Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Truely Hot

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The True Blood season premieres tonight, and I can’t think of a better way to cap off a Pride Day celebration (at least where I am). StayPuft helpfully commented to my recent mention of Joe Manganiello hotness that the True Blood werewolf is not only in GQ, but also in the coverboy for Muscle and Fitness (my very first pre-porn).

The video clip of Joe’s “celebrity workout” is hot. I don’t typically find it so hot to watch even hot guys putting in their time at the gym.  If they’re serious about their workout, it has all the sexual energy of watching someone do their taxes, as far as I’m concerned. But then again, I’m pretty confident that watching Joe do his taxes (like watching him workout) would be sufficient to top me off.

You can also catch a video of his covershoot for the pre-porn rag that launched my muscle fitness fantasies as a boy. This is one huge, incredibly fit specimen. I predict he’ll be making his third appearance in a homoerotic wrestling fantasy match before the summer is out.

And in the man-meat blitz that is the True Blood season 4 publicity campaign, there are also these very tasty shots from Men’s Health of Joe’s co-star, Stephen Moyer, looking harder than I’ve ever seen him in True Blood. Perhaps the superhuman physique of Joe’s season 3 debut has lit a fire under the smoldering Brit hottie.

A scenario I tend to be fond of in my homoerotic wrestling fiction is that of rival costars who have to sort out who’s packing more in a fiercely bitter wrestling match. These scenarios most often result in one cocky hunk hammered down to size and tagged and collared by the victor. Having sorted out who’s on top, they get on with a productive “working”(daddy-cub) relationship.

All I can say is that Stephen Moyer better damn well live at the gym and survive on protein shakes and supplements if he dares decide to take umbrage at the carnal appeal inspiring so many of us to boy down and worship at the feet of Mr. Manganiello.
Bring on the True Blood!

Kink Costs

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I just filled out an online survey as a BG East Arena member, giving them my impressions of the Arena content and subscription cost. It reminded me that I need to buckle down and do something that I’ve been telling myself that I need to do for some time. I need to dump a subscription. But which one? I’ve signed up for more than I really ought to, convincing myself that it’s in service of having more to review here on the blog (weak pretense, I know). But truth be told, I really shouldn’t be carrying quite this many recurring subscriptions. So let’s look at this by the numbers, and you tell me what I should do.

The BG East Arena membership is still stroking and stoking my kink quite nicely. I like the new weekly updates, even if they are proportionally smaller than their semi-monthly old updates used to be. I think I’m on the 90 day recurring billing scheme, for which I pay $34.95 for three months of access to the Arena. I’m under the impression that I get more quantity of content per penny with the Arena than I do with any of my other subscriptions (though a number cruncher may have more to say about that). I enjoy the preview pics of yet-to-be-released products, as well as the extensive galleries of new releases and “classics.” And I really enjoy the “action clips,” those little tasty morsels of a few minutes of BG East matches. BG East has also been very generous with permitting me to repost occasional Arena content here at neverland, which is extremely cool of them. I’m not inclined to put the Arena on the chopping block as I scale down my kink budget, but perhaps you have arguments for or against it?

I’m also subscribing to Can-AmMax. I believe I’m on the month-to-month recurring billing cycle, which gives me each month’s content for $19.95 (I could get 90 days recurring for $49.95). Can-AmMax is more hit-and-miss for me with regard to how into it I am at any one moment. When I’m particularly into Max releases (e.g., the first 2 Arena matches & Pro Sex Fight), I was scarfing it up and checking daily for when the next morsel would be offered. I like that I can watch entire matches, piece-by-piece, for the subscription price itself (unlike the extra charge over at the Arena). The photo galleries often aren’t always action-oriented (lot’s of posed Blue Steel stuff that leaves me bored), and the galleries don’t always correspond to new releases in a 1-to-1 relationship the way that the BG East Arena does.  I also repost Can-Am content holding my breath just a little, because though I’ve tried to figure out how to formally ask their permission to repost their content here, I haven’t been successful in receiving specific permission (if someday all Can-Am content has been removed from this blog, it’s because they must have finally asked me to stop treading on their copyrighted material). The wrestling action itself is running about 50/50 for me these days, with my sincere interest in their new releases rising only about half the time. I’d miss it if I dropped it, but I don’t know how much I’d miss it.

And yet again, I’m subscribing to Thunder’s Arena’s Thunder TV. I think I’m on the month-to-month plan with them as well, investing $29.99 recurring (I could get 90 days for $59.99). Thunders is striking a chord about as frequently as Can-Am Max (though very different chords). The wrestling, video, and photo quality are the weakest of the three, and the website itself is the lease intuitive or well-organized of anything I’m paying for. I like the personality and the personableness of Thunders. I like the humor and the big, big muscle boys. Mr. Mike has been sincerely generous in giving me permission to repost any Thunder’s content here, so they rock for that as well. It’s the coyest of all my subscriptions, with no nudity and only implied gay-themed content, which is frustrating. They do have some wrestlers that I enjoy that I just don’t see elsewhere (Big Sexy and Ace Hanson, I’ve got my eyes on you as I say that!). I’d miss the subscription from time to time, I’m sure. And this is the second time I’ve had a Thunder TV subscription, returning to the fold after a long hiatus. But it could be the low fruit ripe for picking in this bunch.

