Lust Requited!

Mr. Joshua knows what you’re looking at.

Regulars here at neverland are aware of a handful of longstanding frustrations I have that I affectionally refer to as my “unrequited lusts.”  These are the subjects of relentless and ruthless teases that I’ve been a total sucker for. For example, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and his momentous, mountainous, pendulous package. He is forever shoving his hands down the front of his trunks in his matches and readjusting the baggage that’s shifted during flight. He persistently points at the behemoth that strains the stitches holding together his trunks, reminding opponents and fans that there’s a hidden anaconda yet to be unleashed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so torqued by the Mr. Joshua package-tease! I’ve pleaded desperately for a rising upswell of popular demand crying out for a Mr. J strip stakes match (or series of matches, however many it takes before an opponent instantly becomes my #1 favorite wrestler by peeling off Mr. J’s dignity and finally, at long, long last unleashing the beast).

Michael C. Hall has gone shirtless, plenty, but…

Another frequent topic of my unrequited love has been more in the realm of my erotic wrestling fantasy material, namely Michael C. Hall’s ass. His character grew on me in Six Feet Under. But as Dexter, the sympathetic serial killer, he has played a starring role in several homoerotic wrestling fantasies of mine, one of which I actually wrote down and shared as part of my collection of celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction. Not too surprising, Michael managed to come out on top in that match by pinning granite-hardbodied Justin Theroux to the mat via sitting on his face and letting those luscious cheeks make Mr. Anniston forget that he didn’t want to be trapped right there, right then.

Justin Theroux got the honors to wrestle Michael C. Hall in my homoerotic wrestling imagination (lucky son of a bitch!)

However tantalizing Michael’s ass has appeared in butt-hugging trousers in Dexter, though, the actual glutes themselves have never made an appearance. Dexter sex scenes? Sure. Naked boobies everywhere you look? Absolutely. The barest glimpse of Michael’s uncovered, bulbous booty? Not a one. Damn it.

Dexter’s naked ass has landed!!!

That is, there has been no sighting of those pound-able melons in the flesh until now. After being overseas on vacation, I’ve spent the last week scarfing down the episodes of True Blood and Dexter that I missed while away. I finally caught up with both, and glory be, after so much teasing, so many close-ups on that fantastic (but clothed) bubble butt, long after I’d intellectually given up on ever seeing that ass in the flesh, Michael sated my deep down lust with a long, lingering, full-on sex-scene starring (and I mean STARRING) his g-g-gorgeous ass!!!

Simply gorgeous.

When I say this steamy scene stars Michael’s ass, I mean, seriously, there was clearly nothing else on anyone’s mind as they blocked this scene. The woman that Dexter is supposed to be banging is naked and, in her way, for those with that predilection, I’m sure attractive. But there’s no way to put it other than to say that her naked body is completely and entirely upstaged. It’s not just that Michael’s beautiful nakedness is always on top with most of the scene shot from above. His ass literally gets several of it’s own close-ups! I mean, how often does this happen, that the camera zooms in, pans away, and then zooms in again on the guy’s ass in an opposite-sex sex scene!? It’s as if Michael, who you know had been asked a thousand times before to bare it, finally just said, fine, fuck it, film my ass!

The camera lingers…

Enough of the phenomenological critique. Let me just say that even with all of that build-up and all of that teasing year after year, still, without a doubt I did not leave disappointed.  His co-star kept trying to wiggle into the shot, but there was no disguising that those glutes are simply beautiful… powerful, sculpted shelf, fuckable for days.

Worth the wait…

Michael had a cancer scare that, sounds like, is behind him now. I’m still astonished that he was apparently diagnosed, treated, and in remission all basically within the time constraints of a between-season hiatus. It’s also incredible that despite what was apparently some aggressive treatment, his body is rocking my world every ounce as much today as when Keith first stripped him and threw him into bed in Six Feet Under.  I love that he’s at it for one last season as the lovable serial killer, and he is most definitely a fan-pleaser with this fulfillment of so many unspoken promises over the years.

Someday… Maybe…

This, of course, fills up my tank of hopefulness again for so many of my unrequited lusts. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance that we’ll see someone unpack Mr. Joshua’s oversized baggage. Perhaps sultry stunner Rio Garza will, indeed, someday shock a cocky opponent with a picture-perfect flying drop-kick to the chin AND peel off his own sweaty trunks and stuff them into his opponent’s stunned mouth. Possibly, just maybe, I may even get that custom DVD I ordered from a wrestling fantasyman going on two years ago. Michael C. Hall let us take a lovingly long, lingering gander at his gluteus maximus… anything is possible!

