April, 2009

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I just had to share this clip from Folsom Daddies of JC Carter stroking his meat after having fucked the hell out of Robert Feldman.  I still think about this hot cum shot when I'm giving myself some late night personal release.  You know, when you can't sleep so you grab the lube and stroke off a nice wet load on your chest.  And if you're like me, you eat it from your hand and chest so you don't have to get out of bed to grab a towel and because it just tastes so damned good.  Oh, the things we single men have to engage in to ensure a proper night's sleep!

I thought about this last night because I was supposed to have a date with this hot and hung Latino boy but went to dinner with a friend first and time and energy got away from me.  Good thing my sexy Latino boy was understanding.  "That's OK, Papi," was his simple answer... 

So I was lying in bed watching the ESPN recap of the NFL draft and all those amazing young black studs popping up on screen (6'5", 235 pounds of muscle) got me to thinking about JC Carter.  Off went ESPN, out came the lube and into my mind popped JC.  I was soon relaxed, the taste of my own cum in my mouth and dropping heavily into a good night's sleep.

Well, anyway here's JC popping off one hell of a load for everyone.  I thought about licking every bit of that load off his belly, chest and cock as I poured a nice warm one out myself last night.  I hope he does the same for you!

Some friends had asked me to house sit for a couple of weeks while they went on vacation. I quickly agreed as it got me out of my small apartment and into a better part of town, even if it was only for a short time.

I was also doing some work around the house and had plenty to do while they were away. I was just preparing to hang a new bathroom door when the bell rang. “Who the fuck is this?” I muttered to myself as I went downstairs.

I opened the door to find a deliveryman standing there. And what a deliveryman. He was over six feet tall and I estimated about two hundred pounds of solid bear. His reddish brown hair and beard were in need of a trim. The hair on his neck merged into the heavy pelt covering his chest, visible through the open front of his shirt. His shirt was dark with sweat. I could smell him on the hot July wind that blew in through the door. Jim, the name tag said.

“Can I help you?” I asked, thinking, “I certainly hope so!" " I’ve got your water here,” He replied, in a voice deeper than my own low bass. “Excuse me?” I answered, “Water?” “Yep,” he pointed to the bottles on the ground beside him.

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Subtlety has never been my strong-suit, nor the ability to hide my feelings.  When I'm happy, I guffaw, angry; I fume and so erotically charged I can't stand it, well, let's just say that a certain part of me makes its presence more than a little obvious.

 

Many men get me going. I have a wide range of sexual interests and types of men who make me wanna sweat on top of them. But I confess - to all who will listen (or are merely in range) - that I hold a special place in my heart, errrr... hole... heart... hole... oh hell, wherever for Clint Taylor.
 

Let me tell you, that man is the sexiest, hottest, most masculine damned fucker I've ever met.  I am, in fact, a little bit shy but Clint, well he practically turns me into a giggling 12 year old girl. 

 

I've worked with Clint on seven movies, as his cameraman and director (most recently Bear Oasis, Frat Pack and B.Y.O.B.), so part of my desire is that he's also unbelievably easy to work with.  Present, rock hard, listens, participates, and shoots huge, milky, drinkable loads on a dime... all the things you want of a model.  Professionalism, respect and a good nature go a long way to making a shoot fly smoothly.

 

But I've worked with many models like that.  Clint, however, brings so much more than just professionalism.


Now for the objectification part of the post:  I've got to start with that handsome, goatee-laden mug of his.  I know I could start a little bit lower on his body but we'll get there, don't worry.  Clint's face is strong and open  - he looks at you, directly at you, and you feel if he looks too long, he will know you and own you.  But he isn't trying to control you.  He is just present, with a big smile or a slight smirk and you know he's thinking the kinds of things you want him to think.

 

Then there's his body -- bearish, for sure, but really just more natural and masculine than anything.  Nothing about him suggests he's trying too hard.  He's beefy and strong, but with a little bit of a belly - the kind you want to feel on your belly as you roll around and kiss and fuck.

 

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I recently found an artist online who knows how to speak my language: that of sexy, furry, masculine (not to mention hung) older men. I managed to get in touch with Danny for an interview for the HOM blog. Danny is a very friendly and intelligent guy. I enjoyed interviewing him almost as much as I enjoy looking at his paintings of hot and hung daddies... almost.

*****

 

CR: I understand that you are mostly self-taught. How did you get into painting?
DB: Yes, I am mostly self-taught. I painted for 25 years until I moved to Florida 6 years ago and decided to go to college and get some art training.  The classes were great and did give me new ways of looking at things and the classes also helped me technically.  I got into painting when I moved to Los Angeles from my small town in Louisiana in my mid-twenties.  I saw this big giant art store one day and it fascinated me.  I went in and couldn’t help but buy a few brushes, paints and canvases and started dabbling.  Dabbling in male figures of course.

 

CR: I'm always curious about the process of an artist. How often do you paint? Is it something that you are drawn to doing? 

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Louis CK is one of my favorite comics these days. He's certainly a bit of a Daddy Bear too, although he's only 41. I love his masculine, no-bullshit attitude, and as this clip shows, he's not afraid of talking about sucking dick -- or at least the possibility of it. Wait for it...

 

My parents got divorced when I was about two. I never really knew my father. All I did know was that he had been a tall, lanky redhead with a mustache. Maybe that was the reason I was always looking for redheads. I was hoping one of them might be my dad. But time after time I was disappointed. Not only were none of them my father but they all had smaller than usual endowments. I kept looking, hoping I might find him. One day I was standing in the darkness of my local video arcade when in walked a tall, lanky, redhead. “Could this be him?” I thought.

