Intimate Impact

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Pro-style wrestling, when done well, is all about pacing. I love me some long-held torturous holds where a poor battler has the life squeezed out of him inch by inch. Still, sometimes I’m in the mood to seem someone slammed to the ground… hard. While I enjoy watching a man scream in pain while his joints are slowly ripped apart, today I’m more in the mood to watch a cocky musclehead get shut up by a body slam. I can think of a few people who deserve a silencing pounding from six feet off the ground. I think of the body slam like the exclamation point at the end of the sentence, “Fuck you!” That’s the sentiment I’m going for today (not necessarily you personally… unless you deserve it…).

The body slam is fast and blunt, when it satisfies. Today I’m hot for a stud snatched off his feet and immediately driven into the mat hard. Brad Rochelle is 100% golden when he’s suffering, but note his superhuman body awareness. In the split second before his ass is pounded to the mat, Brad’s hand darts out and clutches at Jed Jamison’s crotch dangling tantalizingly in front of Brad’s face…. a master at work….
This amazingly muscled hardbody in jeans slamming the bruiser in trunks (via Wrestling Arsenal) is exactly working for me on so many levels. The street-clothed stud ripping off his shirt and diving under the ropes to take on the wrestler in his natural habitat tweaks several of my kinks. His fierce hold on the dude’s trunks, looking like he’s about to rip them off his helpless projectile, tells a nice story of ferocity and presence. Blue jeans-boy is intent on controlling his victim and delivering precisely the dose of pain that he has coming to him. Whatever he did, I instantly believe that trunks-boy deserved it in spades.
Jaxx O’Doul setting up the stunningly skilled BG East babyface jobber, Cameron Matthews, connects the dots between impact and intimacy. First of all, have you SEEN Cameron’s ass? I frankly can’t quite understand how his opponent’s can restrain themselves from commenting on it all the time (or at least staring for a good long time). In this pic, Jaxx has somewhat demurely cupped Cameron’s ample left cheek in his hand, suggesting that he’s self-consciously avoiding really digging in his fingertips for a good solid grip. His carefully avoiding sinking his claws into Cameron’s glute only goes to show that Jaxx is just as keenly aware of Cameron’s #1 asset as I am. Going out his way to avoid a serious grab of that booty is Jaxx’s tell that he’s absolutely taken note of the booty-in-question. Cameron, for his part, is selling like an Amway Double Diamond, looking awed, frightened, and already in the throes of anticipatory suffering. Cameron’s all business, so I doubt that he’s intending to dig his pinky underneath Jaxx’s trunks, directly overtop of his cock, but nevertheless, that’s exactly what ends up happening. Regardless what Jaxx and Cameron’s intentions are, they illustrate that a body slam just can’t help be both brutal and intimate.
When bodybuilder Ted Shipp scooped up sadist Beau Hopkins in Canadian Musclehunk Wrestling 6, he had one thing in mind. Look at his eyes, and you can just tell. Ted has just a little bit of a crazed ecstasy in his eyes as he swings Beau’s hips high over his shoulder in preparation for driving him to the canvas. Ted is clearly feeling the kink that I’m all about today. Turn that cocky muscleboy into your plaything, Ted! Dangle him helplessly in the air with your rocking body tensed and gorgeous. Sure, let him plant his left hand across your rock hard quad. Indulge him for that split second. Because once you’ve pounded his ass to ground, you’ll have a few moments of peace and quiet from that bastard’s constant, cocky banter. Shut him up hard and commandingly!
Clearly I’m working out some of my own frustrations with my lustful read of the wrestling body slam. There are some overconfident ass holes I know who are crying out for a silencing pounding. But of course in between the lines of every lustful desire for a delivery of pain is the profound intimacy of that moment. The exchange of power and powerlessness, anticipation and consummation, and fear and agony is 100% sexual domination, as least as I read the text. Denny Cartier’s line of sight and right hand here are writing the story. Being owned by the giant-boy Joe Robbins has got to be a helpless, frightening, agonizing experience. Giving up over a half a foot and 80 pounds (!!!), Denny is caught in that instant of dreading the shock of being driven to his back from 6 feet off the ground. He’s captured and helpless, and Denny (a swiftly rising stock in my estimation) can’t help himself but be fixated, biting his lower lip in concentration, and instinctively reaching toward Joe’s package.

