I usually stick to movies and books, so please excuse my wandering into a bit of product plugging. Consider this a public service announcement. The local emporiums of butch have for some time been purveying the tres jolie SuppleNipp nip-suckers. But only in clear and black. Want them in fire-engine red, naughty pink, passion purple, or �" only for the brave �" glittered or glow in the dark? Check out www.nipplefunwear.com. Light up the sky and your boyfriend's eye with nips that are enflamed.
You don't think I keep up with fads in sexplay. But I've kept an eye on the rubber-suited, ball-gagged, hooded, and gas-masked games guys are playing. And though my gaze is somewhat askance, I've been known to dabble. The photo with today's column? That's me in the suit. Too bad you can't see my SuppleNipps. "Put this on," my guy said. What a dom he is. It may look like I'm at his mercy. But Mr. Man just can't keep his hand off my joint.
Since your inquiring minds want to know, I'll tell you from whence I think cometh this fad for outlandish confinement. I think it's the art of Bastille. It's hard to find examples of his work on-line, but if you persevere, and perhaps ante up a little cash, you can find a large cache at www.delftboys.com. You'll see immediately why I think his art has exerted such an extreme influence on contemporary gay sexuality.
We're told by an appreciation at the Leslie/Lohman website that Bastille "is said to have loathed the concept of gay culture." He was fond of lewd, filthy-looking, uber-butch dudes with shaved heads and pubes. He encased them in rubber, connected them in the most insidiously inventive fashion with tubing of all kinds, and plopped gas masks on their heads. His art is way sexy and not a little scary.
He was born Frank Webber in 1929, and I can't tell you why, but in the 1980s he took the name Bastille and started to produce the incredible gouache paintings which appeared in SM magazines. Where did his fantasies come from? His love of rubber dates from his childhood memory of used condoms found in lover's lanes. Although not intrigued by black rubber, he sure was ahead of the game on latex. He was quite the handyman, too �" he haunted hardware stores and loved to invent sex toys from the materials he discovered. He died in 1990 of AIDS-related leukemia.
And now, here are Karr's Honors for 2011. My Performer of the Year, for the second year, is Adam Killian. There are some pretty good newbies I like to watch. But none with the raunchy joy, plus the energy, focus, skill, and hot looks of Mr. Killian. He's tempestuous. The Worst Flameout Farewell from a Favored Performer came from Phillip Aubrey. The Best Honorary Degree was the Doctorate bestowed on Joe Gage by the Institute for the Advanced Study of Human Sexuality. And the Best Archive where you can check all my reviews is www.KarrnalKnowledge.com.
You know I'm loath to anoint a single movie The Best of the Year. So I'm gonna list a few of my personal faves �" choices restricted to movies I wrote about during 2011.
I can't honor Raging Stallion's Cowboys because I got Raging Stallion's Cowboys too late for consideration as a Best of the Year. But with four full discs, it's certainly The Most of the Year. And I'm sure Titan would like me to consider Incubus, the first feature Francois Sagat has directed. But it arrived erev New Year's Eve, so it'll have to wait.
Sharing the Honors. For solos, you can't beat Ron Lloyd's Legend Men 1, from Body Image Productions. For men-on-men movies, Colt's Muscles in Leather rates high. When I grow up, I'm gonna be Nate Karlton. And Raging Stallion's Other Side of Aspen 6 was a major effort with plenty hot stuff, although I'm still watching select scenes from Brutal, which imbued a couple brutal connections with human emotion.
Finally, earning my highest esteem are two movies from a favored company, Lucas Entertainment. Fuck Me Harder is one of the less formulaic slam-bams around. And the one movie that I've watched and wondered at repeatedly is the Michael Lucas/Mr. Pam collaboration Eye Contact. The performers' direct address of the viewer could have been an embarrassing gimmick, but instead brought a seductive intimacy to some spectacularly raunchy encounters.