Month: July 2011

Desert Island Discs

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True story: I just recently had to pack for several weeks away from home. I’m traveling for work, and packing is tight. I’ll have my laptop with me, and therefore access to watching DVDs. Here’s the task I gave myself, though: with limited space, I allotted myself exactly 3 homoerotic wrestling DVDs to bring with me. With that provocative task that I set for myself, the question became, which 3, out of my pretty impressive collection (if I do say so myself), should I bring?
Here’s what I came up with to keep me entertained for the next month or so (in addition to what I can snag online):
My first choice was Wrestlefest 2. It’s classic, old school BG East, with a live audience of fellow wrestlers cheering ringside and a strong smell of sweat, testosterone and camaraderie in the air (I’m on the record aching for more of all of that!). Having a young, stunningly hard, tanned rookie version of Brad Rochelle opening a can of nasty whoop ass on then-jobber Patrick Donovan can put me over the edge over and over, particularly once he’s got Patrick tied in the ropes.

I also love Chip Slater’s wrestling stylings (and that gorgeously handsome jaw!), and his humiliation and demolition of Jeff Jordan and his lucious pecs in Wrestlefest 2, with the hunks ringside cheering and whooping, is smokin’ hot! To be clear, Wrestlefest 2 isn’t precisely my favorite homoerotic wrestling DVD in my collection. But for this trip, with what’s yanking my crank at this moment, it was my top pick to pack.
My 2nd choice took me a little while to settle on. It likely comes as no surprise that I’d be packing a bit of Mitch Colby in my bag, but which Mitch masterpiece? I settled on Mitch-cubed, with Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. His mat match against Patrick Donovan (yes, with extremely tight space, I’ve managed to squeeze in a double shot of Patrick!) is quite possibly my favorite Mitch-match of all time, but that’s hard to pin down because nothing Mitch does ever disappoints. But I’m absolutely enthralled with the give and take between Mitch and Patrick, the closely contested wrestling and tests of strength and tenacity, the gallons of sweat pouring off their gorgeous bodies, and a bearhug contest that I just about cannot make it all the way through without a very satisfying explosion.
When Mitch brings back amorous admirer Marc Rion (hey, what ever happened to that tasty one-hit-wonder?) for the 3rd match in this collection, it’s admittedly a little light on the wrestling but delightfully heavy on body worship. There are frequently times when some passionate body worship will get my heart pounding nearly as ferociously as an over-the-knee backbreaker. And worshipping Mitch is a very fond fantasy of mine. Definitely, Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight is undoubtedly going to come in very handy over the next several weeks away from home.

When it came time to settle on my 3rd and final choice, I was feeling a lot of pressure. Saying yes to any one thing would mean saying no to everything else in my collection. Will I want old school? New school? Heavy on the erotic? Heavy on the ring wrestling? In the end, I settled on the classic Hunkbash 2 to round out my desert island discs. As with all my choices, the fact that there are many favorite wrestlers and matches on the same disc played heavily into my decision to stow Hunkbash 2 in my carry-on. First and foremost, I don’t believe I’ve ever sat down to watch a Wade Cutler match that didn’t end with me coated in sweat and toweling off. But place muscle hunk Wade into the expert hands of heel extraordinaire and BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard, and the climactic match of Hunkbash 2 qualifies for one of the hottest, most satisfying homoerotic wrestling matches I’ve ever seen. Wade is in prime physical condition, wearing iconic stars and stripes trunks (for a while, at least), and suffering in complete shock at being manhandled and sexually dominated by a smaller, less muscular opponent. Classic tale. Iconic wrestlers. Never-fail entertainment to satisfy in the coming weeks.

But there really isn’t a match in Hunkbash 2 that fails to offer quality goods to tweak my kink from one angle or another. Blond babyface Barry Longshaw getting stomped into the mat by an incredibly young Kid Vicious with a full head of hair is simply awesome. Psycho Capone opening up his nasty brand of insanity all over big, beautiful muscle boy Terry Reed is over the top hot (something about that match totally sucks me into really pitying Terry… seriously beautiful salesmanship, obviously). But I think my second most favorite match from Hunkbash 2 is pro-heel Bryan unleashing a stunningly hot mauling all over the beeee-autiful and timelessly muscled body of Dante Rosetti. From start to finish, I love every twist and turn in Dante’s bashing, but when Bryan looks like he nearly shoves his boot up Dante’s tasty muscled ass as the tanned Italian is trapped and spread-eagled in the corner ring ropes, I am seriously moved.
Like I said, these don’t necessarily reflect my favorite discs of all time. But I chose them to offer me a smattering of several motifs, tastes, and genres to satisfy me through a variety of potential moods over the coming weeks. I can already guarantee that at some point I’ll kick myself because I’m particularly in the mood for some other gem from my library. Just not having access to the rest of my collection will likely heighten my obsession for something I won’t have in hand. But I feel pretty solid on these three discs to get me through several weeks of what could be astonishingly dry, boring work. And of course, there are online matches that I’ll have at my fingertips as well…
What 3 discs would you have packed?