Brutality and intimacy. Brutality as intimacy. Fear and agony as the flip side of the lustful ecstasy coin. That’s the currency I’m looking for today. Ready to pay up?

Selling

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There was a period of time somewhere between 8 years old and 10 years old when, rather than immediately flip to toy section of the Sears Christmas catalog, I went straight to the underwear ads. That was probably the most skin I’d ever seen, and I knew that I liked it. A beautiful man modeling briefs is art, whether it’s in Sears or the Met.

Designers of overpriced underwear continue, to this day, exploiting the blatant sexuality of the underwear ad to market a few square inches of thin fabric. God bless him, David Beckham can’t keep his clothes on, it seems, instead displaying his astounding physique over and over and over again for Armani briefs. The classic shot of David wrapped in a huge rope is a fantastically transparent marketing of man-sex. That coiled behemoth hanging between his legs promises that his six pack abs and footballer thighs aren’t the only thing that make David worthy of lust.
Swedish footballer, Freddie Ljungberg, makes my mouth water even more than David Beckham. Freddie tugging at his Calvins makes me irrationally obsessed with buying underwear (must obey Freddie… must buy underwear…). Freddie enjoys the advantage of being Swedish, which gives him an automatic boost in his sexiness quotient. I also get the hit that Freddie is a bad ass, which probably explains his surprise victory in my fictional wrestling match over David. Despite nearly succumbing in David’s crippling figure-4 choke, Freddie managed to knock the Brit out flat.
Towleroad (God bless him, too), recently posted a new ad campaign from Calvin Klein featuring the likes of Twighlight fratboy musclestud, Kellan Lutz. Kellan does more for me in this ad than he’s generally done for me in the past. I think his crotch clawed in one hand and one of those huge pecs clawed in the other could be worth some imaginative energies.
The upcoming Calvin Klein campaign features many more objects of lust for me, though. Mechad Brooks has got to have one of the most stunning torsos ever. It’s a ridiculous oversight on my part that he hasn’t starred in a wrestling match yet. That will be rectified soon.
Japanese footballer Hidetoshi Nakata has been on my card for an All-Stars match for some time. This shot of him with his briefs tugged halfway down his hips reminds me that I must find a suitable opponent for him soon. And finally, I’m not as familiar with Ferndando Verdasco, but I will be now. Just try to tell me that shaggy head of hair isn’t crying out for someone to drag him around by it. Just try.

So I know why I get so hot and bothered by hunks in underwear. Other than the obvious fact that a gorgeous body in next to no clothes is an instant turn on, the hot stud in briefs has two vectors of allure for me. For one, it’s another transgressive image, displaying for the world to see (in awe) what is ostensibly a private image of a hard man in his undergarments. To see a man on a billboard fifty feet high in nothing but his Calvins blurs the line between private sexuality and public decorum, and that’s a bit naughty and incredibly nice at the same time. For another thing, this all takes me back to being nine years old, running to my bedroom and slamming the door the minute I could get my hands on the Sears catalog, and having my ears start to ring with the pump of blood at seeing gorgeous men in nothing but their underwear.

False Modesty

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Purportedly, the ancient Greeks wrestled naked. Somewhere between then and now, modesty set in and wrestlers found the need for gear. So the point of gear is modesty, covering up the “private parts,” keeping the swinging ball and chain in check. So when a wrestler finds his gear yanked, there’s something delightfully transgressive about it.
It’s generally the hard hunks like Marcus Bagwell getting some serious exposure with a trunk pull. Anyone might find a handful of nylon helpful in the ring, but somehow it’s the gorgeous muscle studs with fantastic bubble butts who seem to find themselves on the receiving end of trunk pull overexposure. I’m not complaining.

