True Beef

True Blood. If you watch it and read this blog, that’s pretty much all I have to say to instantly arouse you, isn’t it? After four and a half seasons of beefier and more beautiful, frequently naked, stunningly gorgeous men, and I’m like Pavlov’s dog. Just the initials TB make me salivate.

Joe Manganiello is sculpture!

Season 5 is working me harder than ever, with the undisputed leader of the pack of muscle hunks being big, and I mean BIG Joe Manganiello. The last couple of episodes have finally featured him shirtless and hinting at the thought of him dropping trou. Even in shadows and half-clothed, the sight of this man makes me swoon like an antebellum Southern Belle.

Joe just has to reach for hit pants and I break out into a sweat!

Big, BIG Joe’s superhuman physique has inspired two appearances in my homoerotic wrestling fiction. He crushed two opponents at once in a 3-way barnburner to start, coming out on top of werewolf also-rans Taylor Lautner and Russell Tovey, and walking away with the undisputed title of Top Dog as well as tasty morsel Russell slung over his gargantuan shoulder. He went down in a shower of shame as tag team partners with fellow TB alum, Mehcad Brooks, unable to handle the offense of Gerard Butler and Henry Cavill (with outside assistance from Sean Maguire). Joe inspires about a dozen different homoerotic wrestling fantasies in me every day, so count on seeing him again, and again, and again…

Alexander has Joe under his control. Now there’s a fantasy!

I’m going to discuss the current season now, so if you’re going to go into a tizzy because I might spoil it for you, stop reading. Enough said. You’re big boys, so let me just say that seeing Alexander Skarsgård’s character “glamour” big, hunky, shirtless Joe in this week’s episode set off all sorts of explosions in my mind (and pants). Alexander has appeared in a couple of homoerotic wrestling matches in Producer’s Ring as well, but unlike Joe, Alex has climbed his way to the top both times. If I had to guess, I’d say that these two will show up in the ring together before too long, either in opposite corners or as another tag team. I don’t know which, yet.

Ryan Kwanten looks ready to rumble.
I know I’m not alone in picturing Ryan Kwanten as a homoerotic wrestling god either. Just check Sunday’s interview with homoerotic wrestler of the month, Cage Thunder, in which he names Ryan as the one piece of meat he’d put at the front of the line to get the full Cage Thunder ring welcome!
Even Ryan can’t keep his hands off his hot, naked ass!

I’ve pictured Ryan’s sweet ass in private matches three times in my homoerotic wrestling fiction. The first time, he couldn’t control his cock when faced with the mouthwatering muscle of Jamie Bamber (and really, who could blame him?). His second match saw him fare little better, getting jacked off into a damp pool of loser-hood by the powerful thighs of Shemar Moore. But although it may take him a little while, Ryan learns his lesson and takes down a big boy when he faces Justin Bruening.

Christopher Meloni is a beast in my homoerotic wrestling imagination!
But if there’s been a sexy hunk of beef who’s haunted my homoerotic wrestling fiction more than any other, it has to be season 5 TB newbie, Christopher Meloni. Sweet god almighty, they simply had to have sewn him into the blue polo shirt he wore in this past episode. His bulging shoulders and back look like their about to split the fabric every time he moves. In TB, he’s a sadistic, power-hungry, psychologically domineering and physically dominating force of nature. In other words, he’s exactly like I picture him in the ring!
I’ve got plans for those luscious pecs!
And here’s another spoiler. His abrupt exit from the show made me throw stuff at my television. Getting staked by an ugly, skinny super villain transported me back to watching pro wrestling as a kid. I used to get so turned on by the physically dominant, gorgeous muscle boys in the ring, and then find myself provoked nearly to tears to watch the clearly physically inferior heel lie, cheat, and steal his way to crushing my muscleman hero. Classic. And as bitter as I feel about seeing big Christopher shrivel up into a pile of ashes, there’s something beautiful and nostalgic about being taken back to that place right at the root of my homoerotic wrestling kink.  Happily, Christopher lives on in my homoerotic wrestling fiction, due to make a record setting 5th appearance in the Producer’s Ring, flexing those guns and bringing the pretty boys to their knees. Damn, TB works me so hard!

Truly Sexier and Sexier!