Planes, trains and automobiles…

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I’ve been posting sparsely this week because I’ve been traveling… a lot. I’ve spent quality time in 6 airports and 2 train stations in the past 8 days. The bad news is that my opportunities to post new material here have been limited by jet lag and spotty internet access. The good news is that I’ve enjoyed spotting countless summer hunks worshipping the sunshine with a dearth of skin coverage.

I love travel particularly for the opportunity it brings to widen my gaze. While I haven’t conceptualized this post as part of this summer’s “Diverse Tastes” series, my thoughts turn to how much I appreciate hunk watching outside my own familiar haunts. It’s inspiring to get a taste of the fashions, hairstyles, races and ethnicities, strides and swaggers that I just don’t see in my neighborhood. Hell, I even saw several studs making skinny jeans look hot, and I honestly never thought that was possible.

I had one brush with fame. Sadly, it wasn’t Alexander Skargård at the airport. I’ll just say it was a Torchwood hunk whose ass features prominently in one very fond scene.

Planes, trains and automobiles. Boats and trams. Beaches and High Streets. Parks and stadiums. With an eye for hunk-spotting, getting there is at least half the fun.

I have more travel coming up, which may disrupt my posting schedule further. However, I think I’ll have  dependable internet access and at least a little disposable time to keep neverland a summer destination for you to see and be seen.

Wherever the season finds you (and I realize some readers of this blog are in the middle of winter), I hope that you’re blessed with an abundance of beautiful men, arousing wrestling, a little of exactly what you want, and a lot of what you didn’t even know you wanted until you found it.

Safe travels!

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Stay Puft

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Another guest contributor and friend of this blog, Stay Puft brings us his take on the theme of “Diverse Tastes.” I think there’s an echo-chamber effect at times in the relatively small world of the online wrestling kink universe. Those of us with the expendable time to spare to regularly write blogs on the topic tend to have our voices relatively amplified over the hundreds or thousands each one of us statistically represents. Just a reminder that blogger accounts are free and you can start your own blog to expand the conversation on a regular basis. But short of a thousand homoerotic wrestling kink blogs, I’m happy to have regular readers and man-on-the-street consumers like SP join in this summer series for neverland, exploring what “Diverse Tastes” mean in homoerotic wrestling kink.  I like to think of myself as versatile and turned on by a wide range of tastes when it comes to bodies and looks, but SP’s range puts me to shame. I’d venture to guess that SP represents the many folks for whom diversity itself is a turn on, and for that, I’m always glad to get his perspective on what’s happening in the wrestling world.  ~Bard

Brian Kendrick



Daffney



I will start off by saying that while I am going to explore my own diverse tastes, I make no attempt to explain them, because they don’t necessarily make sense even to me.  My diverse tastes can briefly be summed up by looking at a time when TNA Wrestling had three of my favorites hired (though sadly under-utilized) at the same time: Brian Kendrick, Big Rob Terry, and Daffney.  Maybe Daffney doesn’t QUITE affect me the same as the first two, but I’m at least…fascinated enough to admit she deserves a mention.


Two of my earliest crushes were on Iron Mike Sharpe (“AAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!”) and Michelle Pfeiffer (“Meow.”), I guess that’s pretty diverse.  Although the wrestling side of things seemed to have taken the stronger hold early on.  (Oh, and I haven’t seen “Personal Effects” yet but it has Michelle Pfeiffer AND Ashton Kutcher, which is happy for me.)

Randy Orton
Kate Beckinsale

If I had to pick two people I thought might be THE most beautiful people, they would be Randy Orton and Kate Beckinsale.  (Their voices, their grace in motion.)  Although for sure, it’s only Randy I’d want to see in a wrestling match, don’t get me wrong.  (But in “Alice through the Looking Glass,” Kate was the only actress to take the lines from the book and sound like she was naturally, really saying it.  She’s so natural, and her hands are so long and slender.)

Jamie Scott of Graffiti6
Diverse tastes take things outside of the world of wrestling, and I think I’m in love with Jamie Scott of one of my favorite new English bands, Graffiti6.  His looks, his writing, and his voice, though not necessarily in that order.


