Don’t feed the tiger. That’s the sign someone should have put around Lance’s neck before throwing porn newbie Trey in the room. Big-balled bad boy Lance is lean, aggressive and intense. While not so innocent twink Trey (whose admirable hobbies are tanning and cock) is up for anything. These boys are brand spanking new in our Cruiser Boys theater.

Lance is one of those tops who’s in his own fucking world. The more his pleasure builds, the more he zones out deep inside himself. Trey keeps making puppy dog eyes at Lance, but it’s one-sided. Lance just uses Trey like a piece of meat. This is a very good thing. It gives the flick a real bully/victim vibe. Think back to your own school experience. Sometimes the bully is the hottest and horniest guy in the whole damn school! And a secret homo too.

Our crush Lance spunks on Trey’s smooth thigh as the willing twink’s reward. Trey pumps out his own young load onto his tight tummy. See bad boy meet twink in the Inner Circle now! It’s always special to watch another porn star being born.

You don’t want to know how it’s made.

That admonition is usually reserved for referring to certain foods, but it can extend to other products of dubious concoction. Like porn. Specifically, straight porn.

If mainstream gay porn’s personal tumult is whether to doff condoms to compete with encroaching cut-rate bareback productions and a tough economic climate, then top-tier straight porn finds itself questioning just how far is too far when it comes to raunch. I’ll freely admit to enjoying more high-class straight productions based on the new wave of built and attractive male stars they employ. Still, if I avoid condomless gay porn because I think it tends to present performers at their worst, then low-budget gonzo-style straight porn is equally repellent to me.

As its style and tone could worryingly become the new industry standard, I have to wonder if there is some fundamental difference between the straight male and gay male libidos. When we seek out skin flicks, do we really want the same things from them, and are hetero men bringing something to the table that’s foreign and unintelligible to us? For all the adverse drubbing gays take for being supposed perverts and freaks, is there a weird and vicious motivation in the straight male sex drive that’s pandered to by porn merchants and thus implicitly encouraged? (read the full article)

Mega-chiseled and tanned Morgan is new in our Fratmen theater. He won’t tell you this next part himself—because he’s shy—but his fellow Fratmen voted him “Best Body.” Coming from a bunch of young jocks (for whom body and dick is everything) that’s high praise! Yes, I did say Morgan is shy. Being a ranch hand for so long meant he wasn’t called upon to talk or share his feelings much.

But now that he’s in the big city, he’s smart enough to put his body to good use. He’s shy, not stupid. Once he joined a gym and saw how he compared to other guys, he knew his body was special. His perfect ass is especially inspiring. Seeing him face down on the bed…damn! That ass could turn a bottom into a top and a top into a bottom.

See Morgan shower, pose and jack right now in the Inner Circle. He’s the porn that porn stars watch when they get home.

Nobody tell tatted looker Javier he could drop this whole porn thing and model for catalogs. Here’s Javier in tennis shorts. Here’s Javier in young dad jeans. Here’s Javier pointing and smiling at a crock pot. Luckily we get him porn style and all to ourselves!

Argentinian-born Javier is lean and smooth with eyes that could charm the pants off a Mormon. His hard, young dick has a nice curve to it which would push out a guy’s cheek in just the right place. Translation: total blowjob face for the lucky sucker. He’s back in our Maximo Latino theater for a solo, but this time he’s doing it as an openly gay guy. Does exhibitionistic masturbation have something to do with gay liberation? Obviously, yes.

And what is it about our Maximo Latinos which equals big, creamy loads? Makes me want to look up the cuisine of Argentina. Oh wait, duh. He’s openly gay. His diet most likely consists primarily of cock. I can totally pick that up at Whole Foods next time I’m there.

See his long and intense jack session in the Inner Circle now! This guy knows how to put on a show.

Money can’t buy it. At least not all of it.

Cosmetic surgery is not unlike a bad friend or a fair weather boyfriend: it leads you on, promises a lot but rarely delivers, and slowly comes to preoccupy your mind until it reaches the level of a fixation. It’s also used best in small doses. Yes, a looker can ratchet up his appeal by thinning out his nose or maybe broadening his chin, but the idea that you could build a perfect human beauty in a piecemeal manner like you’re sampling from a platter is ill-advised. The goal may be, say Candis Cayne (as close to being Myra Breckinridge‘s “new woman whose astonishing history started with a surgeon’s scalpel” as any man or woman is likely to get), but the reality is more Amanda Lepore. Miss the mark of Brad Pitt, and you end up with Kim Vo. Dare to emulate Angelina Jolie, and the horror that is Octomom ensues.

“Pretty is just a lucky accident,” opined the troubled heroine from Cheerleader Camp, and that’s become my beauty mantra. It comes down to a serendipitous harmony of genes being passed on by two attractive mates, the stronger traits hopefully dominating, the right features maybe coalescing, and symmetry possibly balancing it all out. Even then the end result is still a wild card — you’d think that Hugh Hefner‘s union with amazonian Kimberly Conrad would result in some discernible physical presence of her in their two sons, but no, while Nick Simmons, plagiarist son of Gene Simmons, didn’t luck out despite having mom Shannon Tweed in the mix.

