Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Reduce, reuse…

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I’m not going to harp on this long, because you’ve heard it before, and I sort of suspect I may be the only one that really gives a damn. But I notice with Rock Hard Wrestling’s newest release that BG East’s Skip Vance has entered the ranks of the recycled homoerotic wrestlers, showing up for RHW as Jeff Hollister.
 

One promoter has suggested to me privately that there really is a relatively small pool of fit, hard hunks willing to strip to nothing (or next to nothing) and wrestle for a primarily gay wrestling fetish audience. Can this really be true? Of course, not everyone has what it takes to make a go of it in homoerotic wrestling, and I’m sure if you’re just looking to moonlight, being immortalized in digital recording in a scenario with at least a nod to eroticism could very well have implications for any other career.

But on the other hand, I have a hard time entirely believing that the pool of young, randy hard bodies itching to capitalize on their six pack abs is quite so tiny. I’m not trying to imply anything at all against the hardworking hunks who’re signing on the dotted line for multiple wrestling fetish operations. Cameron Mathews, Rio Garza, Zack Johnathan, and more recently Donnie Drake, Paul Hudson… the list goes on and on. Ride the horse as far as it’ll take you boys, and more power to you.

But personally, I definitely have a preference for two other personnel management strategies over the promotion of the same boys, often fighting the same boys, often released around the same time. First, I’m a fan of character development. The erotic potential of tracking a homoerotic wrestling character over time is what can transform a wrestling fetish product from a quick top off into actual entertainment. I like it when a homoerotic wrestler has a good working relationship with a given promotion such that he can stick around for multiple products over time, and his aptitudes can be understood, appreciated, evolved and built into a story. My dollar and cents will tend to get invested there.

Second, when I catch a hot, fresh face showing me something new, I’m often eager to jump on that train as well. I hope that I’m not alone when I invest in the end product of good, old fashioned talent recruitment and development. If I am alone, perhaps that explains the penchant these days to reduce, reuse and recycle a few boys from company to company.

Much farther down my list of what I’m looking for in new releases are familiar faces only slightly retooled and packaged with a new return address label. All this chatter from me, I realize, is probably overkill for a product I haven’t even seen yet. In fact, Jeff/Skip’s opponent for RHW, Max Powers, looks like he may be exactly the fresh, hot new element that I’m talking about. And I’m not even going to bother dissecting whether Skip/Jeff compromises the promise of exclusively handsome, rock hard Abercrombie boys populating the RHW world. I’m just feeling the need to grouse a little. That’s for cutting me a little slack.

Boundary Crossing

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I’m a fan of good grooming. That said, good grooming does not always mean the same thing to all men in all circumstances, as far as I’m concerned. For example, a shaved head can be one of the hottest looks in the world. Give me Lon Dumont’s head trapped in my face-to-crotch scissor hold with me rubbing the palms of my hands all over his baby-smooth pate any day (no, seriously, gimme!). But the sight of Lanny Love getting literally thrown across the ring by nothing but his long locks makes me gasp with pleasure. I know that there are strong opinions on shaving body hair out there, but again, for me, there’s no one right way to groom a gorgeous hunk. Gil Barrios and Skip Vance smooth from chin to toe as they wrestle has an undeniable erotic charm for me. Then again, Derek da Silva with a delicious winter coat and hairy legs will entertain me for hours and hours.

I’ve been noticing that lately a particular thrill I’m getting at the pube tease pose that seems to be “a thing.” The hot, hard hunk tugging at his trunks/underwear, giving just a glimpse of his dark curls, is just sending me into fits these days. Don’t get me wrong, I love the full monty as much as the next guy (more!), but there’s something playful, seductive, and intensely erotic about the playful tease shot, as if BGE classic wrestling hunk, Greg Leary, is just begging you to help him out of those barely on briefs.