Alistair Overeem

Rio Garza, Mike Knox, Alistair Overeem, Phil Baroni, Clay Guida, Chris Masters, Brody Steele, El Elegido, Brook Stetson, the Gambler, these people don’t fall into the same body types but they all do it for me. I do find that I don’t mind (in fact, I prefer) when I’m only attracted to one person in a match.  Then I can concentrate on him.

El Elegido

And…yes, I prefer jobber matches, squash matches, with the person I favor on the receiving end of the beating.  But there’s even diversity there, because sometimes enough’s enough, and I feel sorry for the person, and I WANT to see things turn around, but do I really…? (Pain and conflict is necessary for interesting narrative and can be incredibly arousing but at the end of the day I guess I just want everything to be okay.)

Big Rob Terry


And for the heavier (bodybuilder) end of the spectrum, Big Rob, Mike O’Hearn, etc., it bothers me when people dismiss anyone over a certain size with phrases like “‘roided up.”  I’m not naive enough to think there are no more steroids being used, but there are natural bodybuilders who I’d imagine take a certain amount of pride in what they achieve, and it seems petty to doubt their claims, or to over-generalize.  And for the people who DO use steroids, come on, you’re working so hard already, you’d still be beautiful without them, and is it REALLY worth risking any sort of side effect to your nether regions?

But going back to an earlier point, if there’s a match where I happen to be into both guys, that leaves a lot more room for the give-and-take.  Hm, and I could have gone somewhere with the hotness of seeing Chris Masters tap out, but the mixed sadness of thinking, “Oh no, he lost his match.”  And I was going to mention being a kid and hating when anything bad would happen to He-Man, and later on those bad things being exactly what would turn my crank, but I guess that might be less about diverse tastes and more about personal history or something, but on a side note, the Rants, ‘Roids & Rasslin’ blog has a great “He-Man in trouble” story going, which is very nostalgic.

Clay Guida

Favorites of mine have been hairy, smooth, ripped to shreds, sporting a big gut, mean and domineering, weasely, bitchy and submissive, long-haired, stubbly-to-bald.

Chris Masters

I’m not used to talking in front of people, so thank you. – SP


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Thank you, SP! You’re awesome, and the diversity that turns you on in truly inspiring!

A Rose, By Any Other Name…

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Parker London, one of the rookie pornboys debuting this week for Naked Kombat, certainly caught my eye. Damn fine fitness! Carved abs, thick chest. The extensive tats down the left arm and across the back of his hand suggest someone with the heart of an artist and precisely the anti-social individualism that I like. He isn’t what I’d peg as classically handsome. Something quirky, a little haggard looking around the face.
Hold it right there! That ink… bells are going off in my head. I know this man. I know him about 15 pounds lighter with a shit-eating grin on his face. I know him with that five-o’clock shadow shaved smooth.
It was like my own personal game of Name that Tat! It took me a couple of minutes to connect the dots, but it came to me all of the sudden. Pornboy Parker London is none other than non-pornboy division wrestler for Thunder’s Arena (though that’s redundant), Dallas.
 
In a different context, with a slightly different build and going places I never guessed smart-ass Dallas had it in him to go (though you probably already knew), I almost didn’t recognize the gorgeous, big, solid rookie. Frankly, it isn’t like he’s completely morphed. He hardly qualifies for a bodies over time spotlight. But like Clark Kent with that deceptively subtle disguise, I nearly thought he was an entirely different wrestler.

And for some reason, Parker London struck me as way, way sexier than Dallas. It’s not just the fact that Parker London rips the gear off his opponent, aggressively sucks and claws his dick and plants his bare, hot ass across his face. Sure, that helps, but well before I saw Parker lay a hand (much less any other body part) on fellow rookie Logan Scott, I was whistling in appreciation for what a hot, beefy hunk of man this newbie is, which was not my initial reaction to Dallas.

I’m certain that the context plays a major part in my disparate reactions to the same man under different names. I knew that Parker London was going to either fuck or get fucked before he was done with Logan Scott, whereas I knew that Dallas was not going to go anywhere near genital contact with Big Sexy the first time I laid eyes on him.  But I think it’s even more than that. Parker London stands on the balls of his feet. He takes the initiative and shoots, slamming his opponent to the mat and straining and struggling for control and points. I always had the impression that Dallas was in an audition for his first ever soap opera role, a little awkward, not often propelling the story, but more reacting and just trying to keep up. Parker works his hot, muscled ass off, slamming and getting slammed, squeezing and getting squeezed, controlling and getting controlled in a relatively competitive atmosphere that ends up a 36-35 squeaker. Dallas, on the other hand, never seemed to have much of a competitive spirit, never a lust for domination with something actually at stake in winning or losing.

