Recently Sean (the dear!) was posting thirst traps to his blog, but was worried about how they would be received by his readership. As I am straight now they had no effect upon me one way or the other, but I assured him that much of his readership would find it inspiring. He was doubtful, so I decided to look for evidence.
Lo and behold, I eventually found that evidence on one of those fanfiction sites. People have certainly been busy putting poor Sassybear in interesting situations. Below I have pasted an excerpt from one of those stories; hopefully it is tame enough that my blog will not get shut down by the WordPress Morality Police. (Let’s just say those fanfiction writers tend to get racy.)
Treadmill, Interrupted
Deb_SWS
Summary:
Sean is busy exercising when he is interrupted by the doorbell.
Huff, huff, huffed Sean as he ran on his treadmill. His thicket of chest hair glistened with sweat as he jogged, his pectoral muscles rippling, his shapely thighs burning. Exercising on a treadmill in his basement was less fun than hitting the trails of upstate New York, but the weather outside was dreadful, and Sean wanted to spend his energy exercising, not dealing with catcalls and wolf whistles as he jogged by.
Although Sean had a sense that others found him stunningly attractive, he could not understand why. He thought of himself as an ordinary fellow who had put on a few too many pounds. Furthermore he wanted to be healthy regardless of how he looked, so jogging on the basement treadmill it was. Besides, he wanted to look good for his upcoming trips to Provincetown and Fort Lauderdale.
It was true that while on vacation he tended to receive his fair share of salacious attention — waiters proffering impromptu shoulder massages, total strangers stroking his chest under the pretense of brushing away anoles from his clothes — he felt oddly self-conscious about walking around in public without his shirt the way all the other beautiful men did. Exercise was no fun but Sean hoped the results would be worth the effort.
Huff, huff, huffed Sean, thinking that if he had an especially good workout he would later be able to reward himself with an alcoholic beverage probably containing gin. Huff, huff.
“Ding dong!” said the doorbell.
“Who could that be?” asked Sean. He was not expecting company. Might it be a Jehovah’s Witness or some Mormon elders visiting to convert him? Perhaps it was a fundraiser for the Republican Party?
“Ding dong!” repeated the doorbell, more insistently.
Shirtless and sweaty, Sean felt he was in no condition to be answering the door. But it might be important, and if somebody was going to answer it would have to be him. Sean’s handsome husband Jeffrey was out of the house, and his adorable dog Harvey was not tall enough to reach the doorknob. Sean decided he would risk going upstairs and peeping through his peephole.
“Ding dong!” said the doorbell a third time. Clearly this visitor was both insistent and impatient. With a sigh, Sean turned off the Tig Notaro comedy special he had been watching and headed up the stairs, his calves aching from the treadmill.
At the door stood a tall muscular blue-eyed man who bore a remarkable resemblance to Alan Ritchson, star of Reacher, the ensemble series Titans, and the horrible sitcom Blue Mountain State. Transfixed, Sean opened the door.
“Yes?” asked Sean.
“Why hello,” said the tall muscular blue-eyed man. “I have a special delivery for Sean B____. Would he happen to be around?”
“I’m Sean,” said Sean. “But I am not expecting any deliveries. Lately I have been using my incredible willpower to avoid impulse purchases. Perhaps there has been a mistake?”
“Oh, I doubt that,” said the tall muscular blue-eyed man. “This is a surprise gift from Hugh Jackman and Chris Meloni.”
“Hugh Jackman and Chris Meloni? Why would they be sending me a gift?”
“Apparently, they were talking with one of your friends recently, and they realized they had not been paying you the attention you deserve. They worried they were acting like you didn’t exist, which made them feel awful. So they decided to make it up to you with this special delivery.”
“Oh, I’m flattered!” said Sean. “I’m not sure what to say. But may I ask you a question?”
“Go right ahead, sir,” said the tall muscular blue-eyed man.
“I notice that you bear a remarkable resemblance to Alan Ritchson, star of Reacher, the ensemble series Titans, and the horrible sitcom Blue Mountain State. Do you get tired of being told that?”
“Of course not. I am Alan Ritchson, after all,” said the tall muscular blue-eyed man, who in fact was Alan Ritchson.
“You’re Alan Ritchson? But why are you working as a delivery driver?”
“Food inflation has been pretty high, and it turns out that being an internationally famous TV and film star doesn’t always pay enough to cover the bills. So sometimes I take on gig work.”
Sean’s mind boggled. All of a sudden he had a newfound appreciation for his soul-deadening job in government bureaucracy. “May I ask another question?” Sean asked.
“Go right ahead.”
“Why are you taking your shirt off?”
“As I said, Sean,” said internationally famous TV and film star Alan Ritchson, “this is a special delivery.”
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