Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

A Rose, By Any Other Name…

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Parker London, one of the rookie pornboys debuting this week for Naked Kombat, certainly caught my eye. Damn fine fitness! Carved abs, thick chest. The extensive tats down the left arm and across the back of his hand suggest someone with the heart of an artist and precisely the anti-social individualism that I like. He isn’t what I’d peg as classically handsome. Something quirky, a little haggard looking around the face.
Hold it right there! That ink… bells are going off in my head. I know this man. I know him about 15 pounds lighter with a shit-eating grin on his face. I know him with that five-o’clock shadow shaved smooth.
It was like my own personal game of Name that Tat! It took me a couple of minutes to connect the dots, but it came to me all of the sudden. Pornboy Parker London is none other than non-pornboy division wrestler for Thunder’s Arena (though that’s redundant), Dallas.
 
In a different context, with a slightly different build and going places I never guessed smart-ass Dallas had it in him to go (though you probably already knew), I almost didn’t recognize the gorgeous, big, solid rookie. Frankly, it isn’t like he’s completely morphed. He hardly qualifies for a bodies over time spotlight. But like Clark Kent with that deceptively subtle disguise, I nearly thought he was an entirely different wrestler.

And for some reason, Parker London struck me as way, way sexier than Dallas. It’s not just the fact that Parker London rips the gear off his opponent, aggressively sucks and claws his dick and plants his bare, hot ass across his face. Sure, that helps, but well before I saw Parker lay a hand (much less any other body part) on fellow rookie Logan Scott, I was whistling in appreciation for what a hot, beefy hunk of man this newbie is, which was not my initial reaction to Dallas.

I’m certain that the context plays a major part in my disparate reactions to the same man under different names. I knew that Parker London was going to either fuck or get fucked before he was done with Logan Scott, whereas I knew that Dallas was not going to go anywhere near genital contact with Big Sexy the first time I laid eyes on him.  But I think it’s even more than that. Parker London stands on the balls of his feet. He takes the initiative and shoots, slamming his opponent to the mat and straining and struggling for control and points. I always had the impression that Dallas was in an audition for his first ever soap opera role, a little awkward, not often propelling the story, but more reacting and just trying to keep up. Parker works his hot, muscled ass off, slamming and getting slammed, squeezing and getting squeezed, controlling and getting controlled in a relatively competitive atmosphere that ends up a 36-35 squeaker. Dallas, on the other hand, never seemed to have much of a competitive spirit, never a lust for domination with something actually at stake in winning or losing.

And, needless to say, I never saw Dallas give an opponent a naked pony ride on his way to a victory fuck. Some of this distinction has to do with genres, no doubt. I have both a pornboy and non-pornboy division for my favorite homoerotic wrestlers because they are just distinctly different universes. In one, the wrestlers lose their gear, work each other over hard, and someone at the very least loses a load if not buries his cock in at least one of his opponent’s orifices. In the other, the wrestlers have to appeal to my kinks handicapped by having all their gear on and some maneuvers and stakes off the table (which, when done right, can be just as homoerotically pleasing). But it’s more than just the genres that define Dallas and Parker as having very different appeals to me. Parker convinces me in 3 seconds that he wants to win, that he’s fully present and taking seriously his competition, and that his cocky swagger isn’t just a role play, but a psyching up and psyching out wrestling ploy to make a meaningful victory come true. And that, regardless of the genre, is seriously hot.

Giving It a Shot

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I haven’t talked about it much, but it’s not exactly a secret that I’ve occasionally been invited to write text for new releases on the BG East website.  I’ve felt incredibly privileged to be given the opportunity to contribute a small piece to the industry that has inspired, provoked, and aroused me for so long.  I had to think about it carefully the first time I was asked, though. My primary relationship to homoerotic wrestling is as a consumer and fan. I have incredible respect for the hard working hunks in front of and behind the camera making this business fly, but I’m very conscious of the fact that my investment in each new release is very different from those who climb into the ring, slam one another down to the mat, or busily work the booking, payroll, production and delivery of the wrestling entertainment that shows up like magic in my mailbox. I wrestled (metaphorically) with feelings of insecurity, concerned that my text might not do justice to the intimate athleticism, artistry, and livelihoods wrapped up in each match. In the end, I conceded to “give it a shot,” seeing whether I could bridge the distance between my wrestling fantasy consumption and my relatively mechanical skills in stringing together words and metaphors (you know how I love my metaphors), and manage to contribute materially to the production of homoerotic wrestling. 