Wrestling Arsenal points out that some pros particularly proud of their posteriors clearly work in getting bare assed as part of the routine. Eddie Atlas here is captured in a moment of overacting, but it’s not like we’re critiquing him for an Oscar, now is it? We’re focused with a tunnel vision thrill on Eddie’s naked, very round ass. Dude on his back could almost certainly have found a more effective way to power-bottom, but again, I’m not complaining.

There’s undoubtedly utility in a trunk grab in many cases. In what is theoretically a pure man-vs-man competition where your only weapons are your bodies and your brains, gear can be an effective illicit addition to the arsenal. But even more satisfying in my book is the trunk pull for no purpose other than humiliation. Stoney Hooker draped across his opponent’s knee finds his trunks wedged up to his kidneys, all the better to slap his sweet white ass like the man-child his is. This hardly moves the match any closer to a pinfall… not complaining…

Sprinkle some homoeroticism into your wrestling kink, and the gear grab moves from the implicit sexuality of wrestling to explicit sexuality. Kid Leopard models complete ownership of his opponent with one hand yanking him up by his hair and the other hand lifting him by his jobber-white trunks. By the look on his face, this jobber is ready to cry out his submission. Knowing KL, the jobber’s humiliating defeat will not come one second sooner than it absolutely needs to.

In the over the top homoerotic scenario, playing with the modesty of the wrestling gear is like foreplay. It’s the glimpse of what’s hidden, the hint of things to come. BG East classic brawler, Jose, packed a cock that defied belief. When he (frequently) battled naked, his flailing python was jaw dropping (which is the appropriate position). In TagTeam Torture 1, with one my favorite finishers of all time, Jose and Cruze are thrilled sadists relishing every second of their humiliation of earnest babyface skinny boys, Patrick and Sean. When Jose backs Sean into the ropes and yanks his trunks to get better leverage on some ab pounding, Sean’s modesty is momentarily defied. It’s all foreplay, though. Just wait a few minutes, and the teasing trunk pull will be revealed as downright demure compared to what await Patrick and Sean. Again I say, one of my favorite finishers…

I really resent the muscleboy cockteasers. I’ve mentioned before how my unrequited lust for Joshua Goodman’s opened package irritates me. At least the powers that be give us glimpses of all that we’re missing with the talent that clearly doesn’t want to share (selfish bastards). Despite some nice, hard nudes of Justin Pierce available on the net, he never shares his full glory with us in the ring. Bulldog Barzini thoughtfully treats us to a glimpse of the goods, though, yanking so hard on Justin’s trunks they look like they’re about to snap (if only). It’s hardly as if Bulldog needs to resort to dirty tricks. He’s on his way to decimating the prettyboy hardbody without really needing to break a sweat. But Bulldog is a true, thoughtful gentleman who keeps us in mind as he not only beats the crap out of Justin, but humiliates him and ridicules the false modesty of his wrestling trunks.
One of the worst muscleboy cockteasers has got to be Brad Rochelle. Again, there are nudes of Brad to be had, but in the ring he guards his bits and baubles fiercely. That doesn’t stop his brutalizers from reminding us all that despite remaining covered up, there are wonders just under the covers. Sid takes a play out of KL’s book, dragging suffering Brad up by a handful of hair and a fistful of trunks, giving us the unsatisfying hint of Brad’s beautiful bare butt. So now I’m complaining… but I’ll take what I can get (particularly if it’s more Brad, please).

Gear is about modesty. It’s a concession to the repressed, body-hating culture that’s constantly trying to convince us that very specific geography of exposed skin is distasteful. Certain square footage of the human anatomy must be disguised and covered in order to make the rest of the human anatomy socially acceptable, we’re taught. So the tug at the trunks, the yank of the tights, the fistful of gear that exposes the naughty bits is a sweet moment of transgression, when particularly those of us who love the male body can flip the bird at every attempt to take the erotic out of the gorgeous male form.

