Get Out of My Dreams (and Into My Car)

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I’m beginning to believe that there actually must be a real, live Sookie Stackhouse who can read minds – because the scene with Alexander Skarsgård naked in bed in True Blood last night was straight out of my dreams. Superherofan has some nice captures of the scene. My only problem is why they insisted on writing me out of the scene and inserting Anna Paquin. Her naked boobs are such a mood killer, though nothing could entirely take the sexy out of that glimpse of Alexander’s ass crack and his smiling face staring deeply into my eyes… (okay, in the show it was Anna Paquin’s eyes, but that’s not the way it played out in my head).

My female friends tell me that misogyny is at the root of gay male culture. Without a need to negotiate with the opposite sex for sex, so I’m told, gay men are all too happy to write women out of the picture entirely. And, true enough, there are no women in any of my gay wrestling fiction. Left to my own imagination, I’ve written them entirely out of the world. But it’s my erotic fantasy world, not my reality. Just because I’m a Kinsey 6, it doesn’t mean that I’m not happy to have female friends, colleagues, confidants… I just don’t want them showing up in my sexual fantasies.
It’s a mine field in the world of gay wrestling porn, to try to avoid the intrusion of women. A search of YouTube for wrestling vids invariably turns out countless “mixed wrestling” clips. Some of the primary sources of satisfaction for my gay wrestling fetishism also produce straight wrestling fetish works as well (with some of the same guys). It’s not that I think that entrepreneurs shouldn’t supply products for straight wrestling fetishists. But still, in the words of Lisa Kudrow, “Note to self: I don’t want to SEE that!”

Oh, to be a Wingman

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You might think from reading this blog that all I do, and all I’ve ever done, is watch television. That’s not the case, though I do admit that television certainly was my third parent growing up, and we still maintain a very close and loving relationship. I stumbled across “In Plain Sight” last week on USA. The moment Cristian de la Fuente appeared on screen, I bookmarked the show for a return visit. Just for the record, if I were a U.S. Marshall with the Witness Protection Program, I’d totally blow my cover (so to speak) for a stunningly beautiful man like that – professional ethics be damned. And he’s a lieutenant in Chile’s Air Force reserve? I LOVE Latino hunks in uniform! Usually I think of someone who appears on Dancing with the Stars as on their last legs, but I’d like to see much, much more of this Chilean stunner.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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I clearly remember seeing the episode of Hart to Hart, guest starring Mr. Universe Frank Zane. I was a pre-adolescent in a motel room on a family vacation. My family was in the room, and I desperately wanted some alone time with just me, the TV, and Frank Zane flexing. The premise of the “charity muscle show” was contrived to justify intense and deliberate body worship. The YouTube clip is heavily edited, but you get the idea of the body worship theme. Frank Zane is in his posing trunks, oiled up, with dozens of people in formal wear watching and applauding each flex. All eyes are riveted on him, as a muzak version of the Village People’s “Macho Man” plays in the background. The camera zooms in, lingering on each of Zane’s bulging muscle groups, one at a time. A woman leans over and says to Stefanie Powers, breathlessly, “My goodness! This never happens in Pasadena! All we have is a parade.” Just like that exuberant woman, my little gay heart was fluttering, too. There was something particularly erotic about the wealthy audience in tuxedos and formal dresses being entertained by the mostly naked hard body. It smacks of the voyeur or perhaps the power of dominance and submission, as Robert Wagner applauds, restrained but appreciative, as Zane flashes a side chest pose and the camera zooms in on his contracting pec and his bouncing brown nipple. For just an instant, Zane flashes a cocky grin, letting us know that he knows that he’s worship-worthy, that he’s earned our adoration, that although he’s the one almost naked, he’s in command of the moment. That is, of course, the essential plot to every bodybuilding competition, isn’t it? So perhaps this didn’t teach me to be gay, but it certainly gave me an early lesson in the erotic art of worshipping the male form, of the exchange of power between watching and being watched, of the breathless thrill of watching biceps bulge and pecs pump.

Succumbing to Temptation

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Okay, I admit, I may end up needing my stomach pumped if I continue to overdose on vampire-kitsch. You’d think that the relentless onslaught of hot hunks on True Blood would hold my attention from week to week. But my eyes have strayed, and I’m now in a love-triangle. It’s me, True Blood, and Being Human. BBC productions have a total different feel, with significantly less special effects or stunning sets. They’re leading men aren’t typically the muscled studs that come out of Hollywood (and Hollywood-like) shows. But they have a charm, and Aiden Turner and Russell Tovey from Being Human have charmed the pants off me… so to speak. Their story lines are sexy, and they’re both just adorable. Turner’s hairy chest and dark eyes are dizzying, and Tovey is one long drink of water on a hot day, with entirely useful ears for all sorts of naughty purposes. I’m also excited to see stories that indicate Tovey is an openly gay actor. I wouldn’t have guessed that I’d get into another vampire (and werewolf… and ghost) show. Others have left me uninterested. But BBC has lured me into this adulterous relationship, as I guiltily cheat on my primary love, True Blood. I’m inspired to bring this whole love triangle into my gay wrestling fiction in the very near future!

