We know that some of you like your men hairy, rapey, and smelling of bar-farts; but that’s just butch drag. Some of those so-called “real men” are big ol’ bottoms who lisp and drink appletinis in their free time. No, sometimes we like to appreciate another sort of “real man”—the kind that wears black see-through tops, manscara, and sequin pants.
We’re not kidding. Most guys aren’t man enough to get away with wearing female styles of the 80’s.
French photo duo, Exterface, excels in dramatizing the many flavors and sex and desire—they’re like a visual Baskin-Robbins, but instead of 31 flavors, they have 31 photo series, each with a different, boner-popping taste. Today’s? Blood and gold… or “Sangre Y Oro” as the Spaniards call it.
As we said, we love stripping down beautiful men in daring clothes. The scent of apples and roses… the feel of a nice ass and bulge in sequined action slacks… the taste of lipstick and rouge. It’s enough to make us bust out our castanets and do a flamenco dance, de amor!
Try getting your butch top to do that! QCEspañol rocks the house.
It’s My Party
By Steve Prince
“Steve Prince. It’s really you.”
I looked at him blankly. As blood trickled from his nose, I tried to discern the face. Still, his strong cheekbones, square jaw, and dark amber eyes did nothing to identify him.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, looking around for a napkin, but a waitress who had seen the accident handed him one. “Are you okay? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m fine,” he said with a wave of his hand. “It’s really not a big deal. I’ve had worse playing rugby.”
Okay, so apparently I go to Ruggerbugger.com too much; instead of being concerned for this man I’d just bitch-slapped with the door, my mind immediately drifted to rugby porn. Mmmm, rugby porn. The stranger extended his left hand since his right was pressing the napkin against his nose.
“I’m Kerry,” he said, his voice sounded muted behind the napkin.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, “even though you already know me?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, “I know all about you.”
What the fuck? Was I being stalked or something?
Livin’ On A Prayer
By Steve Prince
I sat across from them, watching their faces morph from confusion, to anger, then sympathy, and finally disbelief.
“Steve,” Omar began, “I’m… uh… I don’t know what to say.”
I had given them all the letter Peter had written me that morning. I knew that Omar, Cody, Alex, and Troy were planning on having dinner because they’d invited me. I initially declined because I thought I was going to be spending time with my boyfriend (or I guess I should say ex-boyfriend). But he wasn’t coming back.
“I’m so sorry, Stevie,” Alex said. “Peter doesn’t realize what a great guy he’s losing.” I smiled politely. Alex is always the optimist, but right now I didn’t feel like building myself up. I didn’t know how I felt, but I knew I didn’t need that.
“Are you still in shock?” Cody asked, as if reading my mind.
I nodded.
Troy placed his hand on my back. “I wouldn’t know what the hell to do.”
Omar’s mouth was still agape. The sound of bumping plates tinkled to my left. People crowded the restaurant because it was too cold to eat outside; therefore patrons packed the indoors. The freakishly cold weather had arrived with my sadness.
“Really?” Omar sighed, as if asking for clarity. “Peter really did this for his religion?” He scanned our faces to see if we agreed. “I believe you Steve, but I don’t know about Peter. This just sounds so made-up. Does this really happen in real life? I don’t know… it’s just so dramatic.” His tone became tentative. “Now, I don’t mean to offend you, but do you think there’s another reason he wanted to end it? Maybe he just couldn’t tell you, so he’s hiding behind religion.”
For the Love of God
By Steve Prince
“Hmmm,” I said aloud wondering what was taking so long.
I had been waiting for Peter to walk through the security doors at LAX for about thirty minutes.
I looked at my phone for the fourteenth time. No text or call. I shifted my weight to my other leg. My lips felt chapped, probably because I’d been biting them nervously.
As excited as I was to see Peter, the nervousness inside me gathered like a storm. How was I going to tell him I cheated? Spit it out, I guess… I didn’t know.
I looked up at the arrival board. The flight wasn’t listed anymore. Just minutes ago it had said, “Flight 833. Arrived.” Now nothing. I guess too much time had passed.
I looked at my phone again. Still no call. No text. It had been forty minutes now.
A woman who had been waiting at baggage claim heaved a sigh as her own bag finally came. I had seen her walk out the security doors and wait for over half an hour for her bag—bless her heart. The baggage claim at LAX always takes forever long. At least she found what she’d been waiting for.
“Excuse me,” I said as she passed by me, “may I ask what flight you just came in on?”
“Oklahoma City,” she said. That was Peter’s flight.
Okay, now I was just worried. Why hadn’t he called?
And then I realized that I could just call him. Why didn’t I think of that before?
