Review

To the Last Man: The Gathering Storm
Cattle and horses roam the wide-open countryside. Jagged boulders simmer beneath the sweltering Arizona sun. Burly cowpokes in skin-tight jeans fuck each other silly. Welcome to the world of To the Last Man - a world of the rough and the rugged... more American than apple pie... all bales of hay... and canyons... and hairy tarantulas... and windmills... and guns a-blazin'... and scruffy beards... and... wait. Is that a nipple ring? I guess the verisimilitude had to end somewhere, but I am not above suspending my disbelief when there are more pressing matters at hand. Beneath its dusty-booted surface, To the Last Man is packed with more hot fornicatin' than Fire Island's meat rack combined with Southern Decadence, multiplied by Ft. Lauderdale. Brokeback Mountain it ain't, but the recipe here called for a dickjerker. And jerk you shall, for this is an exquisitely-filmed, ambitious fuck-fest of epic proportions.

Let's commence with Part I: The Gathering Storm.

Times are tough for brothers Scott Tanner and Jake Deckard of the Double K Ranch. Seems there's a serious water-shortage, and though the folks next door at the Flying V Ranch have got a creek-full of the stuff, the Flying V's proprietor, tough-as-nails Ricky Sinz, would be unwilling to even spit in Jake's mouth if he was dyin' of thirst. Jake's response? "I didn't say we were gonna ask for it." And so the drama begins.

Damien Crosse doesn't seem to be having any water troubles. He takes a novel but welcome approach to his outdoor shower by first stepping underneath the water and then doffing his clothes, teasing us with the outline of his taut musculature and uncut slab of penis before taking it all off. Here we are presented with the first of many sets of perfect close-ups, as the camera meanders its way up and down Damien's furry torso. We're also presented with the first of many sexual explorations of whiskey. Not content to simply drink the stuff, or even to just pour it on himself and his trouser-snake, Damien sits his ass right down on that bottle and rides it, jacking himself furiously until he pumps a load out.

But Damien's not done yet. He puts on his clothes, wanders into a workshop where Antton Harri is pounding some horseshoes, and then takes off his clothes again. Naturally, Antton pauses from the task at hand and takes his clothes off, too. Next thing you know, Damien's got his tongue up Antton's chewy pink bubble-tastic ass, rimming and fingering to beat the band, before turning him around to deliver some slurpy wet blows to Antton's beauty of a down-curving dick. Antton happily returns the favor before submitting to a solid and passionate pounding, keeping his boots and work-gloves on as he gets the cum fucked right out of him. And after Damien jerks a second load out, do you think he's satisfied? Not until Antonio Biaggi steps into the workshop, swabs Damien's throat with his massively-inched monster, and treats him to a cum facial.

With the sizzling Crosse triptych over and done, we're back to the plot. Jake Deckard trespasses on Flying V turf, steals some water, takes a piss, and makes his way back to his own ranch. Meanwhile, R.J. Danvers gets down to some serious Daddy-pleasin' with sleeve-tattooed Dan Rhodes. The furry pair engage in some hot body and pit-licking before Dan bends R.J. over and sends his tongue on an ass-spelunking expedition, spit-lubing the adorable cub’s hole in preparation for some serious dicking. Dan fucks his hungry bottom so hard he sends ripples up R.J.'s ass-cheeks. And then, just when I didn't think things couldn't possibly get any hotter, bearded blond Scott Tanner appears on the scene. He whips out his big ol' dick, slaps it into R.J.'s waiting mouth, and... and this is where I stopped taking notes for a minute, because come-the-fuck-on, I'm only human. I think it's safe to say R.J. enjoyed getting stuffed from both ends as much as I enjoyed watching it, because in short order he busts a nut, takes a taste, and takes off, leaving Dan to play bottom-boy to Tanner's spirited ass-fuckery.

And back to the plot again. Big bad Ricky Sinz finds out about the water theft, and no sir he doesn't like it, and some other stuff happens. But look, I'm not fucking Ebert (literally or figuratively), and this isn't Cold Mountain, so let’s get back to the sex. Night falls, and Ricky and Jackson Wild are alone in a dimly-lit barn. Ricky's got this cowboy thing nailed like nobody else in this movie, which is good because this is a movie about nailing cowboys. He smokes cigarettes and guzzles beer and whiskey all through the face-fucking spectacular he visits upon fresh-faced Jackson, pouring the whiskey on his member and blowing smoke right into his young pardner's mouth. Ricky's got a hardened dom demeanor to match his hardened piece, and if you like your blowjob encounters peppered with a touch of sadism, this scene is bound to please.