And, needless to say, I never saw Dallas give an opponent a naked pony ride on his way to a victory fuck. Some of this distinction has to do with genres, no doubt. I have both a pornboy and non-pornboy division for my favorite homoerotic wrestlers because they are just distinctly different universes. In one, the wrestlers lose their gear, work each other over hard, and someone at the very least loses a load if not buries his cock in at least one of his opponent’s orifices. In the other, the wrestlers have to appeal to my kinks handicapped by having all their gear on and some maneuvers and stakes off the table (which, when done right, can be just as homoerotically pleasing). But it’s more than just the genres that define Dallas and Parker as having very different appeals to me. Parker convinces me in 3 seconds that he wants to win, that he’s fully present and taking seriously his competition, and that his cocky swagger isn’t just a role play, but a psyching up and psyching out wrestling ploy to make a meaningful victory come true. And that, regardless of the genre, is seriously hot.

Giving It a Shot

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I haven’t talked about it much, but it’s not exactly a secret that I’ve occasionally been invited to write text for new releases on the BG East website.  I’ve felt incredibly privileged to be given the opportunity to contribute a small piece to the industry that has inspired, provoked, and aroused me for so long.  I had to think about it carefully the first time I was asked, though. My primary relationship to homoerotic wrestling is as a consumer and fan. I have incredible respect for the hard working hunks in front of and behind the camera making this business fly, but I’m very conscious of the fact that my investment in each new release is very different from those who climb into the ring, slam one another down to the mat, or busily work the booking, payroll, production and delivery of the wrestling entertainment that shows up like magic in my mailbox. I wrestled (metaphorically) with feelings of insecurity, concerned that my text might not do justice to the intimate athleticism, artistry, and livelihoods wrapped up in each match. In the end, I conceded to “give it a shot,” seeing whether I could bridge the distance between my wrestling fantasy consumption and my relatively mechanical skills in stringing together words and metaphors (you know how I love my metaphors), and manage to contribute materially to the production of homoerotic wrestling. 

Giving it “a shot” has continued with some frequency since that first match I wrote. With each new copy I generate, I feel a profound humility. I’m not just being modest. While I’ve received affirmation of my writing skills from many different corners of my life, I grapple with deep down feelings of inadequacy each and every time I write marketing materials. Happily, BG East edits my text to smooth out the rough edges, accentuate the particular appeal of each match, and correct my grammar and spelling. Despite my moments of anxiety, I’ve never had text returned to me as unworthy. When it’s polished and published, I inevitably assess the final product better than I thought it was when it was fresh on the page. As of very recently, I’ve continued to be invited to participate in generating copy for BG East new releases. And  each time, I think carefully, gauging the distance between my investment as a homoerotic wrestling consumer and the blood, sweat and tears (I like the tears… more tears in homoerotic wrestling, please!) that go into the painstaking work of producing hot, hard, high quality wrestling.

Aside from what it is I’ve been able to contribute to the homoerotic wrestling industry, writing copy for the BG East website has also had an impact on me. I sweat out every dot and tittle, so whenever I’m handed a new release to write, everything else (blog posts, my original homoerotic wrestling fiction, my “real life” work) gets sidelined for a while. However, it’s also afforded me the opportunity to review some truly awesome wrestling matches before almost anyone else has, and it’s introduced me to some incredibly skilled and arousing wrestlers who might not have otherwise caught my eye and commanded my attention. It’s also sensitized me (even more than I was already) to the hot copy that other authors write for homoerotic wrestling marketing materials, and I’m certain that it’s made me a better writer (every time I share text under any circumstances, I learn more about the art). I’ve been delighted to virtually meet a few of the creative minds behind the scenes, who, I am delighted to report, have been remarkably gracious and generous to work with.
I consider myself as someone still trying this gig out. I continue to think carefully about what I’m able to contribute and how writing marketing copy impacts my enjoyment of my homoerotic wrestling fantasies.  Perhaps the time will come when the invitations to write stop coming my way. Maybe I’ll hit the wall someday, and decide that I just don’t have it in me to write marketing text any longer. But for now, when the invitations come my way, I still experience a thrill that I may have something worthwhile to offer, that my words might be of value to the industry from which I receive so much pleasure. I suspect that the next time I’m asked, I’ll probably feel that familiar wave of excitement laced with pangs of insecurity, and I’ll say once again, “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.”

True Skin

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Joe’s guest post yesterday reminded me that there’s new True Blood skin on display, with the launch of season 4 a couple of weeks ago. The beautiful bodies are all wrapped in darkness and shadow, which is slightly frustrating but undeniably appropriate to the genre. No Joe Manganiello beef yet, but the “next ons” look like he’s showing up soon.

