You know that Francois Sagat is always down for a quirky art project. So it’s no surprise that a certain “Francois S.” happened to pop up in a French music video for a song called Crocodile Tears. What is surprising however is the horrible wig he put on for it. We mean, he still looks incredibly hot but only because you can still make out his phenomenal body underneath his skimpy t-shirt. We won’t ruin the ending (namely because we don’t understand the French in the song), but it wraps up with some sassy streetwalker giving Mr. S the stink-eye. Walk it off, S, walk it off.
Via The Sword
Editor’s Note: This is the 4th to last AGITL. Find out about the end of AGITL here. Also, this column is a two-parter; read part one here. The Brother’s Dick
By Steve Prince
“Okay, um, I know this is weird but can the dog get off the bed?” I asked tentatively.
Parker looked at me and smiled. “Dodger! Get down.” The Jack Russell sniffed as it clicked its claws onto the floor and scampered out of the room.
Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs. I’m actually a bit crazy about them. I’m that stranger that will walk up to you in the middle of the street, crouch down, and start baby talking to your pooch. Still, the only pet action I like in the bedroom is doggie-style and that’s it.
I feel like the animal is watching you. Maybe it’s judging you thinking, “Well, that other trick pounded my master way better than this guy.” Yes, I know… I have issues. I think I’m the only person in the world that worries about a dog judging him. Still, it’s just weird having those puppy eyes stare at you.
“So, you gonna fuck my boy now?” Parker said, as he pulled out of me.
I smiled.
“Ah, you like that idea, huh?” he grinned.
Actually I was smiling at myself. Here I am thinking it was weird to have a dog watching me have sex, yet Parker instructing me to fuck his biological brother was COMPLETELY normal.
Ken leaned over and kissed me intensely while fondling my hard dick. Parker kissed the back of my neck while gently fingering my ass.
Holy mother of God this was hot!
A QCommenter tipped us off that our favorite arty gay porn starFrancois Sagat will star in French director Christophe Honoré Yagga’s newest new film, Man in the Bath. It’s a 20 to 45-minute short about a gay guy who sluts around after a break-up. It’s also titled after a work by gay impressionist painter Gustave Caillebotte.
We’re happy to hear that Sagat’s finally getting the screen time that someone of his natural insanity deserves. After all, his part as a junkie in Saw VI got whittled down to a measly cameo. Now the porn star’s appearing in a sacrilegious painting and serious art films—nice!
The director said, “What interests me is François Sagat as self-construction of the image of masculinity. It is a pure product of its time. It redefines the concept of masculinity. Francois has a body that does not exist in French cinema. I am not committed to the power of porn, but to the idea that the porn body emerges as a construction.”
Sounds pretty heady. But as long as a movie has men doing the nasty, we’ll watch just about anything… even really crappy films like Eating Out 3.
Editor’s note: This is AGTL’s FIFTH TO LAST COLUMN! Read about the end of AGITL here. Three’s Company
By Steve Prince
There are perks to living in Los Angeles.
I would count the ways, but it really would just take too long and seem cliché. Let me just say this: I’m not a starfucker. Not that there is anything wrong with being one, but I normally don’t get too excited about seeing a celebrity. But there are a few exceptions…
Of course there was that time I saw Angela Lansbury and queened the fuck out. But also on the list of celebs I’d love to see would be Carol Burnett (I think I would just start crying on the spot), Bill Cosby and/or Phylicia Rashad (I always wanted Claire Huxtable to be my mother), and anyone who’s ever been on a gay-themed episode of MTV’s Next (watch the show and you will understand). Oh, and of more recent fame, selected members of RuPaul’s Drag Race (I’m totally on Team Pandora, but I do love me some JuJu).
And finally on the list would be certain sports stars. Yes, that’s not a typo people—bitch said sports stars. Namely tennis stars.
As a boy I never understood others’ fascination with sports. In Oklahoma, boys were encouraged, if not pushed, to be involved in a trinity of athletic activities-football, baseball, and basketball. To me, football meant pain, baseball meant a hurtling ball coming at my face (insert gay joke), and basketball meant running around in a revealing tank-top and bouncing a dirty cummnal ball that made your hands smell funky.
However, my relationship changed when I was twenty-two and I discovered tennis during a summer vacation. Okay let’s be honest, I discovered Fernando, the spa tennis instructor. Yes, I started taking lessons only because I wanted to suck his hot Brazilian cock, but by the end of the week I found myself completely taken over by such a great sport.
So needless to say when I found out that Andre Agassi was doing a benefit book signing appearance in Beverly Hills, I was on that like a cock robin to a dick tree.
