Just Beat It
By Steve Prince
Okay, so if you haven’t figured it out by now… I watch a lot of Oprah. Surprise. I love her no matter how big her hips or hair gets.
I remember as a kid that The Oprah Winfrey Show was the first time I ever saw a gay person I related to in my young adult life. I was in middle school and the show was about a guy who had come out to his family, only to be disowned. I sat there in awe looking at this man, who didn’t look that much older than me, tell his story—shocked to see audience members actually comforting him and condemning what his family had done—a truly powerful moment.
Today, I watched an Oprah show on mothers talking to their daughters about sex. The show’s sex expert (or “sexpert”) was fairly detailed and very liberal; she even suggested that sixteen-year-old girls be taught about vibrators.
The sexpert talked about how not discussing sex can create sexual shame and guilt. She explains how kids can create a unhealthy sexual self-image when we teach them that masturbation is filthy. She noted that instead of pleasing ourselves we often have to search for others to do it for us—something I completely related to and which really clicked for me. It reminded me of the first time I jerked-off consciously thinking of something homosexual. I was thirteen-years-old…
When I was twelve-years-old and my best friend Eric was thirteen, our favorite thing to do was go “walking,” what we called searching the neighborhood for trouble. We never did anything too bad. We’d toilet paper a house, ring a doorbell and then run away before anyone saw us, or peep through windows to watch girls changing clothes.
I opened my front door.
“You ready?” Eric asked with a grin.
Photographer Gio Spano’s new photo series, After the Match, captures the feelings of glory, elation, defeat, and humiliation that athletes experience alone once a competition has ended. For Gio’s first shoot in the series, he got Francois Sagat who took some inspiration from pictures of Japanese sumo fighters. Gio explained “We decided to build on that imagery and create several images that convey Francois as being a confident champion.” With his personal flair, excellent musculature, and penetrating gaze, Francois comes off as exciting and sensuous. Interesting side note: Gio Spano and his partner are co-owners of FabScout.com, an adult male talent agency that manages Francois. Gio hopes to shoot several other men and incorporate the shots into a full book by the end of the year.
Check out Francois Sagat’s QC Fan Club Page.
Thanks to BeautifulMag.eu for the pics!
Here’s In The Closet, a short horror film from the gay sci-fi, fantasy, and horror site DoorQ.com starring Brent Corrigan and J.T. Tepnapa. J.T. plays a jaded hook-up that the newly out Brent brings home from a bar. Brent’s great and mega-cute as the shy newbie, but though he’s got a dirty trick in his bed, he’s got a much dirtier one hidden somewhere else. We actually like Brent’s acting in this non-porn flick (and there’s also cock/ass shots, kissing, and fucking), but the dialogue comes a little too close to the inanity of actual pillow talk. This film will make a good late night flick alone with the lights off. Whether you ultimately find it funny or frightening, it’s definitely a fun watch!
What if…
By Steve Prince
“I don’t like this,” Troy muttered as he flopped his feet down his apartment steps, his head looking down.
I shut his door behind him.
“Oh, man up,” I called after him. “We’ll be done in no time.”
Troy turned around and glared at me incredulously. “Well!” he said his voice rising along with his eyebrows, “I guess, I’ll tag along just to support you.”
I walked past him and beeped my car unlocked. “Oh thanks,” I said.
Troy sighed as I started the car, “I just want to get this over with.”
I did too.
Two hours later, Troy and I still sat at the clinic waiting to get our STD tests. We’d been there two hours already and I was getting grumpy as hell, wishing I’d brought my knitting.
As we sat in the lobby my year’s sexual past crept up in my mind like a ghostly vision. Soon, I replayed incidents: each time I swallowed a guy’s cum or even gave a simple rimming… was that safe? Could I have gotten something? Oh god!
I look over at Troy chewing on the end of his finger while his left knee bobbed up and down. Apparently he was thinking the same things I was. We both had to look ridiculous just sitting there thinking about our “what ifs.”