Overlooking Homicidal Sociopathy

I’m finally caught up with Dexter after having been traveling on and off for the past couple of weekends, and I’m finally not so bitter about the selfish dearth of skin that has been so characteristic of the series. To the contrary, Michael C. Hall has been shirtless quite a bit recently. This simply must continue.

Two weeks ago, this season’s big baddie (and tasty treat, himself) played by Johnny Lee Miller couldn’t help but show some love in appreciation of Dexter’s hot bod in the locker room. I’m not entirely sure what Johnny’s character was doing huddled up in his locker as Dexter was prancing around in his boxers, but as for me, I would have sat myself down on that bench and stared adoringly at Michael C. Hall’s ass.

And speaking of Michael C. Hall’s notable ass, we saw yet ANOTHER sex scene last night with Dexter’s ass coyly hidden from view. That said, superherofan captured a tantalizing tease of Michael’s glorious crack, as his trousers slid down just as he was climbing on top of Julia Stiles. I know that her character is supposed to be completely sympathetic at this point, but I just can’t help hating her out of jealousy. I’m not proud of it.

On the other hand, I am aroused by the homage to bondage play between her character and Dexter’s, moments before their post-homicidal coitus. I’ve had that very fantasy, of tying Michael C. Hall’s hands behind his back helplessly as I explore his body. Unlike Julia’s character, though, I’m not a PTSD-wracked, trauma-cracked, on the path to self-destruction empty jar of marbles that she is. I’d accept a homicidal sociopath for who he is any day, as long as he had Michael C. Hall’s ass. And I come with a lot less baggage (well… less, definitely).


I have to catch up on this week’s Dexter episode. The first one was so depressing, I needed a little more than a week to recover. Seeing superherofan post skin pics of Mr. Michael C. Hall shirtless poolside is definitely speeding my recovery along nicely. I’m sensing that a date with a serial killer will be on my calendar very soon.

For a man who quite recently was enduring chemo for Hodgkin’s lymphoma, Michael is looking just as arousing as ever. Hell, for anyone, chemo or not, he’s one beautiful, beautiful man who inspires all sorts of nasty ideas in my imagination. I’ve seen my share of homoerotic wrestling scenarios set in pools. Hot muscled hunks toss each other in the deep end, dunk each other, do lifts and throws aided by the buoyancy of water play. Yes indeed, there are all sorts of pool games I’d like to imagine playing with Michael, and every single one of them ends with Michael’s bubble butt bare and bent across my knee.

I am so glad your back, Dexter!

Where My Sympathies Lie

With news of natural disasters and at least tens of thousands of casualties, it seems a little strange to just keep blogging about the gorgeous men I’d like to slap in a camel clutch until they scream. Then again, I’m deeply cynical about all the attention and outpouring of concern that happens after a natural disaster, particularly in an impoverished country. The people who feel their heart strings tugged when an earthquake hits Haiti are usually the same people who couldn’t locate Haiti on a map and have been blissfully uninterested in the abject poverty, crippling political corruption, and rampant spread of devastating disease in that country for decades.
So the cynical bastard I am, I’m going to reflect on a tragedy that’s much more relevant to the spirit of what I write about day in and day out. I’ve gone on and on, I realize, about my unrequited lust with Michael C. Hall’s ass. He was adorably hunky in Six Feet Under, but as Dexter he’s beefed up even more.
When in season, I’m regularly watching each new episode of Dexter desperate for a shot of his amazingly round ass. There’s never enough skin in Dexter, but I lap up every little crumb. Just a glimpse of Michael’s gorgeous melons squeezed inside his strategically tight khakis makes me salivate like Pavlov’s dog. I’ve well-established my lustful adoration of the most sympathetic serial killer ever.
So the news that Michael C. Hall is completing a round of treatment for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma is quite a shock. I thought he looked sickly in his post-season 4 commentary on the finale with John Lithgow. I assumed perhaps he was just getting into character for a new project. But apparently, no, he’s been undergoing treatment for the typically curable cancer for several months.
Between you and me, I find cancer a major buzz kill. It’s capricious and devastating, and despite plenty of public knowledge that it isn’t communicable, so many people still today stigmatize people with cancer. Cancer sucks and causes so much suffering, and not the hot and erotic kind of suffering unfortunately.
Still, if anyone can make cancer sexy, I think it’s Michael C. Hall. Coping with the secondary devastation of chemo or not, I’d still tap that in a heartbeat. Hell, if he was game, I’d still slap on that camel clutch and deliver a heaping dose of the sort of suffering that makes life worth living in my book. I predict that Michael will kick lymphoma’s ass and continue to make me swoon every step of the way. I’m just hoping that this brush with mortality inspires him to stop his teasing ways and let it all hang out. I’m praying for him to have a new lease on life that fills him with the spirit of generosity, moving him to share a glimpse of the entire gorgeous body that he was so gifted with. Truly and sincerely, I’m wishing him a speedy recovery and many more years of Michael C. Hall lustful worship ahead for us all.

