I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that “twincest” is a neologism you don’t need to impart into your regular vocabulary, but it is raised in a recent Salon article on Milo and Elijah Peters, 19-year-old Czech twins who have caused a stir in the gay porn community.  The twins reportedly first showed up on the website of Bratislava-based porn distributor Bel Ami in the summer of 2009 in group videos, not touching.  Over a period of months, they progressed to mutual handjobs within a group scenario, then blowjobs, then oral sex, and finally (and hugely publicized), anal intercourse.

Thomas Rogers explains:

While the concept of twin performers is not new to the gay porn world, the Peters twins are notable both because of the extent of their popularity and the things they are willing to do with each other on camera. They French kiss; they perform oral sex on each other; they have anal sex; and most shockingly of all, they do it in a tender and romantic way.

“My brother is my boyfriend, and I am his boyfriend,” says one of the twins during a phone call from Prague (Elijah and Milo sound so much alike on the phone it is impossible to tell which one is speaking). “He is my lifeblood, and he is my only love.”

The twins’ astonishing lack of shame — and their willingness to do anything with each other on camera — has helped turn them into a gay porn phenomenon. Since they first began appearing on Czech porn studio Bel Ami’s website (NSFW, like all links in this story) in 2009, the company’s traffic has doubled to 1.5 million users per month, and Milo and Elijah have become the subject of breathless coverage on adult blogging sites like Fleshbot and The Sword. They’ve even been flown from Prague to the United States for a whirlwind tour of Florida gay nightspots. But their surprising popularity raises some disturbing questions: Who are these twins? What keeps so many people watching them? And what, exactly, are viewers getting off on?

Rogers doesn’t quite answer all these worthy questions in the article, but they are certainly worth a ponder.  First, the boys themselves:  they’re cute and twinky, no doubt about it, and either one of them on their own could likely make a small splash, but in combination?  Titillation dynamite.  They even have a YouTube channel to give their fans access to their lives (the video below, in which they talk about their upcoming trip to Florida, is SFW): (more…)

The Body Fortress Goliath to my standard hotsauce David.

Well, it’s finally happened.  My skinny, indie-band-guitarist-looking boyfriend has brought home a vitamin bottle full of powdered protein bigger than my head and announced his intention to Buff Up.  It’s been a while coming.  His best friend is a highlighted gym bunny, two of their good mates are professional football players with tree-trunk thighs, and another is elite Special Forces with a chest like the side of a barn and the alleged ability to maim with his big toe – not that any of this affects their collective smoking and drinking regime.  The rest of their boy gang are regular blokes with varying degrees of fitness, and Boyfriend has coasted comfortably as the Good-Looking and Sensitive One for years.  He’s got strong legs and more than held his own in the weekly five-a-side, but lost his niche a bit when he left everyone behind and relocated to London to move in with me.

I knew it would all change when we started partnering in hand-to-hand combat class and he discovered I could punch harder than him, as well as tote him across a gym in a fireman’s carry.  Actually, no, he likes these things about me, and since we found out I’m three pounds heavier, he will jokingly accuse me of throwing my weight around whenever I’m being bitchy.  Oh, the fun we have!  It just proves I could save him in a war zone or an emergency.  If I felt like it. (more…)

When the UK Metro alerted me (via Jezebel) to this story about the evil clown on hire to parents in Switzerland to stalk their children for a week, I was not only intrigued, repulsed, and delighted, I immediately forwarded it to every child-hater I know. The service?

Dominic DeVille stalks young victims for a week, sending chilling texts, making prank phone calls and setting traps in letterboxes.  He posts notes warning children they are being watched, telling them they will be attacked.  But Deville is not an escaped lunatic or some demonic monster.  He is a birthday treat, hired by mum and dad, and the ‘attack’ involves being splatted in the face with a cake.

‘The child feels more and more that it is being pursued,’ said Deville.  ‘The clown’s one and only aim is to smash a cake into the face of his victim, when they least expect it, during the course of seven days.’