Male models seem to be all over the pube tease these days. Photographer Rick Day in particular seems to get a ton of traction from the boundary crossing pose that just dares the censors to put up a fight. A helpful reader of this blog recently pointed out Rick Day blondboy, Cobus Jonker, illustrating just the good grooming that’s taking my breath away.

Another Rick Day boytoy delight, Karl Wehle looks like he’s been crushed in the ring, thrown around by that fantastic rats nest on top of his head, and is finally stripping down to shower off the sweat and humiliation sticking to him. The stop-action aspect of this pose just sucks me right in. I’m desperate to lend a hand, to help the story move from where he’s just come from to where he’s clearly heading. Anyday, anytime, Karl, I’ve got that hand free for you (two, in fact).

Researching this theme, I was delighted to stumble across this gorgeous shot of Dane Tarsen, another BGE classic wrestling god. The tan line, the dark patch peeking out over this thumb hooked and pulling at the front of his yellow trunks… everything is so fantastically proportioned that his crotch just seems like a bulls eye. I love me some Dane tying up some unsuspecting punk.

Header boy, Jared Prudoff and this tasty low-slung pic of model boy Sean Sullivan illustrate what it is that catches my eye and makes me desperate to write images like these into my wrestling fiction. It’s a boundary crossing, both literally and figuratively, from PG-rated to NSFW, from the erotic to erotica. It’s the hint of things to come, the tease challenging you and me to see if we can throw these taunting punks to the floor and rip their useless trunks the rest of the way off. It’s a small thing. It’s coy and demure. But it’s also a power switch sending volts of electricity charging through my erotic imagination.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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After nearly drowning in new releases in September, the crop of October homoerotic wrestling releases from which to pick a homoerotic wrestler of the month is relatively sparse. BG East had an unusual between-catalog release of Donnie Drake’s wrestler spotlight, pitting Donnie against Jobe Zander, Paul Hudson, and Rio Garza. The only real contender for my votes from Naked Kombat this month is Phillip Aubrey’s obliterating squash of Matthew Singer. I think Thunder’s Arena had two October releases, including Z-Man going up against Rambo, and then again in their newest Halloween Havoc release, Z-Man wrestles Big Sexy and Uno wrestles Cage. I’m going to go ahead and toss into the hat Can-Am’s newest releases of newcomer Landon Mycles against Michael Vineland, and yet another Can-Am recycle job of Donnie Drake’s Double Play with fellow BGE alums, Chris Bruce and Rio Garza, even though these two are out only in subscription services so far.

Were there others I should have considered? Let me know (nicely). In the meantime, my personal pick for homoerotic wrestler of the month simply has to be…

Landon Mycles.

So let me be clear that I have more than a little ambivalence about this pick for just one reason: Can-Am TV. That’s the only format that this match has been released in yet. And I hate this format. Of course I love it because it gives me instant gratification, but I hate it because it’s a completely unsustainable pricing scheme (and I do mean scheme). So while I was lured into ponying up 46 cents per minute to watch this match just once, I’m reluctant to promote the release because at this point, I’m also promoting the format. Per minute pay-per-view is not geared toward those of us seriously into our wrestling kink. If I had to pay 46 cents for every minute I’ve watched Brad Rochelle get cracked in half over Jeff Phoenix’ knee, I’d be flat broke. I suppose if you want to browse merchandise that you might be interested in buying outright, the format makes some sense (and I WILL be purchasing this if ever it’s available to buy for real). But I warn you, the minutes fly by and this stuff turns into a nasty, expensive, impulsive habit way too fast for an addictive personality like mine.

That said, Landon Mycles breakout performance against Michael Vineland takes my breath away. He’s a work of art, to start with. Landon’s body is incredibly fit, and his muscles are just perfectly proportioned and toned. He quickly breaks out into a sweet, slick coat of sweat, which always makes swoon. He’s handsome as hell, with a shit-eating grin that makes my knees weak. And he’s all in here, working hard, tossing and getting tossed, and showing some clear evidence of an amateur wrestling background here and there. He moves smoothly, he delights in his moments of owning Michael, and he completely takes me by surprise by selling me his pleasure in getting owned and occasionally worshipped by Michael as well. One particularly haunting scenario (it comes up twice and works both times for me), features Michael snapping up Landon’s leg in a single-leg crab and immediately going to work massaging Landon’s cock. This goes on and on, as Landon teeters on the edge of crying out in pain and groaning with pleasure.