Giving it “a shot” has continued with some frequency since that first match I wrote. With each new copy I generate, I feel a profound humility. I’m not just being modest. While I’ve received affirmation of my writing skills from many different corners of my life, I grapple with deep down feelings of inadequacy each and every time I write marketing materials. Happily, BG East edits my text to smooth out the rough edges, accentuate the particular appeal of each match, and correct my grammar and spelling. Despite my moments of anxiety, I’ve never had text returned to me as unworthy. When it’s polished and published, I inevitably assess the final product better than I thought it was when it was fresh on the page. As of very recently, I’ve continued to be invited to participate in generating copy for BG East new releases. And  each time, I think carefully, gauging the distance between my investment as a homoerotic wrestling consumer and the blood, sweat and tears (I like the tears… more tears in homoerotic wrestling, please!) that go into the painstaking work of producing hot, hard, high quality wrestling.

Aside from what it is I’ve been able to contribute to the homoerotic wrestling industry, writing copy for the BG East website has also had an impact on me. I sweat out every dot and tittle, so whenever I’m handed a new release to write, everything else (blog posts, my original homoerotic wrestling fiction, my “real life” work) gets sidelined for a while. However, it’s also afforded me the opportunity to review some truly awesome wrestling matches before almost anyone else has, and it’s introduced me to some incredibly skilled and arousing wrestlers who might not have otherwise caught my eye and commanded my attention. It’s also sensitized me (even more than I was already) to the hot copy that other authors write for homoerotic wrestling marketing materials, and I’m certain that it’s made me a better writer (every time I share text under any circumstances, I learn more about the art). I’ve been delighted to virtually meet a few of the creative minds behind the scenes, who, I am delighted to report, have been remarkably gracious and generous to work with.
I consider myself as someone still trying this gig out. I continue to think carefully about what I’m able to contribute and how writing marketing copy impacts my enjoyment of my homoerotic wrestling fantasies.  Perhaps the time will come when the invitations to write stop coming my way. Maybe I’ll hit the wall someday, and decide that I just don’t have it in me to write marketing text any longer. But for now, when the invitations come my way, I still experience a thrill that I may have something worthwhile to offer, that my words might be of value to the industry from which I receive so much pleasure. I suspect that the next time I’m asked, I’ll probably feel that familiar wave of excitement laced with pangs of insecurity, and I’ll say once again, “Sure, I’ll give it a shot.”

True Skin

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Joe’s guest post yesterday reminded me that there’s new True Blood skin on display, with the launch of season 4 a couple of weeks ago. The beautiful bodies are all wrapped in darkness and shadow, which is slightly frustrating but undeniably appropriate to the genre. No Joe Manganiello beef yet, but the “next ons” look like he’s showing up soon.

Alexander Skarsgård showed up shirtless at the end of the episode, but let’s face it, he’s sex on a stick whether he’s in one of those skin tight shirts or out.  Alexander has been an unstoppable beast in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, and looking this good makes me suspect he will continue to show up there.

A few weeks ago Joe was marveling at the hot piece of meat that is Marshall Allman, a new addition in season 3 and happily returning for season 4. Not to spoil too much for anyone, but Marshall’s particular skill set requires that he strip naked (now that’s a sweet superpower!). Therefore, we’ve come to appreciate that astonishingly round bubble butt of his on more than one happy occasion.

This last episode delivered more Marshall ass in the shadows. When he gave us a profile, though, I have to say those luscious glutes took my breath away!

Sam Trammell’s character also is required by all that is good and holy to strip naked frequently, illustrating what I believe is precisely the firmly convex belly that Joe was so admiring in yesterday’s post. For me, it’s hard to tear my eyes away from those thick, round pecs of his.

And one last glimpse of True Blood gratuitous nakedness, Stephen Moyer’s character had some shirtless hotness and a bare-assed sex scene this week. While I know many of you don’t have my affliction, I still say the naked woman on the bottom here is a major buzz kill. If I put my hand across her face and squint just a little, though, my imagination is capable of rewriting the body on the bottom into one with a very happy cock.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, I’m sure. Allan Ball is a genius.

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Joe

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A couple of weeks ago I invited several wrestling bloggers and regular neverland readers to author contributions to a summer series on the topic of “diverse tastes.” Readers frequently write to let me know how their opinions, tastes and turn-ons differ in small and big ways from how I describe my own wrestling kinks here on the pages of this blog.  My hope is that bringing together a chorus of voices from homoerotic wrestling fans will help celebrate our diverse tastes.