Compulsory and Conspicuous

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This morning on Good Morning America we were reminded several times of how butch and heterosexual Chris Cuomo is. They stopped the show at the end of hour one for Chris to announce that he has successfully impregnated his wife for the third time. There was applause (really?). They also discussed at length People magazine’s upcoming “Broadcast Dad” article about what a devoted husband and father he is. He teared up waxing on about all the good things in his life that come from his wife. Then just to drive home the theme, they aired another installment in Cuomo’s provocative (and not-at-all-gratuitous) “Tough Jobs” series, showing him doing interior demolition swinging a crowbar and removing floor tiles with a power tool.
It’s all very subtle, and you have to read between the lines, but I think Chris Cuomo may, in fact, be straight. The clip of him holding the jackhammer between his legs as he removed floor tiles was almost reminiscent of gay porn, but all the clues together suggest heterosexuality. Notably, Sam Champion was off today, so perhaps they wanted to provide a counterpoint to Chris and Sam’s bromance without Sam around to break the mood by flirting with him.
Just for the record, despite my infatuation with the 6’2″, dark, handsome, curly-haired Italian hardbody attorney, I don’t actually think that his heterosexual bona fides are news. Frankly, I’d much prefer that he just look pretty, read the tele-prompter, and leave the rest to my imagination.

Woah!

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I’m not sure which came first: my latest obsession with big pecs or the recent match in my gay wrestling fiction series featuring Joey Lawrence (which definitely spotlights his pecs). Besides making for good inspiration for a wrestling character, I’m left wondering, what happened to Joey? What series of choices transformed him from the floppy-haired kid starring opposite Nell Carter into the disturbingly cartoonish character he looks like today. Did he feel insecure about being the adorable child actor, so he overcompensated by bulking up? Somewhere between then and now he was just plain gorgeous.

Personally, I’m all for the shaved head.

And God knows I’ve made it clear I enjoy the big pecs. But in this photo, he’s got more cleavage than Dolly Parton, and that crosses over the line from sexy to creepy.
And please, please, please, his personal trainer must tell him to lay off the supplements and the heavy upper body work, and do some squats. He’s totally out of proportion, and it looks a little freakish. I’m worried that his legs are going to suddenly snap like twigs underneath the weight of his oversized upper body. I’m not saying that someone needs perfect proportion to be hot, but seriously, to be so overdeveloped upstairs with skinny legs and no butt downstairs… isn’t that the classic caricature of the musclehead? As obsessed as I may become with one body part, symmetry and proportion can make the difference between totally hot and vaguely creepy.

My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun

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Speaking of obsessing over body parts, I’m a big advocate for the real deal. My best guess is that Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs (and Ford commercials) is 100% real and sports entirely worship-worthy pecs. Every attempt to find a shortcut to crafting a hot male body falls short. The body is so beautiful because it lives and grows and responds, so slicing it open and sticking in a bag of silicone just doesn’t cut it (so to speak). Check out these before and after shots of this dude’s chest.

Seriously, now, the before shots look so much better! What a shame. It looks like someone blew air into his upper pecs like a beach ball.
When it comes to “supplements,” I think some guys manage them better than others. I’m sure a lot of the models, wrestlers and actors I lust after get an artificial boost to enhance their workouts and fill out their curves. But when it goes overboard, when a body packs on more muscle mass than the frame can reasonably hold, when pecs start looking like breasts and guys have to swing their legs from side to side to walk a straight line because their thighs are so thick… well, that’s really not so sexy. I’m sure that gay men like me that obsess about big, beautiful muscle men contribute to the body-facism that has crept into masculinity in the same way it has long been part of feminity. But as for me, the nips, tucks, implants and hormones aren’t nearly as sexy as the hot, hard working, beautifully imperfect male form. Give me Mike Rowe covered in mud, naked in the shower any day!

Poundable Pecs

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Do you ever get fixated on one particular body part? I do, and it varies. These days, I’m entranced by big pecs. Sometimes I’m more obsessed with legs (often, specifically, calves). Sometimes it’s asses. Occasionally it’s packages. But these days, it’s all about the pecs. In my surfing for pecs, I came across a Sexy Black Dudes blog with some very fine men, many of whom sport fantastic pecs. I’m absolutely mesmerized by this photo (above). My only complaint about the blog is the lack of detail on the models or sources of photos. As for the photos themselves: fantastic.

