I’m happily making headway on the final match of the Secretarial Pool auditions. Those of you not particularly following the story in my wrestling fiction may be a bit bored with my postings on the topic, but I’m finding that getting my imagination fully engaged with these boys intensely and repeatedly to write this elimination tournament is quite an intimate experience. Even when I’m not writing about them, I catch myself thinking about them. If you haven’t read a match yet, be forewarned that today’s post is a post-mortem on the also-rans whose fates have already been decided in the unfolding story in my wrestling fiction.
Of course, it helps that these boys are gorgeous hunks of muscle. Try to squeeze Alan Ritchson’s bubble butt into a skimpy speedo, and I’m doomed to ruminate on him. Alan was the first to get his ass kicked out of the tournament. He was nothing if not overconfident in his first round match up. He assumed that Jared Prudoff was going to be a pushover, little more than a rung in the ladder that Alan would be climbing up to grab the brass ring. Little did Alan realize that he’d drawn perhaps the shortest straw in the bunch, going head to head with the competitor that would be the first to clinch a spot in the finals of the tournament. In typical Jared-style, Alan was suckered, drained, and then put away wet. I imagine him, these days, lounging by a pool, obsessively replaying what went wrong for him in his bid for a recurring role in the world of my wrestling imagination.
The next slab of beef kicked to the curb in the tournament was Jakub Stefano. Jakub was seriously difficult for me to let go of, after Nick Auger schooled him so viciously in the importance of committing to a job and seeing it through all the way to the end. In my imagination, at least, Jakub is quite a sympathetic character. He’s a surprisingly gentle giant, genetically gifted with the body of a god, but more comfortable with being worshipped than with using those muscles to dominate. I fondly picture Jakub these days with a splint around his broken finger, enthusiastically self-worshiping in the shower, perhaps more than a little turned on by the vivid memory of finding himself entirely at the mercy of eventual tournament finalist Nick.
Next out the door was the big, confident power of Sean Sullivan. Sean was also particularly difficult for me to see exit the tournament. Sean may have been a little distracted by setting his initial sights on Ellis McCreadie. Sean thought that he had his first round match all sewn up, with an underhanded ambush to start with and his relentless, dominating power to subdue fashion boy Rafael Verga. He seriously did not see it coming when Rafael entirely derailed him with tongue-wrestling as a prelude to stripping Sean naked and spreading his legs wide with Rafael’s foot poised on top of Sean’s balls. I imagine Sean still can’t quite believe that he was beaten, and he lives in fear that the story of his humiliating stripping and beating will get out.
The final first round loser was the Kerry Degman. Kerry’s speed and skill were entirely unmatched by his opponent, Ellis McCreadie. Kerry had his way with Ellis, nearly from the beginning to the end of the match. Kerry had Ellis completely at his mercy repeatedly, from taking him to the brink of unconsciousness with Kerry’s ass smothering his face, to back to back rapid-fire suplexes, Kerry put together a can’t-miss game plan to secure victory. Somehow, still, he missed. By sheer, dumb luck, Ellis managed to snatch victory out of the jaws of defeat just as he planted his own victorious cock inside the jaws of his beaten opponent. I can’t help but think that Kerry’s skill and beauty won’t stay down for long, and despite this set back, he has all the right assets to thrive in the postmodern world of my imagination.
The semi-finals were populated by competitors that I was loathe to see knocked out of contention. I could imagine dozens of fights starring the devastatingly handsome Rafael Verga, for example, and never get tired of setting him loose on still one more opponent. Like Alan in the first round, though, Rafael ran into the buzz saw of finalist Jared. Still, the way I picture him, Rafael is sexually irrepressible, devastating with strikes, and thoroughly miserable to have been humiliated at the hands of Jared (said hands clawing at Rafael’s balls as he was captured in an over-the-knee-backbreaker). Some time away, fishing shirtless and meditating on the direction of his life and career, are likely in order for the Brazilian beauty.
