Producer’s Ring: Evans vs. Engel

—continued from The News Division: Match 2

The News Division: Match 3

Evans vs. Engel

by Bard


After Thomas’ defeat of Rob, Rob slammed doors and refused to make eye contact with anyone once they made it back up the cliff.  Rob showered off and then slammed his bedroom door behind him to sulk in seclusion.  The rest of the talent sat around the kitchen while Thomas took a long, hot shower.

“Holy shit!” Carter laughed while he munched on an apple.  “I did NOT see that coming.  Seriously, Thomas is one bad ass!”

“He shouldn’t have humiliated him,” Chris muttered.  He took a drink of water from his glass, then continued, “He didn’t have to humiliate him.”

“That’s just it,” Carter said with a smirk.  “I think he did.  I think when you scratch beneath the surface, Thomas can’t help himself but be a sadistic whore.  It’s fantastic.  Though I must say, I’m not looking forward to facing him on the beach.”

Just at that moment, Thomas walked into the kitchen with one white towel wrapped around his tanned waist and another towel in his hand, drying his hair.

After a moment of awkward silence, Thomas shrugged and left the kitchen to kick his feet up on a couch in the adjacent living room.  When the others heard Eli’s voice, they followed Thomas into the living room to catch the patter.

“Very impressive, Thomas,” Eli was saying, his face framed in the plasma screen over the fireplace.  “There’s a whole segment of our audience that is literally light- headed with pleasure over the way you dispatched Rob.  I don’t think any of us honestly expected such a performance.”

Thomas looked down and didn’t respond.

“Now there are only two competitors left to face off in round 1.  So obviously, Carter and Richard, you’ll be up next.  Like the others, you’ll be fighting for a two year contract, but unlike the others, your contract will be with me.  As freelancers, I’m sure you can appreciate what an opportunity this will be for the victor.  You boys don’t command much marketshare, yet.  So this battle will be your ‘coming out,’ so to speak, for a fan base to build your career on.  So don’t disappoint.  You’ll be fighting this evening at 8pm.”

“In the dark?” Richard asked.

“Under stadium lights,” Eli responded.  He smiled and winked, and the plasma screen went blank.  The boys sat in silence, contemplating what this venture was doing to each of them.


At 8pm, the sun had set across the ocean and stadium lights were illuminating the sandy beach beneath the cliff.  All six men had climbed down the steps.  Thomas tried to catch Rob’s eye, to catch a glimpse of whether there was anything of their friendship left to salvage.  But Rob refused to make eye contact, glowering at the backs of Richard and Carter as they walked out onto the sand.

The horn sounded from the cliff above, and the fighters immediately crouched to face off.  Carter was darkly tanned, shirtless and wearing a yellow speedo.  His body was shaved smooth, and despite the night breeze, he was already glistening with sweat in the artificial lights.  Carter’s upper body was well muscled, not massive, but hard.  His baseball biceps tensed and his hands were held palms up to his opponent in preparation for the initial lock up.  Richard had never seen Carter out of his clothes before.  As Richard scanned Carter’s dark body, his eyes froze for a moment as he took in Carter’s thick thighs.  Carter’s legs were huge and shredded.  His thigh muscles tensed in a crouch, each muscle group popped out powerfully.  Carter’s calves were wide discs, veins pulsing visibly through his taught skin.  Richard made a mental note to avoid being trapped between Carter’s legs at all costs.

Carter was smiling commandingly, obviously checking out Richard’s shirtless body, clad only in a purple speedo.  Richard stood several inches shorter than Carter and had a boyish face that Carter surmised probably caused people to underestimate him.  Richard was pale, with light brown, nearly blond thin hair across his chest and down his legs.   Richard had hard, sculpted shoulders and thick arms, and his wrists and hands were corded with muscle and veins.  Carter guessed, correctly, that Richard was a rock climber, with an upper body strength not to be taken lightly.  Richard’s legs weren’t nearly as developed as his upper body, though Carter noticed admiringly that Richard had a notable, round, ass underneath his purple trunks.

“I’m going to take this fight,” Carter said confidently.  “The only question left to answer is how do you want to go down?”

Richard’s eyes involuntarily flicked down to Carter’s powerful legs.  Then Richard looked defiantly into Carter’s eyes, “Fuck you, Carter.  Someone needs to teach you a lesson.  If you think you can take me, beat me in a test of strength.”

