RIP: Butch Harris (Founder of Mannet.com)

It’s so sad for me to learn that Butch Harris, the owner of MANNET.COM has passed away at the age of 51. He was a pioneer in the gay porn review sites. Long before gay porn blogs like Queer Me Now exist. Please, take time to read this touching article by Brent Blue, one of his porn reviewers who works for the website.

“Thank You, Butch Harris” by Brent Blue

“Do you like fisting?”

After name, date of birth and a few particulars, that was the first question Butch Harris asked me after bringing me on as a reviewer for www.mannet.com.

“Um, is that a requirement?” I replied, petrified that I was about to flunk some test because I had never even heard of fisting. The porn I knew was oiled-up guys by the pool, teachers and students who always seemed to be the same age and Joey Stefano’s face proving no one in the world loved sex more than he did.

“No, we get a lot of fisting movies to review and the other reviewers don’t really like reviewing them, so I wanted to see how you felt about it.”

As the new guy wanting to please my new boss, I politely replied, “yes, count me in.” Over 200 fisting reviews later, I feel like a world authority on fisting. You want to know the right lighting gels when you have a hairy brunet getting fisted from below in a room painted either red or black? I can tell you. For that, I have to say, “thank you, Butch Harris.”

Then came this one:

“In the current batch I sent you for review, there are two bisexual titles.” I mastered fisting, I figured I could conquer this too.

“Okay, but what’s the protocol on naming female genitals? What is the right sexy slang? Vagina sounds too clinical, pussy is okay, but I refuse to use the c-word,” I insisted.

“Bitch, this isn’t the SATs, you can repeat words.” Now I could add female anatomy to my resume. “Thank you, Butch Harris.”

There are no adequate ways to thank Butch Harris, whose death is a great loss to the gay porn industry, but from so far behind the scenes, most people don’t know him, exactly the way he wanted it. He was a very big fan of www.QueerMeNow.net, so when I was asked if I would like to write a little something for the site, of course I said yes. But in doing so, I want to invoke his spirit, which was mercurial, sharp and very funny. I hope you laugh at this piece. After he finished yelling at me for doing it, he would laugh with that outrageously loud guffaw I wish I had recorded somewhere.

My first Mannet review was “San Diego Stop-Offs” in January 2000 and my last was “Blue Collar Ballers” in August 2015. As Brent Blue, I did over 1500 gay porn reviews for Mannet. That’s a lot. But it’s nothing compared to the friendship that ran parallel to it.

At the beginning, I knew very little about porn. I had inherited one of the first home usage VCRs (made in 1976) and putting a VHS tape in it was a loud process that always woke up my parents on the other side of the wall. Opportunities to watch porn did not arise that frequently. Thus, neither did I.

About a year later, I was at the GayVNs in Los Angeles as a judge. Bruce Villanch was there, so was RuPaul! Jeff Palmer tried to get me stoned in his car by leaning over and blowing it into my mouth from his (it didn’t work, but he had great lips, so I let him keep trying). Blake Harper picked me up and spun me like he was going to carry me over the threshold while quoting my reviews. Logan Reed snuck me into Chi Chi LaRue’s afterparty. Blue Blake invited me for afternoon tea the next day (and I went). I got a peck on the cheek from Nino Bacci. After what seemed like 100 year on the phone, I finally got to talk to my beloved Steve Cassidy in person. The one thing I did not do was summon up the courage to introduce myself to Derek Cameron, one of two porn stars I consider the greatest of all time (“Why the fuck not,” Chi Chi asked while sweeping by me later, “he’s a doll!”). For younger porn fans, many of these names may not be familiar, but trust me, they were the cream of the crop, and what the hell was a shy suburban kid doing in LA at a black-tie $350-a-plate (free for judges) porn awards show? “Thank you, Butch Harris.”

Butch’s reaction when I bubbled over with the excitement and told him everything? “I hope you didn’t say anything about me.”

“Thank you, Butch Harris.” For popping my balloon of joy, I should thank him? Yes, because in eight words, he brought me back down to earth. It’s only porn. I didn’t like learning the lesson that way, but he wasn’t wrong in teaching it. All these years later, I can say that the influence he had on my life was as profound as any of my greatest professors or wisest relatives.

More than the world he opened up for me, he gave me confidence to tackle it. That confidence went way beyond porn reviews to lessons I use every day, but he made me earn it, over and over again. I had begged him to let me do interviews and when he finally agreed, I suddenly got cold feet. Did he coddle me? Did he tell me how talented I was? Nope. He sent me to interview Michael Lucas, the equivalent of throwing a first-time swimmer into the deep end (it was actually a happy experience and a damn good interview). “Thank you, Butch Harris.”

Butch was a behind-the-scenes powerhouse. He knew how to discuss porn with other porn lovers and taught me how. His legacy was set the day Mannet came to life in 1995, with dial-up Internet and VHS tapes, and though statistics showed that the first time people “went online,” 200% of them visited some sort of porn site, it was not yet a consumer paradise (anyone remember the 10-tape All Worlds sampler box?). Rather than relying exclusively on the studio’s promotional materials, porn lovers who found their way to Mannet could read an objective opinion and facts (these were the days when an “event scene” of a power top finally bottoming could actually be just two minutes of torture for the poor guy…and anyone who watched). Butch bottom-line the movies for consumers. Mannet was never about the porn creators. There were no favors or special treatment to any of them. Any studio that wanted a review was welcome to submit screeners. The process was no different for Falcon or Studio 2000 than it was for small newcomers like MSR or any of 60,000 Hungarian porn companies.