First to get an invitation to the tournament and last to be eliminated prior to the final match, Ellis McCreadie is another beautiful boy that’s hard to say goodbye to. Ellis survival into the semi-finals was as mysterious as the source of the call inviting him to claim a spot in the auditions. Ellis took a lot of punishment from start to finish, even prior to walking into the rec room, and still he managed to rise way above expectations. His victory lap after forcing a submission from Kerry Degman in round one gave just a hint of what sort of fighter a seriously confident Ellis could turn into. Much more than confidence, strength or skill, what Ellis excelled in was in bringing a stunning string of luck to bear upon his matches. That, paired with his ability to endure prolonged, humiliating punishment, gave him staying power that’s hard to part with. I imagine Ellis will continue to ride his incredible string of good luck to land on his feet, despite submitting in a seated rear choke under threat of being plowed unconscious by finalist and muscleboy extraordinaire, Nick.
Frankly, I strongly suspect you’ll be seeing at least a couple of these worthy competitors again, considering the difficulty I have in saying goodbye to them. I’ll be publishing the final contest pitting Nick against Jared shortly, finally bringing to a close the long, slow unfolding of this tournament of champions. The only thing to count on at this point is that there will be one last goodbye before the auditions are history.
I just uploaded the final match in the Secretarial Pool auditions, pitting models Kerry Degman and Ellis McCreadie against one another. At first glance, these two are well-matched. Both are just about 6′ tall. Both are fit, nicely muscled but not massive. Kerry has a known history as an accomplished high school wrestler, which might tip the scales, but face-to-face the two seem closely paired.
The fun for me, of course, is the story itself. It’s not just about who would win when pitting two celebrities against one another in an NHB match-up. It’s the delightful journey along the way that tweaks my kink for homoerotic wrestling. The story that has emerged from my imagination is that Ellis is a dark horse in the competition, seeming clearly outclassed, under-confident, and hiding something that the rest of the applicants are fiercely determined to uncover. Kerry has had his sights set on beating that secret out of Ellis from the first moment that they met, and he’s ready to illustrate his abundant skills in breaking down recalcitrant talent by humiliating Ellis in every way he can. Once again the executive assistants on the hiring committee have their role to play in the unfolding drama, which leaves one man destroyed and the other significantly dehydrated. Hopefully the semi-final round will begin to be posted soon, now that four of the initial hopefuls have been shoveled into the trash heap.
The polling for the competitors in the elimination tournament to determine who will join the ranks of the secretarial pool in Brody Productions turned out surprisingly tight! There were some clear winners and clear losers, with three hot studs right in the middle who battled to the bitter end for the final two spots in the tournament. Let’s start with the losers:
Phil Baroni made a late push in the polls, but fell short of earning a spot in the competition. As I’ve mentioned before, Phil is the stuff of fantasies, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised to find him showing up in some fantasy wrestling of some sort. The Producer’s Ring has given him a pass, though, so he’s a free agent. Someone really ought to write this beautiful boy a wrestling match for the Sidelineland group.
Bryan Thomas actually lost a vote late in polling, which is intriguing. Someone changed a vote or two, which smells of some back alley horse trading. I’m actually little surprised by Bryan’s poor showing. Again, he’s a free agent for anyone to pick up and write up a wrestling match, and personally I’m hoping to see his hairy pecs featured prominently.
Jamie Dominic remains a personal obsession of mine, despite his inability to curry favor with a majority of the voters. If someone else doesn’t get around to it sooner, I expect that he’ll have appear in one of my wrestling fiction fantasies eventually. Seriously… only 4 votes?
Matt Schiermeier never gained any traction throughout the polling. He looks like a beast to me, but he just didn’t seem to grab much attention. I think he’s pissed about his poor showing, and he’s ready to prove something. Someone should pick up this free agent and put that ass to work… in a jock strap, please.
Now for the clear winners: Nick Auger kicked ass in this polling! Not that I’m surprised, but 3 out of 4 voters were certain that Nick must be given a shot at a spot in the secretarial pool. With the sheer size he’s brining with him, he’s bound to be a dominant force in the tournament. The fashion boys in the mix had better bring some dirty tricks with them, because if it comes down to raw power, Nick is going to be breaking boys in half.
