Producer’s Ring: Cuomo vs. Champion

The News Division – Introduction
By Bard

Eli Brody didn’t get in on the ground floor of the News-Entertainment industry.  Eli knew what would sell based on whether it made him hard.  News seldom made him hard.  But when browsing some of his competitor Titans’ channels, he began to notice that they were raising the News-Entertainment industry to new heights with their latest talent.  Some of the latest crop of newscasters and reporters did make Eli hard, and he wanted to exploit this new “hard” news talent to their fullest potential.

So Eli contracted with some of the News-Entertainment Titans for a “reality” show featuring the testosterone-filled news talent in physical combat.  He had to bargain hard for the rights to their top talent, purchasing contracts for a limited 14-day stint with which to craft market gold.  Eli was forced to share more generously the potential profits with his fellow Titans than he would normally be willing to do on a venture like this.  But Eli had built his empire on just this sort of genre-crossing, and his gut, and his cock, told him that this was another winning combination.

In his Los Angeles network office, Eli smiled at his new contract-employees from behind his desk.  In two leather winged-back chairs directly in front of him sat his East Coast talent, Chris Cuomo and Chris’ broadcast partner Sam Champion.  Chris had sex written all over him, from his dark curly hair to his hard body to his massive hands.  Chris was in his traditional navy pin-striped suit and bright red power tie cinched up around his thick neck.  A Harvard trained attorney, Chris was plucked from the drudgery of the legal world when his Titan first saw him giving a statement to the press on behalf of a client he was defending.  The camera loved Chris, and Chris quickly felt the love of a loyal fan-base tuning in to see him read the news on the East Coast morning program.  Sitting in Eli’s office, Chris looked confident, but every so often his awkward, boyish grin revealed his nervousness.  His broadcast partner, Sam, was blond, blue-eyed, and softer than Chris, but he had a hardcore edge about him that Eli expected would blossom into a first class heel.  Sam was plucked from a local affiliate to join the East Coast morning program at the same time Chris started his broadcast career there.  Both men enjoyed an easy friendship on camera, but off camera, they were highly competitive, sometimes agressively so, with one another.  Sam came to Eli’s office in a casual pink polo shirt and brown slacks, looking like he was ready for a southern California vacation.

Standing directly behind the East Coast boys were Eli’s two recruits on loan from the Southern syndicate.  Rob Marciano and Thomas Roberts had been growing market share for their Titan for a couple of years.  Rob started as a weatherman, but was transitioning to anchor weekend news broadcasts.  Thomas was in the regular anchor rotation.  Both dark haired, broad and thickly muscled hunks looked nervous, with their suit coats in their arms and their ties loosened and shirts unbottoned at the top.  “I’m just not clear what we’re doing here, Mr. Brody,” Rob was saying.  “We’re in the news business.  We’re not fighters, or whatever you’re looking for.”

On a couch at the back wall of the office, Eli’s final two new contracts looked much more confident.  “Speak for yourself,” said Carter Evans.  “I’ve always loved wrestling.  Just because you’re about to get your ass kicked doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t ready for this gig.”  Carter was smaller than the boys from the East Coast and the South, but he and his fellow independent correspondent, Richard Engel, looked at ease.  Both Carter and Richard were freelancers, usually hired for short stints by whichever Titan needed a local correspondent to travel into some dangerous situation, most often when armed conflict broke out in a remote corner of the world.  Talent like the other four men in the room wouldn’t be placed in such jeopardy by putting them in harm’s way, so Titan’s hired from a pool of freelancers like Carter and Richard to go into tough spots and report, usually for just a few weeks at a time.  Their paychecks were therefore inconsistent, and all freelancers longed to get picked up by the big leagues, to earn an ongoing contract and be another pretty-face talking head on a regular basis.  Richard and Carter had jumped at the offer of a two week contract with Eli Brody, the immensely powerful West Coast Titan.  Both Richard and Carter wore jeans this day, along with sports coats and white button-up shirts open halfway down their chests.  They looked ready to scrap, like they had a confidence born from fieldwork and skills to improvise on the fly when needed to get out of a tight spot.

