Some of us have to come out twice — once as gay, and then again as gay geeks.

Whenever Comic-Con rolls around, I realize what an awkward and ungainly social path I tread. Geekery is still thought of as a heterocentric — and exclusively male — subculture that’s the antithesis of urbane gay culture: an underworld of homebound, social anxiety-ridden malcontents who have virtual girlfriends and chronic asthma.

Shiftless. Graceless. Sexless.

That stock character from an ’80s teen comedy is seeming old hat as of late; as geekdom moves aboveground, we now know that there are cute geek girls who look like twee Anime characters and typical suburbanites who desperately want to spread for vampires and werewolves, while the mythological gay geek has been revealed to actually exist as he walks camouflaged among his more standard-issue homo brethren. (read the full article)

I have brand new ideas about German tourists. They’re all hunky, perverted, blonde guys with big, fat dicks. They love to hire male escorts who initially present themselves as massage therapists. And if you stroke and suck their dicks, they will lose control and fuck the nearest hole (yours!) with said big, fat, hard, drooling dick.

Blame my newfangled ideas on the latest flick in our Treasure Island theater. This scene from Raw Underground: Paris features slutty escort Eric taking it raw at both ends. His partner in seediness is a powerfucking German tourist, who chooses to forgo the museums and restaurants of Paris for something much better: Eric’s talented asshole.

Watch Germany invade Paris in the Inner Circle now! It’s okay, this time it’s consensual.

It’s easy to forget that same-sex marriage is actually the conservative manifestation of the Gay Rights Movement. It values commitment over freedom; conformity over revolution – it’s a far cry from the underclass of transvestites and bohemians that populated the first gayborhoods.

Perhaps half of all gay people wouldn’t even choose marriage if it were legal everywhere. That’s why the tired refrain of the Right is so ironic: the insistence is that same-sex marriages can somehow affect straight marriages; that social affirmation of monogamy and settlement in the gay community would cause it to spill over and wreak havoc on all values everywhere. Suddenly, gay marriages are pouring out of every city hall and church like floods of ants, and filling the streets with hand-holdy chaos.

“They shove their relationships down our throats!,” they’ll say.

Oh really? In my experience, gay people don’t flaunt their relationship status even to other gay people – not even their close friends – let alone to mainstream society. They don’t have sex in public, nor do they make out constantly, and they are capable of walking down the street two, even three feet apart, and sometimes farther.

Gay couples aren’t as jealous as straight ones; a gay man is far less likely to get offended if you mistakenly hit on his boyfriend. Gay couples still go out to bars both together and separately, they still flirt, and while they may not advertise it, a huge number of them still have sex outside the relationship.

For those couples, as far as friends and acquaintances are concerned, the only thing that changes when the relationship starts is that they’re no longer open to something serious – everything else is still fair game. (read the full article)

Hooliganism – casual chauvinism x public homoeroticism ÷ porn creep = Banned in U.S.

Love is the drug…

Roxy Music said it best: the things that fulfill us can often be the very yawning wells that consume us.

Society conditions us to believe that institutions like family and marriage — along with “pure” sentiments like love, hope, and faith — are indisputably positive forces that compel us to act rightly. A lovely sentiment, but still false.

Any curtain-closing kiss can fade to deep, devastating black even after the credits roll, and anyone who’s loved too well knows the treacherous paths our hearts can lead us down — a desert-spanning Lost Highway dotted with signs reading “Danger Ahead” and “Dead End” under the shadowy wingspan of the looming vulture.

For all the lurid curiosity lavished upon sex crimes, too often it’s overlooked that love crimes can be the more monstrous and psychologically weird offenses; this is the dynamic in which selves start to inextricably entwine, superegos begin to topple, and shared fantasies of blood and death find an outlet. Pair killers — Bonnie and Clyde, Martha Beck and Raymond Fernandez (aka The Lonely Hearts Killers), and “Schoolgirl Killers” Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka — bound by inhibition-drowning desire and lethal codependency turn up again and again in the annals of True Crime, each seeming to strive to top the vicious, predatory eroticism and all-cylinders-to-oblivion self-destruction of the duo that preceded them. Soul-mirroring love is the goal we all strive for, but we’re never admonished of the peril of fulfillment, the folly of storybook love; sometimes, finding our idealized mate signals the very crack of doom, and as we lose ourselves in symbiotic abandon, the question becomes not so much Happily Ever After? as it is:

Will we kiss or kill?… (read the full article)

Yes, Focus on The Family’s ostensible mission statement is the strident defense of every homespun convention that can be invoked under the name of Jesus, Santa Claus, or Uncle Sam, but we all know what the watchdog group’s true raison d’être is: condemning smut while teeth-gnashingly wallowing in it and convincing its members they’re above it all.

