Month: April 2011

Bill of Goods

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As I’ve made a lot of hay passing judgment on homoerotic wrestling matches and wrestlers, Kid Leopard’s words of caution from the BG East Headquarter’s discussion group frequently come to mind. KL has, on more than one occasion, cautioned commenters not to turn catty as we discuss wrestler’s bodies. The fine wrestlers who strip down and lock up for our entertainment are, in fact, real guys with bruisable egos, who don’t sign up to have every aspect of their physiques trashed and insulted. I think there is a relatively fine line, however. Let’s face it, the bodies are, themselves, major draws that make us tune in. As consumers, we pay up to be entertained, which in large part includes enjoying the appearance of wrestlers’ barely clad/unclad bodies. It’s hardly surprising that we have things to say about wrestler’s bodies. “His ass is hot,” and, “His ass is fat,” come from essentially the same observational position, and frankly they may both represent about the same quantity of charitable spirit. We buy a product, and therefore we feel entitled to treat that product, including the appearance of bodies, as objects available for us to critique. Still, with KL’s words playing in the back of my head like Jiminy Cricket, I try my best to stay on the respectful side of the fine line as I presume to comment on homoerotic wrestlers’ physiques.

With that preamble in mind, let me just ask you: is Naked Kombat’s new rookie, Cliff Jensen, what you’d characterize as a “muscle god?” NK’s text teaser to get you to click through to the match characterizes this pairing as, “Huge-dicked muscle god takes on sexy stud.” Sebastian Keyes is a scrappy little wrestler who fulfills my fantasy of what it would be like to see Seth Green in homoerotic combat.  I’m 100% certain that Sebastian is the “sexy stud,” and not the “huge-dicked muscle god.” Which means that Cliff Jensen must be the one NK is selling as the huge-dicked muscled god in this scenario.

At the risk of sounding catty, I don’t buy the line that Cliff Jensen is a muscle god. Huge-dicked, okay. But muscle god? Is this the physique of a muscle god?

Let me be absolutely clear. It’s not Cliff or his physique that I’m taking issue with. It’s the marketing mind, casting him as the huge-dicked muscle god, that I’m quibbling with. I’d wrestle Cliff in a heartbeat. I’d spank his sweet ass (he seems to like that), and I’d fuck him (he loses but tops from the bottom, so not sure if that says more about Sebastian or Cliff), and I’d count myself as very, very fortunate for the opportunity. I’m infatuated with Cliff’s ink, and in particular, his dragon tat across his right shoulder blade (watch for him in a future installment of Name That Tat!). At 6’3″, he’s a tall drink of water, and there’s no disputing that the boy is physically fit (despite getting winded early in his debut), carrying very little body fat. I hope that I’m not coming across as catty and insulting, because I think he’s a tall, sexy frat boy with plenty of potential. But I balk at characterizing Cliff Jensen as a muscle god.

I’m probably as culpable as anyone in over-ascribing godliness to certain homoerotic wrestling bodies. But when I wax hyperbolic about a physique, it tends to come from a place of nearly disbelieving awe. That body simply cannot be solely human. His face is too handsome. His proportions are too perfect. When it comes specifically to the characterization of “muscle god,” I tend to picture physique stars with slabs of beef hanging off of their skeletons like a meat locker. “Muscle god,” I think, requires competition bodybuilding quality muscle, thick, defined, a little freakish (though I reserve a whole different class of adoration for the “muscle freak“). I’m picturing the mountainously muscled Thunder’s Arena’s Conan, for example…

…or the inhumanly perfect aesthetics of classic BG East muscle man Wade Cutler…

…or even the simply gorgeous, powerful, thick, hard, veiny awesomeness of Kid Brock.

I buy “muscle god” for a lot of homoerotic wrestling physiques, frankly. There are a lot of fine works of art wrestling out there with entirely worship-worthy bodies with more than an echo of divinity built in. But Cliff Jensen’s charm is just not cut from that cloth, I’d argue.

He’s pretty. His long and hunky. He likes his ass spanked hard, god damn it. And for all of that (along with the stunning body art), I’m a fan of the rookie. But “muscle god?”

I just don’t think so.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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Ah, hell. The task of sorting through the potential homoerotic wrestlers of the month for March is paralyzingly difficult. Everywhere I turn, there’s another beautiful bauble catching my eye. Typically, I like to run down all the contenders, even those who I may not have seriously considered for the title, but who deserve an honorable mention. There are just too many honorable mentions to mention this month, so I’m giving you might top tier, March 2011 elite eight from which I made the very difficult call of who’s taking the title as my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. No one will be surprised to hear that Patrick Donovan is definitely a finalist, for his very sweet initiation of the Z-Man into the delights of BG East in Sunshine Shooters 4. Z-Man would have gotten one of those honorable mentions if I hadn’t felt so overwhelmed this month (though, I suppose I just honorably mentioned him). Equally unsurprising will be both Brook Stetson and Mitch Colby for their Sunshine Shooters face off. Holy hell that’s one hot, intense match. Kid Karisma slaps away a whole boatload of would-be honorable mentions with his freckled bulging bicep and fantastic victory celebration over Christian Taylor in Wet & Wild 5. Despite my incredulity toward Joe at Ringside at Skull Island for insisting that Ringwars 19 is the must-have collection of the year so far, I have to admit that Alexi Adamov secured his spot in my elite eight this month just as relentlessly as he secured Nick Naughton’s face trapped between Alexi’s sweaty thighs as he dangled from the rafters. I’m giving Naked Kombat’s DJ another very impressed nod into the final elimination round for his total mastery of Kyle Braun on March 23. Spot #7 in my elite eight I’m going to hand to Big Sexy from Thunder’s Arena for exactly three reasons: he’s big; he’s sexy; and he spends about 90% of camera time in No Holds Barred 6 with his hand wrapped around Z-Man’s balls. My final spot in my elite eight had belonged totally and solidly to Cameron Matthews for Can-Am’s Pro Bashed Triple Threat… until yesterday, when Rock Hard Wrestling came out at the very last second dangling Travis Storm in front of me, pounding a sweaty beat down on Chris Cox/Christian Taylor. The Southern boy with big teeth, a huge back tat, and a hot, fit body turns my eye yet again, and Travis slips in under the wire to be a finalist this month (especially for his fantastic final fall finish as he screams at Chris ferociously with the long and lanky one draped helplessly across his knee).