“Your Titans and I agree that you may not have been used to your fullest potential yet,” Eli smiled.  “For the next two weeks, you’ll live together in a house in Malibu.  Your lives will be filmed 24/7.  And you will compete with one another for both an individual grappling title and a tag-team title.  Winners of each match will get sizeable bonuses, and champions at the end of the show will be rewarded even more handsomely.  You may not like it, Rob, but you’re mine for the next two weeks.  I suggest that you put your game face on and get ready to please the fans.”

Eli’s closed his eyes for a moment, as an electric wave raced through his body.  This was going to be a ratings bombshell.  He was as hard as a rock.


Cuomo v Champion

by Bard

The six newscasters-turned-wrestlers arrived at the set, a mammoth beachfront house in Malibu.  There was immediate tension between Carter Evans, the independent correspondent, and Rob Marciano, the rising star from the Southern syndicate.  Carter seemed to sense a weakness in Rob, and he was ready to push his buttons.

“This is bullshit,” Rob was complaining to no one in particular as they dropped their luggage inside the front door.  “I did not sign up for this.”

Carter sneered at Rob.  “Your ass belongs to your Titan, dip shit.  You sold your body to him, so you’re his.  He sold your body to Brody, so I guess now your actually Brody’s.  But don’t worry, soon your ass will be mine.”  Carter raised his eyebrows up and down and licked his lips, taunting Rob.

Rob took a step toward Carter with his fists clenched, but Thomas Roberts put his hand across Rob’s broad chest and stood between the two of them.  “We’ve got to make the best of a bad situation, Rob,” Thomas spoke low, soothingly.  “Let’s just ride this out and see what happens.”

As all six of the talent walked through the entry way and into the posh living room, a large plasma screen came to life on the wall above the fireplace.  Eli Brody, the West Coast Titan and producer of this venture, smiled from the screen.  “Gentlemen, the cameras are on, so welcome to ‘The News Division,’ in which you star as competitors.  We’ve already sold more bandwidth than we originally anticipated necessary for this broadcast, so there is an eager audience tuned in to see what you can do.”

“What are the rules?” asked Chris Cuomo.  “What’s going to happen next?”

“Good question, Chris,” Eli responded.  “We’re going to give the fans what they want, right off the bat.  Our first match will take place this afternoon, on the beach.  You’ll find your fight-wear in your rooms upstairs.  Your rules are to secure a submission from your opponent, however you can.  No leaving the beach until someone has submitted.  Other than those rules, what happens next is up to you.  Our first match will be a singles competition.  Our online chatters that are already tuned in have voted to start off with a friendly match between you, Chris, and you, Sam.  Be dressed in one hour and ready to wrestle on the beach.”  The screen went blank, and the boys stood still, stunned for a moment.  Slowly, silently, they moved off to find their designated rooms and get their heads ready for the first match.

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An hour later, all six men were on the beach.  Rob, Thomas, Carter and Richard stood in speedos and tank tops at the bottom of the stairs winding down the cliffside from the house to the beach below.  Chris and Sam were walking out onto the otherwise deserted beach.  Chris wore the tight, navy blue speedo that he found in his room an hour earlier, with a white tank top that had to stretch across his broad chest. His skin seemed to soak up the California sun, turning a dark Mediterranean tan by the second.  He had dark, curly brown hair.  His shoulders were broad and round, and his arms were well-muscled and vascular.  His thighs were relatively slender, but corded with muscle born of distance running.  Sam was dressed in an emerald green speedo and a sky blue t-shirt.  Sam was slightly shorter than Chris, with pale Nordic features and blond hair.  Sam was fit, thickly muscled but less defined than Chris.

A horn sounded from the house behind them, and the boys knew that the tournament had begun.  Chris smiled awkwardly at Sam.  “Are we really going to do this?” he asked with a boyish grin.

“Let’s give them a show.  Who knows, this may make you an even bigger star than you already are,” Sam said, holding out his hand for a gentleman’s handshake to start the match.

