Month: January 2011

But Is It Art?

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What counts as porn? I realize far greater (and frankly, far lesser) minds than ours have debated this very question in excruciating detail. There’s always the I-know-it-when-I-see-it approach that only complicates the postmodern dilemma of conflicting subjective realities. Personally, I tend to toss things into my “porn drawer” that primarily and dependably get me off. This means that there are items in my porn drawer that include no nudity, no sex, no cum, but those typically feature a particular quality of wrestling that will turn my crank whenever needed. There’s plenty of nudity, sex and cum shots in the drawer as well, mind you. And then I’ve established (admittedly, somewhat arbitrarily), that to qualify for my homoerotic wrestling pornboy rankings I need to have seen a wrestler cum on camera. But we probably all have slightly different criteria for what merits the designation of our “porn,” and what doesn’t.

More to the point, what does Rusty Stevens consider porn? I’m just catching up with Rusty’s poorly populated blog, where, last October 17, he announced concisely that he retired from porn the week before and has moved to Hawaii. He goes on to post on his blog that he’s go-go dancing, and that he’s a rentboy (damn, where’s $2,500 for a weekend’s entertainment when I need it!?). He’s apparently taking requests for what to post on his pay-site, such as a wrestling match with Spencer Reed.

But of crucial importance in my mind, is whether his “retirement from porn” means that we’ll never see him again working in the homoerotic wrestling industry. Is his mat wrestling performance with Mitch Colby that culminated in Mitch jacking Rusty off in victory considered “porn?” It most certainly resides in my porn drawer, but is it “porn” for Rusty?

Is his string of undefeated matches for Naked Kombat porn? True enough, there’s nudity, sex, and cum in abundance in every match, but it’s hardly boom-chicka-boom-boom, syntho music and bad acting as foreplay for close up shots of anal penetration (okay, there is a little of the typical close up in the last round of NK matches, but that’s so not that part that puts me over the edge).

In short, is Rusty’s retirement tantamount to his hanging up his jockstrap and foregoing any further homoerotic wrestling? Because having owned the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler for the past nine months, this would appear to leave him completely vulnerable to some hard worker still actively vying for our attention. If Rusty is retiring his title belt, this would just seem to throw my whole favorite homoerotic wrestler rankings up in the air entirely.

Of course Trent Diesel, as the top contender behind Rusty, is well-positioned to kick Rusty’s retired ass to the curb and rip the belt from Rusty’s gorgeously muscled, tight, hard little waist. But I’ll have to let this quandry sit with me a while as I ponder the existential meaning of what “is” is. I’m not entirely sure at all who may populate my top two favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys once the dust settles. I’m adrift in philosophical malaise. I’m questioning everything and taken for granted nothing.  From his retirement in Hawaii (though he’s for hire in Manhattan through Saturday, take note), Rusty has left me feeling undone and unsettled.

Miles Ahead

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Today I’m offering another dish of sloppy seconds from Joe over at Ringside at Skull Island. Joe’s been on the ball and out of the gates so fast that I haven’t kept up with the fantastic materials he’s been reviewing lately. By my count, I’ve already mixed at least three metaphors in the first two sentences of this post, so no more beating around the bush. Let’s talk about the wonders that are Cody Nelson’s performance against Chris Cox over at Rock Hard Wrestling.

Again, see Joe for the definitive review. I’ll just linger around the edges here. To start with, haven’t I seen that long, lanky tall drink of water that is Chris Cox before? Why yes, indeed. BG East’s Christian Taylor is riding the gravy train of cross-promotional competition now. And speaking of riding, the juxtaposition of Cody’s absolutely fantastic muscle ass and Chris’ impressively stuffed crotch is highly provocative. The fact that both boys keep tugging at their trunks throughout the match makes me want to give the head costumer at RHW an award.

It seems worth noting that BG East has never put Christian’s talents in the ring before, so at the very least, we’re seeing him in a new context. It also seems worth noting that RHW has never, ever appeared to be about to show us the skin and the explicit homoeroticism of, say, Christian’s self-titled appearance against Billy Lodi in Taylor’s Twinks. In a world of more and more recycling, I’m willing to give some slack when the talent is getting repackaged in such a way that we actually see something new.