I have to say that Landon does tend to fall into a pattern of what I think of as over/under selling. That is, he may oversell his suffering just a tad (but nothing I can’t live with), and then when he escapes, he suddenly undersells having just moments earlier been on the brink of an excruciating submission. Instead, he pops up with that big, shit-eating grin on his face with 100% suddenly back in his tank, as if he wasn’t just screaming in pain for the past 3 minutes. I think it’s a minor criticism, but it caught my eye repeatedly. Still, this is a breakout performance that’s tailor made to the “grab-ass” sub-fetish I’ve been crazy for lately. These boys are both delighting in each other’s bodies, capturing and being captured, stroking and squeezing, from start to finish. And Landon in particular convinces me that the post-match sex is a sincere climax to the incredibly arousing ring action, which frankly just doesn’t often happen for me (more often it seems to me like the post-match fuck is phoned in). And this is a pro-ring, pro-style erotic wrestling match with an excellent proportion of wrestling kink and final scene sex. So much is going right here, and Landon continues to pop up happily in my dreams ever since I caught this match.

And for that, he’s got to be my pick for October’s homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Short and Sweet

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Yesterday was supposed to be about short, so today I’ll spend a brief moment reflecting on sweet, which seems appropriate for those into the “treat” side of trick-or-treating.

Tommy Zenk (the original Z-Man) figured prominently in the development of my wrestling kink in my adolescence. As the inspiring figure across the banner of this blog illustrates, he was gorgeous and athletic, and he could make me deliriously aroused just by jogging up to ringside. He also had a long career with feet firmly planted in the babyface-people’s-hero role, with an unwavering earnestness that was, for the purposes of today’s blog, simply “sweet.” He was an adolescent gay boy’s knight in shining armor, frequently clad in ass-hugging white trunks and boots (and what… an… ass!).  As I look back, I think how naive I was as a kid, lusting and pulling for the Z-Man to conquer the bad guys. There was something almost saccharine about Z-Man’s character that today would make me long just as hard for a completely obliterating humiliation of him.

So, sweet today, like then, is something hot in the wrestling ring, but for entirely different reasons. Still, I like the earnest babyface in my homoerotic wrestling (as in, I like him crushed). In fact, I think the homoerotic wrestling scene could use some more sweet ingredients (to destroy, humiliate, and corrupt). Every so often, I get a little sugar high off of some of the boys here and there. “Tarzan” Tyler Reese was doing this for me bigtime for his brief incarnation in a loincloth. Tyler worked the feral, great white hope like a champion, if you ask me. His character was delightfully over the top. He wasn’t a narcissist. He was no snarling corner-cutter, either. And the peek-a-boo gear was fantastically erotic and completely impractical. He was selling a primal, law of the jungle sense of justice, all-in. It always made me laugh just a little, and it made me crazy to see someone pummel him mercilessly, rip the loincloth off of him, and choke him with it. Now that would’ve been sweet in an entirely different sense of the word.

Watching Tommy Tara was like sucking on a Butterfinger for me. That handsome face FULL of teeth and that smokin’, classic muscleboy body was the perfect container for a naive kid eager to pit his strength and skill against all comers as he charts his course into the chapter of his life where he figures out who he is as a full grown man. Tommy sold me on his bright-eyed, babyface confidence that right will win out. And when he wrestled Justin Pierce both in the ring and in Tommy Hilfiger tighty-whities AND boots… sweet Jesus he owned me hard just about as decisively as he laid out Justin’s playgirl musclebod. Now, if only the exhilaration of dominating Justin could have just gone to his head a little… if he could have just grown a little drunk on the intoxicating buzz of first hurting, then knocking out cold his stunningly gorgeous opponent… if he’d have lost himself gazing down at Justin’s helpless body, and then rolled him over to his stomach, yanked off Justin’s underwear, and enthusiastically owned Justin’s beautiful ass… well, the story of sweetness in the ring would have been entirely and fully consummated for me.