As Chris reached forward to shake Sam’s outstretched hand, Sam simultaneously grasped hold of Chris’ wrist, tugged Chris forward into him, and lifted his foot to plant a solid kick into Chris’ midsection.  As Chris doubled over, stunned and gasping for breath, Sam straddled Chris’ head between his legs and squeezed.  Chris moaned in pain and fell to his knees, grasping Sam’s legs and trying desperately to pry them apart.

Sam gave an evil grin as he glanced up at the house on the cliff, where he presumed the cameras were placed to capture the action.  Bending down, with Chris’ head still wedged between his knees, Sam grabbed the back of Chris’ tank top and yanked it up.  Quickly releasing his opponent’s head, Sam pulled Chris’ shirt upward, drawing Chris’ arms straight up in the air.  But rather than removing the shirt completely, Sam wrapped the white fabric around Chris’ wrists, tying them together.  Sam stepped away from his trussed up opponent to admire his handiwork.  Chris knelt on the sand, his entire head still red from being squeezed, with his hands held limply in front of him knotted together with his own shirt.

“Well, at least one of us will have a rising star after this,” Sam said to Chris who was kneeling in front of him.  Sam reached down and grabbed a handful of Chris’ curly dark hair by the roots.  Just as he began to pull Chris upward by the hair to get him to his feet, Chris lunged forward, head-butting Sam in the crotch.  An “ooof!” sound came from Sam’s mouth as his breath came rushing involuntarily out of his lungs.  He doubled over, crossing his legs to protect his vulnerability, and reaching down to massage his stunned cock and balls.

“You fucking bastard,” Chris said low and angrily as he climbed to his feet.  Chris tried to pry his hands free from the fabric that bound them, but when he saw Sam begin to stand up straight again, he decided he couldn’t allow his opponent any more time to recover.  Taking a few steps backward, Chris stopped, gauged the distance, and then ran forward.  He leapt into the air, feet first, planting a solid drop kick across Sam’s chest.  Sam was knocked off his feet, landing on his ass in the sand several feet backward.

Chris jumped on top of his dazed opponent, straddling him with his powerful legs.  “You fucking punk,” he growled.  Then still with his wrists tied together, he landed a series of double fists across Sam’s face, sending Sam’s head whipping left and right as the blows beat down on him.  Sam’s face was turning purple from the prolonged beating, and blood was dripping out of his nose when Chris finally stopped pounding.  Wrapping his bound wrists behind Sam’s neck, Chris yanked Sam’s upper body forward.  At the same moment, Chris shifted to the side, sliding his right thigh beneath Sam’s body and trapping Sam’s chest between his legs.

“No!” Sam shouted in pain as Chris began to squeeze.  But when Chris laced his ankles together, leveraging his leg and core muscles into a mighty crush, the air came out of Sam’s lungs in a “whoosh!”  With his mouth gaping open and his eyes wide with fear, Sam tried to yell out, but he had no air left to make a sound.  Still yanking Sam’s neck sideways with his bound wrists, Chris simultaneously squeezed with his legs and abs, and pulled forward with his bulging arms and shoulders.  Chris’ own face flushed with the massive exertion, as he leaned forward, placing his face inches from Sam’s gasping, open mouth.  All his muscles quivering, Chris held Sam trapped for a full 30 seconds, twisting and crushing his body with all his might.  When Chris’ muscles finally fatigued and he could flex them at full strength no longer, he relaxed while holding his opponent still in place.

Sam gasped as his chest exploded outward.  As soon as he had a chestful of air again, he croaked, “I submit!”

“That’s right you give, you little fucker!”  Chris shouted back in his face.  Pulling his wrists out from behind Sam’s neck, Chris drew his left knee up to his own chest and planted his foot in the side of Sam’s torso.  With one mighty kick, he sent his colleague rolling over and over across the sand.  Chris got to his feet, his body sweaty and half covered in white sand. His abdomen extended and contracted rapidly with his deep breathing.  Staring at the house on top of the hill, he raised his bound hands above his head in victory.