Kicking off this series, my friend and colleague Joe at Ringside at Skull Island pens the following fantastic insight into not only what turns him on, but his reflections on from where homoerotic wrestling tastes may emerge and how his tastes have evolved. I’ve added the pics and captions, but the rest of the text is 100% Joe’s brilliance. Thanks, Joe!    ~Bard
—————
DIFFERENT STROKES
A bit of trivia.  The first celebrity to give me wood was Mighty Mouse.  Yeah, the cartoon character.  I was maybe eight years old.  Weird, huh?
Bard asked me to write on the topic of diverse tastes partly because (I think) we both blog, and through these blogs we came to know each other and, early on, recognize that we have some mutual tastes, tastes we had once thought were ours all alone.  As bloggers, too, we get comments from readers who, like us, are intrigued that others share what they assumed were one-of-a-kind kinks.  These points of mutuality are fun to discover, especially if in the past we were led to feel weird because of them. 
News Anchor Chris Cuomo:
Wrestling Kink Inspiration?

But we also hear from readers who point out differences in taste, which are amusing but not surprising.  For instance, Bard has a taste for television anchormen that I do not get.  Bard and I acknowledge such differences and move on.  But occasionally, rarely, we are called to task because of our tastes.  We are told that we must like what we like because we are not right.  Because our tastes are wrong. 
Responders to my wrestling blog have accused me of being prejudiced towards beautiful young men … and prejudiced against them.  I can’t explain why different readers perceive my tastes so differently. I am strongly in favor of beautiful young men.  Not to be strikes me as phony-baloney smugness.  You might as well say you are against fresh, flavorful fruit.
Of course, individual tastes differ.  It took me a while to recognize and develop my tastes.  My opinion is that all my tastes were acquired through experience, although I was probably born with certain propensities. Years and maturity brought me closer to myself, away from received opinion and peer pressure and the influence of advertising.
Stoney Hooker – One of Joe’s Favorites

What I resent is somebody trying to make me feel guilty about what attracts me.  It’s not as if I choose what makes my cock stiff.  If I am mainly attracted to men, am I a sexist?  If I am mainly attracted to men of European descent, am I a racist?  If I am attracted to young men, am I an ageist?  If I am attracted to men who behave in traditionally masculine ways, am I a self-loathing homophobe?  I don’t think so.  Not necessarily, anyway.  Sexism, racism, ageism, and homophobia are about treating people differently because of their outward appearance or natural propensities.  Sexual attraction is a part of who I am, as an individual.  It says more about me than about those to whom I’m attracted.  It is not about bigotry or treating other people as anything less than free and equal individuals.
If I were attracted to the kind of person I am “supposed” to be attracted to, I’d be into middle-aged white women, exclusively.  Sure, you might say that my tastes are superficial, narrow, and unimaginative, even self-destructive, and I might even agree to a certain extent.  How much better and easier my world would be if I were attracted to (and attractive to) all kinds of people, not just a select few.  With different tastes, I might even like Brussels sprouts and chicken livers, but for the life of me I cannot even guess why it would be anyone else’s business what I do or do not like. 
Adam’s Apples, Firm Convex Bellies,
and Strong Shoulders
Where did my tastes come from?  Early childhood experience seems a plausible explanation.  Why do my tastes change over time?  They do change, fairly frequently.  I guess they change because I acquire new experiences.  I had a boyfriend for several years who was not at all what I had previously thought “my type” was.  How I became attracted to him is an utter mystery.  But he broke the mold and changed my type from that point on. 
I like, and have always liked, tall men more than short, though short can be fun too.  Dark more than fair, though fair is what I’m in the mood for sometimes.  (I’m fickle.)  Irish, Jewish, Italian, yes.  I like strong backs, strong shoulders, strong limbs.  Six-pack abs do little for me anymore, if they ever did.  I even prefer a firm convex belly, just not too convex and not too soft.  Adam’s apples delight me.  I like hairy chests.  I like big noses and small ears.  I’m not particular about penis size, but let’s say no shorter than my thumb and no longer than my foot.  I like arrogance, but I prefer strong, silent types. I am turned off by fussiness, pretentiousness, and anal retentiveness.  I like men I can laugh with. Bright but not necessarily intellectual men.  I hate whiners.  I hate yes men.  I hate men dressed for success.  I like men who are at ease in their bodies, whatever those bodies look like.  The acid test is whether a man will strip to naked without apologies.  The acid test is whether he wrestles.
What turns me on now is not what turned me on years ago.  I can’t explain it.  But it’s a good thing, or else I’d still be waiting for Mighty Mouse.

-Joe at Ringside at Skull Island

Jo FX: Tall, Dark, and Hairy-Chested

Independence

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I nominate myself for the least patriotic person on the planet. It’s not that I’m unpatriotic, precisely, but I’m determinedly pragmatic. If I were selecting my country of citizenship like picking out a new car to buy, sure, I’d kick the tires of this nation of my birth. I’d appreciate many of the amenities. But doing the accounting when it comes to quality of life, personal liberty, and the alignment of core values, I’d have to say that the U.S. probably wouldn’t be the model I drive off the lot.