Richard held his hands in front of him, palms up toward his opponent, fingers spread.  Carter knew this was playing into Richard’s obvious upper body strength, but he slowly raised his palms, and interlaced his fingers with Richard’s.  Carter felt Richard’s thickly calloused palms and fingers grasping his own powerfully.  Simultaneously, both men flexed their shoulders, arms and wrists, applying pressure to twist each other’s hands backward in a painful wrist lock.  Carter was initially surprised that the two seemed evenly matched at the moment, both mean clearly straining, but neither opponent dominating the other.  Then Richard’s lips parted and a low gutteral growl came through his gritted teeth, and suddenly Carter felt his wrists being pressed backward at a painful angle.  Exerting his full strength, Carter was unable to counter Richard’s powerful arms, and he fell to his knees with Richard pressing down with his upper body weight on Carter’s hyperextended palms.

Carter gasped in pain as he stared at his hands, willing his strength to turn the momentum his way.  Suddenly he felt Richard’s palms begin to give, but just as Carter thought Richard’s strength was beginning to wane, Richard smiled down at him contemptuously.  Richard pulled their locked hands to either side in a wide arc, and then back around, maintaining his powerful grip, now in an underhand lock.  Richard lifted Carter off of his knees, bringing him to the balls of his feet with the powerful pressure hyperextending Carter’s wrists upward.

Just as Carter thought his wrists would snap, Richard again swung their arms to the sides in a wide arc, now applying pressure overhand, pressing Carter’s palms downward as Carter collapsed to his knees in the sand again.  Almost immediately, Richard swung their arms to the sides once again, commanding Carter back to the balls of his feet in an underhand lock.  Carter danced from foot to foot, wincing in pain and humiliated by his opponent’s complete control of him.  And then yet again, with a grunt, Richard swung their arms in an arc, forcing Carter back down to his knees.  Richard leaned heavily down ontop of Carter’s hands, which were painfully bent backward over top of his wrists.  Richard looked down domineeringly on Carter’s sweaty, tanned body quivering under the strain of Richard’s hold.  With a glimmer in his eye, Richard sensed that he could dominate Carter this way until Carter submitted or until he broke his wrists.

Just as Richard again pulled their locked hands around in a wide arc to bring his opponent back to his feet, Carter stepped toward Richard, pivoted, twisting their locked wrists and pulling their hands to Carter’s right shoulder.  With their hands still locked, Carter thrust his hips backward into Richard’s pelvis.  Both men bent forward, Richard extended across Carter’s broad back.  Carter launched his hips upward, pulling Richard’s feet off the sand, and sending him flying upended over Carter’s shoulders.  Both men released their locked hands as Richard fell awkwardly on his back in front of Carter.

Standing over Richard’s prone body, Carter planted his left foot next to Richard’s head and then drove his right knee downward onto Richard’s forehead.  As Carter stood again, Richard’s hands went instinctively to his throbbing head.  Carter stepped over Richard’s body, straddling Richard’s legs.  Carter grabbed Richard’s right ankle and pulled it straight up in the air.  Planting his left foot on Richard’s left ankle to pin it in place, Carter grasped hold of Richard’s heel with his left hand gripped Richard’s toes with his right hand, and then twisted the ankle painfully counterclockwise.

Richard screamed in pain, his hands shooting forward toward Carter’s back standing over top of him.  Richard felt like his right knee was about to snap apart.

In one swift motion, Carter pushed himself backward, still holding onto Richard’s right foot.  Landing on his ass, inches above Richard’s head, Carter folded Richard up tightly, with Richard’s right knee pinned against his shoulder.  Holding Richard’s foot in his right hand, Carter grabbed a handful of Richard’s floppy hair in his left and lifted Richard’s head enough to slide his crotch between Richard’s head and the sand.  Then Carter kicked his left leg high in the air, dropping his left heel down painfully into Richard’s lower abdomen.  Flexing his powerful, tan thighs, Carter locked Richard’s head in a vice like scissors, lacing his ankles around one another and pinning Richard’s torso to the beach while continuing to stretch Richard’s right leg up and over his head.  Richard was dazed by this onslaught, with pain shooting through his ankle, knee, hamstring, abdomen and head, while his crotch felt like it was about to be ripped apart in Carter’s grasp.

Carter smiled down at the top of Richard’s head, resting on Carter’s crotch, being squeezed between his upper thighs.  “I appreciate your desire to teach me a lesson.  I’m always willing to learn,” he said.  “But I’m thinking that I may have a few lessons to teach you.”

