“One of my favorite hangouts was The Follies. There were so many closeted neocons who trolled for cock and ass there, particularly cock and ass on younger men…

“One of them I would later recognize as Larry Craig. I followed him …to a Capitol Hill neighborhood.. We walked up the alley and through the back door of a house, with him repeating several times, ‘You were never here. You don’t know me. Right?’ and me responding, ‘Right!’ in boyish submission…Then, he stripped naked and asked me to suck him. I complied for a while, then he disappeared and returned with lube and a condom to fuck me with. It was a clumsy and unremarkable fuck…Still, he blew his load, ripped the dirty condom off and ordered me to get dressed without wiping myself…

“As he reached for the door, he took a $20 bill from his wallet, shoved it in my front pocket, adding ‘Remember, I can buy and sell your ass ten thousand times over. You were never here. Don’t try to come back here. You don’t know me.’”

“Snow and Stiffler were angry that they had been having sex with a man — when they thought they were having sex with a 12-year-old, authorities said.”

“Sorry, but I was impressed. In the year’s most psychotic media moment, Britney created something more real than reality TV: entertainment without borders, an unconsciously brilliant deconstruction of American Idolism, a disintegration in slo-mo. You could almost call it art.”

(read the full article)

Big boys and Christmas!

Tis the season when Bears go wild.

Maybe it’s because they’re such hunks of funk –between the beards and the cigars and the barrel chests. Maybe it’s because they’re so obviously loaded with testosterone.

But when Bears let go, they really let it ride, all of it.

At left we have the classic Bear in his excellence, photographed by Bearfighter, who specializes in the Bears of Europe. The Christmas Tree and While House are courtesy of Nightcharm, of course, and Photoshop.

Certainly this gruff-looking number is the dream Bear, with each aesthetic nuance calibrated just right. Natch, he’s uncut, being a Frenchman. Would a dream Bear be any other way?

All well and good for the Bear in Babeland, for the perfect Bear who is at one with Plato’s eternal forms. But what happens in the wilder woods of the real world? After that one eggnog too many? When our Bear is big enough and bold enough? When he’s too legit to quit? (read the full article)

1. Turn Your Fetish for Rigid Members Into the Toast of Manhattan

Robert Mapplethorpe combined the shock effect of hardcore S&M porn with the fashion lighting and stagey compositions of George Platt Lynes, a photographer of artistic male nudes from the 40′s and, in many ways, Mapplethorpe’s gay herald.

But where Lynes had concentrated on elegant male forms, Mapplethorpe, an artist of the 70′s, focused on images of hard-ons, such as the monster cock at top. In his own way, Mapplethorpe’s boners were just as elegantly framed and fit in smoothly with the rest of his portfolio,vaguely glamorous shots of underground celebrities like Patti Smith, Grace Jones and Keith Haring. (read the full article)

You decide.

At top, the Top — Parker Williams, the current hunkerooie shooting his works at the Raging Stallion Theater in the Inner Circle.

At bottom, the Bottom — Pete, simply and quite anonymously Pete as bottoms often are in the land of Porn — a mischievous Lateen who is this week’s featured delight in the Maximo Latino theater.

Let your eye wander down a few paragraphs where young Pete offers you his … um, willingness, as boys his age say, “to try anything.”

Now If you were on a sinking ship and you could only save one — no, no, too negative! … brighter, lighter hypothetical please!

Okay, if you were on a desert island and would be stranded there for, oh, forever, who would you want to be the Professor to your Gilligan (no, that sounds like we favor the top). (read the full article)

His name is unknown to us.

His realm lies somewhere East of Shangri-La and West of Oz.

We’ll just call him Tony from Massapequa.

Tony from Massapequa put a great deal of thought into his senior year photo. It had to be memorable. Distinct. A visual paean to his unearthly august. And it is.

Sure, he could have spent the year reading Frankenstein or Of Mice & Men for English Lit, but Tony had real priorities. When he wasn’t waxing his Camaro or basting himself in body bronzer, he was at the gym blasting his delts and triceps to the sounds of Eminem and Linkin Park. (read the full article)

Merry Christmas!
Somewhere between pornography and ironic post-modern art
lies Francesco Vezzoli’s trailer for an imaginary remake of the notorious Caligula

Fabulicious is the only word in our arsenal of demented gay superlatives to describe it.

And no, it’s not that Jodie Foster may or may not have just come out — stunned and shaken as we would be by such an announcement.

Nor is it the national confusion we’re all going through trying to keep the Petersons straight: Is it Stacy or Laci who is the current missing, presumed dead wife? Is it Drew or Scott — both stud-muffin names — who is the despicable, unlovable, unredeemable rascal in the windowless cell on death row that we’d love to fuck anyway?

Even the announcement of the Golden Globe nominations this morning — the most deeply meaningless trophies in show business – are not what’s making us crazy right now — though we are overjoyed to see that Keira Knightly is finally getting her due as the greatest actress of our time — a status once held in a long ago Hollywood by that delightful (but forgotten — why, why, why?) minx, Pia (with a Z) Zadora!

What has made us dig to the bottom of our dementia bag to come up with the rare gem fabulicious is the current collision between East and West that is gushing forth rivers of kitsch in the most nutso campaign video ( what!) ever. Put on your dazzle glasses, boys, because Christmas has come a little early this year: (read the full article)

Well, it used to be a jockstrap.

But, of course, the jock couldn’t work miracles all by its lonely. It needed a nice heavy sack to make the ribbing expand — one’s own “meat and potatoes” as our dear, departed Anna Nicole once said in a rare lapse of taste.

Second best friend would be one of those Styrofoam cheaters that “shape and lift,” the Wonderbra of jockstraps.

Third in line — and the real subject of this entry — is a new invention, the Nuttybuddy.

The Nutty what?

It’s the stronger, tougher jock cup to protect — ah yes — “your boys.” Invented by ex-pitcher Mark Littell, the Nuttybuddy is twice the price ($20) of the usual athletic cup.

But Littell, 54, claims that nine seasons with the Kansas City Royals and St. Louis Cardinals gave him an inside track on both fast balls and ball fastenings.

To make his point, he gamely puts his own jewel box in danger in a — surely unintentionally hot — but hilarious, dick-centric clip that is burning up the bandwidth on YouTube today.

Let’s go the videotape, shall we sports fans? (read the full article)

Half-naked men!

It’s hard to top full-frontal nudity. But some half-dressed men — like the one at left — manage to do it with the sheer menace of their stare… the size of their arms! … the rip of their abs!

Why is it that certain stages of undress appear more naked than outright nudity?

The answer, I think, lies in the eye of the beholder.

Certainly we gay men look at half-naked men more aggressively than women do. The difference has little to do with homosexuality, a lot to do with the male sexual gaze.

“Men look at women,” gender scholar John Berger famously observed. “Women watch themselves being looked at.”

It’s a crucial difference. I think it is this eye-hunger, the frank aggressiveness of the male gaze, that explains why the half-nude seems more maddening to us than the Full Monty.

There is also the fetish power of clothing. Fetishes, for the most part, are about clothes — particularly those sexually charged costumes in which the body appears to be both naked and not naked at the same time: (read the full article)