I realize this makes me a bad American. Not just to criticize, but to summarily judge this country to be inferior is not just offensive to many, its an unpardonable sin.

When the New York legislature recently passed a new law granting a legally recognized status to same-sex marriages, the crowd of LGB activists in the gallery erupted into incoherent shouts of joy that quickly coalesced around a deep, passionate chant: “U-S-A, U-S-A, U-S-A…” 
I thought to myself, What does that even mean? I usually hear that chant at sporting events, where the crowd is crowing about their faith in the inherent, divinely sanctioned superiority of America. Surely those activists didn’t intend to imply that. As a nation, the law of the land continues to be the “Defense of Marriage Act.” As for the USA, we aren’t even going to break into the top 10 nations in order of when they eliminated legal barriers between the benefits afforded to opposite-sex and same-sex couples.

I suppose the activists chanting “U-S-A” upon the passage of the New York marriage equality bill may have been thinking ahead. Perhaps they were arguing for what was accomplished in New York to sweep across the rest of the USA. In that case, I’m left wondering why marriage is our rallying cry, rather than employment or housing protection. Why is the vision of equality for sexual minority Americans limited in scope to being granted the same faulty, broken, bankrupt institution of socio-religiously defined monogamous marriage that heterosexuals are fleeing in droves? And what about our national priorities that promote the spread of poverty and hunger? What about our political agenda to strip public education and health and human welfare funds and place them directly in the wallets of corporate robber barons and vampiric oil speculators? What about our irrational fear of collective welfare that prevents us at all costs from deciding that all Americans will have basic health care and safe homes and enough to eat and family planning resources and the compensated value of family caregiving and human dignity in old age… Perhaps we should check in with the activists of prior civil rights agendas right about now. Let’s ask the women in this country who get paid pennies on the dollar for their work about how it feels to have achieved the pinnacle of legislative equality nearly 100 years ago. Let’s ask our black brothers and sisters about how fulfilled they feel in their attainment of legal equality with the passage of the Civil Rights Act more than 45 years ago. These key battles that we concede the power to define our citizenship and equality and hopes and aspirations for ourselves and our national identity invariably move us merely inches in the miles of distance that stand between us and liberty.

I’m a bad American. I know it. I live always teetering on the edge of deciding whether to flee this country with each national election that illustrates that nearly or a little more than half of our voting populace desperately wants political leaders who are as ill-educated, religiously fanatical, bigoted and ignorant as they are. It’s not that I think any other country has their shit all together either, of course. But tallying up what I think are the priorities and values that I hope to guide the community in which I enthusiastically participate and identify, I have to say, the USA is not in the top 3.

Happy Independence Day, everyone.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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I’ve recently had no less than 3 back channel comments quibbling with my choices of homoerotic wrestler of the month in the past. I LOVE it that so many of you have strong opinions about who deserves the fan-love and fawning worship. I even appreciate it when you give me your well-considered rationales for why I may have got it wrong from time to time. Personally, I feel strongly that there’s room for a few more homoerotic wrestling fan blogs out there, which would most certainly result in competing wrestler infatuations for us to respectfully debate in the public arena. In the mean time, however, I feel compelled to humbly soldier onward, noting the flip of the calendar and the time to select a new reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Just to remind you, the method to my madness is to promote and celebrate new releases, so I choose each homoerotic wrestler of the month based on who turned me on the most from among the wrestlers who appeared in new wrestling products in the previous calendar month. June new releases posted a relatively small selection to choose from, and yet I found the decision a tough and close call. BG East came out with their summer surprise line-up, including for consideration the likes of Kid Karisma and Z-Man from Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros, cross-over rookie lovelies Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper from Ripped Rookies 1: A Score to Settle, Marc Merino for his work getting worshipped, worshipping, and then getting muscled out by Stan Greer in Wrestle Worship 2: Triple Emission, and both Ashley Ryder and Rob Chandler from their fantastically charged motel match from Gear Wars 3: UK Kink. Jake Jenkins did double time to stuff the ballot box this month, also appearing for Rock Hard Wrestling sporting square cuts and a mop of curly hair, initiating lean and mean Gunnar Bayani (I LOVE that name). Thunders Arena put up Dallas in both their newest Custom Vid against a second entry for Z-Man this month, as well as in a No Holds Barred match against the sexy one himself, Big Sexy. Can-Am presented extremely strong contenders in June, including Jobe Zander taking matters into his own hands against jaw-dropping rookie physique star, Thiago Diaz, and Rusty Stevens, the prodigal son himself, returning from retirement to climb into the ring and post a Pro Sex battle against new potential infatuation for me, Kevin Crowes. Finally, from Naked Kombat I’m tossing three pornboys into the hat this month, including DJ for appearing both in singles and tag competition, Phenix Saint for a powerful singles match and then walking away with his tail between his legs in tag competition, and Trent Diesel looking to be not only my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, but also the first 3-peat homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Did I miss anyone? Like I said, there are extremely strong contenders for my homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Veterans, current and former favorite homoerotic wrestlers, stunning rookies… a high quality field from a relatively small list (compared with some months). I’ve gone back and forth, making lists and comparing strengths. It’s fine, delicate calculus, but in the end, I’ve settled on one wrestler who is yanking my crank just a little harder than the rest…
…Jake Jenkins.
Here’s where I fully expect to get some push back, because I realize that there are several of you who are more smitten with Jake’s rookie buddy in BG East’s Ripped Rookies, Austin Cooper. And I totally see it. The golden boy with hollywood handsomeness and a bubble butt is fantastic, and with a couple inches taller and 10 pounds more muscle than Jake, Austin makes a really big impression on me, as well. But here’s where the subjectivity and completely personal tastes come into the picture. I’ve got a thing for the shorter hunk of muscle who goes toe-to-toe with the bigger opponent.

