I’m here to talk about bimbos!

Biblical bimbos!

Photogenic Mormons are doffing their tops for the good of their faith. And I’m conflicted.

Sure, there’s no better score than a guy with self-esteem problems — the sort of “issues” that cause him to seek out religion and beefcake photography. Yet still, I can’t help feeling skeptical.

Under the aegis of its parent company Mormons Exposed (I kid you not), the Men On A Mission Calendar features “twelve handsome former missionaries who have dared to pose bare-chested.”

The project is supposed to be all about the spiritual beauty that comes from within, not just trading in sculpted torsos and great abs. The copy writes itself:

“Rod loves his position as a missionary, spends hours on his knees, and will give you the shirt off his back. Turn-ons include topless testifying, constitutional amendments, and tending to the lepers.”

Have a listen to the venture’s co-founder and producer Chad Hardy as he elaborates on the calendars raison d’etre and try to keep a straight face:

“Behind the eye-candy, this calendar has a deeper story — one that can reshape perceptions, heighten awareness, and perhaps encourage and inspire a broadened acceptance of human and religious diversity. The fact that twelve young returned missionaries are posing shirtless will certainly raise eyebrows, but may also help to sort out some common misconceptions about Mormons. The shock value of what these traditionally conservative young men have helped to create has the power to build a dialogue that encourages people across every belief system and walk of life to defy stereotypes, step out of judgment and embrace tolerance.”

I know. I could barely finish it too.

Now admittedly, a half-stripped naif is just about the only thing that could hold my attention during a pitch for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Maybe if all Jehovah’s Witnesses looked like this, I probably wouldn’t pull knives or turn hoses on them either. And yes, I would be glad to violate Mr. December in unspeakably sinful ways just so he’d really know what shame is, but there’s something “deeper” going on here that should have your Hypocrisy Alarm blaring as loud as mine.

Mormonism has always had some, um, credibility issues going all the way back to its inception, but marketing a hunky calendar to spruce up its boring image is more than a little disingenuous.

Secular culture (which I guess means anything and everything beyond the pulpit) is under fire for destroying those nebulous “family values,” yet Christian organizations don’t seem to have any qualms about using pop culture to amplify their appeal.

Youth rallies feature splashy video graphics and “Be Cool Like Us!” fashions to draw kids in. The whole Christian rock scene is a futile attempt to make worship seem edgy.

Now we have sexy Mormon pin-ups who could pass for Abercrombie & Fitch models. The issue at heart is winning over young people. Under the banner of something like Mormons Exposed, the Church is doing exactly what the Right has forever accused gays of conspiring to do: recruit younger members to expand their ranks.

I’m suspending my disbelief and imagining I’m Mormon Millionaire/Human Picket Fence Mitt Romney. I’ve apparently been held captive in Massachusetts and been forced to govern as that lost tribe’s ruler. Now I really, really want to be President. I’ve got some strikes against me, though.

While I may be the best-looking of the GOP candidates — not exactly a heated competition — I still have all the warmth and sensitivity of a toilet seat. I’m also prone to all manner of macho chest-thumping to prove what a manly, Herculean specimen I am.

I declare things like “Gosh, I love America” and “Lighten up slightly” and still expect to be taken seriously. Lastly, I’m the spokesmodel for a faith that even Evangelicals find wacky.

So what do I need to do to expand my base? The answer: trot out my five sons with their blindingly white veneers and faces unmoved by thought or emotion on the campaign trail in the Mitt Mobile to make me seem more hip and with-it. Why, it’ll be like The Partridge Family for the Purity Prom set meets The Virgin Suicides starring the Osmonds!

Like the young men of Mormons Exposed, Mitt’s strapping sons — who shall henceforth be known as Farina, Lux, Psalm, Patriot Act, and Cock Block — are blandly good-looking and nearly indistinguishable from one another.

These guys are what pass as porn for a sector of a population that’s terrified of sex but big into being fruitful and multiplying. They’re aggressively wholesome and earnest enough to hollow out a megalodon’s molar.

Check out the boys’ coy blog where you’ll be treated to an array of their charms. See them pose behind grade schoolers with American flags as backdrops, latch onto their pregnant prop wives, and cuddle babies named Reagan. Grab onto your nads as they run through cornfields. And yes, wait! … there are kids…kids with puppies!

Farina is the eldest brother and likely to utter profundities like “How can my children be safe when our culture bombards them and their peers with so much filth, violence, and hatred?”. He also needs your help to name his new puppy.

Psalm and Patriot Act are the Lance Bass and Joey Fatone of the group, but with statements like “I’m kind of the oddball of the family, as I’m the only one with blond hair”, we know Patriot Act at least has a rebellious streak.