And frankly, 9 times out of 10 my kink is tweaked more by wrestling in the ring than in any other setting (which probably accounts for me only slowing warming to Thunder’s Arena and yet wearing rose-colored glasses and full of hope and promise for the development of RHW). So Christian Taylor as Chris Cox climbing into the high definition ring for RHW is already revving my engine in a new way.

Cody Nelson once again awes. As Joe points out, Cody is starting to look like a seasoned wrestler. He takes possession of this match immediately, launching an ominous assault that leaves Chris not quite clear on what end is up. Again, I’m just a weak echo of Joe’s point that Cody is selling a strike better and better all the time. Now, if he’d just wrap those gargantuan thighs of his around some poor hunk’s skull and squeeze long and hard, for, let’s say, a good 60 seconds of skull crushing torture, he’d be golden. Cody goes to the stomps and punches a little too often for me. Chris has some better pacing and variety of holds and blows here to keep things fresh. A pummeling has it’s delights, but surely it’s called Rock Hard Wrestling for a reason.

I’m fascinated to know the backstory behind Cody’s determined taunts. “How’s that feel, huh?” he demands as he nearly snaps Chris in half in a Boston Crab. “How’s that feel, getting beat!? You’re buddy’s not here. You’re buddy’s not here to help you out this time… come on, Chris, where’s your buddy!?… Come on, twig!” So the “twig” taunt is obvious. Surely one of Cody’s upper thighs is as thick as Chris’ waist. But who’s the buddy? I haven’t seen Chris’ first RHW match, and clearly I’ve missed some key elements of the drama, damn it. You KNOW that I love the drama!

Fans of musclemen armpits will delight in some of the early punishment Chris dishes out to Cody, as will fans of hair pulling, as Chris persistently throughout the bout drags the big man to his feet by a fist full. I also give Chris extra credit for working in a couple of subtle gropes of Cody’s powerful glutes.

Finally, I’ll just offer an example of the point that Joe makes so well. Cody’s salesmanship is simply hot. He’s taunting and humiliating Chris relentlessly. When he takes the second fall with an abdominal stretch as he beats his fist into Chris’ gut, he finally drops Chris in a heap and steps on him with disgust. Then he looks up to the camera with a sigh and subtle smirk, pumping out a single bicep. It’s as if he’s checking off his list of chores for the day. Make the bed. Feed the dog. Take out the trash. Beat Chris into a blithering, helpless heap. Check.

Cody, like RHW, has come  along way in the past year or so, and I for one am pleased to have been on the journey with him. He still hasn’t figured out what all he can do with those gorgeous, big muscles of his, but he’s learning. He’s learning…

Being Being Human

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The “American version” of Being Human debuts tonight on the SyFy channel. I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, it really is a clever story that explicitly interrogates what it is that is essentially human about humanity. On that same hand, let me also count the delightful excuse that this premise offers for plenty of skin, including the requirement that the werewolf character wake up naked the morning after each full moon. I’m a big fan of the BBC original, so it’s entirely possible that I may become a big fan of the American knock-off (this has happened before… definitely not with Queer as Folk, but yes to both versions of The Office).

On the other hand, I’m a big fan of the BBC original, and, let’s face it, most American knock-offs suck. And as for the opportunities for fine male skin, I think it may be a close call as to whether the Americans can titillate me to the extent that BBC does. Case in point, the explicitly sexy, seductive vampire character, known in the BBC series as Mitchell and apparently called Aidan for the American version (which is the name of the BBC actor who plays the character, getting me all confused). BBC features the fine, fine Irish beauty of Aidan Turner, with a shaggy head and a carpet of hair across his chest that would mislead one to guess he’s the werewolf in the bunch.