All right, damn it. This was supposed to be short and sweet. And I’m already completely distracted from the rest of my work, fantasizing about some sweet humiliation, sweet destruction, and sweet corruption. I really, really have to get back to work.

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Short and Sweet

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My nose remains to the grindstone this weekend, so I’m just coming up for air long enough to post another something short and sweet.

My very favorite example of short and sweet these days is Denny Cartier. The way that Denny wrestles, I don’t really think of him being as short as 5’5″. When he was paired up with Joe Robbins in Catch Weight 2 as the one climbing uphill, it actually sort of caught me by surprise. Of course nearly anyone would look small standing next to 6’2″, 240 pound bruiser Joe. Frankly, though, there’s just something about Denny’s presence that makes him seem on a level playing field even climbing into the ring with the likes of Joe. Denny moves like water, has a polished command of the mats, and has a beautiful authenticity that I find extremely sexy (and very tasty-sweet).

Another hot little morsel is Jonny Firestorm. Unlike Denny, somehow I’m always aware that Jonny is a modest 5’5″ and 145 pounds (when he’s shredded). And that’s precisely what makes the quality of his wrestling so enjoyable. Stand him up next to 6′, 175 pound TJ Tanner, and from a distance, this looks like it could get ugly. With a weight and reach advantage like that, knowing nothing else, smart money has to be on TJ to manhandle his little opponent.

But Jonny is all business, with an attitude that dwarfs TJ.  The story of the underestimated giant killer, particularly when he’s tight, shredded, and loaded for bear, is a major turn on for me.

Myke Mars in another one that I’ve seen in action, and somehow didn’t quite register the notable fact that he’s just 5’5″ and 150 pounds. My strong suspicion is that I’m not likely to notice anything other than that extremely aesthetically pleasing, round ass of his, particularly once he gets stripped to a thong. 
Gabriel Ross measures in at perhaps the shortest recurring character in the homoerotic wrestling biz, standing a reportedly 5’4″ and 135 pounds. Gabriel has the face of a perpetually juvenile angel to match his modest stature. That’s where the angelic comparison ends, though. He’s tenacious and perpetually looking to sexually dominate. I’ve only seen one of his matches, which devolves too quickly from wrestling into pillow play for my tastes, but it’s hard to argue that Gabriel is a prime example of short-and-sweet.
Finally, I think Rob Chandler will definitely qualify for my short and sweet rankings, though I haven’t seen him in action to know just how sweet. I love his look, including the tats and the shredded physique built for destruction. At 5’5″ and 143 pounds, he packs a whole lot of domination story into a compact container. Once I save my pennies and own him in motion, I suspect Rob will be sweet indeed.

I Need a Hero

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I’ve promised a friend to do some writing for him this weekend, with a firm deadline. So I’ll keep my blog posts short (and hopefully sweet) in the mean time.

This shot published by EW is making the rounds, showing what’s underneath all the CGI of the upcoming Captain America movie starring porn-ready Chris Evans. This image is deeply stirring me. Chris has already starred in a wrestling fantasy of mine, and looking smoother and huger (is that a word?… like that’s ever stopped me…) than ever, Captain Chris’ body today is making my head explode. Can’t you just imagine those pecs flexing, squeezing hard with some unfortunate hunk’s head wrapped up in Chris’ side headlock (screaming)?

