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Synopsis

Who hasn’t experienced a pang of lust or longing at a photo of a male model? Whether a hundred times life size on a billboard or romping through the pages of a glossy magazine in his Calvins, Tommys or Ralphs, the male model is the gold standard for masculine beauty. The characters in these stories run the gamut, from the billboard-gracing Aiden in Cynthia Hamilton’s "Big Picture," to life models in drawing classes, to runway models, to ordinary guys immortalized in a catalog shoot in T. Hitman’s “When Gary Met Larry.” They hook up with artists, photographers, roommates and lovers, in locations from New York to Miami to a beach in Australia, and many places in between.

One thing all the male models here have in common is sex appeal and a yen for man-on-man action. These aren’t the kind of guys who say, "look but don’t touch" — they want to be touched, and in all the right places! The authors here, some of the best writing in gay erotica today, have taken hold of the idea of the male model and run with it. Here’s hoping you enjoy reading these as much as Neil Plakcy enjoyed working with the authors and assembling this collection.

Teen twinks, fresh-faced twenty-somethings, and the ravishing runway rogues in Model Men make for a tribute to the glory of gorgeous gay men. These erotic stories explore the undeniable attraction to classic good looks, charisma, and glamor. Neil Plakcy has gathered sensational stories of sizzling porn bodies, sexy boys next door, tantalizing tricks, and sublime Mr. Right Nows. Intertwining favorite fantasies and gay lust, this collection is guaranteed to sing a siren song to those embodiments of perfection who walk among us. More then just pretty faces and heavenly bodies, the men in this volume give as good as they get.

And thanks to Cleis Press here, is an excerpt from "Model Me" by Landon Dixon:

Louis gulped, watching as the man came through the door of the classroom and walked up to the front of the class, stepped onto the raised platform. "This is Guy," Professor Mansfield said with a slight smile on his face. "He’ll be modeling for us the next three classes – in various poses. You’ll all get to know him quite...intimately over that time. And, hopefully," he added with an arched eyebrow, "learn to project the human form onto paper with some artistic precision." Louis stared at Guy, at the tall man’s shoulder-length, glossy black hair, his large, liquid brown eyes, the square, dimpled chin and strong, high-cheekboned face. He still hadn’t taken a breath since the man in the white bathrobe had entered the stuffy, third floor classroom. And now he almost choked, when Professor Mansfield turned to the model and said, "Guy, if you please." And the man loosened the sashes at his waist and opened his robe, shrugged it off. The garment sighed to the floor, the women in the room sighing with it, as the man fully revealed himself. Louis tore his eyes off Guy’s face and rolled them down Guy’s body. The model was as beautiful as any Old Master painting, an original unveiled right there in front of the class. Shoulders broad and buff and bronze, arms hanging loose and long and corded with muscle, chest humped and cleaved, almost as broad as his shoulders, smooth as his arms, studded with twin, tan nipples. His chiseled torso tapered exquisitely down to a narrow wasp waist, from which his legs poured long and caramel-colored, thighs widened with even more muscle. Louis licked his cracked dry lips, as he studied that which all of the women and men (straight and otherwise) were openly gaping un-artistically at – the smooth, cut, hooded cock that dangled from the model’s groin to awesome effect. The tan member with the molded crown hung farther down than any flaccid penis had the right to hang, over notably shaven balls. The stunned silence of the class was shattered by Professor Mansfield clearing his throat and declaring, "All right, class, you make pick up your charcoal and begin drawing." Everyone did, except Louis. He still stared empty-handed and full-blooded at the golden Adonis on stage, casually posed now with one foot slightly ahead of the other, one leg bent, back straight and arms hanging, eyes looking out over the heads of the wannabe artists. Louis explored every shining square inch of the model’s frame with his unblinking eyes, focusing more often than not on those petulant, puffy nipples, that monster of a cock even unerect. He couldn’t see the man’s buttocks, but he could picture them – picture perfect mounded bronze meaty swells. "A blank sheet?" Professor Mansfield rumbled close by. "This isn’t an abstract art class, young man." Louis broke out of his trance. He looked at the professor, grinned nervously, reddened anxiously, applied charcoal to paper happily. He was a quick draw, and he had the manly model down in detail in half the time it took the rest of the class. The cock was perhaps even more out of proportion than real life, the nipples flared even more blatantly maybe, but it was still a very good likeness. Louis liked it, a lot, and when Professor Mansfield was otherwise occupied with other budding Rembrandts, he flipped up a couple of sheets on his easel and rapidly went to work on a second rendering of Guy – a representation not just from life, but from fervent imagination, as well. After ten minutes more of feverish drawing, Louis looked up at his golden idol, and saw that Guy was looking at him, watching him work surreptitiously. The man smiled, and Louis hastily dropped the sheets of paper to cover up his latest creation, his face shading crimson under the model’s warm gaze. The class was soon over. Guy wrapped himself back up in his robe and padded out of the room, to the audible groans from some of the women, grunts of relief from some of the guys. The professor and the students exited the classroom, as well, leaving Louis behind, all alone – to put some finishing touches on his two compositions. He was planning to hang both sketches in his bathroom that night. "You really captured me," someone said from behind, making the talented drawer jump. He spun around, sending the stick of charcoal shooting out of his sweaty hand. Guy was standing there, looking at Louis’ sketch of himself in his pose for the class, his brown eyes twinkling, big, strong hands clenching the sashes on his robe. "Uh, th-thanks," Louis spluttered, even more awed by the man’s gorgeousness up close. Guy displayed his dazzling white teeth in a smile. "But what was that other picture you were working on? Can I see that one?" Louis fluttered his long fingers up to his pointed chin, bobbed his bony shoulders. "Uh, what other picture? Th-there’s just the one – for class." Guy leaned forward, flipped the well-done drawing of himself over, two more pages. Revealing another fully fleshed-out picture – with someone else now up on the dais with Guy, in front of him, gripping his cock, sucking on his nipples. "You do have an artistic...bent, don’t you?" the model commented. Louis looked at the lewd drawing, at Guy’s strikingly handsome face. He shuffled his feet, opened and closed his mouth, waved his hands around. Guy put him out of his misery, and into pure ecstasy, by pulling the sashes on his robe open again, shrugging the white garment off his bronzed shoulders for a second time. Louis ceased his dance of nervousness and stared at the naked man, that dangling prick that was the absolute model of male lust. "Something like this, then," Guy said, gripping Louis’ arms and pulling him close, up against his tanned, ripped, heated physique. Louis just about swooned, his own body temperature skyrocketing, cock leaping in his bohemian black jeans. He was eight inches shorter than the model, so that his mouth was level with the rugged chest, lips in line with those succulent-looking nipples. His hand hung close to that hung appendage down below. He could smell the faint musk of the living god, feel the throb and twitch of the powerful muscles, the tender smoothness of the sun-browned skin.