Porno tomes.

I love them, and my bookshelf houses such tell-alls as Christy Canyon’s Lights, Camera Sex!, A Thousand & One Night Stands: The Life of Jon Vincent, Traci Lords: Underneath It All, John Holmes: A Life Measured In Inches, Wonder Bread & Ecstasy: The Life and Death of Joey Stefano, Blue Blake’s Out of the Blue: Confessions of an Unlikely Porn Star, and Boy in the Sand: Casey Donovan, All-American Sex Star.

I know on a superficial level that it’s trivial and voyeuristic to have a fascination with porn stars, but on a deeper one I’ll confess that I find them strangely compelling. They are after all sort of willing freaks in society; even the most with-it of us are conflicted about sex — afraid of what we want, afraid of how much we want it, afraid that no one can give it to us — and so they provide us with a by-proxy catharthis. In a world without disease, emotional entanglements, or taboos, I’d probably be doing everything I see onscreen, but what holds me back is absent for them. That shame valve just wasn’t included in their designs. (read the full article)

We all have our limits in life.

I can’t add in my head. I can’t sleep in an unfamiliar place. I will never get the appeal of Glee.

Also, I have a problem with frequenting adult retailers.

I don’t know how common a situation it is for others, but it’s not unusual for straight men in my life to ask me to purchase porn on their behalf; apparently, having a gay guy act as their procurer mollifies the guilt many straight men associate with buying smut. Though I’m partial to mail order myself, I personally get a kick out of going to a newsstand and paying for a copy of Barely Legal or Juggs and having the vendor look at me before his gaze wanders to Torso or Honcho. And yes, it’s hard not to laugh as I choose a title like Sex-Starved Fuck Sluts, H.R. Muff ‘N Stuff, or Big Trouble In Little Vagina that fits his/their specifications.

The problem is other men. Please — please — don’t try to pick me up in a sex shop. (read the full article)

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)

Who could resist a headline like this? Not me.

And besides, when you’ve got porn as hot as this, well, it is really swell.

New in the Cruiser Boys theater: Rusty and Steve are tall, muscular, well equipped, stoners surfers.

Rusty invites Steve over to the small beach cottage that he’s house sitting. They share a bowl. Rusty puts the cat outside and some porn flicks on the DVR. And then, well, you can see from these teaser shots shot that it isn’t long before longboards are being ridden. Steve’s stamina pays off as Rusty takes rides him to the finish. Wow, I guess this is what ’surfing the web’ is all about.

It’s such a great way to spend a springtime evening. We’re jealous.

Catch all the pics and videos inside. Surf’s really up.

Nightcharm is overjoyed to announce that Anonymous — the most published author in history — has coupled with our resident cartoon genius Josman to create one of the most controversial stories to ever land in our Inner Circle library.

Modest to a fault, yet possessed of political secrets that have toppled governments, as well as sexual endowments that have redefined pornography, Anonymous here confesses that he is also — surprise! — a total butch bottom.

And Josman — an illustrator that can render a rounded ass or spritz of jism with the detailed lyricism of a Disney cartoon master — has risen way beyond the challenge for this over-the-top, fetish-driven story.

In Buttboy in a Blindfold, Anonymous is a college jock, just turned 18, who reads a notice on his college bulletin board that says Athletes Wanted For Experiments in Human Response. Being a frisky lad full of spunk, he soon gets himself right in the middle of a . . . um . . . jam.

Here’s a sample (brace yourself): (read the full article)

Hotness Alert in Nightcharm’s Inner Circle. The latest update from the guys at our Fantasy Boys theater takes a "house boy" theme, which does or doesn’t work depending on how hard you’re willing to suspend your disbelief.

Personally, I’m not willing at all because the shoot is so hot that I don’t really need more than they’re giving me: two really hot boys getting nasty together.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that one of them is packing his trousers in a major-league way. Don’t take my word for it — check out the picture.

This is a good day to join up, if you’re not already a member of Nightcharm’s Inner Circle. Of course, most days are good days to join so long as you’ve got plenty of lube and a clean towel on hand.

We’ve all been to that bend in the river, haven’t we? Where the woodbine twineth — among other thangs.

In case you’ve forgotten what a thang looks like, our master artist Josman draws a whole slew of tumescent ones for the R.J. Marsh story The Way Things Are, which you’ll find in the Inner Circle.

A potent, hardon-making tale, it is also beautifully written — something we’ve come to expect from this author. For the way things are is that nobody in this story is gay. Nobody at all. All the guys tell us that several times. And yet…

And yet each one of them finds their way to that bend in the river. (read the full article)

Here at Nightcharm, USA New Josman illustrations are always a cause for standing on our heads and reciting the Jabberwocky with wild hiphop gestures.

Josman’s illustrations make us dizzy — correction dizzier, with all they have to show us about phallic fun. And we do mean phun.

The Master has taken his digital pen and paint to a heart-tugging tale about one fellow helping out another. You see this other fellow — that’s him, above, in the white T with the nipple ring — he’s stranded (wouldn’t you know) in the middle of nowhere. Funny thing about nowhere: You can’t go shopping there, or take in a movie, or order an Orange smoothie from some cute bucktooth hayseed behind a counter. Boys being boys though, our two heroes figure out a way to flitter away the time … and each other. (read the full article)