[MenAtPlay: Paul Wagner]

AND:

The hardcore version:

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[MenAtPlay: Paul Wagner]
 

In my line of work, you would think that it would be appropriate to wear these penis pants to the office, but you’d be wrong. When I told my co-workers about my new penis pants, they all laughed at me and called me a pervert. “You’re way too into penises, you weirdo!” said my boss. But so what if I want to walk around with hundreds of pictures of penises covering my lower body. I think it would be a real conversation starter and it would get people to not be so ashamed of the human body–particularly the human penis! And if they had vagina pants, I would wear those, too. (But let’s be honest, nobody wants to look at a bunch of gross vagines, so they probably won’t ever make pussy pants, thank God!)

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to a fancy restaurant.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to the movies.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to a book store.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to go get some FroYo.

My penis pants have white penises and black penises, circumcised penises and uncircumcised penises, tiny penises and jumbo-sized penises and even average-sized penises. Because remember, size doesn’t matter–except when it comes to my penis pants! I wear a 31 waist. There are old penises and young penises on my penis pants. Erect penises and flaccid penises and semi-hard penises. My penis pants have Latin penises, Middle-Eastern penises, Asian penises, and European penises. My penis pants are the United Colors of Benetton of penis pants, except they’re not from United Colors of Benetton, they’re from BasKosters.com.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to the mall.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to the gym.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to a nightclub.

Maybe I could wear my penis pants to a nude beach.

My penis pants cost me $150, which is a small price to pay for the chance to wear pants with penises on them. I will be the center of attention wherever I go because people are fascinated by penises and fashion. But I’m not wearing my penis pants to get attention, I’m wearing them because I want to prove to people that penises are perfectly natural. And if you’ve got a problem with my penis pants, that’s your problem, not mine. Keep your hands off my penis pants.

Where should I wear my penis pants?

Thank you, Gabe Ayala, for sending me these new pretty pictures of pretty Benjamin Godfre. I’m NOT jumping on the bandwagon just yet (I still can’t get his interview out of my head), but these photos coupled with his jerk-off video are making me realize that maybe Benjamin Godfre isn’t that bad and I sort of love him?

Here are the nudes:

[Gabe Ayala Photography]

July 4th, 1985, was the day I fell in love with ass. And by ‘ass’ I don’t mean the butt. I mean the hole, the mysterious, puckered x, unique to every guy, that marks the spot where every red-blooded top wants to bury his bone, and usually his tongue too. The asshole. In this case the asshole belonging to a skinny blonde redneck named Jason.

We were in jr. high school, best friends with benefits, and I had grown bored with his mouth. Jason had a little head that housed a tiny tooth-filled torture chamber, and I was looking for options. I didn’t really want to kiss those braces. It annoyed me that he pretended we were a couple when we were alone. But what frightened me most of all about this arrangement was that I liked it, and that meant that my brothers were right, and I was a giant faggot. I wasn’t a knitting, boa-clad queer, but I definitely had an affinity for sweaty boys.

His parents were having a BBQ when he led me under the house into the crawl space for a surprise. Leading up to this moment I had been distant and mean. I‘d like to think that I have emotionally grown from that young little douchebag place I came from, but truthfully these are still my go-to emotions. A couple of nights before we had argued because I was ready to fuck him and he wouldn’t let me anywhere near his ass. I showed him pictures of butt-fucking that I’d cleverly managed to procure. (Central Arkansas in the pre-internet 80’s was not a gay porn haven.) He called me nasty and declared that I’d have to be happy with blowjobs.

But now he was guiding me into a dark, spider-filled crawl space to give me his virgin ass. Like the little lady that he was, he had arranged a carpet, pillow and candles just so. My teenage cock went rigid. I wonder now who was the one really being seduced there. What I didn’t realize then under that house was that soon I would be a slave to the hole, that holes would boss me around for the rest of my life, and that my adoration/infatuation/obsession with taught PINK man snatch would consume most of my remaining hours on this planet.

We quickly got undressed and then he lay down on his stomach. This was new! Pleased I wouldn’t have to make out with him and his braces, I positioned myself on top of him and started rubbing my dick on his ass. He responded by raising his ass in the air a little. I pushed, but there was no entry. I decided I should kiss his neck to help pry that vise open. I have sometimes been a bit too confident of my own charms, and this was one of those occasions. That ass was locked shut. There was but one thing to do. But was I really going to lick my buddy’s ass?

