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Okay, here's a new idea I've had. Let me know if you think I should do more.
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RURAL MASSACHUSETTS DOESN’T SEEM the place to wear a polo shirt and shorts in the waning days of winter. The trees are bare, refrozen slush piles reach head high, and even in the midafternoon, there’s a kind of dull gloaming.
Yet here’s Captain America, Chris Evans, he of the signature giant pecs and biceps, answering the door in clothes that leave little to the imagination. Fabric strains around the beautiful curves of his musculature, and the collar reveals the fur of his unshaven chest. He catches me drinking in the view. “Yeah, I guess I was just feeling a little hot today,” he jokes, laughing shyly as he ushers me inside.
But Evans, 37, seems to have no ego about his obvious physical attraction. He grew up just a few miles away and even now, nearly a decade after picking up the shield of Captain America, looks every bit the local as he fixes us a couple of beers. The dishwasher is running and congressional hearings are playing on cable news, and Dodger, Evans’ rescue dog, is spinning around like a dervish, because maybe no one’s come over in a while. You start to understand that Chris Evans doesn’t drink the Chris Evans Kool-Aid. The actor could certainly steep in celebrity in L.A., but he’d rather be back east, back home, where instead of paparazzi, he’s seen by deer and dogs and maybe a few retirees on their daily workouts, slogging down the road in sweats.
Is there a Bostonian attitude to flaunting your gym gains? That feels pretty Hollywood to me.
“Very much so. I've still not adapted to Hollywood. I still do things the way I've always done them, which is to keep things pretty private. If I kiss, I don’t tell. But in recent years, with social media and everything, I’m starting to have more fun, to enjoy this crazy power I have over people. So long as I’m in control.”
We all know what he’s talking about. Back in autumn, after sharing a screen recording of him and some companions to his Instagram Story, Evans apparently didn’t realize that when the clip of the game ended, his photo roll popped up on screen. There on his grid was a dick pic. Evans quickly took down the post, but not soon enough to stop some users from capturing it and sharing elsewhere.
Lounging on the couch, feet up on a distressed-wood coffee table, Evans blushes at the thought. "Lesson learned: it was a really teachable moment, you know?” His hand seems to go unconsciously to cover his crotch. “Things happen, it's embarrassing. You just got to find the positive.” He bites his lower lip, like he needs to stop himself talking.
It wasn’t all that embarrassing, we point out. After all, the dick in the pic in question was definitely one to be proud of, even if most people only saw the tip of it.
“Absolutely – Jesus, this is weird!” he says, quickly, looking down at himself as if to double check the veracity of my statement. “No, you know, I can’t argue with the evidence – I have a big, juicy dick: guilty as charged. We grow ‘em big in Massachusetts. I didn’t even know how big until this all blew up.”
You don’t mean to say you never compared with other guys when you were younger? You never checked out other guys in the gym?
“Well, of course,” he says, “back when we were teenagers, Scott [his openly gay younger brother] and I used to jerk off together. But he’s nearly as big as me anyway, and you know, he’s not gonna act like he’s impressed. He’s my brother, you know? After that, when you’re ‘Captain America’, of course every girl you take out is gonna tell you, oh, you’re the biggest I’ve ever had, it’s too fat, I can’t take it, you know, and other bullshit. But when you find yourself on the Large Penis Support Group forum at one in the morning –”
Excuse me?
He grins at me, not wolfishly but with glee. “Yes, it actually exists, dude! So I thought, this will be fun, I’ll put some pictures on there anonymously and get a honest opinion from the women, and guys of course. Well, it helped me put a lot into perspective, but it also showed me: yes, I’m bigger than other guys – a lot bigger – and I’m going to, uh, own that and fucking enjoy it.” He punctuates his statement with a thirsty glug on his Stella Artois.
It’s somewhat humiliating for me to have to point this out, but he is already a lot bigger than most guys in every other way. Six feet tall. Shoulders out to here. A chest he could rest his bottle of Stella on. Does that all take hard work?
"The preparation for Captain America was really about me bulking up looks wise, so it was a lot of weight training so I could get big,” he says. “It wasn't just, 'Make him like Jason Bourne,' you know? If Jason Bourne can do it, Cap should just be eating up these things. So we had a bit of fun turning up his power. It's all about putting on the muscle. I think even my toes got bigger," Evans says with a laugh.
Do you long for the day that CGI can do all of the work for you?
“Wouldn't that be great? But there is something – I don’t know, exciting about feeling like you are the role, like you do have the size to play Captain fucking America. I was skinny for a good chunk of my life, especially during high school. If I could have seen that I would end up—I don’t know,” he says, trailing off, and instead, spreading his arms to do a goofy double biceps flex. I actually think I hear the cotton of his polo rip somewhere as he does so, and I can’t help catching my breath at the sight. He laughs, folding the arms behind his head as if he were relaxing: in fact, it simply demonstrates his insane bulk and beauty all the more. “I’m bigger than Superman. I’m close to being as big as Thor. It gets me kind of – you know – to think about it.”