Jakub Stefano was spinning his wheels for the first 24 hours of voting, hitch-hiking toward Loserville. Suddenly, though, he made a surge that propelled him from last place to second place. He’s one massive and beautiful man who, like Nick, could be bringing enough muscles to do serious harm on some of the runway boys in the mix. This boy is sporting so many targets of abuse, though: the massive pecs, the half-dollar nipples, the babyface… that ASS!? His best shot at victory may be that his opponents will be paralyzed by too many options to focus their torturing attentions.
One of the runway boys who had staying power throughout polling was Brazilian hunk, Rafael Verga. I’m sure his countryman, Miro Moreira (already a powerhouse in the secretarial pool), was pulling for him. Up against the likes of the muscleboys who’ve secured a place in the tournament, Rafael had better bring his A-game and then some! Someone is likely to be bound and determined to mess up that movie-star face of his.
Sean Sullivan is another musclestud who stayed strong and earned an undisputed spot on the card. I think that Sean may be the only hardbody who can stand muscle for muscle next to Nick. If this turns into a muscle competition, the champion may be determined by a battle between these two meaty morsels.
Alan Ritchson mounted a serious last-minute push to come from way, way behind in voting. I’d pretty much counted him out of the running, but he crossed the finish line with just enough support to secure a spot in the tournament. With screen credits to his name, Alan very well may be an early target for some of the lesser known challengers who are determined to make a name for themselves by felling the 6’2″ chiseled blond.
Ellis McCreadie has also earned himself a major bullseye painted on his ass for his automatic-by into the tournament. With egos to match the size of their massive muscles, a lot of these boys are going to be seriously put out to discover a relative nobody didn’t have to put his reputation on the line to get an invitation to this show. Who, exactly, did Ellis have to fuck to be handed his shot at power? Who, exactly, will be determined to fuck him over in order to put him in his place (i.e., on his stomach with his ass in the air)?
Jared Prudoff had a strong initial showing in the polls until he stalled dead in the water for the final 24 hours of voting. Frankly, I was worried that he wasn’t going to make the final cut. I seriously wanted to see some of these boys get their hands on Jared, and see what the tall-dark-and-handsome fashion boy might be able to pull out of his ass to earn his way beyond the first round.
Kerry Degman also had a strong initial showing that hit a brick wall halfway through voting. I was a little astonished to watch VJ Logan pose a serious threat to Kerry for the final ticket to the tournament. VJ Logan? Seriously? The diversity of tastes and preferences out there truly astounds me sometimes. Since I’m the one who will be devoting several hours of my life sorting through the action between all these boys, I’m glad that Kerry eeked out enough support to get the last spot in the competition. He may have come in last in polling, but I get the sense that he’s got the skills, the speed, and the willingness to go to any lengths to be a serious contender.
So there are your choices for the card of competitors to battle it out for a spot in the secretarial pool. Matches should begin to be posted before the end of the week. Let me know who you think will shine, who you think will stumble, and just how you think 7 out of 8 cocky pretty boys are going to suffer humiliating defeat.
The team at Brody Productions is pouring through photos of aspiring executive assistants. You can lend a hand in selecting the elite eight to compete for a shot to join the corporate team in the fictional wrestling-obsessed world of the Producer’s Ring. Ellis McCreadie is already given a pass into the tournament based on nepotism. Deal with it. You can help decide who he’ll be facing for his shot at power:
Phil Baroni was an early nominee, but I have to put my foot down and say that in the world of the Producer’s Ring, Phil is more like his pretty, modelboy self than the MMA jobber stud he’s become in our world. The question you have to ask yourself is whether pre-MMA Phil had the stamina and determination to fight his way to the top in baby oil and a speedo.
Alan Ritchson was also nominated, though he could easily qualify as one of the acting talents who also wrestle in the Producer’s Ring. Still, if you’d like to see Alan tracked into the secretarial pool, vote for him to join the competition here. If he washes out, he still may have a shot on camera, perhaps with his vanquisher calling the shots of his on-screen career.
