Month: July 2010

All the World’s a Stage

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I recently enjoyed encountering this provocative work of art. The title, “Orlando and the Wrestler,” obviously caught my attention. The Irish artist, Daniel Maclise, painted this Victorian oil in 1854. Based on a scene from Shakespeare’s As You Like It, Maclise paints Orlando as a rather fey, doe eyed twink who looks like he has no idea that he’s about to meet the buzzsaw of tattooed strongman and renowned wrestler, Charles.
This isn’t necessarily exactly how Shakespeare set the scene, but I like Maclise’s artistic license. The audience is sucked into the scenario, like Duke Frederick, anticipating that the sexually suspect babyface is in serious danger in the coming match. Orlando appears so distracted by his melodramatic infatuation with the girl in the front row that he may not even notice that his opponent is a nicely muscled testosterone-driven hunk with a look of fierce destruction in his eyes. It’s inevitably going to be a babyface in the blender, as Charles watches his opponent with contempt. Little does Charles or the audience realize that when the match begins, the babyface will swiftly take down the brute. Perhaps capitalizing on his opponent’s underestimation of his preparation and skill, Orlando delivers the story of the cunning babyface heel, luring his impressive opponent into complacency, psyching him out with some pre-match shenanigans. Perhaps the whole heart-clutched schmaltz was even a front for a gay anti-hero pulling the strings of his neanderthal musclehead foe. Just imagine this big brute on his back, Orlando grapevining his hotly muscled legs, spreading him wide and making the hardbody grunt out his shocked, humiliated submission.

Okay, so nearly NONE of this is actually in Shakespeare’s text. Quite a bit of it isn’t particularly apparent in Maclise’s painting. But that’s why they call it art. It provokes in me an entire, titillating narrative that draws me in and brings a smile to my face.

It’s Like a Heatwave Burning in My Heart

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The oppressive summer heat has arrived across almost all of the United States, including my normally moderate little corner. I’m not a fan of serious summer heat. I much prefer to generate my own.
My workplace is not air conditioned, which accounts for some of my unhappiness with the heat. Still, working inside, there are options that aren’t available to the fine folks whose labors require them to be outside. In their honor, I’ll resist the temptation to whine… too much.
But what to do when the heat sucks the energy out of you and you find yourself sweating while sitting absolutely still? Like Cristiano Ronaldo, you can always just grab a hose and wet down your massively muscled legs and the side of beef you’re smuggling in your trunks.

Or like Aussie Hugh Jackman, soak your glistening, hairy, hard muscles from head to toe by frolicking in the ocean.
Admittedly, finding the nearest muscle hunk and offering to lather him up with sunscreen may not cool things off, but it’s certainly a way to turn lemons into lemonade, now, isn’t it?
Lathering up your own sweet pecs and mounded arms is always a good idea, as well. I’m all about skin health. If you do it real slow, pinching your nipples a little as you go, the sun screen covers better (I swear… just try it, you’ll see).

Like rugby musclegod, Ben Cohen (appearing in a wrestling fantasy near you), you could let your inner child (encased in your hairy, hunky, brick house of a body) bust out on a water slide.
Did I mention frolicking in the ocean making sure every inch of your rippled muscles get good and wet? It’s worth mentioning again.
Finally, perhaps the best way to beat the heat is with some naked sword play in a cool, dark space. However you cope, I hope that you regulate your temperature effectively… cool when you need to be cool, and hot when you’re in the mood to get hot.