I’m certain that my lust for wrestling hunks under a certain height is directly related to my own stature. Watching Jake (or Denny or Lon…), I can’t help but identify with the shorter stud. And like Denny and Lon, Jake has the fiery, complete lack of self-consciousness about his size that gets me very hot and bothered. Austin’s gorgeousness and superficial superiority in still frame serve only to make me crazy for every snarl and commanding offense that Jake slaps down.

Jake’s presence on the mat for Ripped Rookies connects some dots for me that I was only guessing at from his ring work for Rock Hard Wrestling. A wrestler with amateur cred, who can dance on the balls of his feet, who can play a fraction of an inch of leverage for all its worth, who is both muscled and incredibly flexible… all of this can translate into instant erotic wrestling kink gold. With just a subtle shift of his center of gravity or the not-so-subtle tolerance of getting twisted and tied up into gorgeous, sweat-soaked, bare-assed knots, Jake’s body tells the story of an eager athlete who’s worked not only his beautiful muscles but also his awareness of his own body, his opponent’s body, and his understanding of the precise mechanics of joints and their tolerances.

Jake has timing and an awesome look of orgasmic ecstasy when he’s pressing an advantage on his way to a crowing victory. Particularly with Ripped Rookies, Jake has also illustrated in his rookie career that he can work up a tasty sweat, go muscle-for-muscle in tests of strength, and really wail in agony as someone who genuinely understands the experience of suffering.
Jake rocks me and delights me. Even on the mat or in the ring with bigger muscle boys with more classically handsome features (arguably), Jake grabs me by the chin, demands my eye contact, and refuses to let me glance away for even a moment. He’s a rookie, no doubt about it. He’s not always polished, and he doesn’t always tell a seamless story the way some of the veterans he beat out for the title this month can. But I’m infatuated with every moment he wrestles, every lightening fast counter, every stomp and squeeze, every roar and gasp.
You may have picked someone else (and I really do enjoy hearing about it). But I’m awfully pleased with the very strong performances of my new homoerotic wrestler of the month: Jake Jenkins.

Twisted Kinks

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Regular readers know of my infatuation with hunky newsmen. It was at the heart of this blog from the beginning. I know I’m not alone in nursing a little newsman fantasy now and then, since there are definitely websites devoted to adoring earnest young hunks reporting world events. And, needless to say, I know that there are plenty of us who nurse a wrestling kink. I’m not sure, however, how many of us there are who invest the time and thought into combining these two fetishistic fascinations. As for me, the first homoerotic wrestling fiction I wrote for public consumption was a beach wrestling, no-holds-barred tournament starring 6 of my favorite reporters and anchors.
The decisive winner of that tournament is a lesser-known newsman by the name of Carter Evans, whose on the payroll of CNN, primarily covering their on-site financial reporting from the stock markets. He’s also beamed daily into my living room doing a contract with my local news station, giving a 1 minute stock market run down and covering local stocks of interest from the floor of the NASDAQ. In my fictional tournament of news champions, Carter beat out (and up) much more prominent favorites, including CNN weatherman Rob Marciano and new MSNBC host and openly gay hunk, Thomas Roberts. But Carter clinched his championship and simultaneously sparked an ongoing feud by viciously beating the living shit out my longtime newsman obsession, hunky Italian and brother of the same-sex marriage man of the hour, Chris Cuomo.
Carter has been absent from my local broadcasts for over a week now, and I learned earlier this week the reason. Some major league dick in a car hit him while Carter was on his bike. The ass hole broke Carter’s arm in 7 places. Damaging such gorgeous goods and pulling him out of my living room as he recovers makes me harbor some serious venom for the shit head who’s never heard of the 3 feet rule. The real Carter Evans, as far as I can tell, is a perfectly straight husband and recent father blessed with sexy charm and a boyish grin, who can work improv better than my local anchors can handle. He has a fantastically asymmetrical face that is simultaneously disarming and sexy as hell. He has the epitome of bedroom eyes and a handsome, square jaw. His dramatically deviated septum has been featured on this blog already, but suffice it to say that whatever it is that put that sharp twist in the cartilage of his nose, it makes me think of a bar fight or, much more to the point, some underground wrestling.
With that one word, I instantly leave behind the real Carter Evans and am transported into a fantasy world in my own imagination where Carter is a homoerotic wrestling god. He plays mind games like a puppet master, essentially winning most of his matches before he ever lays a hand on his opponents. He’s sexually voracious, especially for his tag-team partner in the tournament, and he’s a master of using his obvious sexual appetite to unsettle and unseat each contender he faces. As with almost everyone who manages to grasp hold of prominence in the entertainment industrial complex in my imagination, Carter is also a skilled, savvy wrestler who takes pure sadistic delight in crushing his opponents in body and soul, proving over and over again that this newsworld is his, and all the other news hunks just live in it.

