Pinup boys of the 1950’s — beautifully lit in black and white and as silkily available as their female counterparts. It amazes us today that the photographer who took these pictures had to go to jail several times for trying to sell them.

What was then the most inflamed, forbidden pornography — one self-righteous blowhard even called the photographer a Communist for trying to corrupt “our clean American boys” — now seems sedate. Homoerotic to be sure, but very tasteful by 21st Century standards.

None of these classic gay photos would exist had it not been for Bob Mizer, photographer and founder of AMG, the Athletic Model Guild. The prolific Mizer left behind, as well, rare film clips and short movies of his scantily dressed discoveries. (Now available in the five-DVD bundle Fantasy Factory from AMG.) At the time no one else was shooting this material, let alone selling it through the mail. (more…)

If you scan this picture of Whitney Houston you can see that only a smudge of a person occupies those fluffy designer furs. Yes, drugs have left her skeletal and recessed into her white costume, and a lengthy absence from the stage gives her expression during last week’s performance in Turin a frightened and confused patina. But to anyone familiar with drug abuse or drug abusers it’s her absence of soul, her brittle zombiness, that defines the photo.

In 2001, when she failed to appear at the second of Michael Jackson’s 30th anniversary celebrations, her record label was forced to issue a formal statement denying that Houston was dead. That was true — corporeally. (more…)

Brokeback Mountain wasn’t made for me and that’s okay.

My Brokeback Mountain was called Making Love, a 1982 gay classic starring Harry Hamlin, Kate Jackson and Michael Ontkean (at right).

The following year, cable television finally pioneered its way into my ultra-conservative hometown of Piedmont, South Carolina. My fundamentalist Christian parents subscribed to cable without fully realizing what they were getting.

On several occasions, I would sneak into the living room in the early hours of the morning to watch Making Love. Had my parents known the impact that The Movie Channel was having on their 15-year-old son, they would have canceled cable, thrown out the VCR and no doubt locked me in my room until I turned 30! (more…)

Lets us linger on Ashton Kutcher for a moment. The very young Ashton when he was a boy model in New York.

Ah, the face!

The lovely, softly inflected torso!

Now were you thinking of NOT going to the gym today? Think again, amigo. Wondering if it’s worth it to get a little nip-and-tuck repair on the old bod, the uncomely face?

Money well spent, Jack.

So says Richard Morin of the Washington Post, who reports a new study that confirms what every ugly ducking high school student knows in his bones. Ugly people commit more crimes.

Like we couldn’t see that coming!

Let’s review the basics. Long story, short:

Once upon a time Primetime, or one of those news-u-tainmentt shows, ran an experiment. Two women were stranded with flat tires. This was in the pre-cell phone age. (more…)

Ejaculating like a fountain all over the audience, fucking your keyboardist up the ass on stage, bursting into flames and than putting it out by pissing over everyone — hey, it’s called rock and roll!

Of course, it’s all showbiz illusion — nobody could keep coming and coming like that. But that doesn’t stop Rammstein, a German- language Heavy Metal Dance band.

And so we have the stimulating spectacle of humpily-built frontman Till Lindemann (left) wagging a liquor-squirting dildo throughout his set, from which the other band members occasionally drink and then — a trademark of the act — mounting his keyboardist, who compliantly assumes the position and offers up butt, complete with rear pants-flap for easy access.

But the ass-fucking is just the vanilla part of the act. For true kink, the studly Till keeps pissing continuously, spraying the front rows in a 100-proof version of a golden shower. (See the video. ) (more…)

This Cat is in Heat! Our story so far. Camili-Cat is a lean, mean sex machine from Outer Space — and an insatiable bottom.

He is lonely, poor thing, for he searches for others of his Felinoid race, and has almost given up hope. So he does what anyone would do. Drowns himself in sex, lots and lots of it, beautifully rendered cartoon-panel after beautifully rendered cartoon-panel of moaning, shuddering double-entry love.

Race, species — it doesn’t matter. Just oceans and oceans of whizzing, fizzing jizz. We did mention Camili-Cat was an insatiable bottom?

And, as those who have been reading Class Comics know, this is one cat who gets very motivated behind that essential hungry-hole fact of life.

Now the tale of the mysterious early days of Camili-Cat is about to be told in The Camili-Cat 20th Anniversary Special, which the Cat Man’s creator, Patrick Fillion says will be a prequel. (more…)

Swans never fly very high either. What is it about Michelle Kwan, American’s most mythic ice skater, sent home from the Olympics this week with a groin injury, her gold medal hopes now finally dashed?

At 25, Kwan has aged out of a sport that requires the twisting, leaping hard-impact landings that damage tendons and jar spines. It’s not enough to be ballerina perfect, a figure skater must be a toughened athlete.

A winner of five world titles and an astonishing nine national championships, Michelle Kwan was that — and more. Lithe of form, powerful of limb, beautiful of face — she had a huge gay fanbase. A huge world fanbase, to be precise. Turino will be her last Olympics.

“Kwan cried when she won silver in Nagano,” recalled the Associated Press this week — one of many media postmortems on the skater’s career. “Wept after having to settle for bronze in Salt Lake City. She skated through her adolescence and into adulthood chasing a gold medal that always seemed so tantalizing close yet was always so far away.” (more…)

Big Shakeup on the Fashion Runways! Bye Bye Hunk-a-roonies. Hello Waif Boys. That’s the report from our gal in Venice, Paris, London, and New York:

Our gal, of course, is the great Robin Givhan, Fashion Writer Supreme, for the Washington Post. Robin, sensible oracle that she is, has her eye on male models:

Apparently a significant number of parents have stopped insisting that their sons eat their vegetables, drink their milk and take their Flintstones vitamins. This group of under-fed boys is growing up to become models and threatening the self-esteem of men who always cleaned their plates.

Kick sand in their faces if you want. They will keep on coming. And their hair will be perfectly tousled.

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