So it was with the glossy images of a stud named Stone. Certain images remain in the brain forever, and To this day, all it takes is the sight of those vintage 1970s covers to bring back the thrill. So long as a dick dangles unhampered by the confines of clothing, a queer man will be there.
Gay men in particular, and maybe a few confused straight men. But in the demographics of loins, the target audience was the mirror Ostensibly, Playgirl was marketed toward the urban, upper- middle- class, liberated groovy chick. It was a lifeline to our sexual existence. Women.' But for me, and no doubt for an entire nation of miserably closeted small-town gay boys, it was nothing of the kind.
(and where would I have found that in upstate New York?). Impossibility, anyway, where I grew up), my sole outlet was the onlyįull-color magazine to feature fully nude men, short of hardcore gay porn
Too stricken to act on it (which seemed an Inwardly I was burning up from the flames of shame, for it was men I craved. Twenty-plus years ago, I was just hitting puberty, outwardly shining, an altar boy, an honors student. He was probably the biggest of all the Playgirl's Men of the Year - and by that I mean most popular, but come to think of it, his dick was pretty large, too.