I’ve talked about my infatuation with some of the early wrestling matches from Can-Am before. I’ve mentioned my infatuation with Jimmy Royce’s body (and particularly, that spectacular, muscled ass). But I don’t think I’ve actually done a full review of those classics, including one of my very first, treasured homoerotic wrestling purchases, Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.

All 4 matches in the compilation have merits, but it’s the second match, (oil)pitting Jimmy Royce and Can-Am classic staple Beau Hopkins against one another, that I’ve savored most over the years. The match starts with each wrestler taking turns doing a solo self-oil down. There’s something particularly seductive about this type of pre-match “introduction” that I love. Movimus continues to do this type of foreplay with the viewer, showing each opponent in turn stretching in preparation for the match. Back in the day, On Top did it best, as far as I’m concerned, giving each wrestler camera time to answer some questions, talk about their preparation and game plan, sort of handicap their own match. It totally cemented the sell for me, establishing motivation, character, and, of course, giving ample opportunity to study the physiques about to square off. Naked Kombat has continued the pre (and post) match camera confessional, but last I was signed on to NK, they were so formulaic that the shine had worn off a bit for me.

But watching Beau, and then Jimmy silently coating their gorgeous muscles in oil, only the sound of the padded mats underfoot shifting beneath them as they slowly, seductively move, I’m sucked right in. Beau grins at the camera a lot. He looks like he could easily pull out his cock and pound one out on nothing but the feel of his own gorgeous muscles coated in oil. He doesn’t do that, but the sly smirk on his face gives me the impression he knows I’m already compelled to unzip and release some of the pressure building in my pants.

Jimmy, on the other hand, doesn’t crack a smile. He holds solid eye contact with the camera as he bathes his phenomenal physique, but it isn’t playful, like Beau. Rather, he gives that look that I’m absolutely certain he uses to pick up beefcake in the bars, staring fixedly, silently signaling that he knows you want to get your hands on his muscles. It’s challenging and invitational. It’s an erection in 10 seconds (not Jimmy’s. Mine).

They cut to action is abrupt. Jimmy and Beau circle the oil pit cautiously. Footing is treacherous on the padded surface already slick with oil dripping off of their fine physiques. Jimmy moves in for the lock up, but suddenly Beau shifts to the side and charges forward, clotheslining the stud hard to wet mat. Instantly, Jimmy’s oil stained, tiny blue trunks ride way up his crack. His legs and ass are lightly hairy, in contrast to Beau’s baby smooth skin everywhere. Beau’s pink trunks (on my fading VHS tape, they’re pink, though the Can-Am photos reveal they’re actually orange) are form fitting, but he just isn’t packing the same mouthwatering muscle in the back end that Jimmy’s got. He quickly rolls his opponent to his stomach and cranks on a nasty hammerlock, prying Jimmy’s glistening, muscled arm high up between his shoulder blades. “How does that feel!?” Beau demands in a way that doesn’t seem nearly as cliche as those words sound in most matches these days. “Fuck you!” Jimmy shouts angrily, in a way that makes my balls contract just a little with excitement.

What I love, adore, am completely owned by in this match is the suspense. Two big egos attached to two sensationally sexy bodies have me guessing from start to finish who will end up with bragging rights at the end of the day. They struggle to maintain holds, to apply pressure to joints, to keep a grip as they attempt to manhandle each other’s bodies, with so much excessive lubricant coming between them. I have to confess that I’m compelled to pull for a Jimmy victory, mostly because I just want to see him flex that mouthwatering body cockily over his vanquished foe. But early going, it’s clear that Beau is living it up as a heel in this bout. He cottons on early that if he takes Jimmy’s back (sign me up for that ride, please), the gorgeous boy is defenseless against a humiliating hammerlock. So he exploits that weakness often, letting gravity keep Jimmy solidly in place trapped underneath his opponent’s weight across his muscled back. “Smile for the camera!” Beau insists, yanking on Jimmy’s hair to pry his face up off the mat and stare humiliatingly into the faces of his fans on this side of the camera. “Lick up the oil!” Beau laughs maniacally, seeing how much he can control, dominate, and own his opponent.

The first fall belongs to Beau. Jimmy has been milked for days in that oil choked hammerlock, face down to the mat. He’s clearly tired out when Beau slides his smooth, strong legs around Jimmy’s neck, locks his ankles together, and squeezes the kid’s windpipe shut. “Do you give, Jimmy Royce!?” Beau demands. Fuck, I love it that these guys know each other’s wrestling names. The implication is that they’ve sized each other up, they’ve prepared for this match. Jimmy resists, but Beau doubles down on the choke, leaving just enough air for Jimmy to breathlessly squeeze out the words, “Okay… I… give…” It’s not enough for the gorgeous heel. “Say it again! Say, ‘I give Mr. Beau Hopkins!'” Jimmy can barely breathe, but he finally sucks down just enough air to slowly squeak out the humiliating submission. “I… give…. Mr….. Beau Hopkins.” Beau laughs as he climbs to his feet and flexes his glistening body in victory.

