Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Kneeling at the Altar

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“To worship: 1) to honor or reverence as a divine being or supernatural power; 2) to regard with great or extravagant respect, honor, or devotion.”

Okay, somehow Merriam-Webster doesn’t quite capture it. Worship as an element in homoerotic wrestling has to be defined with the word “awe” in it…. to be awed and breathless at the sight, touch, smell, and taste of another’s body. That’s gets a little closer, I think.

The preview pics of upcoming releases by BG East, available in the Arena, are getting me all excited, in particular for what looks to be some tasty body worship of Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you). It’s about time! 


To fail to be awed by Mr. Joshua’s body simply defies belief. The hot mat boy he’s facing off against in the upcoming Matmen 21 can be seen stroking Mr. Joshua’s washboard abs and feeling his big biceps. I’m filled with envy and at least a little twinge of bitterness toward the new guy.




To watch body worship is another entirely homo aspect of homoerotic wrestling that makes it a cut above straight up or innuendo-only wrestling (in my opinion, of course). To dominate and control is hot, erotic stuff, but to enjoy a visceral appreciation of your opponent’s body is just fantastically entertaining. Even for the non-pornboy division, to worship or to be worshipped connects more of the dots for me than otherwise. Mr. Joshua getting worshipped in his upcoming release could very well be what he needs to body slam Lon Dumont out of first place in my rankings of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers – non-pornboy division. Of course Lon and Joshua in a mutual body worship wrestling scenario would be nearly too much for me to handle… but I’d be very, very willing to give it a try.

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DListed seems seriously pissed at the news that Ryan Reynolds has been selected as this year’s Sexiest Man Alive. He’s at least in my top 10 or 20, so I’m willing to give People a little more slack than DListed is. That said, I completely agree that the photo that they chose for their sexiest coverboy is ridiculously lame, and oddly airbrushed.  This is evidence of being the sexiest man alive?

Now THIS could be evidence for a claim on the title of sexiest man alive:

In my imagination, of course, he came in a very, very close second in a balls out wrestling contest with Chris Evans, who I think is glaringly absent from People’s list. I do, on the other hand, strongly approve of Joe Manganiello (yes, I promise, I’m still pecking away at his debut in the Producer’s Ring).

And Glee’s Matthew Morrison is grabbing me by the balls and holding my attention in the past few days (metaphorically). His People pic, again, looks oddly photoshopped yet hot. I’m not into absolutely every guy’s underarms, but I could definitely be into his.

His Details spread, though, is propelling him quickly into the cue for a wrestling match in my mind.
But who might initiate Matthew into the Producer’s Ring?

Pain and Regret Called-For

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Ace Hanson over at Thunder’s Arena has been working his stunning ass off lately! This busy, big, bruiser of a boy (6′ even, 220 pounds, tree trunk thighs… did I mention is ass already?), is facing off with some even bigger boys lately (notwithstanding his squash-like-a-bug of Angel). As of this moment, he’s the featured new release against Cage, who looks like the last face you’d want to see in a dark alley. At 6′ and 215 pounds, the tale of the tape would suggest these two are tit-and-tat. But side by side, they’re actually quite the study in contrasts.

First of all, Cage is smuggling a grapefruit in the front of his trunks, whereas Ace is smuggling two regulation size basketballs in the back of his (which would seem like a perfect combination). Second, blond behemoth Cage is just outrageously massive, whereas Ace is constructed of thick and defined, hard muscle, no soft curves anywhere. Third, Cage is not pretty (unleash the grapefruit, and maybe I’ll change my mind about this, but I doubt it). In stark, stark contrast, Ace is absolutely, indisputably, yet somehow deceptively, very, very pretty.

