Month: December 2009

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #1

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The highlight of my 2009 blogging journey had to be that moment on Monday evening, October 19, when Derek Da Silva twitted the link to this blog and commended it for the nice description of some of his wrestling work. I was star struck. A gorgeous pornboy with an incredible back tattoo commended my blog.

The brush with fame was enough to unseat my prior pornboy wrestling favorite, Mitch Colby, from his throne atop my lustful adoration. I’ve been entranced by Mitch for the past couple of years, but his work lately has grown more explicitly homoerotic and pornographic, and I’ve been totally along for the ride. His first full frontal and liplocks for BG East made me take a double take. His spread eagle pics via Muscle Adonis once again caught my full attention (despite the poor photography), and his head-to-head (claw-to-ball) mat action with Derek in Crotch Crushers 1 sealed the deal in my mind. Just as Mitch conquered Derek in a sweat soaked embrace, so he laid claim to my loyalties and my fan-favorite status.
But then Derek went and twitted, and he grabbed the crown from Mitch’s head. The mention of Derek’s interest in post structuralism in one of his bios put it over the top for me, really. A masochistic, tattooed, muscle-head, pornboy into both sweaty ball abuse and post structuralism? Clearly this was meant to be: me and Derek exchanging bearhugs before I capture him in my body scissors, propped up on one elbow, reading Foucault to him as he groans in pain (a boy can dream!).
As regular readers know, Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight release from BG East just last month heated up the competition for my fan favorite status once more. Mitch’s match against Peter Stallion was not my cup of tea. His emission-submission from Marc Rion was a delight that definitely earned him serious points. But his sweat soaked grunt-fest with BG East veteran Patrick Donovan was the kicker that made Mitch leap frog over Derek and back into the number one spot in my lustful affections.
Just within the past couple of weeks, Derek’s Christmas video has made me laugh my ass off (he lights his tree using the crank electrodes that have been attached to his testicles), meaning he’s pushing hard at overcoming Mitch once more. A sick sense of humor is an incredible turn on! I’ve written a couple of fantasy matches with Mitch and Derek teamed together to deliver some humiliating abuse to unsuspecting pretty boys. I realize that BG East really doesn’t do re-matches (as far as I can tell), but I’m aching deep, deep down for another bout between Mitch and Derek, in order to give Derek another shot at claiming the title of my favorite homoerotic pornboy wrestler. I’m picturing something in the ring this time, with lots of work in the ropes (like I said, I can dream!).
So here’s my New Year’s toast to Mitch and Derek, grappling together in a sweat-soaked embrace, and here’s to hoping to get another chance to see the two of them battle it out to decide who will end up on top in 2010. More importantly here’s a New Year’s toast to you: may the stroke of midnight find you locked in a sweaty, full contact erotic combat, perhaps having the breath squeezed out of you (or you doing the squeezing, whichever you’re in the mood for), and may all your wrestling fantasies come true in 2010! Happy New Year!

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #2

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Rediscovering Los Luchadores teen idol-like star, Levi James, morphed into a rock star bassist is my second favorite moment in blogging in 2009. It really wasn’t so long ago that young Levi was playing an even younger character, Turbine, the youthful ward of the fictional masked Mexican wrestling star, Lobo Fuerte. By day, the dynamic duo pro-wrestled as the improbable combination of squeaky clean, good guy boy scouts who completely dominated in the ring. By night, they battled over-the-top supervillains, making Union City safe for its citizens.

As a 20 year old playing a 16 year old, Levi was gorgeous sucked inside skin tight lycra tights and shiny black leather pants. Paired with muscle model, Maximo Morrone, Levi was the heart and energy of this Saturday morning live-action, low-budget production. He was the typical hyperactive kid, worshiping his bodybeautiful, testosterone-hyped mentor. The whole thing was saccharine, sloppy and silly, and I felt just a twinge of shame for being a full-grown man tuning in to it in the hope of catching the rare wrestling scene.
I hadn’t really given young Levi another thought since Los Luchadores disappeared after one short season. For some reason, I found myself digging around for him this year, and I was thrilled to discover that he’s now the bassist for the Vancouver band, Irrevents. I was flush with excitement to discover that he’s continued to mature into handsome, hardbody, “Levi the Hulk.”
And I had a massive (if I do say so myself) redirection of blood flow when I discovered that rock star Levi seems to frequently get so hot and sweaty that he performs shirtless. He could play a washboard (speaking of, check out the abs), and I’d pony up to support him. But Irreverents actually put together some nice sounds and pounding beats that are, honestly, right up my alley. The sweet convergence of wrestling, a gorgeous man, and sweaty rock star making music I like is a highlight of my year in blogging.
Hot, young Levi is keeping all his irons in the fire, modeling, acting, playing bass and managing his band. Personally, I’m rooting for Hollywood to come to its senses and discover the mouthwatering talent he brings to the screen. So as we approach 2010, I’m toasting Levi’s on camera future: may this be a year filled with much, much more sweaty, shirtless bass playing topped off with a breakout role that shows off that beautiful bod he’s clearly worked so hard for! Ching-ching!