Finally, I’ve got a NakedKombat subscription for a whopping $34.95 per month, though if I was smart, I’d sign up for the 90 days recurring plan for $59.99. NK puts out exactly one new match every Wednesday that I can watch or download in its entirety, as I can any other NK match, at any time. I can also download photos of NK action from any match they’ve released, though the galleries sometimes aren’t as entertaining as in other subscriptions, nor do they have the bells and whistles and theme galleries that I enjoy elsewhere. NK doesn’t appear too worried about copyrighting their photos, so I don’t know how they feel about my reposts and reviews, but I suspect they don’t mind (wouldn’t be the first time I’m proven wrong, though). I’m into about every 2 out of 3 NK new releases, with my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys often showing up exclusively in this all-pornboy production (sweet Jesus I can’t get enough Trent Diesel!).  Round 4 and the victory sex interest me only rarely, frankly, since it’s the wrestling itself that really tweaks my kink the most. But rounds 1, 2 & 3 are highly entertaining and arousing for me for those matches that particularly speak to me. I’d miss it particularly for specific wrestlers that I go to for my hardcore pornboy wrestling moods.

So, surely someone out there is an CPA, MBA, financial advisor… someone with more money sense than I have. Crunch the numbers, wave a wrestling kink wand over top of them, and tell me what I should do to balance my checkbook and feel a bit better about my abundant outlay of cash in pursuit of wrestling kink.

Art-Inspiring Life

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From the roster of gorgeous guys who should mix it up in homoerotic wrestling (and who do, in my imagination at least), comes some sweet mainstream shots that inspire a fresh wave of celebrity wrestling fantasies in me.
Perhaps most noteworthy is the GQ spread featuring muscle god extraordinaire and always my number #1 werewolf, Joe Manganiello, showing off his bod and generating buzz for this weekend’s debut of season 4 of True Blood. A fellow wrestling kinkster made sure that I’d seen these shots of Joe yesterday, because I’m nothing if not transparent in my carnal lust for the mind-blowing hot muscle body of this massive hunk. This much muscle, this defined, on a 6’5″ body is simply inhumanly hot. 
Squeezing Joe into shirts and sweaters a size too small does nothing if not make my imagination fire double-time picturing him in a rip-n-strip scenario.

I’m fascinated by the littering of topless women in this GQ spread, almost entirely facing away from the camera, little more than architectural framing for the out of this world gorgeousness of Joe’s towering, incredible physique. There’s something almost more homoerotic about the vaguely disinterested and impersonal portrayal of the female body, juxtaposed against the riveting visual of Joe’s fantastic form. Sexualized portrayals of women in my hunk eye candy tend to make things go limp for me, but the composition in these GQ shots leave me completely engaged and aroused by Joe’s rippling abs and massive pecs.

And continuing the theme of rippling abs, massive pecs, and my homoerotic wrestling imagination, GQ also has a Chris Evans spread that revives my lusts for this captain, my captain. Chris is due out next month as Captain America, with some fresh new meat on those already sculpted, sexy bones of his. I pictured Chris as testing his homoerotic wrestling mettle against the similar career trajectory of funny man hot bod Ryan Reynolds, with Chris pulling off a surprising last minute upset that, let’s face it, really would upset no one at all.

Chris in bed and spread eagled is a winning photo in my book any day. Chris as an alpha dog only exponentiates the sex that he can’t help but ooze all over everything he comes into contact with.

And finally, from that homoerotic wrestling roster in my mind, comes these new preview caps of Henry Cavill’s astonishingly tasty looking pecs in Immortals, due out in theaters in November. Henry has found himself embroiled in an ongoing series of homoerotic wrestling stories in my imagination, first getting conquered and tamed by his co-star hottie, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, then getting “stolen” from daddy Jonathan by the amorous twosome of Sean Maguire and Gerard Butler, and most recently tagging with Gerard against the intimidating duo of aforementioned giant musclestud, Joe Manganiello along with costar Mehcad Brooks. Daddy Sean plays a pivotal role from ringside, but it’s Henry who proves he is most definitely not the weakest link in this battle of muscle and wits, capping off the cum from behind victory with a post-match eruption that coats Joe’s face and torso with the surprising passion of the English phenom.

Life and the homoerotic wrestling arts are constantly entwined, at least in my imagination. And, truth be told, with the generous skin and skyrocketing careers of made-for-gay hunks like Joe, Chris and Henry, I strongly suspect that the overlap of life and homoeroticism is increasing by the moment.

The Crowd Who Seem to Favor This Sort of Wrestling

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“And welcome once again to BG Wrestling at Campus in beautiful Cambridge, Massachusetts in the heart of brain country, I guess you would say, halfway between Harvard and MIT.” Announcer and color commentator Bob Wood fills in all the juicy details over the PA system that set the stage for “Live at Campus.” He lets us know who the heels are and why their babyface opponents are motivated to try to conquer them. This classic club footage from a BG East catalog release from 1990 is pro wrestling entertainment that makes impressive use of a dance floor, a mat, and some slack ropes. Five matches comprise this DVD, with some classic, classic athleticism from the likes of Matt Carlton, Tiger Chuck Collins, Kid Leopard, Scott Rogers (before he turned Dark), and the Brooklyn Bodywrecker.

