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| Drake Marcos: The Cheshire Cat |
About halfway through
my interview with BG East new kid
Drake Marcos, I sat back and told him that he had a lot to say that needed to be said. I still harbor a seriously raunchy wrestling fantasy in which Drake and his doppelgänger, John Fugelsang, rip and strip one another to pieces until one is riding the other like
a Funny or Die video starring Dave Franco. Drake’s got that persistent, perpetual smile on his face every time the camera rolls, unable to disguise (if he wanted to… not that he does) that there’s nothing in life he likes more than to square off against another wrestler and see what crazy shit happens next. He’s well read, well spoken, and he connects the dots between a lot of topics that I intuitively recognize as closely tied, but have never, myself, managed to articulate as clearly as Drake does how all of the pieces fit together. Gay culture, wrestling fans, homoerotic wrestlers, body image, gear, pain, domination… all of these elements are part of what moves me most about the subject of this blog, but there’s a proportionality and aesthetic about the precise concoction of each element. Too much body worship without wrestling, or body worship that bleeds into body fascism, or aggro wrestling that buys too much wholesale a hetero male macho construct, and the whole hot genre starts to crack and peel away. What I like about Drake, both in my interview that I posted and in several private conversations since, is that he’s got both an all-in enthusiasm for homoerotic wrestling and a critical eye for what works, what doesn’t, and why some things that seem to work perhaps shouldn’t.
So I started early and continued often to tell Drake he should open up his own corner of the interwebs and get his words out there unfiltered. A couple of weeks ago, I got a cryptic message from him: “Shhh… he’s writing.” A few days later, I got this link: Drake Marcos: The Cheshire Cat of Homoerotic Wrestling.
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| Ray squeezes the smile off Drakes face |
You want to check it out. Like a few before him, Drake tells a bit about his early days of discovering the erotic satisfaction of wrestling. Unlike anyone I’ve ever read, he writes with the voice of both of his personalities (diagnosable, to be sure, but somehow that much sexier!). D2 is apparently a highly calculated, cautious, deliberate planner who thinks the hell out of everything. I’m guessing it’s D2 that brings the critical lens that catches me off guard when I’m chatting with him/them. D2 is not impetuous or impulsive. I picture D2 as an aspiring chess grand master, which makes total sense to me how he could both find his way onto a wrestling mat and execute a studied, dispassionate game plan to topple and conquer a hardbodied hunk with plans of his own.
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| Drake gets himself into the sweetest of tight spots! |
Then Drake interrupts him, at times a little unkindly (“Shut up you sappy windbag!”). Drake is raw, running on red bull and a hard on. I’m guessing it’s Drake whose grin stretches from ear to ear when he stares down an opponent, picturing, perhaps tasting the carnal delights he’s about to sample in hard, sweaty, vicious wrestling. Drake fires all cylinders on intuition and lust. Drake gets himself into precisely the tight spots that all of D2’s planning is intended to avoid. Drake loves to hurt an opponent. He loves to be pushed to the edge of endurance and have his impressive tolerance for pain tested to its limit. It’s Drake that fearlessly faces down an opponent, whether it be a muscle stud in a singlet or D2’s own self-doubt, and I strongly suspect that it’ll be Drake that gets into more enviably tight spots (aka, face buried deep up Gabriel Ross or Ray Naylor’s ass).
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| D2 may be wondering what Drake got him into |
Looking forward to hearing more from him/them!
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