Sean Sullivan was a beautiful new face to me that was nominated for a shot in the Producer’s Ring. He’s got a fratboy look, which might not bode well for him in competition (just be forewarned), but he very well may bring something surprising to the audition. The curls are made for yanking, which I suppose might earn him some votes and lose him others.
Rafael Verga is one stunningly, classically handsome hunk of man who I’m thrilled to be introduced to through the nominations process. The pec tat is demanding to be licked. In competition, I think that wouldn’t be the only thing requiring oral attention.
Van Jameson Logan was nominated for obvious reasons. Winning America’s Most Smartest Model competition doesn’t bode well for mastering the mind games that are as much part of the competition in the Producer’s Ring as the bodies. Still, it doesn’t necessarily take book smarts to be smart in the Producer’s Ring.
Kerry Degman was another obvious choice for the elimination tournament, due to his credibility as a kick-ass wrestler in high school. Whether or not Kerry could translate amateur success into the down and dirty work required in the Producer’s Ring remains to be seen.
Nick Auger is a fitness model who looks like he’s just aching to prove himself. He’s got the confidence, the muscles, the chiseled chin… but does he have the support of the fans?
Bryan Thomas looks to me like he’s ready, and able, to rip someone’s head off. The tat, the hairy pecs, the rippled abs… can you say no to this man? More importantly, can anyone else fail to say, “I give!” to him?
Don’t let my well-documented obsession with Jamie Dominic sway your vote… let me just say that this man appears regularly in my own private wrestling fantasies, and he’s one fiercely sadistic hellcat.
Jared Prudoff is someone I just haven’t been able to tear my eyes away from since he was pointed out to me. He’s stunning, yet not your standard smooth, plasticized plaything that so many models are. If he makes the cut, I predict he’ll bring something unique into the competition with him.
Matt Schiermeier is another new face to me. Someone was clearly playing to their audience when recommending I check out gorgeously muscled and tattooed Matt. I hope that including two pics of Matt doesn’t skew the poll results, but I just had to share the astonishing view both coming and going, and a shower scene just drives me crazy!
The final applicant under consideration is Czech bombshell Jakub Stefano, who is absolutely everywhere these days. He’s adorable in his YouTube videos, but I have to imagine that the nice guy gloves would come off were he handed the opportunity to join Brody Productions. I predict any match with Jakub would find him enduring some concentrated pec abuse, because, let’s face it, those massive mounds of muscle and mesmerizing nipples are unavoidable targets.
Never let it be said that I’m a tyrant. Let the democratic process commence. (Perhaps I’ll even honor the vote)….
The male model as fighter seems to be a common pose. Particularly the fitness models seem to regularly pop up with fists raised and chins down. Since everything is a commodity, these pics beg the question: what’s being sold here? It’s not the clothes (particularly for those models in-stance not wearing any). I propose that what’s being sold is that package of elements that is essentially at the heart of what I write about all the time.
It’s sex. It isn’t vanilla sex, but it’s the sex that emerges from lust and aggression simultaneously. The gorgeously hard body, tensed and toned, positioned in order to display the narrow waist armored by six-pack abs is intended to tell the story that turns me (and so many of you) on. Designer/director Tom Ford tells the tale with his arms around two sweaty boxers poised for the fight. The kiss on the forehead exposes the fierce-faced hardbody as the object of lust.
I can just smell the fantastic elixir of testosterone and sweat emanating from Bryan Thomas. The male model in a fighting stance taunts the gay male gaze. It promises sex and violence in one sweet image. It draws us in to the erotic combat of hand-to-hand, body-to-body competition, offering us the prize that if we beat him, we own him.
Tattooed stunner Tegan peers over his clenched fists at us, his thick, flexed forearms like the steel bars of a cage. His warm-ups sag below our line of sight (for full frontal trade of bewitching Tegan, aka Jagger, check out ChaosMen), with all the muscled lines of his torso pointing us downward. Perhaps, just perhaps, if we step inside that steel cage and take the beating that Tegan is planning for us, if we fight hard enough and suffer desperately enough, he’ll give us one final workover with his most impressive muscle of all.