The Americans have cast the perky pecs and cleft chin of Sam Witwer for the part. I’ll just have to see this to say definitively, but my initial take is that the Brits (or, more accurately in this case, the Irish) have put up the sexier, self-tormented vampire. Sam has a harder body, no doubt. He may even have a more classically handsome face. But Aidan Turner oozes effortless sexuality. In a head-to-head competition (and you know where my mind jumps), Aidan embodies the dark, violent, primal lust of a self-denying vampire better than the casting of Sam. I will happily correct the record should I be proven wrong.

Turning to the aforementioned werewolf, it’s no secret that I have a major crush on Russell Tovey of the BBC production. Russell (who has the most entertaining Twitter feed of all time) has shown up in two of my fictional wrestling matches, not to mention hundreds more private fantasies that play through my imagination. He’s got a fantastic ass that gets featured often in Being Human as he wakes, dazed and confused, naked from a night of werewolfing in the woods. Russell is not a muscleboy. He’s more adorable than classically handsome. But he turns… me… on… period. He has an incredible timing and wit that comes through in his acting. True, sometimes I just want to smack “George” upside the head for yet another bout of self-pitying whining. But as soon as I’ve smacked him (and perhaps after a body slam and a head scissor), I want nothing more than to climb into that S&M cage in his bedroom with him and do it doggie style.

The Americans have cast Sam Huntington for this role. George is now Josh, and they’ve clearly played up the “unlikely wild man” angle in casting Sam here. I vaguely remember him as Jimmy Olsen in the last Superman flick. He’s doing very little for me so far. He’s “cute,” not so much handsome to my tastes. He’s in no better physical shape than Russell. And he’ll have to seriously turn on the charm and acting chops to put him anywhere in the same ballpark, and he’ll have the added disadvantage of more prudish censorship of cracks and crevices on American television.

I will be watching tonight, and I’m preparing myself to be disappointed and bitter (just telling the truth). I’m suspicious that this imitation will sink like the Titanic, in which case all that may be left to compare will be these boys relative wrestling prowess in my imagination (you knew that’s where this was headed). Russell and Aidan fought hard and only had their fine asses handed to them in their debut tag team match in my imagination thanks to a dirty (sexy beast) ref on the take. I could see why the American knock-offs might think that they have a shot at bullying their way to success by stepping on the faces of their English/Irish counterparts. I strongly suspect that Sam-squared will run into a brutally rude awakening.

Art Imitating Art Imitating Art

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Did you see that there’s a Denny Cartier sale going on until next Friday!? Run, don’t walk, I say! Someone on the news update list for BG East forwarded me their coverage of my coverage of Denny as homoerotic wrestler of the month. It’s all a delightful, vicious circle, now that I’m documenting their coverage of my coverage of their wrestler, all over again.

Fantasymen 28

This suddenly all feels like much more of an ego trip for me than I ever realized. My infatuation with Denny triggers this domino effect that turns into a sale on Denny products? I don’t know if there really is a direct cause and effect relationship between my words and your homoerotic wrestling purchases, but in case anyone who wasn’t tuned into Denny’s delights before gives him a closer look, I think it’s excellent to have been part of the chain of events leading to Denny’s introduction to a wider audience. I think he represents something particularly important in the industry that transcends hard cocks and pornstar bodies (not that there’s anything wrong with them!). Denny’s a wrestler, and these days I just don’t think we can take that for granted.

from “Jonny Firestorm in Montreal”

It wasn’t long ago that I was calling out the BG East boys for grossly underreporting the impressive stature of one-hit-wonder Duncan Thomas. I was intentionally provocative, mind you. Frankly I was hoping to get a rise out of them. And my remedy, you may recall, for poking at the BG East boys with a stick, was that Denny Cartier should show up on my doorstep to teach me a lesson in manners. I’m sad to report that this has not happened. No Denny. No doorstep. No overnight bag.

Backyard Brawls 6

Despite Denny not making house calls, I still say he’s definitely worth a second look for those of you who like a strong dose of wrestling in your wrestling kink brew. And if nothing else, perhaps a little extra attention paid to Denny by you and me will pique the curiosity of other hunks in the BG East stable looking for whose face to step on next as they climb the ladder. I can think of no better star for a sequel to Alexi Adamov’s sweat-inducing outdoor wrestling clinic, Who’s Next, than Denny.

