the room.

"I’m the shipping clerk, Russ, the backroom guy." I was looking at the floor when I said this.

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. "What are we going to do?"

By this time I was scrutinizing with dropped jaw and bulging eyes (typical expression of an east coaster during his first six months in California) the folder of 8x10s of Reg Park, Steve Reeves, Zabo, Clancy Ross, Jack Delinger and Biff LaLanne. The photos were a mixture of outdoor and studio shots in black and white and stark contrasts. The men of sweeping muscle were the best and the pictures exuded drama, inspiration and might. "Shipping clerk" was still stuck in my throat.

Russ was twice my age, but he brought out the kid in me. While I worried about the sky falling, Russ would tell me stories of Jack LaLanne walking down 10 fights of stairs on his hands or Clancy Ross and Jack Delinger performing feats of strength on Oakland street corners -- things done with beer kegs and engine blocks and sledge hammers and always with a pretty neighborhood gal balancing atop their heads. My scowl faded. Jersey’s hard to shake, like the flu, maybe TB, or barnacles.

Russ said, "There’s a place I know in the Valley. The studios use it as a background for shooting westerns. They call it the Bat Crap Rocks. You’ll love it; it’s full of cool rock formations and desert and cactus. It’s secluded. You and I and Dick Tyler can cruise out in a couple of weeks and shoot a few rolls of film... it’ll be fun... a test run... no one will see them... just us... promise... I’ll bring sandwiches... whadaya say?"

I, the backroom guy from Jersey, said almost inaudibly and without stirring conviction, "But, I... I’m not, well... gee-whiz... do I have... sandwiches?... okay." Nuts.

Russ posed my girth against some very photogenic outcroppings and the pictures ran in the magazines for an entire winter season. A magician of the lens, with forbearance and gentle persuasion, managed rocks and unwilling flesh into some striking shots, making me feel a small part of the California landscape, the West Coast Bodybuilding Scene.

Once, when the shipping was completed and four tons of fresh free-weight was unloaded from a Bobcat and neatly stacked in the backroom, Russ and I sat, fatigued and peaceful, in the inner office. The radio was on softly and we talked about, who knows what -- the freeway traffic, the weather, lunch -- when the programming was interrupted to make an urgent announcement: President Kennedy had been shot while in Texas and was being rushed to a hospital. We were shocked side-by-side, Russ and I, and the magnitude of the raw horror overwhelmed us.

My older friend had served as a Lieutenant in the Navy, as did JFK, understood politics and was affected more quickly and more deeply than I. There was a strain in his face and I heard a solemnity in his voice, levels of disgust and disappointment I had not yet developed. We were in big trouble together and enduring a cataclysmic fate -- a connection I didn’t fully understand at the time. A mutually endured catastrophe is bonding.

Where were you when JFK was shot? A strange question that arises now and then, and there I am with Russ in a dimly lit place listening to a small wood-veneer radio and gripped with reality. We locked the doors and went to Zucky’s for coffee, fresh air, daylight and hope.

Yo, Dave, Joe needs pictures. I’ll meet you at the Marina after lunch.

But Russ, it’s the middle of October and I don’t have a tan and I’m 10 pounds overweight and it’s freezing down there... and windy. Okay...

Yo, Dave, Joe needs pictures. Let’s shoot over to Century Boulevard in Century City and you can stand among the fountains and we’ll get some great stuff.

Aw, Russ, it’s the middle of March and I’m bulking up for a powerlifting challenge at Peanut’s Westside Barbell Club and I haven’t seen my trunks since we came back from the Marina. Okay...

Yo, Dave, Joe needs pictures. Let’s go to my studio in the back of Vince’s Gym. He wants indoor shots with heavy lighting.

Gee, Russ, I feel like a frog and so forth and so on... Russ just nodded and told me I looked great as he applied oil and adjusted the backdrop, lights, umbrellas, lenses and my attitude. We laughed at what a pickle puss I was and he swore it was from too much tuna and water and not enough sex. At 21 I thought he was dirty ole man... but very funny.