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousands times: winner of “best casting on television” for all time is True Blood. Hands down. The show has fed my homoerotic wrestling fantasies since season 1. My celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction has featured True Blood sex machine Ryan Kwanten being dominated and milked dry by the likes of Jamie Bamber and Shemare Moore, before pulling his act together and besting giant powerhouse Jason Bruening.

Ryan Kwanten in post-coital existential crisis in last night’s True Blood.

Vampire Bill, aka Stephen Moyer turned out to be quite the nasty heel in his underhanded tag team victory alongside Sam Trammel, risking an English backlash in London taking down one of my long-time personal favorites, Russell Tovey and soon to be Hobbit-dwarf, Aiden Turner.

Stephen Moyer checks out Alexander Skarsgård’s pecs (and who blames him?!)

I hold the belief that, in the aggregate, the sexiest men on the planet are the Swedes, and at the head of the pack is True Blood vampire sex stud, Alexander Skarsgård. This explains why Alexander crushed Ashton Kutcher into the mat, shutting the sexy funny man up for good in the Producer’s Ring (at least in front of the camera). Soon afterward, he settled a score for national pride, showing Chris Hemsworth precisely what he thought about the idea of an Aussie being cast as the Norse god, Thor.  I’m not sure who I could imagine besting the 6’4″ blond bombshell on the rise, but if there was one person in my homoerotic wrestling imagination who might pull it off, it very well could be True Blood’s newest resident hunk, Christopher Meloni.

Low rise is never low enough when it comes to the long, lean, gorgeous body of this Swede!

I simply cannot get enough of Christopher Meloni! He came roaring into my homoerotic wrestling imagination making erotic sculpture out of Milo Ventimiglia and Adrian Pasdar, with a little help from his tag team partner Sendhil Ramamurthy. The scene-stealer that he is, Christopher was quickly cast in a singles competition against fantasyman Teddy Sears, showing that Christopher is born to heel.  Still another match was scheduled that was supposed to see Chase Crawford bring badboy Christopher down a rung, but with charisma like Meloni’s, Crawford was destined to be broken (literally). With Christopher’s ego swelling dangerously, the production team in my homoerotic wrestling universe had to take matters into their own hands, and it was finally gorgeous fitness model Ben Godfre who brought the vicious heel to heel, followed by each member of Eli Brody’s executive team taking their shots and pent up frustrations out on the humbled hunk.

Christopher Meloni brings his Chippendales routine to TB.

Not one of these True Blood hunks has faded from my fantasies, and with Christopher packed so tightly into a muscle-bulging designer suit in the past couple of episodes this season, I was aching to the core to see him unleash the beast. Last night he finally gave a hint of what drives me insane, peeling slowly, teasingly out of his suit coat and tie and making me drool to watch him unbutton his dress shirt and slide it slowly, so slowly off.

Bulging shoulders, powerful pecs, a fantasy body sending imaginations exploding!

Fuck, this man is hot! He clearly worked out just right to get into True Blood shape.  He’s bulging in all the right places, lean and sculpted in the rest. He’s biceps and shoulders are huge, rock hard, and pulsing with vascularity.  Damn, I can guarantee we’re seeing now-company man Christiopher Meloni back in bulging trunks and climbing into the ring again in a homoerotic wrestling fantasy borrowing heavily from the brilliant casting of True Blood!

Christopher Meloni’s days in my homoerotic wrestling fiction are most definitely not over!

True Skin

Joe’s guest post yesterday reminded me that there’s new True Blood skin on display, with the launch of season 4 a couple of weeks ago. The beautiful bodies are all wrapped in darkness and shadow, which is slightly frustrating but undeniably appropriate to the genre. No Joe Manganiello beef yet, but the “next ons” look like he’s showing up soon.

Alexander Skarsgård showed up shirtless at the end of the episode, but let’s face it, he’s sex on a stick whether he’s in one of those skin tight shirts or out.  Alexander has been an unstoppable beast in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, and looking this good makes me suspect he will continue to show up there.

A few weeks ago Joe was marveling at the hot piece of meat that is Marshall Allman, a new addition in season 3 and happily returning for season 4. Not to spoil too much for anyone, but Marshall’s particular skill set requires that he strip naked (now that’s a sweet superpower!). Therefore, we’ve come to appreciate that astonishingly round bubble butt of his on more than one happy occasion.

