I just remembered -- that thread or one very like it caused me to write this (Note if you are of delicate sensibilities, you may wish to avert your eyes)
Clint ran a loving hand over his nipples, tweaked them, so they stood erect and proud from the manly ring of dark hair that surrounded the areolae. The mirror seemed to enlarge them so they stood out like organ stoppers. One hand ran lazily down his side, over the ripped abdomen, to his taut, pouting buttocks before he assessed his junk.
Testicles round and manly, cock full and ready, skin as soft and smooth as he could get it. He cupped his balls and noted how sensuous they looked. They weren’t yet starting to sag – but it wouldn’t be long before he could no longer get away without wearing a hammock to stop the unattractive droop. What woman wanted a man with drooping balls? Still, they were perky enough for now. Pubic hair freshly permed, waxed, washed and perfumed. A tweezer grabbed a stray hair. A dab of rouge just so, on with the skimpy new loincloth that only just covered his vitals and he was ready. He hoped she’d approve. Did this loincloth make his dick look small?
ETA: I think I may have to finish the story I started here. Clint ends up accosted by three women in an alley and accused of being a clit-tease.