Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Coincidences

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Have you noticed how in Hollywood movies it’s a moral imperative to believe in the supernatural? I keep hearing the words, “I don’t believe in coincidences” in movies and on television lately. The implication seems to always be that there’s some divine hand moving the universe, lining up otherwise random events into non-coincidental patterns. Well, frankly, I do believe in coincidences. That army of monkeys will, indeed, one day hammer out the complete works of Shakespeare by sheer chance. I’m okay with that.  That’s not to suggest, however, that I don’t like musing on a notable coincidence when it falls in my lap.
Kid Leopard planting a Tree of Woe for Sean Cannon
in BG East’s Superbouts 2
Take, for instance, the third time in as many days that the “tree of woe” has come up in three entirely unrelated conversations I’ve been part of.  Three different homoerotic wrestling fans raised the topic of how hot the tree of woe scenario is. The only reason I really know much about it, as such, is from a series of comments on Rants, Roids & Rasslin’ a while back, in which folks were dissecting a panel from one of RR&R’s wrestling comics. “Tree of woe” is apparently the moniker for that precarious situation when a wrestler discovers himself hanging upside down from the corner turnbuckle, completely vulnerable to a humiliating and devastating attack.
BG East’s Brooklyn Bodywrecker exploiting an opponent’s vulnerability.
It seems to me that there’s more than just a little element of bondage, with the poor catcher’s ankles locked and laced underneath the supports tying the turnbuckle to the ring post. A knee to the gut, a boot to the face… the options appear to be endless. Yes, and hot…
Rock Hard Wrestling’s Lucas Payne lives up to his name in Austin Cooper’s
Tree of Woe

The position also offers an opportunity to see a hot muscle boy stretched out and in jeopardy. Hot strong bodies are the best subjects with which to construct a tree of woe, it seems to me. The mechanics probably work best with a strong, compact, relatively limber body. The aesthetics also work best that way, too, I think.

Cole Cassidy goes to work on Kevin Lee in BG’s Bad Boys

Accomplished master in the fine arts of sadistic ring punishment, Cole Cassidy made the most of bewildered Kevin Lee trapped in his tree of woe.

Cole uses those gorgeous muscles to crush Kevin’s head and midsection.

A bearhug and headscissors combination on Kevin illustrates some of the more creative opportunities that a tree of woe offers to an innovative heel.

Cole leans in real good, adding every ounce of leverage to crush Kevin’s balls.

Of course, any tree of woe that fails to include crotch torture is a waste. Cole is never, ever one to waste anything. A long, slow elbow driven crushing into Kevin’s balls softens him up.

Cole claws Kevin’s crotch and enjoys watching the agony.
Cole latching on a ball claw, with his freakishly fantastic forearms bulging like a cartoon superhero is incredibly erotic.
Cole’s boots and knees tenderize his suspended opponent.

And of course some nasty stomps to Kevin’s… well, to Kevin’s everything, shows why a tree of woe is a blank canvas in the hands of a true artist, at least when Cole is working his magic.

BG East’s Dante Rosetti (I think) uses his head.

I’m on the record many times over as completely partial to ring wrestling, and the tree of woe illustrates just one of the many reasons why ring wrestling cranks my kink harder than just about any other context. The opportunities to use the architecture, to capitalize on the structure, to exploit the parts of the ring that stretch as well as those that don’t, all contribute to making ring wrestling my wrestling kink of choice.

At long, long last, Rio Garza pays it back against Jobe Zander in
Can-Am’s Rio’s Revenge

So I completely believe that three different people raising the topic of the tree of woe in as many days is 100% coincidence. I’m sure it’s randomness, and I don’t feel the need to read into the coincidence some guiding, invisible hand that wants me to appreciate deeper the erotic potential of corner abuse. That doesn’t mean, however, that I don’t enjoy riding the tide and getting a kinked kick out of where it takes me.

Rock Hard Wrestling’s Trent Novak treats Austin Cooper to a Tree of Woe beatdown

Jake Jenkins’ House

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Eli Black receives the customary welcome to Jake Jenkins’ House
I completely concur with Joe when he concludes that when it comes to Jake Jenkins’ newest release on Rock Hard Wrestling, “This is a match that makes my blood surge.” Of course, Jake has never failed to make my blood surge. Standing perfectly still, this man makes me shift in my seat. When he climbs into the wrestling ring, struts around a bit, and then drop kicks and slams the hell out of his opponents, I’m reminded why he’s both a former homoerotic wrestler of the month around these parts and why he’s currently muscling his way through a highly competitive pack non-pornboys vying to break into my reigning favorites.
Eli is lean, mean and looking to send a message by destroying Jake in his debut with RHW.
Jake’s opponent is 5’7″, 140 pound “rookie” Eli Black. Eli gets the rookie card only because this is his first appearance on RHW. As far as I can tell, it’s his first appearance in the world of aboveground/underground wrestling for a gay audience (please do correct me if I’m wrong!). I was prepared to be underwhelmed by Eli and have eyes for no one other than Jake, but as is often the case (and always delightful), I was surprised that the astonishingly lean, blond battler gets my heart pumping as well. Eli appears completely overwhelmed and outmatched in the opening salvo, but when Jake flashes a double bicep and taunts him, he awakens a fierce fighter in the rookie. With Jake still in mid pose, Eli shoulder tackles the cocky stud, lifting him off his feet and spearing him violently to the mat.
Two distinctly different body types, but all rock hard muscle on both.

