Another porn star with attitude?

Who cares when it’s a ripped jock like Derrick Hanson flaring his nostrils. And besides all that attitude is called “acting.” Forget your prejudice and imagine him in college, tossing charm and confidence around like a straight boy on a pussy hunt.

Just the sort of guy you went to bed thinking about.

Just the sort of guy your morning wood was devoted to.

Now picture Derrick in a wild outdoors fuck-a-thon. With another guy. Sound inviting?

There’s more after the jump. B-o-i-i-n-g. (read the full article)

“One Never Knows When a Homosexual is About.” The voice-over is extreme and distinctly 60s in tenor. The scenario could be an outtake from The Donna Reed Show. The narrator continues: “He may appear normal and it may be too late when you discover he is mentally ill.”

My dilemma, at age 14 when I first saw the instructional film Boys Beware — during a special boys-only junior high assembly — was that it wasn’t too late … and I did already know: I was a homosexual. And I wanted some of that man-on-man stuff. But please mister, let me live after you’ve blown me!

Ah, yes, my 1970s school days: Lunch money, my collection of Diana Ross records and stewing in the cautionary wisdom offered up by 60s kid-films director Sid Davis. (read the full article)

Forget Citizen Kane. Banish Vertigo. Give us a break from Brokeback.

There can be ONLY ONE.

You know what it is. We don’t even have to name it. It was one magical moment after another.

Moments …. like … (read the full article)

It lifts!
It cups!
It molds!

Yes, as the wise old strippers of Gypsy told the young Natalie Wood, you can pull all the stops out till they call the cops out, grind your behind till you’re dead. But you gotta get a gimmick, girl, if you wanna get ahead.

And who doesn’t need a gimmick today! A little extra, a little boost in these competitive, out-sourcing times?

The gals used to call them falsies — bra padding and flying- buttress wiring to augment their pretty little cupcakes — but we guys … well, the best we guys had was the Sling from International Male …

Ah the Sling! How it brings back those sweet, soft afternoons when we were hardened rent-boys on Santa Monica Boulevard, driving equally hard bargains as we “hitchhiked” under the beating L.A. sun, all bulges and pecs and short-shorts — courtesy of El Sling-o!

But that was yesterday! The old Sling would look positively quaint and flimsy against the latest in not-so-little white lies, the new and improved WONDERJOCK from Aussiebum. (read the full article)

The humongo cocks, the flying gizzum, the pink depths of ever expanding a-holes – no, the kink never flags in the comic books of Patrick Fillion. Particularly in his call-boy series Satisfaction Guaranteed, which, we are sad to report, comes to an end in this final issue.

“Satisfaction Guaranteed was always our most popular franchise,” says Fillion, who has created a dozen continuing comic titles for his Class Comics enterprise, many of them featuring the sci-fi adventures of heroes with outrageous, over-the-moon size humdingers. (read the full article)

Our favorite fathers of mindfuck, the Italian designers Dolce and Gabbana, are busy seducing farmboys again. This time they have cast their dusky, decadent magic over Canadian mega-model Andrew Stetson.

Stetson is the languid sleeping beauty in Calvin Klein‘s new Euphoria cologne campaign (right). A blond, blue-eyed 28-year-old from Ontario who has but a simple dream: to earn enough money as a supermodel to one day purchase a hunk of land and use his carpentering skills to build his own home. Kind of brings a tear to your eye.

But that was before his recent tangle with the wild boys of Milan, Domenico Dolce and Stefano Gabbana. After his recent appearance in D&G’s summer menswear show, we are forced to ask (cue The Shangri-Las:) Can Andrew ever go home again?

The top photo documents an array of menacing mutations — signs that Andrew’s time in Milan has transformed his healthy outdoor tan into D&G’s trademark nightlife wan. A skin hue not unlike the blanched airbrush effect of a Pierre & Gilles photograph. (read the full article)

The New York Times is scratching its head this morning over the spectacular 70-million dollar haul that the computer-enhanced musclefest 300 took in this weekend. Surreally beautiful but widely panned, 300 has surpassed all expectations, and no one knows why. Could it be the hunks upon hunks of manflesh on display?

All we know is this is definitely a movie we’re getting in hi-def DVD: It has high jerkoffability.

We think it would be suitable as the midnight show in those dirty movie theaters that suddenly turn gay at the witching hour, when the boy features replace the girl features, and people get downright frisky in their seats … and along the walls …and behind the screen.

Based on the Frank Miller graphic novel of the same name and married to Miller’s muscular graphic style, thanks to the breathtaking CGI work (similar to the overwhelming artistry seen in Sin City, Miller’s first comic to hit the big screen), 300 tells of the battle of Thermopylae in 480 BC, a battle still revered and taught at West Point, when 300 Spartans fought to the death against 4000 Persians — and won (in the long run* — see comments). (read the full article)

Denver — can that actually be his real name?

Like we haven’t been in this game long enough to spot a nom de porn — especially such a gall-darn cute one! What next? Scooter? Fredo? Turd Blossom?

All we know is that this is what fresh as a daisy looks like.

In fact, in the Cruiser Boy section of the Inner Circle, we have stills and videos of this apple-cheeked sweetie-pie in a big straw hat that are so cute we had to stop ourselves from putting them upfront here lest one of our Nightcharmers go into serious diabetic shock.

But isn’t this delightful enough? (read the full article)

We don’t know much about the world of professional wrestling. But show us the picture of a six-foot-six, 280 pounds, blazing red haired guy like Sheamus O’Shaunessy and we want to learn. We really want to learn.

Lucky for us that we discovered Sheamus (how hot is his name?) just before March 17, giving us a holiday-inspired excuse to name him Nightcharm’s pick for Hunkiest St. Patrick’s Day Mascot of 2007. You didn’t think there was such an honor, did you? (That’s OK, neither did we.) (read the full article)

We find these truths to be self evident.

Anyone who has stood at a line of urinals knows that wandering eyes are a common occurrence — one hardly limited to gay men.

Straight men do it almost as if on autopilot and differ from gay men in this not so much by degree as by intent… an intent say, to — in the words of those Marry a Millionaire shows — “take it to the next level.”

Thus, the fuss this week in the gay blogosphere over a hardly eye-opening study on lingering gazes will provoke in Nightcharmers merely a wry smile.

Despite all the play it got after one slap-dash (and typically analysis-free) blogsite posted it, the study came out a full two years ago. It was not even based on the sort of sample size or geographic variety we like to see in our pop-science. In fact, the study involved all of 255 New Yorkers.

The researchers were attempting to measure the effectiveness of web design, and here is what these far-sighted Christopher Columbuses discovered.

When shown full-body shots of men — a baseball player, in the example, winding up to bat the ball — women focused on the face, while men spent the lion’s share of their attention on the batter’s package. Face time in this eyecandy race came in a distant second for the men. (read the full article)