Serial Skin

The Dexter season finale shocked and awed this past Sunday. Indicative of any good season finale, I’m desperately anticipating the start of the next season. I’m so easily manipulated.

As I’ve mentioned (frequently), my one criticism of Dexter is the bizarre lack of hunk skin. Other than the corpses, not even a lot of shirtless goes on, which seems odd for a series set in balmy Miami. Worst of all, we’ve seen very little uncovered of Michael C. Hall’s title character. Clearly, Michael’s got the goods. He’s just not sharing his loveliness with the rest of us.
Thank God for superherofan and the find of some hot captures of Michael from the movie Gamer. Didn’t see it; will likely own it now that I learn there are some fight scenes featuring Gerard Butler, Milo Ventimiglia, and the man whose ass could launch a thousand ships: Michael.
I have a fictional wrestling match written featuring Michael that, understandably, digresses into body worship. Of the sparse views of Michael’s body I’ve seen, I’ve never seen an angle that doesn’t turn my crank.
And speaking of angles and crank turning, the glimpse of Michael’s gorgeous round cheeks poking out over the top of his pants here is such a cock-tease. That fantastically shaped ass can’t help but spark the imagination to run wild. My imagination is certainly sparked. I’m predicting Michael will be back in the wrestling ring in my imagination soon.

Fresh Meat

For a television program about a gruesome serial killer, Dexter is awfully modest with skin. As I’ve complained about before, the prime beef in this show, Michael C. Hall, remains encased in clothing. Barely a shirtless shot this season, in fact. Fortunately, Dexter’s kill-gear includes a skin tight shirt that hugs his pumped, round pecs and highlights his sweet torso. An occasional shot of Michael walking away offers the promise of tight pants hugging that astonishingly perky bubble butt. But the potential for gratification is so much greater than the realization.
This season, another object of lust has joined the cast. Brando Eaton’s storyline looks destined to disappear by the end of the season, but in the meantime, Brando is looking stunning. He’s playing 17, but the actor is, in fact, 23, so I’m absolving myself of any guilt for lusting after his beautiful, tanned, gorgeously muscled body. We’ve seen even less skin from Brando than Michael, but what we have seen shows deeply creased pecs with nipples struggling to bust free, broad, squared shoulders and beautifully shaped, muscular arms. More, please!
Brando knows what he’s bringing to the table, clearly. Shirtless shots of the gym bunny are to be found, and the man meat is raw and juicy. I’m a little obsessed with obliques these days, so Brandon is tweaking my every craving. Superherofan has some captures of Brando in a shower scene from a movie bomb earlier this year. There’s even a glimpse of the top of his sweet cheeks.
It’s not just my wishful thinking when I say that there’s sexual tension between Michael and Brando’s characters. And Brando’s character has every potential to be as psychologically twisted as Michael’s. I’m smelling a Bruce-Wayne’s-youthful-ward storyline just aching to bust out, with Michael taking young Brando under his wing. There would have to be a well-rounded education involved, including lessons in the fine art of body worship and man-on-man sexual gratification. Hmmm, I think my imagination may be taking me a bit far afield from the actual plot of Dexter. But seriously, wouldn’t you prefer to see my storyline!? Whatever happens on Dexter, we MUST see more (literally) of beautiful Brando.

…Why Don’t You Love Me?

I’ve lusted after
David Duchovny ever since Fox Mulder sulked into my heart in the very first season of X-Files. I was so excited that David was coming back to TV when Californication launched a couple of years ago. I watched the first season, despite the many XX chromosomes over-exposed all over the place and graphic talk about the simulated sex acts with women that really, really (really) doesn’t interest me. Still, David’s naked body frequently on display was enough to keep me tuning in.