Backyard Brawls 7

So I suppose all there is for me to do is to keep being “prolific” in my writing and reviews (I’ll choose to interpret that as compliment). I could grow a little drunk on the ego stroke of inspiring a Denny Cartier sale, but my commitment will continue to be to call them like I see them. If, on occasion, I provoke or offend the fine workers of BG East by my prolific comments, I trust they will forgive me… or send Denny to set the record straight.

A New Chris in Town

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Someone who keeps me (relatively) honest recently pointed out to me that I’m awfully predictable. For example, wave Mitch Colby in front of me, despite his fall from the top two spots in my favorite homoerotic wrestler pornboy rankings, and I salivate like Pavlov’s dog. Or, for that matter, dangle a 6’3″ prettyboy with big hands in front of me as I’m waking up with a cup of tea and my dog napping beside me, and without fail, somehow, I can face the world a little more confidently. 
Ever since those bastards at ABC News passed over the option of promoting Chris Cuomo to the anchor desk of Good Morning, America, I’ve been having a crisis of morning confidence. That is, I’ve been having a crisis until the geniuses at CBS News swept out yesterday’s news and restocked the Early Show with Chris Wragge and Jeff Glor (with regular reports from the field by nerd-o’licious Ben Tracy).

For the past two weeks, it’s been Chris Wragge who is typically the shiny, bright face smiling back at me first that makes my heart beat a little faster amid the morning doldrums. In my intimate morning ritual with Chris, I’ve learned a few things. He has an infectious smile. He has really big hands. He possesses a handsomeness that’s not entirely “pretty,” which surprises and intrigues me. He has a temperament perfectly tuned to the frequency of morning national “news,” which means that he can pull off a little gravitas, but he’s really there for the sexy charm, self-deprecating folksy humor, and a willingness to sell whatever “entertainment” crap that they insist on populating those shows with.

Case in point: Chris won the “comfort food cook-off” competition against his other on-air cast members. Big, thick muscles, a 6’3″ frame, sexy charm, AND he can cook?! What’s wrong with this picture?

Okay, so let me be blunt in answering my own question. In my two, intimate weeks of getting to know him in the morning, it’s not all been dimples and winks. I’ve also noticed that he gets unattractively pursed lips when he’s thinking too hard (there’s an easy solution to that problem, prettyboy). I’m not sure if the Early Show make-up people have a grudge against him, but they consistently apply the bronzer inconsistently, leaving him with a Bozo the Clown air about him (olive-skinned Cuomo just doesn’t face this problem ever, I’d wager!). And while his cocky, sexy charm makes me think naughty thoughts, he also borders on perhaps loving himself just a little too much. I really don’t know his story (despite the gratuitous “get-to-know-us” testimonials the new Early Show team presented the first week), but he has the swagger of a big, sexy white boy who’s accustomed to having the world handed to him the moment he flashes his superwhite teeth and unbuttons his shirts down to his sternum.

Back to my naughty thoughts, though, I’m as predictable as a rainy day in Seattle when I report that everything about Chris screams out for a starring role in a fictional wrestling match in my imagination. The boys of ABC have been sole proprietors of the spotlight for too long, and I’m picturing Chris leading the CBS charge to smack down some opponents and slap down their dicks in laying claim to be the new big boys in the News Division in my homoerotic wrestling universe. With Mr. Blue Steel, Jeff Glor on his right, and aforementioned nerd-‘olicious Ben Tracey on his left, I think all the studs who’ve been driving the drama in the News Division had better watch their backs. There’s a new Chris in town, and he’s ready to flex those pecs with the best.