The other boys at the bottom of the stairs looked on in silence, sizing up what may lay ahead for them.

Newsbreak

I have a special message to all the killjoys who say wishful thinking is a waste of time: suck on this, bitches!

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Gay or straight, one thing was always for certain: Gio is fucking hot!

I once pined away for shirtless pics of those bulging biceps and obviously meaty pecs straining the seams of Gio Benetiz’ fabulously tailored suit coats, and then, my whispered prayers heard, beefcake Benitez started sharing shots of most of his muscled glory.

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Tommy DiDario started working up a sweat with Gio recently.

And of course I’ve been wishing and praying to the homoerotic wrestling gods for 2 years for the Latino beefcake news pin-up boy to be a certified ‘mo. And in recent weeks, like the rumble of the gods preparing to scatter manna from heaven, a certain sizzling hot hunk started showing up side by side with Gio in his Instagram photos, working up a lather of sweat and baby oil on the beach, sight-seeing, hiking. Sure, statistically speaking, it was probably likely that Gio wasn’t a member of the family, and that this was some hottie birds of a feather flocking together coincidence, because even young and pretty straight boys seem to gravitate toward one another.

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On bended knee!?

Then emails started pouring in yesterday alerting me to the photo of Gio on bended knee at the Eiffel Tower holding said hunk’s hand. This is social media reality, of course, so we have Instagram photos and relatively vague captions, but, fuck, yes, and yes, it appears that Gio not only plays for our team, so does his ripped muscle hunk fiancee!

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Yep, I think Gio very well may be gay…

As someone already commented on my last post obsessing about Gio, yes, this certainly would seem to demand a starring role for these two in a homoerotic wrestling tag team fiction playing in my mind already and, the homoerotic wrestling gods willing, on the pages of this blog soon. Merging so many of my fondest gay wrestling fantasies, can we linger just a little on the idea of Gio and his balls-and-chain, wearing nothing but jock straps and smiles, facing off against rising NBC news star Thomas Roberts and his prettyboy husband sporting itty-bitty bikini bottoms?

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Patrick Abner (l) and his NBC Newshunk husband Thomas Roberts (r) need to sort out who’s the hottest newsboy lover on air in the ring.

I’m already there, of course, and given the evidence that if I wish for something hard enough, it WILL happen, I’m devoting hours a day to this fantasy starting now. If… nay, when this becomes a reality, which lovers would come out on top?

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A winning combo?

Then, of course, there’s Sam Champion and his Brazilian hunk husband…

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Clearly, gay newboys and their husbands love the beach.

Throwback Thursday

WordPress tells me that I this is my 1,295th blog post. No wonder I can’t remember what I’ve talked about over the past 6 years. Since I migrated the pages of this blog to a new server just over 2 years ago, over a quarter of a million visitors (statistically measured with replacement) have clicked more than 991,000 page views. For those curious about trivia, the most page views in a single day happened on September 3 of last year, when there were 2,845 views in 24 hours.  Interestingly, the most popular time for people to check out what’s happening here is 11:00 am on Sundays (US Central Time Zone). Fascinating.

What summary cross-sectional statistics can’t say, however, is something about the landscape of the distance we’ve traveled over 6 years.  So let’s do a longitudinal look and see what we may learn about how my attention has evolved.

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Sam Champion & Chris Cuomo. You could see the sexual tension pulsing off of them (Sam).

Exactly six years ago I was obsessing about an enduring topic here, hot newsmen. Specifically, I was bitching about some transparent PR work to make sure viewers knew that hot Italian of my dreams, Chris Cuomo, was straight. Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I was also raising questions about his bromance with weatherman Sam Champion, significantly before Sam came out publicly.  Not like the sexual tension between the two of them, both featured on Good Morning America at the time, was difficult to notice. These days my morning newsmen obsessions tend toward desperately hoping to see more shirtless, soaking wet features starring Gio Benitez and Matt Gutman, preferably together. Oh, who am I kidding, preferably in g-strings and coated in sweat pounding the fuck out of each other in a wrestling ring.  Maybe in 2016…

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Brenn Wyson asks Jack Hammer the eternal question: “Who’s Your Daddy!?”

