President Obama earned the skepticism that the LGBT community now has for him. In his first State of the Union Address he’s officially promised he’ll to move to end Don’t Ask Don’t Tell this year.

It’s not that we don’t appreciate that gesture, Mr. Obama. But we’ll believe it when we see it.

Barack Obama started his presidency amidst reluctant support from many queer people who would rather have had Hillary Clinton for President. It’s one thing to vote for a progressive Democrat who – for all his hesitancy on gay rights – at the very least promises not to refer to you as a sign of a pending apocalypse the way the other party does. It’s another thing to vote for a progressive Democrat who just knocked the perfect pro-Gay Democrat out of the running – the other candidate who, by her very election, would have challenged the gender roles and sexual repression that make America so deeply resist LGBT people.

Since I was an Obama supporter from the beginning – and knew he backed gay marriage personally, despite his formal political position – I was less willing to voice doubts, and turned my frustration toward people who were saying the new presidency was a failure within its first month. They were the same people who had repeatedly reminded me before the election that Obama wasn’t going to solve everything, wasn’t our savior and was politically inexperienced. It was clear that a number of them were more conservative on healthcare or military issues than I am, eager to point out Obama is “too liberal” – a label that is ironically granted him by the Right for his stance on social issues like LGBT rights. (read the full article)

Brand spanking new in our Rearstable Cinema this week: A very cleverly-edited scene, mega monster hung Justin Christoper (above) and Jack Ryan (inset) hook up under some moody blue lighting, quickly shedding their clothes to bare their incredibly smooth flesh and then working on each other’s cocks on at a time. Jack clearly likes what he sees with Justin’s famously thick meat pole, wrapping his lips around it like a juicy protein enhancer.

Luckily it’s not Jack who is having his ass pounded in this team-up, instead it’s Justin’s muscled butt getting the deep rooting. And what a messy-gushy cum shot. Wow. Catch it all now, streaming and streaming and streaming into oblivion — in the Inner Circle.

Not only does Nightcharm have a new face, we’ve got a new editor-in-chief as well.

Meet Shawn Baker. Of course regulars to NC and the humor site Lurid Digs have been reading Shawn’s irascible entries for awhile now. Proof positive that consistently interacting with your favorite site can land you a job. (Yep, we discovered Shawn after taking note of his cogent comments to our articles, several years ago.)

Once NC’s longtime editor John Calendo decided to step down to focus on his new novel, it was a no-brainer that the site’s editorial mantle would pass to Shawn. He’s feisty, funny and willing to poke at the tender (or taboo) belly of a story. Shawn also brings discipline and concentration to his writing, qualities often lacking in the slap-dash and sloppy world of ‘blogging.’

Here are some insights from my recent interview with the new chief:

David K.: Tell me about your education and influences.

Shawn: I went to Fordham (good ol’ F.U.), the Jesuit University of New York, which was a bust even though I graduated top of my class. I didn’t really need to learn to write, though. I’d always had it in me. I have whole words and casts of people in my mind, all of the time. Book-wise I like H.P. Lovecraft, Edgar Rice Burroughs, L. Frank Baum, Robert E. Howard. Definitely a cult movie buff: Dario Argento, Russ Meyer, David Lynch, to name a view. (read the full article)

To be a bankable Hollywood action star, you have to have some requisite aces up your sleeve if you hope to achieve success.

You have to sleep with the right people. You need to symbolically connect as straight men’s dream projections of their own idealized selves, while simultaneously embodying a fantasy mate for women and gays — one capable of merciless defense and slaughter, usually while shirtless. You need a PR machine at your back that will propel you up the ladder. You must marry a blonde woman, likely younger than you and willing to accept a prenup so you can trade her in for a less mature model when she hits her early 30s. (read the full article)

Buenos Aires boys Matias and Pablo are best friends who’ve had their eyes on each other forever, which to guys this young means for the last three weeks. The tension became too much to handle. The pair decided their first time together had to be on camera and our Maximo Latino crew were happy to provide fine documentary services.

Handsome Pablo turns out to be natural top with a plump cockhead and excellent fuck rhythm. Matias becomes his eager toy. I have a hunch they’ll swap roles in the future. Matias’ obvious pleasure in taking it deep has got to make Pablo wonder what it’s like on the other side. See this duo uncut and uncensored now.