Alexander Skarsgård showed up shirtless at the end of the episode, but let’s face it, he’s sex on a stick whether he’s in one of those skin tight shirts or out.  Alexander has been an unstoppable beast in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, and looking this good makes me suspect he will continue to show up there.

A few weeks ago Joe was marveling at the hot piece of meat that is Marshall Allman, a new addition in season 3 and happily returning for season 4. Not to spoil too much for anyone, but Marshall’s particular skill set requires that he strip naked (now that’s a sweet superpower!). Therefore, we’ve come to appreciate that astonishingly round bubble butt of his on more than one happy occasion.

This last episode delivered more Marshall ass in the shadows. When he gave us a profile, though, I have to say those luscious glutes took my breath away!

Sam Trammell’s character also is required by all that is good and holy to strip naked frequently, illustrating what I believe is precisely the firmly convex belly that Joe was so admiring in yesterday’s post. For me, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from those thick, round pecs of his.

And one last glimpse of True Blood gratuitous nakedness, Stephen Moyer’s character had some shirtless hotness and a bare-assed sex scene this week. While I know many of you don’t have my affliction, I still say the naked woman on the bottom here is a major buzz kill. If I put my hand across her face and squint just a little, though, my imagination is capable of rewriting the body on the bottom into one with a very happy cock.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m sure. Allan Ball is a genius.

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Joe

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A couple of weeks ago I invited several wrestling bloggers and regular neverland readers to author contributions to a summer series on the topic of “diverse tastes.” Readers frequently write to let me know how their opinions, tastes and turn-ons differ in small and big ways from how I describe my own wrestling kinks here on the pages of this blog.  My hope is that bringing together a chorus of voices from homoerotic wrestling fans will help celebrate our diverse tastes.


Kicking off this series, my friend and colleague Joe at Ringside at Skull Island pens the following fantastic insight into not only what turns him on, but his reflections on from where homoerotic wrestling tastes may emerge and how his tastes have evolved. I’ve added the pics and captions, but the rest of the text is 100% Joe’s brilliance. Thanks, Joe!    ~Bard
—————
DIFFERENT STROKES
A bit of trivia.  The first celebrity to give me wood was Mighty Mouse.  Yeah, the cartoon character.  I was maybe eight years old.  Weird, huh?
Bard asked me to write on the topic of diverse tastes partly because (I think) we both blog, and through these blogs we came to know each other and, early on, recognize that we have some mutual tastes, tastes we had once thought were ours all alone.  As bloggers, too, we get comments from readers who, like us, are intrigued that others share what they assumed were one-of-a-kind kinks.  These points of mutuality are fun to discover, especially if in the past we were led to feel weird because of them. 
News Anchor Chris Cuomo:
Wrestling Kink Inspiration?

But we also hear from readers who point out differences in taste, which are amusing but not surprising.  For instance, Bard has a taste for television anchormen that I do not get.  Bard and I acknowledge such differences and move on.  But occasionally, rarely, we are called to task because of our tastes.  We are told that we must like what we like because we are not right.  Because our tastes are wrong. 
Responders to my wrestling blog have accused me of being prejudiced towards beautiful young men … and prejudiced against them.  I can’t explain why different readers perceive my tastes so differently. I am strongly in favor of beautiful young men.  Not to be strikes me as phony-baloney smugness.  You might as well say you are against fresh, flavorful fruit.
Of course, individual tastes differ.  It took me a while to recognize and develop my tastes.  My opinion is that all my tastes were acquired through experience, although I was probably born with certain propensities. Years and maturity brought me closer to myself, away from received opinion and peer pressure and the influence of advertising.
Stoney Hooker – One of Joe’s Favorites