Painter Ross Watson has a wonderfully naughty habit of sticking hot men into his recreations of classical paintings. He’s already added hot tattooed dancer Marco Da Silva and openly gay Olympic champion Matthew Mitcham into his works. But now he’s crucified arty porn star Francois Sagat in a controversial recreation of Caravaggio’s Crucifiction of St. Peter has the deets:
Australian artist, Ross Watson, was motivated by the Vatican’s position on homosexuality, and its ban on condom use, to create a painting which references Caravaggio’s ‘Crucifiction of St Peter’, and features French gay porn icon, Francois Sagat.
“Francois Sagat continues to play a valuable role in the area of HIV/AIDS prevention and education. I wanted to acknowledge that in the painting, whilst tying it to the Vatican,” comments Watson. “In contrast, the Vatican uses its status in the UN General Assembly to obstruct the promotion of condoms as protection against HIV/AIDS, and sexuality education in school curricular.”
“Some will regard the painting as provocative, but I don’t believe it is in contrast to the Vatican’s position on these issues. The Pope’s 2nd in charge recently claimed homosexuality and pedophelia are linked. That enraged me. It seems just and deserving to depict Francois Sagat as a contemporary saint, given he is helping to save lives, rather than contributing to causing illness and deaths for millions.”
“The great majority of Caravaggio’s patrons were from the Catholic church, and his paintings were sometimes rejected as they were viewed as inappropriate for a religious theme. I’m reminded here of my freedom as an artist. Imagine what Caravaggio might paint if he were alive today.”
Editor’s note: This is AGTL’s SIXTH TO LAST COLUMN! Read about the end of AGITL here. The Strip Tease
By Steve Prince
“I’ll have a water with lemon please,” I asked the waitress at Fred 62’s.
She smiled and nodded. She whisked off like a puff of air to bustling over the Saturday brunch crowd.
It was nice to come to Silverlake. The boys and I rarely made it this “east” of Los Angeles, but we made the trek to see Omar, who had recently moved.
“Where’s Cody?” I asked Alex.
“He’s smoking,” he responded making a face.
We had all wanted Cody to give up cigarettes but we weren’t naggy about it; he would do it when he was ready. Besides he knew we all wished he wouldn’t.
“So,” Omar licked his lips, “Tell me about Domingo. I feel like everyone’s heard about him but me. What’s going on?”
Troy and Alex smiled broadly.
“It’s going,” I paused looking for the words. I finally decided on “fine.”
“Just ‘fine’?” Omar asked.
“What are we talking about?” Cody asked as he sat in the booth.
“Steve’s hooker boyfriend,” Troy said sarcastically.
The Return of the Stripper
By Steve Prince
It had been a week since I had shocked Omar, Troy, and Alex with the news about me and Domingo. I guess the news of me sleeping with an escort would have come out in the wash eventually. That’s one of the reasons why we are so close—we talk about everything to one another. Albeit shocking, my tactic totally worked; Omar and Alex stopped ragging on Troy about his massage encounter, which I thought was totally hot and innocent.
Overall their reactions were what you’d think they’d be.
Troy immediately said, “See how much sluttier he is than me?” and looked around for validation.
Omar, after he finally shut his mouth, uttered, “Please tell me you took pictures or something.”
It was Alex that I expected to have a problem with the whole thing, and he did. However his first statement surprised me.
“Oh my Gawd,” he said, his voice rising, “We are getting so old that now we are having to pay for it? I can’t believe this is happening.”
But that was all a week ago and now I was coasting down Santa Monica Boulevard on my way to see my boys again. As usual, we were all going to watch Cody dance at Mickey’s. Honestly, I hoped Domingo wouldn’t be there. I guess I just wanted to put the whole thing behind me. Not that I felt bad about it, but what would I say if I saw him again? “Hey Domingo, how are ya? Thanks for the other night. I hope that helped with the rent?”
Jeezus. I guess it was just a weird thing. No one teaches you about the social conventions and manners involved in seeing a stripper you paid to sleep with you. Maybe I should teach a class… hmm. Hopefully, the topic just wouldn’t come up tonight and I’d have some more time to process some things.
Yeah… so that didn’t happen.
“Steeevie,” Cody squealed as I walked in the door of Mickey’s. He hoped down off his platform and gave me a hug.
“Hey shug,” I said genuinely, “how’s tricks tonight?”
“Oh you know, just getting started,” he smiled. “But not as good as tricks have been for you lately.” He nudged my side.
“What tricks?” I asked as innocently as I could. Why am I such a shitty liar?
“Girl,” Cody snapped, “I’ve heard all the dish from Domingo. He’s dancing tonight too.”
Of course he his. I guess it was better for me to see him sooner than later.