This last episode delivered more Marshall ass in the shadows. When he gave us a profile, though, I have to say those luscious glutes took my breath away!

Sam Trammell’s character also is required by all that is good and holy to strip naked frequently, illustrating what I believe is precisely the firmly convex belly that Joe was so admiring in yesterday’s post. For me, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from those thick, round pecs of his.

And one last glimpse of True Blood gratuitous nakedness, Stephen Moyer’s character had some shirtless hotness and a bare-assed sex scene this week. While I know many of you don’t have my affliction, I still say the naked woman on the bottom here is a major buzz kill. If I put my hand across her face and squint just a little, though, my imagination is capable of rewriting the body on the bottom into one with a very happy cock.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m sure. Allan Ball is a genius.
Is it wrong that I find this incredibly sexy?

Of course, in my mind I easily photoshop out the woman and replace her with me. That hand on Sam Witwer’s bloody thigh is my hand. I’m the one perched cozily between his knees. I’m the one that’s been sucking the life out of every inch of his beautiful body. I’m the one that’s been squeezing his sweet, hard pecs with my right hand and massaging his balls with my left hand shoved underneath the bottom of his underwear.

Oh wait, that last bit actually doesn’t happen in this scene from Being Human via SyFy, at all. But you know me, I re-write scenes in my imagination all the time. The sexy vampire shows up in my homoerotic fantasies repeatedly, I note. I don’t find blood, in and of itself, erotic. But Sam, covered in stage blood, slipping and sliding on the bathroom tiles in an orgasmic feeding frenzy all works for me well and above what Sam’s barely clad body, by itself, does. Should this disturb me?

The same scene (really) from the original BBC version brings to mind the unavoidable comparison, and I’m hard pressed to say whether it’s Sam Witwer or Aidan Turner I’d rather be sliding across the blood soaked bathroom floor with. I hate Aidan’s floppy, needs-to-be-shampooed-more-often hair, so that’s a plus in Sam’s column. Sam also has a harder body. But damn, Aidan’s dark, hairy body along with the Irish accent evens the score in a blood pumping heartbeat. This is so much closer a call than I’d have guessed a few weeks ago. Only one good way to really sort this out, of course. These two suckers simply must fight it out, and there’s no place that will work other than a bath house arena in Seattle with boys in towels grunting and cheering them on to a final, decisive, explosive decision with copious amounts of body fluids.

Of course, if there’s a battle of beautiful boys for whom I’d be willing to overlook a little homicidal blood lust, whether it’s Aidan or Sam coming out on top, he’d have men of my fantasies waiting their turn for a shot. Slather Alexander Skarsgård in any liquid, including blood, and it’ll only make me swoon that much more for the giant Swede. Alexander is undefeated in the fictional wrestling competition in my imagination, and he plans on staying that way.

For all my infatuation with vampires, I still haven’t seen Vampire Diaries. It sounds bad from a distance. Still, Ian Somerhalder as a sexy, naked vamp is an inspiring picture. Ian got his ass beat hard in his only appearance in my wrestling fiction, but he put up a really good fight. I could imagine that he’d be nursing a hunger for some redemption.

And speaking of redemption, Sean Faris got beat bad and humiliated overwhelmingly in his only appearance in my wrestling fiction, losing hard and nasty in bare-assed action with Brad Pitt (specifically, with Brad’s bare ass smothering Sean’s smarmy face). But Sean joining Vampire Diaries makes me give him a second look. Perhaps Sean is primed to bite and claw his way back up the ladder of success. Of course, Brad also played a smoking hot vampire as well, so he may be primed for a return to action.

We’ve seen a Werewolf Rumble in my homoerotic wrestling imagination. Sooner or later, there’ll have to be a Blood Sucker Beatdown. Once the bitter yoke of work-related writing projects eases up, I’ll be posting more fiction.