Lux is my favorite one. Thick-as-a-brick, he has one facial expression, the robotic depthlessness of a Bachelor slab of beef, and ponders “Is my Dad stuck in the 50s?”

Youngest brother Cock Block is the weak link, ready to blurt out dark family secrets at any moment — like the one about all the bad brothers chained to the radiator in the basement. Clearly he’s a cutter or compulsive hand washer.

Big Daddy’s Mitt’s harem of nasty boys will press flesh, kiss ass, and pander hard for the money. Anything to get your vote off.

The moral of the story? It’s wrong to exploit attractiveness and the sex factor to sell dangerous temptations to America’s impressionable youth. Only churches and Presidential candidates have the moral certitude that allows them to whore out hot guys to put a new spin on their image or sex-up their public profile so youngsters will get on the band wagon.

Gotta put asses in the seats and voters in the booths.

© 2012, Shawn Baker. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

All right, bitches, I won’t sugarcoat it:

Rome is burning.

Lately, I’m looking at everything — everything — around me and finding it all fucked-up. Mass hysteria has set in. I wouldn’t trust this clown car cast of Republican Presidential hopefuls to give me a passable handjob, much more pull this nation out of decline. All I could do this past Saturday as I beheld international recording sensation Lana Del Rey performing a song on SNL about a chick apparently getting cock-blocked by frickin’ video games while looking like a doped-up cocker spaniel and sounding like an IBM computer that got roofied was think how much dick she had to take to get that record deal. Why is Smirnoff employing a glorified replicant hooker as their spokesmodel? Was Denise Richards busy? Half the cast of Jersey Shore has book deals under their belts, and the other half is presumably preparing albums of spoken word poetry.

I feel like the misanthropic offspring of a doomed one-nighter between Travis Bickle and Tyler Durden, neither paying my ass a dime in child support.

Even gay porn, which used to provide me a shameful thrill and carefree break from reality has been leaving me feeling hollow. Is it that as the condoms have come off the star quality has diminished exponentially? Maybe it’s that the newest title in my library is from 2004? Could it be that I’m sick to my dick of all the callow Timmys, Tobys, Colbys, Kellys, and Rileys whose names end with naughty, naughty boy Y vowels?

Anyway, I was reminded of everything excruciating that currently plagues the medium last week upon receiving an email press release via Cybersocket. Now, there’s nothing more transparently self-serving than a press release, but this bitch — which was blasted to millions of addresses — took the cake. Apparently, some twink named Riley Price is — No! Please! Don’t say it!” — retiring and leaving a huge hole in our collective consciousness. Stop. The. Fucking. World.

The hell are they talking about?, I mused, slack-jawed, as I read this incredible piece of tripe. “WTF!? Who gives a shit!?” my esteemed colleague David K. emailed. What we encountered was akin to the Pethouse Plaything confessional sequence from Amazon Women On The Moon, and I’m still laughing out loud.

Prepare yourselves to believe again.

I can’t even convey how little Riley Price — sounds like a Little Rascal or something — means to me on a basic human level, so little in fact that I can’t even be bothered to research him. Years back Esquire did a hoax feature devoted to a fictional model named Allegra Coleman (actually then-unknown Ali Larter) as the next-big-thing nobody had even heard of, so it’s possible that Riley is just an invention. Hell, he could be a photo composite of any number of generic, dead-eyed A&F models for all I know or care.

The only entertainment value to be gleaned from this mess in my inbox is the hilarious po-faced tone — as if Streisand or Garbo were calling it quits and going into isolation — combined with unbelievable douche Riley’s lunatic self-aggrandizement. “We never thought we’d see the day when a top porn star would willingly walk away from a successful career, but that’s exactly what Riley Price is doing. Today he officially announced his upcoming retirement from adult performance. Although Riley’s fans will undoubtedly be sad to see him go, they can take solace in the fact that he’ll be even more active behind the camera as he directs and manages his website…”

I’ve taken the liberty of picking out the best parts.

Riley on the crippling burden of fame and the transcendent power of re-invention:

“This has been a long time coming. I’ll still be doing LIVE shows. It’s just that performing with other models will cease. I need to focus on producing. I think I have proven myself as a performer. I’m ready for the next chapter and a new challenge. I want to be the best producer in gay porn. I can be it, too – but I’ve come to the realization that I can’t spread myself so thin. I care about the big picture now. This isn’t about Riley Price anymore, it’s about the life of a company. The Riley Priceless site is like my child. And it’s gotten to the point where I just want more. Performing feels old to me. It’s time to change the direction of my life. This is just a case of my heart, soul, and body all saying, ‘You’ve done porn performance. Now let’s try something different. It’s time to move on.’”