Eli is all muscle. Jake is too, of course, but they wear their amazingly fit muscles very differently. Eli is incredibly lean. He unquestionably qualifies as “rock hard,” but it’s an entirely different aesthetic than Jake’s thick, powerful bulges in all those beautiful places. Despite Eli’s leanness, however, one aspect of his amazingly trained body sticks out – that amazingly hot beefy ass!  
Eli makes a wish to become the next RHW phenom.
Eli’s ring presence also jumps out at me as something notable, impressive, and not quite “rookie” quality.  He tells his story with skill that exponentiates his raw, lean sexiness. He even takes the 2nd fall with an fantastically hot triangle choke hold. The degree of hot wrestling kink in this submission is comprised of equal parts gorgeous salesmanship from both wrestlers, the extremely erotic positioning of Jake’s face stuffed high up between Eli’s thighs, and Eli’s aggressive, taunting crowing as he’s in such complete control of his muscle stud opponent. “Tap!” he barks down domineeringly into Jake’s purple-hued face. “I’m the champ now! My turn to shine! Jake Jenkins is OLD NEWS!!!” When Jake does, indeed, submit breathlessly, Eli’s flexing victory lap around the ring is an incredible, detailed, stunning display of human anatomy. 
Jake Jenkins’ living large in Jake Jenkins’ house.

As Joe suggests, however, at RHW, Jake is increasingly thrilling as a coldly calculating sadistic heel. While Eli has an arsenal that no “rookie” ever possessed, the bundle of beautifully bulging muscles that is Jake Jenkins simply doesn’t stay down for long. In round 3, he has Eli gasping for air and soaked in sweat, back to being outmuscled and outmaneuvered. He snaps on a tit-for-tat triangle choke, but just as Eli looks like he’s about to concede, Jake lets him go (as in, he releases the hold and then instantly drags his nearly defenseless opponent back up to his feet for more torture).  He humiliates Eli with a nasty wrist lock, demanding that the blond cry “mercy,” even as Jake steps on his head, crushing Eli’s face into the mat with a sadistic smile.  It’s like the sheen of sweat coating Jake’s gorgeous pecs serves to lubricate his momentum as he plows from one crushing, torturous hold to the next. His tantalizingly long-held Boston crab, butt to beautiful butt, is some of the most beautiful sculpture on the planet.  When Jake flings the dumbfounded rookie over the top rope and into the shadows of the RHW set, I can’t always make out what he’s saying, but Jake continues to snarl contempt down upon Eli as the rookie slowly peels himself off the concrete only to find himself slammed back inside the ring. The final chapter of this entertaining 27 minutes is all about Jake’s sadism. “I wanna hear you screamin’,” he repeats calmly, over and over as he locks the rookie up in one debilitating hold after another.

“Don’t come in my ring,” Jake says with a smirk as he looks at the withered rookie. “This is Jake Jenkins’ house, buddy!”

Picking Up the Remote… Again

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What the fuck? Sorry about my crass language, but again: what the fuck? Less than a year after the morning “news” landscape brightened considerably with the installment of a blond and blue eyed, 6’3″ hunk with powerful arms and big, beautiful pecs behind the anchor desk of The Early Show, latest scoop is that Chris Wragge is out.

Despite his shirtless appearance training for the triathalon, Wragge gets dunked.

This isn’t sending me into the spiral of despair and existential angst that Good Morning, America’s decision to turn their backs on Chris Cuomo did.  There’s a definite hierarchy in my lustful fanaticism for my morning cup of Chris, and Wragge comes in second place behind a certain curly headed Italian with a fondness for fishing shirtless.

Chris Cuomo illustrates while he’s still the hottest newsman getting no respect.

However, the rumor is that CBS has decided to replace Wragge with Charlie Rose and Gayle King.

What. The. Fuck?

And now I return to my primary question of the day: what the fuck!? Now, some toothy, nerdy hunkiness from adorable lisper Jeff Glor, and the sincerity of even nerdier West Coast blond pretty boy correspondent Ben Tracey are legitimately entertaining side shows. But replace the sheer hunky sexual magnetism of Chris Wragge with either Charlie Rose or Gayle King and the message couldn’t be clearer.

Totally hot back-up singer, but I don’t think Jeff Glor can be the headline attraction for this audience of one.

I am NOT the demographic that CBS is aiming for. I suppose it’s back to Good Morning, America to relive 18 year old fantasies of meeting George Stephanopoulos in a wrestling ring. Then again, there are rumors that the gorgeous diminutive Greek may be on the way out as well! But of course there’s the tragically rare treat of seeing Chris Cuomo doing a guest bit as “legal analyst”on GMA, though it seems like he and Dan Abrams are due for a no-holds-barred loser-leaves-town beat down to once and for all settle whose legal briefs are on top at ABC.