The second fall belongs to Jimmy. He’s got a fire lit under that magnificent ass after getting owned in the first fall. Beau grabs about 30 seconds of offense, but fuck it all if Jimmy isn’t ragingly in control and liking the feel of manhandling his hunk opponent almost from start to finish. He knows how to please his fans. He uses his gargantuan thighs to squeeze Beau’s face, then sits his gorgeous glutes down on top of the stud in total humiliation. In one stunningly aesthetic moment, he climbs on top of Beau, facing his feet, and wraps his huge, hairy thighs around his torso. Locking his ankles together behind his opponent’s back, Jimmy squeezes hard, digging his knees into Beau’s ribs. You can watch the muscle contraction wash like a wave up Jimmy’s hamstrings and across his muscled ass. I swear, even the most exclusive bottom has got to be picturing the ecstasy of sliding his cock deep between those two ripped, massive mounds of muscle. Beau is fucking toast with Jimmy on a roll, and slowly, surely, Jimmy slides his gasping opponent into position to wrap those aforementioned magnificent legs around his shoulders from behind in another award-worthy wrestling sculpture. “You’re finished!” Jimmy states the obvious with authority. “You want to give, baby?” he asks the whimpering hunk getting his arms ripped out of their shoulder sockets. The mortified heel resists, but finally concedes. “Mr. Jimmy Royce?” Jimmy demands to hear the meat say his name before he lets him go. Things are seriously all even. Fall to fall, humiliation to humiliation. Jimmy flexes his bicep in Beau’s face in victory, his ripped abs glistening so beautifully. He doesn’t give us a long, lingering look from behind at that epic ass that’s pretty much stolen the show, but there’s fall 3 still to come. My aching desire to see the decisive, post-victory full muscle showcase is so intense.

The third fall teeters back and forth. Both boys have tasted victory, and they’re both clearly hungry for the final score. Jimmy pulls out some amateur wrestling moves that make me ache for him that much harder. If exposing the back earned him points in homoerotic oil wrestling, he’d be way, way ahead as the match careens wildly toward its climactic end. But just controlling your opponent’s body doesn’t count. Their are no back points, much less riding time. And although Beau is often the babyface chump in other matches, he’s all heel as he doubles down on humiliating and wearing out luscious Jimmy. He sits on his face. Just sits there for a couple of seconds, letting Jimmy smell the vicious punishment coming his way. Then he slides into place, snapping his thighs around Jimmy’s skull and bearing down. Jimmy battles back, slipping free and managing to hold onto a beautiful bow-and-arrow (beau-and-arrow, in this case) that stretches Beau out and makes that bulge in the front of his trunks quiver. When Beau finally slips free Jimmy is on his back and applying a fish hook from behind, threatening to rip that classically handsome face right of the mean heel.

But there’s a feel of inevitability about it when Beau turns the tables and plants his knees into Jimmy’s pecs, pulling on his arms and prying the kid’s head forward painfully pressed intimately against Beau’s bulging pouch. Jimmy’s ripped abs writhe, his hips sliding from side to side struggling to slip free. But there’s not enough oil in the world to earn luscious Jimmy reprieve from this one. His beautiful, blue bulge looks like he’s smuggling a grapefruit as he slowly stops struggling, the camera panning up his huge, hairy legs, over the mountainous bulge, up the ridges of his six pack abs, and into the agony contorting his face, framed so perfectly between the glistening smooth inner thighs of his tormentor.

Fuck. I don’t get to see Jimmy show off that top shelf ass in preening victory. Somehow, Beau looks like he knows it as he smirks at the camera, flexing over top of his fallen foe. Like the vile heel he is, he’s both crushed Jimmy’s dreams and denied me my fawning adoration of my hero’s victorious muscles. Not that I’m not completely turned on by Beau’s classic form. He tugs at the sides of his trunks, accentuating the bulging pouch and taunting me with a glimpse of more of the terrain just beyond the borders of his covered, oil soaked cock.
Again, I say, fuck. It’s true, there’s a clumsiness inherent in oil wrestling. You’ll see no high flying. All but the most perfectly balanced holds are destined to pop free with all that muscle being so extensively lubricated. Long held suffering is rare. The oil pit is a relatively abridged territory, so the action is mostly in the center of the mat, more about scrambling and slipping and sliding across each other’s muscles than working an offense or a counter. But I love this match because there’s drama. I totally believe the pretense of competition. Precious few words and a lot of silent looks sell two sensationally 3-dimensional characters. The oil is gimmicky, I know, but these were younger days, before the industry needed to try to stay two steps ahead of a well-established customer opinion. And I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, there’s missed opportunities in not circling back to oil wrestling more these days. And without an ounce of sexual tension really spared for each other, both Beau and Jimmy place this match squarely in the homoerotic end of the pool for their taunting, tantalizing, seductive looks right into my wrestling fan soul. They know you and I are turned on, and frankly, they love it. Come and get it, they both say as they stroke their lubricated bodies and invite us to smell the oil, to feel the heat rising from their hardworking bodies, and to take pleasure in their combat as only you and I really do.

Love this match.