You always know you’re in for something seriously batshit when a trick refers to himself in the third person.

Riley on being a trail-blazer:

“It’s important for me that when people sit or stand to watch porn one day they say, ‘Yeah, he’s good. But he’s not Riley Price.’ I’ve earned that. People might think I’m a bit bold for saying that, and that’s fine. But I think it was Madonna who said, ‘I’m tough, ambitious, and know what I want. If that makes me a bitch, okay.’ Madonna has been a huge fire in my heart. I know it sounds queeny and cliche, but it’s the simple truth. Ask anyone that knows me.”

Jesus, I’d ask somebody to stick a dick in his mouth, but I’m convinced he’d still go on with the talking.

Riley on the heartbreak of sex symboldom:

“I have a heavy conscience. Everyone around me knows it. Aside from taking on production full-time, I am doing this because I want to have a boyfriend. A normal one who would care if I was performing with other men. I have been around infidelity. To perform and have a boyfriend – I’m not cool with, unless he was a porn star himself. But I’m not going down that road again. We all know how that one turned out, and that took a lot out of me. I got over it and I’m not doing that again. I wasn’t treated right, and that wasn’t right. That hurt. When I am with someone and I love them, I give them everything. I am as invested in them as they are in me. I have been burned a few times, and I don’t want to do that to anyone myself. I am a fan of loyalty. And as long as I stand, I always will be.”

Two dicks! Please! Can we try two dicks?!

Riley on life after gay porn exceptionalism:

“It’s much more relaxing. I work, edit, jog and listen to a lot of music. I’m also not afraid to eat an ice cream cone anymore.”

Pull the goddamned curtain down. The Wizard is dead. I’m hoofin’ it back to Kansas.

Riley on his muse Jason Sechrest…and the art of being Riley Price:

“He’s been the Phil Jackson to my Michael Jordan. He’s helped to improve me. He makes my life better, and he makes me feel protected. He calls me and I feel really good. It wasn’t easy to leave where I came from, but Jason really pushed me and took me further. He’s been a friend just as much as a manager. If you wanna be Riley Price – and you can be – just contact Jason. He’s my guy. Riley Price really respects J.”

Don’t fret, Riley. It’s time for the little bird to spread its wings and fly free from the nest. We mere mortals will get by. Somehow. Don’t do. Riley. Just be.

Just be..

© 2012, Shawn Baker. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

© 2012, Nightcharm. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

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.

So really, gay porn is the ideal medium for sluts, and between plummeting production values and dwindling profits, it’s gonna be a slutty race to the bottom. Clinton-Era sluts like Paul Morgan and Rob Cryston who spent the decade spattered with jizz now seem like gauzy fairy princesses who walk on cobwebs when compared with contempo players getting fucked on moving buses for a whopping $300. New Millennium gay porn has had to get nastier to stay marketable, and that means activities once relegated to underground porn — fisting, spooge dumps, extreme anal play — are working their way up in the mainstream. Current players are embracing their inner sluts and getting’ down on all fours like dogs on a front lawn in need of a hose-down.

When I challenged myself to select the ten biggest load-bearing fuck puppets in recent gay porn history — some going strong, other presumably taking breathers seated in buckets of ice — I knew I needed certain criteria in selecting them. In the end, I based my choices on 1) Persona (not volume, as anyone can phone it in over the course of 100 movies), 2) Shameless kink-laden notoriety among with-it viewers, and 3) A willingness to push sexual boundaries even at their own personal peril. With that in mind, I now preset you, in no particular order, with The Ten Most Shameless Cum Sluts In Gay Porn:

10) Kurt Wild

There’s a lot of talk lately about America’s crumbling infrastructure, but let us not forget that for the past five or so years boy-slut Kurt Wild has been a major ongoing project of the Interior Department — in the sense that he’s had more pipe laid into him than all of California’s natural gas utility.

Kurt looks like an innocent wittle eighth grader who has a paper route after school, and admittedly he does throw it all over town like a paperboy, but don’t let him fool you — he’s a major slut-for-hire who can’t keep his legs closed no matter how much flak it earns him. “Fuck a dolla!,” Kurt says in auditions for Crammed-Hard College Boyz Cum Easy 8 and Joystick Jizzers 9: Mother Hold My Hand as he flouts the standard pay scale. “I want fiiiiiiiiive dollaz!”