Dan Abrams has both attracted and repelled me ever since O.J. introduced him to the world.

There is clearly no shortage of hunky newsmen who could give drowsy heads a welcome dose of adrenaline in the mornings. The obstinate refusal of the news outlets to dangle some tasty meat to get our hearts pumping is making me contemplate switching to HGTV for my morning devotions. Sure, maybe I won’t be as well informed about world events (though let’s not overestimate the morning news programs for their capacity to accomplish that), but at least I’ll be happy and eager to wake up again.

More Making Somebody Happy

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Lon’s back bigger, harder, and with a full head of hair.

My fellow Lon Dumont fans likely have already taken note of the best news I’ve heard all month: Lon is back in a new release from BG East called Rookie Wreckers!! Yes, my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division, is back in ring action, sporting that full head of hair he hinted at in my interview many months ago, and looking unbelievably ripped!

Lon looks like he’s squeezing the produce in readiness to crush Morgan like a grape.
I’ll compose a full review in a few days, but I’m chomping at the bit to just revel in the thrill of seeing Lon back in the ring. Hot damn, this man turns me on and holds my rapt attention like the beautiful, cocky, incredibly hot and entertaining pro he is! Looks like he’s returning to those bygone days he mentioned in my interview of schooling up-and-comers in the harsh realities of professional wrestling. Beefy, hairy rookie Morgan Cruise seems like he could be a handful, even for the likes of indy wrestler turned competitive bodybuilder Lon. Morgan looks big and cocky, with nowhere near the level of peak conditioning that Lon is sporting, but big and strong enough to potentially do some damage on his smaller “trainer.”
Lon sets the fishhooks deep, ready to reel in the rookie and mount him over the fireplace.
Then again, Lon looks to me to be up to the challenge, and the collection is called “Rookie Wreckers” for God’s sake! I’ve been in sporadic communication with Lon in the months since our interview, and I believe that this match was filmed as he was heading into the current bodybuilding competition season. This would explain his truly astonishing fitness, notably harder and bigger than before. He’s seriously lean… like this-man-has-got-to-be-ravenous-for-some-carbs type of lean. If a miserable month and a half on the Atkins diet taught me anything, it’s that when deprived of carbs, a human being can get incredibly short-tempered, just a bit irrational, and down right nasty at the slightest provocation. All this might explain the look of terror, bewilderment, and semi-consciousness that’s playing across Morgan’s baby face in the first pics released from this match.
Who has striated back muscles!!!? Lon Dumont does!
Good God, who has striated back muscles!!!? And let me give an obvious nod to the continuation of my recent theme of asses that drive me insane. I doubt Morgan fully appreciates just how envious I am of the opportunity to feel Lon’s legs crushing his midsection and rearranging some internal organs. Lon’s incredibly high-quality physique paired with, what did he say, eight years in indy pro wrestling is possibly the hottest combination I can imagine in the characteristics that are sure to make me break a sweat. Add to all that a razor-wire wit and a knack for telling a story, and it’s no wonder that I’m ready to start a citizen’s initiative to name a holiday after him. I’m setting off some fireworks tonight in honor of Dumont Day in the WrestleBard household!

Time Warp

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Friends and casual neverland readers will back me up when I say that I tend to be very age-positive. That is to say, while my sexual interests include young (adult) hunky wrestlers, I’m frequently even more turned on by more mature wrestling bodies.  Like good wine and cheese, a homoerotic wrestler with a few more seasons under his belt is often more my taste than a smooth, bright-eyed and bushy tailed youth. Before anyone lobs some ageist insult my way, let me state that this has been pretty constant throughout my adulthood. Now at 40 years old, my fantasies are frequently populated by homoerotic wrestlers at least my own age. There’s a seasoned confidence, a practiced self-possession that seems to me to come only from the accumulation of years that extremely few men can pull off until they stop getting carded when they buy alcohol (though I don’t know if there’s a direct connection with being carded).

Daniel Radcliffe (wand jokes forgone)

But there are moments when age creeps up on me unexpected, and I have to just sit back and check myself. This happened when I was recently re-watching the first Harry Potter movie. No, I’m not ashamed to say it. In my late 20s and early 30’s, I joined the generation of pre-teens consumed with fascination of the world of J.K. Rowling’s imagination. Apart from intrusive fantasies about Professor Lupine (a werewolf, no wonder), the whole franchise was awfully separate from my sexual appetites until pics from Daniel Radcliffe’s stint in Equus surfaced, showing off his barely legal (but legal!) bare body and unmistakably provocative assets. So, having graduated into sexual fantasy material, going back to watch a movie filmed when he was only 11 years old or so is… oddly disturbing. His Sorcerer’s Stone incarnation is not alluring to me, but I can see the smoldering, sexy young adult that he’s going to become and suddenly Jungian taboos grip my conscience as if I were a 17th century Puritan.

Jonathan Lipnicki, all grown up.