On August 13, 2010 I was reflecting on how hot verbal banter can make so many near misses a bullseye. This was back when I was actively subscribing, and sincerely enjoying, Naked Kombat. Specifically, their then-recent release of Brenn Wyson squaring off against Jack Hammer was on my mind. I mentioned in the post that I was in a pretty-boy mood, and neither of these battlers were tickling my bone.  Yet it was Brenn’s aggressive, smart ass mat banter that was holding my attention and making me grab my crotch, demanding that Jack “call me fucking Daddy Wyson!” Yeah. Personality has been turning my crank for the duration of my blogging days. I miss those good old days when Naked Kombat had more personality.

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BG East Wrestlefest 1 Battle R’Oil descended into total chaos. The fabulous variety.

If you checked in here this date in 2011, I was deep in homoerotic wrestling metaphor to make sense of riots around the globe.  Sociological theory meets hardcore gay wrestling fetish.  There’s still something bewildering to me about mass violence and killing. Of course, these days we have sanctimonious ISIS nut jobs quelling dissent with beheadings and institutionalized terror. I think, as I did 4 years ago, that there’s something in the human condition that can be pushed only so far, though. Bullies and oppressors are notoriously shit at gauging it, but it’s there, inside each and all of us, ready to go ape shit and fuck conventions and rules and throw our lot in with desperate chaos, when pushed over the line. Revolutions seem to always take us by surprise. But clearly, they shouldn’t.

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Of course Roman Sebrle trashed the homoerotic wrestling decathlete competition. Look at that body!!!

On this date in 2012, my homoerotic wrestling imagination was still running wild from seeing so many Olympic athletes pumped and primed in competition. The summer Olympics were over, but my obsession with translating those stunningly world class bodies into homoerotic wrestling scenarios was still roaring full speed.  August 13 was for crushing hard and imagining the pleasures of watching the Olympic decathletes climb into the ring and work their phenomenal cross training bodies. Damn, I enjoyed writing those Olympic Spirit stories!  For the record, the singles homoerotic wrestling decathlete title went to hot daddy Czech Roman Sebrle, heeling his salt-n-pepper hotness all over golden boy American Trey Hardee.  However, Trey won a taste of retribution, pinning the hot naked Czech ass to the sky for team America. Damn, I can’t wait for Rio 2016!

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Kevin Crows naked back is a work of homoerotic wrestling art!

Two years ago today, I was fixated on hotly muscled backs as wordplay on celebrating being back from vacation and getting back to updating the blog. This reminds me of the way that continuing this blog has been about ebbs and flows, sometimes finding a ton to say and time to say it, sometimes not. Over the years I’ve often emphasized that this is truly just at the edges of what pays my bills. So life often keeps me from musing further. But I always miss it when that happens. And as much as I mull over whether I’ve said absolutely everything I have to say about the topic of homoerotic wrestling, I keep finding more to write.

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Three cheers for Jake’s bro Eli Black for putting Jake out cold!

If you tuned in exactly one year ago, you’d have found my grand finale of my Making Jake series.  It took over a year to work my way through the alphabet, marveling at how pleasurable it is to watch opponents bring out so much, such variety, and every bit of hotness from Jake Jenkins. Of course, the end of the alphabet sucks, but still, I was pretty pleased to call out the joys of seeing opponents make Jake unconscious, vertical, wet, x-rated, yelp, and zealous.

A lot has changed in 6 years.  A lot hasn’t. Looking forward to seeing what next year brings!