What if I was HIV positive? Would my life be that different? Ironically, it might be good for me; maybe then I would take better care of myself. Sexually I am very safe, but my general health practice sucks. I eat what I want and the last time I really hit the gym was in Ricardo’s Boot Camp of Hell. What if I had Hepatitis B? What would I say to my parents? What would they say to me? What if…
You like big cocks? Oh yeah? How about the five-foot cock of a whale? It’s like a meat harpoon… too much for you (prude)? You might not like a woman teaching you about sex, but when it’s actress Isabella Rossellini’s Green Porno, you know it’ll be entertaining and often violent. In the first season of Green Porno, Isabella tackled insect fucking. In the second season of this tantalizing, wondrous series, she portrays whales, barnacles, starfish, and other deep sea denizens doing the nasty—and in the wild world of the animal kingdom, the term “safe sex” doesn’t always apply!
Check out this censored promo for Green Porno 2 and then some of the short episodes at The Sundance Channel. It’s funny, interesting, and kind of sensuous in an art-dork sort of way.
And if you missed the first season of Green Porno, check out this teaser promo for the first season and some episodes at The Sundance Channel as well. Between earthworms 69ing, praying mantises violently devouring each other and bumblebees breaking off their penises into their partners, your sex life will seem suddenly tame in comparison.
Out of the Frying Pan And Into the Closet
By Steve Prince
“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!”
“WOOOOOOO!!”
I took my last gulp as the hands holding my legs up in the air began to turn me right-side-up.
Yes, I’d just experienced my first keg stand at my 30th birthday party.
I steadied myself as the blood rushed from my head. Everyone around me cheered. I felt like a frat boy, a total fantasy of mine. I mean, c’mon! Three things come to mind when I think of fraternities: hot, fuck me, group frat sex.
My brother patted my back, “That was good, Bubba,” he said smiling. I smiled back, grateful that he’d attended. My brother, sister-in-law, and two nephews all flew in from Oklahoma for my birthday party and to enjoy their spring break. As I looked around, so many different people in my life surrounded me and seeing them all together felt very fulfilling.
It felt surreal to see my brother talking to Omar, Alex, Troy, and Cody. Here was my straight jock brother swapping embarrassing stories with all my gay pals. For the next thirty minutes, I mingled around the party sipping water. I didn’t want to drink too much. I wanted to actually remember my 30th birthday and getting trashed wasn’t the way I wanted to kick off a new decade.
But of course the boys would have none of that. So, not surprisingly, I found myself hoisted up to do another keg stand… Jeezus.
As they tipped me up, I held the tap to my lips and the icy rush of beer rushed into my mouth. Christ, this burns! I thought. I’m not really a beer chugger.
“ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!”
“WOOOOOOO!!”
Troy and Cody, who had hoisted me up, set me down on my feet again. This time I saw stars. Good grief! I don’t know how these frat boys drink so much. I wouldn’t have made it through pledgeship.
As everyone cheered, I felt someone tap my left shoulder. I turned around.
It was Peter.
SP Phone Homo
By Steve Prince
“Let me call you back. My phone’s being weird.”
I hung up. I looked at my phone. She looked battered, poor Ivory—that’s what I named my white Blackberry Pearl. Ivory and I’d been through a lot: traveling around the country, arranging hookups, long conversations with friends. I went to press the top left button to retrieve my call history. Nothing. I pressed it again.
On the screen, my phone flashed something I’d never seen before—writing in a non-English language. I pressed the button again and then Ivory made a noise like a gerbil fart.
Uh oh… that couldn’t be good.
And it turned off. On March 10th at 12:36p.m., my poor little blackberry pearl, Ivory, uttered it’s last signal. I’d have to give her a burial.
“Well,” I said aloud, “shit the bed.” Ugh. Great, two days before my 30th birthday and now I had to deal with getting a new phone. I hate dealing with electronics, and electronics don’t seem to like dealing much with me either. Okay, I thought to myself, when can I get a new phone? Instinctively, I pulled out my phone to check my calendar. Oh wait—I can’t check my calendar. My phone’s dead. Well, I’d check my computer then. Oh wait—my blackberry never connected with my Mac. Tension began swirling into my stomach and suddenly I realized, I don’t know what I’m doing for the rest of the day!
Yes, I’d become one of those people; I’d implanted my life into that phone. I’d scheduled everything into it. My work commitments, school projects, plans with friends. I wouldn’t know when to wipe my ass if it wasn’t for Ivory.
Along with thoughts of panic, thoughts of hope began bubbling up in my brain. It’s OK, I can get a better phone, I can get an iPhone!