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #3

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With three days left in 2009, I have three more favorite moments in blogging to document as I look back over 2009. Unquestionably, a series of favorite moments for me has been my ongoing series “What Turned Me Gay.” My WTMG posts have generated the most comments, by far. I sort of stumbled into the recurring theme of a retrospective on my youthful development into a Mo with a wrestling kink. Little did I know that what turned me gay turned so, so many of you gay as well.

I’ve lost track of my first entry for What Turned Me Gay… I’ll have to dig around in my archives to see what happened to my fond memories of seeing bodybuilder Bob Paris on the cover of a muscle magazine when I was an adolescent. From Bob to Billy Jack Haynes to Robert Conrad, what I’ve rediscovered about myself is that my past is littered with objects of lust who confirmed and reconfirmed for me that whatever else I was to become, I was, without a doubt, a gay boy who got off on seeing hard bodies hammering on one another.
From Jon-Erik Hexum to Miles O’Keeffe to Steve Reeves, in my youth I was delighted by a steady stream of gorgeous men with big muscles showing plenty of skin.
From the 1984 mens gymnastics Olympic champions to Greg Louganis, the athletes, the actors, the characters and grapplers all enflamed my imagination and engorged my… lust for gorgeous men. And frankly, there’s something liberating about the realization that some of these guys would probably resent being named on a list of things that turned me gay. Just like me being gay, it doesn’t matter what they think or believe or want. It just is.
I realize that text is not the most effective avenue for communicating sarcasm, but I sincerely hope that readers have been able to detect my tongue firmly planted in my cheek. In fact, I don’t believe any of these fine, fine men get credit for turning me gay, because I don’t believe that I ever made a “turn.” I believe I have always been gay, so there was nothing to be changed, and there’s most certainly nothing for me to be changed back into. If “What Turned Me Gay” tells me anything, it’s that I have always lived in a world filled with beautiful men catching my eye, arousing my erotic imagination, and getting me in touch with the joys of passionate lust.
I don’t know how many more objects of lust from my youth I’ll be able to scare up in the coming year. What Turned Me Gay may have to get retired soon. But as I look back at all the studly stars and hardbody wrestlers who “turned me gay,” I lift my glass in a toast: for every moment that they made my pulse quicken, for every flash of muscled beauty that made me light-headed, I’m a better man today for it. Ching, ching…

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #4

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As 2009 coasts to a close, I’m looking back at the distance I’ve covered this year. Just between you and me, I’m happy with life. I’m surrounded by love and friendship. I’m still employed and have health insurance. And I’m oddly proud of this bizarre discipline I began this year, to write a daily blog centering around my fixation with beautiful men, wrestling, and all things (well most things) gay.

For the final four days of this year, I’m counting down my top four favorite moments in blogging. This is entirely an ego trip. It’s all about me, reflecting on me, and casting my sole vote for what happened to me that I find most memorable. I realize how egotistical this exercise is. Feel free to comment on your own favorite 2009 moments (yours or mine) if you’d like.
Now, back to me. My fourth most-favorite moment in blogging this year is my capture of Chris Cuomo getting soaked in a dunking booth way, way back in May. The video of this GMA episode is no longer live, and I haven’t seen this cap anywhere else. So it’s become a cherished treasure of mine. I wonder if Chris had known then that he’d be passed over for a promotion behind George Stephapoulos before the year was out, if he’d have been so game to take Robin Roberts place in the dunking booth and show off his rippled abs. Probably… he’s such a Boy Scout.
Of course, the year-in-Chris has been full of heart wrenching drama that confirms Chris as a most memorable character for 2009 overall. His shirtless deep-sea fishing pics are, undoubtedly, the high point of the arc of the story of Chris in 2009.
Sadly, the low point was surely Chris’ announcement that he was abandoning me in the mornings and leaving GMA. I’m still bitter and a little weepy, but I’m getting over it. Matt Lauer has not filled the hole left by Chris’ absence. But, in addition to my fictional wrestling match in which Chris utterly destroys his competition in hot and sweaty action, I’m also left with an unflinching faith in the mass media to pick out some new eye candy to earn my loyal viewership before long. Like death and taxes, sex in the morning is a certainty. So my first New Year’s toast is to Chris Cuomo, soaking wet and/or shirtless, and to the masterminds of network news who are even now, I’m certain, auditioning gorgeous hunks to spice up my morning routine anew. Ching-ching…