Leaning backward, Carter applied even more pressure on Richard’s quivering right hamstring.  “Your body can stretch farther than you think it can,” Carter lectured his opponent trapped beneath him.  “Your hamstring right now is quivering, Richard.  I’m watching it pulse and jump, all the way up to your fine ass stretched out their in front of me.  But even still, it can stretch farther.”  Carter pressed Richard’s leg a half inch farther downward toward the sand.

Richard moaned in pain, his voice muted by Carter’s thighs squeezing his face.

Releasing Richard’s head, Carter unlocked his ankles, maintaining his control of Richard’s right ankle.  Standing, Carter unfolded Richard’s body, drawing his prone opponent’s right leg perpendicular to the beach, with Carter straddling Richard’s torso.  Just as the pain in his hamstring was dulling into a throbbing numb for Richard, Carter launched himself backward, dropping to his ass again above Richard’s head and hyperextending Richard’s damaged right hamstring.  Richard screamed in pain, and Carter let go of the leg, throwing it forward to crash limply next its partner.  Richard’s eyes were closed, as he moaned and began to reach forward with both hands to massage his injured leg.

Gracefully, Carter hopped to his feet and ran around to stand at Richard’s feet, facing Richard’s body.  Carter leaned over and picked up both of Richard’s legs, spreading them wide apart.  Richard laid on his back, his eyes going wide in fear as his legs were held spread eagle in front of his opponent.  Richard screamed, “No, no, no!” as Carter laughed, then while holding his opponents legs wide, Carter drove his right knee into Richard’s exposed crotch.

Richard gasped as shooting bolts of electric pain tore through his body.  Richard was paralyzed, unable to inhale or exhale while pain gripped him.  Carter let Richard’s legs drop to the beach, while Carter dropped to his knees between Richard’s legs.  Carter lifted his own left knee over Richard’s extended right leg, straddling it, with his right knee an inch from Richard’s throbbing crotch.

“Lesson number two, Richard,” Carter said like a lecturing professor.  Carter gently, firmly pressed his right knee upward, putting pressure between Richard’s legs, just beneath his throbbing balls.  “Sometimes you can’t tell the difference between pain and pleasure,” Carter continued.  “At least, not if your doing it right.”

Digging his knee upward, massaging in circles the erogenous zone between Richard’s balls and ass, Carter leaned forward on his hands and stretched himself above Richard’s upper body.  Carter’s triceps popped out as he leaned his head downward to rest his lips on the center of Richard’s lightly furry chest.  Sticking out his tongue, Carter traced a tickling line across Richard’s left pec.  His tongue came to rest on Richard’s nipple, lapping and toying with it playfully.  Suddenly hard and erect, Richard’s nipple responded involuntarily to Carter’s tongue.  Carter pressed his mouth around the nipple, licking and sucking it, as Richard moaned and squirmed beneath him.

Still sucking, Carter’s eyes looked up at Richard’s face.  Richard’s eyes were closed, his mouth hung open in ecstasy, and tears dripped down his temples.  Carter shifted his weight to his right hand, drawing his left hand down to Richard’s crotch beneath him.  Still rubbing his knee in small circles between Richard’s legs and sucking on his nipple, Carter grabbed the front of Richard’s purple trunks until he had a firm grasp on Richard’s cock and balls beneath the straining purple fabric.  Richard moaned in pain, his cock still throbbing from the earlier abuse.  Carter massaged with his left hand, his tongue licked Richard’s nipple, and his knee massaged beneath Richard’s balls, as Richard came erect in Carter’s grasp.  Pre-cum was beginning to soak through Richard’s purple speedo, as he moaned and his eyes fluttered.  Richard’s neck arched backward as his fingers dug into the sand.

Carter lifted his head, still massaging Richard’s aching and ecstatic crotch.  “Richard?” Carter asked quietly.

Richard moaned deep in his throat.

“Richard,” Carter said more commandingly.

Richard whispered, breathless, “What?”

“Do you submit to me, Richard?”  Carter asked.

When Richard didn’t answer, Carter massaged his cock and balls harder.  Richard moaned at the intensifying pain and pleasure.

“Do you submit, Richard?” Carter demanded, suddenly squeezing Richard’s balls in a tight, painful grip.

Richard’s head sprung up as he looked into Carter’s face hovering above his chest.  His cock aching painfully, longing for the return of pleasure, Richard said, “Yes, yes, yes… I submit to you.”