I have a deep respect for Ace’s work because he keeps going toe to toe with fellow big boys. Regardless of what you think about the work itself, the big, hard wrestlers who continually tackle (and I do mean tackle) fellow big, hard wrestlers are, pound for pound, carrying more than their fair share of the homoerotic wrestling load. The physical workout itself has got to be intense (not that Ace’s quads could fail to be up to the challenge of doing squats all day with Cage across his shoulders), and the potential for injury has to be heightened in his session with Cage or Uno, as opposed to Angel (well, at least for Ace… the calculus probably doesn’t add up the same way for Angel).
Ace comes across to me as straight up straight boy happy to bring in some extra cash by appealing to the wrestling fetishist among us gay boys. More power to him. As with most all the work at Thunder’s, there’s something oddly demure about the ferocity and stagecraft of Ace’s wrestling performances of late that leaves me craving a look at that moneymaker (in Ace’s case, this is most definitely that muscle ass of his). Happily, Ace’s prior incarnation in homoeroticism (as Eric Reins) feeds the need. In Can-Am’s Sex Submissions, Ace/Eric was working that fine, hard ass of his against the bodybuilder bruiser, Gauge. Unlike his more recent work, he wrestled bare naked (and with a ridiculous haircut… you’ll find that easy to ignore when you get a look at his glutes and cock).
Despite the “sex” in the title, Ace/Eric did not obey the rules of sex wrestling: he refused to get fucked when he lost, opting instead to masturbate and then exit the stage for another wrestler to come in and do a much less impressive wrestling performance against Gauge but eventually take it up the ass. I think this should be considered a serious foul in the game of homoerotic wrestling for which Ace still needs to be draped across someone’s knee and spanked bare-assed until those glorious glutes are red as beets and he’s littered the floor with his tears of regret and pain.
Somehow, I don’t see this scenario happening anytime soon in Thunder’s. But I’m keeping my eyes open for it, nonetheless.

Italian Hotness in Siberia

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New readers to this blog may not even know of my obsession with Chris Cuomo. Chris has been off my radar for a while now, particularly since his departure from Good Morning America ripped him out of my cozy, rousing morning routine. Banished to Siberia (aka 20/20), Chris has just been out of sight, and thus not popping up often as a subject for me to obsess over here.

I recently caught up with Chris’ twitter account, where I was directed to his new Facebook page and behind-the-scenes video prep for 20/20 over at ABC. It’s not a lot, but it made me swoon all over again. There’s not a lot new by way of pics, but a few choice photos are making me fantasize about grabbing those big Italian pecs and squeezing.

I note that there are fishing pics, but not the shirtless pics that showed the world Chris’ hard, smokin’ hot bod a year and a half ago. He can play coy all he wants. Now that we’ve been given a taste of what lies beneath, we’re all filling in the gaps in what we don’t see with him in a suit and tie. He remains an object of lust, a character in fantasy, and completely wasted on Friday night newsishness. I’m glad to see that he’s got a PR machine keeping him and his hotness in the public eye, though.

Of course, in my imagination, we last saw Chris escort his ABC news protege and fellow news stud, Matt Guttman, to the ring in a young news stallions match against Abercrombie boy, David Muir. The match is between Matt and David, and David comes out on top, but somehow, it’s Chris coming out on the bottom.

Good God, he still does things to me…

DIY

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You know how this works. Some hot thing catches my eye, and my imagination starts working on overtime. Since TLC is now endorsing right wing nut jobs by paying them to advertise for future runs to install themselves as religio-fascist authoritarians, I’ve migrated to get my DIY-fix over at HGTV. The parade of hot carpenters continues to astound me, certainly foreshadowing a sequel to the Carpenters battle royale in my wrestling fiction (eventually… my plate is very full at the moment). But I’m obsessing most over two hosts with the most who, I think, are tailor made for a classic babyface hero v heel ring match.
Our knight in shining armor must be Income Property host, Scott McGillivray. Holy hell, this Canadian is gorgeous. His floppy hair, big white teeth, and clearly fit body (though we never see enough of it) were made for entertainment.
Other than the prerequisite of possessing a babyface, what makes him the babyface hero in my emerging scenario is his subtle, confident, and loving to be cheered-for persona. He’s such a ridiculously clean cut, play by the rules, cut no corners, completely transparent good guy with a false-humility standing in for a healthy dose of self-righteousness, and a folksy Canadian accent to go with it.

