Here at Nightcharm, we can sometimes get a little cheeky with content, so whenever we color outside of the PC lines, we expect to get our asses spanked and usually do…because we’re nasty boys.

So fair warning: this is likely the least PC thing you’ll ever read on this blog, and it only gets raunchier from here.

I’m here to talk about sluts. Gay sluts. People can say the term is judgmental and perjorative, but they can bite it, because the reality is this: sluts exist. We’ve all met them, and some of us are them. I’d go so far as to say that every gay man has a moment just like Molly Shannon in Superstar wherein their internalized conflict between social responsibility and the pleasure principle results in a paroxysm of “I’m not a slut! I ain’t no slut! I ain’t no slut!” Some work through it; others give in and spread like it’s the sale of the century.

Let’s get the etymology of the term down first. “Whore” and “slut” are too often used interchangeably. A whore fucks for cash, fame, or career advancement, sometimes even marrying and/or having a child to anchor their mark — anything to get that check. A slut operates on sheer animal lust, selfishly screwing those they aren’t even particularly attracted to without thought to consequence for themselves or others, never getting enough.

It’s all about the dick. (read the full article)

Gay porn’s got a lot of problems as of late, but while many of them are recent developments, there’s one that’s always been a real monkey on the medium’s back.

Terrible dialogue.

Now terrible’s a loaded word in porn. Most of us will admit that we get off on cheesy, nasty wordplay that no one will ever actually utter in real life. When I see a guy getting banged from behind bray “Fuck me like the trash I am!” while grasping a chain link fence for leverage, I think Good for him. He deserves it.

No, when I say terrible dialogue I mean hackneyed, dull, uninspired blather, which is sadly the norm in most movies.

It’s actually exceedingly rare to find a real cunning linguist in gay porn, with only players like Sam Crockett, Gino Colbert, Blue Blake, York Powers, and Paul Morgan comprising a very small and exclusive club of dumpster-mouthed wordsmiths. Jon Vincent is arguably the all-time reigning king of filth-speak (not too many men could deliver an enlivened utterance like “Oh, Mother yes! Oh, Mother never!” while getting sucked off), and I’m convinced that he would’ve made an excellent mainstream actor or even a writer.

I don’t know if it’s the actors, the scripts, the directors, or a combination of all three, but bad dialogue is a problem that just keeps exacerbating, and because the business can’t seem to self-correct, we’re here to strongly encourage them to officially retire The Ten Hoariest Gay Porn Lines We Can’t Bear To Ever Hear Again. (read the full article)

It’s a weakness: I love older men.

I can’t help it. I just know the grizzled dude in that “Most Interesting Man Alive” beer commercial is an incredible fuck. Those ads for male hormone treatment in which men in their twilight years are transformed into bulging muscle monsters with younger gold-digger girlfriends should have me thinking “Bullshit!,” but all I can do is grab my groin and think “Lucky whores!”

I deeply want to be sexually harassed by a boss who looks exactly like silver fox John Slattery, a total hog who paternalistically slaps my ass with a gritted sneer before telling me to get him a Pellegrino. “I have a Kaplan Business Degree!,” I counter as he unzips with a smirk. “I’ll scream!,” I virtuously protest as he pulls me to his sinewy body, only to have him laugh as he forces his lips onto mine. “Ha! Go ahead! I’m drunk on my power, and who’d believe you anyway!? Look how you’re dressed!”

Yes, I’m an Uncle, Daddy, and Grandpa slut.

You could put five Corbin Fisher-style guys stripped naked in front of me in a line-up, but if there’s one man there with a salt-and-pepper crew cut and a silver handlebar ‘stache, they might as well be invisible as I stutter “Sonny like! Sonny like!”

Basically, I feel like Linnea Quigley in Return of The Living Dead, the only difference being that while she strips and waxes erotically about being eaten by a pack of old men, I envision me in a retirement community gang bang comprised of nasty former drill sergeants, high school coaches, and steel workers.

