Powerman

(Click on the title of this post to view the video. You can’t always access it from the homepage, you have to click on the post title.)

I recently ran across an excellent video on Jonas Dick to share with you. You can also see it on Jonas by clicking the link.

Unlike other sites (including his, frankly), I will never offer a grab-bag of videos to increase my site traffic. It’s okay to do that, but I will only post vids I consider outstanding. Most porn is awful, but a small percentage excels, and this is one of them. The blondboy (over 18) is very beautiful, and follows orders impeccably.

I’ve never seen either of these actors in anything else. I don’t know their names, what it’s called or who produced it. My favorite sequences come when the man feeds the boy his fingers. But the sucking is deep and the boy spends most of his time down on all fours. What a fabulous ass!

Soon I will post another video called “The Naughty Schoolboy.” I’ve seen stills from it and knew it was hot, but this is the first time I’ve seen the video. The schoolboy is wonderfully submissive.

I believe that the dominant-submissive fantasy is #1 at the Gay box office — every boy’s looking for a stud — so it’s frustrating that porn producers are so clueless about giving the audience what they want. I do enjoy a set-up that helps explain how these two (and only two, please) guys got together and what attracts them to each other; but the key issue is picking true tops and true bottoms, pairing them up and directing them before a single second gets shot: “Act as if he’s the most desirable man you’ve ever met, with your ideal body, cock and mind. Show that to the audience. And then do exactly what he tells you. Don’t resist him in any way. Call him Sir; it gets him hard and the audience loves it. No flip-flops unless he says so. You’re getting paid to take his cock all the way.”

This beautiful blondboy understands that. So let’s roll ‘em. ∞

So there I was, on a website that pictured a guy with a baseball bat up his ass.

Is this hot, ya think? Or is this disgusting?

So I surfed to another site filled with stills of hunky guys I’d never seen; but then I started reading, and it turned out the author trolls Facebook and Flickr for guys who post pix to draw chicks.

He drools over them because they’re Straight. Occasionally he gets a little lightbulb and wonders why he’s always wanting guys he can’t get.

You set it up that way, dude, so enjoy the payoff. It made me sad, because he’s an intelligent fellow who writes well.

So I surfed to another website, containing more pictures of Orgasm By Degradation, plus illiterate fantasy-rants aimed at guys sucking cock and getting fucked. “Pig,” “cum dump,” you’ve heard the litany.

And the thing is, he’s a bottom. The pictures he posts are the fantasies he has. He’s calling himself the same filthy names he calls the guys just like him—maybe guys like you.

A little verbal abuse never hurt anyone, but is this what Harvey Milk died for?

If you really want to find homophobia on the internet, go to the pornographic websites of Gay men. The self-hatred we have is far worse than anything out of rightwing crackpots.

It troubles me, because somehow we’ve not, in this 40th anniversary year after Stonewall, learned the most basic lessons of pride and self-regard applied to our sex lives.

We understand the politics and media wars now—but we haven’t thought through how pride might change our sex lives. It creates new boundaries; it sets new limits. “Oh, we hate limits! Up with piggies, we’re all piggies!”

Suck off a homophobe if you want, but I don’t want to be near one, Gay or not. Baseball bats? They don’t even wiggle.

I do agree, some sleaze is really hot—Harvey wasn’t above it and I’m not either. We’re really not liberated men if we don’t open ourselves to all the possibilities of sex. But from there, from that menu of possibilities, we have to pick and choose in our own best interest.

Otherwise you could end up with a bat up your ass, and I’m sorry, that’s just crazy. Orgasm by Degradation is a soul-killer.

And over time, you’ll stop getting off anymore, none of the degradation will go far enough. Your mind will constantly create new humiliations, and none of the scenes will be graphic enough, none of the men filthy enough. You’ll get jaded. Mr. Willie will fall asleep. You’ll be greased up and pounding while he’s making ZZZs.

Is that really what we want our children to be learning, that whoredom is the road to nirvana? Is this the liberated “culture” we’re bequeathing to them?

It’s based on self-destructive, internalized homophobia, as if we are lesser men. We aren’t.