Regular readers here know that I have a running fantasy of live action homoerotic wrestling. I know of no live action homoerotic wrestling venues within several thousand miles of me, so watching classic club wrestling in front of a curious, sometimes enthusiastic crowd of gay guys in Live at Campus revives that lust to watch up close and personal wrestling action.

The crowd that night is a mix of curious gawkers, guys chatting each other up without much interest in the wrestling, and a smattering of hardcore wrestling fans who start showing up later in the card. In the Fallen Angel v Tiger Chuck Collins match, the fans slowly warm up to their role in this scenario. One angry fan, fed up with Collins’ seeming inability to defend himself against his masked opponent, throws trash ontop of Collins while the the tiger-striped-one is getting the crap beat out of him at the start of round 3.

When Kid Leopard and Scott Rogers face off for a title match in the second half of the card, the crowd around the makeshift ring has grown thicker, rowdier, and more attentive. A hot, bearded hunk with big pecs and a sleeveless t-shirt shows up ringside just as the action starts. Like a growing number of the fans gathering ringside, he’s got a look about him that makes me think he’s got to be one of us who enjoys his wrestling kink. He pumps his fist, flexing an impressively thick bicep, and shouts in celebration when KL is introduced as the hometown boy with a bad attitude.

The hot boy with the beard fades into the crowd partway through KL’s successful title defense, but from the moment that the final match is announced, the battle for the “Bruiser Weight Championship Belt,” he’s back and furiously stakes out his claim to a front row, unobstructed view of the action.  This action consists of Maine native Terry Mercen, in white trunks and boots and a white satin jacket (Bob Wood gives Terry’s hardworking, straight-up babyface credentials), facing down an astonishingly young, ripped, gorgeous Brooklyn Bodywrecker in red trunks and black boots. BBW is sporting his perennial “fuck ’em up” attitude that he dishes out with relish to his opponent, the announcer, the fans… pretty much anyone and everyone.

Before the match has technically started, BBW ambushes Terry from behind when the Maine grizzly tries to take his white satin jacket off. When BBW starts to choke Terry with it, some heel fans initially cheer, but things quickly quiet down as BBW’s mauling of the man in white is visually simply stunning.  After an astonishingly relentless battering of his caught-off-guard opponent, BBW hops to his feet, sets his snarling sights on none other than the hot, bearded hunk in the front row, and points his finger at him. It looks like an aggressive move, but there’s no way to really tell what BBW is saying to the hunk in the crowd. A match dedication, perhaps? A promise to deal with those hot pecs next? Whatever BBW says, the pec boy seems to cheer that much more enthusiastically with every cruel stomp, kick, and slam that BBW delivers. A step-over toe hold looks like it’s about to snap poor Terry’s knee in two, to the rising “ooo’s” and “aaah’s” of the appreciative crowd. A double knee drop to Terry’s hamstrings clearly titillates more than one spectator. “I like that! Give him another one!” an excited voice rises an octave above the crowd.

The boy in the white sleeveless t-shirt, the one with the big pecs and bulging biceps, gets more and more animated as the match progresses. When Terry launches an impressive rally that has BBW reeling in fall 2, the hot stud in the front row gives the ref an earful, complaining about some clearly fictitious rule infraction that the fan believes Terry used to gain the upper hand. But when BBW bounces back from that unexpected 2nd fall pin to grab hold of this match with both hands in fall 3, his #1 fan is literally roaring. Actually roaring, yes. He gives BBW a “thumbs-up” of encouragement to start round 3. When BBW battles back to control the match momentum, pec boy pumps his fists and flexes those meaty biceps encouragingly. Every slam, every kick has the hunk outside the ring cheering and pumping his fists harder.  When BBW bodyslams Terry onto the wooden bar tables at ringside, all the heel fans rejoice. His over-the-knee backbreaker on Terry has the muscled hunk in the front row pumping his fists again with a big, toothy smile stretching ear to ear. When BBW cranks out a humiliating final fall submission from Terry, his #1 fan celebrates furiously, reaching over the barrier to slap BBW’s hand in congratulations. When BBW, as is his way, goes back and muscles out a post-victory piledriver on a completely helpless Terry, muscleboy at ringside is laughing and applauding feverishly.

“The bodywrecker has developed quite a little following here this evening,” announcer Bob Wood can’t help but note. “And now he accepts the BG Bruiser Weight Championship belt… holds it high… and accepts the cheers of those in the crowd who seem to favor this sort of wrestling.”

Live action homoerotic wrestling has got to be the sexiest venue possible. When there’s chemistry like the chemistry BBW clearly has with his muscleboy fan in the front row, my arousal skyrockets. The adrenaline rush of the crowd egging on the combatants, the call-and-response between wrestlers and their fully engaged boosters, it all makes the story extend outside of the literal ring. There’s an extra pump from proxy champions fighting it out, carrying the standard, standing for the virility and savvy and will to dominate of everyone on “their side.” Like the hot, bearded boy with the meaty pecs, I’m certainly part of that crowd that “seems to favor this sort of wrestling!”

There Oughta Be a Law

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I was holding vigil all weekend in anticipation of the arrival of summer. It still hasn’t arrived, as evidenced by my pasty white skin and layers of clothes, but the hot morning weatherman on my local television news station promises me that I’ll be in short sleeves tomorrow, just in time for the solstice.

