Well, we’ve never been to Nice, Greece, or ME, but like many a drag queen, we know what hot dick looks like.

When we saw the work of Venetian photographer Piero Pazzi we knew we had found a fellow searcher for … let’s call it truth.

Perhaps most known (notorious?) for his calendars of heartstoppingly handsome Italian priests, Pazzi also brings out a calendar and guide to the luscious — and seemingly available — gondoliers that ply the waters of the Grand Canal — and who knows what else is plied or plowed under those famous midnight bridges?

We’re dreaming, in particular, of a nighttime passage piloted by the sturdy arms of some lordly lad, coming to a lengthy stop beneath the Rialto Bridge with its lace-like stone canopy and Renaissance arches — a place so self-intoxicated with Italian beauty that it was a beloved cruising spot for Sebastian Venerable, Tom Ripley, and so many other twilight males of High Lavender Literature.

None more famous than Gustav Aschenbach in Thomas Mann’s Death in Venice, which bring us to our excuse for running all these diveen-o pictures.

Because of the Thomas Mann classic, Venice, a city already sunk in watery melancholy, will forever have a certain haunted homoeroticism.

Death in Venice provides us as well with a humpy, never-to-be forgotten portrait of the gondolieri, as you will see:

One day an eminent historian, greatly lionized in his native Germany, finds himself for the first time staring at a coarse red-headed man in a cemetery, and in his embarrassment flees — but apparently not far enough.

He decides he must take a trip. Fatally, he decides it will be Venice.
(read the full article)

Jake Deckard, 2007′s Raging Stallion Man of The Year and GayVn Nominee for Best Newcomer in 2006, is our kind of guy.

From his site: “I drink Jonnie Black, I cuss like a fucking sailor and I only diet before a shoot. Feel free to buy me a drink if you see me out, but don’t disturb me while I’m eating dessert.”

If you’re tired of the endless stream of waxed and shaven sissy-boys with angel faces and precious cherub dicks, it’s probably time for you to consider switching to something meatier with a bit more … texture.

Lucky for you Jake’s showcasing one of his hottest scenes yet, his phenomenal jungle fuck-a-thon with Marc LaSalle, in the Inner Circle. This one’s going down in the books for nasty, sweat-drenched, excess. It’s probably just the thing you need. Those facial expressions of uncensored lust and agony are alone worth the price of admission.

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS)

Herman smiles and Lilly drinks the blood of the 9/11 widows as the Kingdom of the Dead glitters below them.

Today the roles of Herman and Lilly will be played by right-wing blowhard Bill O’Reilly and the Funniest Ghoul to ever pollute the national dialog, the “beautiful” Ann Coulter. Is this your first meeting with The Munsters? Are you really that young, pumpkin?

Take our hand, child, and we will lead you to the Wikipedia. “The Munsters was a late 1960s American television sitcom, depicting the home life of a family of horror movie monsters.” Herman was modeled on Frankenstein and he towered above his weeds-dripping wife, Lily, modeled on Vampira. “Much of the humor,” continues the Wiki, “derived from the fact that they did not have the slightest idea that they were in any way different from their neighbors.”

Is this not a perfect description of Bill-o and the Sweetheart of Transylvania? (read the full article)

Once again the tension is mounting. Oscar Eve is upon us.

The Smart Money, we are told, is on Helen Mirren. She is one of maybe three Sure Things set to look up from the stage of the Kodak Theater this Sunday into the full glow of Academy acclaim. The Smart Money is also on Dreamgirl Jennifer Hudson and — until just recently — Eddie Murphy.

Now readers, we know you’re just like us: longtime Academy-Award watchers, the kind of people who started rehearsing their Oscar speeches in the mirror at age six. We Nightcharmers know that Smart Money predictions and Shoo-Ins are a tradition of Oscar Night.

So is The Major Upset. (read the full article)

Tired of going on mega-buck modeling assignments where he had to wear sweaters in August and Speedos on cold January beaches in Tangier, Nate has decided he will no longer be treated as simply another pretty face!