That’s the message of this blog, apparently. Yes, love power as the essence of masculinity, but use it wisely.

Don’t do the baseball bats; suck you some toes, attached to a guy who talks dirty to you:

I’ve stayed away from this blog for over a month now, and I’m surprised to be writing even this. I found that within just a few weeks of starting it, I’d said what I had to say. But today I have to return to it with this post. I don’t want to lecture, I don’t want to sermonize, but I do want to say some positive things I’ve learned over the years about being Gay. Freddy, if it ain’t positive, it ain’t Gay lib.

A Gay guy who’s a real man is the sexiest guy there is. He’s the most open-minded, the freest man of all.

And the thing is, we get to define what’s a real man. We can be anything we want, and everything we dreamed of.

I happen to like traditional masculinity in a Gay context; that’s just me. You can be whatever you want to be. If you like to play dress-up or anything else, go for it. It’s your right in a democratic society, and don’t let anyone take it away from you ’cause your dress is nicer than theirs is.

But: I like muscle. I like power. I like deep voices. I like boots. I like responsibility. I like paying my bills. I like sports. I like working out. I like staying home. I like clean and sober. I like good friends and one overriding relationship. I like monogamy, because it’s the best sex.

My fantasy about this next shot? It’s a Tuesday, they’re just watching TV.

On Tuesdays I like fucking. I like getting my dick sucked. I like a boy who calls me sir, not because I make him but because he has that much respect and love for me.

(And okay, yeah, I make him sometimes, ’cause that’s our private sleaze.)

Even as I criticize these other websites and the homophobia I see in them, I can identify somewhat with where they’re coming from. Sometimes I think they’re all Baby Boomers who grew up in the bad old days and tried to make things better, but didn’t always know how. Other times I see they’re not “fat-and-fifty” at all; they’re younger than I am. And I think, “Guys, didn’t anyone ever sit you down and show you how to keep Pat Robertson out of your bedroom and out of your head?”

But the answer is no, no one ever did that. So in the constant pursuit of orgasm, they often find the loss of power stimulating—and I couldn’t agree more. But there’s a right way and a wrong way.

Orgasm by Degradation is a horrible mistake, because it reinforces the most ancient notions in your head that you are an inferior male unfit to be called a man. You’re not!

You’re not, you’re not, you’re not. (Okay, I got that out of the way.)

The question is, what’s better about being a Gay man? A lot. No one’s trading places but we’ve got a lot of advantages.

1. Being Gay makes you smarter.

I don’t want to stereotype Straight guys, but the reason I don’t turn on to them, unlike the blogger who disqualifies everyone reading this as inadequate, is because their culture is so low to the ground. NASCAR, shoot-’em-ups, car chases, fart jokes—for this we’ve occupied the planet for 300,000 years?

2. Being Gay makes you tougher.

They seem to believe that watching war movies and cop shows teaches them how to act when confronted with danger. But we know danger from walking down the street every day; who do you suppose gets more practice in toughness?

3. Being Gay makes us freer with our bodies.

Gay guys are much more experimental sexually than Straight guys. I have no patience with “tops” who don’t want their prostates massaged. They’re too fucking stupid to tell what time it is. Think this guy’s butt isn’t alive?

Your asshole is the best thing ever invented. But to Straight guys it’s way off limits; they’re afraid they’d enjoy it too much. Somebody might make fun of them. They might have homosexual tendencies. Oh, the horror! What if they got attacked for being Gay? They’d turn tail and run. They always do; the worst oppression in the world is what Straight guys go through—from other Straight guys who are even more insecure.

What’s the #1 observation of Straight women about their lovers? “Men’s egos are so fragile.”

Straight guys who like Gay guys are some of the best friends you’ll ever have.

4. Gay guys get to fuck without making babies.

Believe me, most of them would much rather do that too. Kids are expensive, they tie you down. When they’re not being darling, they piss and shit in your face—and that’s when they’re 16.