The second season totally turned me off. How completely depressing and unsympathetic can a character be before even David Duchovny’s naked body can’t keep me interested? Answer: really, really depressing and unsympathetic.

That said, I’m tentatively tuning back in for season 3, and I’m not so depressed quite so quickly. And David’s stint in “rehab” (a.k.a. his wife screaming at him for three months straight for fucking around all over the place) has turned out an even beefier studpuppy (check out these abs captured by superherofan!)
Now, can we introduce David to Michael C. Hall? Michael desperately needs to take some lessons in the art of satisfying the lustful gaze, and a fellow Showtime buddy like David is surely the man for the job. I WANT to see this shot of Dexter. Now.

Still a Mighty Pain to Love It Is

They’re doing it to me again, those bastards. They’re taunting me. Teasing me. Rubbing my face in withholding what I’d like to have my face rubbed in. First of all, I return to my previous discussion of Michael C. Hall’s ass:

Yes, it’ s Dexter time. How many ways can they almost show some serious Dexter skin? The shower scene with the strategically placed shower head. The sex scene in which Dexter mysteriously keeps his pants on. It’s inhumane, I tell you! At least in this week’s episode we saw some shirtlessness… from across the room… slightly out of focus. Yet even with those obstacles, Michael C. Hall makes my mouth water. Take that shirt off, Michael. Slower…

Still no sight of that beautiful badonkadonk. Thank God for paparazzi and Michael’s need for cat litter. Even in jeans, that’s a beautiful butt! Quick, someone, find something else that Michael needs to load into the trunk! Come on Michael’s-wife, throw us a bone! Tell him to drop trou!
And speaking of bones, there’s Joshua Goodman’s cock (is that a butt-tease?). As if in answer to my diatribe about how Mr. Joshua’s package is both the center of attention and fastidiously kept under wraps at the same time, just days later BG East releases a match between package kings, Mr. Joshua and Jobe Zander.
Despite Jobe’s tats, he isn’t my favorite if he’s going head to head (if only) with Mr. Joshua. Both of these dudes have made considerable hay from straining the seams of their thongs with their equine genitalia. I haven’t seen the product yet, but all signs appear to be that this match is all about whose is bigger. Billed as “The Battle of the Bulge,” this match is conspicuously absent the little asterisk next to all the BG East products featuring nudity.
I repeat: You bastards. You cock-teasing (and/or butt-teasing), sadistic bastards. I should wipe my hands of Dexter and all Mr. Joshua products in disgust. Yet, there I go paying my cable bill for Showtime and pulling out my wallet for a fresh dose of gazebo grappling. You bastards…

A Mighty Pain to Love It Is

Unrequited loved… the cock tease… these are cruel, cruel manipulations of the heart. To have the object of your affections dangled before you, but just out of reach, hidden just out of sight. It’s sadistic cruelty, I tell you (not the good kind).
Evidentiary item #1: Michael C. Hall as Dexter. It was with anxious anticipation that I sat down to drink in the first episode of season 4 of Dexter. Honestly, I really enjoy the writing. Nicely complicated, yet tidy story lines. Can we all just acknowledge the elephant in the room, though. Michael C. Hall’s booty.
Michael is one fine looking man, and he’s done a wonderful job with the subtleties of playing the part of a serial killer playing the part of an averagely neurotic tech-nerd. But Michael’s most powerful asset that he brings to the small screen, his ass, remains only hinted at. Once again in last night’s season opener, we’re treated to Michael walking away, that fabulous bubble butt framed nicely in his chinos. But despite a plot including a kinky sex scene (well… vanilla-wafer, suburbanite housewife “kink”), we barely catch a glimpse of our beautifully psychopathic hero shirtless.

