I was on the road about half of July, but I still managed to squeeze in some viewing time. I didn’t come close to making it through Jose’s exhaustive list of every homoerotic wrestling new release in the month, but that’s not unusual. My homoerotic wrestler of the month title has less to do with an objective sampling of the entire catalog than it does with what wrestler, who I managed to watch, turned me on most. So this month the title was decisively won, but in an unconventional manner. Practically slapping me in the face with his claim to the title, July’s homoerotic wrestler of the month is…
Ty just barely squeezed in under the wire with his Custom Combat bashing at the hands of Jonny Firestorm on Jonny’s pay site, Club Firestorm. The match was released for a limited time for Club members on the last day of the month. Like Jonny’s Custom Combat match against (steamrolling over) Drake Marcos on BG East, Ty was treated to what must have amounted to about 15 hours of video recording to come up with over an hour and a half of choose-your-own-adventure style wrestling narrative, bashed, thrashed and tenderized in such a way that you, the viewer, can order up your favorite dish of destruction, then come back to the buffet for an entirely different encore meal moments later. The jobber extraordinaire is pressed to, and then beyond, the edges of sanity and consciousness again and again, striking a fabulous chord paired with one of the most accomplished and technically masterful heels in the business.
Strip wrestling always has a spot in my heart, so beautifully vulnerable Ty getting ripped out of one gear to the next, each one skimpier than the last, is lush. The kid screams like a lamb heading to slaughter, which, frankly, is just barely a metaphor. You have to wonder if the jobber boy bit off more than he can chew partway through. Sure, Ty has been campaigning to be resident top jobber with a fierceness I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He’s tightening up his baby smooth body, sucking down more and more punishment, getting picked apart again and again (in this case, repeatedly in the same product), and then climbing back up to his chair at the big boy table and demanding another heaping helping of corporal punishment. There’s that motif of the jobber who is such an obsessive masochist that the only question is whether his body is capable of surviving the level of torture that his mind and soul lust for. Yeah, that’s Ty.
And Ty looks so good doing it. Jonny’s face squeezed tightly between Ty’s thighs as he positions the jobber for a spine tingling piledriver gives us (and, obviously, Jonny) a fabulous view of Ty’s pride and joy bubble butt. Sleepered, slammed, submitted again and again, this is a marathon for Ty (though probably, if we’re honest, a dozen or more sprints to the finish for you and me).
But here’s the thing, Ty worked me hardest in July not just because of his July 31 Custom Combat release on Club Firestorm. No, behind the scenes, Ty has been reaching out to let me know, in no uncertain terms, that he believes he’s long overdue to have earned the homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Like, half a dozen or more times Ty has chatted me up about this in recent weeks. He’s plied me with photos documenting his fitness progress. He’s demanded the title be his. He’s pleaded. He’s threatened. Then he’s pleaded again.
And somewhere along the line it occurred to me, this is fucking turning me on! And as I just mentioned, that’s the raison d’etre of the homoerotic wrestler of the month title. It was a little surprising to me the first time I came across confirmation that a homoerotic wrestling infatuation of mine not only read my words, but was pleased by them. It’s only a certain slice of homoerotic wrestlers who read reviews of their matches, I realize. And I certainly don’t begrudge a hot slice of beef with better things to do than track the confessions of this particular fanboy. But yeah, there’s an undeniable ego stroke that comes from a wrestler starring on my screen one day and commenting on my review the next. Perhaps it’s a deep character flaw of mine that it’s not just my ego that gets stroked when a handsome stud sends me back even a small fraction of the love I toss his way.
Ty isn’t the first wrestler to campaign for some attention, but he is, without a doubt, the most vociferous. He teases me with near naked selfies and gear fetish pics. He taunts me, shoving that round bubble butt in my face, flashing his come-hither blue steel, showing off his hardening core. He dangles little treats just out of my reach, like telling me he’s just wrestled a private match with some other favorite infatuation of mine, but refusing to tell me who it is.
I have a strong feeling I’m not the first to get played by adorable young Ty. And I mean no disrespect by that. I’m more than willing to follow a silky smooth babyface jobber with a bodacious bubble butt and an all over tan who lassos me by the cock. There’s something particularly tantalizing about a lithe, limber jobber who runs headlong into walls of muscle like Jonny Firestorm, and then turns around and slaps down a charm offensive on “his media” to wring out every ounce of applause and adoration he richly deserves. No, he may look like a barely legal lamb, but that cocky charm, those titillating teases and taunts, that shake of the ass and heavy lidded smirk are professional class. I have no doubt I’m just joining the back of the line that wraps around the corner, populated by appreciative gay men who’ve willingly been cornered by seductive wiles of Ty Alexander.
For those readers who bitch that my opinions have been biased, that I’m showing favoritism, that clearly I’ve been swayed by Ty’s persistent campaigning behind-the-scenes… uh, yeah. The pages of this blog are devoted entirely and unabashedly to my favorites and my biases And fuck, yes, I’m more than happy to welcome back door campaigning from any enthusiastic wrestler pushing his brand and demonstrating that he knows how to grab me by the balls off camera as effectively as he does on camera.
In fact, I’m doing a little campaigning myself to encourage wrestlers and producers to toy with that fourth wall, to bring those characters we crave off the screen and at least give the impression of interacting with their adoring fans. Because, honestly, I’m starting to seriously prioritize the wrestling that acknowledges those of us fueling this homoerotic economy. I’m no longer just counting it as bonus when wrestlers mention their fans in their matches, when they openly acknowledge knowing, and appreciating, what it is about them that makes us line up and pull out our… wallets. No, that’s not just value added for me any longer. I’m also actively docking points from those wrestling products that offer nothing but subtext to acknowledge their audience, who seem reluctant to even imply that they know that the wrestling they produce and star in is the stuff of erotic fantasies turning on the vast majority of their audience composed of gay men with a wrestling fetish.
I hope that Ty Alexander is a glimpse of things to come, when homoerotic wrestling turns increasingly social media-forward, increasingly committed to engage their gay audience in the erotic fantasy that, for god’s sakes, we all know is fueling our attentive gaze. I saw a lot of beefcake on the mats last month. I watched hot muscleboys flexing and grunting and squeezing in ways that I truly enjoy. I saw a lot of men ripped right of my erotic fantasies, squeezed into suction packed trunks, getting crushed and clawed and slammed and stomped. And fuck, yes, that’s all sensationally satisfying stuff that holds my attention. But nobody came close to turning me on, winding me up, and igniting my erotic imagination in July like Ty Alexander.