Bodies Over Time – Wrestler-of-the-Month Edition

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In addition to being my current homoerotic wrestler of the month, Denny Cartier is one stunning looking man. I know. I’ve said this before. But when you’re the homoerotic wrestler of the month, you get an extra helping of adoration. Honestly, it seems impossible that it was nearly 6 years ago that Denny first appeared wrestling for BG East, a bright eyed, curly haired, broad-smiled, dimpled chinned, earnest-as-shit pretty face dressed all in white (oh, rookie….). He had the misfortune of showing up to make his big splash on the scene by going up against the buzz saw that is Bulldog Barzini. But instantly, Denny was showing some cocky confidence, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and he had sweat pouring off of him in buckets by the time Bulldog was done with him. These are precisely the elements upon which a future homoerotic wrestler of the month can build.

It took Denny nearly two years to recover from his initiation at the hands of Bulldog before he showed up again in his “underground” mat match against Jonny Firestorm. Here’s where we were introduced to Denny in his natural habitat: the mats.  He was beefier, with a little bit of hair on his meaty chest, while the hair on his head was more tightly trimmed than before, giving him less of a little boy look and more of a Colt model look. Again, his hard work on the mats against Jonny left sweat streaming off his body, inspiring in me a fantasy shower scene with me holding the loofah. Denny was still awfully pretty against Jonny, but his presence was increasingly fierce and undeniably accomplished.

Another year and a half went by before we caught sight Denny again, this time sporting a buzz cut, bigger muscles, and the beginning of a growing work of art inked to his left upper arm and shoulder. All of this combined has become the foundation of Denny’s current presentation as a serious competitor, a hunk of both gorgeous meat and dangerous talent, and babyface coming of age. Going toe-to-toe against a behemoth about half a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier (holy crap!), Denny illustrated that he is one fearless piece of work. He continued to sport those fantastically hairy, thick thighs, but he was shaved and smooth otherwise. And that ass! Now those red trunks, I believe, bring Denny’s physique into clearest focus.

Happily, Denny’s been showing up more regularly recently. With his young turk takedown of the Mr. Bodies Over Time himself, Chris Bruce, Denny’s started picking up momentum, and, more importantly, a story. Those white trunks with blue piping are an extremely close second place for my favorite Denny gear. His crouching-tiger-poised-to-pounce attitude against Chris was seriously hot. Once again outweighed (only by about 15 pounds this time) Denny keeps chopping away at the BGE veteran until he’s proven the point he showed up to make: that he’s here not just to get tossed around, but to pound away at anybody in his way as he proves he’s dangerous, particularly on the mats, to anyone he sets his sights on.

Of course, that story is bound to draw attention from a veteran heel like Mikey Vee, and not the good sort of attention (at least not good for Denny). In his sequel to Backyard Brawls 6, Denny looks exactly the same for Mat Hunks 8 (appropriately enough, since this match picks up minutes after Denny’s match with Chris Bruce concluded). Bringing the action in doors against Mickey Vee, though, results in Denny at his very sexiest, working up a tsunami of sweat as he gives everything he’s got to keep up with the veteran, who’s playing with him like a cat with a ball of yarn. The victory is Mikey’s, but the story is Denny’s, as Denny proves that even when outmatched, he’ll keep coming back for more, 100% effort every step of the way, until he’s literally collapsed on the ground from total exhaustion. This seems to me to be the core of Denny’s wrestling: he relishes the physical competition and he’ll face down any challenge, regardless of the odds against him.

For Backyard Brawls 7, Denny arrives sporting more extensive ink on that powerful right upper arm of his. His curls are completely gone now, buzzed almost to the skin. He’s beefy, not nearly as “pretty,” but every bit as sexy as ever, if not more so. His dismantling of rookie Attila Dynasty is no squash. The rookie has arrived ready to scrap, with an arsenal of his own already in hand. And Denny gives the impression that he’d want it no other way. It’s not so much about being on top, as it is about the thrill of climbing on top, conquering inch by inch until the rookie is flat on his back, every salvo that he lobbed met, matched, and overcome by Denny’s relentless determination. I have no idea if Denny gets off on wrestling the same way I do, but he possesses an obvious lust for the sport and passion for the physicality of it all that translates nicely to a wrestling kinked audience.
I’d love to see Denny follow in the footsteps of Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), and bring to the mat room one of the countless admirers that Denny must attract every day. I’m certain that I’m not the only one with a deep desire to lick the sweat off of every inch of Denny’s body and squeeze those gorgeous glutes of his. I think it’s time that Denny upped the stakes, bringing that sweat-lubricated lust to conquer, face-to-face with some hot, horny hunk’s conquering lust. 