Still More Olympic Spirit

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It’s just ten days away, and Vancouver is witnessing a fantastic concentration of beautiful, world class athletes arriving daily. Thanks to some help from some of you, I’ve found some more beautiful men to pay attention to for the games. The speed skaters are still at the top of my list for spectating during the winter Olympics thanks entirely to the gear… and their huge legs… and there stunning asses… packed into skin tight gear…

Denny Morrison is a world class Canadian speed skater that I’m awfully pleased to have found these days. Of course he fills out the skin tight spandex like a champion. I’m usually not so into gear, but with Olympic speed skating on my mind, I’m hot for hardbody spandex.
The boy next door with a shy smile and adorable dimples who also happens to possess the thighs and glutes of a Greek god are priceless. This 6′ tall 25 year old is my favorite for gold the instant he flashes those dimples. Go Denny!
Reader and contributor Swito turned me on to hockey hottie Alexei Kovalev. This Russian born hockey stud is turning my crank… hard. A 6’1″ blond bruiser like this can bring me to my knees any day (just offering).
He’s a handsome boy, to boot. I’m okay with bodybeautiful beasts with relatively “ugly” faces. But Alexei here is not that breed of beast by any means. Love, love, love me some hard hitting, hot bodied hockey players. Now they need to build into the sport a reason to see these hunks without their obscuring gear. Let’s plant a wrestling ring in the middle of the ice rink (bolt it down so it doesn’t move too much), and then throw some of these bad boys in wearing only trunks. Now that’s a sport I’d fly across the world for!

All Comers

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Last week, Mitch Colby posted this provocative message on his MySpace page:

XXX Scouting for wrestlers- sexy muscle boys for new vids for http://lnk.ms/487PQ – who wants to make a little cash and wrestle with me! send me a message!

Sadly, the link is dead, but the concept is making my head spin with possibilities. Mitch as a homoerotic wrestling scout is a fantastic concept. Personally, I’d be the one paying the cash for a chance to wrestle Mitch. I can’t believe it would be worth my money, though. Seconds after Mitch wraps his legs around me, I’d shoot my load uncontrollably and be reduced to begging to worship him. I’m far too enamored with Mitch to have any staying power on the mat with him. He’s looking for competition, it sounds like, and I’d just be putty in his gorgeous, big hands. I’m sure I can dream up some better competition for him, though.
So I’m lining up surrogate scrappers for tryouts in my imagination. I’ve already started a wrestling fiction match between Mitch and James Dawson Martin. The way I see it, poor muscle god, James, fell on hard times after getting spanked in the bodybuilder.com spokesmodel competition. Hard up for alternative ways to turn the marble sculpture that is his body into rent money, James needs to answer Mitch’s call. 6’3″ muscle god versus 6’3″ homoerotic wrestling champion (of my heart). Truly, that would be a match made in heaven. I say an “undagear” style match on the mats.
Ben Godfre should throw his hat (or jock strap) in the ring as well. The backstory I’m writing for Ben is that he has a secret need to be dominated. He dangles that stunningly crafted body with those grade A tattoos in front of the world, longing for some muscle daddy to demand to conquer him. Ben would make Mitch work for it… hard. With goods like Ben is packing, he’d have to demand only the very best daddy to work him over and own him in body and soul. I think Mitch would be up for it. 6’0″ babyface Ben getting thoroughly owned by 6’3″ sweat soaked Mitch is golden. I promise. Trust me, Ben. You want a jockstrap match with Mitch in the Florida bungalow.
My final recruit for a wrestling audition with Mitch (for today) is fitness model extraordinaire, Greg Plitt. I can attest to the delight of working over pretty boy Greg (in or out of my imagination, it’s up to you to decide). Greg appears to have martial arts training, which makes a homoerotic wrestling set up tough to script. But my backstory for Greg is that he’s a glutton for pain, dishing and devouring. He’d be more than a handful for Mitch, but I think Mitch’s skills have evolved enough that a strategic capture of Greg racked across Mitch’s shoulders would spell a simultaneous three-way orgasm (counting me). 6’1″ Greg cock to cock with 6’3″ Mitch would burnout servers with the demand for downloads. Seriously, we can make this worth your effort, Greg. Start out in pro-style trunks in the wrestling ring, so we can see what it looks like to work over a muscle god like you in the ropes.

Corporate Intrigue

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A discussion broke out several weeks ago on the BG East HQ group about Aryx Quinn’s appearance in a new Can-Am production. Was Aryx disloyal for working across companies? Is it all water under the bridge?