Ready to Go

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I’ve mentioned before that Bollywood both baffles and entrances me. I don’t quite get the line that they walk in Bollywood flicks. Richard Gere can nearly be imprisoned for (sort of) kissing a woman in public, but hot (hot, hot, hot) Indian actors get oiled up and stripped nearly naked, and it’s A-OK.

However that makes sense to their primary audience, it’s most certainly A-OK with me! Capped, who continues to teach me about all the movie skin that I missed, recently posted some nice caps of Gautam Gupta in Go. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but it’s now, most definitely, on my list. I can’t take my eyes off of Gautam’s nipples. At this very moment I can’t help myself but reach toward the computer screen longingly.
I’ve dabbled with the idea of writing some Bollywood hardbodies into my wrestling fiction, but I haven’t found the angle yet to make a story. Gautam and John Abraham and all the beautiful boys of Bollywood certainly have the equipment to star in my worshipful imagination.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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Melrose Place hottie, Grant Show, turned me gay. In order to explain this fully, I have to share an embarrassing confession. I know, I know. You’re thinking, after all that I’ve shared, I’m only now getting to something that embarrasses me?! Well, it’s true. I don’t embarrass easily.

But admitting that I have been an avid soap opera fan on and off since my early adolescence makes me blush. So in the mid-80’s, I would tape some of my favorite soap operas (i.e., those soap operas with the most handsome hunks most likely to appear shirtless). I was a fierce fanatic for Ryan’s Hope, primarily to follow the shenanigans of handsome hunk, Grant Show. In keeping with the objectification of the hot, male body that was evolving throughout the 80’s, Grant was frequently shirtless. His storyline was always about who was angling to get their hands down his pants. And from the first moment I saw his lightly hairy pecs, I was gay.
When Grant showed up in the evening soap opera known as Melrose Place, I was glued to the tube. Melrose Place had a bevy of pretty boys, but I only had eyes for ridiculously good-looking Grant.
He’s still working, and he’s still gorgeous. Superherofan has some nice caps of Grant from Swingtown. He can still turn my crank, 70’s stash and all. I suspect I’ll always have a soft/hard spot for Grant, since every time I see him, I have this intuitive flashback to seeing him strip out of his shirt on Ryan’s Hope, turning me gay.

Between Takes

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If you’re browsing a homoerotic wrestling kink blog on Christmas morning, you’re my kind of twisted bastard! If this isn’t your holiday, or if you can’t think of any better way to celebrate than feeding your gay wrestling fetish, welcome!

It does seem like a gentler, kinder sort of day to me, regardless. So I’m celebrating by appreciating the “Behind the Scenes” treats that BG East offers every so often (not often enough!). Occasionally, Kid Leopard and his team snap some pics of the boys between takes. When they aren’t growling and snarling, squeezing and pounding, dominating and humiliating one another, it looks like they’re genuinely enjoying themselves. Mugging for the camera, grinning with good humor, these shots make me smile. I love them pounding on one another, but it’s also fun to seem them without their faces on from time to time.
I hope your day is filled with gentle smiles and affectionate embraces. I hope this is a day of sweaty, passionate, sexy good humor for you. Whatever the religiously charged content that comes along every December 25, my prayer is that none of us take ourselves too seriously.

A Magical Christmas

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I am feeling so cynical this year! Yesterday I contemplated my support of a violent people’s revolution in the North Pole to depose the tyrannical Santa Claus and empower “his” elves to self-determination. Today, I’m watching YouTube videos of the bizarre Christmas tradition at the Beverly Center and thinking this holiday has surely lost any point.

It appears every year for the past few years hot stud James Ellis has made an appearance as Santa with sideshow girls in the Beverly Center in LA (of course). Hot fitness stud James Ellis arrives with his pecs freshly oiled and an entourage of acrobats ready to spread their legs and hang bound from the ceiling (I’m not exaggerating… check it out). Go ahead. Tell me that’s not some twisted BDSM fantasy. I dare you.