Most sluts are pretty self-reflective about being tapped-out, but Kurt’s the rare one who likes to feign being exploited. Getting fired from Subway upon being recognized, doing a trash-yourself interview with Tyra Banks in which he revealed he was supporting a wife and kids by sellin’ that ass — it’s all just his way of pretending he wouldn’t stick it up for a bag of Doritos and a Jamba Juice, then high-five you afterward.

I got your number, hussy!

9) Ashley Ryder

Though he’s better known across the pond in his native Britain where his gaping ass threatens to act as a particle accelerator that could trigger the second Big Bang, twink-slut Ashley Ryder is an all-anal acrobat at the tender age when most of us were doing term papers.

Just a cursory Google search will reveal copious photographic evidence of his Pez Dispenser hole distended to the point that he appears ready to pop out a set of sextuplets. You name the combination — two dicks, one dildo, one dildo and one dick, two dildos, a whole arm — and it’s been up this guy’s ass, so you just know that Mumsy’s got to be real proud of Oliver Fist here. As kids, we’ve all shoved a marble or plastic farm animal up our nostrils or into our ears, but Ashley was going for extremes even then, cramming a whole squadron of toy soldiers up his chute.

Seriously — a tribe of Littles could form a colony in there, and probably has at some point.

Yep, Petey Prolapse’s antics are not for the faint of heart, and I can’t help saluting a slut who sits in the audience of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo with it’s multiple forced-entry scenes and scoffs “Bloody amateur slags! That’s not how you take it like champ! Sod off!”

8. Owen Hawk

Every once in a blue moon, gay porn offers up an all-access bacchanalian slut-fiend who’s been mounted so many times that his asshole dilates like an opening telescope from just the slightest touch.

Human merry-go-round Owen Hawk is just such a slut.

Porn starletry just wasn’t providing Owen with a regular supply of dick, so he took the enterprising route and became a porn slut-mogul, founding skeezy bareback studio Dark Alley with boyfriend/business partner Matthias Von Fistenberg (once known as Mathew Green, transmogrified through slut symbiosis proximity to Owen into a tatted-out metabo-monster hole freak). For most of us, sex is actually something of a rare and thrilling occasion that gives us the giddies. For Owen and Matthias, every weekend was a gang-bang in a torture dungeon attended by guys who just waltzed in out of Cruising or 8MM. “A new studded zipper thong! Thanks Machine!”

Anyslut, things were going great until Matthias got deported, presumably, for being a nasty ass. What’s a heartbroken slut deprived of his true-fated love to do?, I ask you. Why, get a new lookalike/soundalike boyfriend named Brandon Hawk (Sluttony/Vanity. Slanity!) and continue throwing them legs up in the air under a banner of pseudo-Libertarian bullshit.

The simple invitation emblazoned above Owen’s contact-me portion of his website: “Fuck Owen.”

Sure! I better take a number!

7. Tyler Saint

Sluts at some point in their misadventures develop a certain look about them — it’s that hard, trashy cast to their face that lets you know you’re dealing with a bitch with some miles on him. Ironically-monikered Tyler Saint — all leathery and used — well, he’s got the look.

Let’s face it: every guy who does gay porn is nominally a star, but the medium produces relatively few Lana Turners and plenty of Barbara Paytons. Tyler definitely falls into the latter category. Six years ago it seemed he had the potential to be a pretty major star. His downfall?

Popularity breeds contempt.

Yes, Tyler’s ass has been very popular and very bred. He slid from the mainstream studios to the less-polished bareback ones, and as the condoms came off, so did the marquee factor. By the time he ran out of bare dicks to take, he’d turned to getting probed by weird-ass pistons out of some underground porno-anime. Now, he’s playing in awful gonzo porn — the kind with hideous DayGlo couches that looks to be shot on a iPhone cam by douchebag directors who say “Dude” all the time.

Hitting skid row at a rapid slide sure can chafe the ass.

6. Jim Slade

OK, admittedly slutty brick house Jim Slade has been retired for a while now, but his fans keep hoping for a comeback and I think he deserves a lion’s share of credit for being the New Millennium Gay Porn Slut who showed all the rest how it’s done. He only did about a dozen or so movies, but when he was on camera, he went all out.

Directors will often find stars who act as their on-screen surrogates or self-projections. David Lynch had Kyle MacLachlan, Tim Burton has Johnny Depp, and for a brief but glorious spate of muscle-themed porn flicks, Blue Blake had Jim Slade.