“Wait, he told you?” I asked surprised.
The Rub Down
By Steve Prince
“Come on up,” Troy’s voice crackled through the speakers. The front door to his building buzzed opened. Quickly, I opened the door and ascended the steep stairs to Troy’s place… apartment B for Bottom. Yes, I know Troy classifies himself as “a top only”, but I still liked to give him hell about it.
“Wow,” I said as Troy opened the door, “you look glowing sugar!”
“Well, when don’t I look glowing?” Troy asked suspiciously.
“Well, never,” I said stroking his ego. “But you look like you just got sucked off or somethin’.”
I was only joking but Troy’s reaction proved I might be right.
He paused. “Well, uh…”
“Oh my fuck,” I said tossing aside my hoodie. “You got laid, didn’t you?”
Troy scrunched his lips and cocked his head to the side like an indignant boy. “Maaaaybe?” he sang in a high questioning tone.
“Good for you!” I exclaimed as I punched the side of his arm.
“Really?” he asked, as if surprised.
“Well, yeah,” I responded confused. “Why wouldn’t it—?”
Letters
By Steve Prince
Wow. It’s amazing how you feel after you just get laid. Granted, Domingo was a big boy and I was a bit sore. But sex sore is different.
Think about it. When you’re climbing some stairs and you feel a muscle in your hamstring tense from being tight you think, “Oh, I’m sore” but then you remember why—”Oh yeah, I got pounded like a featherweight boxer in the ring with Mike Tyson last night.” And then you smile.
Hence, today was a damned good day. I’m feeling good, the sun is shining. What more could a boy want?
Just then my phone began vibrating in my pocket. I pulled it out and looked at the caller ID.
“513?” I said aloud, wondering where this call was coming from. I almost answered it because I don’t really screen my calls anymore. I usually don’t mind talking to anyone. However, this time something told me to wait.
A minute later I checked my voice mail.
The Oldest Profession
By Steve Prince
Domingo looked at me and smiled.
I swallowed so hard that I thought he could hear it. My mouth was incredibly dry and it felt like butterflies with gladiator armor thrashing inside of my stomach.
There he stood in front of me, completely naked, his thick uncut cock hanging from his pelvis like warrior at rest.
I looked at his smile. Goddamn it was a cute smile.
Wait a minute… was I really doing this? I mean, really… me? Paying for sex? When have I ever had to pay for sex? I looked at Domingo in disbelief. Well, when have I ever slept with anyone this beautiful and ripped? That answer was easy… never.
Don’t get me wrong, Peter was a fit guy, but nothing like Domingo. Domingo’s body was a model’s body, like Tyson Beckford or Chris Evans. It was ridiculous.
“Um,” I said, “I have to be a bit honest… um, yeah.” My eyes searched around as if something familiar might remind that I wasn’t dreaming. “This is kind of new for me.”
Domingo raised an eyebrow. “You are nervous,” he said, his accent as thick as his dick.
He leaned down and cupped my chin in his hand. He kissed me. In fact, he kissed me very tenderly. He stood back up and smiled, that gorgeous smile. He shifted his weight and as he did every muscle in his thighs seemed to ripple like a crowd performing the wave at a baseball game.
“Are you nervous now?” he asked.
We’ve fallen in love with the Fully Sick Rapper (aka Christiaan Van Vuuren), especially after showing us around his crib and masticating to porn in front of us. We think he’s gotten wind of his gay following because he just put out this PSA against tuberculosis for World TB Day on March 24th… and he did it shirtless. Whether you dig his Aussie accent, his hairy, muscular pecs, or his health activism, just wait until you see him with balls in his mouth (seriously).
We have a QC reader who keeps up abreast of Van Vuuren’s exploits. According to him, the Fully Sick Rapper’s beginning to get coverage around the globe and will even be interviewed by MuchMusic Canada sometime soon. “He’s the new online singing sensation,” says our reader, “referred to (privately) by his most ardent fans as ‘Susan Boyle, only with testicles!'”
Mmmm… testicles.
The Flesh is Willing, But…
By Steve Prince
“Today in Haiti, the American Red Cross estimates that-” Click.
“Hello Talk Soup fans. I’m Joe McHale and this is Talk-” Click.
“I’m sorry I don’t have a square to spare, now if you don’t mind-” Click.
Ugh. I was bored. Just plain bored. I flipped through the channels of my television but found no relief. I looked outside my living room window and sighed. It was a beautiful Los Angeles day—unseasonably warm with the inviting sun shimmering and an air with the invitation of excitement.