You shameless, horrible tease! Michael and his handlers clearly have negotiated to keep his gorgeous ass under wraps, but we all know that we’re all tuning in for that magical moment when Michael finally drops trou. It’s like Sam and Diane all over again, the ridiculous dramatic tension drawn out to the point of total frustration, bordering on disgust. You know that we know that you know we’re paying our Showtime subscription fees to see Michael’s bare-ass. You cruel, cruel bastards.
Evidentiary Item #2: On the other side of the pelvis, I have a bone to pick (so to speak) with Joshua Goodman (Mr. Joshua) of BG East. Similar to Michael C. Hall, BG East has been teasing us, taunting us, sadistically torturing us by dangling Joshua’s packed package before us for years without finally paying up. I lost hope of finally seeing Joshua’s bona fides, so I haven’t seen all his matches to verify that we never see his sizeable cock and balls (please, please let me know that I’m wrong). But we’re continually taunted by Joshua in tight trunks and thongs, his pendulum swinging impressively. Joshua himself can’t seem to keep his hands off his cock, constantly adjusting himself both from the exterior as well as the interior of his briefs. Just to tantalize us, we’ve occasionally glimpsed his balls squeezing out the sides of his trunk-crotch (cha-ching!). Joshua tells a nice story, both pitching and catching, but it’s hard not to find your eyes fixated on his pouch, waiting for the moment when the goods come spilling out (or busting out at the seams!).
But the cruelest cut of all was Joshua’s Wrestler Spotlight tape. The pics of the Brooklyn Bodywrecker hoisting the naked Joshua up over one shoulder was finally the long awaited promised land. This pic of Joshua’s quite beautifully naked ass and thick, muscled legs hanging down from BBW’s shoulder is truly a work of art.
I totally took the bait. Only to find that, despite Joshua getting stripped out of his g-string, we are treated only to the visual of his captured butt (totally worth the price of admission… but still!!!). BBW sadistically rubs salt in our wounds, taunting us by pointing out that he knows we’ve tuned in to see Joshua’s goods. He assures us that Joshua’s bits and parts are stunning. Then he carries Joshua back to the dressing room, leaving my jaw dropped open, my pants unzipped, and my face red with frustration.

Michael C. Hall and Mr. Joshua, you are hereby put on notice! If you continue with your cock-teasing ways, I will wash my hands of you in disgust. I will no longer pay up if you continue to refuse to pay up! I will not be so manipulated any longer! … okay, just one more episode… just one more match… if I just give them one more shot, they’ll give me what I want, won’t they!?

Takes Life. Seriously.

So here I am, stumbling aimlessly around the house mumbling to myself: “Where’s Bill?” … “Sam’s pecs…” … “Will I ever get to see
Alexander Skarsgård and Ryan Kwanten in a sticky, rough sex scene together?” I’m feeling True Blood withdrawals already, and they’re bad.

My dealer, HBO, knows how dull the sharp edges, though. Promos for Dexter, Season 4 are everywhere. And while Dexter doesn’t have the depth on the bench that True Blood does, fresh scenes of sexy, sweaty serial-killer Dexter Morgan will certainly help ease the pain.
Michael C. Hall has the formula for locking in a gay audience, I think. Mix one part break-out adorable gay character role… three parts smoking hot sexy sociopath in sweaty, skin-tight homicidal gear, and two parts of that jaw-dropping bubble butt (one part for each fabulous cheek). That’s the formula for earning my lustful worship, at least.

It took me a few seasons to warm up to his character on Six Feet Under, but eventually I got there. There was something totally disarming about his portrayal of a nerdy, insecure, not-so-long-ago closet-case who’s also a total slut puppy with hardbodied studs throwing themselves at him.

But as Dexter, Michael C. Hall had me from the opening credits (why do I find it so sexy watching him floss?). And frankly, there’s something completely sick (in a kinky that’s-disturbingly-hot way), that Hall just married the woman who plays his sister on Dexter. Clearly, Michael beefed up after SFU to take this solo-lead in Dexter. Thank GOD this whole thing is set in Miami, requiring Dexter to be perpetually pitted out and sweat soaked where the center of his chest meets the collar of his shirt (I just felt a shudder!). Someone understands their audience, with not infrequent scenes of Michael C. Hall shirtless, though they’ve yet to fully unleash the wonder that is his astoundingly round ass. Hall must have it in his contract not to show too much skin below the waist (we get just the barest glimpse around episodes 6 & 7 of season 2). Someone needs to put some more money on the table so that we can all marvel at Michael’s finest feature!!!

My obsession with Dexter, like my obsession with True Blood, inspired an appearance by Michael C. Hall in my celebrity wrestling fiction (his ass features prominently… so to speak). I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up for another match in the Producer’s Ring this autumn. So as I detox off of True Blood, I’m already getting an anticipatory rush from the approach of Dexter Morgan back into my life. Eric Northman, Dexter Morgan… why am I so addicted to gorgeous, heartless killers?