Baring and Caring

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In celebration of a year of non-stop blogging, I’m promoting a good cause. Far too little attention is paid to AIDS these days in the media, and even less so is there attention on the continuing devastation of AIDS in this country. We need to keep our eyes on the ball, and the wonderfully creative (and hot) minds and bodies on Broadway are doing their part. Broadway Bares each year lets the chorus boys (and girls and headliners) display their hard earned, hard toned bodies to raise cash for AIDS services.
I’ve nursed a personal fantasy of a hot and torrid affair with a Broadway dancer. All that muscle and flexibility and desire to be watched… yes, indeed. In my fantasy, I run lines with my own personal Broadway boytoy, and to return the favor, he wrestles with me. We start off in thongs, and we finish with his arms trapped in the ring ropes, stripped naked, with me alternating applying pain and pleasure until he cums.
It’s not hard to figure why I’ve written Broadway dancer boy, Nick Adams, into my wrestling fantasies. Gorgeous Nick has appeared twice, initially barely escaping Mario Lopez with his life. Nick then earned his way into Producer’s Ring purgatory, requiring private and personal tutorials from the producer himself. The way I’ve imagined him, Nick is a classically overconfident face with a nasty, sadistic side who counts on his incredible muscles to compensate for his lack of impulse control and discipline. Nick’s story line has been stuck there for many months. I’ve come back to it a number of times, but I just can’t decide who to pit him against next (suggestions welcome).
Enough about me and my imagination, though. Today’s post is really about us and our collective power to ease suffering, promote health and life, and press toward a cure of a miserable disease (all the while feeding our lust for gorgeously toned men). If you go to Broadway Bares’ site, you can browse a lot more pics from last month’s performance as well as shots of hunks from prior years. If you’re jonesin’ for a more up close look, you can slip a virtual fiver down Nick Adam’s g-string (and the underwear of several other Broadway boys) and they’ll give you a little more of an eye-full (demurely). I’m personally a growing fan of the muscled torso and french script tattooed across Kyle DesChamps‘ lower abdomen. Here’s a man I’d like to see in an abdominal stretch (preferably mine).
So give generously and at the same time satisfy your kink for some hot hunks with major talents.
On a programming note, as today marks the end of my commitment to post daily, I don’t promise quite as consistent posting in the future. Hell, clearly I can find tons to say about all things to do with beautiful men, wrestling, and gay topics. But if I miss a day here or there, I’m okay with that, and I hope that you are, too. Play safe, and let me hear from you from time to time.

Earning a Shot, Finale

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Heads up: tomorrow marks the completion of my commitment to post something on this blog every day for a year. Well, I suppose today is actually the completion of that commitment, but tomorrow is the anniversary. It’s sort of like when we refer to the years that start with 19– as the 20th century. These things always confuse me. In any case, I haven’t decided how to properly celebrate the anniversary tomorrow. Any suggestions that you might have would be appreciated.
In the mean time, the last we heard from the contenders to unseat reigning muscle god champion, SteelMuscleGod, Frenchman Yann had been ridden hard and put away wet by English bodybuilder Adam400m. The muscle god himself, SMG, then stepped in and forced some flexing from the French wannabe. SMG posed an entirely reasonable offer to the broken contender. Worship SMG’s godliness, or suffer. As reader StayPuft commented, not only is the Frenchman defeated, he’s also clearly a fool.
SMG doesn’t look surprised by Yann’s stubborn refusal to worship him. “No?” SMG asks rhetorically. “You’d rather suffer first, and then worship me? No problem.” Leaning against a nearby wall watching the scene, Adam chuckles quietly, his massive chest mounded between his arms folded in front of him.
Quickly grabbing the Frenchman by the hair on the top of his head, SMG shoves Yann’s head between his power legs. Kneeling in front of his tormentor with his head securely trapped, Yann grunts in pain as he feels SMG’s quads flex around his skull. SMG rubs the palms of his hands up and down the striated muscles in his legs as his tongue hangs out of his open mouth. “Yeah,” SMG snarls, “feel those fucking muscles!” Yann wraps his arms around his tormentor’s legs, desperately trying to pry SMG’s legs apart. “I’m going to crush your fucking skull,” SMG snarls. “Feel my power!”
A panicked whine emerges from between SMG’s flexing legs as Yann desperately taps submissively at his tormentor’s hamstrings. “Had enough of that power?” SMG chuckles. Bending forward, SMG grabs the waistband of the Frenchman’s board shorts in both hands and yanks upward. Yann rises defensively to his feet as his shorts are wedged deep between his muscled ass cheeks. Suddenly, SMG snaps his arms around the Frenchman’s waist and pulls upward, lifting the helpless man’s feet off the floor until he’s trapped suspended vertically in the air, his head still locked between SMG’s thighs.
Looking over his shoulder at Adam, SMG sneers as he bounces on the balls of his feet, forcing the air from the Frenchman’s lungs as his arms squeeze Yann’s lower abdomen. To Adam, SMG growls with contempt, “Looks like I’ve got to finish your work.” The grin across Adam’s face slowly fades to boiling fury.
Suddenly, SMG drops to his knees, driving the top of Yann’s head to the floor with a thud. As SMG releases his grip around the Frenchman’s abdomen, Yann’s knees slump to the floor. SMG climbs to his feet, looking down at Yann’s body involuntarily twitching in fits as his traumatized nervous system and muscles fire randomly. SMG hooks his foot underneath his victim’s shoulder and kicks Yann over to his back. Straddling him, SMG looks down as he flexes his biceps. “Look at me,” SMG commands the Frenchman, whose eyes remain tightly closed as pain wracks his whole body. “Look at me!!!” SMG shouts furiously, causing Yann’s eyes to snap open wide in startled fear. “Are you ready to worship your god now?”
Yann’s jaw drops open as his chest heaves up and down in breathless exhaustion and arousal. His hands reach up toward the muscled form towering over him. SMG lowers himself to his knees before sitting his powerful glutes down solidly across the Frenchman’s chest. Yann winces in pain momentarily under SMG’s weight, and then he reaches his left hand upward, alternating between caressing and squeezing SMG’s right pec adoringly. “Now it’s time for your just desserts! Who’s your Steel Muscle God?!” SMG barks down, flexing his pecs as Yann feels them. Slack jawed and glassy-eyed, Yann continues to worship SMG’s pecs with his hands.
Awed, breathless, Yann finally whispers, “You are…”