If this was a slutty beauty pageant, then heat-seeking slut missile Slade at least deserves the Mr. Congeniality title because he’s a rarity, what I call a “Friendly Slut,” meaning he’s sunny, engaging, and prone to using sex as means of relating as a bonobo might. If it was your birthday and you were down and alone, he’d drop trou, stick his ass in the air, and say “Take it. Enjoy.” Seeing him get fucked hard is a real hoot, and if taking shots to the face is a badge of honor in porn like it is for rappers, then Slade’s a hardcore gangsta slut. He was once overheard in a WeHo coffee shop talking about getting double-fucked by two black guys on a desk with all the casualness you or I might describe talking a walk.

I suspect that his porn tenure was a sort of quest to find the dick he couldn’t accommodate, so his swan song scene in Musclemen Moving Company is rather like watching the cowboy straddling the bomb in Dr. Strangelove. He went out the way he came in.

One. Hot. Slut.

5. Drew Peters

Yeah, the photo at right pretty much says all you need to know about ass slut Drew Peters — the class, the elegance, the pristine demureness — but I’ll let the following hilarious description from a fan put it over the top:

“…the kid with doughy pugilist’s features. He looks like a 1930s actor; you know, the kind who played James Cagney’s henchman in a gangster flick. Nice body though. With that and the tattoo, Drew’d make a fair street hustler.”

There are sluts and then there are sluts, and Drew is like a freakin’ on ramp. He does zero for me, but somebody’s gotta dig his scene, because he’s been in a ton of porn, everything from vanilla mainstream to full-on underground scat. His odometer’s gotta clock out at some point, but until then, he’s focusing on what he does best: takin’ loads full-time. A slut like this never does anything half way, and Drew was born to utter Liz Taylor’s immortal line from Butterfield 8: “Mama, face it. I was the slut of all-time!”

I’d wash his nasty mouth out with soap, but I think he might actually enjoy it.

4. Dawson

I’m not crazy about Treasure Island Media; it’s like the Saw franchise of gay porn, so it’s not for everybody. Most of the guys aren’t much to crow about either — they have this Nosferatu look that sex addicts and sex freaks with bio hazard tattoos over their dicks tend to sport, and if there are name stars in the mix, then they’re usually former hot stuff on a serious slide — but if the company has a face, then it’s gotta be Dawson.

Dawson’s an epic slut, meaning that like 7Eleven, he’s open all night and even on Christmas, the only difference being he doesn’t have a no-shirts, no shoes, no service policy. Seriously, this bitch has done whole state fairs and shriner’s conventions — all of it with a “What the fuck?” shrug as he rides cock and chugs jizz.

I can spot a slut from a mile away on a dime, but oddly, Dawson doesn’t look the type. With is warm, kindly face and big doe eyes, he actually looks — dare I? — innocent. Still, he’s confessed to doing a mind-blowing eighty-three guys in a single night. The guy’s got to have caught every bug in known existence, and the fact that he’s still standing suggests that he may actually have some kind of scientifically inexplicable immunity.

Either that or he’s the mythical plague sower come to wipe us all out, so watch your back with this slut.

3) Jeff Palmer

Ha! Check out the look on Jeffy Boy’s face. It just screams “I’m a precious petaled flower! What is this dick doing in my mouth! I would never choke on cock and take loads to the face! Scandalismo!”

Can it, slut! You can lie to us but don’t lie to yourself!

Jeff is gay porn’s answer to Tom Cruise: short, sort of android-ish, fanatically religious, a science-denier, and a wacko conspiracy theorist. This is one insane slut. He’s also been known to sport a hideous klieg light-blond dye job.

There are circus tents that are less splayed-out than Jeff, and with Jeebus on his side, he’ll continue his Mary Magdalene act of letting all comers make him air tight with righteous abandon.

Hallelujah!

2. Erik Rhodes

A champagne bottle. The entire Falcon roster. Francois Sagat’s fist. A parking cone. New York. L.A.

Erik Rhodes has smoked ‘em all.

By his own admission, Erik is a ten-ton mega-slut with a busted-up ass that destroys everything good and pure. Described by one source as “[a] creation [that] resembles a cross between Frankenstein’s monster and The Hulk with a ridiculous Jersey Shore spray tan,” he exists on a diet of HGH, Red Bull, and jizz as he takes them loads ’round the clock. If Jaws was a nob-gobbling cock slut, then Erik would be a fucking megalodon swallowing cruise ships, small islands, and sperm (whales) in a single gulp.

Erik’s an embittered slut who spends his time threatening to kill himself, encouraging others to do so as well, pining away for douchebag boyfriends who film him drunk off his ass, listening to EMO music, getting arrested for public roid rage, and bitching about getting fucked on camera by his boring co-stars. When he walks past a fire hydrant, he thinks “I could take that.” He once partook in an all-black gang bang that left his asshole swollen shut. Like his fellow Long Islander sister-in-spirit Amy Fisher, Erik is one messed-up bitch who’s destined to shoot somebody in the face and do sex in fuck flicks.