Horrific, cruel, hilarious, yes, yes, and yes.  Also, probably more appropriate for adults who are in on the joke, although I think it is sickly awesome that this exists at all.  But where do consenting adults go for Hot Clown Action, you ask!  (You did ask, right?).  My good friend Fozzy Bear immediately emailed with the answer.  Enter:  Sugar Weasel of Austin, Texas, who services the greater las Vegas area as well:

[T]he self-proclaimed Clown Escort is an adult entertainer, a world-class lover, a rogue and a scoundrel.  Interpreted, Sugar Weasel is a punk rock thrill ride that leaves you weak kneed and panting for more….  He possesses a singular vision to make the world a strangely erotic, more satisfying place for women.  His exotic go-go dance is like watching a roller coaster derail… (more…)

Note: I am not snarking on this man, but would like to say that the BF's back situation is not quite so dire.

I’m heading off on Tuesday morning for five nights in Malta and a much-needed vacation after a stressful first quarter (what else is new? – oh, I mean that stress-wise, not jetting to Malta-wise – the latter is new).  Our flight is at the ungodly hour of 6:30 am, and we are requested to appear at the airport two hours in advance.  To cut down on travel stress, we’ve booked an airport hotel room for tomorrow night, and I intend to head there after work for the luxury of rising at 4:00 am rather than 3:00 am, and the avoidance of taxi/tube/train panic.  Worth £44?  You betcha.

Besides my typical packing freakout (present and accounted for, sir!), I took the opportunity today to engage in pre-vacation grooming.  I opted out of a bikini wax this time in favor of an economically advisable DIY razor-job.  While I have been dreaming of a sunshine and beach holiday, I fear that even Malta will be too chilly this time of year for sunbathing, so I don’t see any point in suffering through a wax when I will likely be clad in jeans and a monochrome tee-shirt for the majority of my visit.

Nonetheless, I have plucked, bleached, and shaved in anticipation – at the very least I am hoping for a Turkish bath and a massage, and, sadly, one wishes to conform to Western beauty standards.  But while I am responsible for my own grooming, it seems I am also responsible for that of my male vacation companion.  I’m not complaining, per se – if one was able to competently shave one’s own back, one would be something of a medical marvel.  But aside from my responsibility for sunscreen, bathing suits, itinerary printouts, and toiletries (all things he has/will forget without my prompting), I am also tasked with boyfriend depilation. (more…)

I know how I should feel about Meredith Vieira’s sexual harrassment of a young, strapping Navy pilot who showed up on that-show-I-did-not know-still-existed, Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.  I should feel unamused.  Dour.  Embarrassed.  Wet willies came up.  Eeeewwww. 

Instead, I thought it was kind of hilarious.  Vieira may be horny as she admits, but she ain’t old, and Max Shuman (which I originally heard as Nat Sherman, with my cigarette brain, which was doubly-exciting!) handles the attention with aplomb and playful modesty.  My reaction was more along the lines of, “Getchusome, Vieira!  And then pass me a piece of that action.”

Yeah, yeah, if the sexes were reversed, it would be unbelievably icky.  But I can’t get riled up about it, because Mr. Shuman seemed quite capable of taking care of himself and, honestly, I do enjoy a little reverse exploitation in good humor.  Feel free to disagree, or share your own appreciation for Max or Meredith (looking fine herself) in comments.

BCP Reader Missbish asks:

I recently saw this photo of T.I. and there was a lot of commentors who were saying that he should trim that bush yada yada but I found his shrub to be hugely erotic and I could not stop thinking about it. I know – I need to get laid yo, but I wonder – is manscaping what most women want or am I old-skool?

What say you?


kadinsky: check this pic of TI and his crotch ‘fro.  Opinions on that much pube?

Tailfeather: I don’t know who this Mr. TI is, but he looks GOOD, and I am not afraid of his Bermuda.  I say wear it loud and proud.  Although, um, public dick-grabbing is a no-no in general.

kadinsky: is it grabbing if he’s offering?  I say no, there is another pic to go with this one that shows him damn near taking his pants off.  I don’t mind a slightly unruly nappy dugout but that shit looks long enough to floss with.  or braid a rug.

Trixie: There was also that recent EW cover or Ryan Reynolds looking really hairy and it was hot as hell.  I  am FOR. I like men to be manly and that means hairy. I am against all this waxing shit.

kadinsky:  Panda likes the girly men, I bet she is a NAY.

BiscuitDoughJones: Actually, I’m for it.

A) nothing is as gross/creepy as a dude who shaves or waxes.  I’ve been unfortunate enough to snag 2 guys who regularly bald-ified themselves down below.  It’s no coincidence that both of them mentioned how they thought that ‘scaping made the junk look bigger (it didn’t).  Uh, and the stubble down there hurts like hell.