You simply have to love the French photo duo, Exterface. They always deliver sensuous erotic male photography and their latest series, Monsters, definitely combines the tantalizing with the macabre. We don’t know about you, but the very touch of lace makes our skin recoil in horror—it’s so grandmotherly! So arguably, it takes a real man to wear lace and make it look this good.
Their model Joh wears it delicately yet with relish. And though the series has no cock shot, the decadent textures combined with Joh’s “come hither” look certainly stir us. There’s nothing protecting him from your violating gaze but a thin swath of translucent cloth. Yet you persist with your penetrating stare. So maybe the real monster in this little series is you—you beast!
Via QCEspañol a very arty and classy place, indeed. More Exterface on QC: Exterface’s Mirage Exterface’s Illuminati Exterface’s Super Lover
On A Jet Plane
By Steve Prince
My eyes scanned down the e-mail to linger on his arrival date one last time. LAX. United. 12:37p.m.
With a quick breath, I trotted towards my back door, grabbed my keys, and pulled out of my driveway in seconds.
Oh God. What would I say to him?
That question perpetually looped in my brain. In fact, I asked the very same thing when talking to the boys two days ago. It blared in my head, as I feel asleep that night. This morning, I awoke to it trumpeting like a chorus from Handel’s Messiah.
My fingers fidgeted on the steering wheel unable to focus. I would have bitten my nails, except that I’d already chewed them to the nub.
I turned on La Brea to head towards the 10. It was noon—straight up. I’d be there in twenty minutes.
The phone rang. Ah, a reprieve from my own thoughts.
“Hello,” I answered cautiously.
We know that some of you hate Lady GaGa (just like Diesel Washington). But even if you hate her, we can all agree on music videos that include leather S&M, saucy vampire men, and involuntary dentistry. We’re not sure if this video is from Lady herself or just two overzealous fans, but it hasn’t stopped us from popping a boner, either way.
Unless you’re a fan of Italo disco-dance electropop, you may not like the plastic, bubblegum beats of Bimbo Boy. But, no matter your taste in music, we can all appreciate a computer animated video where Adam Lambert hooks up with Soulja Boy. Bimbo Boy directed this entire music video using only footage from the game, The Sims 3, which is kinda incredible when you consider how narrative it is. It’s worth watching, if even just for the video game snogging.
Give My Regrets
By Steve Prince
Their faces stared at me in silence.
Finally, Cody broke it. “Steve, I’m sorry you feel so messed up right now.”
Ha. “Messed up” didn’t even seem like the right phrase.
I had cheated.
I’ve never done that before. Ever. In fact, I always find myself looking down on people who do cheat. How could they break that commitment? How could they be so selfish? How could they look at their relationship and just throw it away in an hour of sex? It seemed so selfish. I seem so selfish.
I looked down at my half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich, which I had ordered to help my hangover that morning, yet I felt unable to eat any of it. I mistook the rumbling in the pit of my stomach as a result of drinking the night before, but no—it the guilt from waking up with Seth—a total stranger I practically forced myself upon.
Troy’s face looked the most upset. I felt most worried to tell him. Hell, I felt worried to tell them all, especially all at once. Troy, Alex, Omar, and Cody are my best friends, and here at dinner I had told them one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. It made me feel so vulnerable, as if I’d been turned inside out—raw for people to see. What would they think of me?
Troy sighed. “Where were you?” he said looking accusingly at Cody.
I could immediately tell where he was going.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Read last week’s cliffhanger before this one! Pre-cumming
By Steve Prince
My mouth is so dry it seems to creak as I begin to smack it open, starting to wake from the night.
A hand slides across my stomach and pulls me closer. A naked body and a rock hard erection greet the small of my back.
“Mmmm,” he moans.
As he begins to kiss my neck, I sigh into him, relaxing into the morning. I feel myself begin to stiffen. My eyes drift open to see the beginning light of dawn emerging in the window.
I turn and face him. “Good morning,” I say with a smile.
“Mornin’ babe,” Peter answers back, with his familiar smile.
We kiss and the familiarity of his taste comforts me a like a morning cup of coffee. I hold his face and my hands. Rolling on top of him, I kiss him fervently.
As I begin to kiss down his neck Peter moans, his expansive chest goosebumps as my lips approach his nipples. I bite, carefully. A puff of breath issues from his mouth as his hand clutches the back of my neck. I kiss down his flat stomach to see an old friend.
Peter’s cock is so familiar to me now. As I cradle’s Peter’s head in my lips, the saltiness of his cock reminds me of the taste of sex and I stiffen more.
After a few minutes of devouring his cock, I slide up to kiss him. He embraces me back, while his cock begins to poke at my ass. I kiss him harder as he begins to press himself into me more. A small gasp issues from my mouth as his cock penetrates my ass.