Similarly, I’m unsettled in seeing these recent shots of Jonathan Lipnicki, the formerly bespectacled, precocious child star to Tom Cruise’s type-cast, shallow, PR juggernaut who loses his own sense of self in his fanatic devotion to marketing who he thinks he’s supposed to be in Jerry Maguire. Not that I like the movie, so I’m not likely to watch it again anytime soon or frequently. But the superimposition of Lipnicki’s child-self onto these rockin’ images of his sweaty, ripped young adult body is a powerful reminder to me: I’m not as young as I once was.

Lipnicki now does BJJ

It seems that Lipnicki is still acting, and more to the point, he’s competitive in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I simply would never have guessed when I watched him, sort of wanting to punch him for his über-cuteness in 1996, that I’d find myself sexually aroused and sporting runaway homoerotic wrestling fantasies about him 15 years later.

Age is a slippery thing. To say that it’s relative is a gross understatement. At the age of 40, I’m old enough to remember sexy young adults when they were just diapered, slobbering infants. I’m also old enough to carry a mental filing cabinet of sexual fantasies including some lovely, horny, classic hunks who may be of an age to once again be diapered and possibly slobering as elders.  And people wear their ages differently. Some 21 year olds, like Lipnicki, strike me as chiseled, fantasy-worthy hunks, whereas some of their peers appear to me to be far too young to be uncorked. Some 60 year olds sport sculpted, toned bodies and sharp, sexy minds to go with them, whereas some of their peers look… well, “old”!

Lipnicki looks like he’s itching for a fight.

The only thing that I’m very certain of in the socially constructed shifting sands of age and eroticism is that my choice of the objects of my lust almost definitely say more about me than about them or their subjective states. We are, all of us, in possession of that moving target of age. But what that means, and how we inhabit our ages and our bodies and our sexualities, is nothing more and nothing less than works of our own invention.

Working Difference

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I’ve got deadlines coming out of all of my orifices (yes, it’s as unpleasant as it sounds). But I want to muse just a bit over a recent reflection. I was just this morning marveling once again at the wonders of BG East’s recent release, The Science of Scissors. The two wrestlers on this two-match DVD that grab, shake, and drain me dry the most are match #1’s Attila Dynasty and match #2’s Jimmy Gee. As I contemplated the juxtaposition of these two wrestlers, it suddenly occurred to me that as different as these two wrestlers are on many counts, regarding both of them, I’m most enthralled with their gorgeous asses.

NOTHING at all wrong with Jimmy or Rio Garza from the front, either!

Yes, yes, another post about asses. I’ve been fixated on hot wrestling asses for a long time now, I realize. I don’t self-judge such things; I just enjoy my lusts as they move me. In this case, however, I’m fascinated that these two very different wrestlers move me in much the same way, despite sporting distinctly different body types, including very, very different types of asses.

Attila is gorgeous from every angle.

I know I’m not alone in my growing fascination with BG East discovery, Attila Dynasty. I’ve heard from a number of readers craving more of this sweet, acrobatic, fiercely competitive, tightly packed stud puppy. I’ve marveled before, at least a couple of times, at being astonished and provoked by the sight of Attila’s hefty package that he’s sporting throughout his squeeze fest with Trent Blayze. But as I re-watch this match (repeatedly and adoringly), it’s Attila’s ass that’s grabbing me (now that’s an image I’m going to have to sit back and linger on for a while).

I’m incredibly jealous of Trent’s view!

It’s a tight, hard, athletic ass. Attila’s is an ass that belongs to flexible, endurance athletes. It’s all muscle, but that muscle is sculpted in perfect proportion to the extremely lean, taut, no-wasted-mass body that makes Attila such a sight from head to toe. His glutes are round and a perfect handful (at least for me), but they aren’t expansive or excessively massive. Attila is simply beautifully proportioned, and with that acrobatic training he clearly has, my mind wanders helplessly to a whole menu of contortions and physical feats of dexterity that such a supple, hard, rigorously trained physique could bring to some post-match sex (not that Attila has appeared to be overtly aiming for an erotic top off to one of his inspiring matches… yet….).

Kaboom. There I go again…

In some ways, the contrast between Attila’s ass and Jimmy Gee’s makes me check myself. Jimmy’s glutes are a study in the art of building a body huge from obsessive, superhuman heavy weight training. The word “proportional” doesn’t come to mind as I stare in awe at Jimmy’s ass, though that’s not because he’s somehow disproportionate in any way. It’s just that globes so fucking huge, ripped and powerful as his are clearly not the end result of someone searching for anything as subtle as “proportional” aesthetics. Once Rio Garza, bless his soul, peels Jimmy’s lime green square cuts off to reveal the banana hammock underneath, I suddenly cannot, through any voluntary force of will, tear my eyes away from Jimmy’s rocking, awesome, awe-inspiring muscle ass.

Rio’s got to admit that his suffering is so worth the view!