I smacked my mouth and yawned. Not even the sun could tempt me today. In fact, I was still in my pajamas. My mind felt restless but my body weighed too much to move. I looked at the clock; it was four p.m. I literally had wasted the day away. Click.
“And now we head into den of the lions,” a good-looking man said. I couldn’t help but notice how beautifully tanned his skin was. I watched with horror as he quietly stepped forward toward a den of lions.
“Now,” he said. I noticed the cool lilt of his baritone; he had a very sexy voice, “I am going to leave my shirt with my scent so the lions can get accustomed to it. Next time, when I come back they will have a sense memory of me.”
He kept talking but I didn’t notice anything he said because he had taken off his shirt. He was ripped. His body told the story of a lean yet beefy man’s man. That coupled with his handsome face made me sit up and watch. As I moved I realized I could feel the inside of my pajamas against my naked dick.
I totally had a chubby.
“Tune in next week,” the hot man said, “I’m Dave Salmoni.”
Oh God. Dave Salmoni! It barely took me a minute to get up from the television and Google Image him in front of my computer. Suddenly, a flood of shirtless pictures leapt from my laptop screen.
High-ho the Glamorous Life
By Steve Prince
He greeted me with a smile. Damn, what a cute smile he had too! His full lips framed his perfect white teeth, and his dimples just made him even hotter. He lowered to his knees as I approached.
“Back again?” Domingo asked through his thick accent as he grabbed the base of his thick dick.
He smiled. I placed a dollar into his underwear. His cock throbbed as my fingers clutched around it greedily. Domingo took his free hand and grabbed the back of my neck. Slowly he pushed the back of my neck toward his cock, obscured by his underwear.
“Bite it,” he demanded.
Sugar, you don’t have to tell me or my raging erection twice. I opened my mouth and softly bit on the mound of Lycra that clothed Domingo’s cock. I could barely wrap my lips around it; he was so thick. I couldn’t believe I was doing this in front of everyone, but I couldn’t control myself. The horniness had taken over.
The Stripper
By Steve Prince
“Come on hurry,” Troy pounced on my bed.
Fresh from the shower, I crossed to my closet to fish for my favorite jeans.
“Turn around or you’re going to see Kool and the Gang,” I said, as I dropped my towel.
“Noooo!” Troy squealed in his falsetto. He buried his face under one of my pillows.
I shook my head and smiled. Even though he’s thirty-four, sometimes Troy acts like a six-year-old boy. He always acts like this when he’s excited. It’s very cute.
“Now, why are we rushing again to go out on a Wednesday night?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. It liked poking fun at the “Troy” show. On cue, he popped up from the pillows and bounced on the bed.
“Because my stripper is going to be there,” he said smiling. “And I’m going to touch his butt. MMM-MMM-MMM!” He bounced on the bed for each of his MMM’s.
Ah yes, Troy’s stripper. Troy was in love. Okay maybe not really—perhaps “in lust” is the better word. Still, the ever-realistic Troy wasn’t putting too much into this relationship—except for dollar bills. He just liked having fun with it.
“You’re so in love,” I said teasing.
Here’s a delightfully weird one. In this short silent film, Night Flight, an inked twink, strips down, takes a bath, lays around naked, and then has a dream about turning into some sort of garbage bag witch creature. Just a typical Sunday night for this hottie. There’s something dangerous and slightly menacing about the whole scenario. In fact, we actually considered tossing this on QCX or QC Twinks. But you’re grown men; you can deal with it. And besides, the tattooed twink is hot, whether he’s wearing grease paint and Glad bags or not.
Thanks to The Bilreco Project for the clip
Move On
By Steve Prince Dear Peter,
Yesterday was a day I was so excited for… Valentine’s Day. I’m normally not into the holiday, but this time was going to be different. For the first time, I actually had a Valentine.
It’s been six weeks since you sent me that e-mail. Six weeks since I cheated on you. And six weeks that I’ve stayed in my apartment as much as I can. The boys are starting to wonder what’s becoming of me. Yes, I know that sounds dramatic, but fuck you—it makes me feel better to be dramatic. Your Jesus was such a drama queen. Really? Water into wine, rising from the dead, and moving that rock. That’s some theater, sugar.
I know I shouldn’t be mad at religion right now… but I am. I’ll get over it all, it just takes time. I also know I shouldn’t be mad at you; I should just get over you. But I don’t want to get over it all. I hate you right now.
I know I need to get out more; the boys keep telling me I should, but I don’t want to. I just go to work and I come back home. I play a video game to take my mind off things. I tried reading but my mind wanders. Even sitting in my bedroom is hell. My sheets are gross but I haven’t washed them. I can still smell you on the pillow that seems so empty as it lies beside me. I hate that I still miss that smell.
-Steve