So there’s no quiz for you this week. Considering school’s out and the grads are still hung over, I figure you deserve a break from test-taking. I’ve also been abundantly distracted by my first taste of the juicy new releases from BG East. I’ve been trying to pace myself and drink plenty of fluids, but one moment in Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros keeps grabbing my attention. At one key point in the development of the match, Z-Man is appropriately taking a well-earned, nasty beating from Kid Karisma. They’ve both given and taken their fair share of pounding, but now Kid K has beaten the mocha-skinned muscle model into submission, and then added a gratuitous ball claw on the pretty boy just to seal the deal. Z-Man is finally writhing on his stomach on the canvas, clutching his balls in agony, when Kid K bends over (just linger on those last 4 words a while…. okay, now continue), grabs Z-Man’s pink trunks, and wedgies them high up his ass.

So a couple things speak to me here that probably don’t need mentioning (but that’s what I do around here, isn’t it? I mention everything I think). Z-Man’s bare ass is beautiful. A work of art. I’d go so far as to say his ass is even pretty, and I mean that with all due respect. I’d frame those golden glutes and hang them on a wall. Yanking the fabric away to give a less-obstructed view is nothing but an act of politeness from Kid K to you and me, as far as I’m concerned. Sure, it seems to dial up the agony in Z-Man, but seriously, that wedgie is a thoughtful gift from Kid K to us. “Take a look boys,” Kid K could have just as easily said out loud. As Kid K himself remarked earlier in the match, examining Z-Man’s vulnerable ass in a compromised moment, “Oh yeah, definitely very, very pretty!”

But then Z-Man does the unforgivable (as far as I’m concerned). As soon as he catches his breath, he quickly reaches behind him and digs the pink fabric out of his crack, re-covering those dessert-like cheeks. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you, I yelled at the screen the first time I saw this. That punk-ass bastard (said lovingly)!  When the trunks get wedgied, ripped, yanked or stripped, in homoerotic wrestling they need to stay that way. Screw your decency and sense of humility or dignity, Z-Man! Those went out the door well before you were screaming like a baby, trapped in the ropes, with Kid K’s claw crushing your testicles from behind. When your ass gets displayed by someone as generous and thoughtful as Kid K, you should just take it like the babyface muscle model rookie that you are (at least in these parts).

Before anyone gets the wrong idea (though I have no control over that, I’m reminded often), let me clarify that I love this match. I love Z-Man in this match. I LOVE Kid Karisma in this match. I can’t quite make it 10 minutes into this match before a dramatic cardiovascular event happens within me. It’s not that I actually don’t like Z-Man or his work here. I just feel like there should be some policy that says that homoerotic wrestlers that lose full coverage of their gear should have to just grin and bear it. There’s sort of a justice about it. Once the skin is exposed, it should have to stay that way. Any homoerotic wrestler who readjusts his gear to cover back up should merit a merciless and humiliating beating and the penalty of losing ALL his gear before all is said and done.

This brings to mind (in my constant stream of consciousness sort of way), Christopher Bruce’s “comeback” against Cole Cassidy in Demolition 10. Cole applies perhaps the nastiest wedgie I’ve ever seen as a defensive maneuver when he’s trapped in Christopher’s crushing bearhug. Unlike Z-Man, however, Christopher shows the instincts of a veteran. He and Cole deliver precisely what it is I’m tuning in to see here. He just keeps right on wrestling, his gorgeous bubble butt bouncing beautifully unencumbered by his trunks. I’m sure it wasn’t comfortable, but Christopher didn’t climb into that ring to be comfortable. He climbed in there to deliver what you and I pay for!

Naked Kombat’s recent match illustrated that Phenix Saint has the same veteran instincts. I’m pretty sure that NK instructs the wrestlers to leave the gear wherever the action takes it. But some can’t help themselves but tug the trunks back up, as if that was going to mean anything in round 3 and 4. But I enjoy watching Phenix completely un-selfconcious as he soldiers on after rookie farmboy Blake has yanked his red trunks three-quarters of the way down his ass. The trunks and the exposure clearly mean nothing to Phenix, and yet they mean so much to me. So his single-minded focus in ignoring his ass hanging out makes me root for Phenix that much harder.

And speaking of hard, and just to complete this stream of consciousness ranting, this makes me think of the truly remarkable rookie debut four months ago of seriously entertaining grappler, Adonis, running circles around Gianni Luca and tying the Italian up in knots. NK gives points for getting your opponent’s gear off of him. They get special points in round 2 when they can yank their opponent’s jockstraps over their heads, as opposed to just ripping them off. Adonis illustrates his tenacity and determination by working the “over-the-head” points in round 1, when Gianni is still in his speedo-style trunks. Cranking on Gianni’s skimpy red trunks like there’s no tomorrow, Adonis rips the crotch out of them and slowly manages to stretch them up and over the Italian jobber’s head and eventually entirely off his body. Not only is this a feat, in and of itself (buy a pair of speedos and just try this!), Adonis doesn’t skip even a beat as he performs this maneuver while simultaneously maintaining complete control of Gianni in one completely dominating, crushing, humiliating hold after another. We need to see Adonis and his gorgeous tool in action again!

I’m not entirely sure I’m finishing this post in the same spot where I started it, but let me just conclude by saying this is what gear is meant for in homoerotic wrestling: getting removed. Whether it’s in the form of a vicious wedgie that reveals the gorgeous glutes beneath, or if it’s in the form of ripping the extraneous garment off entirely, gear inevitably stands between me and the next level of homoerotic pleasure. While it’s certainly true that I can be entertained with hot wrestling involving all gear staying firmly in place from start to finish, if there are any wardrobe malfunctions (and especially the intentional ones), it ought-a be a law! Leave gear where ever the action takes it, especially if that’s stretched so high up Z-Man’s ass crack that it makes the muscleboy gag!