Carter began to massage again more gently.  Richard’s phallus was fully erect now, the head poking out above the top of his trunks.

Forcefully, Carter commanded, “Say, ‘I submit, Mr. Evans, sir.”

Richard’s eyes rolled in the back of his head, his mouth hung open, as his tongue licked his dry lips.

“Say it,” Carter commanded, again squeezing Richard’s cock and balls.

Richard’s neck arched backward again, and he groaned, “I submit, Mr. Evans….. sir!”

“Good boy,” Carter smiled, as he brought his left hand up and tossled Richard’s hair.  “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?”

Carter climbed off of his defeated opponent.  Standing over top of Richard, looking down on the body stretched on the sand beneath him, Carter rubbed his own left nipple with his right hand, adjusting his stiffening cock with his left hand.


News Break

I harbor a well-known and oft-analyzed infatuation with the hunks of television news.  Actually, I don’t think it’s much of a mystery that television news has been sexing things up, including promoting hot hunks of eye candy to be lusted over while ostensibly being informed of world events.  A couple of my favorite newsboy crushes came across my desk in the last couple of days, reminding me of some of my fondest homoerotic wrestling fantasies.


Kenneth in 212 shares my infatuation with ABC’s weekend anchor and Abercrombie poster boy, David Muir.  Here’s a random shot of Muir’s beautiful, bulging arms, for which I have (and Kenneth provides) zero context, but who the hell cares?  Picture those guns locked and loaded around the waist of Carter Evans in a vicious pro wrestling ring battle in my homoerotic wrestling imagination!


Muir also recently had a piece in which he flew to Ethiopia with an eye doctor and granted impoverished, blind Ethiopians a gift beyond their wildest dreams: to open their eyes and have the first thing they’ve ever seen be his smiling, gorgeous face. Fuck, I’m jealous of impoverished, blind Ethiopians!


David shows off more of those naked arms, making weeping Ethiopian post-op children somehow become background for my lustful fantasies.  I know, that’s fucking messed up, and I blame the commercialization of network news entirely. Those sick bastards.

Now that you’re remembering the warm feeling that I (perhaps you) get when David Muir wears a deep v-neck, short sleeve t-shirt, let’s up the ante with a more specialized taste in newsboys: my longstanding infatuation with Carter Evans.


Carter recently posted this clip of him surfing, (one of 2) from the point of view of the nose of his surfboard, letting us watch this hot stud get soaked in a wet suit and look smooth as butter working his board.


Baby, look at that ass as he squats low and rides that wave.


And when that motherfucker runs into him mid-ride about halfway through the clip, watch him throw the fucker over the top of the wave without so much as needing to adjust his stance as he just keeps riding. Damn, that boy’s alpha!


If you haven’t been paying attention, scenes like this have inspired appearances from both Muir and Evans in my homoerotic wrestling fiction series, Producer’s Ring, which features an entire subplot devoted to my lustful imaginings of what the increasingly beautiful boys of news could do if homoerotic wrestling ruled the world. In fact, considering Carter’s clear beach proclivities, how unknowingly appropriate it was that I set his first foray into homoerotic wrestling on the beach.

A Blue Christmas

Chris Wragge on his way out at The Early Show
Why do morning television news producers hate me so? My extra blood pump in the morning is getting rarer by the day. It started with Chris Cuomo getting booted from Good Morning America almost exactly two years ago. Things brightened up last January when The Early Show brought hunky Chris Wragge to the anchor desk, but again, the Christmas season is bringing tragic news for my daily dose of hunky newsmen. Wragge is being benched and replaced by two cold showers.

Carter Evans – the most recent evidence that news producers hate me.

And now I’ve learned that Carter Evans, the real anchor of my hunk lust morning routine, is leaving his morning market report to follow his prego wife who’s just got a new job in L.A. I don’t know what Carter’s plans are, but apparently they don’t involve appearing on my television screen every morning.

Matt Gutman – my last, best hope

The slim bright spot and ray of hope is that Good Morning America is tapping hairy chested hunk Matt Gutman with increasing frequency as a correspondent.  Matt is ripe for the picking, as far as I’m concerned. I think I’m due for a little good news from the traitorous bastards at ABC News who sent Chris Cuomo to Siberia (aka, 20/20). Matt Gutman needs to be tapped for an on-air desk job on GMA.