5. Gay guys get to enjoy power, strength, muscle, courage and hardness in ourselves and each other.

I totally love it when Current Boy works out, gets hard, makes a smart decision, solves a problem, is kind to animals, sends his mother an e-card, sings in the shower, says something funny, puts together a meal, speaks out on an issue, defends the flag or gets misty over that Boyle lady on YouTube. He’s a whole human being, and he isn’t afraid of himself.

The Boy just likes to get fucked.

I try to nurture him the best I can, because he needs that, we all do. He’s allowed to feel all his feelings, from complete submission to total domination. These tend to happen in separate places (work and home), but it’s not like we’ve never switched. He has a right to get aggressive, a right to cry, a right to laugh.

I love this boy, and it wouldn’t work if he were Straight, or I had to degrade him, or he had to be degraded.

A baseball bat may certify that you’re the “cum slut pig” of jackoff fantasies, but it never washes the car, or brings you a sandwich, or tells you you’re right when the people at work are so fucked up.

It’s just a baseball bat, and you deserve better; we all do.++

The other day I ran across an online test for sex addicts. They ask about 50 questions and then rate you compared to real sex addicts. I was a bit surprised by my results, because I answered Yes to several of the queries. Still, I scored only a 2 on a 15-point scale. You can see the test for yourself here.

The concept of a person being addicted to sex is controversial. Psychiatrists and psychologists disagree on whether it actually exists or is just a metaphor for something real but still misunderstood. Sex addiction’s not like other forms of addiction, where a person gets sick and has withdrawal pains if they don’t get their booze or their fix. (Those can be life-threatening, so get yourself to the hospital if that shoe fits.) Remember Diana Ross’s withdrawal scene in that Billie Holiday movie “Lady Sings the Blues”?

Sex addiction is different. The best theory I’ve seen for it (and this may apply to food addiction as well) is that we have a little Pleasure Center in our brains, and it’s a ravenous beast. Some people get hooked on crack and the Pleasure Center goes nuts. Some people learn to crave chocolate cake. Myself, I love ass.

The test questions suggest that the difference between a normal guy who loves sex and gets his share, and a guy who goes off the deep end chasing ass, is whether the pursuit of sex starts to disrupt your life. We have to live with a certain balance, with a variety of goals, wants and needs. Some of this is just common sense—you’ve got to go to work, dude—but ya know, when you love chocolate, it always looks good.

Same with ass.

I once knew a man who got so horny and needy and obsessed that he spent all night walking the city streets looking for someone to fuck him. He hit all the cruisy spots, but didn’t like anyone there. He went to all the Gay bars downtown, but he still didn’t find anyone who interested him. He walked so much his feet started aching, but he couldn’t let go of his quest. Nobody in the whole city was out that night except drunks and losers. Then we struck up a conversation.

He told me what he’d done, and how foolish he felt about it. “If there’s nobody out, there’s nobody out. I just wasted eight hours of my life for nothing.”

He was young and kinda cute, but I realized that I shouldn’t take advantage of him; that what he needed was to learn his lesson and not fall into the trap again. So I told him to go home and jack off a big one. He thanked me, we left separately, and I never saw him on the streets again.

But I did see him at the bar. He said he was functioning better and had a fuller life now. He made a decision not to waste his time like he had before.

But the main thing was he had a boyfriend now. He could get ass whenever he wanted it.

This is all just my way of paying attention to what I’m doing on this blog; pornography is all about fantasies, and fantasies are good. They’re not, however, reality. Your boyfriend is not Joe D’Allesandro of Warhol fame.

Life offers a whole smorgasbord to excite your Pleasure Center, from baseball to holding your little niece’s hand. One of my favorite things to do in nice weather is just sitting on my porch, a gentle breeze on my skin, grilling some food for a couple of buddies. They talk, I listen, they compliment the food. My Pleasure Center really likes that. It isn’t the excitement of sex, but it lasts for hours.

I just love the obscenity of this shot, ruining a perfectly good pair of Perry Ellises. It sure excites the boys:

One other thing I’m trying to keep in mind these days: pornography is a consumer product. It’s a commodity. As someone once said, it doesn’t have a long shelf-life. A picture you downloaded five years ago (or five months) may leave you cold today. I watched a video the other day and thought, “Not much dick on him.” The actor had a fine body and was fucking away to the seeming delight of his partner, but I was looking at them critically. The same thing happens if I see twinks banging; “No muscles. Don’t know what they’re doing.” I don’t like skinny boys, I want to see men.

