As we suspected…

Hi Guys. I’m just back from Spring Break (yeah, I know, I had a super long one — no pun intended. Ugh.)

My first assignment from the NC crew is to tout these HUGE BARE DICK videos that we’ve been playing in the Inner Circle’s Raw Hardcore theater. So, well, here goes.

Wait a minute.

Personally I think there can be such a thing as too much cock. Don’t you?

I mean, look at this guy’s dick in the middle DVD cover above. Who in their right mind is going to tackle that anaconda? Even Octo-mom Nadya Suleman would flee from such a totem of spermy fertility.

And unless you have a dentist that will see you for emergency weekend consultations, you’d better only attempt any sort of oral suction with a piece like that on a week day. I can’t imagine why anyone would find dick like this alluring. I mean, when I suck a cock I at least want to get the cock into my mouth.

Anyway, so, uhm — DON’T MISS Bare Huge Dicks #3 (the one that’s picture above left) now playing in the Inner Circle’s Raw Hardcore theater. I hope this reads exciting enough?

Does it?

When unlimited amounts of explicit, well-produced pornographic material are available across the Internet, under the counter in bookstores and in a reasonable number of video stores, why is it that fleeting naked shots in movies still catch us?

From James Franco‘s rear-shot swimming pool scene in Milk, to Gael Garcia Bernal‘s bathtub fiasco in The Science of Sleep, to Emile Hirsch‘s floating river shot in Into the Wild, brief nude shots often turn out to be the most memorable scenes from movies — not for artistic or cinematic value, but because they’re hot.

The 2007 Seth Rogan film Knocked Up featured a group of deadbeat roommates with an ambitious business plan to launch a website listing the timestamps on movie scenes with nudity. The idea is that a list of scenes with a famous actress’ nipple or bush is still of interest in a world of easy porn, and people would pay to access the site. Fleshofthestars.com was a fictional enterprise, but there’s no doubt that there’s truth beneath its concept and Hollywood producers allow those brief titillating scenes hoping it will increase a film’s popularity and earnings.

Perhaps it’s that porn stars are depersonalized and distant; we see them in the most intimate of settings but know nothing of their minds — and the ease of access desensitizes us and eliminates novelty. (read the full article)

Teabagging is one of those fetishy porn terms that has become part of the language, particularly youthspeak and hipspeak.

To tea-bag is to drop one’s testicles into a partner’s mouth, classically by sitting on his face. The practice isn’t new but having a word for it is.

The term picked up real speed over the last 10 years when it developed a teenage caché among snarky Xbox and PS3 gamers. In a video game like Battlefield 2, a player can manipulate his virtual character to squat repeatedly over the head of a fellow player that he has just shot down, thus humiliating him and getting off at the same time. The urban dictionary likens this strategy to the “dances performed by football players after a touchdown.”

Thing is the right wing, average age 84, never got the memo. How out of touch are the wingnuts? (read the full article)

Oh iPhone, is there no end to your totemic ability to synergize?

The oft-lamented bad cliché is that technology only perversely distances us from one another instead of connecting us, but yours is a multi-purpose ingenuity that provides us with our most essential of needs: peers into the lives of inhibition-deficient hot pieces and their tendency for spontaneous thread-doffing at home, at the gym, or anywhere else they can find a reflective surface. The deftly cut-to-the-chase Guys With iPhones is glad to chronicle the glorious self-love you’ve helped to propagate. Why, there was a time when Narcissus only had a reflecting pool to gaze in, so he’d be elated with the latter-day myth that apparently no one even remotely unfortunate-looking owns you.

It’s a convenient win-win situation for everyone, the vainglory-obsessed provided with endless opportunities to admire themselves while being admired, while we the beholders can reap the combined benefits of phone sex and the self-reflexive nudie pic in one shot.

Also see John Calendo’s Hello World…It’s Me!

There’s something about those bi guys that burns in our minds whenever we happen to know one.

To be more precise, there’s something about the “bi-curious” male. He claims — truthfully or not — to prefer women, to be, as he might call himself, a “regular dude,” except that if the case is compelling enough he might experiment with a guy.