And the flop of hair always threatening to fall into his face is screaming out for someone who doesn’t mind hairpulling to fling him across the ring by his locks.

Enter my nominee for the heel to spoil Scott’s lust for crowd approval: Marc Bartalomeo. This New York Italian hosts the show Kitchen Impossible, where he swoops in save renovators who’ve gotten in over their heads with kitchen rehabs. Despite working the same gallop-in-and-save-the-day scenarios, Marc has a distinctly different style than Scott, I think. Scott gives options, respectfully collaborating and negotiating. Marc plops down his junk, tells the homeowners what they need, and steamrolls right through.

With his New York accent and a body built for demolition, Marc is destined to heel. He’s shown that he’s ready to play naughty with some early career modeling shots. Where Scott comes across as simply adorable, Marc strikes me (please) as dripping with sex, a line ‘em-up-and-fuck-‘em-against-a-wall sort of sex pig who lures them in with a wink and a dimple, and then instantly turns into a foul-mouthed sadist.

I don’t imagine that Scott would job here, mind you. In fact, with a screaming crowd behind him, I could see him going toe-to-toe with Marc, possibly sporting superior technique and speed (the overachiever that he is).



But when Marc lands some low blows, drags smiley boy across the ring by his hair, pins his face to the canvas with his crotch, and ties him up in the ropes, Scott would simply have to make the decision that he doesn’t want to face. He’s either going to take a stroll to the dark side to fight fire with fire, or he’s in for some nasty humiliation, perhaps with a well-worn Italian cock planting a flag of victory up his ass as he’s bent over a turnbuckle (in front of the awestruck crowd).


Either way, I’m all for it.

Checking it Twice

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A comment by Joe made me start thinking about my wish-list. This is the time of year when kids start asking themselves what their fondest desires are, isn’t it? The promise of gifts to come, the magic of dreams appearing from out of nowhere underneath a Christmas tree made me start thinking of what Santa might send me. Most pertinent to this blog is my list of gay wrestling products that I don’t yet own but probably will, sooner or later. Note, this isn’t a plea for anyone to fill my wish-list. Rather, this is just a rhetorical device to do more of what I enjoy doing most around here: discussing what works for me in homoerotic wrestling.

Starting with a few newer items from the catalog, I’ve got my eye on Ball Bash 2. I’ve been delighted by the pics in BG East’s Arena for quite some time. I’ve also been tracking Reese Wells’ (aka Brody Hancock) career across promotions over the past year or so. Reese tells a sweet tale. He’s (sort of) a skinny kid with a respectable arsenal of pro moves and attitude to transform him in the ring into a bully-killer. And though I say he’s “sort of skinny,” truth is, his body is quite the meat market, packed with long, lean, clearly hard-worked muscles, including rock hard abs, solid round pecs, and surprisingly bulging biceps. What particularly attracts me to Ball Bash 2 is that it seems to stick out in Reese’s portfolio as the only thing (at least that I can find) featuring him naked with all attention centered explicitly on his impressive cock and balls. In case Reese never returns to the darker, naked, sadomasochistic side of homoerotic wrestling, I’d like to own this little piece of history and enjoy it at my leisure.

Mat Hunks 8 is another recent release that I haven’t snapped up yet, but probably will. Every mat hunk in this line up has starred in a satisfying wrestling fantasy for me (Chris Bruce, Alexi Adamov, Mikey Vee and Denny Cartier). Truth be told, it’s Denny that’s making me long for Mat Hunks 8 more than anything. Frankly, I think that Denny is still looking for who he “is” in homoerotic wrestling. He’s sometimes a little green, sometimes a little sadistic/savvy, sometimes walks in with a dose of humility, sometimes walks in with an “I can fuck up anybody” attitude. As he works on character development, in any case, I never fail to be intoxicated by his body, and even more, by his body in motion. He’s clearly an accomplished, veteran amateur wrestler with speed, balance, and body savvy to bring authentic wrestling cred to his work. I just love watching him work, and the promise of watching him work and get worked over by Mikey Vee is pure fantasy come to life.