He’s just changing the order around, Guido Slut-style.

1. Mason Wyler

Look, I’ll be honest: I’m pulling for Erik Rhodes or Jim Slade to get the tiara in this slut show-down, but even their combined talents are gonna get a run for their money from southern-fried-slut-bag Mason Wyler.

Depending on who you ask, Mason is either the hottest bottom in porn or a total crazed creep who’ll do anything for dick. I think he looks like Gomer Pyle had a broken condom baby with the Wicked Witch, so whatev. That would be the closest he’s ever come to using one.

A slut he is who fails to distinguish between fantasy and reality, and Mason is one of those sluts who’s intent on living out every escapade the rest of us just relegate to dream sequences. What is his pinnacle moment of sluttony? Posting a pic of himself getting fucked on his blog with the words “This could be you fucking my ass!!” ‘shopped onto it? Lying about he and his funny boy hubby getting raped by an Iraq vet, resulting in the guy’s arrest and the subsequent dropping of all charges, the A-Ha! moment arriving when everyone collectively realized he’s never once turned down a dick? How about announcing his newly learned HIV+ status with a sentiment amounting to “Finally! Gang bang at my place!”? Maybe signing on with fellow butt slut Owen Hawk post-diagnosis to get pounded out with cavalier glee? Any way you slice it, this is one fucked-up slut for the ages.

We christen thee, Saint Mason, Patron Saint of Wayward Slut Puppies the world over.

© 2012, Shawn Baker. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

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.

10. “Fuck/suck/eat that ass/dick/hole!”

It’s like this and like that and like that and like this!

This is perhaps the ultimate in lazy gay porn banter, as if it were generated by a Speak & Spell for functionally illiterate models.

It’s made all the worse by this crippling problem that gay porn has with demonstrative determiners, meaning it’s always that phantom dick or ass that’s referenced instead of this one right in front of the speaker. This howler has been repeated so many times that “Suck this dick” doesn’t even sound right even though it clearly is.

It also makes gang bangs and circle sucks so confusing for the grammatically-adept guy in the mix.

9. “Fuck yeah!”

Not so objectionable when only used sparingly, “Fuck yeah!” very rapidly becomes irksome to the ear when repeated ad nauseam for fifteen minutes on end. It’s just become too much of a go-to filler crutch for the non-lexical in gay porn. I get that a lot of these models probably suck their thumbs or wander off set when a butterfly catches their attention, but I can’t help feeling they can still do better. I like it when players verbally spar.

Whenever a guy really switches it up and hits a lingual home run in mid-rut, my faith in the world is redeemed. Even just a “Yeah, motherfucka!” or “Daddy just got paid!” can be a game changer. I once heard a guy say “Yeah. Ride it. Ride it all the way home,” to his co-star. The best line ever still runs through my head. “Hey — where’s my cock? Where’s my cock, boy?,” asks a top to his younger bottom, who in turns half-groans, half-whines “It’s…in…my…ass!”

Fuck yeah it is.

8. “Damn, it’s tight!”

This one’s hilarious because you have to figure that with some of these career bottoms with forty or fifty titles in their resume it’s gotta feel like throwing a hot dog down a hallway at some point. Think about it: does anyone really want to get it on with an “experienced bottom”?

Just as straight porn would have you believe that all women walk around looking like femme bots always up to get banged by any guy who crosses their path, gay porn trades in the fantasy that all asses are tight as a drum despite getting pounded harder than the gates of Minas Tirith by an orc battering ram. “Is it in yet?”

“Um…yes.”

7. “Take it! Take it!”

Oy, is there anything more tedious and one-note than a mouth-breathing top who just repeats “Take it” on a loop? Look, it’s not a survey — it’s a dick in a gay porn movie wherein clothes magically disappear and guys named Bryce or Camden go on ski trips. You don’t need the hard sell.

It’s like too much motile emphasis is placed on the dick; I like when the top gets a little lazy and tell the bottom “You do it! Fuck yourself!” as he just lies back and lets that ass go crazy on his pole. Get a little madcap, guys. Blurt out “You deserve the dick!” or “I’m occupying your ass, baby!”

Better to make us laugh or double-take than doze the hell off from monotonous stimulation.

6. “I’m gonna cum!”

This line is so ubiquitous, but it’s ultimately irrelevant to the viewer. We’ve all seen enough porn to understand the pacing and scene trajectory, and it’s visually obvious when a guy’s about to blast without him having to say a word. His eyes close, his neck cranes, his body gets really taught — it’s akin to saying “Yes! I’m gonna piss like a racehorse!” in the bathroom.