The next day, R.J. and Tristan Jaxx take a break from working on some machinery to work on each other. The two exchange blowjobs, followed by some rimming and fucking, and then Tristan makes things interesting by replacing his own tool with a wrench-handle. R.J.'s ass chomps on that piece of metal for a little while before getting back on Tristan's cock, and the scene ends with R.J. taking a load to the face.

Things heat up plot-wise as both camps meet separately to discuss the water situation and the growing unease between their respective ranches. And then the cowboys walk off into the countryside beneath a bona-fide rainbow, which is really gay but also symbolic, of, well, gayness.

Later, Scott Campbell takes his post on the edge of a canyon to spy on behalf of Double K. Logan McCree (!), of the Flying V gang, steps in front of Scott's binoculars, and a struggle ensues. You might recognize this brand of wrestling from the "please pin me" tussles some of us engaged in with our studly buddies back in high school and college. Anyway - surprise! - the death-match fizzles and these two hotties realize they'd rather suck each other's cocks. Good on 'em! Once Logan's stripped bare of his full-body undies, we're treated to one of the hottest flip-flop fucks of the millennium, on the edge of a fucking canyon! Of all the beautiful outdoor scenes in the flick, this one definitely takes the cake. Sitting atop mount cock, Logan squeezes out a creamy load, which is eagerly lapped up by his cohort. Logan then fingers a load out of Campbell, and the two finish with a cuddle.

Things only get sweeter and more romantic from there, with a Romeo-and-Juliet situation unfolding between Jake Deckard and Antton Harri. This star-crossed pair meets under cover of night in some Indian ruins, next to a campfire. They successfully deliver all the passion and emotion the circumstance demands, with Jake making sweet back-door love to Antton which is followed by more cuddling. This scene and the one before it make for a nice counter-balance to the more extreme sex found elsewhere in To the Last Man. As a prime example, what follows may not be for everyone's tastes.

The action takes a controversial turn with Ricky's discovery of Antton's disloyalty to his ranch. The punishment? A red-hot cattle brand! Poor Antton weeps and howls in pain as he's restrained and Ricky gives him a skin-sizzling reminder of where he belongs - The Flying V. Soon Jake is confronted and overpowered by the Flying posse. In one of To the Last Man's more salient plot-related scenes, Ricky remarks on the Shakespearean quality of Jake and Antton's forbidden love, cruelly asking, "Which one of you is Juliet?"

And then Jake is hung, and not hung like "Look at Jake Deckard horny and naked, boy is he hung," but more like "a bunch of guys tie a noose around Jake's neck and hang him and now he is hung." Ricky Sinz does show some mercy, though, by busting a few caps into Jake before he chokes to death. This jarring conclusion to Part I is only a taste of what’s in store. Believe me, the fake blood hasn’t even begun to fly just yet.

Like the final caption says - To be continued...

 -- Lex Lewder

To the Last Man: Guns Blazing
When we last left our cowboy drama, a petty squabble between two neighboring ranches over a superfluously insignificant resource (water) had escalated into full-out gang violence, with one man, Jake Deckard, paying the ultimate price. As Ricky Sinz himself says in this, the second half of our epic, "Whiskey's for drinkin'. Water's for fightin' over." But as you'll learn, this western-tinted flick's resident villain Ricky has more uses for whiskey than he lets on. More on that later.

So, with Jake pumped full of lead and dispatched to that wide open prairie in the sky, his fellow Double K raunch-hands, and a priest, assemble to pay their respects. Once they've cleared out, Jake's old lover-boy and renegade Flying V Antton Harri sneaks in to say his own sad private goodbye, when - BLAM! POW! - shots are fired and two more bodies lay cold and dead.

But I like 'em hot and alive, and I hope you do, too, because after that grim spectacle we segue right back into the sex. Ricky is at it again, just as twisted and mean as you like him, taking butch drags of his cigarette and guzzling whiskey as tattooed beauty Damian Rios slurps hungrily on his hard-on. Points to J.D. Slater for his score, which lend an ambiance to the sex scenes without drowning out the grunts and sharp inhalations and other hot sloppy sex sounds that I've grown (in a manner of speaking) to love.