This clip from the second half of the show (jumping ahead to some serious display of meat) can serve no purpose other than to frighten children and arouse gay men. A hunky mall Santa is so completely wasted. Now replace the XX chromosomes with more hot, shirtless men in spandex, and transport the whole scene to a gay pride (or a BDSM convention), and this whole thing would finally hit its mark.
Either Christmas has strayed from the childlike wonder and innocent magic that I remember from my youth, or else sex has always been at the heart of the holiday and I’m only now able to recognize it as an adult. Excuse me while I cue up the video again to ogle James Ellis and the acrobat boy suspended from the ceiling by a rope in part deux, starting right around 02:19.
Wishing everyone a hot and sexy Christmas Eve this evening (because that’s what it’s all about, right?)!

In Support of Elf-kind

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I think Santa Claus gets way too much credit. The way I see it, he’s little better than the corporate CEO’s who get all the attention and obscene amounts of compensation while the worker bees get downsized. Come on! It’s clearly the elves who are the material means of production in the operation. But what child is clamoring to climb up on some elf’s lap and inflate his ego? And have you seen Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer lately? Santa comes across as quite the intolerant bigot with more than a hint of homophobia. And he’s a bastard to his sincere, industrious elves.
So I’m all for promoting elves today. Orlando Bloom as the elf Legolas in the Lord of the Rings jumps to the front of my mind. Yes, indeed, I’d much, much, much rather sit on his lap than that jelly-filled tyrant of the North Pole.
Personally, I’d support a proletariat revolution of the elves. I’m in complete sympathy with any effort they make to reclaim the political power imbued in the capital production of their labor. I’m not advocating for Santa to be assassinated or anything. But I wouldn’t blame them for sentencing him to a remote work camp where he had to get back in touch with his rightful place in a just economy by assembling Christmas toys until his fingers bleed.
Orlando Bloom as the social revolutionary elf wresting the socio-political and economic control of elf society away from their bourgeois exploiter is a hot concept, I think (maybe it’s just one too many eggnogs). Orlando in his pointy ears, fighting in the trenches and inspiring all elfkind with his shirtless leadership is a blockbuster waiting to happen.
Santa Claus ought to look over his shoulder, I think. While he literally grows fat off of the exploitation of his despised workers, the longing for liberation and justice can’t help but be bubbling just beneath the surface. Perhaps when Santa returns from his once-yearly grandstanding, handing out the produce of millions of elf-hours of uncompensated labor as if it were his own, this year he just might find there’s been a coup in the North Pole. Perhaps December 26 will be remembered by generations of elves to come as the Glorious Day of the Revolution. My heart is with them in their struggle for elf-dignity and self-determination.
And I’m first in line to sit on comrade Bloom’s lap.

The Olympic Spirit

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The 2010 Olympics are just a month and a half away! It used to be that I couldn’t generate a lot of heat for the winter sports. Too many clothes, too much shrinkage due to the cold… but then I discovered speed skating. More accurately, I discovered speed skaters.

What do you get when you train an athlete’s body to have zero body fat, maintain a low center of gravity, and be in a perpetual squat and a continual sprint? You get the bizarrely gorgeous proportions of speed skater. The monster quads, gargantuan butts, and teeny-tiny little waists on international caliber speed skaters warm me up on cold winter nights every four years or so.
When I first noticed the godlike proportions of speed skaters in those tights that squeeze, lift, and mold to every crack, crevice and bulge of their bodies, there was just a dull roar in my ears as the blood went rushing out of my skull. But after I recuperated, gasping and sweaty, and I was able to hear clearly again, I was thrilled by the drama that seems to accompany speed skating recently.
The last winter Olympics spotlighted the super egos and trash talk of the top tier speed skaters. Seriously, these boys need to strip to their underwear and climb into a pro-wrestling ring, because they’ve got the megalomania and testosterone-drunk swagger to compete with any pro-wrestler.
Generally, I’ve had to use my imagination to catch a glimpse of some serious skin on these gods on ice. Then Apolo Ohno did this provocative ad for the Red campaign for Gap. God bless him for his choice to wear the product as a headband, and nothing else.
Then I stumbled across these fan-freaking-tastic photos by photographer John Andresen of Norwegian speed skater Mats Roger Jensen. I can tell from these pics that there are at least three people in love with Mats’ body: me, the photographer, and Mats. All Olympic speed skaters should be required (REQUIRED I SAY!) to get sprayed down and pose in their underwear like this. Look at that ass! I can’t take my eyes off it! Just imagine him wrapping those slabs of beef that are his quads around some poor guy’s midsection, lacing his ankles together, and then squeezing.
Mats will be making an appearance in my wrestling fiction if I can find some brave soul who could face those incredible quads without pissing himself.

God, I can’t wait for the winter Olympics!