Banged

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When I saw Brandon Bangs in Raging Stallion’s release Brutal, I was intrigued by my reaction. His porn name makes me uncontrollably roll my eyes. Seriously, “Brandon Bangs?” And he’s so ridiculously an over-the-top, almost caricature of himself, suburban white-boy-next-door. He’s blond, pale, with a pretty but not terribly hard body. He’s not outrageously handsome. There’s no specialty body part that stands out on him as jaw-dropping stunning (not to say that everything isn’t quite nice, and he’s got a completely respectable cock made for porn). He’s just so middle-of-the-road in the field of standout pornboys and wrestling pornboys. So why was I so completely drawn to him!? Couldn’t take my eyes off of him in Brutal, which is astonishing when you consider his one scene was alongside of Phenix Saint (a total standout stud) and Angelo Marconi (with the face and body ripped off of a romance novel cover). I don’t understand me.

This week, Brandon showed up for his debut match at Naked Kombat, grappling alongside of tag-team partner DJ (very smart choice, Brandon!). He’s a little softer than the shape he was in for Brutal. In both the pre- and post-match interviews, he’s a little awkward, sort of dorky. He stumbles across a couple of malaprops that, if I were feeling a lack of generosity, I might say give him a “dumb jock” air (which typically bores me). Once again, on paper I’d expect this pale, pale vision to be quickly forgotten. But once again, I’m quite taken with him! Is this some inexplicable, whitebread, bourgeois pornboy crush I’m nurturing!? And if you just answered, “yes,” should I feel as embarrassed of myself as I do for it?

I do understand some of Brandon’s allure. He’s just so incredible eager! The malaprops and smirking, winking, nudge-nudge, “we’re going to turn these guys into men,” banter with his partner somehow come across as simply, authentically eager to get down to the business of showing his stuff. That’s just damn adorable. And he grapples all-in. Even in the post-match interview, the off camera interviewer compliments Brandon on his impressive intensity and panache for his debut with NK. DJ could have singlehandedly mopped the floor with their two destined-to-job opponents, but Brandon scraps with surprising savvy and sincerity, taking cues from DJ in scoring “NK points” and dominating like only a suburban, whiteboy, boy-next-door-turned pornboy can. I get some of what it is that’s making me give Brandon a double-take. But there’s something more going on here that I’m missing…

So I’d pay money to watch Rusty Stevens psychologically crush Brandon before they ever locked up. Rusty’s lightening, slicing wit is pretty much the antithesis of Brandon’s awkward rookie babble, and when it comes to turning me on, there’s a reason Rusty is still my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy (despite a chilling absence from homoerotic wrestling lately). But still, I’m going to place Brandon Bangs in my “guilty pleasure” category, because despite every reason I have to not be captivated by him, he’s got my attention.

And apropos of nothing, despite my whole-hearted endorsement of the degrading pony ride, unless the cowboys are seriously enjoying themselves, then I’d recommend that they give it a rest. It seems lately like someone has told DJ he has to ride his pony, and in his last two tag matches, DJ has woodenly taken the lead in saddling up and explaining the significance of tucking his cock halfway through the ride (“Let’s make it even harder on them” he says, like Ted Baxter reading a cue card). Just my opinion, of course, but I’m starting to join the chorus of those critiquing the “sex round” for being phoned in.

Hard Sell Het’ro

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A few days ago I answered a Yahoo chat message. I “chat” so infrequently, it caught me by surprise. Turns out my chat-buddy that day was someone named Jeremy who was really, really, (really) wanting me to write him a custom erotic story starring Superman.

Okay so far, right? As a completely gratuitous teaser, Superman is going to show up in my superhero homoerotic wrestling series, “Brothers in Arms,” relatively soon. So sure, I can totally get into an erotic story about the man of steel. But… wait for it… Jeremy wants straight erotica starring Smallville’s rendition of Superman with either Lois or Chloe has his co-star.