I just saw the opening clip of Can-Am’s newest pre-release with Aryx battling muscle god Rusty Stevens in Arena 2. As in Arena 1, Rusty pretty much destroys Aryx in the opening salvo of playground taunts. Rusty has a sharp wit, and when he displays for Aryx what it will look like when Rusty has him beaten to a pulp and getting fucked from behind, it’s pure poetry. Rusty swings his hips and mimes slapping Aryx ass like a rodeo rider. It’s hilarious, humiliating, and, frankly, hot.
There’s a bizarre cut in the middle of the taunting. Clearly the boys were getting some coaching about where to go with their trash talk. As the camera’s zoom in on each fighter, Rusty brings up BG East by name. Aryx, who’s simply not nearly as quick on his feet, awkwardly works in a slam on BG East. “I’m standing on the ruins of BG East!” he boasts. Rusty finally gets tired of trash talking circles around Aryx, and he growls and pumps his stunning body like a charging bull.
One of the most recent appearances Aryx made in BG East featured him humiliated at the hands of massive muscle boy Eddy Rey and the BG East boss himself, Kid Leopard. It makes a nice story to tell of Aryx getting run out of town by BG East and then showing up at Can-Am as if he’d wiped his hands of his former masters. Between you and me, Aryx isn’t one of my favorite fighters to follow. Rusty, on the other hand, is rising stock in my personal homoerotic wrestling pornboy competition in my mind. I’d pony up my credit card to own Rusty snapping and snarling at champion Mitch Colby, but frankly I’d prefer a BG East-style production here to a Can-Am piece.
I don’t know if the trash talk in Arena 2 is a serious attempt by Can-Am to take a dig at BG East. Like I said yesterday, I think they offer two distinctly different types of products, and Can-Am poaching Aryx does not blur the lines of the differing styles of the two companies. When I’m looking for some domination porn with a wrestling appetizer, I’ll probably keep turning to Can-Am. When I’m looking for some homoerotic wrestling kink with a porn chaser, I like BG East. At this point, I’m just keeping my fingers crossed for a Rusty/Mitch throw down in Boston…

Cockheads Revisited

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Last week I lingered for a while considering the place of the erection in homoerotic wrestling. I propose that different companies tell fundamentally different stories in the way they script the wrestling hard-on. Where BG East frequently tells the story of the erection as a signal in the midst of combat, communicating that the battle itself is a turn on, Can-Am, it seems to me, tells a distinctly different tale.