What I resent is somebody trying to make me feel guilty about what attracts me.  It’s not as if I choose what makes my cock stiff.  If I am mainly attracted to men, am I a sexist?  If I am mainly attracted to men of European descent, am I a racist?  If I am attracted to young men, am I an ageist?  If I am attracted to men who behave in traditionally masculine ways, am I a self-loathing homophobe?  I don’t think so.  Not necessarily, anyway.  Sexism, racism, ageism, and homophobia are about treating people differently because of their outward appearance or natural propensities.  Sexual attraction is a part of who I am, as an individual.  It says more about me than about those to whom I’m attracted.  It is not about bigotry or treating other people as anything less than free and equal individuals.
If I were attracted to the kind of person I am “supposed” to be attracted to, I’d be into middle-aged white women, exclusively.  Sure, you might say that my tastes are superficial, narrow, and unimaginative, even self-destructive, and I might even agree to a certain extent.  How much better and easier my world would be if I were attracted to (and attractive to) all kinds of people, not just a select few.  With different tastes, I might even like Brussels sprouts and chicken livers, but for the life of me I cannot even guess why it would be anyone else’s business what I do or do not like. 
Adam’s Apples, Firm Convex Bellies,
and Strong Shoulders
Where did my tastes come from?  Early childhood experience seems a plausible explanation.  Why do my tastes change over time?  They do change, fairly frequently.  I guess they change because I acquire new experiences.  I had a boyfriend for several years who was not at all what I had previously thought “my type” was.  How I became attracted to him is an utter mystery.  But he broke the mold and changed my type from that point on. 
I like, and have always liked, tall men more than short, though short can be fun too.  Dark more than fair, though fair is what I’m in the mood for sometimes.  (I’m fickle.)  Irish, Jewish, Italian, yes.  I like strong backs, strong shoulders, strong limbs.  Six-pack abs do little for me anymore, if they ever did.  I even prefer a firm convex belly, just not too convex and not too soft.  Adam’s apples delight me.  I like hairy chests.  I like big noses and small ears.  I’m not particular about penis size, but let’s say no shorter than my thumb and no longer than my foot.  I like arrogance, but I prefer strong, silent types. I am turned off by fussiness, pretentiousness, and anal retentiveness.  I like men I can laugh with. Bright but not necessarily intellectual men.  I hate whiners.  I hate yes men.  I hate men dressed for success.  I like men who are at ease in their bodies, whatever those bodies look like.  The acid test is whether a man will strip to naked without apologies.  The acid test is whether he wrestles.
What turns me on now is not what turned me on years ago.  I can’t explain it.  But it’s a good thing, or else I’d still be waiting for Mighty Mouse.

-Joe at Ringside at Skull Island

Jo FX: Tall, Dark, and Hairy-Chested

Independence

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I nominate myself for the least patriotic person on the planet. It’s not that I’m unpatriotic, precisely, but I’m determinedly pragmatic. If I were selecting my country of citizenship like picking out a new car to buy, sure, I’d kick the tires of this nation of my birth. I’d appreciate many of the amenities. But doing the accounting when it comes to quality of life, personal liberty, and the alignment of core values, I’d have to say that the U.S. probably wouldn’t be the model I drive off the lot.

I realize this makes me a bad American. Not just to criticize, but to summarily judge this country to be inferior is not just offensive to many, its an unpardonable sin.

When the New York legislature recently passed a new law granting a legally recognized status to same-sex marriages, the crowd of LGB activists in the gallery erupted into incoherent shouts of joy that quickly coalesced around a deep, passionate chant: “U-S-A, U-S-A, U-S-A…” 
I thought to myself, What does that even mean? I usually hear that chant at sporting events, where the crowd is crowing about their faith in the inherent, divinely sanctioned superiority of America. Surely those activists didn’t intend to imply that. As a nation, the law of the land continues to be the “Defense of Marriage Act.” As for the USA, we aren’t even going to break into the top 10 nations in order of when they eliminated legal barriers between the benefits afforded to opposite-sex and same-sex couples.

I suppose the activists chanting “U-S-A” upon the passage of the New York marriage equality bill may have been thinking ahead. Perhaps they were arguing for what was accomplished in New York to sweep across the rest of the USA. In that case, I’m left wondering why marriage is our rallying cry, rather than employment or housing protection. Why is the vision of equality for sexual minority Americans limited in scope to being granted the same faulty, broken, bankrupt institution of socio-religiously defined monogamous marriage that heterosexuals are fleeing in droves? And what about our national priorities that promote the spread of poverty and hunger? What about our political agenda to strip public education and health and human welfare funds and place them directly in the wallets of corporate robber barons and vampiric oil speculators? What about our irrational fear of collective welfare that prevents us at all costs from deciding that all Americans will have basic health care and safe homes and enough to eat and family planning resources and the compensated value of family caregiving and human dignity in old age… Perhaps we should check in with the activists of prior civil rights agendas right about now. Let’s ask the women in this country who get paid pennies on the dollar for their work about how it feels to have achieved the pinnacle of legislative equality nearly 100 years ago. Let’s ask our black brothers and sisters about how fulfilled they feel in their attainment of legal equality with the passage of the Civil Rights Act more than 45 years ago. These key battles that we concede the power to define our citizenship and equality and hopes and aspirations for ourselves and our national identity invariably move us merely inches in the miles of distance that stand between us and liberty.

I’m a bad American. I know it. I live always teetering on the edge of deciding whether to flee this country with each national election that illustrates that nearly or a little more than half of our voting populace desperately wants political leaders who are as ill-educated, religiously fanatical, bigoted and ignorant as they are. It’s not that I think any other country has their shit all together either, of course. But tallying up what I think are the priorities and values that I hope to guide the community in which I enthusiastically participate and identify, I have to say, the USA is not in the top 3.