Philip Fusco looks more like he wants to put up a fight, but not actually win. He’s too intent on displaying his chiseled face than protecting his vulnerable jaw. He’s planted vulnerably on the backs of his heels, subtly signaling that the battle will be short-lived, but his endurance to be worshiped as the conquered god he is will go on eternally.
I can actually hear the photographer’s voice instructing Philip to arch his back a fraction more here, to stick out that oh-so-round bubble butt just that much more. Once again, Philip is flat on his feet, entirely conscious of his body, ante-ing up a fighter’s pose just to signal that he’s game. This isn’t the form of a savage sadist ready to beat us into submission, but rather the eager bottom secretly begging us to call his bluff and drop him to his hands and knees. He isn’t actually planning on suffering too long, but we can teach him the ecstasy that awaits him (and us) when his endurance is tested, when his cries of submission are ignored, when the pain is unrelenting until he can genuinely stand no more.
Jamie Dominic appears as if in the post-coital position in which we might leave him after beating him senseless with those boxing gloves we placed tauntingly across his exhausted cock. He’s earned that coat of sweat glistening in the crevices of his shredded abs. He’s battled past the point that the gloves came off, past the point that the trunks came off, past the point that the jockstrap came off. In nothing but his sparring boots, he’s been hammered down until he moved too slowly to defend himself any longer. He’s been squeezed and probed, tried and pried until he had nothing left but to submit in body, mind and spirit. Back in the locker room, he struggles with his pride beneath the brim of his cap, our gloves re-enacting the final hold that forced him to give himself entirely for our pleasure. He’s even now reliving the bout, blow by blow, as the memory of the beating washes through him and begins to dislodge the gloves. He’s vowing that next time he’ll do the conquering. Next time, he won’t succumb to his own guilty ecstasy at being owned, used, and put away wet.
So, perhaps not quite all of this narrative is necessarily written into the male model in fighting stance. But you and I know that at least the kernel of that story is undeniably there, calling to us, taunting us, displaying for the world, but particularly us, that aggression and sex are a potent combination.
I like to pretend that I’m unaffected by the social control mechanisms of advertising. I “never” click on click-through ads. I don’t even look at direct mailers before I toss them. But it’s such a superficial self-deception. Put a gorgeous male model in a wrestling singlet, and I’m captured by capitalism and unthinkingly signing over my self-determination and credit card number.
Fashion models in wrestling gear are like a car accident on the highway. I can’t tear my eyes away, and I hate myself a little for it. Dress up Jonathan Jesensky in gear, give him a nice coat of fashion-shoot sweat, and my jaw drops open a little as I stare helplessly, occasionally wiping the drool that escapes the corner of my mouth.
Strip Chad White to his underwear and tell him to lift another hardbody upside down as if he’s about to slam him mercilessly to the ground, and I’m stopped in my tracks.
Taunt me with the suggestion that a male model in gear is, in fact, an actual wrestler, and I become a mindless puppet on a string. Shoot aforementioned Chad White grappling with former high school wrestler-turned-model, Kerry Degman, and I get entirely lost in marveling at the provocative spiral of art imitating life.
Craft your advertisement around another wrestler-turned-model, Brock Harris, and I’m mindlessly clicking-through, a helpless captive of the evil geniuses of advertising. Put young Brock in a singlet underneath a dress shirt and tie, and a new star is born in the continuous wrestling scenarios running through my imagination. The overlapping boundaries of the tamed corporate male, the primal gladiator armed only with his stunning body, and the sexual warrior in the act of stripping off the clothes that disguise his underlying beast… I have no self-control. I am bought and sold at the will of ruthless ad men. I am both consumer and product in a world in which life and art and life imitating art and art imitating life dig the channels of consumption that I sail so obediently.
I’m captured and aroused by the model as wrestler, and I hate myself a little for it.