It’s at this point in my story that I feel the need to clarify something. I have nothing against straight people. Some of my closest friends are straight. When my straight friends want to talk about women, I’m completely available for that. I smile and nod understandingly. I don’t judge. Sincerely, I want the best for my friends, and if that means that they insist on having sex with women, I can accept that. But for someone to ask me to write straight erotica!? Huh?

So I chuckled to myself and replied to Jeremy that me, writing straight erotica, would not be in the cards. Women don’t turn me on… at all… in the least… Kinsey 6 (plus extra credit)… the thought of women’s intimate body parts makes me a little nauseous. More power to Jeremy for working out his own particular kink in text, as far as I’m concerned (I told him as much). But as impressively endowed as my imagination may be, I wouldn’t know where to start to write straight erotica. Good luck, Jeremy, I offered kindly.

Jeremy replied that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So which chick would I probably write for him, Chloe or Lois?

So here’s the way it is. I applaud ballsy, in your face domination, really I do. I’m also entirely supportive of every man’s effort to write his own sexual fantasy. I’m honestly happy to know that there are straight men looking to tap a hot piece of text. But, just as I thought to myself as I brought a forceable and abrupt halt to my chat with Jeremy, first and foremost, I write for my own pleasure. What I write turns me on to write it and read it and share it. As fantastical as it may get, everything I write has more than a little bit of me written into the story. So it’s not as if I just wouldn’t want to write something straight. It’s not as if I’m just a homo-snob and insensitive to the plight of word-starved straight superhero erotica text fetishists (who knew?). But just like the likelihood that my senior high prom date was ever going to see some action with me that night, it just isn’t in the cards for me to write an erotic straight story. It’s just not in me, and I’d never find myself in it. Now, transported into a homoerotic wrestling serial, Superman could, most definitely, find a place in my lustful imagination…

Seriously, good luck, Jeremy.

Telling the Story

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How do I miss these things? Someone who clearly knows my tastes very well commended BG East’s two book series entitled, “Sexfights at the BG Arena.” The text is by none other than Kid Leopard himself, and the graphics are by the incomparable, late MATT. This is the tale of hardcore pro-wrestling for you and me, told from the perspective of the hot, hard boys who climb into this very particular ring.

This is ALL about my kink! My own wrestling fiction has been striving to capture just a slice of what Sexfights offers. The characters are written with a lustful, loving hand. The ring action (thank you Jesus) is straight out of the very best of classic pro-wrestling, with the necessary twist that the ring is surrounded by hot and horny gay men with precisely the kink that draws you to read this very blog, and the star-studded talent in the ring is keen to please both the promoter and this particular crowd.

The 2-parter tells the story of one night at the BG Arena, with the blow-by-blow told from the locker room to the ring and back again throughout a packed card of hard muscled pro-wrestlers working for increasingly erotic stakes. My favorite match is from the second part, where former tag-team partners, Tony Napoli and Skeeter Birmingham, are consummating a long, slowly boiling over grudge. After their partnership dramatically collapsed, and two back-and-forth grudge matches over the course of a couple months split the score, tonight they show up for the decisive third match to determine who’s “going over.” In the end, Skeeter drapes Tony’s beaten body face-first across the top ropes in one corner. Yanking down Tony’s trunks to reveal his “rock hard butt,” Skeeter slides his massive cock up and down between his buddy’s muscle ass.

“Skeeter humped and thrust his spear into Tony’s most private public part. He leaned his full weight againt his buddy’s back, two sweat-soaked gladiators as engaged as they could possibly be. His teeth impressed on Tony’s earlobe and he stuck his tongue deep into Tony’s ear. His right thumb and forefinger located Tony’s protruding right nipple. He squeezed hard. ‘It’s over, T, and you lose.'”

Simply fantastic. I highly, highly recommend Sexfights for anyone who’s got a kick for wrestling kink text with a side of classic MATT homoerotic wrestling graphics. And my thanks to Kid Leopard for his permission to post these images and the delightful sample of text. Now, where do I get tickets for next Friday at the BG Arena!?

