The first couple of times I saw Flash LaCash I struggled to decide what I thought of him. Fantastic body, of course. Handsome, sure. The porn stash? Just retro enough to be value added for me, I think. But I have to admit that I just couldn’t get off the fence. I think it was, in part, the name. I don’t think it suits him. There’s something frivolous and ostentatious about it that strikes a dissonant chord with who you see climb into the ring. Well, in Demolition 18, Flash picked me up off the fence and shot-put me about half a city block firmly on the side of being entirely turned on and a serious fan.
His opponent is of course the recurring infatuation of mine, lovely, lithe, limber Jake Jenkins. Jake tends to bulldoze opponents everywhere except for the ring. All of that amateur wrestling and MMA background appears to amount to a pile of shit once the acrobatic babyface steps foot on the ring apron. And we know his gorgeous ass is grass the second we set eyes on the doomed American flag trunks he’s wearing in Demo 18. Again. After his heroic tag team efforts in Tag Team Torture 15 with Austin Cooper ended in such devastatingly brutal, humiliating, soul-crushing failure, you’d think the über-patriotic briefs should have been retired, at least by JJ. Has ANYONE ever one a wrestling match in those trunks? Honestly, it’s like taping a “Hit Me” sign to the back of some Freshman dork, only this sign reads “Beat my ass, crush my body, and don’t stop until I’m writhing in a pool of my own sweat and tears.”
This is a Demolition match, so it shouldn’t be too disillusioning to reveal that JJ continues his long tradition of getting the shit beat out of him all over the BG East ring. And I always love his sell. He must have some acrobatic background, because he bends and twists like few wrestlers can manage, and when he really works up a head of agony, his screams and whimpers make my sternum tickle.
So chalk up yet another confirmation that JJ can make me weak at the knees on the receiving end. The real story for me here is the revelation that Flash can own my lustful attention as completely as he possesses Jake’s tortured body. There’s something intensely erotic to me to see a wrestler with pro experience calmly and systematically carve up a mouthwatering opponent like Thanksgiving turkey. The pace is primarily high impact brutality punctuating Flash’s slow, slightly smirking savoring of JJ’s anguish. Less sell from Jake and this would be plodding, but the combo here is spot on demolition perfection.
Flash controls every inch of Jake’s writhing body, and I can’t decide who’s ass is hotter (now that’s a problem to have!). When Flash works up a thick, shiny sweat across his tanned torso, his glistening, suction packed blue trunks give the appearance of this muscleman having just stepped out of a shower with his gear on.
Part of my well-documented infatuation with accomplished pro wrestlers in homoerotic wrestling is the obvious, intimate understanding they possess concerning the tolerances of the human body. Flash knows exactly how to position himself and his opponent for maximum leverage, for bearing down on a particular joint, for wringing out anguish by bending limbs to the quivering edge of breaking. He doesn’t just know what hurts a man, he knows what drives a man to the edge of panicked certainty that he’s about to snapped in half. A seasoned pro in the homoerotic wrestling universe is like a professional concert cellist, stroking out a masterpiece where a fashion model or exotic dancer might merely manage to squeak out a melody.
And in their Demolition 18 encounter, Flash and Jake convey a sense of fantasy-driven circus performers, defying disbelief and demonstrating what mere mortals best not ever try at home. When I say circus performers, of course I’m not talking clowns. No, JJ’s barefoot toe point and gracefully tortured stretches are that of a babyface trapeze prodigy, meant to be worshipped in mid-air, make our hearts pound in horrific anticipation of his heroic body crashing to the ground. And Flash, the mustachioed hunk could be nothing other than the supremely confident, cocky, hardbodied strong man performing feats of sheer brawn that demonstrate his powerful physique totally undersells the superhuman strength residing in those muscles.
Like I said, I knew Jake can grab me by the balls (any day). I knew that I’d be leaking fluids at his first whimper of panicked anguish. His unspoiled beauty sparkling with youthful earnestness about to be trampled underfoot is always pure gold. I just didn’t know how provoked I would be by big, bad Flash LaCash. He gets just the right amount of bemused pleasure by crushing JJ’s throat under his knee as he flexes victoriously over him. He manages to look both barely winded by his devastating feats of strength, and glistening, dripping even with sweat. His mastery of the pro wrestling ring and his completely dominating size and strength over the lightweight Boy Scout is pitch perfect. Awesome pairing of wrestlers in order to tell a profoundly compelling homoerotic wrestling narrative.
2 thoughts on “Flash and Sparkle”
Thanks for the review, Bard. Jake is the best at selling. His cries of anguish never fail to push my buttons. I haven’t seen Flash in anything, but I’ll have to check him out.
Bard, like you, I recall renting “Wrestle” back in the day and your observations once again mirror my thoughts back then — and made me think more about why wrestling is such a vital part of my sexuality. I love how you dissected the wrestling production companies. You’re always a good read.