Gay porn stardom should, in theory, follow a well-established formula: discovery by an eagle-eyed photographer, an auspicious debut with a coveted “introducing” credit, the coy implication that your sexual repertoire could expand for the right price, a spread in Playgirl or Torso, above-the-title billing in your own high-gloss starring vehicles, lucrative dancing gigs and a slick personal web page, winning a Grabby for best three-way, amassing a list of twelve to fifteen top-tier credits, headlining a lavish swan song production, and finally retiring out into venerated relic hood.

Billy Herrington never planned on becoming a beloved figure in that state of grace normally ascribed to sell-out or fail-forward western demi-celebs: Big In Japan.

Mainstream stars go east on the sly to shill luxury cars or record cheesy dance albums without losing stateside cred. Herrington didn’t just go to Japan. He was summoned by an adoring populace.

International stardom has been thrust upon his broad shoulders thanks to a frenetic, eye-openingly strange parody-paean of the grappling antics in his early eroto-wrestling entry Workout: Muscle Fantasies 3 (left) that appeared on the Japanese video sharing web site Nico Nico Douga, soon going viral and spawning at least three thousand imitators and propelling Herrington to god-like meme status in the Land of the Rising Sun.

No one was more bemused by the attention than Herrington himself, lumbering and knuckle-dragging when on-camera, eloquent and philosophical when off-. He’d been one of the highest-paid and most-recognizable male stars at the top of his game in the late ‘90s while flexing through Playing With Fire 2, Flesh Trap, and Billy Herrington’s Body Shop. (read the full article)

Teabagging is one of those fetishy porn terms that has become part of the language, particularly youthspeak and hipspeak.

To tea-bag is to drop one’s testicles into a partner’s mouth, classically by sitting on his face. The practice isn’t new but having a word for it is.

The term picked up real speed over the last 10 years when it developed a teenage caché among snarky Xbox and PS3 gamers. In a video game like Battlefield 2, a player can manipulate his virtual character to squat repeatedly over the head of a fellow player that he has just shot down, thus humiliating him and getting off at the same time. The urban dictionary likens this strategy to the “dances performed by football players after a touchdown.”

Thing is the right wing, average age 84, never got the memo. How out of touch are the wingnuts? (read the full article)

“…there is no love in the world, there is only pain.”

“This is gonna be a tough one. It’s really tight in there. I’m gonna have to shove it hard to get inside. It’s gonna take everything I’ve got to bust it out for you.”

Porn’s rapport with its audience is tacitly linked to its metamorphic ability to adapt to virtually any occupational setting or social stratum. The above dialogue — exemplary of a typical dirty movie double entendre exchange — could be applied to A) a stubbornly clogged drain, B) a malfunctioning carburetor, C) a jammed copy machine, or D) all of the above if they involve Bulgari pour Homme Soir, a spray tan, and hair product. Since porn’s private universe is the paperwork-free, cubicle wall-defying dream career we all wish was our full-time gig, it’s only natural that it would libidinize vocations and the way they interrelate as they take it out in trade. (read the full article)

T-Shirt from London.
That British reserve always kills us.

Shower rooms.
Locker rooms.
Jockstraps.

The words alone cast a drowsy, aphrodisiacal spell on us. And it’s no wonder. They take us back to the days when the jumble of adolescent male bodies in a high school locker room was the first place, as far as our secret desires were concerned, where the rubber met the road.

Our first sight of a jockstrap might have been in the mirror but it didn’t take on real force until it was glimpsed making its grooved, scooping way around a buoyant pouch, just slightly above eye-level as we sat tying our sneaker amid the slam of locker doors.

The trio of shower room, locker room and jockstrap has been plot enough for many a porn film, and as soon as we see the familiar bench in a deserted room with a row of lockers looking on like somber tin soldiers, we pretty much know what’s up ahead. Blowjob City: Population 2. With casual walk-ins dropping their towels and swelling our small town to, at times, an orgiastic metropolis. (Bukkake Nation, anyone?) Then everyone ends up in the shower for a bangup reprise, but with different partners. Wash, rinse, repeat. (read the full article)

© 2006 Popboys. All Rights Reserved.

Existential profundities can on occasion arise from the most shallow of sources.

During my sophomore year of college I struck up a ridiculously improbable relationship with the resident borderline retarded BMOC that merged the platonic with the romantic. The nearest he ever came to exhibiting what could be termed an actual idiosyncrasy is when he would utter (apropos of nothing) musings like “If you get hard in a headlock, it doesn’t really count,” or “Octopussy was a really great movie,” causing me to pat him on the head or jiggle my keys in order to bring him out of his thought stupor.

His most defining rumination — on that remains with me to this day — came when he queried about the exact point in history when human beings officially became perverts; i.e., when did sex cease to be a base biological imperative and shift to the theatrical romp full of meaning and menace that we know today? At the time I couldn’t answer him, and even today I’m hard-pressed to isolate the wafting of the butterfly’s wings that let loose the tempest. Somewhere down the ages between One Million Years B.C. and Deep Throat, we as a specifies developed the luxury of being able to confuse our holes when it’s time to deliver the hot shot.

Michael Brandon and John Galt © 2005 Titan Media. All Rights Reserved.

The reality is that every one of has three sexual orifices, and if we could use our ears we would. The mouth is as much a pleasure center as any other; fitting that it should fall into contention when it comes to proper usage. Since porn is in many senses an all-purpose touchstone for how gay men relate not only to the world, but to their own bodies, the second, um, coming of the oral pop shot appears to be upon us. Dormant — but never moribund — since the mid-80s (now designated as the “Pre-Condom” Era), oral ejaculation is now not only a mainstay of low budget bareback productions, but has even started turning up in powerhouse studio gay porn during the last six years. (read the full article)

Do straight women enjoy gay porn?

That was the primary question on my mind when I sat down with my good friend Virginia Peters, an art professor and tantra maven in Seattle Washington.

But, with Virginia, as I expected, so much more was explored and revealed: The passionate demands of Aphrodite, the American tendency to overlay it’s mercenary psychology onto sex, especially the classic “money shot” that’s become the raison de etre of all porn — gay or straight.

The mythology of love between men and women in general, and of course, as promised what do women want from porn, gay or otherwise. Is the feminine connective principle present within the uroboric bubble of male/male love/lust?

Read on and see for yourself: (read the full article)