OH HOLY DAY! Yes… It turns out you can put your mouth on it without tasting shit. Once I arrived at the glorious Y, I set up camp, spread his legs and got myself my first real taste of ass. I arranged the candles so I could see better, and what I saw was Heaven. On such a pale boy, it looked so pink. Talk about showroom new! This image, a pristine butt with its new car smell, would follow me for the rest of my days. Every subsequent ass I was destined to meet over the years got compared to Jason’s. And worse, I would use this memory to torture myself about my own asshole: dirty, dark and dank.

Following my sexy time under Mrs. R’s kitchen, I became curious about my own hole. So I placed a large mirror on the floor of my bathroom and peeked into my nether regions. It was pink-ish. Actually it was more like a nice rosy magenta. Some might have even said mauve. I suppose it looked appealing. But, if I was going to be honest with myself, it was not as inviting as that perfectly pink masterpiece I had just used.

I felt an immediate wave of embarrassment at my less than perfect hole. In the same way that The Captain needed Tenille, I needed a pink hole! The exact shade of pink didn’t matter — bubblegum, blush, bashful — so long as it was pink. The problem was the means of achieving this desired pinkness. None existed, as far as I knew.

My hole woes did not stop me from growing into a functional young homo and falling in love with a successful professional. We got married and I eventually became comfortable letting him munch away on my bum, imperfect though it was. I even let McBigDick fuck my hole at his pleasure. I was a happy “bottom.”

Our monogamy followed the way of all good things and eventually came to pass. AIDS was roaring. I was 28, single, surprisingly HIV-negative and often high. I made a rule for myself that if I was going to be on all kinds of drugs whoring around, then I would be as safe as my condom-hating self could be. No more bottoming. This played right into my well-lubed hand, as it would also serve to protect the dirty little secret that my asshole that was less than perfectly pink.

Fast forward 13 years, and being a top has worked for me. I’m still negative knock on wood. I love to fuck. I love to eat ass. I am a happy man. But my asshole has the hunger of 5 fat kids. I have denied myself that which I yearn for and I’m not exactly sure why. Yes, it’s a bit dark, but in good shape. And over the years I would feed it occasionally, twice a year so as not to hurt anyone. AIDS was the excuse, even to myself; but I could have used condoms, so what was stopping me?

Denial is an interesting thing. We create these personas that exemplify whom we want the world to see, and I had become a caricature of this silly macho-ismo Top who is virtually emotionless and cares only about holding a boy down and using his asshole for my pleasure. I am that, but this isn’t all. I like to cuddle for fuck’s sake. The battle would rage in my mind for my entire 40th year.

I was trapped in my own rhetoric. Where was that sweet compassionate boy I once was? The one who let his partner inside of him? How could I have drifted so far? These questions persist. Why am I constantly trying to prove that I am a top? Do tops have to be distant cold douchebags?

Bottoms do like bad boys, harsh men, aggressive fuckers, but where does that logic leave the elder top’s brain? As my psyche contorted itself over the years to become what I wanted the world to see, what had the cost been?

Had my discolored rectum turned me into an asshole?

There was only one choice. Bleach. That is what my mother does when something has a spot on it. This is the magic fluid that washes away the filth from Powerhouse each night. Maybe bleach would remove my shame and help fix my head.

My quest for a renewed sense of self began at the It’s All About You Salon in the Castro. Yes, they do anal bleaching. No, it doesn’t hurt. Yes, you have to get on all fours and expose your sensitivity to that little queen. No, I wasn’t going to do that.

Next, under the ruse of a cancerous mole on my neck, which was probably there at birth, I scheduled an emergency appointment with a dermatologist. While she was freezing my non-existent cancer I quietly asked, “Is it dangerous to bleach your butt hole?” Dr. Poindexter was taken aback, but tried to play it cool. She replied, “I’ve heard of that but I thought it was a punch line. Are you serious? What is wrong with it now?”

Oh God! I thought I was ready for this conversation, but I was wrong. I sheepishly muttered, “I was just wondering.” Taking the bull by the horns she said, “I can check into it for you, but that is a very sensitive area that I probably would not recommend messing with unless it needs surgery.” SURGERY?! What the hell?! Maybe I was more damaged than I had imagined!

I left my hole to sauté in its darkness. Until one sunny afternoon, out lunching with one of my besties — a doctor’s wife with nerves of steel — I suggested we run an errand after our meal, insisting I was too ashamed to go by myself. He had to join me.