He was so supportive of his writers. He hired us because he thought we would do a better job sharing opinions than he would. Butch said it many times and he was very proud of his team. That meant the world to me because I was the troublemaker and it took me a long time to understand that when he was mad, he was very mad, but an hour later, it was all gone. “Thank you, Butch Harris.”

I saved nearly every email I ever received from Butch over the course of 15 years (I think at one point I had planned some sort of tell-all as an easier way to make him submit to my insistence that the rule was indeed still two spaces after the final punctuation of any sentence—an argument we never settled). I have been looking through them a lot since he died, and though the jokes are my favorites, he was a master of understated grace. There are so many more positive attaboys than I remember. “Best Brent Blue review in ages, thanks sweetcheeks.” “Brent the Bitch is Back!” “Thanks for great piece, sugartits. I didn’t like the last scene that much, but I watched it again after your review. Holy cow, you’re right, that dude is a damn good bottom.” “If [REDACTED] becomes a huge star, I hope he realizes this review helped make it happen. You are amazing, sweetcheeks.” There are hundreds of those, compared to only 62 spine-tingling angry missives. “Anagrams don’t belong in a porn review.” “I don’t know who you are trying to impress, but knock it the fuck off.” “You seem to have something personal against a cast member here. If you have a personal reason for the obvious hatred you are spewing, please do not review his movies.”

He was at his best when he was teasing. One night, a random note of praise came my way. I had not written a review that day, but it said, “thanks for so much hard work.” Unable to leave it there, I asked why he was thanking me. “Can’t I say thank you without a reason?” Now I knew for sure something was up, so I pushed, as he knew I would. “I know I get on your case a lot about some of your longer reviews, but that’s because I don’t always see the purpose of that much detail. I did tonight.” Oh, fuck, I’m in trouble. “Did you ever think of printing some of the longer reviews and binding them together like a book?” Of course not, who prints? “You should consider it. I did tonight. There was a cat howling outside my window and nothing shut it up, so I looked for the heaviest thing I could throw that had no value. The June through August 2004 Brent Blue collection did the trick. I think the cat is dead. And I didn’t have to waste a shoe.” “Fuck you, Butch Harris.”

Oh, for anyone who wants to know if [REDACTED] become a huge star? He sure did. Did he credit the review at all? No, but to be fair, I’m not sure he knows how to read.

And, did I have a “personal reason” for slamming that other performer? No. I still stick to my belief that is the most untalented performer ever to hit the highest levels of stardom, but I have never met the man. He’s beautiful to look at, very popular, but I would rather watch ice melt.

What about the Mannet subscribers, the average guys out there jacking off six times a day? They were a hoot. One offered Butch $1000 if he could introduce him to a specific porn star he loved. Butch sent an email to the man offering and the porn star, both blind copied, introducing them. He asked that the $1000 check be sent to a local AIDS education program and provided the address. The check I still in the main, I assume. There were some cranks, but Butch didn’t take their guff either. There was a subscriber who sent a note at least once a week holding us responsible for him wasting money on movies he didn’t like. After trying to be polite a few times, Butch whipped out his famous leveler: “We recommend. We do not swipe credit cards.” Damn it if he didn’t do it again in eight fucking words!

The Butch Harris leveling record? Five words. “I give you six months.” That was an Amazon review of some new gadget he hated. He was no always so terse, just ask his arch-nemesis, the only person in the world who could ruffle his feathers more than me, the only person he may or may not have threatened with bodily harm: the “fucking bitch whore c*nt shithead mother fucker lady at the post office.” Which one? Didn’t matter.

I have been asked a lot recently if he had favorite porn studio. Absolutely. Which one? [REDACTED].

I’ve said many times in these past few days how much I loved him, how much I worshipped him (he was a terrible role model in many ways, but I didn’t care), but it’s hard for those who knew him to come up with stories that proves he reverse because he kept his emotions to himself. His idea of a birthday card inscription was (and I have the card to prove it) “pace yourself, sweetcheeks, if you get double penetrated for this birthday, you may not have a functioning ass hole for the next one.” The joke was a façade. The love was in the acts of buying, writing and mailing the card. “Thank you, Butch Harris.”

I know I said I would keep things light, but there is one story above all that is my favorite because it was the most personal. It’s the one I would use in a eulogy, though as always, his will be the last word.

About three years into my tenure at Mannet, I was in the hospital with a serious medical emergency. This was pre-Facebook and Twitter, when the only way to tell people you were in the hospital was to actually call them. My best friend took care of telling my family, my job and friends that I would be of commission for a while. I asked if he had called Butch and he hadn’t. I insisted he do it immediately. He called Butch and told him I was in the hospital and needed to take it easy for a few weeks, so I was not going to be doing any immediate reviews.

I heard the explosion through the phone. He was wild with rage, but I was in no condition to battle anyone. I was crushed he thought so little of me as a person that he would get that angry because I upset his review schedule.

Boy, did I get that wrong. The day I got home, he called and said to me, “I don’t care who that dumb fucker is or how close he is to you, but how dare he speak to me as if I were some deadline-obsessed boss. I don’t care if you never do a review for my site again. I love you as a person and I want to make sure you truly know that. I was scared shitless at the thought of losing you.”