It’s a sickness. (read the full article)

To say earthbound colossus Colby Keller is a lot to handle in every sense can’t be understated; why we couldn’t even hope to accommodate him in a single interview! So now begins part two of our epic Q&A with the stubbly, crafty behemoth who’s a fusion of the soul of Che Guevara and the body of Peter Krause. Wussy straight boy models! Fuck the selfish Free Market! Porn Is Power! An explosive bareback gang bang swan song! Colby gave and gave some more, and boy are we proud of the conclusion. (read the full article)

Ask yourself this:

When you think of your favorite porn crushes, how often do you use descriptives like these?:

Brainy. Arty. Dorky. Approachable. Cuddly. Introverted. Literate. Chaplin-esque.

Meet Colby Keller, your Alterna-Gay Porn Heartthrob.

Whether you chalk up his popularity in an otherwise pretty uniform gay medium to a white collar (as in well-educated, not well-funded) labor shift or simply a big, bearded teddy bear doing what he has to in order to survive an upended Titanic of a 21st Century economy, Keller — above all else — comes off as disarmingly, sympathetically real.

A talented artist, gleeful sex hound, and unapologetic pinko sick to his dick of the myth of the all-providing Free Market, Colby Keller is as beloved for his brain as he is for his brawn, waxing intellectually on his excellent blog Big Shoe Diaries, adorning his frame with poetry, and partaking in naked drunk dance parties — complete with playful hat montage!

The scintillating and ever-candid Mr. Keller was gracious enough to allow this humble porn scribe a glimpse into his world, the culmination of which I think we can all agree has resulted in…The…Greatest…Gay…Porn…Interview…Ever! (read the full article)

“Dated” — it’s such an unfair word.

Sometimes, being era-specific can be a virtue.

Gay porn doesn’t really date all that well — it’s amazing to see how polished and professional the medium has become since the days of the handheld video revolution — and I’m frankly glad for that. So much of “new” porn is striking me as rather bland; creative sets have fallen by the wayside in favor of these generic “porn house” locales, music is no longer sublimely terrible than it is just ambient synth, and context isn’t as integral to setting a scene’s mood anymore.

The joys of dated gay porn are about more than just the stars, though it is nice to know that there was a time when models looked like fresh, approachable extras on The Dukes of Hazzard or Melrose Place rather than overly-’roided-out, too-aggressive sex mutants who require a team of day laborers to lift their elephant-sized legs while they’re getting nailed on their backs (true story). No, it’s the sore-dick little details that might as well have pop-up captions over them — look at the pic to the right and tell me what jumps out to you — that pull you down the rabbit hole. (read the full article)

The same thing happened to me. Only it wasn’t DeVry. It was Barbizon.

And it wasn’t in high school with a teacher. It was yesterday. With my parole officer.

Blond(e).

Take a moment and think about what you associate with that very loaded word.

Innocence. Purity. Boyishness. Athleticism. Stardom. Civilization. Naïveté. Plasticity.

Sexually, blonds are pretty typed in gay porn, lacking the range that brunets have. We crave a certain malleable passivity in them, meaning it’s not so much that they have more fun than they are more fun.

To handle. To subjugate. To corrupt.

Anyway you slice it, a bangable blond brings out the caveman in us, even the most milquetoast gay deep down wanting to pull a Tarzan, toss that yellow-hair over his shoulder, strip him down, and pound him out.

Forget about Blond Ambition. We’re talking Blond Submission. (read the full article)

If Tracy Morgan — who I never chalked up to being much of a comedic genius — has taught us anything this past week, it’s that the people who rant and seethe about other people’s stereotypes are themselves terrible unwitting ethnic cliches.

Porn itself is one of the most stereotype-ridden mediums out there, and really, that’s why we love it. Gay porn often tries to be very uplifting and PC in terms of how it depicts gay sex, but admit it: don’t you need your lusty latino gang bangs, tradey muscle guidos, humpy hillbillies, black brick bats, and dumb-as-sixpacks blue collar ballers in order to get off?

Do you even remotely want to see committed relationships, gauzy romance, domestic bliss, and civic duty depicted therein?

Isn’t this the one medium where you crave a lowest common denominator form of representation because it’s so much more hot that way? Who wants the high road in porn when you can get down and wallow in the low one?

Like that tired old maxim that claims less nudity is somehow hotter because it’s suggestive, we all know that porn is the most satisfying when it’s super-slutty, ultra-trashy, mega-kinky, and ever-so politically incorrect.

Prepare to feel that sweet, sweet guilt… (read the full article)