He’d much prefer that people relate to him as a piece of meat too.

In the heady world of modeling, where it’s all smoke-filled rooms and long conversations about Foucault and Camille Paglia, nobody understands that a man has needs. And these needs must be met! (read the full article)

French Ticklers at the Gates!

The Invasion of the Blow-Up Dolls!

Yes, friends, it’s all happening in Sacramento.

That is the eye-witness account of the witty Darklady, a columnist for Ynot, a business newsletter for what we laughingly call “the adult industry.”

The occasion for all this mayhem is a proposed ban on the sale of — to use the language of the blushingly demure bill — “marital aids” in the California state capitol when such aids are being retailed near schools, parks, and of course, churches. (read the full article)

HBO’s Bill Maher is back from a two-month break. I caught his show this morning thanks to TIVO. Favorite moments abounded. Like Maher asserting the word “worse” right after panelist Carly Fiorina said something about Bush being our president … “for better or for worse.”

And Bill’s New Rules riff on monster-mouthed Colorado pastor Ted Haggard‘s miraculous 30 day Gay-Be-Gone conversion was a scream. As Maher told it: “You can’t make a gay man 100 percent straight in a month, especially if that month contains fashion week…A month to change your sexuality? I’ve spent longer than that on hold trying to quit AOL!”

But the best part of the show was also the smartest: Maher’s interview with John Amaechi (right) the former NBA star who recently outed himself.
(read the full article)

Muggles are the cwaziest people, as Elmer Fudd might say if he could ever get the hat with the earflaps off and forget about wabbits.

Elmer meet Harry (Daniel Radcliffe, at right), in a just released still from the upcoming summer release Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix .

As the quite teenaged Harry demonstrates, every boy has a magic wand in Potterville — but we’ve already gone on at rococo lengths about the nude cheek of stage actor Daniel.

Harry knows all about knuckleheaded Muggles and their small-minded ass-backward Dursley ways. He would not be surprised — as neither were we — to read a story that appeared today in the Washington Post:

Pentecostal chaplain in the Army has a crisis of faith, switches to Wiccan and is booted out of the military. (read the full article)

As Landon tells it, he was walking along Lafayette when he was approached by our photographer.

“I’m a talent scout,” said the “talent scout” (our guy is a bit rambunctious.) “And I don’t know if you know it, kid, but you’ve just made it to the next round. Welcome to Hollywood.”

This astonished Landon, as it would anyone standing in the middle of snow-blanketed Detroit. “Huh?” was the predictable reply.

“Football player? Hockey player? What is it?” continued the photographer, who tends to get ahead of himself when confronted by the direct manly gaze of a young solidly built stud-pup.

“I’m a college student, dude. Hey quit it!” Our photographer had begun kneading the lad’s biceps.

“You are definitely onto the next round,” repeated the slap-happy scout. A Latin formerly from Manhattan, whom some find pushy (but we know is just warm and maybe a tad too expressive in that South of the Border way), our man had been tasked to crop up in various, perhaps overly genteel — gentile? — cities around the country, tapping shoulders for the betterment of Nightcharm and you, O reader.

Remembering the Prime Directive*, as Jean-Luc used to say, our man in the street pulled himself together and explained that he was inviting young Landon to Hollywood to be part of a fabulous nude photo shoot — surely every boy’s dream — and perhaps, if the stars aligned just right in various motel rooms, a shot at jerking off on film … for famed FRATMAN Studios!

As you must be imagining, Landon was, for a moment, speechless. “How much does this pay,” he managed, in a surprisingly even voice.

We will fade out at this point and leave the details of coarse remuneration to Landon, our photographer, and the God who attends to sparrow falls and other such busybody activities.

Suffice it to say, if you delve into Nightcharm’s Inner Circle, and follow all the links to the Fratman Theater, you will find our young man lying on a bed, with all promises of major stardom fulfilled. Sometimes there is such justice in the world!

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS take a free tour)