From a cocksucker's-eye-view we see Ricky, serious as a heart attack, get his pecker slick and wet. He wraps his belt around Damian's neck, fucks his mouth, and makes him drink whiskey off his cock. He even goes so far as to unholster his gun and fires some shots into the air before getting a little slap-happy with Rios. After that, he spits into his bottom's ass-crack and goes to town, running his handgun up and down Damian's back, and busting open the whiskey again to pour on his other weapon as it penetrates Rios' cornhole. Finally, Damian saves a horse by riding cowboy Ricky, until he lets loose with an impressive pop-shot.

What comes next is easily TTLM's most outstanding bit of melodrama. What was this bloodshed all about to begin with? A drought! And what's happening now? It's raining! Scott Tanner is choking on the bitter, bitter irony, in addition to all the scenery he's trying to gnaw down, as he stumbles through the storm, into the mud, flailing his hands to the sky and cursing the heavens, crying out, "Why?! Why?!" It's a tasty bit of camp, to be sure.

Moving on, Jimmy Trips is bummed out about all this bloodshed too, and who better to console him than stacked muscle-bear Rick Powers? Jimmy has a ridiculously huge uncut piece of meat, with a heavy-duty low-hanging nutsack to match, and Powers takes his time showing it sweet mouth-love, before throwing his legs up in the air to show it some pucker-love as well. Afterwards, Powers joins us again for a far jollier roll in the hay with another uncut'n'well-hung power top Tristan Jaxx. Powers demonstrates his sucking prowess yet again, we're treated to the first rimming scene of Part II, and the hookup culminates in Jaxx drenching Powers' face in gooey splooey.

Lean otter Scott Campbell only thinks he's alone as he takes a skinny-dip in the creek and then decides to stroke one off. Nearby, Antonio Biaggi, armed with a shotgun and a bottle, watches and whips out his own piece. It's not long before Scott is soaking Biaggi's mega-schlong in drool, enthusiastically taking it as deep as he can. Biaggi matches Campbell for raw passion as he returns the blowjob and throws some rimming in for good measure. An acrobatic round of ass-fucking commences, followed by double-whammy oral cumshots that have both Antonio and Scott slurping sperm. This was a definite rewind-twice/slow-motion-replay climax for me, and a high-point if cum-eating is your cup of tea. Once the love-fest is over, Flying V loyalist Antonio tries to drown water-thievin' Scott and ends up floating face-down in the water. It's sort of sad, because in another world they could have really loved one another.

Next up, it's a cute-cub hookup starring Damien Crosse and Jackson Wild, who exchange blowjobs before Damien fucks his buddy nicely. Damien works a load out of Wild, drops his own on his bottom's back, and is then shot dead in an impressive splatter of movie blood. At least he got to bust that one last nut, right?

In any case, the corn-syrup mess doesn't stop there. Jimmy Trips is shot once in the balls and once between the eyes in an outdoor tub, but not before he gives us an impressive striptease/jerkoff beneath the hot sun. This solo scene is another outdoor standout that showcases Ben Leon and Tony DiMarco's considerable strengths as videographers.

Okay, so then, death death death, blood and gore and gasoline and burning flesh, and then Ricky Sinz shoots a priest. (Stone-cold Rick!) And then...

And then it's the much-ballyhooed rape scene.

Logan McCree and Rick pin down good ol' boy Scott Tanner and give him willy! As Tanner screams and moans, pretending not to love it as his bobbing hard-on argues otherwise, the two baddies relentlessly and unmercifully pound his hole like it owed them money. But look, they're not all evil, because (1) they're considerate enough to throw on rubbers and (2) Logan reaches out a helping hand to pump out his victim's load. As far as controversies go, the hoopla surrounding this rape-scene is pretty much unfounded, because when you get right down to it, it doesn't look like rape so much as it looks like what it is - role play, safe and smoking-hot.

So, if anyone was following along this far for the plot, let me spoil it for you right now. Everybody gets shot and dies except for mean greedy villainous hot-papi rapist Ricky Sinz, who rides off into the sunset. For my part, I didn't have too much time to be sad or outraged, because I had some major clean-up to do, as well as replenish my fluids.

I'm giving this one as many stars as you can give a movie, because the folks at Raging Stallion deserve accolades for all the hard work and hard cocks they put into this movie. And I think that the ambition to weave a story in between all the hot sodomy should be applauded, while the execution begs some affectionate mockery. In any case, the truth of the matter is this: While Deadwood may have been a great show, it will probably never help as many people achieve mind-bending orgasms as To the Last Man.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I am going to treat myself to another private screening of To the Last Man - without that pesky notebook in hand.

 -- Lex Lewder