The headscissors that Jimmy applies to Rio make my heart skip a beat. The standing scissors in which he slowly shuffles across the mats, dragging a gasping, dizzy Rio with him as he crushes Rio’s head between those gargantuan thighs, has made me lose my load more than once at precisely the moment that the cameraman FINALLY circles behind for a clear look at Jimmy’s flexing glutes.  When I’m able to keep watching past that point (usually only because I start again watching farther into the match), the sight of Jimmy’s next standing headscissors in which he has Rio bent backward with his face being crushed like a grape, his nose shoved high up between those ponderous hamstrings a mere fraction of an inch away from Jimmy’s granite, hard, gorgeous glutes makes me helpless to resist still another explosive reaction. Seriously, I only know how this match ends because I finally fast-forwarded through to the final moments out of curiosity. Otherwise, Jimmy’s flexing muscle ass crushing Rio’s head would never let me manage to get to the end.

As if with a mind of their own, my hands reach out to grab a couple of handfuls.

So both Attila and Jimmy have asses inspiring my homoerotic wrestling fantasies and tweaking my wrestling kink very, very hard. As different as they are, their fantastic asses similarly hold my lustful gaze like a vice. Two very different body types drill down to the same spot at the core of my wrestling lust, and Attila’s taut, round, athletic glutes do to me almost exactly the same (fucking awesome!) thing that Jimmy’s powerhouse, superhuman, lived-at-the-squat-rack-for-months rock hard, angular, massive muscle ass does. For some reason, this juxtaposition thrills me and speaks to me about what turns me on quite apart from some Platonic Form of my pro-typical not-quite imagined ideal of the perfectly perfect homoerotic wrestler.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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What a response to my offer to let you all choose the new homoerotic wrestler of the month!  116 of you registered your votes, and like homoerotic wrestling itself, there were some delightful squashes as well as hard fought, close competitions. Naked Kombat fans did not rally behind their NK pornboy entries (at least not the ones that I decided to nominate for their new releases last month). Sexy, smoldering Alexander Garrett and brickhouse terminator Tyler Saint got their asses pummeled in the polls.  The nominees from Thunder’s Arena posted only slightly better showings, with Lance Romance wooing 6 of you to vote for him and Thunder’s incredible utility player, Big Sexy, drawing 11% of the vote. But it was the Can-Am boys in a runaway squash over the rest of the field. Aryx Quinn and Landon Mycles were neck and neck for most of the polling, repeatedly leap frogging over one another to outdistance the rest by a mile. The suspense was killing me as votes kept coming up to the very last minute, but in the end, there was one definitive winner of the readers’ choice homoerotic wrestler of the month….

… Aryx Quinn.
I’ve been accused of not giving Aryx his due as a homoerotic wrestling icon with a resume a mile deep. I’m not sure where the concept of “justice” entered the conversation, considering this blog has always been about my personal tastes and biases, but I was completely sincere in nominating him as completely worthy of being at the top of the heap for his work in Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1.  In preparation for this post, I’ve watched more of the tag team throw down between Aryx and his hunky partner Brendan Cage taking on former homoerotic wrestler of the month, Landon Mycles and his partner Jake Lyons. Aryx is a snarling, snapping, cheating, sexually and psychologically dominating, relentless pro wrestling heel. In other words, he’s our new homoerotic wrestler of the month!
Aryx and Brendan are clearly the heels in this brutality. The match takes its turns ebbing back and forth, but the badboys are never more than a couple holds and a dirty trick away from climbing back on top and beating the babyfaces into the mat.
I love the way that Aryx and his partner Brendan utilize their advantages over their pretty boy opponents to “practice” their sexual domination. Double-teaming blue-eyed Landon in their own corner, Aryx pounds Landon’s face into his crotch while Brendan dry humps Landon’s stunning ass. Shortly thereafter, Aryx choreographs the scenario of his partner perched on the ropes on the ring apron, with Aryx throwing Landon to his knees in a hammerlock and shoving the blond bombshell’s face into Brendan’s waiting, eager crotch. Landon’s suffering is just so fucking sweet (perhaps accounting for his close 2nd in the voting), but beautiful Aryx’s relish in stroking and squeezing his suffering opponent’s stone carved muscles is circling very, very close to the very heart of what moves me most about homoerotic wrestling.
With Aryx clearly alpha dog in this dog pack, it’s no wonder that he has dibs on the Landon’s rocking ass once he and Brendan have conquered their opponents in a sweat-soaked free for all. Once Jake is out cold, Landon is running on fumes even as Aryx is living large and in charge. He gives his gasping opponent an “open shot,” which he easily dodges before slapping on a rear choke. Before Landon manages to lose consciousness entirely, Aryx slips around to his front and smacks on his signature finisher at Can-Am, “the kiss of death” (where did he learn that one?). The kiss of death puts Landon out just as cold and beautifully vulnerable as his partner.
The victors divide the spoils, with Brendan owning and plowing twink Jake before the camera turns to study the artistry of Aryx’s victory celebration over Landon.  Landon and Aryx replace their partners in the ring for some mutual admiration. I’ve been crazy lately for wrestling hunks kissing (I know not everyone is into that, but I am), and the pre-sex make out between these two is very satisfying. Aryx adores Landon’s incredible body, taking his turn first at sucking long and hard on Landon’s cock before having Landon return the favor. Aryx eventually puts his spoils of war on his hands and knees for Aryx to examine and then plow his ass. And then…
… well, I haven’t seen what happens then. I’ve been watching this match in serial format on Can-Am Max, and they haven’t released what I assume to be the final clip since the last clip posted almost 5 months ago. From the preview pics on the main page, however, I’m intrigued by the possibility that Landon lures his conqueror into a false sense of security, only to slap on a buck naked “kiss of death” of his own to lay tanned and gorgeous Aryx out cold and set him up for getting fucked in return (see Arena 2 for the same plot device).
I don’t know if the turned tables are just an effort to give every corner of the audience what they want (want to see Aryx fuck? want to see him fucked? it’s all there). But I do like the drama (you know me), and I enjoy the idea of physically and psychologically dominant Aryx getting lulled into vulnerability right in the middle of sexual intimacy by the muscle stud he just conquered and owned, to be laid out and revenge fucked in return. There’s something profoundly satisfying and thrilling about watching Aryx’s loud, cocky, bullying mouth turned into a twisted groan of humiliation in the end.
Hot stuff, gentlemen! You have an excellent eye for talent. And considering the remarkably good turnout at the polls, I’m considering whether to add a “readers’ choice” award on a regular basis (feel free to weigh in with your opinions about the possibility). Considering this blog has always been primarily about my own tastes and biases (I’ve mentioned that before, right?), I’ll probably take back the reins of crowning future homoerotic wrestlers of the month, but since you seem to have had some enthusiasm about getting your opinions registered, we may see about more opportunities for a more “fair” and democratic element to reoccur.  In the mean time, all hail reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Aryx Quinn!