Since plowing through his competition in the first tournament staged in the Producer’s Ring, Carter graduated to color commentator and ring announcer for an ongoing television series pitting other hunky newsman against one another. For the most part, he’s more than content to rake in the big bucks with his smart mouth and shit-eating grin from behind the announcer’s table. But whenever Chris Cuomo has the nerve to show his face in Carter’s arena, Mr. Deviated Septum is constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone. His simply loves humiliating the muscled Italian hunk with a passion that cannot be denied. In their most recent run-in, Carter “stole” Chris’ ABC protege, rookie news hunk and swiftly rising star, g-g-gorgeous Matt Gutman. 
Since real life is frequently little more than fodder for my homoerotic wrestling imagination, I predict that Carter, the homoerotic wrestling god of my fantasy world, may sustain a mysterious off camera injury that forces the champ to stay out of the action for a while. The power vacuum will inevitably lead to some opportunistic invaders swooping in to shake things up in Carter’s arena. Just how much damage can a nasty new gang of newsboys do in the 6 weeks it takes for Carter to get the green light from his doc to retake physical possession of the ring that is rightfully his?
Get well soon, Carter. Your fans miss you!

Injury Time-Out

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No, I’m not calling an injury time-out for myself. I’m just musing on the injury time-out in homoerotic wrestling. The point really is physical domination, so it should come as no surprise that wrestling of all stripes should come with the occasional injury. Even the “kayfabe” element of wrestling, I have to imagine, has it’s fair share of real-life bumps, bruises and breaks. Then of course there’s the sadistic angle so relished in our homoerotic wrestling fare – the wrestler who doesn’t just want to win; he wants to make his opponent hurt. While that’s one hot scenario from where I sit as a consumer, again, I have to imagine it’s chock full of risks associated with actual injury that requires (or should) medical attention.
This topic pops up for me in particular after I watched Naked Kombat’s release yesterday, pitting Phenix Saint and Cameron Adams against (never-bet-against-him) DJ and Viking farmboy Blake Daniels. Halfway through round 1, Phenix has DJ in a bad way. DJ’s head his locked against Phenix’ ribcage like a vice, with Phenix cranking like a mother-fucker on DJ’s left shoulder. He pulls DJ forward, sort of bulldogging/pile-driving the curly head scrapper into the mat. It looked nasty, with big, brute Phenix muscling the skinny boy around like a plaything.