Our perspectives on him will diverge wildly. Some find him deliciously elusive and have an overwhelming curiosity for him. Others consider him the holy grail of sexual adventure.

I think that most who have been in the gay community for a while meet him with the assumption that he’s just half in the closet or putting on an act. The “something about him” we sense can be distrust or even disdain. Surely, many surmise, he’s a full-blown queer, with the as much inclination for a male partner as any raging queen. He’s just happened to learn that for some reason, when it comes to finding a sexual partner, a lot of gay men find the “questioning straight dude” or “gay first-timer” irresistible.

Which begs the question: why do we find that so irresistible? What’s appealing about the idea of a clearly insecure, unprepared and inexperienced man?

As an aside, I’m not here to claim male bisexuality is not real, and to be fair to my friends who have loved both genders and bisexual guys who visit this site, I’ll say I know real male bisexuality does exist.

Many in the gay community resist acknowledging a real bisexual man, because we’ve encountered the type of gay guy who claims to be bisexual thinking it makes him somehow better than the rest of us. We come away, reasonably, offended by his subtle insistence that we’re faggier or weaker or more “limited” for liking men exclusively.

We can’t let our experience with those men lead to disrespect for real people, those guys who are, indeed, bisexual because of the exact biological impetus that makes others gay or straight.

Nor can we approach any particular self-identified bisexual man drawing initial uninformed conclusions that he’s being disingenuous about his orientation just because we know others are. To make those assumptions is the definition of prejudice. (read the full article)

Jack is just too much of a free-spirit to be preoccupied with clothing optional boundaries.

When you’re this tousled, marble-flesh, and banana-dicked, the world is your nude beach, even if you happen to be in a public park in broad view of any and every passerby.

Can we really expect him not to doff his threads whenever the mood strikes him? Prudes of the world be damned — never could this type of exposure be even remotely indecent.

Find desire under the acacias with inhibition-free Jack and his incredible edible plantain in Inner Circle’s Maximo Latino theater, where there’s always a cool breeze and a beautiful stranger at-the-ready to tumble to the ground.

A storm is, indeed, gathering.

This is the opening line of a spooky and deeply mendacious ad from NOM, the so-called National Organization for (actually against) Marriage.

(You can, if you must, see this infuriating ad here. But wait, we have some spoofs of the ad coming after the jump. No need to get your blood up yet.)

Beneath dark, brooding clouds, their faces eerily lit by sudden flashes of lightning, actors fret over the coming gay-marriage legalizations, which threaten their very existence. You see everyone is about to call them bigots, which, of course, they are.

And that would be “just hurtful,” to use the words of Maggie Gallagher, founder of the hastily concocted NOM and the right’s longtime cheerleader and self-described “marriage expert,” a political and transparently theocratic front-woman for that very special brand of Republican wedge-issue: fag-baiting. (read the full article)

Commence panicked fagmentation in 3, 2, 1…

The source: trusted news outlet Fox. The issue: the gay. Highly respected journalist Bill O’Reilly is so with-it and up-to-date that the realization that the queers are infiltrating the American Idol stage is big news. For somebody. But not him. Maybe you?

Sure, Fox’s entertainment branch has a massive financial stake in promoting the program ad nauseum, and yes, you may think that a supposed reporter pretending to condescend to cover such an obvious plug makes him a hack, and maybe Bill’s attempt at casual objectivity is as thinly-veiled as his hair. The point is, there’s a real issue here. We guess. Bill’s not really sure either.

If you were a cynical person, you might ponder how exactly do you spur a Gay Panic reaction out of an exploitive non-story while struggling to maintain your feigned disinterest about how trivial the subject you’re reporting on really is. First, you need a performer whose Emo-ish, vaguely panssexual appearance threatens you on a visceral level, especially when photos — which you make sure to brand “embarrassing” — of him lip-locking with another glam rock enthusiast come to the fore. (read the full article)

“…there is no love in the world, there is only pain.”