Grapefruits

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Have you voted for this month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month yet? If not, pick your wrestler of choice at the top right of this page. The poll closes tomorrow, and as of my writing of this post, it’s a barnburner battle between the Can-Am boys so far. I’m fascinated to see how the final numbers play out!

Tyrell Tomsen large and in charge against Patrick Donovan

In the mean time, I’ve been enjoying (and I do mean enjoying!) some wrestling that earned nominations for homoerotic wrestler of the month two months ago. BG East’s Wrestler Spotlight on Patrick Donovan is profoundly pleasing to me. Patrick and Tyrell Tomsen’s sun room mat match is hot as hell, and I do believe Patrick brings out the sexiest wrestling performance from muscle hunk Tyrell that I’ve seen so far (and I’ve loved Tyrell in everything that I’ve seen!).  Their bodies present a stunning contrast, with Tyrell’s thick, bodybuilder muscles and dark brown skin in as tight an embrace as physically possible with Patrick’s pale, long and lean (but muscled) physique. Patrick has become the king of pec punching, as far as I can tell, and big, meaty pecs like Tyrell’s are an incredible target for Patrick’s solid, concentrated, sadistically thrilling, drilling poundings.

Mr. Joshua and his grapefruit

It should come as no surprise, however, that my greatest infatuation is with Patrick’s ring bout against former favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). Sweet mother of God, Mr. Joshua is driving me insane with lust! The attitude, the ass, those fucking amazing legs, the ripped abs, gorgeous pecs, and sculpted arms, combined with that coverboy handsome face works me with an intensity that makes me seriously consider whether Kid K should get demoted back out of the standings of my top ranked homoerotic wrestlers – nonpornboy division.

Mr. Joshua pins Patrick with his #1 asset

While not as stunning a visual contrast as Patrick’s pairing with Tyrell, Mr. Joshua and Patrick are well-formed, distinct wrestling characters that so many of us have come to know and lust after. The latest incarnation of Patrick is that of a serious, dangerous heel who has learned from years in the business the finer arts of physical punishment. Patrick is a viper. His lip curls in concentration and practiced focus as he dominates Mr. Joshua’s incredible body. He clearly enjoys his work, but he’s not at all light-hearted. He’s deadly serious, even as he slaps down thick sarcasm and taunting. Everything from Patrick is in the service of conquering his opponent. An early flurry of offense catches Mr. Joshua flat-footed, and Patrick puts him on his back folds his legs up to his ears and slides his crotch forward to shove his balls into Mr. Joshua’s face humiliatingly.

Patrick introduces Mr. J to teabagging

“Mr. Donovan!” Joshua gasps and sputters. “You know I don’t like being teabagged!” And there, you can see that Mr. Joshua has an entirely different ring demeanor. Even on his back with his sweet, sweet ass splayed vulnerably in his opponent’s control, Mr. Joshua is a smart ass. I mean that with complete love and respect, mind you. Mr. Joshua is through-and-through a smart ass. He loves the one-liners. He clearly, intensely loves to dominate. I’m captured in this match by his laughter. He laughs domineeringly, of course, but there are more than a couple of moments when he’s got Patrick in a really, really bad way, completely in his control and squirming in agony, and Mr. Joshua chuckles long and sincerely. Mr. Donovan may be all about getting down to business, but Mr. Joshua wants to stop and smell the roses (and the humiliation) along the way. He wants to have some fun (in the nastiest, meanest, most dominating and humiliating way possible) as he does what he does best: turn me on!