As we entered Rock Hard on Castro I found a new sense of strength and blurted out to the poor, unsuspecting attendant, “I hear you have anal bleach. Can we see some?” It wasn’t that humiliating. I claimed to be writing an article and was doing research. DENIAL.

A sex toy company called Lick & Luck just happens to produce a premium anal whitening formula for the low cost of $50. Had I known I could have soothed my ache for $50 I would have thrown money at it long ago!

The warning on the box is gnarly. The main ingredient is water. It is a white cream. There is virtually NO information online about this product. Aside from high-end female strippers it is mostly untested. The first time I put it on I was so scared I unconsciously clenched my asshole to the point that I could hardly find it. The directions on the box say to apply and leave on your skin. In my mind, you apply bleach and then wash off. You can’t possibly leave bleach on and not remove it, right?! Are they fucking insane? Am I insane? Maybe this is stupid. Maybe I’m a 40 something homo with serious issues who is about to have a blistered asshole.

But it went on nice, ever so cool and pleasant. After a moment, it began to feel a little warm. Not like burning, but an awareness at my hole that I wasn’t used to. I liked it. It was moist, but not too wet or swampy. I had taken ‘before’ pictures and my curiosity was worked. After the first week there was definitely some improvement. But the solution is greatly weakened so as not to irritate the precious membranes. This was going to be a long process.

I began to apply daily because I wanted a pink asshole, and I wanted it now! On day 8, I noticed it was super sensitive to the touch, so I bent over and had a look in my full-length mirror. The horror! The worst had happened. There was a blister! Oh fuck, what have I done? I’m going to be disfigured and grotesque!

My Aquarian nature took over as I let the drama settle all around me. It will be fine. I don’t like it played with anyway. Who the fuck will ever see it? Calm down. I applied a little soothing ointment and got on with my day. Honestly I forgot about it, or I would have whined about it to my boss.

The next day my daddyhole was mostly back to normal, except for being a bit sensitive. I decided it was definitely lighter in shade. For a couple of days I left it alone. Around day 15 I applied again but more sparingly, and with caution. On day 17 I took the ‘after’ photograph. The third photograph is from day 28. I wanted to see if the results stayed or changed.

Confidence is a funny thing. And confidence in the color of your asshole is hilarious. You might not see a difference. It might not taste different. But I know it is different. In my mind, my hole is now as pink as a bow in the hair of a 12-year-old girl. And that makes me feel good about my body. I wore assless pants to the Mr. SF Leather Contest and wondered the whole time if mine was the pinkest hole in the room.

Now, here are a few truths about the asshole. Each one is unique. Some are tight; some are loose. Some are hairy; some are not. But most of all, they come in an array of hues. The color of the hole itself is as varied as the color of our skin collectively. Some are purple, some brown, some even darker brown, and some pink. (I even know one that can sing the star spangled banner, but that is a matter for another column entirely.)

I think they all feel good on the inside, but it would be untruthful for me to say that I don’t greatly prefer the sweet little pink ones. I’m sure you are fine. If you absolutely must have the pink hole of a teenage virgin, however, and you don’t want to do it yourself, then I recommend you visit the It’s All About You Salon on Castro. Like a scene from ‘Deliverance,’ the aforementioned queen with the bleach-filled cream will order you to get on your hands and knees and expose your hole so that he can do unspeakable things to it. Squeal like a pig, boy!! If you’re like me and this isn’t an option for you, then by all means stop by Rock Hard on Castro St. Tell them Carlton sent you.

[Das Einhorn]

But that’s just what Kink.com has done with the launch of their new gay fetish site, MenOnEdge.com. The paysite went live today, and the first featured scene is a rope/vibrator/broomstick butt plug scene with an obscure performer named Marc Dylan. You would think that Van Darkholme and Kink would have chosen a more familiar face to help kick off the new venture and get the word out, but I guess not. I hope they know what they’re doing.

This Marc Dylan kid has potential though. I’ll give him that.

[MenOnEdge]

I changed my mind.

Since 2008, I have had the honor of blogging about some of the biggest gay porn stars and gay porn personalities of our time. I have interviewed and blogged about gay porn stars like Erik Rhodes, Brent Corrigan, Austin Wilde, Pierre Fitch, and Diesel Washington.