Happy Independence Day, everyone.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

wrestlebard4 Comments
I’ve recently had no less than 3 back channel comments quibbling with my choices of homoerotic wrestler of the month in the past. I LOVE it that so many of you have strong opinions about who deserves the fan-love and fawning worship. I even appreciate it when you give me your well-considered rationales for why I may have got it wrong from time to time. Personally, I feel strongly that there’s room for a few more homoerotic wrestling fan blogs out there, which would most certainly result in competing wrestler infatuations for us to respectfully debate in the public arena. In the mean time, however, I feel compelled to humbly soldier onward, noting the flip of the calendar and the time to select a new reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Just to remind you, the method to my madness is to promote and celebrate new releases, so I choose each homoerotic wrestler of the month based on who turned me on the most from among the wrestlers who appeared in new wrestling products in the previous calendar month. June new releases posted a relatively small selection to choose from, and yet I found the decision a tough and close call. BG East came out with their summer surprise line-up, including for consideration the likes of Kid Karisma and Z-Man from Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros, cross-over rookie lovelies Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper from Ripped Rookies 1: A Score to Settle, Marc Merino for his work getting worshipped, worshipping, and then getting muscled out by Stan Greer in Wrestle Worship 2: Triple Emission, and both Ashley Ryder and Rob Chandler from their fantastically charged motel match from Gear Wars 3: UK Kink. Jake Jenkins did double time to stuff the ballot box this month, also appearing for Rock Hard Wrestling sporting square cuts and a mop of curly hair, initiating lean and mean Gunnar Bayani (I LOVE that name). Thunders Arena put up Dallas in both their newest Custom Vid against a second entry for Z-Man this month, as well as in a No Holds Barred match against the sexy one himself, Big Sexy. Can-Am presented extremely strong contenders in June, including Jobe Zander taking matters into his own hands against jaw-dropping rookie physique star, Thiago Diaz, and Rusty Stevens, the prodigal son himself, returning from retirement to climb into the ring and post a Pro Sex battle against new potential infatuation for me, Kevin Crowes. Finally, from Naked Kombat I’m tossing three pornboys into the hat this month, including DJ for appearing both in singles and tag competition, Phenix Saint for a powerful singles match and then walking away with his tail between his legs in tag competition, and Trent Diesel looking to be not only my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, but also the first 3-peat homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Did I miss anyone? Like I said, there are extremely strong contenders for my homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Veterans, current and former favorite homoerotic wrestlers, stunning rookies… a high quality field from a relatively small list (compared with some months). I’ve gone back and forth, making lists and comparing strengths. It’s fine, delicate calculus, but in the end, I’ve settled on one wrestler who is yanking my crank just a little harder than the rest…
…Jake Jenkins.
Here’s where I fully expect to get some push back, because I realize that there are several of you who are more smitten with Jake’s rookie buddy in BG East’s Ripped Rookies, Austin Cooper. And I totally see it. The golden boy with hollywood handsomeness and a bubble butt is fantastic, and with a couple inches taller and 10 pounds more muscle than Jake, Austin makes a really big impression on me, as well. But here’s where the subjectivity and completely personal tastes come into the picture. I’ve got a thing for the shorter hunk of muscle who goes toe-to-toe with the bigger opponent.

I’m certain that my lust for wrestling hunks under a certain height is directly related to my own stature. Watching Jake (or Denny or Lon…), I can’t help but identify with the shorter stud. And like Denny and Lon, Jake has the fiery, complete lack of self-consciousness about his size that gets me very hot and bothered. Austin’s gorgeousness and superficial superiority in still frame serve only to make me crazy for every snarl and commanding offense that Jake slaps down.

Jake’s presence on the mat for Ripped Rookies connects some dots for me that I was only guessing at from his ring work for Rock Hard Wrestling. A wrestler with amateur cred, who can dance on the balls of his feet, who can play a fraction of an inch of leverage for all its worth, who is both muscled and incredibly flexible… all of this can translate into instant erotic wrestling kink gold. With just a subtle shift of his center of gravity or the not-so-subtle tolerance of getting twisted and tied up into gorgeous, sweat-soaked, bare-assed knots, Jake’s body tells the story of an eager athlete who’s worked not only his beautiful muscles but also his awareness of his own body, his opponent’s body, and his understanding of the precise mechanics of joints and their tolerances.

