November 2nd, 2010 
admin Long before I began stockpiling a rather eclectic collection of curiously homoerotic Men’s Fitness magazines in my closet as a randy teenager, decades still before the global pornification of the 21st -century Internet age, my tender childhood libido found a secret refuge amidst the colorful scenes contained in a handful of old university textbooks placed happily among my parents’ bookshelves in the family room of our home. There were of course images of famous imposing nudes made of marble and granite, and also the vibrant Romantic paintings with fully liberated genitalia proudly occupying the glossy pages of those cumbersome art history volumes common to 1960′s liberal arts colleges. And, indeed, I am forever indebted to the ancient Romans for visually educating me–a wide-eyed, insignificant little prehomosexual first-grader in a suburban cul-de-sac in 1980′s Virginia–about the idealized male form.
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