Independence Day

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I’m not the most patriotic American, by any stretch of the imagination. It’s not that I don’t like the country in which I was born and live. Not at all, in fact. I just find myself suspicious of people who seem to like it too much. I know people who defend it unthinkingly and uncritically, and generally those people stand for things that I’m opposed to. So I find myself holding the patriotism and the love of my country a little at arms length, so as not to be mistaken for someone for whom their love of the United States is synonymous with sexist, racist and religiously intolerant values.

While I’m pretty cynical about people who wrap themselves up in the American flag, metaphorically speaking, I have an odd near-fetish for hot hunks wrapping themselves up literally in the flag. Well, more precisely, I have a near-fetish for hot hunks wrapping up their barest modesty in the American flag.
I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time today searching the web for a particular photo of porn actor Shane Steele in a hot American flag speedo. Jet Set used that image for their splash page for quite a while, several years back. It was so tasty. It never failed to make me come to attention and deliver that particular form of a salute that makes the heart beat a little faster (you know what I’m talking about).
Sadly, I can’t find the aforementioned pic. In its stead, I’ve mined several other images that circle the same theme. This is really the only context in which I’m a huge fan of the American flag. So on this federal holiday in honor of U.S. independence, let’s celebrate the hard, hung hunk in nothing but a hint of Old Glory.
Yes, yes.Yesterday was technically U.S. Independence Day. If you’ll scroll down, you’ll clearly see that I had much, much more important things to explore in yesterday’s blog post. So for today, here’s my very modest, cautiously embraced homage to the stars and stripes, and most of what it stands for…