Jake has timing and an awesome look of orgasmic ecstasy when he’s pressing an advantage on his way to a crowing victory. Particularly with Ripped Rookies, Jake has also illustrated in his rookie career that he can work up a tasty sweat, go muscle-for-muscle in tests of strength, and really wail in agony as someone who genuinely understands the experience of suffering.
Jake rocks me and delights me. Even on the mat or in the ring with bigger muscle boys with more classically handsome features (arguably), Jake grabs me by the chin, demands my eye contact, and refuses to let me glance away for even a moment. He’s a rookie, no doubt about it. He’s not always polished, and he doesn’t always tell a seamless story the way some of the veterans he beat out for the title this month can. But I’m infatuated with every moment he wrestles, every lightening fast counter, every stomp and squeeze, every roar and gasp.
You may have picked someone else (and I really do enjoy hearing about it). But I’m awfully pleased with the very strong performances of my new homoerotic wrestler of the month: Jake Jenkins.

Twisted Kinks

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Regular readers know of my infatuation with hunky newsmen. It was at the heart of this blog from the beginning. I know I’m not alone in nursing a little newsman fantasy now and then, since there are definitely websites devoted to adoring earnest young hunks reporting world events. And, needless to say, I know that there are plenty of us who nurse a wrestling kink. I’m not sure, however, how many of us there are who invest the time and thought into combining these two fetishistic fascinations. As for me, the first homoerotic wrestling fiction I wrote for public consumption was a beach wrestling, no-holds-barred tournament starring 6 of my favorite reporters and anchors.
The decisive winner of that tournament is a lesser-known newsman by the name of Carter Evans, whose on the payroll of CNN, primarily covering their on-site financial reporting from the stock markets. He’s also beamed daily into my living room doing a contract with my local news station, giving a 1 minute stock market run down and covering local stocks of interest from the floor of the NASDAQ. In my fictional tournament of news champions, Carter beat out (and up) much more prominent favorites, including CNN weatherman Rob Marciano and new MSNBC host and openly gay hunk, Thomas Roberts. But Carter clinched his championship and simultaneously sparked an ongoing feud by viciously beating the living shit out my longtime newsman obsession, hunky Italian and brother of the same-sex marriage man of the hour, Chris Cuomo.
Carter has been absent from my local broadcasts for over a week now, and I learned earlier this week the reason. Some major league dick in a car hit him while Carter was on his bike. The ass hole broke Carter’s arm in 7 places. Damaging such gorgeous goods and pulling him out of my living room as he recovers makes me harbor some serious venom for the shit head who’s never heard of the 3 feet rule. The real Carter Evans, as far as I can tell, is a perfectly straight husband and recent father blessed with sexy charm and a boyish grin, who can work improv better than my local anchors can handle. He has a fantastically asymmetrical face that is simultaneously disarming and sexy as hell. He has the epitome of bedroom eyes and a handsome, square jaw. His dramatically deviated septum has been featured on this blog already, but suffice it to say that whatever it is that put that sharp twist in the cartilage of his nose, it makes me think of a bar fight or, much more to the point, some underground wrestling.
With that one word, I instantly leave behind the real Carter Evans and am transported into a fantasy world in my own imagination where Carter is a homoerotic wrestling god. He plays mind games like a puppet master, essentially winning most of his matches before he ever lays a hand on his opponents. He’s sexually voracious, especially for his tag-team partner in the tournament, and he’s a master of using his obvious sexual appetite to unsettle and unseat each contender he faces. As with almost everyone who manages to grasp hold of prominence in the entertainment industrial complex in my imagination, Carter is also a skilled, savvy wrestler who takes pure sadistic delight in crushing his opponents in body and soul, proving over and over again that this newsworld is his, and all the other news hunks just live in it.

Since plowing through his competition in the first tournament staged in the Producer’s Ring, Carter graduated to color commentator and ring announcer for an ongoing television series pitting other hunky newsman against one another. For the most part, he’s more than content to rake in the big bucks with his smart mouth and shit-eating grin from behind the announcer’s table. But whenever Chris Cuomo has the nerve to show his face in Carter’s arena, Mr. Deviated Septum is constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone. His simply loves humiliating the muscled Italian hunk with a passion that cannot be denied. In their most recent run-in, Carter “stole” Chris’ ABC protege, rookie news hunk and swiftly rising star, g-g-gorgeous Matt Gutman. 
Since real life is frequently little more than fodder for my homoerotic wrestling imagination, I predict that Carter, the homoerotic wrestling god of my fantasy world, may sustain a mysterious off camera injury that forces the champ to stay out of the action for a while. The power vacuum will inevitably lead to some opportunistic invaders swooping in to shake things up in Carter’s arena. Just how much damage can a nasty new gang of newsboys do in the 6 weeks it takes for Carter to get the green light from his doc to retake physical possession of the ring that is rightfully his?
Get well soon, Carter. Your fans miss you!