Anglophilia

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Some people report feeling as if they were born in the wrong era. I was born in the wrong country. I’ve said it before, and I’ll almost certainly say it again: my heart belongs to the UK. Well, perhaps not my heart. The politics there lately are looking more and more like they’ve torn pages out of the US Republican Party playbook. But they do have same-as-marriage civil unions. Much, much more importantly, as far as I’m concerned, they have fantastic eye-candy entertainment.

I’ve finished watching season 3 of Being Human, and I’ve put the box up on my shelf in a place of honor.  It illustrates why I wasn’t quite right in my first inclination that the American/Canadian version of Being Human was innovating on the original. It just turns out that the version this side of the pond was poaching concepts from the third season that I hadn’t yet seen. The pregnancy. The dog fights. The “old ones.” But one thing that the version over here simply can’t quite pull off is the priceless treasure that is Russell Tovey’s naked ass.

Truthfully, Russell is incredibly entertaining for more than his frequent nudity. He’s a fantastic actor with comedic timing that slays me constantly, especially when I least expect it. But equally as truthfully, if BBC ever decides that they can pull off a new season of Being Human without at least a couple scenes of Russell waking up in the morning after a full moon with a full moon, someone needs to slap them upside the head. My sense of loyalty made me ache for the climactic ending of season 3, but Russell is clearly on board should there be a season 4 (yes, please). However, should the American/Canadian version try the plot twist that is the season 3 jaw dropper from the BBC, hang it up, because the one thing that keeps me tuning into SyFy will have been lost.

But back to my Anglophile theme. In addition to feeling bitter that I have to wait for the most excellent BBC shows that I love more than ANYTHING on US basic cable, there’s mounting evidence that I was simply born in the wrong country. There’s adorable Ashley Ryder’s Grapple 101 that I am forced to miss every week due to being several thousand miles away. There’s Chris Geary’s go-go boys that never, ever show up at my local Pride parade. And then there’s Ben Cohen leading a flash mob of strippers across the Thames as a publicity stunt (thanks, AfterElton).

These things simply don’t happen where I live. We did see Ben cruise through these parts not long ago promoting his anti-homo-bullying campaign (you rock, Ben… just wish macho bullies over here had a clue what Rugby is). But we did not see him engage in public stripping.

If I ever do get to spend more substantial time in the UK (this is a possibility), I will insist on a few things. First, Ben Cohen must take off his clothes in public in front of me once a month, at a minimum. Second, Russell Tovey simply has to take me on a date to the Tate, where, if we see Ben Cohen stripping on the Millennium Bridge out front again, all the better. Third, I need a personal tutoring session from Ashley Ryder in the fine art of sock-wrestling. Fourth, Daniel Craig must emerge from the surf in those sensational square cuts (you know which one’s I’m talking about) every time I go to the beach.

These things happen all the time in the UK, right? Can I apply for some sort of reverse-immigration status that undoes what my ancestors did three generations ago?

Testimonials

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Naked Kombat’s Phenix Saint explains his plans in his pre-match interview this week. “My strategy is to get him with the speed and the agility, and I have the experience. And I’m going to use everything against him, and let him think he’s in control. And just when he thinks so, I’m going to…” Phenix snaps his fingers, “…flip it on him. Bam-bam-bam!” he mimes spanking his opponent’s ass. “And bam-bam-bam!” he illustrates three quick punches.”

It’s the “bam-bam-bams” that spike my wrestling kink! Fight dialogue (before, during, after) exponentiates the erotic in homoerotic wrestling, for my tastes. You’ve heard this from me before, many times. Everything about homoerotic wrestling works on me, but what comes out of a wrestler’s mouth can be a turbo boost to the already fantastic formula of hot bodies, skimpy gear, sexy swagger and intimately dominating physical combat. The testimonial is a particularly entertaining vehicle for highly eroticized wrestling text. Naked Kombat plays this up in every match, requiring that wrestlers stand silently, with their backs to the camera, listening as their opponents trash talk and make their predictions about just how much humiliation that they’ve got in store for the poor loser behind them.

“Hi, I’m Rusty Stevens,” Rusty introduced himself before his oil match with Tommy Defendi. “Six foot. 190 pounds. I’m 3-and-0 here on Naked Kombat, soon to be 4-and-0. I’ve called that win out before each fight,” Rusty flexes his left tricep and examines it nonchalantly, “and I’m calling it again.” Rusty has got to be the premiere deliverer of the erotic delights of pre- and post-match trash talk. With his totally smokin’ body, he always bragged that he didn’t bother training for his matches because he knew that his opponent would be a piece of cake. “My strategy,” Rusty explained before his match with Tommy, “is to tire him out so bad that I throw him around like a little doll. When I beat my opponent, first I’ll ride him around like a pony, then I’m going to apply the usual fish hooks, but then I’ve got some new tricks that I’m going to try on him today,” Rusty rubs the palms of his hands together eagerly, “and he’s not going to like. That’s what the loser gets.”

