It’s a state of emergency up in Vancouver — and everybody’s going down!

The CBC broke a story this week about the Canadian Government scrambling to respond to the Great Vancouver Olympics Condom Shortage by shipping an auxiliary supply to the masses of sex-mad Olympians who’ve descended on the city, and tongues everywhere began wagging about the epic Sex-In that must be taking place up north. The 100,000 rubbers already distributed to roughly 7,000 athletes apparently proved insufficient in keeping dicks secure.

With the headline sounding like a gimmicky porn plot come to life, the mental imagery it conjures up is on everyone’s mind, whether they’ve been tuning in or not: a collective groan of ecstasy can be heard for miles as all those lithe, sinewy, flexible bodies undulate and contort in every sexual position imaginable, from reverse cowgirl and the rusty bike bump, to the pile driver and the rabid kookabura. Are there Ciao! Manhattan-style pool orgies going on? Snowboarder daisy chains with slangy moans of “Duuuuude! Fuck my ass like a Botwoker!” ? Triple and quadruple deckers in the ice rinks? Is it just like the Kama Sutra, only with endorsements?

It sounds fucking amazing, but because I’m not a joiner and my inner cynic has a hair-trigger bullshit detector, I’m calling shenanigans. And I’m not the only one. (read the full article)

We recently introduced you to porn newbie Daniel Cummings and he’s already back for more in our Cruiser Boys theater. This time he gets lost by the train tracks and needs to use his permahard dick to find the way back. Since Daniel is pretty much lost in the big city of L.A. for real right now, getting lost by the train tracks is a metaphor. Though don’t tell him that because he won’t get it.

Hungry cocksucker and major cum-gusher Fabio agrees to help Daniel find his way but only if he gets fed properly first. If the pictures here make it seem like a one-sided affair, well that’s because it is. See the outdoor action now in the Inner Circle.

A recent French anti-smoking ad campaign only raises more questions than it answers.

Yes, I’m a non-smoker and always will be, but showing wispy, waify, shag-haired French youths symbolically sucking off the corporate Man in an effort to cast smoking as exploitation has deeper ramifications. When done right, oral is not submissive and steeped in victimization, and what if you have a thing for sexy-ass Daddies in business attire? What if you’re the aggressor forcing yourself on vulnerable older men in a role reversal scenario? How about if you’re waxing his sex stick for gum? Is it OK as long as it’s sugar-free? And what if he smokes afterward? What then?

Torn.

Deni is a 6’4″ European model who claimed to be straight. But once this smooth, lean gent got deep into jacking for our Fantasy Boys camera crew, he admitted he fantasizes about sex with guys. He blamed these thoughts on his overactive cock. While he jerks off multiple times a day and has sex with girls whenever he can, it’s not enough—he needs to fuck guys sometimes.

He says when he gets horny like that he can pick up a guy in one minute flat. Unlike the rough trade of the old days, he doesn’t need to be drunk first and he doesn’t get angry after. Instead, he’ll thank you and make sure your number is in his cell for the next time he wanders off the hetero path. Book your flight to Europe in the Inner Circle now.

When I was a sophomore in college, I got an instant message in response to an informal blog I kept on LiveJournal. The message was from a 17-year-old blue-eyed boy in Tennessee who had longish blond hair and a penchant for eyeliner and taking pictures of himself, as I gathered from his public profile and his own blog.

He was clearly intelligent, but cared little for grammar and peppered his language with gay slang and a sassy Southern drawl. He said he wanted my opinion on some poems he had written, noting that I occasionally posted poetry on my journal.

He told me his name was Chris. Most unsolicited messages I got back then were guys asking for my “stats” or wanting to jerk off on webcam, so I considered Chris unique and kept him as a contact. He was deeply sexual and angered about the fact that the LiveJournal group would not let him post naked pictures of himself anymore because he was underage, but Chris seemed to use sexuality not so much for pleasure but as a way to negotiate his identity and politics. He never tried to bring me in to it. He was online often and sent me poems every day, and I got the sense that he spent many hours behind a computer screen.

I was a recent ex-Catholic, and had replaced its gap in my spiritual life with an interest in astrology, which I saw as a gay-friendly belief system that filled religion’s promise that everything in life had a direction and a purpose. Chris talked me into giving him my phone number so I could discuss his natal chart (his sun was in Sagittarius and his moon in Cancer, if I remember correctly, which was about as in-depth as my astrological knowledge was) and about his life. (read the full article)

Snippets of ambient dialogue from the Folsom Street Fair:

— “Yeah, Brock, I totally learned this knot when I was in the Merchant Marines. It provides the security you need, but without the unsightly chafing, all the while accentuating the delicate curvatures of the torso and the sinewy undulations of the arms. I find the Hajime Sorayama aesthetic — the juxtaposition of the supple, pliant quality of flesh against the unyielding grip of the bonds — to be the most conceptually pure approach. Plus this hemp twine is both eco-friendly in form while durable in function!”

— “Tell me about function, Dan! These thigh-highs were not meant for prolonged periods of standing. I should’ve gone with a sensible pair of Bettie Page platforms like you did. Aw, well. They do make my ass look great! Fuck I’m thirsty! Are you thirsty? Do me a fave and gimme a sip of my Diet Coke, will ya? I’m gonna be here a while. My master’s having a major hissy because I hooked up with that muscle queen in the fishnet body stocking — the bitch!”

— “All I wanted was to get a caricature done, Tom! Maybe buy a souvenir snow globe! This is nothing like the brochure! And now that guy’s supermodel legs are making me feel all hippy! Take me home!”

Memo to Right Wing blowhard pundits: when your parody habitually outmans you in every department, admits his persona is an irredeemable narcissist, and looks like Gay Superman on an Aspen vacay while doing it, you’ve probably descended into utter irrelevance.

Representation.

It’s that pesky issue in politics, media, and athletics that daunts the minority figure; with visibility comes acceptance, and the lack of it only further ghettoizes difference. The military is in the spotlight currently, but it isn’t the only diffident macho setting that we give the collective side-eye to whenever a claim of being queer-free abounds.

I’ve personally never followed sports (when asked recently whether I would be tuning in for the Superbowl, I proceeded to hesitantly ask, “Now, that’s for baseball…right?”) because I can’t approximate grown men’s wide-eyed obsessions with the incredible ability to throw a ball through a hoop or a hit it with a stick.

Still, when it comes to the Winter Olympics, my only real interest is the speculation of who is, who isn’t, who’s in, who’s out, why it’s an issue, and why it shouldn’t be.

OutSports’ recent close-to-the-bone piece on the thorny path of the in-or-out gay Olympian has a myriad of salient points that casts the Athletic sector as the civilian equivalent of the military or the Boy Scouts: a “No Girls! No Fags!” club house that remains one of the last strongholds of little straight boys’ grown-up fantasy selves, the sort of Boys Own setting that would be somehow compromised if queers slipped in under the radar and showed they could compete in a real man’s world. Undercutting the cliche that with every token gay you get a defiant activist or an unruly upstart, the article — with its tellingly anonymous source — drives home how simply being an athlete without the G-modifier is just one more thing we can never simply take for granted. (read the full article)

Tonight’s Double Feature: Who’s Nailin’ Paylin and the, ahem, forthcoming Getting Levi’s Johnson.

Because it was inevitable.