When I was the Gladiator for KHJ-TV, Russ was my agent. He knew people in Hollywood and was well liked. It turns out Mr. Warner was Jack LaLanne’s trusty TV manager and producer and good friend. They trained at Muscle Beach in the '50s and Russ practiced his photography while Jack practiced his hand balancing. Russ was behind the camera and by Jack’s side while Jack was on-camera inspiring folks to get in shape and eat right.

I visited Russ’s home one day somewhere toward Pasadena -- who knows where, he was driving -- and when we pulled into his driveway all I could see was a 60-foot antennae lashed down by thick cables protruding from his backyard. He was a king of the ham radio and one entire room was lined with dials, knobs and gauges, amplifiers, reducers, clusters of wires and speakers and microphones. Before the complex of communication equipment was a narrow runway with two or three stools with wheels to allow him to scoot about as he activated the gadgetry and spoke to friends across the world. He told me it was something he picked up in the Navy. In his garage were eight immaculately restored vehicles (my favorite a Cadillac Eldorado), which he claimed made his heart sing and kept him busy in his spare time. The singing part I understood, but what spare time? This I have always pondered. How much can one guy do?

After Weider, one must get a real job for awhile; it restoreth the soul and pays the accumulated bills. Russ went into the distribution of home gym equipment throughout central California and called his very successful venture All American Fitness. Missing show biz and loving bodybuilding, he introduced a popular, first-class physique show called the Russ Warner Classic, which ran thru the mid-'70s and '80s. I often sat in the front row or roamed around backstage, while Laree expertly wielded her Nikon from the stage’s edge. We have some very cool shots of contenders from those days hanging on the walls of the World Gyms in Santa Cruz and Scotts Valley.

So the story goes. Russ retired down San Diego way and along with his buds, Leo Stern and Steve Reeves, put together some classy old-timers gatherings. Old bodybuilders never die, they just keep on bombing and blasting and pushing that iron. So the story goes.

Russ Warner has a secret fan club and its members bump into each other regularly and exchange affectionate tales of Russ Warner at expos and contests and memorials, the later becoming a frequent form of entertainment and gathering for good old friends. The membership is impressive and includes a lot of bright and shining stars; Gene Mozee, John Balik, Don Howorth, Dick Tyler, Larry Scott, Rosemary Hallum, Stern and Pearl, Bob Delmontique, the Tannys, the LaLannes, the Weiders... the list is as long as a Barry Bonds home run if he was on Bomber Blend.

I love and respect and am supremely grateful for Russ. He was the best.

Bombs away, dear bombers... Dave

Oh, one more story. Russ had one of those little colorful cylinders that when inverted would emit a mooing sound like a cow giving birth. When we were all busily and quietly working at the little Weider shop -- Russ, Ray (my partner), Annie (Joe’s aunt) and I -- and the silence was as thick as a cloud, Russ would turn over the little round cow-box and let 'er rip. He’d then come running out of his office on tip-toes like a mischievous child and huddle with Ray and me, as we cracked up with hands over our mouths to muffle and contain our laughter. We called this hilarious.

We were grown and responsible men, well on our way to achievement, recognition and social contribution. The terrific, silly noise drove poor Annie nuts, and though we adored her, we submitted to the naughty joke. We figured Annie, who thought we were juvenile and who sat at the front counter representing The Weider Barbell Company to California and was four times older than Ray at 19 (76 years old and under five foot and 90 pounds), should have, like us, an extraordinary sense of humor. We were introducing her to such exceptional humor. Russ said we were being sensitive. Where’s that little round box full of laughs when you need it?

Robert Swiatek by Landis Smithers

 Robert Swiatek
29 years old 
Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain

 About me
Just starting out as a model... 

I am young, very creative and ready for interesting projects model based in Barcelona. 

In past I've really enjoyed being a part in art projects of some independent photographers. 

 I try my absolute best to meet peoples expectation always giving something extra to satisfy not only my clients but also myself with fantastic results. 