Masked Mayhem 6 is my third recent release to show up on my wish list. It all looks good, of course. Muscle Mask jobbing, Jonny in fighting trim, Cage Thunder in the ring. But you know as well as I do that it’s Rafe (mmmmm… Rafe) that’s calling to me. Rafe in the ring against a veteran heel is just too delicious to pass up. Sooner or later, this will be mine.

I also maintain a laundry list of “classics” from farther back in the library. I frequently pick up something from way back to add onto an order for a new release, to try to catch up with all the fantastic stuff that happened before I was actively collecting. Hard Pros 2 is a case in point. The line-up looks like a barnburner from A-Z, including fantasymen Jay Austin, Wade Cutler and Steve Sherman, along with hard heels with astonishing attributes like Max Dare and Jose.

Sadly, some of the classics that look mindboggling fantastic don’t appear to be still on the market (yet?). For example, all of the Bratpack series look fantastic, but I can only find them in the Arena and on some previews from my “older” BGE products, not for sale from the BGE website. Bratpack 12 would be where I’d start, I think. The trailer for this one caught my eye, and the line up (including TNT, Animal Ayben, Jumpin Joe Jaksyn, both Romano twins and Syddo Riley) all look like fantastic characters I’d love to see in the basement/underground genre.

I’m still waiting/hoping for some of the classic Private Bouts series to be converted to DVD. From that treasure trove, I’d start with Private Bouts 32-36, primarily to see a painfully young DW in action against Chase and Brian Baxter against Scott “Dark” Rogers.


The anticipation is frequently almost as sweet as the consummation of the moment when what I’ve dreamed of is at last in hand. But I promise, Santa, I will not grow tired of these toys. I will not break them. And I will, most definitely, continue to play with them over and over and over again, for years to come.

Words and Silences

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It doesn’t take long reading this blog to realize that I am a big fan of dialogue. It’s one of the texts that makes a homoerotic wrestling scene sparkle. I’m not a fan of a wrestling scene filled with silence broken by only the occasional grunt or gasp, even when the combatants are doing everything else that I love (yes, Enforcer, I’m talking about you!). Some sweet, snarling, domineering dialogue makes the contest more than just about the bodies. It should be about heart and soul and ego and will, and that story can get a major assist with letting the boys say something about what it all means. I’ve been fishing through my collection of inspiration lately, and a couple of snazzy talkers have made me smile (and swoon) all over again.

In Gear Wars 1, Kid Karisma shows that he’s all about dialogue-as-humiliation as he and Rocco go for broke to be the first to strip the other wrestler’s gear off of him. From start to finish in his match, Karisma offers a running commentary that’s every bit as arousing as the visuals (and that’s saying a lot!). For example, at one point Karisma is, for the moment, having his way with Rocco, claiming his back at will and choking him to submission with Rocco’s own shoulder strap. Karisma is loving the moment. He’s loving himself. He’s loving being in total command of Rocco’s body. He flings him to the wall and stands up, flexing and admiring himself (get in line, Kid K!). Rocco coughs and gasps, clutching his throat, causing Karisma to laugh derisively. “Oh, you don’t want to get choked any more? Cute… cute. How’s that look, huh?” Kid turns his back on Rocco and peels his singlet down, leaving his world class muscle ass bare in his jock strap. “Yeah, oh, I think you want to get choked by something else, don’t you?” Turning around to face Rocco, he pulls the front of his singlet down and bounces the pouch of his packed jock-strap in the palm of his hand.

It’s poetry, I tell you! It’s nothing that I expect to find in straight up wrestling, and it’s everything and more that I look for in full-on, no apologies homoerotic wrestling. It’s like performance art mashed up with poetry slam mashed up with my fondest locker room fantasy.