He walked past me, heading for the booths with the larger glory holes. I gave him a minute and followed him. Only one booth was in use so it was easy to figure out where he was. I went into the booth next to his and bend over to look through the hole. This pair of booths had a hole so big you could put your head through it. His pants were down around his ankles and his hard cock was already in his hand. His open shirt framed a chest covered in red hair.

My gaze went back to his hard cock. Instead of the usual small dicks all the other redheads I had see had, he had one that was at least eight inches. My mouth began to water. My own hard dick strained against my shorts. I looked up at his face. He wasn’t watching the movie. He was looking at me. Reaching through the hole I took his fur-covered balls in my hand. “Pull on em,” he whispered as his hand slid up and down his dick. I did as he told me and he moved closer to the hole. I released my hold on his balls and ran my hands up over his hairy pecs. He stood there and waved his dick at me. “This what you want, son?” “Yes, sir,” I replied. My dick threatened to rip its way through my shorts. “Then get to it, boy,” he told me, slipping off his shirt.

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On Tuesday, April 7, sexy, hung and versatile in so many ways Jack Wrangler died of complications from lung disease in New York City.  The handsome gay icon of the 70's and 80's was 62 years old.

Wrangler, born John Stillman in 1946, was an instant star when he appeared in "New York Construction Company" in 1970.  He made more than 85 adult films in his career, including the gay classics "Kansas City Trucking Co." (1976) and "Sex Machine" (1980).  More surprising was his very successful foray into straight porn.  He starred in, among others, "Behind the Green Door, the Sequel" (1986) and "The Devil in Miss Jones, Part ii" (1982).

 

 

As you can see for yourself in these pics, Wrangler exemplified that amazing 70's and early 80's masculinity and sexuality that still makes most of us, including me, hard as a rock.  These were the men I saw on television shows and commercials (think the marlboro man with his dick hanging out) that I used to beat off to when I was a teenager.  Wrangler's ease with his body and fluid sexuality represented everything opposite from the Reagan-era (and post- AIDS) repression soon to dominate our lives.

Jack was so versatile he married cabaret chanteuse Margaret Whiting in 1994.  She knew he was gay but reportedly said to him "only around the edges."  Their marriage endured, much to the surprise of many, and I think of her today for for having lost someone she clearly loved.  Love comes in many different forms and I see their marriage as a celebration of that.

 

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... or maybe it's just lust. It's hard to tell. Being realistic, I've never really met Oliver so I can't really be in love with him, but he sure does give me a stir in my groin and make my heart start beating faster when I look at him. The guys over at Butch Dixon sure do know how to pick a hot daddy. I'm not sure what it is about him that turns me on most: his furry chest, his eraser tip nips that look like they are hard-wired to his thick uncut cock. It could be his intense stare and that short cropped beard -- and I've always been a sucker for balding guys that are just brimming over with testosterone. It could be that British accent. That will get me every time. In any case, he certainly makes me rock-hard each time I gaze at his pics and I've been doing that pretty often lately. 
 
Oliver, if you're out there and if you're listening, just know that we here at Pantheon would love to get you naked for our cameras too. Anytime. Just write to me and we can set something up. In the meantime, we've got lots more pics and a preview video for you to look at from one of Oliver's fine shoots. Click the "continued..." link below to see a lot more of this hunky daddy. 
 
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Oh, to make it look like you paradise, you have to go through a little hell.  I know, I know.  It's a little tiresome when those of us in the porn world say, "but it really is a LOT OF WORK!"  That may be true but it sure beats the hell out of sitting in a cubicle all day or putting tar on the roof of a 100 year old building, (which is top of mind for me since they've been re-roofing our studio space in San Francisco for the past week and I think I'm high from the fumes -- and I like it...).  And yes, I am digressing, which I am quite prone to doing.  I've been known to be prone in other ways as well, but that's anotther discussion for another time.

Bears in Paradise, available at our store, was shot in the sweltering heat of Orlando Florida during Bear Bust 2008.  It was October, actually, and not really all that hot but for a San Francisco guy, used to temperatures at a perpetual 61 degrees, 90 degrees with 90% humidity was pure hell.  The models looked glistening in their speedos while we the crew looked like sad, drowned, unshaven rats.

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It takes a special – a very special – guy to be hot when young and buff and steamy, especially stepping from the churning Hawaiian waves or bathing beautifully in an after-shave commercial, and extra-ordinary hot when smoldering in playful Daddyness, especially wearing an immaculately black and coolly creamy white tux.

And at the top of that very exclusive list of very specially hot guys has to be Tom Selleck.  Even when he was young (as in this commercial for Chaz Aftershave and Cologne), Tom looked like a daddy, what with his furry, masculine chest and that totally hot 70's porn star 'stache of his.  Damn, how I wanted to ride that 'stache until my hole was raw when I was 15.  And now, at 44 I still want to ride anything and everything Mr. Selleck would let me get at.

 

 

But this isn’t the place or the space or the time to celebrate Magnum PI’s swimsuited buffness, his tanned and chiseled athleticness, his playful and mischievous winks and grins.  No, sir, this is the place and the space to look at Tom not as he was, frozen in DVD box sets, but as the supremely elegant and fun daddy he’s grown into.
    

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