A surgeon can only do so much, and when he endeavors to recreate a person from the ground up, the combined folly of doctor and patient crosses the line from Galatean to Frankensteinian. (read the full article)

This majorly jackworthy new scene in our Raging Stallion theater takes advantage of the uniquely homosexual ability to veer between high and low culture. Let’s break it down.

Dreamy-eyed street tough Michael Soldier (in jeans so shredded they would be illegal in 48 states) is freezing in a tunnel. That doesn’t stop him from waiting for his john. The lucky buyer is handsome dom Rod, who pulls up in his swanky car, then brings Michael back to his well-appointed pad, complete with roaring fire. Rod drinks some wine while Michael asks for (and gets) “fake beer.” Classy!

See if I weren’t queer, I’d already be dizzy from the high and low culture switches.

Rod takes control and Michael whimpers and begs while getting plugged at both ends. Bonus low culture points for the hair pulling.

Michael Soldier knows how to take big dick and is one of the best moaners ever. Dude knows how to project! Since Rod is huge-dicked and relentless, Michael isn’t even acting—when he chokes and says “it’s too big” he means it!

See the epic fuck and suck action in the Inner Circle now. It’s way cheaper than buying a house, wine, fake beer, a car and a rent boy. Plus you won’t have to clean the upholstery after.

Photos from the classy, refined, and Jesus-approved “real” prom staged off campus by Fulton Mississippi’s Itawamba Agricultural High School, one from which lesbian student Constance McMillen and five others — including, coincidentally, two special needs students — were effectively decoyed thanks to collusion between the student body and their concerned parents. If you think it all sounds like some sort of horrible plot line culled from a Revenge of The Nerds-style ’80s comedy — or, candidly, a justification for everything that takes place in Heathers — then you’re not alone. Also, keep in mind that while the face of Good Ol’ Boy and Down Home Girl entitlement may get younger, douchier, an more orange, its M.O. just never gets old: the very same ruse was used against the first black student at Jones Valley High in Birmingham in 1965 when she attempted to attend the prom.

We’ll let Prom Night 2‘s heroine voice our collective sentiment on the matter: (read the full article)

If you A) hate Disney, and B) would skim through Reader’s Digest or Cat Fancy before you would even think of touching People, then you can’t be blamed for missing Jake Gyllenhaal‘s self-stroking, content-free interview which officially takes the tiara as the most unintenionally homoerotic “I didn’t get juiced for a part I was ethnically miscast for in the first place!” deflection ever put on record: (read the full article)

When I was 14 years old, I thought I’d heard the call.

I knew I was gay, and had been begging God to make me straight. I did it through daily 20-minute sessions of devoted prayer, each concluded with a test: I’d get the swimsuit section of the latest department store catalog and stare at the men’s and women’s pages side-by-side to see if this time I was miraculously drawn to the bikini-clad women instead of the men.

It never worked.

As I realized my situation’s hopelessness, I did what many gay Catholics do and wondered if homosexuality was God’s way of calling me to priesthood. Priests don’t need to get married (they can’t), and as one I could still be respected and influential. Randomly, one of my friends said she dreamed of me as a priest, white-robed with a green stole draped around my neck, welcoming parishioners to Mass.

It was a sign. I was chosen. My torturous secrets – my suffering – were, in consistency with Catholic philosophy, to teach me compassion, and would bring good to the world. God works in mysterious ways.

When I was young, I was a proud Catholic. We were the religion of the oppressed: Irish, Polish, Puerto Rican and Italian immigrants whose arrival by boat gave the Statue of Liberty its iconic symbolism. We came from poor railroad workers in the Rocky Mountains and Mexican crop pickers in Texas and California. I was told that Jesuits laid the intellectual foundation for the peace movement during the Vietnam War. My mother said she never met a Catholic Republican; she said the idea was absurd because Catholics care about poor people. My beliefs were as much an ethnic and cultural identity as a religious one.

And then it hit.

When 9/11 shook the country, my church’s youth pastor (a non-ordained, married man who worked for the parish under the authority of the priest and would be the ultimate foil to my faith) responded with a prayer that all the Muslims be converted to Christianity, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. (read the full article)

For me, it’s the question that’s always the most effective in firing like a black arrow into the heart of the Fundamentalist dragon, felling it down to earth in a cloud of ash and fire:

Why are there gay animals?

Confront even the most strident sexual absolutist with this lone, almost child-like question, and a look of confounded frustration will come over them. Clearly stymied, they’ll never be able to give me even a halfheartedly assured reason for homosexuality existing in the animal kingdom. There’ll be some hurried allusion to God creating Adam and Eve in his own image, then something arcane about man being the master of beings that fly or walk on all fours will be trotted out.

The only conclusion that I can reasonably reach from it all is that Man is held to a higher standard of sexual decency than other life forms by his Sky Daddy. Cain and his whoever-the-hell-she-was wife were special. Her improbable existence has been justified by everything from Adam’s and Eve’s genes being so ideal that they permitted him to a marry a sister without fear of inbred mutation, to Cain marryin’ up an ape-woman member of the early hominids and producing those beastly “other races” whose genealogies lie in the mating of a perfect Aryan with a lesser being. They had to keep it classy. So…ewww either way.

Bambi and Thumper, however, are apparently allowed to throw it around the forest any which way they please. (read the full article)