The “here’s-what-I’m-going-to-do” chat feels a whole lot like foreplay between me and the wrestler giving me his blueprint for destroying his opponent. On Top Wrestling had that format, at least for the few OTW matches I saw (almost entirely to obsess over celestial, golden musclegod, Steve Shannon). Each wrestler would take turns with a close-up testimonial, explaining why it is he expected to come out on top. Steve Shannon, as I remember it, was always selling an “aw, shucks” banter that made me putty in his hands. With my eyes hungrily sucking up every twitch and tremor of his incredible body, Steve would point out that his opponent looks big and awfully impressive, but hopefully he’ll manage to out-hustle him into a submission or two. I always feel a little guilty when I find myself sucked into pining for a prettyboy, knight-in-white victory of the good guy.

Of course, I never feel that guilt when enjoying a Rusty Stevens match. And I’m equally as aroused by the “that’s-what-I-just-did”chat, when a sweat soaked victor, his chest still heaving as his lungs suck in recuperative oxygen, snidely delivers the blow-by-blow retrospective on his dominating ways. Unlike many/most Naked Kombat wrestlers, Rusty never breaks character even when all is said and done. “Tell me I didn’t call that one. Tell me I didn’t call that one!” Rusty challenges the off-camera interviewer for the post-mortem of his match with Tommy. “He put up a fight, I’ll give him that. Uh, I think he’s got a little ‘boo-boo’ on his forehead, or something. Pretty much everything I tried worked for me. The only thing I couldn’t do was the grapevine hold in the oil match, because as soon as I’d get him in the hold, he’d slip right out…. My first oil match. It was hot, though. Cause, like, I remember when my stomach was sliding across his, and I was hard and my dick was bent down, it felt like I was fucking, the whole, like 3-feet that I slid across him. It was like, ‘Oh yes, I’m already topping, I’m already topping.” In response to the question of when Rusty realized that he had the match in the bag, Rusty skips no more than half a beat. “When I got on the airplane to come here this morning. Or maybe it was the cinnamon roll, cause that was my carbs for the day.” Advice for your opponent, Rusty? “A word of advice? Uh, yeah, try training with your little sister, cause training by yourself sure as hell ain’t working. And maybe she could teach you something like the nails or the kick to the balls or something you might actually be able to use. Cause all that sliding around shit, what was the score? 50-something to 5? Yeah, this isn’t even sweat, this is still oil from the oil match!” Rusty didn’t need to keep humiliating Tommy. He’d had his way with him in every humiliating possibility for the prior 50 minutes, so this post-match testimonial didn’t amount to anything more. But Rusty reaches right in and grabs hold of my wrestling kink with his relentless, dominating, humiliating trash talk absolutely crushing Tommy Defendi’s ego into dust on that mat.

Thunder’s Arena taps into this banter-angle just a bit in their members-only section, with testimonial mash-ups with some of their headliners. Before his match with BamBam, Cameron Mathews lounges on the couch at Thunder’s Arena wearing only the scant evidence of brief red trunks. “Hey guys, how ya doing?” he asks the camera, all friendly-like. “I’m just relaxing, waiting for my ‘big’ match with BamBam.” Cameron sighs. “Probably the typical Thunder’s Arena jobber.” He flexes his left bicep and admires himself. “Not like me,” he explains, “the champ. Just loungin’ around. I skipped going to the gym today. Figured I didn’t need it. So we’ll see how it goes. Maybe… maybe I’ll let him get a couple of moves in… probably not. Maybe I’ll even let him win. Unlikely. But at least watch it so you get to see me,” Cameron flexes his right bicep, “and me,” he flexes his left, “doing what I do best.”

Rock Hard Wrestling has done just a little of the wrestler testimonial to help set the scene, but not much. BG East and Can-Am don’t seem to work this much at all, as far as I can think of, though I think it’s perfectly pitched for BG East’s pro-style ring matches. I’d love to see some old-school professional wrestling interviews pre- and post-match with the likes of Lon Dumont, Jonny Firestorm, Denny Cartier and Kid Karisma, in order to blow out the confines of the wrestling fantasy moment even more. A little “here’s-what-I’m-going-to-do” strutting from both hopefuls, and the “that’s-what-I-just-did” sweat-soaked gloating victor, would go a long way to cranking my homoerotic wrestling kink with both hands.

“This is Rusty Stevens, and I’m still 4-and-0 on Naked Kombat!”

Simply Gorgeous

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It was a labor of love, but yesterday’s study of the remarkable homoerotic wrestling career of Jonny Firestorm took a whole lot of time for me to compose. So today, I’m trying to keep things short and sweet.
Kid Karisma wrestling the Z-Man in BG East’s Summer Sizzler: Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros, is incredibly sexy muscle model pro wrestling!

Kid Karisma’s ass, encased in skin tight shiny silver trunks, is ranking as one of the most gorgeous asses I’ve ever seen in my life, under just about any circumstances.

Grinding that world class ass into Z-Man’s face, as Kid K gloats and revels in wrapping the fitness model hunk up so tightly and humiliatingly, is wearing out the “pause” and “rewind” buttons on my DVD player.

Z-Man is turning into a total team player for BG East, bringing attitude, athleticism, and that agonizingly attractive body of his in well-pitched proportion to the scope of this ring battle and the extremely high quality presentation of his opponent. I’m not too proud to admit that Z-Man is making me eat my highly critical words of the past over his prior wrestling resume. And Kid K has a direct line to my libido, with every inch of his bulging body and every smart-ass snarl and sneer turning me on and turning me into drooling fanatic for the red-headed muscle star bad boy.  Fantasy. Men. Muscle. Pros. Hell, yes!

