January, 2009

Who knew that when I casually sent a picture of myself off to the guys at Hot Older Male last year, it would take me out of a wet, cold Melbourne, Australia, and into a wet, cold pool in Palm Springs?

Ok, at least the weather was hot when I got out of the water, but swimming endless laps of unheated pools was hardly what I had in mind when I was asked to star in Bear Oasis.  Fortunately, the weather wasn’t the only thing that was hot, as for my first movie ever, I got to work with Truman Hunter, Jeff Wells, and Jake Mitchell, who I have to be honest, has been the object of many a jack-off session.  So I was in seventh heaven sucking Truman’s cock while Jake slid his powerful tool in and out of my more than ready hole.  Jeff Wells was pretty new to the game too, but you wouldn’t know it.  We clicked instantly, resulting in a searing scene, giving a thrill to the watching guests of the Vista Grande Resort, where we filmed.



The first time I saw one, my reaction was … well, it was kind of like this: “Ick!” The second time, though, it was “Hmm…..”

The third time? Well, it wasn’t “Ick” or “Hmm….” Those earlier reactions were just part of the process by which I learned to appreciate the uncut dick.

Lots of people have the same reaction I did and it’s completely understandable. After all, circumcision’s been around for centuries, as far back as the Egyptians (if not farther), and is still a routine practice around the world. Some guys look down and see a plump, cleft-headed bulb –- so when they see someone with foreskin intact, naturally it looks a bit alien to them.

Francisco AndreasBut although an uncircumcised penis might look unusual, it’s hardly that. After all, uncut is the way we’re born. For many folks, au naturel is the allure. They like knowing that what they see, feel, and taste is natural, rough, and primal.

For other aficionados of untouched foreskins, it’s a connection to the past. Maybe their partner is from an age when circumcision wasn’t as common as it is now. Or maybe their partner comes from anther part of the world (a place where the culture feels that what you're born with is what you're supposed to have).

And then there's the delectable smegma, the potion of sweat and semen that collects under the foreskin. For many fans, the smell, taste and feel of this treat is a powerful allure: something you just can’t get from a dick that’s been under the knife of a doctor -- or a mohel.


Minoru Several years ago I was wandering through the vendor "maul" at International Bear Rendezvous when I stumbled upon Minoru sitting at a table surrounded by his erotic art and drooling men who were thumbing through prints. I was agog not only with the sexy, beefy, hairy men with giant god-like cocks, but was struck by the talent of this artist. It’s not often I see erotic art that really turns my crank, but Minoru knows how to do it.

I recently had the great pleasure of doing an interview with this talented man who shares my proclivity for mature men, daddies and bears. I’ve always been a fan of his work so it was quite a thrill when he expressed he’s also fan of HotOlderMale.com and Pantheon Productions.

Chris Roma: When did you start drawing daddies and bears?

Minoru: I started drawing them in 2002 when I was a student taking life drawing and oil painting classes at Glendale College.

Chris: I’ve always been curious what it’s like drawing a nude model. Can you tell me a bit about what that’s like for you?

Minoru: Many of the models I work with are not professional, so I feel comfortable making the model’s image in my original way. Also the men I draw must be my type of bear. Many people send me photos and ask me to draw them, but most of the time I refuse because they are not the type of man that turns me on. I must be excited in order to create art.


Pantheon Booth at FolsomPantheon Productions and HotOlderMale enjoyed another successful Folsom Street Fair on Sunday, September 28. When the weather started getting toasty by about 10 am we forecast a day full of naked men-- and we weren't disappointed.

Naked at Folsom '08The Pantheon/HotOlderMale.com booth was teeming with lots of fans of our videos and many of our favorite models showed up to lend a hand, and em... well you can see for yourself. Allen Silver, Clint Christopher, Dan Rhodes, Coach Nick, Jack Sullivan and Peter Page (all shown below... clockwise from top left) were just some of the models who manned the booth during the day.


At the Booth, Folsom '08


In celebration of the opening of the new movie "MILK", we are excited to share this amazing piece by Steve Beery. Steve was a writer and gay activist who died of AIDS in '93. He met Harvey Milk when he was 25 years old and Harvey was 48. Harvey was a daddy who definitely appreciated younger men. This piece was provided to us by Armistead Maupin (my wonderful husband), who met Steve at Harvey's memorial service and remained his closest friend until his death.

My Month with Harvey

by Steve Beery

I was suffering from a typical San Francisco ailment – costume claustrophobia. My tights were riding up, my fake-satin cape was itchy, and beads of sweat were rolling down behind my eye mask. I was dressed as Robin the Boy Wonder at the 1978 Beaux Arts Ball, and I was being unmistakably cruised by a man I knew but had never met. The man was Harvey Milk, the first openly gay city supervisor – a man I respected and admired.

We’d smiled and nodded on Castro Street several times that year. I like Harvey’s wide-open grin, and I’d wondered whether the attraction was mutual. Now it looked like maybe it was. Nervously I straightened my cape, checked my trunks, adjusted my gloves. The supervisor, at ease in his rumpled grey suit, extended his hand and uttered the corniest pick-up line imaginable. “Hop on my back, Boy Wonder, and I’ll fly you to Gotham City,” he said, almost keeping a straight face.

The line was corny, but effective. Harvey had a gift for persuasion, a way of making you believe he could do anything. We swapped phone numbers and got together the next night. The thing that impressed me most was his laugh, explosive and uninhibited; that, and the slightly daffy look in his eyes, like an overgrown kid’s. At 48 he was nearly twice my age, but full of boyish mischief.

It didn’t take me long to realize that Harvey was a nut, a screwball, a wild card. He was also a satyr, a gleeful disciple of Eros who’d found a way to marry his essential craziness to a set of well-ordered work habits. He insisted on being on call to his constituents 24 hours a day. No problem – from towed cars and trash pickup to tree pruning – was too small. Despite his hippie, flower-power, Summer of Love experience, there wasn’t an ounce of “California mellow” in Harvey. His native New York aggression, undiluted by the amiability of Castro Street, was always spoiling for a fight.

I was surprised, on our first date, to find out how strong he was. He didn’t have a gym-toned body; he was built more like a big bull, rangy and muscular. Within his first two minutes at my apartment he picked me up and dumped me unceremoniously on my bed. He liked to do things fast, at double speed. He walked fast. He talked fast. He even ate fast.