Grab a Mop

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I just double-checked my calendar. It isn’t my birthday. I’ve never heard of exchanging gifts for the 4th of July. But for whatever reason, Kid Leopard and the boys at BG East have delivered up one of the best presents I’ve ever received.
When I opened up the BG East webpage, I was so thrilled to see my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy staring back at me. Rusty Stevens is looking shredded and sexy as hell in his gray jockstrap. This is Rusty’s first appearance with BGE (I’m begging for many more!), and I must say that this is just two great tastes that taste great together. Rusty’s superb skills in grappling and homoerotic domination are a perfect match with the wrestling chops demanded of the headliner talent at BGE. I know it’s Rusty’s debut with the company, but I just have to say that it feels like he’s merely coming home again.
When I followed the link to Rusty’s inaugural BGE match, I discovered that he’s in a sweaty mat match-up with my #1 contender to be my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, the former champ himself, Mitch Colby. Two things happened in quick succession. I picked my jaw up off the floor, wiping away the copious amounts of saliva that immediately began pouring from the corners of my mouth. And then, I kid you not, I heard the Hallelujah Chorus playing in the back of my head. Seriously, this was nearly a religious experience for me.
I’m dead serious. I feel like I owe Kid Leopard my first born child for his managing to pluck this scenario from my most coveted wrestling fantasies and make it come to life. Since I’ve already promised my first born child several times over, I’ll have to find someone else’s first born child for KL. Or absolutely anything else he wants from me. When I scanned the teaser pics ripped straight from my imagination of exactly what this match would look like, I had to wipe tears of joy from my cheeks. I was instantly fully aroused and breathless. Then when I read the description of the match, I was astonished to find a pretty overt reference to this very blog! The exchange of positions between Mitch and Rusty in the rankings for being my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy is noted right there as evidence of the inevitability of pitting these two class acts against one another. At that point, my head swelled up nearly as big as my cock. My friends have been getting sick of hearing me talk about this brush with fame. “Did I mention that I was referenced in the latest BG East catalogue?”
I’m desperately, achingly waiting for two things at this point. 1) I’m waiting for the DVD to arrive in the mail. I’m feeling a little bitter that the holiday weekend is upon us, likely slowing the delivery of my purchase. I hate waiting, generally speaking. I’m physically hurting to have to wait in this particular instance. 2) I’m also waiting for some more stills from the match in the Arena. I’m already sporting a 24-hour hard on at the thought of this battle. Once I see these two men of my homoerotic wrestling kink fantasies from every angle, I’ll likely explode into a million pieces.
You’ll know what’s happened if the photos appear in the Arena and I suddenly stop blogging. Just go ahead and send a cleaning crew here to mop up my remains.

Doctor, Doctor

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Mark Feuerstein works for me. Yes, yes, and yes. I’ve had my eye on this man from the moment he walked on Caroline in the City. Like a lucky penny, I was so happy that he turned up in Practical Magic. I was thrilled to see him anchor his own comedy as Conrad Bloom. He was the bisexual judge on Ally McBeal who I’d so be willing to do, without too much cringing at the thought of him also doing women. I was pulling so damn hard for him on Good Morning, Miami. Now he’s in Royal Pains, and I’m happy once again to see his talent and beauty back on the air.

Honestly, it’s his ass. The rest of him earns him the place as one of the 50 most beautiful people, sure. But it’s his ass the earns him the spot as the object of my lust. He has the roundest ass a white boy can have. I find myself cheering out loud when he turns his back to the camera (really, I do… it’s like when the home team scores a touchdown).
Mark’s ass also earned him an appearance in my homoerotic wrestling fantasies. The fact that he was a high school wrestler puts him up and over the top, so when he arrived in the Producer’s Ring for a battle to the career finish with Dan Futterman, it had to get up close and personal. It won’t surprise you to learn that Mark’s ass single-handedly (?) snaps victory from the jaws of defeat in this competition.
He’s persistent. He’s smoking hot. He’s got great timing. Did I mention his ass? He has one of my top 5 favorite asses of all time. Damn, I’m hot for a hunky Jewish doctor who makes house calls.

Available for Rent

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Jake Shears is so fucking hot. I apologize for offending your delicate sensibilities, but I just can’t say it any other way. I honestly don’t have a lot of rock star groupie fantasies. He, I’m not ashamed to say, stars in one.

Towleroad let me know that Jake is illustrating why he turns all my cranks, by advertising the Scissor Sisters new release as a rentboy.com profile. He’s generously showing us his ass, underarm, sexy torso, and strategically-placed-towel naked shot as samples from the new release play in the background.
Whatever he’s selling, I’ll buy it. Oh, and the music is hot, as always.

J-8… Miss!

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I’m highly skeptical. I played Battleship as a kid. A lot. I had to beg my family members to indulge me over and over. And then one day it occurred to me: this game is seriously boring. So when I hear that there’s a movie in the making based on the Hasbro game, Battleship, I’m highly skeptical.

Enter Alexander Skarsgård as a naval officer idolized by his younger brother played by Taylor Kitsch, who I know only as Gambit though I realize he’s made Cosmo girls swoon in many more places than that.
Whatever. Bring the brother on brother forbidden fantasy that we all share (don’t try to deny it), or go home with this one. There’s going to have to be major skin to make me buy a movie ticket to a game based on such riveting dialogue as “E-4…. miss…….. J-8…… miss…..”
Even for my favorite fanged 6’4″ Swedish adonis, I’m highly skeptical.