Bodies Over Time – Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month Edition

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It feels like Jonny Firestorm, my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, has been a fixture in BG East since well before his 2005 debut in The Contract 6. Indeed, I’m hard pressed to think of a more productive homoerotic wrestling fixture. Out of 26 catalog releases since his debut, Jonny has wrestled in 25 DVDs, totaling an astonishing 30 matches, not counting his tournament highlights from the World Outgames in Montreal! He’s wrestled icons, pros, dancers, twinks and bears. It’s no wonder he’s starred in two products entitled “Iron Men,” because Jonny is one tenacious wrestler who’s pumped out an astonishing string of high quality wrestling products.

Jonny took just a fraction more than he was able to give in his debut against icon Brad Rochelle (seriously, how many stunning fixtures in homoerotic wrestling have debuted against that gorgeous hunk!?). What was abundantly clear within about 7.46 seconds of the start of this fantastic heel-turn story for Brad was that Jonny possessed both a ripped-to-shreds muscle body built for nothing other than wrestling AND that Jonny was already an extremely accomplished wrestling tactician.

What suffering he eventually soaked in as Brad Rochelle tapped into his inner bad boy bastard, Jonny turned right back around and dished out extra helpings on poor twink punk Zach Zilver in Demolition 10. To tell the truth, I bought Demo10 to enjoy Cole Cassidy “welcoming” Christopher Bruce (and that gorgeous ass of his) back to the world of BG East. But the relish with which Jonny obliterates Zach, and Jonny’s stunning antomy-chart fitness (and in particular, those shredded, rock hard, vascular thighs), made me do some re-evaulating. Jonny was no longer just that smart-ass punk who pushed the long-awaited buttons to turn Brad Rochelle into a raging sadist. Jonny was definitely someone who could entertain me all on his own.

Somebody else must have been as impressed with Jonny, since only three releases into his BG East career and his third catalog appearance in a row, he starred in his own Wrestler Spotlight. Jonny wrestling Devil Devitt’s pecs (well, the rest of him too, but I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from the pecs) is a pro body-beautiful bonanza.

Jonny and Alexi Adamov both debuted in The Contract 6, giving Brad Rochelle two rookies to serve as fodder for his heel turn. So there was some symmetry that Jonny and Alexi should end up needing to sort some of their own place-in-the-pack shit out between them in Backyard Brawls 4. Taking turns with faces trapped high up between each others crotches makes me bitterly jealous of both of them in turn. A Bard-sandwich trapped between them, however, would instantly release any hard feelings I had. Other areas of hardness and moments of release would also occur. Sadly, that story lives only in my imagination.

I won’t attempt to chronicle every inch of Jonny’s low-hanging resume, but I have to make a mention of his matroom sweat-fest against former homoerotic wrestler of the month and ongoing crush of mine, Denny Cartier, in the title-character role for Jonny: Jonny Firestorm in Montreal. This seems like Jonny’s application DVD to the gay wrestling hall of fame. He can sell in close quarters, soaked in sweat in the BG East matroom. He’s ferocious on the world stage, medaling in amateur competition. And he can hold his own in bruising pro work in the ring. This man not only can do it all, he does it all!

I’m fast-forwarding through quite a bit of Jonny’s career thus far, but I do want to push the pause button and linger just a little over the appearance of an entirely new Jonny in Ball Bash 2. There was only about a month and a half between his work in Hunkbash 10 and his appearance in Ball Bash 2, but Jonny went from 0 bodyfat to beefy bruiser somewhere there in the middle. Clearly the taping of the matches wasn’t proportional to the time it took to put out the back-to-back Jonny releases. In the intervening time, Jonny put on pounds, stopped shaving every inch of his body, and learned to take even more sadistic joy in throwing around his new weight. Ball Bash 2 is as much an epiphany for me as it is a re-launch of Jonny in new packaging. Watching him crush the living shit out of Reese Wells’ balls (what the HELL happened to that short-lived phenom!?) gave me a whole new appreciation for ball torture.

Releases of Jonny’s matches have teetered back and forth between these two levels of conditioning.  His Pros in Private 7 match shows him incredibly sexy sans belly but with chest hair.

I think this is my favorite Jonny look!

But for his next release taking on Kid Karisma for BG’s Bad Boys 1, it’s back to Jonny in bruiser form. Dialing Kid K’s nipples like searching for that remote radio station is just damn inspired!

Perhaps it was Jonny’s suffering at the hands of Marauder in Masked Mayhem 6 that sent him packing on pounds to have something more to throw around in the ring. The DVD came later in the chronology of his resume, but we went back to Jonny in svelt-‘n’-hard conditioning to learn that Jonny’s notoriety gave the firecracker a big head, and even the Boss started to find his cocky swagger a bit too much to stomach. Enter Jonny’s command performance taking a beatdown from big bruiser Marauder, in which Jonny gets cracked in half like a wishbone.

