Erototoxins — that’s your word for the day.

Say it one hundred times:
e-ROT-o
[pause for maximum impact]
TOXINS!

Erototoxins are the latest in junk science from the ever incredible Religious Right.

According to Judith Reisman — a self-styled “expert” and anti-porn crusader — the recent shootings at Virginia Tech were all the result of violent video games and
cell-phone porn.

“Our mass media needs to stop celebrating mass killers and pandering sexual violence,” fumes Reisman — or “Dr.” Reisman as she likes to call herself.

In fact, she is in no way a medical doctor, or even a psychotherapist. She is a woman with a PhD in communication — that classic major of spokesmodels and celebrity pitchmen — who, like many in the Religious Right, insists on using the Dr. honorific before her name to suggest that she is something more than she is.

“A major lawsuit waits in the wings,” threatens the righteous spokesmodel, “if Virginia Tech has been a pornographic/erototoxic tolerant environment.”

A what environment? Oh we get it: it’s all because of those nasty pictures of people with no clothes on. (more…)

So they did this experiment, they being a battery of PhDs for The Journal of Sexual Medicine.

Forty guys — 20 cut, 20 un — were tested to see which group was more sensitive to “genital sensory stimulation” — that’s lab-speak for “pleasure.”

So the 40 dicks were stretched. The 40 dicks were pulled. The 40 dicks were tickled until they blushed a violet crimson.

And what did the 40 dicks yield? (more…)

We find these truths to be self evident.

Anyone who has stood at a line of urinals knows that wandering eyes are a common occurrence — one hardly limited to gay men.

Straight men do it almost as if on autopilot and differ from gay men in this not so much by degree as by intent… an intent say, to — in the words of those Marry a Millionaire shows — “take it to the next level.”

Thus, the fuss this week in the gay blogosphere over a hardly eye-opening study on lingering gazes will provoke in Nightcharmers merely a wry smile.

Despite all the play it got after one slap-dash (and typically analysis-free) blogsite posted it, the study came out a full two years ago. It was not even based on the sort of sample size or geographic variety we like to see in our pop-science. In fact, the study involved all of 255 New Yorkers.

The researchers were attempting to measure the effectiveness of web design, and here is what these far-sighted Christopher Columbuses discovered.

When shown full-body shots of men — a baseball player, in the example, winding up to bat the ball — women focused on the face, while men spent the lion’s share of their attention on the batter’s package. Face time in this eyecandy race came in a distant second for the men. (more…)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man with a spectacular body must be in want of a stripper gig in Vegas.

These boys dream of working on the Strip, the only Strip that matters: the Boulevard of Neon that stretches from Glitter Gulch to the Bellagio and Beyond.

And so they have very sensibly put their audition tapes on YouTube.

Who needs a “talent reel” or a bachelors degree in “Tele-Communications” — that college major unofficially, and quite universally, known as the School for Spokesmodels?

YouTube and balls of brass is all you need to get you through those golden casino doors.

Nightcharm presents a gaggle of stripper hopefuls for you to cast your cruel but fair eyes upon.

Score on a scale of 0 to 100. And try, try, try to find some place in your heart where you can be more Paula Abdul than Simon Cowell!
(more…)

We always thought Dean Cain was the hottest hump to play Superman ever (at left). But then we didn’t know what was going on in an Army barracks in Virginia.

Seems there was this group of troubled soldier boys at Ft. Eustis who were advised by their drill sergeant to shake off their post-traumatic stress with a little Superman play-acting.

Except the Superman the drill sergeant was thinking of was an all-boy porn version, and the way his therapy worked was that the solider would don a spandex Superman costume and the good sergeant would… well, I believe we scholars of such things would call it genitorture.

Popbitch give us all the filthy dish: (more…)

French Ticklers at the Gates!

The Invasion of the Blow-Up Dolls!

Yes, friends, it’s all happening in Sacramento.

That is the eye-witness account of the witty Darklady, a columnist for Ynot, a business newsletter for what we laughingly call “the adult industry.”

The occasion for all this mayhem is a proposed ban on the sale of — to use the language of the blushingly demure bill — “marital aids” in the California state capitol when such aids are being retailed near schools, parks, and of course, churches. (more…)

No, this isn’t a collection of stills from Wakefield Pooles‘ 1971 classic Boys in the Sand.

But 35 years after Poole’s seminal work this is what we get: A big ole Australian beach-bangin’ six-way, going down in broad daylight. Sun beaming. Waves crashing. Condoms stuffed to bursting. How times have changed.

How did it happen?

Poole’s “little porn film that could” set an entire industry in motion. Produced on Fire Island two years after the famous Stonewall riots, Boys in the Sand was reviewed in The New York Times and made nearly a million bucks. The film also gave queerdom its very first gay porn superstar, Casey Donovan.

“There are no more closets!” yelled Variety. The stampede — out — was on. Many critics saw the film as akin to the avante-garde work of directors like Kenneth Anger and Andy Warhol. No wonder our friends at SexGaymes couldn’t wait to do their own spin on the classic. And how lucky for you that we’re showing this gem tonight in the Inner Circle’s video theater.

What can you expect in this highly stylized version? Well there’s hunky surfer dudes Trevo, Josh and Dillon making out in the shallows. Followed by a determined walk to the beach to take cover in the rocks and surf boards. Lots of heavy slurping and oral gymnastics. And then — uh oh — here comes Damon and his boyfriend, stumbling upon the revved up trio. Of course sexy Damon has to join in. The guys split in to two couples — Trevor fucking Dillon and Damon fucking Josh. The sun beams. Waves crash. Cum spurts.

Make your own memories and join us inside the Inner Circle so you can watch the entire scene in its entirety.

(MEMBERS / non-MEMBERS)

NUMBER ONE.

Naked guy picture books are becoming tedious — the glut of them we mean. If we see one more black and white photograph of a mega-buff, buzz-cut dude teetering in spiked high-heels — you know, the brutal/dainty dichotomy — we’ll start doing something stupid.

Like publicly protesting Tom Cruise’s long-time-coming pay cut.

Poor Tom. But lucky Ohm. Ohm Phanphiroj’s bewitching new photography book for publisher Bruno Gmunder is titled Rare Views, and it’s a dick-rearing hit. A book totally true to its title, too. As Freshmen magazine observed:

This “unusual collection is a sleepy-eyed looking-glass into a strange and seedy lifestyle, where young hustler-types pose, piss, dress, and sleep in the various hotels, bedrooms, and bathrooms of Bonerville. One hunky model softly clutches his cock as he pisses into a cup…another shot fixates on a nude man fixing his oven…”

OK, so we’d read enough! When we contacted Bruno Gmunder to inquire about this place called Bonnerville and what the chances might be for us to hang out with some of BV’s lurid, dark-haired beauties, the very same ones that Mr. Phanphiroj rounded for his photogasms, we were abruptly cut-off and transferred over to Tom Cruise’s management firm. What the fuh…? Blame it on Mercury suddenly turning direct. But don’t blame us if you miss this trashy, artsy book. (more…)