Rusty Stevens still holds possession of the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy these days, in no small part do to his lightening fast, razor sharp, verbal wit on the mats. One of the many  moments that Rusty has Mitch Colby on his back, schoolboy pinned in the Breaking Point, Mitch is squirming and gasping for air as Rusty sits on his chest and slides forward, shoving the pouch of his sweat-soaked jock-strap onto Mitch’s face. Mitch’s muffled gasps are cut short by Rusty’s package pressed against his lips, “I… I can’t….”

“What!? You can’t what?” Rusty delights, looking down. “You can’t breathe? Losers don’t get to breathe!” Rusty snarls, slapping Mitch’s face with his cock and pulling up on Mitch’s head, shoving it harder into his crotch in complete humiliation.

Again, I say: it’s poetry. Sweaty, muscled bodies clutching, squeezing, grinding and controlling one another to the beat poetry of verbal domination. Fantastic. Simply fantastic.

Brutally Cautious

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Raging Stallion has released new promotional pics for the much anticipated release of Brutal. It’s available for pre-order, but I’m not seeing when the actual release date is. According to the extensive product description, “Thrust in the face of total domination some men submit, some men fight back and some men champion!”

Brutal appears to be primarily alumni week for veterans of Naked Kombat. The cast includes NK battleboys Brenn Wyson, Phenix Saint, Race Cooper, Tommy Defendi, and my #1 favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens as well a my July homoerotic wrestler of the month (and rising stock in my favorite rankings… watch your ass, Mitch) Trent Diesel.

The promotional pics are fantastic! Very high quality photography, with the boys telling a dozen stories with each frame. Glossy, sweaty, stylized, and ready for hanging on the wall, the pics alone are a wrestling/fight fetish fantasy.

The movies themselves (two, two disc features apparently being released simultaneously… who should have to wait for a sequel?), on the other hand, are leaving me just a little cautious. My read of the description makes me suspect that “part 2” is a little more pitched toward my tastes, with perhaps a little more of a nod to the heat of competition rather than a rush to a quick beat ’em and rape ’em motif. I’ve been sold before by Rusty, Trent, Phenix, and Race, and it looks like “part 2” is also where that constellation of the cast seems to concentrate. It’s entirely possible that both parts may shortchange the actual eroticism of wrestling as they speed on by to linger over the standard fuck and suck scenes from every camera angle. That’s sort of what I’ve come to expect from the porn-tries-wrestling approach, which has served only to remind me that’s it’s the wrestling-as-homoeroticism that’s actually what occupies my fantasies.

In any case, Trent in particular is looking astonishingly fine in his promo pics. In part 2, he’s reportedly throwing down with Hugo Milano as coach Race Cooper watches. In porn-style, the scene apparently morphs into Race’s imagination of how hot the two fighters would look having sex. This is just the sort of element that makes me cautious. The stills of Trent and Hugo in competition make me all sorts of excited, but if that too quickly turns to a boom-chick-a-boom close up of Hugo’s cock sliding in and out of Trent’s ass, then I’m going to be bitter. Not that I have a problem with cocks and ass in action, but a fade out away from the wrestling domination scenario to cut straight to the sex is not pitched toward and audience of me.

There’s a description of what’s sold as an MMA competition scenario between Rusty (whose website is back up… hooray!), and Angelo Marconi. If the actual action is as short-lived as the description makes it sound, then, again I say, the porn-dabble into wrestling fetish will leave me disappointed (what about the pony ride?). A dominating, sneering, crushing Rusty is just wasted on truck-stop bathroom cruise scene, for my tastes.

I don’t know all of these boys, and clearly I haven’t seen the product. The stills are instantly cherished images, and the potential continues to give me hope. The description, though, suggests that this may look more like the standard porn script that uses a scenario, any scenario, as the context for the same, well-worn porn-sex extravaganza that we can find wrapped up in just about any packaging we might like. You know me, though. I’m a sucker for a promise and a fantasy, so I’ll probably check out at least part 2. I’ll let you know what I find.

Gasp!