Patrick, channeling Bard, with more than a handful of Mr. J’s pride and joy

Mr. J’s cocky clowning seems to get under Patrick’s skin, and the lean veteran appears to work fixedly on the task of pounding the shit-eating grin off his opponent’s gorgeous face. A nasty slap to Mr. J’s hot pecs seems to do the trick. Mr. J clearly takes offense, and his smile fades in a mix of anger and pain. He retaliates with a sweet, loud crack across Patrick’s ass that even hurts just watching it. Patrick doesn’t manage to beat the smart ass out of him, but he effectively puts Mr. J on notice that any lapse, any loss of focus in order to showboat and monologue will earn him swift and painful punishment.

Patrick & Mr. Joshua make me a believer in spandex

I’m generally not a fan of spandex leggings on my wrestlers, but both of these boys do absolute wonders squeezed so tightly into their mid-level gear. The shiny fabric sculpted to Mr. J’s glutes like a layer of paint is completely hypnotizing. After a couple of minutes, I’ve decided that Patrick and Mr. J are already making me fire on all cylinders even with so much of their beautiful legs covered. That does not, however, make me any less exultant at the rip and strip angle of this match. When Patrick pulls off Mr. J’s training pants, my heart skips a beat. “Fine,” Mr. J. concedes without appearing too concerned or surprised by Patrick’s determination to strip him. “Take them off. I know thats what you’ve beeen wanting to do anyways.” And for that, Patrick is nothing short of my own personal avatar in his bout.

Mr. J is more than eager to do some stripping of his own

Mr. J’s smart mouth and all of those other components of his alchemy over me are in full force in this match. Every time he shoves his hand down the front of his trunks and adjusts the ballast therein, my familiar lust/hate relationship with Mr. J comes to the foreground. Either he’s smuggling a porterhouse steak down there, or he’s got mammoth balls that I’m desperate to get a gander at.  When he bodysplashes on top of Patrick, followed up by repeatedly pounding himself, cock-to-cock into his agonized opponent, yet again my identification with Patrick is almost desperate.

Nowhere else in the world I’d rather be!

The tables turn repeatedly in this match in such a way that I genuinely didn’t know which way the wind would finally blow, which is a plot that I appreciate A LOT in wrestling. I like a little suspense. I enjoy being surprised. I appreciate it when I find my loyalties, loves and lusts toyed with by the ebb and flow of a match back and forth, as I find myself torn between wanting more of both sides of the battle.  But when Mr. J turns on the afterburner and eventually begins to pick Patrick apart with glee in his voice and an extra bounce in his chuckle, he has me as completely at his mercy as he eventually has Patrick. The figure-4, face-to-crotch head scissors that Mr. J treats Patrick to goes on for days and transports me body and soul into Patrick in that moment.

Since trunks can’t quite contain him, why, oh why,
does he continue to wear them?!

Once Patrick can’t peel himself off the mat, Mr. J does his customary shoving his hand down the front of his trunks. This time, however, he takes some time to gently massage his testicles, recovering from some particularly vicious assaults by his opponent. Mr. J marvels that, “When you’ve got balls as big as grapefruits, that hurts!”  As Mr. J stands in the center of the ring, staring at the defeated body of his unconscious opponent, he once again digs around in his trunks. And in what I believe might be the first real glance we’ve ever had, his right testicle slides out of his trunks and hangs there for a while before he realizes it and manages to shove it back into its pouch. While possibly not literally of grapefruit proportions (or bowling ball proportions that I’ve suggested in the past), it’s obvious that Mr. J has no need to stuff his trunks with a porterhouse. He’s got major league beef all his own down there.

Mr. J enjoys bondage play and humiliating spitting on poor,  pretty Patrick

The end of this match continues to push the fantasy that Mr. J has inspired in me for his entire career. His decision to tie Patrick’s wrists to the middle ropes and his ankles to the top ropes in the corner nearly makes me lose consciousness from the violent redirection of blood flow in my circulatory system. Then, Mr. J’s choice to grab a bottle of water to spit on his opponent’s helpless, hunky, conquered and splayed body is over the top erotic. But then, when Mr. J turns out the lights and angrily demands that the camera crew get the hell out as he climbs back into the ring to continue the story with Patrick off camera… well, I’ll just say that I’ve got at least three bodily fluids escaping simultaneously and spontaneously.

No…… where….. else!!!

Most of Mr. J’s matches leave me powerfully satisfied (and completely exhausted), and this one is no exception. The pairing of two pros with such extensive resumes is genius. More to the point, it’s a beautiful example of allowing homoerotic wrestling genius to tell its own story, to prod and provoke, to erotically inspire with literalism and fantasy, to know its fans, respect them, and tell a story ripped from our (or at least my) fondest imaginings.

Now, let’s see Mr. J drop the trunks entirely… and keep the camera rolling for the post-victory celebration!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – You Decide!

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My thanks to all of you who expressed concern about my absence from posting for several days. It’s nice to be missed! Same old story… work, travel, crappy internet access, paying bills… It’s past time for Z-Man to pass the homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month title on to the hottest wrestling hunk to turn my crank in a new release in October. But frankly, to be entirely honest, I feel a little stumped this month because I simply haven’t had much opportunity to sample new releases lately. What with all this work and travel, most of my homoerotic wrestling fare has been relatively old school products that I trust as staple fare. So for the first time, I’m asking you to help me sort through the field and figure out who deserves to be homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month for a new release performance in October.