Flexing Our Muscles

Regular readers are aware that I’m a big, big booster of the erotic imagination. Frankly, I think the distinction between “the erotic” and “the erotic imagination” is almost nil. Bodies are mostly just sacks of fluid wrapped up in skin-packages. If you absolutely remove the imagination, even the most gorgeous naked body is… well, mundane. So sex-for-sale airbrushes and pumps and primps real bodies to turn them into imaginary objects of lust. Sex-for-sale writes provocative, impossible stories to allow mundane bodies to inhabit our erotic imaginations, turning them into gorgeous hunks that ignite fantasies of what we would think, feel, and do with said fantasyman right in front of us. Even right in front of us, the bodies we adore, wrestle, fuck and make love to inhabit our imaginations much more evocatively than just our literal senses. Even the most stunningly hot, mouthwatering hunk of muscled physical perfection is – without our imaginations – just a body, with aches and intolerances and acne and skin tags and weird birthmarks and pigeon toes and bow-legs and… well, the inevitableaccumulation of mundane human existence.
But then we imagine. We put a story together. We mentally remove the clothing. We blur out the wonky bits. We apply our tunnel vision to the nice parts. We mute the cringeworthy laugh or the habitual, gross clearing of the sinuses. We freeze-frame on the particularly flattering angles and overlook the odd divots . In short, we lust because we imagine.
The cover of Rolling Stone is popping up everywhere, featuring three of the main characters of True Blood in a 3-way naked, blood-bathed embrace. This is, in itself, an exercise in the lustful imagination. This scene is out of context. It doesn’t appear in True Blood. It’s full of implication and allusion, but it relies entirely on the imagination to give it a story. It’s been meticulously posed in order to make it PG-13-ish, carefully and barely obstructing any glimpse of pubic hair, penis, testicle, or female nipple. But, obviously, those parts are implied and inevitably imagined. Personally, my eyes continue to be drawn down the long stretch of Alexander Skarsgård’s tight, hard abs and into my imagination of his beautiful cock hiding demurely and just barely behind Anna Paquin’s leg. I’ve imagined that fantastic, gorgeous naked body many times, most fondly in fictional wrestling scenarios. Stephen Moyer, while not asmuch an object of my lust, also has made an appearance in my wrestling fiction. Nothing at all against her, but Anna Paquin has never appeared in an erotic fantasy of mine.

Pretty On the Outside has done a sweet mash-up for you and me to blur the lines some more in service of our erotic imaginations. Rather than an Anna Paquin sandwich between two slices of Alexander Skarsård and Stephen Moyer, it’s now a Stephen Moyer sandwich between naked titans Skarsgård and Joe Manganiello. And isn’t this precisely the work of the erotic imagination? To disassemble and reassemble? To recast and and reconfigure. Now, remove Stephen Moyer from the second mash-up and insert me (or you). And then set the scene in motion.

My point, friends, is that a kink is simply a variation on a human theme. Our capacities for the erotic are an extension of our facility in exercising our imaginations. I suspect that you and I probably possess more vivid and well-exercised imaginations than the general population, but the mechanics are basically the same. If anything, perhaps we’re just the finely toned athletes of the erotic, because we flex those muscles more often.

Get Out of My Dreams


Superherofan describes True Blood as “outgaying” itself with this week’s episode. I describe True Blood as ripped straight from my erotic fantasies (sans the wrestling), which I suppose is the same thing as outgaying itself. Alexander Skarsgård has starred in many of my wrestling fantasies and sexual fantasies, and his seduction of Theo Alexander’s character this week was spot on.

In my fantasies, Alexander would be surprisingly open to a man-on-man sexual liaison, just like in the plot of True Blood. In my fantasies, he obeys my command to take his clothes off, just like in the episode.

Yep, just like in the episode, my fantasies include an abundance of suck-face, and just to lay it all out there, I also picture Alexander on top, cradling my cheek, looking lustfully into my eyes.
Yep, both of us naked, Alexander taking his sweet, sweet time exploring and adoring every inch of my body.

Okay, everything about this last scene works in my fantasies as well, except that I don’t end up with a wooden stake in my heart. There’s also some exchange of bodyscissors and pec pounding in my imagination, and Alexander eventually makes me submit in a naked figure-4 headlock. But other than those few details, I swear Alan Ball has ripped this scene straight out of an oft-replayed fantasy scenario in my fondest imagination. God, this series is awesome…

J-8… Miss!


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.