“At ease, soldier!” That’s the latest from the Fantasy Boys Theater in Nighthcharm’s Inner Circle members area. We can’t know his actual name, but names aren’t really so important when faced with the crazy-making combination of a lightly freckled redhead with a massive and rigid cock. Any name will do. “Ron.” How about “Ron?”

From our friends at Fantasy Boys:

“After a day of serving his county, this dirty boy needs to freshen up. A hot shower with lots of suds get him squeaky clean, and there’s no better feeling then to blow your load after a hard day’s work.”

Whatever the case, just show us some more of that big wonderful dick, “Ron.”

In porn it’s called the “money shot” because it’s worth more than the rest of the film put together. In France they call it la petite mort, the little death, bringing connotations of terror and finality. In literature it’s euphemized as a “climax,” pointing to the moment everything so far has led to. But pomp and circumstance aside, an orgasm only lasts about 8 seconds.

But what a captivating 8 seconds!

While watching porn the other day I realized how short an orgasm is. The clip was a little over a minute long, but I was only interested in one 10-second period when the guy, beating off on a bed, moaned, arched his back and came on his chest. I re-played the shot again and again, watching his torso heave upward, his tanned muscles flex and face contort in one fleeting moment of ecstasy, then I’d re-start the scene a second later because I didn’t give a shit what happened in the video after the guy got off. (read the full article)

When I was eighteen I did what many budding homos from the burbs did. I moved to Hollywood. My mom helped me secure my first apartment, gave me her old car and wished me luck for finding work.

I’d have gotten a job sooner, and not depleted my minuscule savings so quickly, if I hadn’t lived right down the street from Santa Monica Blvd and its prize pink jewel: The Pussycat Theater — with its always flashing, always tempting marquee.

And there was a new enticement each week. Who wouldn’t want to explore The Opening of Misty Beethoven or Beyond the Green Door? It didn’t bother me in the least that these were 100% heterosexual porn films. Straight or gay — if a film featured buff guys with boners thrusting about various orifices, I was interested.

If only the colleges in California taught what colleges across the country are now offering: Porn-studies. I would have gladly returned to school (something I swore I’d never do after escaping high school) to learn more about my “calling.” And I would have launched my career as a porn publisher much sooner — instead of waiting until I was 40 and intrepid and slightly crazy. Think about it. Studying the theory of porn, the art of porn is a fascinating compliment to the blind, instinctual consumption of porn. I would have felt so much more balanced. (read the full article)

I was talking to a friend on Friday. We were having the classic argument about whether cartoons “can be sexy” or not. All the normal points were touched on: the too-much-muscle thing, and the too-huge-cock thing, and the thing about how they’re “not realistic,” etc.

As much as I can nod in agreement, there’s a certain point at which I have to acknowledge my erection.

Live porn is often almost a cartoon. It’s created as a fantastic, tidy, neon-packaged alternative to real sex. Big dicks, stupid sets and bold lighting; guys saying things they’d never get away with in real life. (read the full article)

Remember your friend’s hot dad? He used to get home from his jog covered in sweat and start taking off his clothes on the way to the shower. The divorce had been hard on him and you always wondered if there was some way you could… help. Maybe you got to see a little something or maybe you didn’t but it wasn’t ever enough, was it?

Johnny is here to help you resolve any issues you may have lingering from those days. Thankfully, he’s every bit as hung as you could have wished, and he’s not at all shy about working out a nice load right before your eyes. You can almost smell the salt off this guy’s skin, and it’s very, very nice.

It’s for members, of course, in our exclusive, Inner Circle.

Blame the new season. Blame the new moon last night — in Aries, the Mars-ruled sign. Mars! God of springtime, battle and red-headed college dudes with peculiar tattoos.

Yep, we’re at it again. Singing (and showing) the praises of auburn hair and fire crotches — like we’ve done so many times before.

Guys like the Inner Circle’s latest Fratmen, Danny, appear randomly within the boneheaded world of gay frat porn — their copper tops flaring magically, signaling piquant mysteries and hot hot sex. Reason enough to celebrate their appearance over and over again.

Join us inside while we watch Danny wake up horny. Yep, it’s a lazy Sunday morning. The perfect time to massage and inflame a randy cock to the bursting point.

Ah, our auburn wonder. Ah, spring!

Our entry today is in no way related to April Fools’.

Or, well — maybe it is. Bear with us as we sort out our muddled, post Day-of-Folly brains.

Today we’re feeling mystical and considering the Symmetry of Destinies — a term coined by metaphysical author Ray Grasse to describe fated, interlocking lives and how those lives become connected, sometimes through random, often astounding events.

This being Nightcharm, our Symmetry of Destiny example involves a military guy’s testicles.

Yes, a balls-out miracle we felt compelled to share.

Our amazing story is taken from the 1896 book Anomalies and Curiosities of Medicine, and involves a soldier wounded during a Civil War battle between Grant’s army and a Confederate detachment.

The fighting was fierce, hope was slim and a split second after our soldier was shot (read the full article)