If our mental approach is porn-as-product, then we start demanding “more of this, less of that.” We end up rejecting products that are good in search of one that is “best” as we define it. Anyone who’s ever been in retail knows that you have to set limits on consumers; if you cater to their every demand, they get greedier and greedier till they’re finally abusive. The store’s open when it’s open; it’s closed when it’s closed.

What I like about this guy is how he asks for it:

When you go to bed at night and find your non-porn lover looking like this, are you going to turn him down?

Our job is to find beauty in real men where it is, not to criticize the product where it isn’t.

The best fuck I ever got was by a guy with five inches; he fit me perfectly. Fantasy is not reality; at best it feeds reality.

And I say that as one who has fucked beautiful asses.

We all have our own opinions; one of mine is that we need not to dehumanize the actors and makers of pornography, because if we do, we also dehumanize ourselves. We are not a product. So neither are they.

I’m very grateful to porn stars. They’ve kept me greased and gushing my whole life. But let’s remember that half the skill involved in making hot pictures comes from camera angles, lighting, props, acting and directing. Like John Wayne, it’s a construct designed to be better than reality. It is never a replacement for it.

There was once a pop song, a novelty number I learned as a kid. It’s kinda sexist, but maybe there’s a point:

If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life
Never make a pretty woman your wife
So for my personal point of view
Get an ugly girl to marry you

But if you make an ugly woman your wife
A-you’ll be happy for the rest of your life
An ug-a-ly woman cooks meals on time
And she’ll always give you peace of mind

Jimmy Soul, 1963

Remember my friend who walked the streets all night and never found what he was looking for? His Pleasure Center made a fool out of him, because it can get greedy and selfish and mean. The antidote is lots of goals and activities, so that when it’s time to feed it sex (my all-time favorite; yours too), we make a positive connection with another human being.

Boys just need it sometimes, ya know? But it’s not a full-time gig. ∞

Do you have a thing for blonds? I do. It’s not quite a fetish to me, but I still remember the day I first laid eyes on yellow hair.

He sat in front of me in second grade. I stared at his hair all day, and couldn’t figure it out.

His hair was very light, what’s called a “bright” blond. I envied him. He had something I didn’t.

He was dumb as a rock, but very athletic—which is really all you need in this world.

So I became an athlete too. I had to study what came naturally to him, while no amount of studying ever helped him figure out what came naturally to me.

Blond jocks are so hot.

The coloring in my family ranges from red (my mother) to black (my father and oldest brother). My hair is now brown, which is nature’s default color for humans. Thus I’m a commoner.

When I was young, though, I was a little towhead; so was my middle brother. As we got older our color changed and we got darker. His eyes changed from green to brown, and mine from blue to green. Does that happen in most families? It did in ours. My eldest brother, the one with the black hair, is the only one left with blue eyes. Not that it matters, it’s just kind of curious. Maybe we’re a family of iguanas, ya think?

Blond hair is easy to obtain these days with a $5 peroxide kit, but once upon a time it was rare. You had to be Dutch or Finnish or something; my family is English, so my mother’s red hair was no surprise. Someone saw an old picture of me recently and pronounced my hair “auburn,” but it really isn’t, it’s just brown.

My beard comes out pretty red; I’m my mother’s son. My pubes are black, though, thank God.

I know guys who are wild for redheads, but they’re in a minority. A lot more guys turn to look at a blond.

We’ve all heard and read blond jokes, which really have no basis in reality. The “dumb blond” meme is just a way to turn envy into a putdown. Gay men didn’t invent it but we love to keep it going; “camp” is mostly envy of the Butch Guy You Can’t Get.

Sontag never had a clue. Queens can’t get a man, that’s why they yammer and prance. (And they’re allowed.)

So who are these blonds, these objects of universal envy? I mean, have you ever seen a Black girl at Walgreen’s with blond hair? Of course you have. To me it’s a bizarre look, but she gets to do whatever she wants with her own hair. It’s called freedom, and the Afro days are long gone.

