There are a few key job opportunities for out of control jackers. A cameo as a street flasher getting arrested on Cops. Basement file clerk. Door to door vacuum cleaner salesman. And, thankfully, a solo gig in our Cruiser Boys theater.

Cute little Tucker, all 5’7″, 135 pounds of him, is an admitted exhibitionist. Even during the interview part of his shoot, he couldn’t stop touching himself through his tight jeans. He jacks off three to four times a day, saying it always keeps coming back up. As proof, he came earlier in the day before his shoot, and he still worked out a nice, thick load for us.

He’s a moaner with eyes that pierce the lens. Right as he cums, he turns his head and looks right at you. In the modeling biz, it’s called “finding your light” and it makes him a true jack diva. For him, knowing you’re watching turns him on as much as the direct dick pleasure.

Join Tucker in the Inner Circle now. If you match him stroke for stroke, he won’t feel so alone in his addiction.

Gay spectatorship: it used to be all about deciphering.

Before True Blood, Glee, Ugly Betty, and Modern Family, gay characters in television tended to be canny in-jokes among writers; the game was to see how far gay signifiers and innuendo could be pushed so as to register with one smaller audience while completely going over the head of another broader one. It’s a certain campy, broad, conspicuous, idiosyncratic, or “colorful” quality that marks these characters as somehow “other.” This is what accounts for the are-they-or-aren’t-they? inscrutability of Crypto-Gay characters — they have to be discerned by those in-the-know, and their natures are channeled through the eye of the beholder.

Mainstays like Dr. Smith from Lost In Space, Batman and Robin, half the cast of Bewitched, hothouse flower Monroe from Too Close For Comfort, and even more contemporary figures like Joey and Chandler from Friends, the Crane Brothers from Frasier, and ball-breaking Xena are likely to come to mind first, but I’ve assembled a gathering of ten characters who’ve hit home with me through the years and remained favorites who’ve largely managed to slip under the gaydar: (read the full article)

I thought of them as the Cocaine Trilogy: Xanadu, Can’t Stop the Music, and My Tutor. Movies made around the magic year 1980, written, produced and starring cocaine, that is, addled movie insiders whose every idea was taken to be fucking brilliant. The ruins of such cocaine circle-jerks can be seen in the trailer above. What memories it doesn’t bring back!

I was living in Hollywood at the time, trying to break into screenwriting, turning out magazine features for Andy Warhol’s Interview, where I began what I still laughingly call my career. The 80′s in L.A. … how does one conjure quite that ambiance of a bland Republican bank plaza at noon, blasted with direct, shadowless light.

That mix of flat vistas, of nothing-special brunch franchises where West Hollywood porn stars could be seen at noon, shirtless on the patio, nursing groggy Bloody Marys, the impression that day or night you would find somebody in striped aerobics tights shopping the Ralph’s, the big fluffy blown-dry hair on men who looked like blond televangelists, and those perky young girls on Melrose whose main mission was to find a new place on their head to put a ponytail.

Xanadu does it best, I guess, evoking that… certain nothing.

Lost years. Lost in an L.A. smog. Until suddenly…

FADE IN: Today. An email, a link, a YouTube. And through the massive power of art — that is, the above trailer — my misspent, youth was mine to misspend all over again. (read the full article)

I am not the Martha Stewart of gay porn. Still after this passionate, hardcore fuck and suck session on a white shag carpet, I wonder the fate of the carpet. Porn stars can totally sell their used underwear online but where can they unload a XXX used rug? Oh right, the notoriously homophobic Salvation Army would be perfect! Just as long as nobody tells them the rug’s seedy past.

Tall, big-dicked sexpot Luke and fresh-faced 21 year old Jay pair up for the first time in our Cruiser Boys theater. Dirty blonde Jay is an aggressive rimmer and cocksucker. He gets Luke primed just right to take dick. Luke’s long prick staying hard while he gets fucked is a damn pretty sight. Both of these boys are gushers.

Watch Jay hump and blow Luke in the Inner Circle now!

I was just a kid at Boy Scout Camp when my 13-year-old friend produced a stack of Hustler magazines he’d sneaked onto the trip.

There were four of us in the tent, and we stayed up late with our flashlights on a windy, hot summer night experiencing what was my first view of hardcore porn: there were facials, cumshots, muscled naked men standing over submissive blondes, and close-ups of spread-open vaginas, along with big-breasted women salaciously sticking out their tongues. Hustler was far more explicit than most dirty magazines, and some of the images were shocking.

My friend said he found the stack in a dumpster, though I suspect he was either given them or stole them from his stepdad. Something similar to that experience is shared by nearly every teenage boy in America, gay or straight, generation after generation, as long as they came of age after the invention of photography and before the popularization of the Internet. Dirty pictures were something we all eventually came across, but still a rare thing to be cherished. We got porn from our older brothers, from boxes in the garage our fathers thought they threw out years ago, or as in my case, from friends, proudly presenting discoveries in the form of smut printed on the backs of dirty playing cards and erotic posters.

Discovering porn for the first time was something that made us feel free, mischievous and deviant; ironically, it is also something persistently normal and commonplace, and more often than not our parents who discovered us would feign appropriate anger, but secretly shrug and say that’s what boys do. (read the full article)