Tuesday, November 10, 2009

My Favorite Deadly Sin


A friend in Italy just sent me an email confirming she saw the legendary "sexy priest" calendar on sale in Rome. Clearly this must be art, because it makes me feel guilty, pisses me off, and turns me on all at the same time. It's the height of hypocrisy to make these strapping young hunks the objects of our lust, when they themselves have been sworn to celibacy in an institution that condemns lust, including man-crushes. Ah, forbidden fruit (yes, I said fruit). In honor of my favorite Italian, I wanted to share this head-scratching, yet provocative product that is making me deeply embrace at least one of the deadly sins.
Mr. Father August, 2010 looks like he's into corporal punishment, if you ask me. Is it wrong to want to yank off his dog collar and throw him around by that floppy head of hair? I'm imagining that he's into high-impact moves, and frankly I'd be okay with getting body slammed by him.
Here's a pic from a few years ago featuring Mr. Father July, 2007. He's making me feel all conflicted inside. Do I give him a lecture on the oppressive policies of the church, or do I get lost in those dreamy eyes and adorable dimples?
This studly man of the cloth was the coverboy for the 2007 calendar. Just try to tell me that he doesn't know he's gorgeous (still another deadly sin!). The slightly parted, full lips... the piercing, pale eyes... that Roman nose... this is about sex, and there's no way that they don't know that gay men are buying this crap up. "Lead me not into temptation," indeed. We know that they know that these guys inspire lustful thoughts, and when I start thinking lustful thoughts, I'm inevitably going to imagine some sweaty wrestling scene with a hunky young cleric getting ripped out of his frock [I think I need a minute to myself before I can finish this thought]. Okay, if this had only been in print in my adolescence, I'd have loved to say that the sexy priests calendar turned me gay. As it is, I'm just happy to stumble across these men of the cloth with their come-hither stares, and let my imagination do the rest.

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