Starting Strong

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We’re barely a week into the new year and I can already predict, with absolute certainty, what one of my top 5 favorite moments of 2011 will be. In fact, I may need to start a favorite moment of the decade category for this. One of my favorite moments of the year is going to be, without a doubt, being contacted by Lon Dumont, my current #1 contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division (and inaugural championship title holder).
Lon dropped me a note last week, letting me know that he’d run across this blog and had appreciated my kind words about him and his outstanding wrestling with BG East. He also offered me the tantalizing tease that he’s expecting to wrestle some more with BGE this year. The promise of seeing more of giant-killer Lon climbing into the ring and squeezing agonizingly long, gasping submissions out of his shocked opponents is already making me a little breathless!
It’s hardly surprising to learn that Lon is a competition bodybuilder. A friend recently sent me some pics of Lon on stage, displaying his award winning physique. The sight of his bronzed, oiled, shredded, vascular marvel of a body makes my eyes hurt, probably because I’m just not blinking as I stare in wondering adoration. Totally worth it.
While Lon’s physique in still-frame is simply, undeniably, a work of art, I continue to maintain that his ring persona is what makes him a standout object of homoerotic wrestling kink gold. At 5’7″ tall and 150 pounds, Lon might seem to be at a disadvantage when he climbs into the ring with likes of 6’1″, 210 pound Eddie Rey or even 5’10”, 185 pound rookie, Terry O’Daly. But as his undefeated record in 1-on-1 competition attests, he’s got precisely what it takes to bring the big boys to their knees. You could tell from the moment that Eddie Rey climbed into the ring with Lon in Lon’s debut BGE match, when Lon challenged the muscle hunk to forced-to-flex stakes and called towering Eddie “Sprout,” that Lon had the cold confidence and the ring savvy to zero out whatever size advantage his opponent might enjoy. Frankly, I almost feel a little sorry for Eddie and Terry by the end of their encounters with Lon. With all of their illusions of crushing a “little guy” shattered, and with Lon flexing his competition-quality muscles in their faces humiliatingly, I catch myself almost feeling a pang of pity for them. Happily, Lon is as pitiless as he is devastating, and I’m left with nothing but lustful awe for the big, big man packed into a tightly shredded, striated, gorgeously muscled, compact body.
Lon’s only blemish on his BGE record thus far is his tag team loss wrestling alongside of rookie Chace LaChance, falling to the dirty tricks of big bruiser Donnie Drake and his rookie sidekick, Doug Rand. Now, this is just my opinion, but I think go-go boy Chace deserves some harsh retribution for his part in earning the giant killer a tick in the loss column. Lon hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it, but it just seems to me that if anyone has earned some harsh feelings from Lon, it’s that far-too-prettyboy poser.
Of course, Chace only has a 2 inch height advantage and about a 5 pound weight advantage over Lon, which seems like a complete joke when you take a look at Lon’s absolutely masterful dismantling of muscle stud bigboy, Eddie Rey. So, true, perhaps a grudge match with Chace might not be as competitive as a typical Lon Dumont wrestling clinic, but I’d put money on the odds that an obliterating go-go boy beatdown would be every bit as entertaining. Seriously, I’d put money on that!
Taking a page from the trailblazer, Joe at Ringside at Skull Island, I’ve approached Lon about the possibility of an interview to post here. He seems as generous outside the ring as he is relentlessly dominating inside the ring, so we’ll be scheduling that soon. I suppose I should make it clear that personal communication from a top-tier wrestler-obsession of mine shouldn’t tip the scales at all in his direction as I dispassionately weigh the current rankings of my favorites. By no means should Lon get any favoritism from me. That said, if I were Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), I’d stop staring at my massive balls and look over my shoulder, because there’s a 5’7″ bodybuilder with a vicious streak coming up fast from behind! Watch for more from me here, and watch for more from Lon at BGE this year. In the mean time, I’m going to go buy some Visine, because I still can’t take my eyes away from those stone-carved abs!