Stream-of-Consciousness

Hot damn! BG East’s sudden Summer Sizzlers release yesterday has me powerfully provoked and bitterly impatient for the mailman. And speaking of my entirely socially constructed modern inability to delay gratification, I’m extremely pleased with the new BG East Arena update schedule. I must say, of my subscriptions, this propels the Arena into by far the best value. And just to be clear, I don’t get paid to say that. Just calling it like I see it.
And speaking of calling it like I see it (I suspect this will be one long stream of consciousness post today), I keep returning to the recent pics of “Mr. Brazil 2011” Lucas Malvacini that I’ve been seeing. Whatever is in the water in Brazil, I want it bottled and forced down the throats of the men in my neighborhood. Smoking hot male model after smoking hot male model from Brazil keeps showing up and making the case that the southern hemisphere is inherently sexy. But more than just another eye-wateringly hot naked body, Mr. Brazil made me do a double-take. Where have I seen that boyishly sincere smile before? Who does this side of beef remind me of with his “oh, you’re looking at lil’ ol’ me?” shy tilt of the head, making those infinitely squeezable pecs and sweetly bulging biceps that much more enticing?
Jaha! (as my Swedish friends would say). It’s yet another Denny Cartier free-association that my brain is making. While perhaps not Denny’s doppleganger, there’s a gestalt about him that makes me picture Lucas as Denny’s younger, taller brother… and tag team partner.

Don’t you see it? Well, perhaps it’s partly rooted in my well-documented obsession with Denny. It’s certainly true this wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve spotted some handsome hunk that I’m intuitively convinced comes from Denny’s corner of the gene pool. I’m not sure if this Rorschach test is tapping into my subconscious infatuation with seeing more Denny wrestling, or whether it’s my lust to get back to writing a new Secretarial Pool homoerotic wrestling match starring more hot male models.

And speaking of hot male models and my homoerotic wrestling imagination, did you see that Wendell Lissimore is in a fantastic visual menage a trois for Out Magazine? I’m pretty sure that he’s straight, so this scene of him as the lean meat in a white bread man-sandwich is just awesome fuel for my homoerotic wrestling fantasies in which Wendell has already made a few appearances.

In my imagination, every hard-bodied hunk with a six pack and rock hard pecs is a cock chaser. I think I’ve written no more than one woman into a storyline in my homoerotic wrestling fantasy universe (name that tune for a prize), and I don’t think that I’ve ever bothered with a truly straight male character, at least not one that couldn’t enjoy getting off to some man-on-man muscle domination from time to time. It’s not as if the cutthroat capitalism-gone-mad world of my homoerotic wrestling imagination is one in which I’d want to live full time. But I do enjoy being “special guest star” in my own serial fantasy where every question and conflict is settled with no-holds barred erotic wrestling, where brutal sexual domination is the bread-and-butter of corporate intrigue and international politics, and where homoerotic romance dots the landscape in an otherwise unforgiving egomaniacally-based economy where everything is commodified.
And speaking of me as special guest star in my own fantasy, did you catch the shot of shirtless Jason Bateman on EW (thank you, Towleroad)? Jason has long been my pick to play me in the made-for-television version of my life. I settled on him well before I ever saw a shirtless shot of him, so imagine my delight to discover that he’s quite a hot little number, in addition to being an excellent actor with a fun sense of humor.
I’m not sure where all this stream-of-consciousness was leading, but for those who traveled this intimate path through my synapses, welcome to my world! Happy weekend!

The Whole Package


Have I gone off on a rant about this before? Probably. It bears repeating (that’s my excuse for forgetting what I’ve said already). Anyway… my thoughts today return to the beauty of men’s legs. I love legs. I love the shape and size of them. I love the concentration of power in them. I’m a big, big fan of powerful legs wrapped around another man’s torso, squeezing so hard that it makes the captured man’s jaw drop.
At moments when I’m particularly obsessing about legs (like now), suddenly I notice how often the objectifying eye cuts them out of images of beautiful hunks.
In the fashion world, pictures of gorgeous men seem much more often than not to slice just below the waist, or at most, just above the knee. What matters to the objectifying, dissecting eye is clearly the territory between (and inclusive of) the crotch and the face. Not that there’s ANYTHING wrong with those bits. Give me a couple of weeks and I’ll be obsessing over pecs or abs or shoulders or noses… you know me. I’m fickle. But when I want to linger on the beauty of hot, hard, muscled male legs, the truncated shot of a male model is so aggravating!
I’m no fashion photographer. I don’t have training in graphic design. But I think it says something about what we look for and what we see, that the beauty of the fit male form is so frequently legless. If we who are consumers of the objectified male form were all about legs all the time, surely the torso shot alone would not be nearly as preferred. What counts, what attracts, what sells is clearly, primarily, above mid-thigh. This must drive full-time foot-fetish guys bonkers. In a leglust moment, I need to search a bit to find the whole, stunning package of muscle and proportion, displaying the professional object-of-lust male form from head to toe.
Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that some of the staple recurring characters in my wrestling fiction show off their gorgeous legs full-on. Ben Godfre, who in my imagination is presently in a hot and sweaty post-match three-way muscle worship scene with Jared Prudoff and Ellis McCreadie, can be found in quite a few pics showing off his tasty, tattooed legs. Wendell Lissimore is a study in muscle and grace, with legs that stretch for days. In his one match so far in my imagination, I wrote a starring role for his fantastic legs, involving Brendan Fraser trapped in the ropes and Wendell hanging from nothing but a figure-4 headlock that just about decapitates George of the Jungle.