I’ve wanted an iPhone for a while, but I’d been hesitant because in the U.S. to have an iPhone means having AT&T as a carrier. Ugh. It’s a long story, but many years ago AT&T took part of my soul that I don’t know if I’ll ever get back. AT&T is where dreams go to die, but still…
It’s an iPhone. Maybe it’d be my birthday present to myself.
I do love that an iPhone would sync flawlessly to my MacBook laptop. So if my phone crashed, I’d at least have a back up of all my information. And I obviously needed a backup, right?
An hour later, I walked out of the Apple store with an iPhone in hand. Hmmm. Why didn’t this feel as good as I’d expected? 24 hours later…
“So how was your week?”
I placed both phones on my therapist’s coffee table.
He looked at me blankly.
“Doctor,” I said, “I don’t know what the fuck to do.”
I told him the saga of the phone drama.
“So basically,” he said after I’d finished with a sigh and flopped back onto his couch, “one month with an iPhone is going to cost you more than just getting a new phone with your old phone company.”
“Yes,” I said.
“And if you kept the iPhone, you’d have to sign a two-year contract,” he continued.
“Yes,” I said.
He waited for a minute. I looked at the floor and noticed that during my phone monologue, the afternoon sun had quietly retreated from the room and begun to set.
“I’m wondering,” he thought aloud.
Uh oh. Usually when my therapist begins with “I’m wondering,” some type of self reflection occurs.
He continued, “I’m wondering what else you did last night…”
“Umm,” I was thrown by the question. “Well,” I said, recounting my night. “I went to work and that’s where the phone drama occurred. I went to the Apple store after work, then I came home. After that, I met my friend Cody for a drink and then, I hooked up with some guy and he fucked the shit outta me.”
Be sure to read part one of this column, A Birthday Surprise. The Sleepover-er
By Steve Prince
The beer burned as it slid down my throat. I gulped and placed the empty bottle on the bar. I looked across the dance floor. He was still watching me.
He was very cute, at least five years younger than me. His straight brown hair fell and flopped on his forehead as he danced. He was very thin. I walked towards him and without a word we began dancing. The dance floor felt like a sauna, with all of the men thrashing about and sweating profusely. It wasn’t five minutes before he’d rested his right hand on my shoulder.
Greedily, I pressed my pelvis into his and he obliged by turning around and backing up and rubbing his ass against my front. He looked over his right shoulder and smiled; a cute smile that was framed by adorable dimples.
He turned around and we pressed against one another again. It was then that I held the back of his head in my hand and kissed him fiercely.
And then we proceeded to make out like rock stars. Yes, we were that couple in that bar. I think we danced and made out for an eternity. Throwing caution to the wind, he slipped his hand down the front of my pants and fondled my tip. That’s when he leaned over and told me his name. “I’m Jeremy,” he said.
Yes, I know what you’re thinking. I don’t find out the guy’s name until after he touches my cock—I’m classy like that.
Obligingly I told him my name and put my hands down the back of his pants, fondling his ass while we kissed. Apparently, I’m an exhibitionist.
We kissed and kissed until I felt someone tap my shoulder. It was James.
Two minutes later, he’d pulled me aside.
“Who’s that?” he asked.
I paused. “Umm,” I thought, “I don’t know actually. I think I’m a little drunk.”
“A little?” James replied, “You make Amy Winehouse look pious.”
I giggled. “Well, he’s a real good kisser, and I totally think he’ll let me fuck him.”
I looked across the dance floor. Ah, Jeremy! I remembered his name. He was dancing and staring at me; he motioned for me to come back. I started towards him but James grabbed my arm.
The Mysteries of Pittsburgh, based on the 1988 Michael Chabon novel, played at Sundance this year and will get limited release at the end of the month.
Art (Jon Foster) is stuck in Pittsburgh for the summer with his off-and-on girlfriend (Mina Suvari) and his overbearing mobster dad (Nick Nolte). His mundane life sucks until he meets Sienna Miller and her lusty criminal boyfriend, Cleveland (Peter Sarsgaard). As the summer heats up, so does their association, eventually drawing once straight-laced Art into a lover’s triangle.
We’re not crazy about the music and it doesn’t exactly look like the 80’s, but we’re happy about the prospect of man-on-man sex. Has anyone who’s seen the film wanna share what happens (regarding the gay sex)?