Skip Vance recently commented on his Facebook page that seeing pictures of his manhandling by Jonny in Submissions 8 from last summer still makes his body ache.  The contrast between Jonny’s pale beef and Skip’s all over tan whipcord musculature is both aesthetically gorgeous and tooled perfectly for Jonny’s masterful induction of Skip into the depth of the wrestling arsenal that Jonny has at his disposal from working his ass off for so many years. Skip’s screams and the agony written on his face are both cringeworthy and totally kink-inspiring!

For Hunkbash 11, it’s Jonny’s beaty-and-the-beast-beatdown of antithesis Rio Garza. Again, Jonny’s in the ring (where I like him best), and again he’s powerfully thick and sporting his arch-villain beard. Rio is smooth as a baby’s Naired bottom, with mocha skin and coverboy handsomeness.

It’s retro Jonny again in Pros in Private 8 this past winter, which reintroduced me to the arousing wonders that are Jonny’s gorgeously veined granite thighs as well as Rudy Cortez’ incredibly spankable ass. This DVD could easily have earned Jonny homoerotic wrestler of the month if it weren’t for the bad luck that his exhausting, all-in work for Pros8 showed up in the same catalog with Brook Stetson and Mitch Colby coated in gallons of sweat and wrestling in jock-straps in a Florida sunroom (not to mention the earth-shattering introduction of Z-Man to the BG East universe and the barnburner release of Ringwars 19… what a month!).

What put Jonny over the top this month, however, was his back-to-basics retro appearance and his incredibly entertaining work, working over another former homoerotic wrestler of the month, Bobby Horton, for BG’s Bad Boys 2. Jonny and Bobby are a match made in wrestling-kink heaven. Watching Jonny in this give-and-take titanic struggle for true badness was powerfully arousing for me. The look of delight and agony juxtaposed at nearly every moment is fantastically compelling. The wedgies on both of these sliced-and-diced young men make me gasp. And perhaps the tale of the tape is really Jonny making me laugh one moment and then grab my cock in both hands the next. A totally compelling character, fucking fantastic pro wrestling, rockingly entertaining bodies, and enthusiastic salesmanship of quality that I’ve seen extremely rarely… I’m very pleased with my choice this month.

Many of you have contacted me in backchannels to let me know it’s about time that I gave Jonny his due. The exhausting work of vetting his homoerotic wrestling resume probably bears out your exasperation with how long this has been in coming. But with BG’s Bad Boys 2, he’s grabbed hold of my attention and affections on the strength of nothing other than one pristine, thrilling, provocative performance that needs nothing else to justify it as worthy of top honors. Jonny Firestorm deserves a homoerotic wrestler of the month title, and I’m happy to give him mine!

This man deserves a raise!

Cocks Named

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No big winners this week, but these late-breaking cocks make us all winners, really. Wrestling Arsenal has a nicely put comment on the “other” cocks in the news these days that captures well some of my own sentiment. As we debate the morality of politicians with iPhones, take a break and check the answers to these other cocks in the news…
Cock(s) #1 belong(s) to…
… BG East’s “Aqua” and Angelo Blanco.
Score! True enough, this isn’t quite as late-breaking news as a certain U.S. representative’s tweeting scandal, but Masked Mayhem 8 was just released a few weeks ago. While BG East has already released their Summer Sizzlers since then, my copy of Masked Mayhem 8 still has that “new DVD” smell about it that makes me all excited about the nuances I have yet to discover. However, I have already discovered the thrill of Angelo Blanco’s sweat-soaked body with his own cock in one hand and Aqua’s cock in the other.
Cock #2 belongs to…
…BG East’s extremely newly released debut of Stan (don’t call me Stanley!) Greer.
Thunder’s Arena’s fans will recognize the face and body, but this is by all means the first time I’ve laid eyes on that truly beautiful cock! As of just last friday, with Wrestle Worship 2: Triple Emission it certainly looks like Stan is giving us something that we’ve never seen from him before. Between him and Marc Merino battling for the adoration of lucky newby Randy Dowell, this is full-on, newsworthy, hot-off-the-presses cock worth taking note of!
Cock #3 belongs to…
…Naked Kombat’s Roman Rivers.
Muscle stud Roman just this week showed up for Naked Kombat against twink Mike Rivers, pulling out that pretty, pretty tool of his for a round 4 celebration.
Cock #4 belongs to…
 …BG East’s Rob Chandler.
Facebook buddy Ashley Ryder gets an extremely up-close look at Rob’s thick cock in Gear Wars 3: UK Kink in their breaking news release for BG East’s Summer Sizzlers out merely days. Ashley totally inspires me, but good god! Rob is smoking hot! The cock ring makes me wince, but every inch of this hot little muscle stud is sweet, sweet, sweet!
 Cock #5 belongs to…
…Naked Kombat’s Cameron Adams.
I LOVE this pic! DJ is on top here, bridging way high with that python of his bouncing around just out of Cameron’s reach. This match was the breaking news just a couple days before everyone started frantically tittering about a certain politician’s Twittering. Like Cameron in the round 3 face-off, personally I have a tough time tearing my eyes away from DJ’s sledgehammer. DJ has the cock to make Cameron weak in the knees and the wrestling skills to slap him to his back in heartbeat. Love me some DJ!
Like Wrestling Arsenal, I think there’s something insidious and untapped about the public flagellation required of a politician who snaps some iPhone pics of his hard body. Perhaps they do just need to find a new, more appreciative line of work. Regardless, I refuse to be discouraged or ashamed of big, beautiful, hot-off-the-presses cocks.