I have had Twitter wars, blog wars, real life wars, and a variety of personal meltdowns over the gay porn blog posts that I have blogged. I have almost 9000 Twitter followers and have received tens of millions of page views because of the gay porn blog posts that I have blogged. I have haters. I won a GayVN, was the runner-up for a TLA Award, and have been nominated for countless Grabby and Cybersocket awards.

I blogged about a local politician, destroyed his career, and probably ruined his life. I blogged about a gay porn star’s haircut. I blogged about gay porn stars who push their limits (via dry humping). But now, all of that must sadly come to an end. It’s time for me to move on from gay porn blogging and to move on to something else. I am “30″ now, and it’s time for me to focus on what I really want out of life: A family. Please respect my decision and don’t hold it against me. Please look back on my canon of gay porn blog posts fondly. Please don’t remove me from your blogroll just because I am retiring.

But…I will be writing four more blog posts before my official retirement, so you’re not rid of me just yet! ;-)

The first of the last four gay porn blog posts will be about another gay porn blogger and how dumb he is for making some sort of mistake. I will parse his blog post line-by-line and point out where he is wrong and make fun of him. The second of the last four gay porn blog posts will be either about a gay porn studio Photoshopping a tattoo (or a cock) or a gay porn star appearing on a reality show and disavowing his gay porn past. The third of the last four gay porn blog posts will be a viral video for some underwear company that features gay porn stars. The fourth and final gay porn blog post will be about a gay porn star who changed his name, did a bareback scene, and then became a DJ.

Thank you for all of your support over the years, and goodbye forever! (Four blog posts from now.)

UPDATE: “I Am Un-Retiring From Gay Porn Blogging!”

Since he started working for Bel Ami, Mick Lovell is the only gay porn star to have made his debut in the past year who actually feels like an old-fashioned, real gay porn star, so it makes sense that you should have the chance to feel what it feels like to have your dick inside of his fake mouth. And also in the past year, Mick Lovell had no publicized fiascos, he’s made no public appearances and has a limited social media presence (thus rendering himself just inaccessible enough and just aloof enough to be desired that much more), he’s only filmed a handful of scenes and they’ve all been for ONE studio, and he is physically flawless. The gay porn star might be dead, but Mick Lovell is as close as it gets. But I digress.

Here’s Mick Lovell on set at Fleshjack (photos via). Click to enlarge:

AND:

Marcus Mojo is down there with him.

ALSO:

[Bel Ami: Mick Lovell]

Aside from Connor’s completely ridiculous cockatiel fauxhawk, this is the best bareback double penetration gangbang orgy in a gym that I have ever seen, and I’ve watched a lot of bareback double penetration gangbang orgies in gyms.

I don’t know who half of these musclebound bareback sluts are, but I love them all. Duncan’s my favorite (second from the right on the floor) because he looks like someone from a Target commercial who should be modeling swimming trunks, not having bareback gay sex in a gym with eight other guys. But then there is also Cain (second from the left standing up) and Cain’s uncut cock, which almost steals the whole movie going in and out of various holes. And Corbin Fisher couldn’t have picked a better bottom to pull a train on either. I won’t give away who the gangbang bottom is (it should be obvious) and will instead let you see for yourself.

“CF-9 XXX Workout” goes live next Thursday, May 24th.

[CorbinFisher]

Last I read, the blond twink you love to want to hate fuck received flowers from his new boyfriend Pierre Fitch, then left the country to shoot a “top secret” project. CockyBoys has yet to say which studio they shipped him off to, but I’m guessing it rhymes with Del Uhh Me.

CockyBoys:

Since abruptly leaving the country Max has been continuing to blog on his just launched MaxRyder.com about his trip, but providing no clues as to where he is…  ANY GUESSES? There are some porn companies that are currently shooting overseas, any guesses as to who Max is shooting with in conjunction with CockyBoys? Stay tuned for more info from CockyBoys on this top secret project in conjunction with one of the biggest studios in the world! For now see Max’s scenes that have the internet talking ONLY at CockyBoys.

Along with the press release, CockyBoys also sent these completely not Photoshopped photos of Max Ryder posing in front of various international landmarks.

Well, clearly, he could be anywhere.

But if you want my best guess, I think the whole “where in the world is Max Ryder” thing is all a ruse to distract us from what’s really going on.

Obviously, Max Ryder never left the country and has been in Chicago preparing to co-host the Grabbys next weekend.

I even found the original poster.