The Champ

Those who know me know I have a peculiar infatuation for newsmen. I subscribe to the school of thought that the news-entertainment industry has long ago been veering steadily toward requiring their headliners to be hot hunks. The jump from beefcake eye candy behind the news desk to homoerotic wrestling hunks in my imagination is a short one. My first homoerotic wrestling fiction charted the narrative of 8 network news studs in a beach wrestling reality television bonanza. In fact, THE first match I wrote starred my constant newsboy infatuation #1, Chris Cuomo, doing battle with his bromantic weatherman colleague, Sam Champion. This was before Sam was out of the public closet, but that didn’t stop me from writing with certainty Sam’s undisguised workplace crush on the big , muscled, beautiful Italian. In that match, Sam stuns Chris by going vicious and dirty first, but the bulging newsreader battled back, furiously crushing Sam’s chest in a breath stealing body scissors that left the Champ unable to submit until the Italian Stallion finally tired enough to let an ounce of air back into the weatherman’s lungs. With no love left between the colleagues, Sam tried to double cross Chris in the team wrestle free-for-all. The weatherman successfully sleepered Richard Engel out of the competition, and nearly did the same to big, too beautiful to stay in news Rob Marciano. But big, bad Rob had other plans in mind, knocking the Champ out cold with one bare fisted punch to the face.

Anyway, Sam Champion’s real life narrative started to turn almost as hot as I imagined him in my wrestling fiction. He came out, married his swelteringly hot Brazilian bon-bon, and honeymooned on the beach, in speedos, lingering long for the cameras to snap just hoe hot and beefy we always knew Sam to be. And with that slice of heaven in his corner, I have to wonder of the Champ might need a resurgence in the News Division in my homoerotic wrestling imagination!

And two years after his workplace crush, Chris Cuomo, flexed his guns in Sam’s face and then left GMA for good, Sam has announced that he’s also out the door to headline The Weather Channel. The eye candy left at GMA is getting pretty sparse. Unless the quickly promote Gio Benitez and Matt Gutman to shirtless anchors pronto, I predict a precipitous fall in GMAs ratings. Cause the only thing that let’s me digest 2 full hours of mot pruning newsishness is hot hunks serving it up.

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Picking Up the Remote Again

I know that there are probably no more than a half dozen or so of you that share my particular homoerotic wrestling infatuation with the fantasy of wrestling newsboys.  I’m pretty okay with that, actually.  I’d like to think of myself as someone who marches to my own drummer, at least from time to time.  So I’m pulling out the snare drum and pounding one out regardless of who cares, because late breaking news today is making me think long and hard on not only my active wrestling imagination, but also my real life morning routine.

Recurring star of many of my homoerotic wrestling fantasies: CNN’s (!) Chris Cuomo

Chris Cuomo, long-time infatuation of mine, has just been announced as a new hire at CNN to host/co-host a morning news program.  You probably didn’t hear them, but a choir of angels just belted out a C-major across three octaves at the end of that last sentence.

Chris has been getting his big muscles nice and wet as a triathlete lately

I was emotionally crushed and thrown into a spiral of existential angst when ABC passed over promoting Chris from the newsreader chair to the anchor spot, choosing instead the hot little piece of baklava George Stephanopoulos while simultaneously booting Chris into 20/20 purgatory.  Although I find Josh Elliott surprisingly adorable in the newsreader spot on GMA, I simply haven’t felt the rousing hit of lust mixed with my morning news since Chris and his HUGE hands left the scene (seriously, have you seen his hands!?).

Sam Champion is thinking, “Holy fuck, his cock is 2 inches behind my head!”

I hear he’s been serving his time at 20/20 just fine, though I’ve never bothered to track down exactly when 20/20 airs to see for myself.  His occasional reappearance on GMA to do some gratuitous tease and plug (sounds fun, actually) of one of his more attention-getting investigative pieces for 20/20 always left me with a reminder of his hotness mixed in with the lingering sense of loss.

Chris points out the secret to his sexy success (hint, it’s not the fish)

Obviously, I’m not the only one who’s caught on to the ridiculously hot Italian muscle bod hiding underneath that big ‘n’ tall wardrobe of his, considering he’s been writing occasional columns for Men’s Health and continuing to permit himself to be photographed pumping his worship-ready muscles.  He’s also disclosed that as part of his triathlon training he’s wearing banana hammocks and skin tight (aka “aerodynamic”) gear.  Baby!

Look at the pecs barely squeezed into that Men’s Health t-shirt!!!

