Well, yes, what’s driving the world to spin round ‘n round isn’t evolution or progress but horniness, the constant urge to fuck, or at least pop off a spooge bomb every other day.

In this week’s Inner Circle Fratmen Theater update we’ve pulled together dozens of our favorite cum shots from the last six months. College cock erupting like Vesuvius. It’s chthonic. It’s fun. Hurry in, and don’t forget to bring a towel.

The Fat Lady has sung. The last dog has died.

And still she hangs on, clutching her barely-there 2-percentage-point victory in Indiana. From her cold, dead hands, children. From her cold, dead hands.

What I will miss most about my Hillary — for yes I am a supporter and yes I would vote for her again and yes, yes, I know, she is sooo cooked — is the way she would look at Barack Obama during the debates. That frozen glare behind the frosted smile. The slight up tilt of the forehead. God, that was priceless!

There would be ol’ Barry sawing away and saying nothing, all misty uplift about change and hope and the American people, slipping ever so carefully into just the palest of black preacher cadences, something for the home team, no Reverend Wright, of course; more Miss Diahann Carroll in an Oleg Cassini gown glossing her way through Aretha: R. E. S. P. E. C. T., ladies and gentlemen. That’s what y’all mean to me.

And there would be my Hillary in all her late-blooming, newly blondized, Georgette Klinger radiance, the robot who suddenly grew a heart and look ma, she’s even warm to the touch! All red-carpet razzle dazzle beside the dour law professor, with his down-turned lips and his solemn — here I risk a racist word — dignity. (more…)

Sometimes there’s no option besides to absolutely worship a model. Joaquin is the latest from our Maximo Latino theater, in our members area, the Inner Circle, and he’s one such model. Perfect, handsome face, a body that can’t be contained, and a big, raunchy uncut dick that’s nothing but trouble. Check it out for yourself. (more…)

He boasts more aliases than Sean Combs and Martin Bormann combined.

He’s been reified by Jack Nicholson, Vincent Price, Burgess Meredith (twice), Robert De Niro, George Burns, Susan Lucci, Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor.

He had his way with Rosemary and got all up in Miss Jones.

He’s the ubiquitous Satan, Prince of Lies and Lord of the Flies, and of all the are-they-or-aren’t-they? names roving around on the gaydar, he’s the one most overdue for a big coming out. We’re talking millennia overdue.

As one of the most recognizable figures in world culture, he’s also one of the most enigmatic. In various contexts, he’s merely the symbolic projection of the natural instinct within man, a living entity bent on leading us all astray, Hell’s overseeing whip master and God’s right hand man version of Karl Rove.

The lone unifying factor: he’s hot as hell and bad as he wants to be. (more…)

Aries: With the moon in your mother’s water house, it is going to be important for you to really cut back on junk food and soda pop this week unless you want to inherit your genetic destiny on an immediate basis.

Taurus: Here’s an interesting recipe for your period of extended abstinence.

You’ll need: two jumbo eggs, flour, wheat germ, baking soda, table salt, traffic jam, diced cheese substitute, and lots of pepper.

Whisk in a shallow Pyrex roasting pan and microwave on high for fifteen minutes. Severe. That’s French for “Serve.”

Gemini: God damn it, you are exhausting everyone with your constant nagging and bad ideas. This is a time in which you need to second-guess everything that comes out of your mouth, though even that probably won’t be enough to counteract the permanent damage you’re doing to your public image.

Cancer: You are in a tender state this week, and will need to be babied by everyone around you. Let the people you deal with at home and work know that this is a time in which things are going to be very focused around you and what you feel is important. Ice cream is your weekly color. For now, just sit down. (more…)

“At ease, soldier!” That’s the latest from the Fantasy Boys Theater in Nighthcharm’s Inner Circle members area. We can’t know his actual name, but names aren’t really so important when faced with the crazy-making combination of a lightly freckled redhead with a massive and rigid cock. Any name will do. “Ron.” How about “Ron?”

From our friends at Fantasy Boys:

“After a day of serving his county, this dirty boy needs to freshen up. A hot shower with lots of suds get him squeaky clean, and there’s no better feeling then to blow your load after a hard day’s work.”

Whatever the case, just show us some more of that big wonderful dick, “Ron.”

In porn it’s called the “money shot” because it’s worth more than the rest of the film put together. In France they call it la petite mort, the little death, bringing connotations of terror and finality. In literature it’s euphemized as a “climax,” pointing to the moment everything so far has led to. But pomp and circumstance aside, an orgasm only lasts about 8 seconds.

But what a captivating 8 seconds!

While watching porn the other day I realized how short an orgasm is. The clip was a little over a minute long, but I was only interested in one 10-second period when the guy, beating off on a bed, moaned, arched his back and came on his chest. I re-played the shot again and again, watching his torso heave upward, his tanned muscles flex and face contort in one fleeting moment of ecstasy, then I’d re-start the scene a second later because I didn’t give a shit what happened in the video after the guy got off. (more…)

When I was eighteen I did what many budding homos from the burbs did. I moved to Hollywood. My mom helped me secure my first apartment, gave me her old car and wished me luck for finding work.

I’d have gotten a job sooner, and not depleted my minuscule savings so quickly, if I hadn’t lived right down the street from Santa Monica Blvd and its prize pink jewel: The Pussycat Theater — with its always flashing, always tempting marquee.

And there was a new enticement each week. Who wouldn’t want to explore The Opening of Misty Beethoven or Beyond the Green Door? It didn’t bother me in the least that these were 100% heterosexual porn films. Straight or gay — if a film featured buff guys with boners thrusting about various orifices, I was interested.

If only the colleges in California taught what colleges across the country are now offering: Porn-studies. I would have gladly returned to school (something I swore I’d never do after escaping high school) to learn more about my “calling.” And I would have launched my career as a porn publisher much sooner — instead of waiting until I was 40 and intrepid and slightly crazy. Think about it. Studying the theory of porn, the art of porn is a fascinating compliment to the blind, instinctual consumption of porn. I would have felt so much more balanced. (more…)