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? (more…)

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.) (more…)

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. (more…)

I guess it was Shane-mania at first sight.

My first encounter with Shane Rollins was in the tragically scripted, but intensely well-fucked A Porn Star is Born from Raging Stallion. I thought I was watching it for Michael Brandon, another of my favorites, but Rollins stole my heart right from the moment he dropped trou and served up his spectacular bottom for afternoon brunch (below). (more…)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man with a spectacular body must be in want of a stripper gig in Vegas.

These boys dream of working on the Strip, the only Strip that matters: the Boulevard of Neon that stretches from Glitter Gulch to the Bellagio and Beyond.

And so they have very sensibly put their audition tapes on YouTube.

Who needs a “talent reel” or a bachelors degree in “Tele-Communications” — that college major unofficially, and quite universally, known as the School for Spokesmodels?

YouTube and balls of brass is all you need to get you through those golden casino doors.

Nightcharm presents a gaggle of stripper hopefuls for you to cast your cruel but fair eyes upon.

Score on a scale of 0 to 100. And try, try, try to find some place in your heart where you can be more Paula Abdul than Simon Cowell!
(more…)

We always thought Dean Cain was the hottest hump to play Superman ever (at left). But then we didn’t know what was going on in an Army barracks in Virginia.

Seems there was this group of troubled soldier boys at Ft. Eustis who were advised by their drill sergeant to shake off their post-traumatic stress with a little Superman play-acting.

Except the Superman the drill sergeant was thinking of was an all-boy porn version, and the way his therapy worked was that the solider would don a spandex Superman costume and the good sergeant would… well, I believe we scholars of such things would call it genitorture.

Popbitch give us all the filthy dish: (more…)

Who can describe that pain divine?

We’d ask dark, hunky Latino, Marco Montana, below, but he’s oh so otherwise engaged.

The top is Bruce Jennings, fabulous in his own right — but isn’t it always the bottom to whom our hearts go out?

And how beautiful this bottom looks, with his five-o’clock shadow, as Jennings snarls God knows what in his ear.

That expression, … the open-mouth moaning … so like — may we be profane? (nothing ever stopped us before) — so like that fabulous Bernini of St Teresa expiring in ecstasy as she is pierced by the arrow of an angel.

Perhaps it’s a voluptuous release known only to Spaniards, like Marco and Teresa. Certainly the angel in the Bernini looks more like a laughing, smiling cupid than a disembodied seraphim.

Perhaps he snarls too when the sculptor isn’t looking.

The ecstasy of Saints Marco and Bruce can be witnessed — and we hope prayed over — on the Video Launch pad in the Inner Circle — Raging Stallion division. Can we get an Amen somebody?

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS)

Like so many hot young pistols his age, Kenny is too sexy for his shirt.

For his pants. For his shoes. For his ipod. (Although we may need to call in a surgeon to remove that.)

When he’s not looking, we switch ipods on him and pump that old Randy Newman song into his head. You know the one. We’ve customized the lyrics, of course, to suit our — how shall we put it? — orientation, but you know the one:

Baby, take off your coat
      — real slow.
Baby, take off your shoes
      — here, I’ll take your shoes.
Baby, take off the rest.

You can leave your hat on.
You can leave your hat on.
You can leave your hat on.

Go on over there and turn on the light
      — no, all the lights.
Now come back here and stand on this chair
      — that’s right.
Raise your arms up into the air…
      — shake ‘em!

You give me reason to live, boy.
You give me reason to live.
You give me reason to live.

He likes the song. And is so good at following directions! He asks for another. We comply (our Randy Newman stash is inexhaustible.) We even sing along:

I was born to make you happy.
I think you’re just my style.
Everywhere I go,
Tellin’ everyone I know
Baby I love to see you smile.

You can see Kenny do … well, much more than smile, at the Fratmen Theater on our Video Launch Pad. Burn on, big Kenny, burn on.

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS take a free tour)