So, yeah, I’m there, CNN.  You say you’re still deciding who he may co-host with?  You don’t know what will happen to Solidad O’Brien?  Blah, blah, blah.  You had me at “Cuomo.”  This will, undoubtedly, push a new News Division homoerotic wrestling fantasy match up my to-do list, now (with the enticing addition at GMA of an additional gorgeous correspondent, Gio Benitez, to join the likes of insanely fuckable Matt Gutman).  And I’m desperately hoping that I can get back to the good old days of settling down in front of the television early in the morning with my cup of tea in one hand and my mounting excitement in the other as Chris Cuomo turns me on and at least occasionally finds a reason to have to go shirtless.

I’m announcing the official open to shirtless fishing season for Chris Cuomo!

Friends with Benefits

Sam Champion (r) announces he’s marrying his partner (l) who is, shockingly, a man.
Breaking news! Sam Champion is gay!  Well, really now.  Breaking news? I’ve probably spent more time than most studying newsboys and speculating on their sexualities, but even a casual observer of that glazed look of unrequited lust and conspicuous blushing every time 6’2″ Italian thoroughbred Chris Cuomo gives him a wink and a smile couldn’t miss the obvious truth.  So excuse me if I fail to look surprised, even as I sincerely celebrate another hot celebrity throwing wide the closet doors.  Seriously, ABC has been handling the whole thing with remarkable poise.  It’s all about the good news, unrestrained excitement, gentle kidding… all the stuff that happens when anyone tells their friends that they’re engaged.  Because that’s the real news.  Sam’s tying the knot in a state where that’s legal with his smoking hot, sultry Brazilian (all of that’s redundant, now, isn’t it?) fiancé. 
Chris flexes his mouthwatering gun: Sam blushes and adjusts his position on his bicycle seat.
Sam and Chris were stars of the first homoerotic wrestling fiction I posted nearly 4 years ago.  They were tag team partners who had to compete head-to-head in a singles match to start off the newsboy tournament.  Their notorious gay/straight bromance turned nasty quickly when winning was on the line.      Sam used the excuse of the opening handshake to sucker punch (kick, really) Chris in the gut, dropping the big muscle stud to his knees, and slapping on a skull crushing standing head scissors.
Chris feins indifference to Sam’s straightboy crush
I imagine Sam to be a seriously vicious scrapper, while Chris is just stunned that his good looks and rippling muscles aren’t making his little buddy weak in the knees like they usually do.  Sam rips Chris’ tank stop off and ties the red-faced Italian’s wrists together with it before stepping back and taking in the sight of the muscle stud transformed into a vulnerable meatscicle.
I suspect Sam volunteered to co-star with Chris in a wet t-shirt scenario
Sam and Chris were at the very beginning of this blog, too, inspiring me to snag my first caps to post what it looks like when they get dropped into a dunking booth, their wet t-shirts plastered to their bodies.  Soaked to the skin, Chris’ hot pecs and tight abs on display as the fabric goes transparent… this is the type of “news assignment” every gay man wants to be part of!
Chris points at his pride and joy: that gorgeous, bulging bicep (oh, yeah, there’s a fish there, too)

Chris Cuomo remains a fixture in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, appearing in an astonishing 5 fictional wrestling matches in the Producer’s Ring.  His real-life penchant for absolutely needing to show off his massive, bulging biceps doesn’t do anything to douse this fire I’ve got burning for him.

Technically, one doesn’t actually need to roll one’s sleeves up past one’s granite carved deltoids to display one’s catch, does one? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

If somehow fishing could be worked into my erotic tastes, Chris would certainly be my patron saint.  As it is, his insistence on showing off his catch with his shirt sleeves rolled up past his massive shoulders, letting the heft of his catch pump his mountainous bicep up to a mouthwatering peak, is sufficient to cement him as a recurring character transported into my erotic wrestling fantasies.

Chris makes Sam sweat with a hands-on weightlifting spot.

