Butch-rugged handsome and nerve-rattling raunchy, foul-mouthed fuck machine Jon Vincent was the Barbra Streisand of queer porn: Always the center, larger than life and fueled by a self-loving vulgarity that made his performances Legend. Like Streisand, Vincent never allowed himself to just “play a role,” he was too intent on topping — and stopping — the show.

His mix of gay for pay ingredients was crazy-making and classic: “Straight,” married and a father — Vincent was a professional baseball player turned competitive bodybuilder who decided to hustle and make porn as something fun to do on the side — and to support his nascent drug habit. His on-set verbal pyrotechnics, merciless ass-poundings and danger-level testosterone made him neon and golden within the grindingly boring world of faked butchness queer porn. It didn’t hurt that he developed a reputation for off camera aggressiveness too, striking terror into mild-mannered co-stars and easy-going directors. Vincent was an unruly handful — and we loved him for it. (read the full article)

You get enough of this stuff on The OC, and Kept, and Strip Search and other shows on TV, right?

So we’re just wasting bandwidth and your time (and our time) by showing you this shot of Two Naked Frat Guys — a prelude moment to all the raunchy hotel room action that followed after Nick and Corbin met, popped a couple of beers, watched us set up the cameras and put on the cable’s pussy porn for their entertainment — (certainly not for ours, Mary!) (read the full article)

Josman you take our breath away every time! For long moments we grow dizzy!

More than just the wind is blowing in this series of storm-at-sea illustrations from Nightcharm’s master artist Josman. But wait it gets better! The hot ‘toons are coupled with a new Inner Circle beat-off tale from master storyteller Bob Vickery, one of Nightcharm’s most popular writers.

In Blown Out to Sea, a schooner gets tossed about in a storm while two shipmates do some tossing and turning of their own in a tiny hammock, with all the lanterns swaying above them. Complications — as is their delightful wont in such tales — follow. Soon our salty seamen are having abandoned sex with total strangers! (read the full article)

“All I want is a normal fucking day,” says Brenda, former-sex-addict, former-masseuse, current psychotherapist-in-training. It’s Brenda’s wedding day — finally– as the 5th (and last) season of Six Feet Under begins (read the full article)

Andre is Brazilian to the boner.

In fact, his real name is Andrézinho, a name so intoxicating we can hardly see straight. It’s the sort of softly accented Portuguese name you only find in that sub-tropic paradise where orchids bloom on the sides of trees in garlands of twilight purple and an entire city falls under the shadow of a young male god with his colossal arms outstretched in benediction.

See more of Andre in the All-Brazilian section of the Inner Circle. You read right, ALL BRAZILIAN — ALL THE TIME. Photos and jack-off videos!

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS)

Nasty guys are — and always will be — dynamite queerbait: The fuck-you stances, the big-armed tattoos, the strutting in-your-face dickyness. Capturing the dangerous aura of testosterone that envelopes these men is a tricky business, but Michael Alago, a music producer only recently turned photographer, has done just that in his new self-published monograph rough gods. (read the full article)

"Is it time for the English to be more afraid of God?" asks George Michael in a smart but sure-to-be controversial commentary that appears in the current Advocate. If your reading the Advocate, the pop star tells his American audience, "you are almost certainly bent as a nine-bob note, as we English like to say. Which in turn means that you are a homosexual living in a country where more than 60% of the country is taught that you and your kind are going to end up at the hottest circuit party in town." (read the full article)

There were Christers waving banners admonishing celebrity-watchers to repent. There were gender-bender girls in glitter gloves and angled fedoras. There was even one mad thing waving a tri-color French flag that read “FRANCE — YES YES — MICHAEL.” But above all there was a lone figure in the crowd that kept catching our eye.

She was holding a birdcage.

Outside the Santa Maria courthouse, the Jackson fans waited for the verdict that would decide for some of them whether they would go on a rampage through the streets of this sleepy little town. Some prayed, others sang, many were on cell phones, and everybody waved when they got the word that the cameras were panning. The mood, we were told by the Court TV reporter, was “guarded.” Meanwhile, back in the studio, Nancy Grace and her coven of shapely harpies were predicting a grand slam for the prosecution.

“This. Is. A. Moment. In. Legal History, folks,” Grace told us in bite-size chunks, her sunbelt lilt on the rise. “An icon, really. An American icon. Known all across the world. Some people believe Michael is a diety!” Her voice dropped to an end-of the-world hush. “A cross between a man and a god!” (read the full article)