The perverse thing is that gay porn is chock full of models who hate to get jizzed on. They get this look on their face like they’re bracing themselves to get pepper sprayed by a dickbag cop, and some will visibly recoil when the cum starts flying. I think it’d be awesome to some unguarded moments where one model sprays all over his unsuspecting co-star without warning.

“Don’t blame me, baby. I didn’t start the fire — I just put it out!”

5. “I don’t know, man — I’ve never done anything like this before!”

Ah yes, the seduction of the innocent.

A variation on “This is my first time,” or “You’re the first one to fuck me,” it amounts to the same yeah, right, you gape-holed slut effect. Whether it’s straight-arrow jocks or hulking squares in polo shirts, being even just a little bi-curious in gay porn is a slippery slope. What starts out with a furtive blowjob ends with the thrill-seeker getting gang-banged atop a pool table by a bar full of sneering ass fiends. “Please! I just came here for the karaoke! This is nothing like Glee!”

The point is, the pretense of virtue in gay porn is needless, because deep-down, all men are whores.

4. “Dude, I’m straight…but…”

This one is more of a prelude line, but it’s still well-worn.

Look, I get the whole seduce-a-straight-guy fantasy, but take a moment and imagine the side-eye straight porn would get if it insisted on a pretense of hetero-only status for its female stars. Straight male porn viewers never have to hear “Um, I don’t really like licking clit,” or “Ewwww! Kiss a girl!” from the ladies, and if they did, I bet they’d be miffed.

Gay porn is a fictional space like any mainstream movie or TV series. It has its own sense of place and rules, and within its universe it’s implicit that not only are all men sexually available, but they’re essentially gay because women don’t exist therein. Yeah, there’ll be throwaway references to wives or girlfriends, but they’re like unicorns or mermaids. No man in gay porn is gonna turn down a hole that’s offered to him — ever — so skip the light fandango. It’s time to get sucked and get fucked, hubby.

3. “Like dat ass?”

Yes, frankly, I do.

I guess this line is just rhetorical, but here’s the thing, generic gay porn director: we all like dat ass. That’s why they call us ass bandits, and that’s why you make movies called Older Men Want Ass, Rear Formation, Acres of Ass, and Butt Sluts of The Castro. It’s rather like asking Who wants cake? or Who likes puppies? Basically, if you’re getting plowed by a grunting and straining hot piece, it’s a safe bet he’s really into that ass, and if you press them, all gay men will admit that they would kill for that ass. That’s why we have to wear pants.

To stop the killing.

2. “Cum on my ass, man!”

Look you fucking bratty bottom: You’re not the boss of me.

This pop shot should be effortlessly hot, but weirdly it’s never done anything for me, and whenever a guy demands it, I always hope his scene partner over-shoots and hits him in the head. Better that the more assertive player just choose his own target without too much direction. I’ve always found chest and face shots more appealing anyway, and now after too many years of the same old arched ass dousing, they seem to be gaining more prominence. Either way, don’t verbally telegraph the moment. Surprise us.

And take it in the face like a man, pussy boy!

1. “Suck it…yeah…suck it…”

I hate porn banter that’s too instructional-sounding. I always get a thrill whenever I hear a trash-talker come up with something truly zany or off-the-cuff like “Oh, you suck like a little corporal!,” or, when the guy in front of him comes up for air, “You get a five second little slut break and then you get back in there!”

I want some nasty Kama Sutra dirty talk, not a step-by-step manual. “Yeah! Insert screw A into slot B! Crank the sliding rod! Crank it! Crank it”

“For optimal results, use both hands!”

© 2011, Shawn Baker. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

Dark Meat, Light Meat, and Who Forgot the Cranberry Sauce — such are the challenges of Thanksgiving.

But none of these seasonal questions so roil our beloved Nightcharmers as Cut or Uncut — a topic that comes up here way more often than Turkey Day.

Every time we run a succulent peek-a-boo schlong like the lip-smacker above (on Sexgaymes model Marcos Pirelli) we race for higher ground, bracing ourselves for the killer wave, the Christmas tsunami of comments that floods in from a dependable army of pro- and anti- circumcision partisans.

The vitriol that flows, the science that’s quoted, the experts that are debunked all mix into a slugfest not seen since the religious wars of the 16th Century. (See the holy hell that breaks out here, here and here.) We’re telling you, between reading those comments and watching Jeopardy every night, a person could get a college education.

Truly, foreskin is worshiped far and wide in Nightcharm Land. The Circumcisionists, with their sensible chins jutting forth into the hygienic sunlight, a copy of The New England Journal of Medicine tucked neatly under their arm, are as Mayflower Pilgrims in the forests of the Iroquois — righteous missionaries of an alien faith.

