You’ve come a long way, baby.
It’s hard to believe in today’s hyper-produced, corporatized porn industry that there was a time when porn really wasn’t that pretty to watch. Gay porn stars may have kicked the ‘roids, tattooing, and manscaping into high gear, but their medium always required a certain level of physical presentability. Straight porn? Not so much. Men — despite the vital purpose they serve — occupy a decidedly secondary position in that product.
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.
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.
There’s Kitsch. There’s Camp. There’s Chintz. There’s Schlock.
And then there’s Cheese.
Like pornography itself, Cheese is difficult to define, but you know it on sight. The garishness. The cluelessness. The depthlessness — it’s all perfect in its velvety edibility. Not all male objection is cheese; even in the goofiest of get-ups, a classically-featured Francois Sagat will still maintain a cool mystique.
It’s an occupational hazard.
Just a few years of writing about sex and porn has really broadened my libido. Things I never really quite got before are now permanent booths in the carnal carnival of my mind.
I probably would be the centerpiece in a Guido gang bang if the opportunity ever arose. I’m now forever enamored of insanely-subtitled Hungarian gay porn.
Don’t try this at home.
When your average person hears that admonition, they think of the hazards of the latter-day Evel Knievel YouTube generation: teenage skateboarders ending up unwillingly straddling metal railings they fail to clear, borderline personalities with no fear responses leaping from high structures, and devil-may-care d-bags literally playing with fire.
When you write about sex, though, your thoughts immediately turn to the overly-creative, crazy-ass sex positions that directors dream up in fits of inspiration.
We, the gays, have a complex and even masochistic relationship toward it — especially when it’s embodied in the male form.
Yes, much of our lives come down to rejecting the tyrannical father in his various incarnations, yet so many of our private fantasies orient themselves around carnally collaborating with him, sometimes besting him, but more often surrendering to him.
Despite one of the most soul-draining years from one of the most horrendous decades in recorded history, there was music. Good music. There’s really no particular order or rhyme to this list, though I’ve rambled out some reasons below. Start 2011 the right way, with some great (maybe new to you) new tunes. Happy New Decade Dudes.
Janelle Monai The Archandroid
Who knew records like this were even possible nowadays?
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.
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