“Wait,” I say, “we haven’t talked about not using condoms.”
“Does it matter?” Peter says looking at me deeply, “I love you. You’re the only one I want to be with.”
I melt on the spot and kiss him harder, as he begins to fuck me now. He raises up and cradles me in his strong arms as his pelvis plunges his bare cock all the way inside of me.
A New Resolve
By Steve Prince
The car chirped beep-beep as I locked the doors, and made my way up my front porch.
Finally, I was back home in Los Angeles.
It’s always a feeling of déjà vu—returning after Christmas in Oklahoma. I always walk in and sigh exhaustedly, drop my bag—which sits there for at least a day—plop myself on my couch and unwind, usually while going through my mail.
This time back from Oklahoma was no different—I came home alone with Peter still in Oklahoma. Sadly, I never even got to see him. He was too busy trying to “fit in” time with everyone. Also, his Grandpa was dying so I understood him wanting to spend time with him. Still, I felt a bit bummed I didn’t see him, especially on New Year’s Eve.
Okay, honestly I felt a bit shunned, but realized selfishness. Give him space, I kept reminding myself. In fact, give him space, had quickly become my new mantra for Peter nowadays. Still, really…he couldn’t spare just one night for New Year’s Eve? Instead I spent another year watching everyone kiss their significant others at the stroke of midnight. I wanted that.
We already knew that Britney’s a prostie who likes anal, but in Francois Sagat’s latest project, art imitates life. These great shots (posted on his Facebook account) show Sagat-as-Britney-as-Sailor Moon in roller skates with a handful of cash. Even though we’ve never considered making out with a transvestite, his naughty schoolgirl-slash-carhop get up has us quite aroused—we mean, just look at that ass!
Though it’s a good thing she’s wearing those kneepads. Of course, we have a feeling she keeps them on all the time. They may, in fact, be the secret to her suck-cess. Oh Francois, Salvador Dali was right: “Art is a lie that helps us see the truth.”
Fuck Road
By Steve Prince
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant. Bye dad.”
I hung up the phone and sighed. I loved driving in Oklahoma. It’s completely different from Los Angeles. It was nice to be home for Christmas. Instead of fighting traffic, I cruised down a dirt road in my father’s pickup truck, the smell of the country wafting itself in the cab. The inkiness of the night made the road visible only feet in front of me. The Oklahoma night seems so much darker than in LA. The edges of the truck windows fogged with the chill of nightfall. Soon stars would begin pinging in the infinite clear indigo sky.
I didn’t want to live in Oklahoma again. I couldn’t actually. It would be a step backwards for me. Still, I missed the countryside, the smell of earth and grass, and the sound of crickets instead of car horns. It feels good to come home every so often and see that nothing has really changed; things look the same and people stay the same.
I began driving into the main part of town, just a small four lane street lined with streetlights. I pulled into the parking lot of the El Chico restaurant to meet my family at. I looked at the clock; I went sixteen miles in only ten minutes—it would have taken an hour in LA.
I arrived earlier than the rest of my family even though we all left the house at the same time. Of course I did, my father drives so slowly. He wouldn’t be here for another ten minutes. I walked in the restaurant and made my way to the bar. Cautiously I looked around, grateful to see no one I knew. I didn’t feel like catching up tonight.
“What beers do you have on draft?” I asked, taking a stool at the bar.
The bartender turned and immediately I recognized him. I didn’t know his name, but I definitely knew his face. To be honest, I had known a bit more than his face. He looked older, as if the town had aged him. His smooth forehead now seemed lined and his skin blotchy. He had definitely put on weight. But he still had the same great hair. Nonetheless, it had been so long that I might have been remembering him how I wanted rather than how he really was. A shame really, because I remembered this guy being so attractive. Now he just looked… normal.
“Tonight we have Bud Light, Stella, and Pyramid,” he answered. In the instant, I studied his face yet the dawn of recognition was absent. He didn’t remember me at all, which honestly kind of hurt. I thought that was a pretty good fuck, if I do say so myself…
This last summer we featured The Portrait of Dorian’s Wang, but it looks as if UK director Oliver Parker has taken up Oscar Wilde’s famous (and only) novel, The Picture of Dorian Grey.
For those of you who haven’t read the novel, it’s about a young man named Dorian Gray who’s lead into a life of debauchery by the decadent gadabout Basil Hallward. In this film, Dorian and Basil are played by Ben Barnes and Ben Chapman, and they get much closer than they do in the book. Personally, this Dorian’s a bit fey for our tastes, but we like long hair and we’re always down for a bro-job, so we’ll let him “really express his gratitude”, the foppish slut.