Actually, I think Can-Am typically has one of two stories to tell. One story is sexual lust deferred long enough to grapple a little before devolving into head on sex. Gear Play is a good example. Alex and Michel are hot, hot, hot for each other in the locker room. Rolling around a capturing one another in various gear is explicitly the story of foreplay (“gearplay”). From the title to the climax, this match up is heading one direction. This is a major plus for body worship (particularly of Alex… mmmm…). This isn’t really about the heat of the combat though. The erections are in the foreground, and the battle is really just background.
The other primary story Can-Am likes to tell is the victorious erection. Frequently, there’s a clear line drawn between the tussle and the hustle. Even naked combat is often limp, but as one hunk beats down his opponent and begins his total control, the scene changes to erotic ownership. Like in Can-Am’s most recent release, Arena 1, cocks are unleashed and engorged after victory is won. The erection is suddenly foregrounded starkly, and whatever domination is left to be had, it’s more about property than plot development. This is a stuff-it story: as soon as the hard-on arrives, it’s shoved into an orifice and the 70’s disco music starts playing (just in my mind).
That said, Can-Am occasionally throws some battlers on the mat who clearly get off on the battle itself. In Mat Muscle Mayhem 2 (someone enjoys alliteration almost as much as I do!), omnipresent Dino Phillips squeezes “German tourist” Rolf Heinrick’s head between his knees. Rolf may say “Nein!”, but the tent pole holding up his g-string is screaming, “Ja, ja, ja!”
Tattooed god, David Taylor, is a standout Can-Am performer for his marathon erection. From start to finish in his work in Wrestle Bait, David’s manhood is pressing at the seams (well, buttons, really), of his tear away trunks. The guy getting off on watching, Jobe, simply has to remark on David’s excitement from before the opening bell. An extremely trim Rusty Stevens seems undaunted by David’s throbbing cock. About halfway through the fight, Rusty starts slapping at David’s persistent pointer, and David seems genuinely winded by a couple of the startling blows. In the end, though, this is a stuff-it match. Erections are primarily to be shoved down throats and up rectums.
As I remember, Brody’s grab of bodybuilder Dolph’s member in Supermatch 13 may not actually have occurred prior to Dolph’s excitement. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt, though, because I so enjoy this image of Dolph in shocked pain. He deserves it for that facial hair. I know opinions vary, but I for one enjoy a serious miss-match from time to time, such as massive slab of beef, Dolph, against sadistic twink Brody. These boys have to work to make it believable that Dolph wouldn’t simply crack Brody open and suck out the marrow for a mid-afternoon snack. A nicely oiled up cock-grab helps this this plot along.
I hate to conclude on a sour note, but I’d like to separate out my final comment/critique from the rest of the focus on Can-Am. A major turn off for me is when two hunks toss and grunt and squirm and squeeze, and then after a scene break, we find them across the room from one another jerking off. I assume it’s a function of hiring straight boys and marginally inhibited hunks, but watching two guys masturbate with their eyes closed, giving every appearance of struggling to ignore one another (while images of women-parts fill their heads), is a yawner for me. By no means is Can-Am the only company that plays this scene. But whenever I run across it, I consider part of my purchasing price a little wasted.

In the Mean Time

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I have a major project due today, and it’s sucking up all my creative juices (which sounds much hotter than it really is). Never one to want to leave you hanging, I’ve pulled together some pics of a model crush, Andrew Stetson.

A reader drew my attention to Andrew, based on my going on and on about hot bodies with tattoos. Andrew has both, and I was instantly smitten with him. The sight of Andrew toweling off, bare-assed in the bathtub, can get me up and eager any morning.
He’s quickly become the basis for a fictional character in my wrestling world. I’ve written him as smart, smooth, and cunning with a penchant for both inflicting humiliating suffering and getting the shit kicked out of him, depending on the context.
Of the many things I like about Andrew, the repeated pics of him tugging at his underwear is certainly one of them. The clear outline of his cock underneath his tighty whities doesn’t leave much to the imagination, which frees me to deploy my imagination elsewhere, such as devising scenes of Andrew helpless in someone’s over-the-knee backbreakers, his underwear hooked underneath his balls and that handful of pleasure squeezed tight in his opponent’s fist, just for humiliating kicks. Andrew stripped bare, beaten senseless, and splayed out vulnerably on the floor is quite an inspiring image for a wrestling kinkster like me.
Andrew is one of the most frequent characters to show up in my wrestling fiction fantasies to date, and he’s part of a story line that includes at least two more scenes to come pitting his tattooed gorgeousness against two other hardbody hunks. Once my current project is put to bed, I’ll enjoy an opportunity to finish up some matches I’ve been toiling away on for a couple of weeks now. Wish me luck! If all goes well, Andrew and his stunning blue eyes will have my full attention once again.

Another Side of Wrestling

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I can’t attest to really anything about JuicyLads.com other than the previews and non-member site. It appears to be, primarily, a jack-off site with a lot of straight British boys pleasuring themselves or having help from a woman. Trying to capitalize on our little corner of the gay porn kink world, they have previews of two wrestling matches out.