Here are my nominees. As I mentioned I’ve only looked longingly at most of the marketing for these matches. But based on my tastes and biases, I’m narrowing the field to these fine studs. Consider the options thoughtfully and then vote in the poll at the top right of the screen. You don’t need to have seen a wrestler’s October release to vote for him. Just vote once, and feel free to lobby for your favorite hunk in the comments below.  Here are your options:
Alexander Garrett
Alexander Garrett – Naked Kombat October 26 – This is one of the few new releases I did watch this month, and I was delighted by the rookie debut of tall, dark and handsome Alexander taking it personally when he grapples long and hard (and in oil!) against is boyfriend. His boyfriend wins the match, but my eyes were riveted on Alexander, making him my first nominee for wrestler-of-the-month.
Aryx Quinn
Aryx Quinn – Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1 – Release dates of Can-Am always confuse me, because I enjoy most of my Can-Am fare on their subscription site, which sometimes releases videos earlier than when they show up on the open access site. Anyhow, I don’t think I’ve nominated anyone from Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1 yet, and it’s completely worthy of a nomination (or two). From the snips I’ve seen of this match, Aryx Quinn is mean and in charge as usual. Frankly, I love him barking instructions domineeringly at his own partner the most, but the wrestling, the concept, and the execution are hot.
Landon Mycles
Landon Mycles – Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1 – My other nominee from this match is Landon Mycles, who you might decide deserves a second homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month title on his mantle.  Landon (aka Marcus Mojo) is gorgeous, enthusiastic, and he does a wonderful job of crossing the line back and forth between aggressive wrestling action and erotic body worship.
Tyler Saint
Tyler Saint – Naked Kombat Occtober 5 – Tyler is a wrestling veteran musclegod cyborg who inspires pure terror in his NK opponents. The concept of Tyler teaming up with Blake Daniels to obliterate a couple of dumbfounded twinks in front of a live audience has all the ingredients of a Bard-favorite… but I haven’t had an opportunity to actually appreciate this match yet.
Lex
Lex – Thunder’s Arena No Holds Barred 14 – This is another match I did see, and as much as I appreciate Z-Man as a crafty veteran initiator, I was completely captured by Lex’s smoking hot gorgeous-as-hell ass. All those teeth, all that muscle, some sweet wrestling including flying scissors, and I’m a fan of Lex! You?
Lance Romance
Lance Romance – Thunder’s Arena Bearhug Challenge 1 – Speaking of jaw-droppingly gorgeous asses! I haven’t seen this yet, but I’m powerfully moved by the pics in Thunder TV of Lance’s muscle-on-muscle squeeze fest. I have no idea if this muscleboy can wrestle, but I’m desperately hoping so.
Big Sexy
Big Sexy – Thunder Arena Bearhug Challenge 1– From the A-side of the same product as above, Big Sexy always, always, always grabs my attention. I think Big Sexy has never owned the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month around here, which begs the question, is this his month?
So vote for who deserves the laurel leaves this month, and let me know why I ought to laud the wrestler of your choice. If your favorite who appeared in an October new release didn’t make the list, feel free to let me know how I missed the boat. I’ll leave the poll up for a couple of days to give you an opportunity to consider your choices carefully.

Battling Boyfriends

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Naked Kombat this week is billed as a battle of boyfriends. It seems that NK veteran, Mike Rivers, talked his incredibly hot boyfriend to an NK appearance. This concept probably has been done before (though I can’t put my finger on it), but certainly it’s not been done to death. And even if it were for nothing but innovative spirit, I’m loving it.

However, it’s got more than innovative spirit. There’s a whole lot going right here. Mike taunts his rookie, greek sculpture of a boyfriend relentlessly. Whether or not the boys are actually boyfriends, it does seem to me like there’s an extra bit of intimate familiarity between the two. And Alexander Garrett has an accent (always value added!). And there’s oil.

Yes, this is a grocery list of some of my staple homoerotic wrestling favorites, capped off by one seriously gorgeous mammoth cock on Alexander (if this man isn’t already a dildo model, he should be).  It’s a relatively close contest, in which Mike’s experience matches Alexander’s superior strength. In the end, fans of muscleboys going down will be very satisfied.

The sex round, often my least favorite chapter, is interestingly uncharacteristic. There’s an obligatory spanking in lieu of a pony ride (got to be one or the other, right?), but completely understandably, winner Mike wants his victory prize to be fucked by Alexander’s astonishingly beautiful cock. The drama at the very end is awfully compelling, as Mike grabs Alexander by the hair, calls him a loser, and then tenderly adds, “but I love you.” To which Alexander climbs to his feet and spits on his boyfriend/conqueror’s back.  Sweet, sweet drama, boys! The post-match interview is also sweet… less hot, but sweet. I’d love to see more boyfriend battles and the drama that ensues (and more of Alexander, please!).