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*Gasp!* AllHotMen drew my attention to the cover of DNA, and coverboy extraordinaire, Todd Sanfield. It’s moments like this that I just have to sit back in awe that there is something this beautiful in the world.

This almost hurts, he’s so hot. Frankly, I’m finding some prior work of Todd’s that illustrates that he has been quite hot for a while, but these DNA pics are just from another planet! Everything about him is just a little bigger, harder, rounder, more defined. Hell, I’d even say there’s something even more handsome about his face, which just doesn’t make any sense to me (I am looking at the same guy, aren’t I?).

And then, there’s that ass! Good grief! A hot, huge, gorgeously muscled hardbody who’s this generous on camera is making it hard for me to keep my mind on my work today. In this upward dog pic, he’s illustrating just how much he’s aching to get tortured in a camel clutch wearing only his tube socks.

Oh………. mygod. I’ve got to get back to writing in the Secretarial Pool. I think Todd could give Luke Guldan a run for his money in my fitness model muscleboy wrestling imagination.
*Gasp!*

Under the Big Top

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Towleroad’s plug for the PBS series “Circus” caught my eye last week. Well, okay, it was the photo of the hottie twin jugglers appearing in the PBS series that caught my eye. It instantly inspired me to Google them, which took me to their website. Like any reasonable gay man on the hunt, I immediately went to the galleries, where there were dozens of pics of the handsome, hard circus hunks.

Going back for a return visit yesterday, I discovered that the boys’ website is now “suspended.” I’m guessing that a horde of lustful gay boys like me swamped their server. Thus is the price of fame… and being identically gorgeous, young, blond, tightly muscled, scantily clad pretty boys.

Who among us hasn’t had a fantasy starring acrobatic, abercrombie-esque blond sexpots? Ever since the Brewer twins, many of us have been haunted with the perplexing, multiple-taboo-confronting fantasies of twins that like to strip down, show off their bodies, and look amorously at one another. While Jake and Marty LaSalle don’t actually fill this bill (no real amorous looks that I can find), they don’t seem to have any problem posing shirtless, arms around each other, and if they’re smart (and they appear to be), I bet that they know they’re marketability as performers can’t help but be enhanced by the homoerotic subtext that I’m reading into their story (to be clear, it’s not there… I’m reading it into their story).

On the tragic  news that Jake is breaking up the act to go to medical school (that selfish bastard), I’m reminded of the very first, full-on, gay fiction I ever read. It was also a circus story, penned by Marion Zimmer Bradley, entitled The Catch Trap. I haven’t read it for over a decade now, but as I remember it, The Catch Trap explored the growing romantic relationship between two young trapeze artists in the 1940s, helpfully rendered on the cover as gorgeous, muscled hunks with bulging pecs, wearing skin-tight leotards.

The juxtaposition of the real-life prettyboy circus performers, the LaSalle brothers, and the fictional homoerotic romantic romp of The Catch Trap, makes me ponder the role of performance and imagination in homoeroticism in general. Heirs of centuries of suppressed and repressed “real” stories of men who love men, many of us are still left with only our imaginations to fill in the blanks of how our kind lived and loved throughout history. The performance of hardbody, hunky, circus straight boys today and the entirely fictional creation of hardbody, hunky, circus gay boys fifty years ago both appeal to the same eroticized imagination, I think. I’ve often been dismissive of stereotypes of the “creative gay man,” destined to be an interior designer or a tortured artist (or both), but perhaps there is something not-quite-hard-wired about many gay men, engineered upon this foundation of suppressed lives and loves. We read between the lines, read into otherwise unrelated text, and imagine out of thin air our homoerotic motifs because we don’t have the benefit, even today, of seeing romance and sex and normative relationships of ourselves in 99.99% of films, television, books, poems, etc., etc. Perhaps the muscles of our creative imaginations are, indeed, more defined, toned, and sturdily built than others, because that’s the way we’ve had to cope with rejection of all things homoerotic in mainstream culture.

In any case, I’m finding myself lusting for some big-top boys in tights these days.