Apparent headliner, Britboy aka Steve, looks familiar to me. I’m thinking I’ve seen him, perhaps as one of the endless line of go-go boys featured by Chris Geary. When I have time I will likely dig some more to see if I can find him elsewhere. He’s stunning, and he’s featured in the two wrestling matches available for preview. He’s hotter by a factor of 20 with a hairy torso than smooth, but I’ll take what I can get.
The clip from his tussle against a tattooed boy in the briefest of speedos looks entertaining. I get the impression we’re watching two testosterone-charged pretty boys genuinely testing their muscles, speed and endurance against one another. Some occasional gimmicks pop up, like a little less than convincing test of strength, and the final victory pose is transparently scripted. Other than that, some nice grunting, tossing, and dominating.
The setting is a little reminiscent of BG East’s early Private Bouts rompus room. Very little geography to work with, and some exercise equipment must be carefully avoided. I’d generally give it a weak score for set up, except that this sort of tells a hot story. These are two muscle studs at the gym late one night, clearing away the equipment, laying down some mats, and stripping to their speedos to see who can come out on top.
Although Britboy is the headliner and muscle face, the boy in green wins me over (as he does Britboy). At first, his haircut is distracting me. He looks like he just rolled out of bed and took some scissors haphazardly to his own head. But once he mounts Britboy and handily controls the muscle stud underneath him, I find myself warming up to him. Once he climbs on top to snarl and growl while flexing out a double bicep victory pose post-match, I definitely want to see more of him owning Britboy. The rest of the products at JuicyLads don’t really speak to me (straight guys jerking or getting sucked by women just doesn’t do it). So I don’t imagine this wrestling as a side dish is enough to get me to pull out my credit card. But the side of wrestling is tantalizing, and I’ll keep my eye on the menu in the future.

Pecs in the News

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My “thing” for hunky newsmen is well-established. Just last week, I was going on and on about my nomination of Anderson Cooper to be a new gay superhero. A couple of days ago, Towleroad pointed me toward a snarky piece by the NY Times fashion writer, bemoaning the “Anderson Cooper effect” of newsmen dressing casually, and particularly in tight t-shirts in order to show off their buff physiques. Apparently, we are to believe that this is a tragedy. Apparently the good old days were better, when any old white guy with jowls and elbow patches on his sport coat could be trusted to speak with the voice of authority. I assume the NY Times fashion writer must have in mind those same good old days when people of color and women were entirely absent from the news media and the only images of gay people to be found on camera were pencil mustached sissies with bows in their hair.

Anyway, I was initially feeling a little defensive of my gay superhero, Anderson. Sure, he can take care of himself. I have no doubt Anderson could put that “buff physique” to good use cracking the NY Times fashion writer like a walnut with those awesome biceps (I’d buy a ticket to that show). But on reading the article in question, the reporter also calls out a new face/body I’d not noticed before.
Jason Carroll is officially my newest newsman crush. And speaking of crush, just imagine those guns wrapped around you in a bearhug. I realize that I’m playing into the argument of the NY Times article, that the news is more about entertainment and sex than news (has someone been reading my wrestling fiction!?). But short of a time machine back to the 1950’s, the days of the valiant (old white) newsman with a paunch and horned-rimmed glasses are over, and I’m pretty okay with that. Until there’s a revolution overthrowing the global capitalist hegemony and tearing down the culture of the commodification of everything, I say bring on the buff boys of CNN!

To ever (ever, ever, ever) put Jason in a sport coat and tie would be ridiculous. It’s like those expensive sports cars parked on the street with the ugly canvas draped over top of them. If you’re going to leave something beautiful out in public, show it off, for God’s sake! To be honest, at first glance, I think Jason looks just a little bit too tweezed for my tastes.
But then he flexes those softballs on his upper arms and suddenly I can find absolutely nothing at all wrong with this man. Look at those bulging shoulders and pecs (as if you could tear your eyes away from them)! He’s pretty smooth on camera. I totally buy the assessment that he looks like he just pumped out 20 push ups and his taking every opportunity to flex his fantastically vascular guns. And frankly, I prefer my horrific world news delivered this way.
Jason Carroll is now on my radar and starring in my imaginative fantasies. He clearly doesn’t have the news credibility and polish of Anderson, but I think if Anderson were willing to take on a sidekick, they’d make an unbeatable superduo. The bitter queens will likely continue to misdirect their self-hatred toward Jason’s gorgeousness, but I for one am picturing some nasty muscle domination and humiliation that only two sadistic gym bunnies could deliver. I have a strong suspicion that there will be a new tag team wrestling match in the Newsmen division in the near future.