For in America, where cut males are the Puritan norm, a little glimpse of hood sets our old Iroquois hearts agog. We go kajagoogoo over the fuckers.

As for Marcos — and we really should talk about Marcos for he is a person in his own right, with hopes and dreams, and not merely a vehicle for walking his heavy uncut salami from one place to another — turning now to the inspirational Marcos, we think the teaser for his new Sexgaymes video says it best — certainly, it says it all:

Marcos Pirelli loves his own dick. He bounces it up and down and swings it from side to side…

Yes, boys, it’s another spine-tingling solo. Can you stand it?

Using spit as lube, he pounds away at his uncut cock and pushes his fingers deep under his own foreskin. With constant eye contact with the camera, Marcos brings himself to an explosive ending.

Oh, damn and no Spoiler Alert. Well, even though you know the ending, it’s really the feeling Marcos puts into the thing that make it worth seeing again and again.

So bring in da funk. Bring in da noise. Foreskin will be served tonight at the Sexgaymes Video Theater.

It’s Thanksgiving, you heathen braves!

© 2011, John Calendo. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

Sunny, cute, vivacious, playful.

These are descriptions applied to any exemplar of the endless supply of chipper, collegiate male starlets who have populated gay porn down through the years.

Sultry, intense Logan Reed was none of the above.

No, Reed was a popular yet still strangely unknowable presence in gay porn beginning in the late ’90s — a star who seemed to defy categorization as he hinted at a curious human mystery that played scorchingly on camera.

Where did he hail from? Who was he really? What ultimately became of him? These are among the myriad questions that surround one of the medium’s most enigmatic players.

Come back to the Five & Dime, Logan Reed, Logan Reed…

Reed did a dump truck’s worth of porn, so even if you don’t know him by name, you’ve likely encountered his work at least once. Much is made of his numerous physical attributes, particularly his billy club of a cock and his perfect chest hair pattern (he was usually trimmed for on-camera duty, said to have been epically hirsute when unshaven). For me, I have to say his face was the real marvel. Leonine and chiseled, it has this sphinx-like quality that made it temple- or pyramid-worthy. He could’ve been H.P. Lovecraft’s hot-assed descendant, and depending on the light and expression, he could look bright-eyed (damn, those eyes were blue) and open or haughty and forbidding. It’s not often the word “mercurial” gets bandied about in waxing ecstatic about gay porn, but Reed is that exception.

In terms of concrete biographical details, this sphinx is a true riddle. It’s known that he hailed from Colorado and headed westward, ho! where he was pretty much immediately snatched up in the biz, becoming a real fixture on the scene for almost a decade. And boy was he versatile, tapping ass and getting plowed at alternating turns. Super-stubbly and square-headed, he nevertheless had a certain pleasing boyishness to his physique, all of which made him easy to cast and even easier to contrast with virtually any co-star.

Just a quick glance at my DVD shelf has but a few of his career highlights coming to mind. The hilarious Dark Side of The Moon has a terrific flip-flop between he and Matt Bradshaw in an outdoor shower, Bradshaw pogoing for dear life atop his obelisk. In Beach Buns, he’s the beach trick that Rod Barry enlists to deflower him (according to first-timer Barry, for real). Reed works over Barry’s hole with his tongue before pounding the blond lifeguard tease out like he deserves.

Tulsa County Line, in which he essays the hottest UPS guy ever, is real hoot. Check out his uproariously priceless pregnant pause when, after a delivering a new video camera to backwoods sluts Matt Sizemore and Nino Bacci, he’s asked “Do yo mind if I videotape you?” He looks back and forth between the two men. “Naw, I guess it’d be all right,” Reed concludes, which, natch, leads to him mounting Bacci on the couch as Sizemore watches, Reed politely laying back on the coffee table so that the pair can spray all over his tits. My fave has got to be from Jeff Stryker’s Underground, wherein he gets doubled-teamed in a bondage mask atop a pool table by Paul Morgan in the front and Jeff Stryker in the back, Morgan blasting a climactic geyser of jizz in his face.

Reed retired from the industry in 2005. Some sources claim he made a career segue into restaurant management, now living largely incognito outside of being recognized by fans. Other assertions are less heartening, his Cock Fight co-star Blue Blake writing that Reed hit the meth pipe hard and went to seed, unable to make a legit go at it.

Here’s hoping Logan’s post-porn run led him into the sun.

© 2011, Shawn Baker. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com

© 2011, Nightcharm. All rights reserved. Nightcharm.com