The thing is, however, that Phenix actually fucked up his own shoulder in that maneuver. A few seconds later, after DJ has tagged in his partner, Phenix calls an injury time-out, rubbing his left shoulder and wincing in genuine pain. He finishes off the round, but disappears from the scene between rounds due to damaging his shoulder. NK adeptly improvises a 1-on-1 for round 2, and pulls in an unfortunate understudy to take Phenix’ place for round 3 (but not round 4… seems sketchy to me). In the post-match interview, DJ smirks when asked about the injury-provoking move when Phenix dropped him on his head. “Yeah, he got hurt out of it. I’m fine,” he chuckles. Like I said, do NOT bet against DJ.
For quite a while, NK explicitly swore off live audience matches because, they found, there were just too many injuries that resulted from the extra adrenaline pump the wrestlers got from the fans. Perhaps they have a new insurance carrier now, because a couple of months ago they began releasing many more live audience matches, which thrills me no end. Of course, injuries still occur. Leo Forte delivered a sharp, defensive foot to Trent Diesel’s face in their tag-team tussle from April 13, 2011 (setting up their “grudge” match last week). You can almost literally see stars circling around Trent’s head for a moment. Like the champion he is, however, Trent shakes it off, roars like a beast, and comes back hungrier than ever. Reminds me of Trent’s 2nd match from over a year ago, when he beat up on 2 opponents in one outing because Patrick Rouge had to bail for an injury after just one round. You can tell that, for the most part, the pornboys really respect and even care for one another over at NK… and STILL they end up doing serious damage from time to time.
I don’t think of myself as bloodthirsty, and yet… there’s something about the injury time-out that multiplies an already erotic wrestling match. Take Brit grapplers Brad Flash and Torvik Tirva and their Motel Madness 11 match. Just like a live audience does it for Naked Kombat, a pre-existing grudge can pretty much always increase the odds of injury. Apparently Torvik and Brad have met on more than one occasion prior to Motel Madness 11, and it seems that each time Torvik schools his smaller opponent with relish. While Motel Madness is hardly one-sided, and Brad dishes out just a fraction less than he gets in return, Torvik turns on the afterburners at the end of this match and goes for nothing less than twisting Brad’s knee like I used to twist Stretch Armstrong as a kid (have I done a “What Turned Me Gay” for my Stretch Armstrong yet?). Torvik is relentless and not merely uncaring of the potential for causing his opponent injury; he’s hungry for it. He bares his teeth like a feral animal and works that leglock like Brad’s knee had personally insulted Torvik’s mother. The match only comes to an end when Brad can’t stand on his messed up knee any longer. Nursing his knee on the couch, he extends his hand, conceding like a gentleman to the opponent that has yet again bested him. Torvik smacks the hand away with contempt, turns his back on the loser, and flexes with pride, rubbing in his cocky superiority.

Perhaps the wrestling injury is like the car race crash. No one wants to admit it, but they thrill to watch it happen. The adrenaline in the stands pumps harder. The vicarious rush of endorphins washes over us. No, it’s not like I want to see anyone permanently fucked up or require medical attention. But dancing along the edge of danger and flirting with injury-provoking aggression has an erotic component that I simply can’t deny. And the injury time-out, the nursing and assessing and wincing and gauging the will to soldier-on in the face of danger, is itself sweet, hot wrestling text.

Bard’s Fantasy League Picks

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When Z-Man debuted with BG East 3 months ago, a regular reader emailed me to let me know just how excited he was by this news. He immediately speculated on who from the BG East roster Z-Man should wrestle next. Turns out, he hit the nail right on the head, proposing that a Z-Man v Kid Karisma bout would be over the top arousing.

Of course, now we know, Z-Man followed up his mat debut with BG East with a pro ring muscle match against none other than Kid K. Nice call, savvy neverland reader! And your prediction that a Z-Man v Kid K match would be smokin’ was perfect prognostication.

From a different angle, Cage Thunder recently called out both BG East rookie Austin Cooper AND proposed a detailed ring match scenario against Austin’s rookie buddy, Jake Jenkins. I’ve got a major league crush on Jake,  so Cage’s proposal to face him in the ring is fueling my imagination. Jake in white trunks with pale blue trim, then 30 minutes after stepping into the ring with Cage, stripped naked, pounded into a daze and helpless in Cage’s skilled hands… well, this concept is pure gold, in my estimation.

All of this speculation, proposal and prognostication sheds light on what I assume must be a nearly universal mental exercise that wrestling kinsters play: the fantasy homoerotic wrestling card. At least, I’ve been playing that game for as long as I’ve been erotically captivated by wrestling. I love that these virtual connections available to us now, like blogs and emails, give us the opportunity to compare notes. So, in addition to a Cage on Jake Jenkins ring strip battle, here are the current top 3 fantasy league homoerotic wrestling matches on my scorecard:

Lon Dumont v Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!)

I’ve fantasized about this combination long and hard. Not only would this settle once and for all the question of who deserves the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division (but remember, it’s about who turns me on the most, not necessarily who “wins”), I also think this would be an absolutely amazing mash-up of two delightfully different sets of assets.

Thiago Diaz v Brad Rochelle
I haven’t even had an opportunity to see if Thiago has anything at all to offer in the wrestling ring other than that fantasyman bod and that hefty package dangling between his legs, but I’m already lining him up for some rookie initiation. The return of Brad has been a long-held aching fantasy of mine (and many others, I know), and I think Brad working over Thiago’s muscles from top to bottom would be an earth-shaking combination of veteran fan favorite with jaw dropping rookie sensation.
Cody Nelson & Travis Storm v Kid Vicious and Rafe Sanchez

First of all, Kid V partnering with Rafe Sanchez has long haunted my homoerotic wrestling dreams. Second, I’ve nursed a whole lot of lust for a PG-to-R-rated evolution of the careers of pretty, innocent, eager muscle boys Cody and Travis. I picture this as both a coming-of-age wrestling scenario for the bright-eyed boys as well as Rafe’s first apprenticeship match, learning from the master of sadism himself.