The Gutman – ready to get the call to the Big Show

Please, picture The Gutman with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his hot, hairy chest, which is his standard operating procedure as a correspondent. Those dimples, the strong arms, and that aforementioned hairy chest as regular news reader on GMA would be golden, I tell you. Who wouldn’t want to tune in to see this man flashing that sexy smile on a regular basis? WHO?!

Matt Gutman is fully committed to delivering the news.
Sure, Chris Cuomo is willing to work a wet t-shirt, fish shirtless, and wear muscle-hugging spandex as a triathlete. And no doubt, Chris Wragge made a desperate bid to stave off the axe by doing his own behind-the-scenes ironman self-expose. But in The Gutman, we have a new hunk who, in the interest of informing the public, is ready to strip down to a towel while covering a story. He’s got an international resume. He was harassed by big oil as he bravely covered the Gulf Spill with seemingly fewer and fewer buttons needing buttoned with each broadcast. He showed off that broad, meaty, hairy chest of his covering the soft news of extreme diving.  The Gutman is versatile (which I love in a man), sharp as a whip (which I love even more), and already starring in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.
I have no idea if this is actually The Gutman, but this provocative shot
is out there and attributed to him… and it works for me.
The morning news landscape is getting downright desolate. I’m bitter and disillusioned. I’m perfectly poised to be captured by a new vision of sexy news with brown eyes, dark curly hair, fit body and coverboy dimples. In the mean time, when it comes to my morning routine, it’s a blue, blue Christmas for me.

Twisted Kinks

Regular readers know of my infatuation with hunky newsmen. It was at the heart of this blog from the beginning. I know I’m not alone in nursing a little newsman fantasy now and then, since there are definitely websites devoted to adoring earnest young hunks reporting world events. And, needless to say, I know that there are plenty of us who nurse a wrestling kink. I’m not sure, however, how many of us there are who invest the time and thought into combining these two fetishistic fascinations. As for me, the first homoerotic wrestling fiction I wrote for public consumption was a beach wrestling, no-holds-barred tournament starring 6 of my favorite reporters and anchors.
The decisive winner of that tournament is a lesser-known newsman by the name of Carter Evans, whose on the payroll of CNN, primarily covering their on-site financial reporting from the stock markets. He’s also beamed daily into my living room doing a contract with my local news station, giving a 1 minute stock market run down and covering local stocks of interest from the floor of the NASDAQ. In my fictional tournament of news champions, Carter beat out (and up) much more prominent favorites, including CNN weatherman Rob Marciano and new MSNBC host and openly gay hunk, Thomas Roberts. But Carter clinched his championship and simultaneously sparked an ongoing feud by viciously beating the living shit out my longtime newsman obsession, hunky Italian and brother of the same-sex marriage man of the hour, Chris Cuomo.
Carter has been absent from my local broadcasts for over a week now, and I learned earlier this week the reason. Some major league dick in a car hit him while Carter was on his bike. The ass hole broke Carter’s arm in 7 places. Damaging such gorgeous goods and pulling him out of my living room as he recovers makes me harbor some serious venom for the shit head who’s never heard of the 3 feet rule. The real Carter Evans, as far as I can tell, is a perfectly straight husband and recent father blessed with sexy charm and a boyish grin, who can work improv better than my local anchors can handle. He has a fantastically asymmetrical face that is simultaneously disarming and sexy as hell. He has the epitome of bedroom eyes and a handsome, square jaw. His dramatically deviated septum has been featured on this blog already, but suffice it to say that whatever it is that put that sharp twist in the cartilage of his nose, it makes me think of a bar fight or, much more to the point, some underground wrestling.
With that one word, I instantly leave behind the real Carter Evans and am transported into a fantasy world in my own imagination where Carter is a homoerotic wrestling god. He plays mind games like a puppet master, essentially winning most of his matches before he ever lays a hand on his opponents. He’s sexually voracious, especially for his tag-team partner in the tournament, and he’s a master of using his obvious sexual appetite to unsettle and unseat each contender he faces. As with almost everyone who manages to grasp hold of prominence in the entertainment industrial complex in my imagination, Carter is also a skilled, savvy wrestler who takes pure sadistic delight in crushing his opponents in body and soul, proving over and over again that this newsworld is his, and all the other news hunks just live in it.