And speaking of fantastic and entrancing pecs, Mehcad Brooks once again delivered a spellbinding performance on True Blood last night, literally ripping his t-shirt off and getting into some kinky rough stuff (with a woman, but still, in my imagination it’s easy enough to remove her from the scenario and insert me). I’m thinking there may be a strip-wrestling match in my gay wrestling fiction sometime in the near future…
And finally, in this stream-of consciousness posting I conclude by commenting once again on Alexander Skarsgård’s appearance in True Blood last night as well. In his skin tight muscle shirt, he wasn’t showing off his pecs, but his muscled, broad back and shoulders were simply stunning. He is one huge, 6’4″ mass of svenska beauty! He also, finally, shared a scene with Ryan Kwanten’s character (whose most notable feature has to be his ass, though he has a beautiful chest as well), which only fuels my fantasy of a Brooks/Kwanten/Skårsgard ménage à trois. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The casting director of True Blood deserves a raise (and our profound gratitude)!

A Side of Wrestling

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Another “wrestling on the side” type of video, PowerMen.com has taken some notable stabs at the wrestling genre. In honor of a recent three-way match I just posted to my gay celebrity wrestling fiction group, I thought I’d give a shout out to one of the three-way wrestling (and workout, and worship, and boxing) vids publicly accessible. These fellows have a little more of a roid look than I generally get into, but there’s something endearing about the way that they try to maneuver their overly muscled bodies around in an attempt to grapple. The big guy clearly has no stamina whatsoever, but the boy in blue has some impressive flexibility for being so musclebound. They’re clearly more into being worshipped than in the wrestling, though, as they frequently get distracted with posing, licking their biceps, comparing physiques. In another stab at a wrestling-ish vid, PowerMen constructed the story of two swollen Eastern European muscle heads, squeezed into painted-on jeans over thongs, who get drunk, go back to their hotel room, and inexplicably start to grapple after comparing physiques. Once again, the models are a little more roided out than I typically enjoy and the wrestling is weak, but their commitment to the drunken straight-boys-go-gay storyline is pretty adorable. PowerMen.com hasn’t produced the most entertaining gay wrestling matches, but still, they get a “B-” for effort, in my book.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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It hardly needs mentioning that Steve Reeves must bear some of the responsibility for turning me and at least a couple generations of us gay. In my childhood, Hercules movies ran and re-ran on television on Saturday afternoons (often alternating with the aforementioned Tarzan flicks). Of course Hercules was also portrayed by actors other than Reeves, such as the very memorable Three Stooges Meets Hercules.

But it was Reeves’ ridiculously handsome face and dizzyingly, perfectly muscled body that fueled some of my earliest sexual fantasies. His torso was almost always bare and oiled up. By definition, he was perpetually engaged in grunting tests of strength. And, the coup de gras, he almost invariably wrestled in every movie. Watching Hercules grappling, dominating, and possessing his opponents must get a great deal of the credit for my lifelong obsession with wrestling body-beautifuls. In Hercules Unchained, Reeves fights an extended battle with the pro-wrestler Primo Carnera. Hercules is such a dismissively cocky heel in this scene! Bearhugs, full nelsons, cocky carries… all seeds planted in the fertile imagination of a gay boy.
In addition to cementing the homoerotic images of wrestling, Reeves’ Hercules also taught me the joys of body worship. In the 1959 Hercules, beautiful but lesser young men literally throw themselves at Hercules in adoration. As Hercules watches perched on a rock above, soldiers in training spar and exhibit their feats of strength and athletic prowess (9:14) in an effort to catch Hercules’ eye. One elder observes that the young men “have all become fanatics since Hercules arrived” (9:41) . The one eager young man who pole vaults up to Hercules’ perch (0:06) is clearly in love, desperate to worship at the feet of the bodybuilder demigod. “I wanted you to notice me!” he says passionately (0:20), despite his father’s disapproval. Like the good muscle Daddy, Hercules both disciplines and encourages the young cub who offers himself to the son of Zeus. In the sequel Hercules Unchained, as Ulysses tries to convince the amnesiac Hercules who he is, Hercules strips his torso bare and stretches across a table for an oil massage. Lustful body worship, infatuation with the cocky muscle stud, the eager bottom offering himself to the dominant top, the passion of sweaty, body-to-body wrestling… all the wonderful lessons that Hercules taught me as a gay boy.