Do you ever catch yourself in the mirror and think, Who he?
“I don’t know if I should say this…” He looks at his empty bottle of Stella. His eyes are alight, and there’s a naughtiness to him somehow. I consider stopping the recorder, but I don’t want to break his train of thought. “I mean, if you're asking me, have I ever jerked off about it, the power, the strength, yes, of course I have. Particularly when I’m at the gym and a guy like you – no offence – can’t help staring at me, literally is hypnotised by me. Picture it, you’re built like me, you have a fucking pump on top of that, and you know for a fact that you’re hung, because of the internet. And a guy like yourself, you know, a gay guy, or somebody even questioning his sexuality maybe, is just in a trance staring at you. You feel like the biggest guy there ever was. Do you go into the showers and knock one out?” He raises an eyebrow. “I know Thor does.”
This doesn’t sound like the Chris Evans of a few years ago.
“Until the, uh, dick pic event,” he says, “I didn’t quite know what effect all this had on people. I will say I have some pretty, pretty fantastic fans who came to my support. I couldn’t believe how excited they were.” He looks into space for a moment. “That’s why I’ve decided to get bigger. Not for another movie, that’s in the past – just as a thank you to the fans.”
Isn’t he playing with fire somewhat? What if the guy in the trance, the guy like me, follows you into the showers?
Evans seems not to hear the question, rising to go and get himself a fresh beer and to cuff Dodger playful around the ears. I realise as he does so that his perfect, meaty ass is on display in those tight white shorts. I think about the image also notable among the photo roll on that Instagram story: a meme featuring Evans’ own face and the line “GUARD. THAT. PUSSY.” I’m guessing the relationship with Jenny Slate is well in the past now, so is Evans back looking for a partner?
He straightens up right away. “I really want kids. Yeah, I do. I like pretty pedestrian, domestic things. I want a wife, I want kids. I like ceremony. I want to decorate Christmas trees and shit like that.” He looks at me over his shoulder, and brings the bottle to his lips. “But man, come on. Christmas is about three hundred sleeps away. Know what I mean?”
I know what you mean, Chris. I think I know exactly what you mean.
- - - -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -
RURAL MASSACHUSETTS DOESN’T SEEM the place to wear a polo shirt and shorts in the waning days of winter. The trees are bare, refrozen slush piles reach head high, and even in the midafternoon, there’s a kind of dull gloaming.
Yet here’s Captain America, Chris Evans, he of the signature giant pecs and biceps, answering the door in clothes that leave little to the imagination. Fabric strains around the beautiful curves of his musculature, and the collar reveals the fur of his unshaven chest. He catches me drinking in the view. “Yeah, I guess I was just feeling a little hot today,” he jokes, laughing shyly as he ushers me inside.
But Evans, 37, seems to have no ego about his obvious physical attraction. He grew up just a few miles away and even now, nearly a decade after picking up the shield of Captain America, looks every bit the local as he fixes us a couple of beers. The dishwasher is running and congressional hearings are playing on cable news, and Dodger, Evans’ rescue dog, is spinning around like a dervish, because maybe no one’s come over in a while. You start to understand that Chris Evans doesn’t drink the Chris Evans Kool-Aid. The actor could certainly steep in celebrity in L.A., but he’d rather be back east, back home, where instead of paparazzi, he’s seen by deer and dogs and maybe a few retirees on their daily workouts, slogging down the road in sweats.
Is there a Bostonian attitude to flaunting your gym gains? That feels pretty Hollywood to me.
“Very much so. I've still not adapted to Hollywood. I still do things the way I've always done them, which is to keep things pretty private. If I kiss, I don’t tell. But in recent years, with social media and everything, I’m starting to have more fun, to enjoy this crazy power I have over people. So long as I’m in control.”
We all know what he’s talking about. Back in autumn, after sharing a screen recording of him and some companions to his Instagram Story, Evans apparently didn’t realize that when the clip of the game ended, his photo roll popped up on screen. There on his grid was a dick pic. Evans quickly took down the post, but not soon enough to stop some users from capturing it and sharing elsewhere.
Lounging on the couch, feet up on a distressed-wood coffee table, Evans blushes at the thought. "Lesson learned: it was a really teachable moment, you know?” His hand seems to go unconsciously to cover his crotch. “Things happen, it's embarrassing. You just got to find the positive.” He bites his lower lip, like he needs to stop himself talking.
It wasn’t all that embarrassing, we point out. After all, the dick in the pic in question was definitely one to be proud of, even if most people only saw the tip of it.