 Looking forward to continuous networking and collaborating with new photographers, Wardrobe Stylists, MUA's, Body Painters, and etc. 
I am flexible and open about my modelling career and plan to take it to the next level. 

I am seriously addicted to music and deeply in love with editorial, beauty and fashion photography. 

English, Spanish, Italian and Polish speaker perfectly able to move around Spain and Europe.

Norman Tousley by Russ Warner

Gui Wandresen by Landis Smithers

 Guilherme Wandresen
33 years old 
Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain

 About me

My name is Guilherme and I am resident in Barcelona but traveling around the world because of my job. 

I come from sports ( gymnastics ) and nowadays work as circus artist. 




From: Manhunt Daily


 We wrote
You either ‘get’ Zeb Atlas or you don’t. There isn’t much of a grey area here. Some of us look at him and fantasize about how hot it’d be to be dominated by such a gigantic, powerhouse bodybuilder. The remaining few glance over and think to themselves, ‘No thank you! That is too much man.’ Or they make some dumb comments about steroid use, his facial expressions or his occasionally lackluster gay porn performances… Either way, this post isn't about Zeb. It’s about the guys he’s fucking.

Johnny Rapid bottoms for Zeb in “The House” by MEN.COM

 You either “get” Zeb Atlas or you don’t. There isn’t much of a grey area here. Some of us look at him and fantasize about how hot it’d be to be dominated by such a gigantic, powerhouse bodybuilder. The remaining few glance over and think to themselves, “No thank you! That is too much man.” Or they make some dumb comments about steroid use, his facial expressions or his occasionally lackluster gay porn performances.

 Either way, this post isn’t about Zeb. It’s about the guys he’s fucking.

 Mr. Atlas recently had the privilege of sticking his dick into Johnny Rapid and Logan Vaughn‘s hairy holes. Both bottoms make their respective scenes work, so this round of Fuck Vs. Fuck might come down to your preferences on body type. Do you prefer Johnny’s slim, twink-like build or Logan’s thicker, muscular frame? Or, hell, is there another reason you prefer one guy over the other? Let us know!

Logan Vaughn bottoms for Zeb in “Worshiping Zeb” by HIGH PERFORMANCE MEN

 High Performance Men is pleased to present Logan Vaughn and Zeb Atlas in WORSHIPING ZEB. Logan has been working very hard on his physique, but he wants to get bigger and he decides to check out Zeb Atlas's gym to train with the best. When he enters the locker room, he finds Zeb waiting for him. Logan admits he is excited, but you can tell it is a nervous excitement as to what might be happening. Zeb flexes his massive muscles and encourages Logan to feel them so he can get a sense of what he can achieve. Logan wastes no time in worshiping Zeb's entire body as he flexes and poses. 

 From the biceps, triceps and lats, Logan lets his hands and tongue explore the huge body of Zeb. Soon Zeb is in his briefs as he bends over and has Logan eat his ass through his underwear and then he lowers them to allow Logan and his tongue inside his beefy ass. Logan goes to town on Zeb's ass and then Zeb turns around and feeds him his thick 8' cock and Logan does his best to take the entire thing down his throat. 

 Zeb pulls him up and envelopes him in a massive bear hug as the two rub their worked out physiques all over each other. Zeb then tells Logan to bend over as he drives his hard cock deep inside Logan's hairy ass. Logan loves every inch of Zeb's giant cock and with every thrust he groans with pleasure. Zeb then lies down on the bench and has Logan climb on top and ride his cock for a while. 

 Zeb then bends him back over, grabs both of Logan's arms and uses him like a pin cushion as he pounds Logan's succulent ass until he cannot hold back any longer and shoots a nice thick load of cum all over Logan's ass and back. He then embraces Logan as he strokes out a nice big load of cum all over the locker room bench. Sweaty and sticky from the hot sex, both get in the shower where Logan continues to take care of Zeb's massive body as he washes him off. Enjoy!

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