Since plowing through his competition in the first tournament staged in the Producer’s Ring, Carter graduated to color commentator and ring announcer for an ongoing television series pitting other hunky newsman against one another. For the most part, he’s more than content to rake in the big bucks with his smart mouth and shit-eating grin from behind the announcer’s table. But whenever Chris Cuomo has the nerve to show his face in Carter’s arena, Mr. Deviated Septum is constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone. His simply loves humiliating the muscled Italian hunk with a passion that cannot be denied. In their most recent run-in, Carter “stole” Chris’ ABC protege, rookie news hunk and swiftly rising star, g-g-gorgeous Matt Gutman
Since real life is frequently little more than fodder for my homoerotic wrestling imagination, I predict that Carter, the homoerotic wrestling god of my fantasy world, may sustain a mysterious off camera injury that forces the champ to stay out of the action for a while. The power vacuum will inevitably lead to some opportunistic invaders swooping in to shake things up in Carter’s arena. Just how much damage can a nasty new gang of newsboys do in the 6 weeks it takes for Carter to get the green light from his doc to retake physical possession of the ring that is rightfully his?
Get well soon, Carter. Your fans miss you!


The first wrestling fiction matches I wrote featured newsmen going at it in an elimination tournament. I do enjoy imagining news personalities ripping off their suits and ties and getting down and dirty in no-holds-barred battles. My latest upload to the Producer’s Ring is my take on a pro-style battle between ABC news hunks, Matt Gutman and David Muir.
These two beautiful boys made catastrophic oil spills seem somehow sexy this summer. I’m not sure who sexed up man-made environmental disaster more. For that reason alone, I tossed the two of them into the ring in my imagination to battle down until one of them comes out on top.
Because ABC News seems to be out front in maintaining a stable of lustworthy newsboys, Matt and David each arrive with a cornerman to watch their backs. Matt’s hitched up with my perpetual newsboy object-of-lust, Chris Cuomo. You knew Chris would be making another appearance in my wrestling fantasies. Don’t act surprised.

David shows up with giant man, Bill Weir as his mentor. I get the hit that Bill isn’t a simpleton news reader, and smarts are sexy, if you ask me. So in my imagination, he’s a master tactician and brains-behind-brawn, coaching young David with masterful skill.

And, as always, Carter Evans is your host with the absolute most. I’ve noticed that in real life Carter looks like he’s been putting on a few pounds lately, which could force some character adjustments (still sexy as hell… just with the beef outweighing the pretty… that could reshuffle his potential in one way or another). Carter takes advantage of his monopoly of the microphone to continue his psychological assault on the man he humiliated for the pilot tournament championship, Cuomo. Drama, drama, drama… as seems entirely appropriate for a homoerotic pro-style wrestling fantasy.

I’m a Twit

It appears that I am crawling on my hands and knees into another corner of the virtual time-suck of social networking. I’ve had a Twitter account for a while, but haven’t managed to figure out what to do with it, really. It’s like a pet. Sure, there’s initial excitement and interest, but when that wears off, will I still feed it and clean up after it when it defecates in the back yard?

Okay, so perhaps the pet metaphor is a bit overdrawn. In any case, having released myself from the sense of obligation to post daily here starting last month (though I’ve pretty much been doing that anyway), I’ve reconsidered Twitter. The medium is probably completely passé now. Being a chronically late-adopter, I’m accustomed to running into the party just as everyone’s moving on to the next big scene. But I’m twitting now, and having a little fun with it.
I’ve set up my blog updates to be uploaded automatically. I’ll be posting about my writing projects, both in-process and recent uploads. I’ll probably try to restrict my political opinions to Twitter, in order to restrain myself to 140 characters and perhaps not blow a gasket, as I’m prone to do when I froth at the mouth, incensed at social injustice.
I’ve already found a few gems through Twitter that make me happy. The triathalon pic of Chris Cuomo and his ready-for-primetime pecs that I posted yesterday was a Twitter-find. This video of Carter Evans reporting for CNN popped up via a Twitter feed, and as readers of my wrestling fiction know well, I’m a major, huge, let-me-be-your-groupie fanatic of CNN heart throb Carter Evans and his bedroom eyes and deviated septum. The next time we see Carter do a report on swimming pools, though, he really needs to be wearing swimwear to lend credibility to the report.

At the moment, almost no one is following me on Twitter. I’m not surprised, since I’ve been actually using it only recently. But in case you’re a twitterer, look me up. I just showed up to the party, and I’ve found myself standing alone in the corner with drink in hand and no one schmooze with.


I don’t want to toot my own horn. I much prefer someone else tooting my horn… preferably a dark haired, dimpled hot hunk of meat who can talk geopolitics.