“Absolutely – Jesus, this is weird!” he says, quickly, looking down at himself as if to double check the veracity of my statement. “No, you know, I can’t argue with the evidence – I have a big, juicy dick: guilty as charged. We grow ‘em big in Massachusetts. I didn’t even know how big until this all blew up.”
You don’t mean to say you never compared with other guys when you were younger? You never checked out other guys in the gym?
“Well, of course,” he says, “back when we were teenagers, Scott [his openly gay younger brother] and I used to jerk off together. But he’s nearly as big as me anyway, and you know, he’s not gonna act like he’s impressed. He’s my brother, you know? After that, when you’re ‘Captain America’, of course every girl you take out is gonna tell you, oh, you’re the biggest I’ve ever had, it’s too fat, I can’t take it, you know, and other bullshit. But when you find yourself on the Large Penis Support Group forum at one in the morning –”
Excuse me?
He grins at me, not wolfishly but with glee. “Yes, it actually exists, dude! So I thought, this will be fun, I’ll put some pictures on there anonymously and get a honest opinion from the women, and guys of course. Well, it helped me put a lot into perspective, but it also showed me: yes, I’m bigger than other guys – a lot bigger – and I’m going to, uh, own that and fucking enjoy it.” He punctuates his statement with a thirsty glug on his Stella Artois.
It’s somewhat humiliating for me to have to point this out, but he is already a lot bigger than most guys in every other way. Six feet tall. Shoulders out to here. A chest he could rest his bottle of Stella on. Does that all take hard work?
"The preparation for Captain America was really about me bulking up looks wise, so it was a lot of weight training so I could get big,” he says. “It wasn't just, 'Make him like Jason Bourne,' you know? If Jason Bourne can do it, Cap should just be eating up these things. So we had a bit of fun turning up his power. It's all about putting on the muscle. I think even my toes got bigger," Evans says with a laugh.
Do you long for the day that CGI can do all of the work for you?
“Wouldn't that be great? But there is something – I don’t know, exciting about feeling like you are the role, like you do have the size to play Captain fucking America. I was skinny for a good chunk of my life, especially during high school. If I could have seen that I would end up—I don’t know,” he says, trailing off, and instead, spreading his arms to do a goofy double biceps flex. I actually think I hear the cotton of his polo rip somewhere as he does so, and I can’t help catching my breath at the sight. He laughs, folding the arms behind his head as if he were relaxing: in fact, it simply demonstrates his insane bulk and beauty all the more. “I’m bigger than Superman. I’m close to being as big as Thor. It gets me kind of – you know – to think about it.”
Do you ever catch yourself in the mirror and think, Who he?
“I don’t know if I should say this…” He looks at his empty bottle of Stella. His eyes are alight, and there’s a naughtiness to him somehow. I consider stopping the recorder, but I don’t want to break his train of thought. “I mean, if you're asking me, have I ever jerked off about it, the power, the strength, yes, of course I have. Particularly when I’m at the gym and a guy like you – no offence – can’t help staring at me, literally is hypnotised by me. Picture it, you’re built like me, you have a fucking pump on top of that, and you know for a fact that you’re hung, because of the internet. And a guy like yourself, you know, a gay guy, or somebody even questioning his sexuality maybe, is just in a trance staring at you. You feel like the biggest guy there ever was. Do you go into the showers and knock one out?” He raises an eyebrow. “I know Thor does.”
This doesn’t sound like the Chris Evans of a few years ago.
“Until the, uh, dick pic event,” he says, “I didn’t quite know what effect all this had on people. I will say I have some pretty, pretty fantastic fans who came to my support. I couldn’t believe how excited they were.” He looks into space for a moment. “That’s why I’ve decided to get bigger. Not for another movie, that’s in the past – just as a thank you to the fans.”
Isn’t he playing with fire somewhat? What if the guy in the trance, the guy like me, follows you into the showers?
Evans seems not to hear the question, rising to go and get himself a fresh beer and to cuff Dodger playful around the ears. I realise as he does so that his perfect, meaty ass is on display in those tight white shorts. I think about the image also notable among the photo roll on that Instagram story: a meme featuring Evans’ own face and the line “GUARD. THAT. PUSSY.” I’m guessing the relationship with Jenny Slate is well in the past now, so is Evans back looking for a partner?
He straightens up right away. “I really want kids. Yeah, I do. I like pretty pedestrian, domestic things. I want a wife, I want kids. I like ceremony. I want to decorate Christmas trees and shit like that.” He looks at me over his shoulder, and brings the bottle to his lips. “But man, come on. Christmas is about three hundred sleeps away. Know what I mean?”
I know what you mean, Chris. I think I know exactly what you mean.
