Don’t let Carlos fool you! That ‘thug’ vibe of his? Well, it’s all bluff.
Once he entered our studios he was pliant and willing. Like a willow in spring. B-o-i-n-g!
Soon the Levis were off, the lube uncorked and a crazy-making jack-off session was underway, all caught — second by second — inch by inch — by our Maximo Latino crew.
And all just for you. Every gyration, grind and groan. Yes, every inch.
How many inches you ask? Well…check it out (read the full article)
At this time of year, when the moon turns orange and the witches fly, we think back on Rosemary Woodhouse, the unwitting mother of Satan’s son from Rosemary’s Baby, and Marguerite Perrin, the batshit-crazy “God Warrior” from Trading Spouses.
One is fictional, one is very literally in the flesh, but both are sisters under the skin.
Rosemary and Marguerite have each, in their different ways, decided that the world is full of witches — and not the Molly Weasley cook up some dinner with a spin of the wand kind, but malevolent, soul-sapping hags — give or take a Ruth Gordon chatterbox with a Noo Yawk accent and a brash way of barging into your apartment to quiz you on the price of the drapes.
At first Rosemary — sweet, hip, Mia Farrow-esque Rosemary, so proud of her edgy Vidal Sassoon boy bob — laughs at the idea ("in this day and age!") Then a good friend hands her the book All of Them Witches, which holds a clue to the true nature of her neighbors, the baby she is carrying, and the strange dream she had at the time of conception that involved a wolf-like beast with claws and slit pupils. (read the full article)
Attention Fictional Characters Everywhere!
Who will be next?
Now that Dumbledore has come out, now that Potter scholars are popping up everywhere saying they knew it all along, including one who counted off the wizard’s seven clues of gayness, not least of which was the lighthearted observation that “Albus Dumbledore” is an anagram for ‘Male bods rule, bud…”
Now in these heady, happy days of full-disclosure, Nightcharm wishes to urge other fictional characters to come out finally and share the love. And so we have composed Our Open Letters to the biggest Closet Cases in Films and Fiction: (read the full article)
He’s back! The happiest, sleaziest and most popular cocksucker in America.
Shrines celebrating his oral skills have been erected in just about every port, village and metropolitan area of the nation.
And now he’s taking on the Big Easy. Yes, it’s Treasure Island Media’s Damon Dogg in New Orleans! (read the full article)
Hi everybody, it’s me again, Nightcharm’s Unpaid Intern.
I’ve been living on the Nightcharm campus since I last wrote. Nightcharm’s publisher David K. thought I would learn more about working on a webzine if I was right under his nose. So I packed up my car and here I am. And it’s been great. I’m really sucking up — no, that’s wrong — soaking up the porn biz.
So the other day I was called up from the basement where I work in a tiny cubicle (not complaining, David, but it is small.) I also live down there in a small storeroom off to the side, that has a bed and stuff. So David calls me up from the dungeon (just kidding — insert smiley face here ) during a photo session and I meet these two hotties. (read the full article)
Is this you?
Have you had any of these life experiences?
Nightcharm is looking for thoughtful first-person accounts on these topics. More details below the jump. (read the full article)
Conservatives might want to start preparations for a collective book burning and/or DVD steam rolling ASAP:
Harry Potter’s mentor is gay!
Damn those elitist, ivory tower European sorcery academies with their secular liberal agendas!
Damn them all to Hell!
Author J.K. Rowling left fans stunned at a recent appearance at Carnegie Hall to promote the mega-popular book series’ final entry when she nonchalantly announced that beloved master magician and Hogwarts Academy Headmaster Albus Dumbledore is as gay as an East End belfry full of bats. (read the full article)
Fools that we are, we thought it was impossible to top the inanity of Senator Larry Craig’s Wide Stance defense.
We thought no excuse could ever hope to dim the otherworldly moonshine of Ted Haggard’s I Was Only Seeing a Male Escort To Buy Crystal Meth Which I Immediately Threw Away — So What’s the Big Deal?
But we were wrong — so very wrong.
Never underestimate the power of the closet to breed hot-house disclaimers and spawn brazenly absurd cover stories. Stand back you amateurs, you squirming senators and glary-eyed pastors with manic grins, we have a real master coming through!
Let us set the scene. Fade in: Rome.
Brilliant sunlight floods a busy piazza. It is right in front of Saint Peter’s Basilica, which looms over the square like the giant dome-capped head of the pope himself, who, of course, lives in one of its upper tiers. Around the square, which is not square at all but global in shape, are colonnades to either side, like round, embracing arms. St. Peter’s casts no shadow at this hour, for it is noontime and the piazza is filled with tourists, pigeons … and one black-clad monsignor making haste across our field of vision. (read the full article)
Ah, frat boys. Consider the plight of young privileged males on the college campuses of America. More boy than man, these sturdy, somewhat elongated young stags are in the grips of what Tom Wolfe memorably called “the season of the rising sap.” Completely housebroken, of course, but pretending otherwise to impress their “Bros.”
Bros should not be confused with dudes. Bros are closer than dudes, but dudes can become Bros after some straight-boy ritual of male bonding like consecutive all-nighters playing Halo 3 and ordering out for Taco Bell or performing any of the American tribal stunts seen in the Jackass films — taking turns riding in a shopping cart, for instance, as it barrels down a hill into traffic, then putting the video up on YouTube or your Facebook page.
It’s the deep basso chuckle of collective Bro-dom that one hears in darkened movie theaters when the notice comes up before the Jackass films warning that the stunts they’re about to see are being performed by “professionals” and should not be attempted by the jackasses in the audience.
In a world where closet doors have swung open, guy-bonding must never be mistaken for gay-bonding. Thus the phenomenon of “the gay seat” — what the Bros call the empty seat that’s left between two friends who go to the movie together but who must never be confused with being together. To double insure this, the Bros are most likely to attend what they call “dick flicks” — movies characterized by car crashes, explosions and boobs — the very polar opposite of the romance-sappy “chick flick,†and peopled almost exclusively by other guys all separated by empty seats. (read the full article)
Leave it to Raging Stallion Studios to completely redefine the term ‘rent boy.’
In our latest Inner Circle Rearstable video update we’re featuring Bobby Williams (no relation to Robbie) and Andreas Stich (no relation to Arnold Schwarzenegger) in a burning-down-the-house scene from the film Hot Properties.
The story is a quaint one: Cockhound Bobby is out looking for a house to rent — and some groin cartilage to gnaw on. Andreas is a pushy real estate agent with a mean drive for some tight ass. Soon Bobby is on the couch for a doggy-style pounding (above) followed by hours of five-star cock gobbling from Andreas. (read the full article)