But what about blond men? Some are men and some are just boys. God love this one.

Mm, mm, mm, I wouldn’t mind chaining his ass up.

Boy seems to have gotten himself into a predicament.

You won’t get past this guy. I don’t think people should smoke, but that cigarette’s a little intimidating. So are the muscles and the shades and the cuffs.

Get your lips around this one:

Of course, blonds are just as hungry as you are; they just look better wearing cum than you do.

Blonds make great puppies:

At times they make fabulous puppies. But always, they’ve got an extra edge because of that hair. This little fucktoy can rule the world:

No one looks younger or more innocent than a blond.

This blond whips boys into shape:

This one commands a naked army:

This one hopes an army will come and fuck him silly:

Some blonds are tops (I know that blows your mind, but bear with me):

And some do exactly what they’re told.

I love blonds. They’re as entitled to individuality as anyone else. But there’s one universal truth about them:

Stick a cock in front of a blond and he goes down every time. ∞

Shy gets you nowhere in Gay life. Shy’s being too pussy to compete.

Whether you want to be on top or on the bottom, you’ve got to advertise.

You’re in charge of your image. Everything you do is broadcasting. Walking down the street is your own personal YouTube. Do people keep watching, building up your hits, leaving comments, giving you stars? Or do they hit the Stop button?

What do you want, anyway? Do you even know? If you do, are you getting it?

Is your life complete today, or are you still wanting more?

Hell, even social workers and Peace Corps volunteers have to do some marketing.

Be honest with yourself; a little private self-examination. What’s going good and what’s not so good? If you can’t get no satisfaction, change what you’re doing, try something else.

In the last analysis, shy is a pose. Stop posing and get real. Phony is found out sooner or later; ask Bernard Madoff.

An article in The New York Times today compares him to a serial killer. But the important thing is he got busted. The rest of his life will be a living hell.

Be yourself. Let loose of every affectation, every bit of phony that’s in you. Whatever you’ve got, show it.

Got dick? Show ‘em. Watch the cocksuckers line up.

Is some guy looking at you? Adjust yourself, so he knows what’s on your mind.

Enough already with the shyboy’s notion that he should never be caught looking. You want something? Look right at him. Get rid of the voice of Grandma in your head, “It’s not polite to stare.” Politeness never once got you off. Your eyes alone can overpower a shyboy. It doesn’t take a thousand bucks worth of leather, it takes a thousand bucks worth of decision.

Attitude is everything. Make yourself clear.

I don’t care what you like to do in bed, just show me your assets so I know. Sex ain’t no guessing game.

This one’s got it, right down the middle of Broadway:

This guy isn’t going to overpower anyone. He doesn’t play pretend. He might be just your type.

Spikes on his pockets and crotch, to draw your eyes to the package. Uses his hands, too:

Strategic hands don’t cost you a thing, and they get you what you want:

Superboy’s got a lot, and he’s expecting a lot:

Even trailer trash here gets what he wants:

Doesn’t matter how old you are; what matters is getting what you want. Will Geer didn’t give a shit what anyone thought; he was rich, he was powerful, he had a lifetime’s worth of respect from his peers, and he liked young muscle. How much do you suppose his boyfriend Raleigh got from the old man’s estate? They both got what they wanted, but look how Raleigh kept advertising:

Shy doesn’t cut it in Gay life. If you’re shy, get yourself some therapy, or a new group of friends, or just make a fucking decision, ’cause Grandma never faced what you do, her advice no longer applies. Go for it. Show me what you want.

Ooh, good puppy… ∞

A celebration of men of color has to kick off with this gorgeous hunk of manhood.

Some men are athletes:

Some men are heroes:

Tight pants on a Colt Man:

A tip of the hat to Black cowboys (nice boots, fella):

Black muscle built America:

Got himself a piece of the pie and a piece of ass:

Look at these juicies!

Same-race same-sex:

Some guys have it all:

Good luck, Mr. President. You inspire billions worldwide, so let a new day begin.

Your move.