Speaking of which, it seems I’m not alone, yet perhaps just a fraction ahead of the curve, in identifying newsboy Matt Gutman as an inevitable object of lust. I love to think of myself as a trendsetter. Hell, I’m going to go out on a limb and be an early adopter of this new-fangled gadget I’ve just heard about called a “cell phone.” I’ll let you know how it goes.
Back to my fingering of Matt Gutman as a newsboy hunk on the rise. Another blogger (3 days later… just sayin’…) suggests that sweet, swarthy Matt “looks like he’s ripped from the cover of Men’s Health or Muscle & Fitness.” Okay, I’ll give you Men’s Health… I’m not sure about Muscle & Fitness. I need to see him stripped down and oiled up (baby, not crude) to make that call. Seriously, I NEED to see him stripped down and oiled up.
Now I’m going to get NO work done for another hour or so with the fantasy of Matt Gutman stripped and oiled, damn it. In for a penny, in for a pound… just try to tell me that Matt and Carter Evans in pro boots and trunks in the ring wouldn’t just about be the sweetest newsboy match up since Carter busted Chris Cuomo’s nose on the beach and made the massive Italian scream (for new readers, note that all of that is fiction). Once Carter and Matt pull out the measuring stick and see who’s bigger, I’m thinking they’d make an absolutely mind-boggling tag team. If I can just find Chris a tag team, this would be a fantastic new chapter in their grudge saga. Maybe David Muir might be a little resentful of Matt’s skyrocketing stock…
So now I’m no good for at least another three hours…


I’ve been sorely missing a newsboy crush to obsess over ever since Chris Cuomo got booted off of GMA and sent to virtual-Siberia to work on 20/20. I’m still bitter, but I’ve given up on my boycott of Good Morning America. None of the morning news programs are giving me any real eye candy I want to ogle, so I’m surfing them all most mornings, waiting for the breakout hunk destined to make it onto my morning news menu. I still get my daily dose of Carter Evans. His savagely deviated septum, puppy dog eyes, yankable hair and badboy smirk still send tingles in all the right places. For all the above reasons, it’s no wonder that Carter has appeared in more of my homoerotic wrestling fiction than any other character. I’m hot for my newsboy crushes.
Which is why I’ve been so disappointed with the scarcity of hot hunks telling me all about the world as they think I should believe it to be. Imagine my ecstasy, therefore, in stumbling across Matt Gutman of ABC news, most recently reporting regularly on the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Say hello to my newest newsboy crush!

Hello, Matt! Breathtakingly gorgeous, Matt makes my heart skip a beat every time I see him. Smooth, sexy, dark curly hair, dimples, angelic little badboy eyes… this is a man destined to appear in a fictional homoerotic wrestling match near you.
Mmmmm… I’m seriously jonesin’ for more Matt. He’s been a utility player for ABC for a while. At appears that they plucked him from the Jerusalem Post and made him their mid-East correspondent. Somehow, they translated that expertise to covering the Gulf of Mexico oil spill (I suppose it’s the “oil” angle).

Whatever act of God brought this handsome stunner into my living room, I’m smitten. If he has half a brain, he’ll surely be skyrocketing in the consumer-based news world. I’ll buy whatever he’s selling.

