Strip Nude For Your Killer!: The Gay Porn Crime Files

Let's face it:  no matter how mainstream the porn biz may aspire to become, it can never shake off its trashy skin trade origins.  Porno may not be controlled by the mafia, relentlessly hassled by the government, and play 42nd Street and The Tenderloin these days, but like dark roots underneath all the platinum blonde, it can sometimes be a Babylon for America's downtrodden beau hunks on-the-take.  I see now that what initially attracted me to the medium was my love of classic film noir and lurid crime pulp novels -- for me, my favorite dirty pictures are redolent of paperback titles like Donnie & Clyde, The Dungaree Jungle, and Caves of Iron -- and so I've often quipped that you can collect gay porn star mugshots like you could bubblegum cards.  For every male starlet who takes his walk on the wild side and emerges unscathed, there are any number of doomed ingenues, mercenary party boys, sneering sex pigs for hire, Brass Knuckle Bobbies, and blonds-on-bum-trips who walk down that long, mist-laden street leading into the Twilight World.

Cautionary true crime tales...

Grift, Graft, and Greed --  The Pickpocket Patrol

I gotta figure that the line that separates a typical Nine To Five type from a Blue Movie Boy is the emotionally unburdened ability to use sex -- and for that matter, your own body -- as a means to a financial end.  To get that bread, baby.  For all the talk of gay porn models going white collar ("It's just a hobby!," "I'm an incredibly sex positive human being!," "It's all an art experiment!"), it's really almost always about the long green in the end.  If you've ever found gay life in general to be socially remote, exploitative, and even treacherous at times, then mark my words:  never trust a hustler who doesn't think he's a hustler, but then again, never bank on a floozy who knows he's a floozy.  They're both going for your billfold and your bank account; it's just a question of how they get there.  You don't wanna lose your wheels to a Kitten With A Whip and an eye on the border, nor see your political career derailed by a wayward boy wonder you procured on the Web.  Trouble comes in pretty packages and knows no rock bottom, like getting sticky-fingered with too-tempting credit cards -- credit cards purloined from a dead man!  In this new age of cyber crime, I shudder to imagine what my credit card statement would look like if my identity was nicked by the turn-him-any-which-way-but-loose thesp of A Nightmare On Elmo Street and the Snow Ballerz series.  Shudder...

Creepy Peepers! -- The Poison Pen Pal

What does it say about the world that we live in when you can't even trust the porn star you've been banging on the side to keep your confidences?  Where have all the cowboys gone, I ask you.  Left in their wake -- ambitious, vulpine, duplicitous concrete romeos ready to put the naked kiss on you as they snoop through your closet for skeletons with heavy price tags attached.  It's all a shell game with this type of tarty tattletale, and no matter how well you think you've played it, you always lose.  It's a timeworn American tradition that our lofty pillars of the community with their presentable wives and well-manicured lawns are sinners after six who just can't help themselves when it comes to seeking out strange dick on the dark side of town.   Beware, I say! if you're such a man caught in black lingerie and red sequin stockings with a porno patootsie who's got your number, hussy.  He just might walk away free and clear.  It's even worse if you're a titan of industry with a penchant for the boys whose movies headline the marquees on Sin Street.  You could end up having to shell out a cool half a million dollars in an alleged smutty shakedown in order to keep your pernicious peccadilloes on the QT.

Freakout On Dope Street! -- The Hollywood Hopheads

"Before I was a drug addict, I had so many different problems!  Now I just have one -- drugs!"  Reckless driving.  DUI.  Possession.  Dealing.  The lure of easy sex for fast cash is a dope fiend's and booze hound's bread and butter.   Gay porn is not unlike Alice swimming in a sea of her own tears, meaning no matter how much you bail, the tide has already come in for keeps, baby.  There are men who are just built for wild scenes and illicit kicks.  They catch fire early, and burn out quickly.  You can't swing a cat in West Hollywood without hitting an amped-up or stoned-out porn psychonaut, and too many who dare to reach the fabled Valley of The Dolls end up pulling a serious Rip Van Winkle.  Some guys are just born into trouble, while others swing from one extreme to the other.  Where does it all end for the Reefer Boys, Steroid Stallions, and Dexies' Midnight Runners?  Cuffed and collared after chasing the next fix up the rabbit hole?  Clink-bound and almost certainly sampled by the rough customers of Cellblock Q?  Or meeting the ultimate fade-out as a moribund chalk outline at the wrong end of a police taser?  The street is where you're goin', and the curb's at the side.  To the gutter or the grave!

Never Take Candy From A Stranger -- The Lolita Lovers

Is there such a thing as too much sex?  Can the boys of Red Light Lane ever get enough?  Is there any thrill too felonious for them to chase?  Drugs, delinquency, and pilfering are bad enough scenes, but what happens when smut fiends cross the line and start jonesing for the most delicate game of all?  The underage kind... One would think that the stars of Hung Americans Part 2 and Golden Gushers would have access to all manner of playmates (paying and otherwise) along with a switchblade-sharp knowledge of how to skirt the law, but no! -- these chicken hawks walk headlong into the jailbait trap.  So much for street smarts.  Yes, drugs and an out-of-control libido can buy you an extended stay at the brokedown palace -- especially if it's actually a G-Man you're trying to lure into your web -- and ending up condemned as a child predator on top of being a fuck flick headliner can't be easy in the slammer.  Your prospects are even worse if you're so depraved as to not only have been convicted of underage enticement and possession of porn of the kiddie variety, but go so far as to cavalierly continue to transmit explicit photos of yourself while standing trial (!).  Better stash or smuggle those steroids any way you can.  You're gonna need 'em.

The Corpse Bears Traces of Carnal Violence:  Brutes, Beasts, & Human Fiends

The bad trick -- it's every gay guy's worst nightmare.  Woe to he who falls into the clutches of The Young, The Evil, and The Savage.  An armchair sleuth's theory: the explosive violence that gay-for-pay models tend to exhibit finds its causal link in their self-disgust at having to peddle their bodies for the pleasure of other men. It's a bad trip. The recipients of their rough treatment – too often, the nearest women in their lives. It's only a matter of time before these types commit the ultimate taboo. Murder. The implements may vary, but the rage is the same. This macabre mayhem could come, erm, straight from the pages of Detective Dragnet. Need an assassin with a killer ass?  Go ahead and hire a moonlighting gay porn homme fatale, but just make sure that he doesn't botch the job...four times.  Sugar daddies, watch your backs. Better keep that cash comin', or your skin flick boy toy might just get a little stabby.  Your favorite smut screen starlet may look like a dreamboat on camera, yet don't be fooled -- he might just be a thrill-killing sex slayer with the morals of an alley cat and nothing to lose.

Whatever Happened To Brutal Johnny?, indeed.