B) The funny thing about pretty boys is that they have no hair anywhere, not on the chest, arms, even legs – but you take off the pants and a lot of times there is a giant power bush.  It’s fucking funny.  And kind of cute.  Like, most dudes I’ve known haven’t been ‘scapers I think because it’s the only upfront sign of virility they have, so they must nurture it.  Or something.


Well, it looks like I’m all alone on this one – BCP prefers their men au naturale.  What about you?

I have always appreciated why women find Johnny Depp so hot, but I am one of those fickle fans who only finds him stunning when his hair is short. I do not go for the long, greasy-haired, badly dressed Johnny.

But feast your eyes on this. Yes, that piece of hair needs to be hacked off, but how hot is he here? The way he looks at the woman holding the cake before he blows out the candles? YES! I’LL HAVE A CORNER PIECE, PLEASE!


Thanks to the always ingenious Best Week Ever for pointing us towards this wholly internet-worthy blog, Awkward Boners.  Probably because I don’t have a teenage son whose dignity I am concerned for, this has brought me a dickload of joy today.  Oh, Unwanted Boners.  Thank you for putting men on occasional, equally embarrasing and objectivized footing.  We ladyfolk feel this disconcertingly scrutinized nearly every day!

tarzan_jane_2I went out with a group of about twelve guys on Saturday night, and had a blast.  It was with a mixed international crowd that started off as a relatively grown-up flat-warming party (replete with pink champagne and harbor views), and ended up a peeing-in-the streets bash in Soho.  Conversational topics ranged from the US relationship with Iraq, to French literature, to one-night-stands, and to disturbing anecdotes about Catholic priests.  There was dancing and flirtatious heckling of a hot Brazilian bartender.  Needless to say, at least half of these guys were gay.

There were a few other chicks at the party, but they dropped off as the night went on until I remained last woman drinking.  Because I’d had a long and tiring day, I took it easy and only had about five drinks over the course of many, many hours and so was probably more sober than I would generally choose to be in a party situation.  And it is maybe because I was pretty straight (definitely no pun intended) that I realized something about these fairly lovely guys – they can be really, really handsy.

It turned out that four or so of the gentlemen were, in fact, heterosexual, and I was the de facto hot girl of the evening.  This is the benefit/drawback of this particular circumstance – while I don’t doubt that the persistant interest in me was genuine at the time, I’m also well aware that my mere presence made me something of an oasis in the be-penised landscape.  So while I had four straight guys vying for my attention, it was my sad duty to inform them that I am spoken for and would not be making a cameo appearance in anyone’s bed but my own, and stricly solo.  They flattered, they moped, they declared my boyfriend “the luckiest man in the world,” and my vagina remained unmoved.  In the timespan of all these varied efforts to get me into the sack, one guy moved in for a kiss, another guy stroked his hand over my ass, and a third hopefully walked me home.  All attempts were rebuffed, gently but firmly, and all the guys took it in good grace.  In short, it was perplexing but flattering.  There were no scenes, a minimum of awkwardness, and I would have no problem seeing any of those guys again and feeling friendly and warm towards them.  They were drunk but essentially respectful, and it is no big deal.

Which brings me to the gay boys.  They tended to be more loud-mouthed and outrageously outre than the straight boys, in keeping with accepted stereotypes.  They were simply noisier, funnier, and dancier than their hetero counterparts, which is all fine and good and the ingredients for a good night out.  But I did notice that they were also more recklessly intimate with me, and I wonder why it would appear more permissable.  The obvious explanation is that they should be seen as non-threatening because they’re not sexually interested in women, and I admit that I was far less bothered than I would have been if a straight boy had a) grinded with me on the dance floor b) stuck his tongue down my throat unexpectedly c) grinded on me with an erection (after making out with his boyfriend!) d) held me in a tight embrace for an hour or e) threw me over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and ran down the street. (more…)

george-clooney-nc-thumbGenius and philathropist Michelle Collins at the Best Week Ever blog has kindly pulled together a collection of 100 Silver Foxes for our viewing pleasure.  While most of them are a given (Rahm, George, Anderson, Jon, Paul Newman), there are a few surprises.  Who has she left out?  And as a side question, how old were you when you realized that guys with graying hair were actually completely hot (as opposed to just giving you “Dad” vibes)?  Clooney exacerbated it, but I think it only really kicked in for me around 22 or so. 

Anyway, go check it out, and pass the salt, please.

Next Page »