On the eve of his 30th, Steve Prince presents the first of a two-part column. He promises the cum-drenched second half next week. A Birthday Surprise
By Steve Prince I’m feeling nostalgic. Why? Well, on March 12th I’m turning the big 3-0. And no, I’m not freaked out. I’m fine. In fact, I’m so fine that this week I’m taking trip down memory lane, and not because I don’t want to deal with my present birthday… because I’m fine. Besides, wouldn’t you rather hear about my 27th birthday anyway? I mean, 30-—it’s boring right. And besides I’m not avoiding anything. I’m fine… I’m just turning thirty… I’m going to go throw up while you read this…
Saturday March 11th, 2006
James needed to get it done. And by get it done, I mean he needed to have someone plunder his booty like a pirate who’s been on the Seven Seas for three years.
I guess that’s the beauty of having a gay roommate that you’ve lived with for a long time; you can tell him anything.
I could tell it’d been building for days. James had been working himself like a dog lately. James is very much the constant pianist. He’s super talented and works extremely hard. When he’s working on a project he throws himself into it completely. This is great if you’re a fellow musician, but if you’re his roommate… not so much. Within a week of working on something non-stop, James’ creative energy gets drained and he becomes a bit cranky around the house. I try to be sympathetic, because honestly I do the same thing. I guess we all go and go until we need to take some time for ourselves.
Luckily, we were going out for my birthday that night; at the stroke of midnight, I’d turn twenty-seven years old. Late twenties here I come. I’d spent that Saturday morning cleaning up around the house. James had been out playing a matinee. I’d just reached into the laundry bin to begin yanking out clothes to wash when I heard the familiar hum of his Rav4 pull up the drive.
“I hope you’re ready,” he called as he came in the back of the house.
“Ready for what?” I asked walking into the kitchen to greet him.
“Ready for tonight,” he said locking the back door behind him.
Jeezus. I knew where this was heading; James had hit her breaking point.
“I’m done,” James sighed, “this week has officially fucked me in the ass and you know what?”
“What?”
“If I’m getting fucked in the ass, then I might as well get a reach around while I’m at it,” he declared. He tossed his keys onto the counter and immediately walked over to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed the bottle of gin to make himself a drink. I looked at the clock; it was only 3:30.
Hot damn! Is it weird that we find these paintings of men hotter than actual men? That’s a high compliment to the art of Chicago-based watercolor painter Rob Bondgren who will showcase his works from the series entitled Better Days Ahead this Saturday. His collection includes the vivid, intensely erotic, and slightly menacing works he created from 2005 to 2007, during the second half of the Iraq Invasion. On his site, Bondgren spoke about his own work:
The work in this series was first and foremost a reaction to my overwhelming disgust and fatigue with war, politics, terrorism and fear mongering, and the most unfortunate politicization of sexuality. I began this series because I selfishly wanted to have fun painting people having fun. Bottom line-I wanted to escape. This work explores themes of fantasy and desire and borrows imagery from a number of sources including, personal photographs, advertising and pornography. I am interested in what is considered beautiful and desirable, how this is conveyed through a variety of sources, and how I respond as a consumer. I realized early on that there is a fine line between taking the bait and avoiding the trap and I have constantly questioned whether or not I am just perpetuating stereotypical fantasies or if I am presenting something more subtly honest. While most of my work has at least some sexual undercurrents, this work moves beyond suggestive. These works pay homage to some of my gay art heros like Paul Cadmus, David Hockney, and Charles Demuth and Touko Laaksonen (Tom of Finland).
You can read a review of the artist’s work, after the jump!
Weird thing about Exterface. Normally they post all their new photo sets on their website. Except that this newest one, Love, just hit the web with not a mention on their site—is their web master asleep? No worries, we have the photo set here and are always happy to sing the praises of the French duo. In fact, their latest set is among the better of their most recent work. The deep purples and burgundies really convey the intimacy, contentment, reflection, and passion of love. And, as usual, their young models are yummy. If you haven’t yet, check out more of Exterface’s previous works on QueerClick: L’lvresse Du Plaisir Babybomb Ultimate Swan Hello Sailor! Boywonder Psilocybine Animale Rhapsody Flamme Ether Sky Walker Muse
