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Looking at numbers 4 and 6 (from left), I cannot help but think that those are the luckiest garment tags in the world.

I will try to keep on topic. I have to echo what another contributor said when it's not a function of "can't" but more of a preference. Also, in our community of gay men there are those who find it necessary to "assign" roles to us. I mention this as I recently enjoyed the company of a nice young man (22) who had been told by others that he "couldn't" top as his dick wasn't big enough. His dick might be decidedly "average" (as is mine) but I assured him that he was, in fact, big enough to top and proceeded to show him that he could. (Also, his youth ensured that he was hard enough, too.) Based upon the noises he made I believe he enjoyed it very much; I don't think topping "hurt" him at all. One week later, at his request, I brought in a muscle Daddy provider who proceeded to show him how it feels to be topped by a guy with a big dick who knows what he's doing. The point here is that "topping" or "bottoming" are preferences according to what feels best to you and what you like best to do. Remember, too, that man-on-man sex isn't just about who "tops" and who "bottoms"; there's soooooo much more to it than that. (Not that anyone asked for my opinion ... but there it is.)

Here’s a “regular Joe” with furry blonde pits. Yes, thank you!

Black Velvet … if you please …

Those among us who were “boys” in the 80’s were ALL working boys, lol. That rent wasn’t gonna pay itself. Beauty was our currency. Not proud of that, but not ashamed of it, either.

Yeah … that bikini seems to be straining juuuuuust a bit … that’s not to say that I don’t like it … or him …

White briefs … white coffee cup … that is what separates us from the animals … our ability to accessorize …

I have to agree with this.

Not only dad-bid but dad-bulge, thank you very much.

Forgive me, but in what universe is this man obese?

Worthy? Oh, hell yes! But that doesn’t mean I’m going to find it or get it. My apologies for my cynicism; I’m old and tired.

Apparently, dude is prepping for a big night ahead.

Sailors and San Diego go together like scotch and soda. A special shout-out to MY favorite San Diego sailor, Captain Bobby, Balboa, 1994 to 1996. That was a happy time in my life.

The hair! The mustache! The knee socks!

So fresh … so smooth … so young …

Truth be told we should be inviting him for a drink rather than the other way around …

Two studs on the town. A Trojan in your wallet and the scent of Old Spice.

Hello, Sailor! May I buy you a drink?

My God. Life was beautiful then. Yeah, I was there. I’m probably over-romanticizing it. But I won’t apologize for that given what we now know was waiting down the road.

Damn! Gotta love a Marine!

If I pick them up shirtless there’s no question that I’ll pick them up pantsless.

“What are you wearing?”

Not only no qualms but no embarrassment and no compunction about putting your arm around another man. Or am I just over-romanticizing it?

Before Calvin Klein there was Fruit of the Loom, Hanes, and Jockey.

My God … satin running shorts. All that’s missing is the glitter ball and the roller skates. I like the lean physique, though. And do I see a mustache?