This vintage F.O.F. seminar on porn addiction is hysterical on multiple levels: the wonderfully trashy Ho Stroll opening montage, the assertion that the strategy behind our hugely successful War on Drugs should be applied to combating porno cartels, James Dobson‘s hilarious “The fags and the dykes, and every kind of perversion!” rhetoric that sounds lifted right out of Myra Breckinridge, and best of all, the most over-the-top drink-the-Kool-Aid audience reactions ever.

I once went to a funeral for a family friend that almost immediately descended into an interminable hour-and-a-half-long Evangelical sermon on the dangers of pornography in which the deceased was barely even incidental. Watching this brought back the same avoid-the-groupthink phrase I kept repeating over and over in my head to keep me sane:

Not a looker among ‘em.

Hat tip to Found Footage Festival.

Latino bottom Gianni is the kind of guy who’d make you a four course dinner (while wearing nothing under his apron), give you a foot rub (while his dick throbbed) and listen attentively to how you’re day went (while he lubed his hole). This guy is eager to please!

Gianni’s lean, worked out and ultra-flexible body and very handsome (and fuckable) face all combine to make blonde top Rex a lucky man. So what happens when top meets bottom in our Cruiser Boys theater? Gianni’s fuck face is what happens. Rex is a good strong top with a party-sized dick. This is a solid, interracial fuck where both guys get what they want and need.

Join the Inner Circle now to watch the sparks fly! You might end up with a fuck face of your own.

Warning: Sometimes fuck faces freeze in action (and are tough to explain at church).

I hate ads.

They’re just everywhere, and if we’re not being bombarded with commercials and billboards, then we get sore-thumb product placement and hidden plugs. As a minority, it’s a toss-up as to what’s worse: just being outright ignored by marketers or having people who categorically don’t understand a thing about you try to pander to your perceived interests.

The results can range from the eye-rolling, to the embarrassing, to the cringe-inducing. Just the casual assumptions about what’s universal are bad enough. Your average shaving or shower gel ad aimed at men will assert that men (read: real men) think about sports every minute and about chicks every other minute. I don’t do either, and yet I’m a user of both products. Huh.

Many is the woman I’ve met who complains that her husband can’t multitask or pick up after himself, yet a single gay guy like me doesn’t have a girlfriend or Blue Fairy to waft in weekly and clean my space for me. When’s the last time you even saw an ad for a household product that featured a man in it? Ever see a single father give a kid cough syrup? How come there are no gay couples in erectile disfunction ads, and more pressingly, why the fuck is everyone always in an outdoor bathtub holding hands?

The thing with advertising is that it’s so unnecessary. Ads create needs for products that didn’t previously exist before a team of execs decided they must, they sell unobtainable dreams, and they treat all of us like monolithic demographics with no social overlap. Gay ads — this encompasses not only directly-targeted merchandise like underwear or fitness equipment, but also Public Service Announcements, implicitly gay commercials, and natch, the Gay Panic ad — are often the worst because they tend to play to the lowest common denominator. A virtual porn aesthetic isn’t really pushed to the same degree in hetero-themed ads like it is in gay ones. Why, you’d swear all we do is fuck and work out! (read the full article)

“It’s finger-lickin’ GOOOOOD!” — Near Dark

“…they have to suck your blood. And then you have to suck their blood. It’s like a whole big sucking thing.” — Buffy The Vampire Slayer

“You’ll be my foot stool. And at my command, you’ll lick the dog shit from my boot heel. Since you’ll be my dog, your new name will be ‘Spot.’ Welcome to slavery.” — From Dusk Till Dawn

“Are you into any kind of banging?” — The Lair of The White Worm

“The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of a cunning craftsman.” — The Wisdom of Crocodiles

“Why is my ass wiggling?” — Day Watch

“The blood of these whores is killing me!” — Andy Warhol’s Dracula