Zack Jonathan markets his amazing body all over the place, including in the ring and on the mats, not to mention in pin-up photo shoots. I still think Zack needs a severe, bare-assed spanking over an opponent’s knee to atone for many, many self-conscious wrestling performances (though I’m hoping his improvement on that count continues). But I give him credit. In addition to a beautiful everything else, Zack has fantastic legs and he displays them and uses them skillfully.

You know me. I’m the first to crop out everything but a particular body part that I’m presently obsessing over. I dissect the male form as much as, if not more than, anyone else. I freely participate in the objectification of the male body, turning people into objects, and those objects into disassembled pieces, and those pieces into ends, in and of themselves, for my sexual gratification. But I do appreciate the whole package, from head to toe, with every inch in between part and parcel of a beautiful, graceful, inspiring work of art. And when I’m in the mood to taste some gorgeous, hard, powerful legs, an abridged torso, much less a pretty headshot, will simply not do.

Taking Nominations


The clouds are beginning to break, and I’m anticipating some time opening up in the next few days to get back to one of my favorite past-times: writing
homoerotic wrestling fiction for fun. My mind is always drifting into imagining the sights, sounds, and smells (tastes… feels…) of two (sometimes more) beautiful men in sweaty, body-on-body competition. Brutes, beasts and babyfaces all make regular appearances in my imagined wrestling bouts, but I have a soft spot for the sight of pretty boys in an ugly battle.

My frequent co-conspirator Swito lets me know that he shares a lot of my kinks and tastes, including a taste for the picture of a male model in a fierce fight. In my wrestling fantasy world, the Producer’s Ring, male models populate the ranks of the bureaucrats of the entertainment-industrial complex. Sometimes the “secretarial pool” battles with the actors, disciplining the out-of-control egos of the headliner talents who frequently forget their place. Occasionally, they secretarial pool has broken out into intramural bouts as the pretty boys do battle with one another.
It appears that there’s a new position opening up in Brody Productions, and a new executive assistant will be hired soon to join the ranks of the secretarial pool. The qualifications are, as always, a pretty face, a body made for battle, a healthy dose of near-overconfidence, and a readiness to step into character in the Producer’s Ring. A few of the current executive assistants have been based on talents such as Ben Godfre, Andrew Stetson, Luke Guldan, Miro Moreira, and Wendell Lissimore.
As with every significant decision in the world of the Producer’s Ring, the decision as to who will join the ranks of the secretarial pool will come down to a wrestling tournament. Eight extremely eager male models will be given a shot at earning a seat at the producer’s table. Now the only question is who will be the boys with the balls to show up for what will surely be a brutal battle of pretty faces.
Swito has nominated babyface Ellis McCreadie for an invitation to the tournament. As always, Swito’s taste is impeccable. Now we’re looking for seven more body-beautifuls to put their asses on the line for a shot at a job. Fitness models, fashion models… hell, hand models could all be considered, but whoever shows up better be ready for a nasty competition that will leave most, if not all competitors, a little less pretty. As you can probably guess, tats are always a plus, but not required. Any nominations from the floor?

Skills and Equipment

It’s a stream of consciousness post for today, so buckle your seatbelts.

A few days ago, UnDguy at Tattooed Hunks posted this beautiful pic of a handsome, inked, shiny man listening to his i-pod in bed (and in his underwear). It’s the “shiny” that keeps me coming back to this photo. Someone rubbed this hunk down with baby oil for this photo shoot. I’m sure of it. I want that job. I have the skills and equipment. I must have that job.
Of course i-pod boy in his calvins made me check up on another one of my favorite sites, SexyBlackDudes, where I came across (so to speak) this eye-catching fellow. With a little sleuthing, I found his page on Model Mayem. My friends, meet Martez Jackson. Martez is looking to work with some serious minded individuals, so be forewarned. With abs and obliques like that, I can’t imagine anyone not taking this guy seriously. The thickness of those thighs and the less-than-subtle package on display (someone’s not wearing underwear) make me want to cook Martez up a man-sized dinner in that kitchen of his. Seriously, I have the skills and equipment for that, as well.
And contemplating stunningly gorgeous black men, and skills, and equipment, it all sends my mind wandering to a perpetual model-crush of mine, Wendell Lissimore. Wendell has a fascinating body that I just can’t take my eyes off of. His proportions are sort of superhuman. Those long, long, long legs of his are just about unbelievable, but that waist looks inhumanly narrow. Seriously, he looks like someone’s photoshopped 5 inches off his waist. But every pic and clip I find of him, he’s built exactly the same way. The massive chest and shoulders mounting that long, slender body is simply unreal. Incredibly hot, hot, hot and unreal.
Wendell has made some background appearances in my gay wrestling fiction, but he has yet to be written into a match. Look for him to show up soon, now that my mind and eyes have been drawn back to him. See? No matter where you start, it always comes back to beautiful men wrestling. All is right with the world.