Spotted scrawled on a university bathroom stall back in 1995 (yes, I wrote it down):
"I love men. All kinds of men. I love the way men smell. I love the way they carry themselves. I love their hairy legs. I love seeing their jeans around their ankles, around sandals or athletic shoes. I love mustaches. I love the gleam in the eye of a man when he's consumed with passion. I love a man's nipples; his pecs; his chest. I love the bush of hair at his crotch and the rivulet that runs up to his belly button. I love them naked and I love them dressed; I love them wearing a shirt unbuttoned to the waist, exposing the carpet of hair. I love men's biceps; their tattoos and their 3-day beard stubble. I love the hair and the smell of man's armpit. I love the way a man's cock feels in your hand, how it grows from flaccid to erect with merely a touch. I love foreskin, the way it slides over the cockhead. I love the way men kiss. I love men's balls and their butts. I love their calves and their thighs as they sit, spreadeagle on a toilet, offering you their hard, dripping cock. I love dog-tags and pierced tits—baseball caps on 25-year old cleanshaven buzzcut college studs driving jeeps, their tan, hairy legs spread wide in shorts. I love big daddy bears, their hairy chests criss-crossed by black leather harnesses. Cocksucking. Jacking Off. Titplay. Bondage. Transcendental male fuck-play."