What are your fantasy league homoerotic wrestling matches of choice?

Tightening Bard’s Belt

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My post on the cost of my wrestling kink generated a lot of feedback. One nice result from my nervous confession that I’ve never tracked down permission from Can-Am to repost their pics is that I got an email from Can-Am giving me permission to repost their pics (thanks!).

Thiago Diaz and Jobe Zander – Can-Am’s Decrotchery

Speaking of which, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor when I saw the preview pics of Jobe Zander’s new match for Can-Am against one of the hottest new muscle bodies I’ve seen in a long time, who goes by the name Thiago Diaz. Thiago is absolutely phenomenal to look at in still frame.  My head is about to explode in anticipation of seeing if he’s just as kinetically hot and whether he can sell some sweet homoerotic wrestling. The sustained ball torture he appears to endure in his rookie debut entitled Decrotchery looks like seriously nasty shit of the variety that Jobe specializes in. If Thiago shows up in Can-Am’s series Pro Sex Fights, I may need CPR (preferably delivered by Thiago).

Rusty Stevens and Kevin Crowes – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4

And speaking of my jaw dropping (and hot muscle bodies and Pro Sex Fights), Can-Am has also posted in their store their newest Pro Sex Fight starring former long-time holder of the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens! I don’t know what this means for Rusty’s announcement that he was retiring from porn last autumn. But knowing nothing other than that Rusty has climbed into the pro wrestling ring, I can already say with absolutely certainty that he’s back in contention to slam, squeeze, pound and fuck his way through the ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers. And this rookie that he’s squaring off against is making my head spin with almost as much velocity as Thiago Diaz! Kevin Crowes is devastatingly handsome, constructed like a go-go boy addicted to his workout endorphins, and sporting what looks to an epic cock and major league, aesthetically gorgeous ink. Smart money might be on Rusty totally owning the rookie hunk, but then again, Rusty’s long resume of wrestling domination doesn’t feature much ring action at all, and this very well may be the first time that I’ve ever seen Rusty out-prettied by an opponent (possibly with the exception of David Taylor).

Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper – BG East’s Ripped Rookies 1: A Score to Settle

In addition to the happy bonus of getting word that Can-Am is okay with me reposting, joining the ranks of the generous folks at BG East, Thunder’s Arena, and Rock Hard Wrestling, my post on the cost of wrestling kink also generated some sincere efforts from several folks giving me advice about what subscription I ought to choose to be the one to drop. Jon gave me more of a psychological assessment of my core beliefs and motivations, concluding that his read on my equivocation is that I should drop Can-Am and Thunder’s. Off line, I had one adamant reader insist that once you’ve seen one Naked Kombat, you’ve seen them all, so I shouldn’t expect anything too new or novel to need to keep investing in them. Someone also made the most fair point that the real cost-benefit ratio should be measured at the top end of the discounts that all 4 of my subscriptions offer (even if I’m too undisciplined to budget the big bucks for one time per year cost savings).

Leo Forte & Trent Diesel – Naked Kombat – The Bondage Match June 22, 2011

With that in mind, let me point out that I could get 365 days of BG East Arena delights for $125. A year of Can-Am Max and the opportunity to pine over the likes of Thiago Diaz would set me back $179.95. The most cost-efficient means of enjoying Thunder’s Arena’s Thunder TV is 90 days for $59.99 on a recurring bill (not sure why a non-recurring 90 days should suddenly jump up to $100… should that be a year?), which would equate to $240 for a full 360 days. And finally, for Naked Kombat’s exclusive content, I could be maximizing the fuck for the buck with their 1-year subscription at $169.99.

Z-Man and Dallas – Thunder’s Arena’s Custom Match

Since I’m not made of money, and since I anticipate some big bills coming up related to a barrage of travel obligations in the next 6 months, I feel like the cost-benefit analysis brings me to an unmistakable conclusion. Thunder TV, I’m afraid, is the weakest link. I’m going to sign back off of them, regretfully, but I’ll check with Joe at Ringside at Skull Island for any can’t miss new releases that he reviews from Thunder’s. Thanks to everyone who gave me your thoughtful advice. Now, if anyone has any other wrestling kink websites out there that I’m not tracking, let me know if you think I’m missing out on some major kink gold. And of course, should Rock Hard Wrestling come out with an exclusive content membership option, I’ll have to reconsider everything. It would require a whole new cost analysis of my overall wrestling kink budget, of course…