Howdy, welcome to the Shady Lady Ranch, a place where young women with zero self esteem and nowhere to go in life can come have greasy truck drivers and meth-smoking Vegas drifters defile their bodies for a little green.

With new, ground-breaking, state approval for male sex workers, Shady Lady Ranch could soon become Shady Lady and Cock Ranch once they hire a few hung men who know how to treat a hole. Despite all that occurs under their roof as a professional enterprise of fucking, owners Jim and Bobbi Davis are squeamish at the prospect of homoseckchuality occurring within the walls of their smut ranch.

The Los Angeles Times reported that before Nye County approved the addition of studs to Shady Lady Ranch, Bobbi Davis bemoaned: “It seems the biggest hoopla is a great fear in some people’s minds that some kind of homosexual activity might go on …It’s not my intent to encourage or promote or to turn my business into a ‘gay property.’”

Oh dear lord, not a gay property! Quick hide the children under the bed … next to the anal beads and dildos. It’s silly piety to fear gayness in a brothel, because it already happens. Every time a girl-girl-guy “couple party” occurs at Shady Lady Ranch or any Nevada bordello, they’re officially a gay property. We can argue about the meaning of “gay” or lesbian exemption from gay panic all day, but I know whorehouses don’t care about being called misogynistic for objectifying women, so they won’t care about being called homophobic for denying credit-approved guy on guy sex. (read the full article)

Individuality: is it the human animal’s greatest foible, or it’s greatest folly?

Yes, when it comes to breaking from the pack in order to assert our uniqueness, we do so by not just perversely emulating the exact same thing everyone else is doing, but trying to outdo them at it. This has resulted in some abysmal trends over the years, the most ubiquitously current one being the tattoo. What was once a form of ritualized scarring for men entering the military, being initiated into biker gangs, or getting tagged as property/currency by a new prison hubbies is now the walk on the wild side for single-and-loving-it divorcees, midlife crisis fortysomethings, and drunk-ass teenage girls on spring break. (read the full article)

There’s one famous Fabio who’s noted for his tight body and long hair, but this Fabio is noted for his tight body and fat, meaty, uncut cock. So we prefer watching our Fabio. He’s the latest Cruiser Boy. Go see him now.

Yes, the mega-dicked porn star Michael Brandon is now a director. Times change, artists — even porn stars — wish to grow, develop, mature — shine even brighter. And with Michael behind the camera, well, my god, you know it’s gonna be good camera!

Playing this week in our Raging Stallion theater it’s Michael’s latest flick Tailpipes. Scene two features the utterly delectable Remy Delaine and Roman going for a nice long fuck session in a greasy garage. Uncut aficionados will most likely pass out when they get a good look a Remy’s world-acclaimed foreskin, we know we’ve waxed poetic many many times about its glory. Join the boys now, while the engine’s still running.

Hets are weird.

We like them well enough, but what the fuck is going on in their topsy-turvy marriages? How many in-name-only, mutually-convenient, put-a-brave-face-on, Fractured Fairy Tale unions gone-off-the-rails have we casually borne witness to?

Where does it all go wrong? Is it the strain of bearing the One Ring (it almost came between Sam and Frodo)? The infantile fantasy of princes, damsels, and the Happily Ever After coda? The social conditioning that says it’s the right and only thing to do? Maybe the self-mythologization of being descendants of a pair navel-less newlyweds and their inbred progeny?

The beyond-tawdry, impossible-to-look-away gauntlet of Tiger Woods-spawned scandals has offered invaluable insight into the private universes of too-pretty and -polished Super Couples. I’ve always suspected that few and far between is the man who actually marries his type; instead, he marries up the ideal spouse/mother and keeps his taste in trashy tarts either held in check or on-the-sly. Beauty is also, mind-bogglingly, not enough to keep a man even though it may be what initially nabs him. In the end, sexual availability will win out over being a perfect ten.

As an Awkward Family Photo enthusiast, I especially know that family portraits fraught with intrigue and secrets ready to be revealed imply far much more than they actually purport to superficially depict. (read the full article)