Television Lust

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Some of my recent entries have been annoyingly thin. Medication saps my vigor and I never get around to making whatever point was on my mind when I started.

When the sexual appeal of other males finally made its belated shift the front of my mind things were made anew. Like the memory of this boy television star.


He vanished from television when I was about five. My young self used to wonder when he was coming back. Now my older self wondered if I’d experienced something parallel with lust way back when.

Gordon, watching Rifleman episodes on DVD, remembered my expressions of admiration for young Johnny Crawford’s exterior, couldn’t help but think he’ s so young.


And he was. But he was eight years older than me. Besides I was far too young to any idea why I liked looking at him. Older now it would be impossible to not appreciate the snug fit of his jeans and his appealingly docile facial expressions. If I were to watch the show.

Robbie of My Three Sons. Pity I could find a photo from the period in which I found attractive.


I associate him with my very mild fetish for young men in tennis shoes.

Jeff from The Donna Reed Show.


He was classic American teen idol when he wore a suit and tie. Boy next door attractiveness that survives even My Dad.

David Cassidy.


By the time he appeared my endocrine system was overcharged. But it would be a few years before I understood that what I wanted was to have him on his belly with his legs spread apart. The skinny body, silly smile, hair: everything about him said sex.

Some of the above were original Mouseketeers so that avenue to pop stardom didn’t start with Justin Timberlake.

Richard Chamberlain doesn’t quite fit in. During his time as Doctor Kildaire he was - no single image can do that bone structure justice - the most lovely man on American TV.


People familiar with the time might expect the inclusion of Ricky Nelson.


I remember him singing at the end of the family sitcom but he’s never made me tingle.

And there were times in later years where the smiles of Christopher Atkins, Ricky Martin or Tom Welling beguiled me into not changing the channel.

I find my erotic nostalgia comforting, not at all painful. No longing.

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Pansexual Sodomite
Love and Lust
Television Lust
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