Perfecting Imperfections

I’m hot for deviations. Distinguished deviations from the norm, even the norm of male beauty, actually exponentiate attractiveness in my book. I know I’m not the only one. I remember hearing reports of kids intentionally scarring themselves across their eyebrows in order to look more like heartthrob Luke Perry in the early 90’s. The “imperfection” itself can be what makes someone who is technically beautiful into irresistibly attractive.
I’ve mentioned it before that trenchman newsboy Carter Evan’s dramatically deviated septum makes me weak in the knees. Carter’s dreamy, long-lashed bedroom eyes are enough to make me melt, but that crooked nose drives me nuts and propels him into a very fondly recurring role in my celebrity wrestling fiction.
Milo Ventimiglia’s crooked smile is similarly hot. Apparently, he’s had dead nerve endings around one side of his mouth since birth. All grown up, the sideways smile isn’t just his trademark, it’s fantastically sexy.
True, the rest of Milo’s body doesn’t hurt, either, unless you count what his body does to his opponent’s in a couple of my fantasy wrestling matches. Do you see the theme emerging here? Delightfully deviated turns one into a star in my erotic fantasies.
Reconstructed cleft palates frequently, instantly attract me. It’s not quite a fetish, but it doesn’t hurt at all. Joaquin Phoenix insists that his distinctive upper lip isn’t the result of a cleft palate, but that rather it’s a “birthmark.” Hottie Joaquin has also been loony as a junebug lately, so take it for what it’s worth. Regardless, it’s the same effect. It’s distinctive and a deviation from the tyranny of symmetrical standards of beauty, and it turns me on.
In thinking about it, I came up with a couple of wrestlers who prove the rule that something imperfect makes a hunk perfectly hot. Cole Cassidy looks like he may have a prosthetic right eye (at least, it doesn’t track with his left). There’s so much to adore about Cole, perhaps it isn’t worth mentioning for most of his admirers. But for this admirer, it simply makes him that much more gorgeous. And yes, of course, he’s shown up in my own wrestling fantasies in a stand-alone, fictional story.
Finally, from the BGE vaults I want to mention young, incredibly hot grappler Animal Abban. He doesn’t have his own listing in the BGE roster, and I can’t find his matches on the home page, but he wrestled in the early days of BGE in such backroom classics as Bratpack 7. The intense scarring across his right pec and upper abdomen are really stunning. There’s a serious story there to explain the disappearance of his right nipple and angry red scar tissue (I just don’t know what it is). It’s not like anyone in their right mind would dare suggest that he was anything other than a six-packed, massively armed, gorgeous hunk of boy-next-door meat, but the scars absolutely perfected him.

Beauty is, of course, in the eye of the beholder. I think a diversity of tastes is a wonderful testimony to the wonders of the human imagination and delightful idiosyncrasies that make community happen. The “norm” isn’t inherently bad, I don’t think. Symmetry and mainstreamers can tickle my fancy, too. But by all means, nor is the “norm” inherently good, as most readers of this blog can attest. Vive la différence!

Delightfully Deviated

Clearly I enjoy the perfectly shaped model boys. I’m a sucker for massive beasts and thugs. Muscleheads and wiry brawlers alike have a place in my heart. But without a doubt, I’ve also got a thing for deviated septa.

A fantastically crooked nose demands a story. A perfectly straight nose can be pretty, sexy even, but a nose that bears the evidence of trauma is erotic, if you ask me. Noses are just fantastically vulnerable. Of course there are lots of ways to get a deviated septum that aren’t so erotic. But that’s where an active imagination comes in handy.
Apparently not a lot is known about how Owen Wilson earned his trademark nose, though the word is that it came from playing high school football. In my retelling, I’m seeing a young, hunky Owen on field trash talking after practice, after he’s pulled off his helmet. Some vicious rival kicks his knees out from behind, dropping him to his back. Then without pause, the attacker drives his knee downward across Owen’s face, smashing his nose and sending blood spurting everywhere…. but that’s just me.
One of my daily news crushes, Carter Evans has an unmistakably deviated septum. Carter, looking so dapper in his pin-stripe suits and power ties, is one sexy beast, not in small part thanks to that traumatized nose suggesting some physical action. I initially wrote Carter into my wrestling fiction thinking I’d give his signature nose a backstory (his face caught scissored between two massive muscle thighs, perhaps), but interestingly, I kept writing Carter breaking the noses of his opponents rather than getting broken. The more broken noses, the better, in my mind.
Adrien Brody’s nose most often gets comments for its sheer size. Personally, I like them big (I’m talking about noses… stay focused!), but I detect a significant crook in that gorgeous nose, which makes Adrien that much sexier (as if he needed help). Word is that he’s broken his nose repeatedly doing “off the wall stunts.” That’s sufficiently vague to invite my imagination to write him in a throw down with some muscled heel who snaps it with a sadistic boot heel then drops to his knees, straddling Adrien’s face and planting his ass across the bloody, throbbing shnaz (as Adrien screams)…. again, that’s just me.
This fantastically produced YouTube clip (pop-up video meets sadistic pro-wrestling) shows some very hot nose abuse by beautiful Johnny Saint, who gets nasty on the heel Jim Breaks. Jim is bloodied and dazed by the end of the fall from move after move torturing his nose. Another YouTube clip has two teens who can’t decide if they’re wrestling or boxing, but one of them decides to beat the shit out of the other’s face. If you watch all three clips, you get the fantastic shot of black-shirt with blood pouring down his face, his nose already swelling, and blood spattered all over the sidewalk.

There’s nothing wrong with a pretty, perfect face. But a messed up nose is a thing of beauty that tells an awesome story… and if it doesn’t tell a story, I’ll make one up.