Now with Sam trading up his bromance with Chris for a romance with Rubem, it makes me wonder if the chemistry between the two newsboys had a part to play in driving my instant infatuation with the big, handsome, muscle clad Italian.  The chemistry between them most definitely inspired that no-holds beach match between them.  Just to round out that action for those who missed it, there’s hair pulling, a heat-butt to the groin, face punching, and a rib crushing body scissors that makes one stunned newsboy wish he had air left in his lungs to be able to cry, “I submit!”

I’m pretty certain the green is photoshop, but the muscles are all Chris Cuomo!

With some major projects in my rearview mirror, I’m recommitting myself to the Producer’s Ring universe in the coming weeks.  First up, my infatuation with homoerotic wrestling newsboys is inspiring a rush of new action.  Chris Cuomo, the hunk featured most in my writing thus far (of any celebrity genre!) is almost certain to make an appearance again soon.  He’s pumped. He’s hard.  He’s been bicep curling massive fish and ripping that physique of his with triathlon training.  Somebody’s in for some hurt, even if the big, gregarious muscle stud tends to be a rather tragic babyface object of muscle-bashing sooner or later.

Chris unbuttons his shirt, flexes his pecs, and ponders the direction his homoerotic wrestling career is heading.

Then again, even the biggest boy scout on the planet (or the one with the biggest pecs) can be pushed only so far.  One of these days, our baby face hero may just decide that playing by the rules and flashing his dimples and nipples isn’t the key to success in the wrestling ring.  And if pec-pappa Chris takes a legitimate heel turn, holy shit! There are some hot newboy objects of lust who’d better watch their backs!

Nurse! I feel faint!


While
Chris Cuomo hasn’t shown up in my blog lately, he’s never far from my heart. Stunning news at ABC from the beginning of this month when they announced that Diane Sawyer will be leaving Good Morning America at the end of the year to become the sole news anchor for the evening news. Of course there’s that fascinating story that reflects on the fact that as of January, two of the three national evening news anchors will be women. Of course, that’s not the story I really care so much about.


I’m keeping my eye on the beautiful Italian with the curly hair and the massive hands who potentially likes to go commando. “Unnamed sources” (those bastards) have suggested that when Sawyer leaves the show at the end of the year, there will be a major shake up of the on screen ensemble. All I can say is keep your filthy hands off Chris Cuomo! (and place my worshipful hands on him). All this behind-camera drama is definitely calling for a new match in my wrestling fiction featuring Chris… perhaps defending his anchor seat against upstart A&F-looking skinny-stud David Muir.
Speaking of Chris Cuomo and hands, did you catch yesterday’s on screen vaccinations of the cast for the flu? It was another one of those unscripted moments that revealed so much about the morning newsboys. For example, it’s fascinating to know that Chris is versatile. “I can go either way,” he says proudly. Indeed, Chris. I’ve long suspected as much.
And as Chris rolls up the sleeve of his polo shirt, catch him just trying to restrain himself from flexing that massive bicep. Go ahead, Chris, flex. You know you want to. You know we want you to…
Adding to the sexual tension ALWAYS present between Chris and weatherman Sam Champion, when it’s Sam’s turn for his flu shot, he insists that Chris hold his hand. He even gives up the ruse, confessing it’s not that he’s afraid of the shot, he just wants Chris to hold his hand. Chris tries to play down the tension, rolling his eyes and remarking, “Another highpoint.” And once again I say, look at that massively mounded bicep! All right, already! We can all see what’s happening here! Just get a room and put Sam out of his misery!!! (and have someone take pictures… and send them to me).
So it isn’t always “news” on the morning news shows that matters, clearly (did you see the extensive segment on Simon Cowell turning 50?). I’m tuning in to catch my favorite Italian stallion occasionally flex his muscles and show some skin (thank God for flu season). Word to the wise over at ABC News, whatever you decide about replacing Diane Sawyer, leave Chris Cuomo on air! It wouldn’t hurt to put him in short sleeves more often, too. And an occasional segment that requires him to be in a swimsuit wouldn’t hurt either. I know I’ve posted this pic of Chris fishing before, but I just want to remind us all the raw talent that this man brings. David Muir’s in for a world of hurtin’…