Damn, that is one fine stable of homoerotic wrestlers who all powerfully impressed me in their March new releases. Sending 7 of these hardbody hunks home seems somehow unthinkable. But you don’t pay me the big bucks to equivocate (I know, you’ve heard that joke before). After agonizing and sweating over this, pouring over match after match, exhausting myself with studying the fine, subtle details that require repeat viewing after repeat viewing, I’ve made my decision. It’s a first for my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month title, in that it’s a 2-way tie. There’s just no way to give one of these boys the advantage. I simply have to name them co-holders of the reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month title:

Mitch Colby and Brook Stetson 
I’ve already vetted their Sunshine Shooters 4 match extensively, and Joe has also taken a turn singing its praises. But you know me. I’m never at a loss for more words of wonder at a truly inspiring, crazy sexy homoerotic wrestling match.
Brook was a surprise to me. I’d never seen the big hunk of hairy muscle in action before, though I’ve marveled at him in still-frame plenty. His jaw is just too square, I thought. He looks too much like he’s been ripped off of a cigarette ad… or a Colt Model centerfold. I walked into this match with eyes for no one other than Mitch, who has long been a homoerotic wrestler title holder emeritus, regardless of where he happens to fall at any given time in my rankings. About 2 seconds after the pre-match stretch-n-flex starts, I’m enthralled with Brook. Like Mitch, I can’t help but find my eyes wandering back in awe at his hot body and commanding, nay, domineering presence before he even lays eyes on Mitch. He fills up a room, particularly a relatively compact Florida sunroom, with more than just his 5’11”, 240 pound body.

Despite my helpless awe in my initiation into the wonders that are Brook Stetson, Mitch quickly grabs me by the chin and demands the appreciation that he’s come to expect from me. This is Mitch in peak physical condition, tanned and toned, thick in all the right places, tight and narrow everywhere else. I could camp out for days on Mitch’s body and never grow tired of adoring his pecs, stroking his powerful thighs, licking his biceps (for starters)…

Faced with a mountain of a muscle man in front of him, Mitch looks vulnerable, which is the beginning of my crazy lust for Mitch to keep facing that fear, to keep getting outmuscled and tossed around by his heavier opponent, to keep getting twisted and pried and crushed and still keep coming back for more.

Intensity is the word that keeps coming up in relation to this match. The wrestling is intense and up close. The grunts and flexes and squeezes and crunches are intense. The stunningly hot bodies, with sweat dripping onto one another as they exchange riding time on top, is mesmerizing. This match is not about looking pretty or playing or horsing around or hamming it up (not that those things don’t have a charm). It’s not about choreography. It is about two big, hard hunks in intense muscle v muscle competition, with fantastically entertaining jock strap wrestling building to a climax of complete domination and hunk humiliation. Both Brook and Mitch equally make this my favorite homoerotic wrestling match this past month, so there’s just no way around it. Brook Stetson and Mitch Colby are tied for the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month.

A Knockout

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Photographer Joe Oppedisano simply connects all the dots between wrestling/fighting and homoerotic kink. In addition to some sweet, tasty pics (look under photos/artistic/Knockout), you can also appreciate a “making of” the Knockout photo shoot, via Greenwood Cooper and downloadable via Queer Channels On Demand (QUOD), if you live somewhere quite a ways east of where I live. I can’t attest to the reliability of QUOD, so this isn’t me telling you lucky, lucky boys in the UK to unload some pounds with them (you probably know better than I do). I am, however, quite certain that Joe’s eye peering through the viewer of his camera is seeing exactly what I’m seeing.

The intensity and intimacy of combat is erotic. Period. Straighten it up all you want, but I just can’t bring myself to believe that the homoerotic kink is a late-comer to male combat sports. Joe’s art may shorten the distance between HBO pay per view fights and Naked Kombat, but I refuse to accept that anyone alive today suddenly invented the notion that hot, hard, sweaty men pounding, squeezing, and climbing on top of each other until one of them is flat on his back and begging for mercy is sexy. As. Hell.

Full contact, I’m on the record, is not as arousing and engaging as wrestling for my tastes. It’s not that the moment a big, blond hunk’s eyes roll into the top of his head, as the tatted bad ass cracks his shin across the side of his face, doesn’t make my blood pump in all the right places. It’s just over so quickly. I need a little time to savor it, to milk the moment (so to speak), to be moved by the suspense of pressure and leverage and endurance and domination. When one hunk can turn the lights out on the other in a split second, I have to worry that it’ll all be over and done with way, way too soon.

QUOD tells me that I live in the wrong part of the world to check out Knockout. This is just one more reason I need to move to the UK (along with Russell Tovey, the real Being Human, Ashley Ryder and Grapple 101).