He’s just begging for a return trip to the Producer’s Ring, I tell you. In a life-imitating-art-imitating-life moment, I’m thrilled to see the unbelievably hard, hot, walking-sex male body being capitalized to its fullest. The days of someone like Michael Keaton being packaged as a hardbody superhero already seem quaint. I think Captain Chris is raising the bar for Hollywood, and I for one am ready to join the throngs demanding more obscenely gorgeous, muscleboy stars getting ripped to shreds and showing off their physiques generously. Inch by inch, this world is looking more and more like my own post-apocalyptic vision of the day when homoeroticism rules the world.

This is also making me ache for some superhero homoerotic fantasy, pushing the third chapter of my superhero series higher on the docket. Damn, so many fantasies, so little time.

A Disturbing Glimpse

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Snapper sent me a link to “BattleBang.” This is one of those perplexing glimpses into heterosexual porn… I guess… that oddly attracts me and repulses me at the same time (or in rapid succession… I’ll explain…).

Apparently, BattleBang pits two male porn stars against one another in a cage fight. The winner is rewarded with sex with the pretty woman, and the loser is punished by suffering humiliating domination by an overweight dominatrix.

As Snapper put it, “Now, who is this supposed to be marketed to?” I know that straight guys watch cage fighting, but as foreplay? Really?
The action looks sincere, though tap outs seem to come in rapid succession. Some of the boys look quite hot, which again makes me wonder about what straight guys are looking for in their porn. Setting aside the sex with women, this could just about tweak my kink. But the story just puts me off. The motivation (winner fucks the “hot chick,” loser suffers at the hands of an unattractive dominatrix) is just too aversive for me. This seems like a lose-lose scenario, and the less I have to see or ponder straight sex of any kind, the happier and healthier I am.
Perhaps the bi guys among us can get into this more than I can. More power to you. I think NakedKombat is writing our version of this concept, with better action and a more intrinsically motivated payoff that doesn’t include “poontang” (seriously, someone is still using that term?). It does highlight for me the importance of the narrative in my erotic imagination. The context, the story can make a wrestling match sizzling hot for me. See Joe for some extremely hot story concepts that can turn me on before I even know who is starring in them. And, as BattleBang illustrates, some of the same elements that rev my engine, transported into a different narrative and heading in an entirely different direction, takes something potentially hot and douses it with ice water. I can think of much more entertaining scenarios for some of these pics than the bizarre truth. And in my scenarios, those baggy shorts don’t last long at all in the fight.

Deserving It

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There’s a fascinating aspect to pro wrestling and, of more interest to me, the homoerotic wrestling genre, that focuses on the rules of engagement. Behavior that would be condemned outside the ring as anti-social, underhanded, or despicable can be transformed in a wrestling fantasy into it’s own brand of moral rightness. New rules apply inside the wrestling ring. As a result, we may (often) find ourselves rooting for the heel, cheering for the low blow, delighting in a battler taking sadistic advantage of a vulnerable and defeated opponent.
When Jeff Phoenix gets stood up by his tag partner, the golden boy with a crazy hot body cockily predicts that he can defeat both Jose and Cruze singlehandedly. Of course, Jose and Cruze are notorious cheaters. They’re bullies, sadists with credentials as long as their fight records, invariably happy to cut corners, pull trunks, torture opponents in the ropes, and revel in a completely unfair 2-on-1 mugging. And, frankly, from the moment handsome hardbody Jeff steps into the ring, I can’t wait to see him suffer.  He “deserves it” inside the ring in a way that doesn’t necessarily translate outside the ring. He’s too hot, too handsome, way too confident, and the only right thing to be done is for him to get beaten to a pulp, humiliated repeatedly, broken into a quivering mess in the middle of the ring, and left to pick up the pieces of his dignity. Outside the ring, a 2-on-1 cheating, humiliating beating of a hard working muscle man might seem “wrong,” but inside the ring, it’s ooooh-so-right.

If ever someone deserved it, Troy Baker did. I happily own his debut match for BG East, in which he teamed up with his brother. Troy’s character took a little while to develop, but even in that first match, we can see the seeds of his destruction. He’s beautiful. He’s stunningly built. He’s a little slow in piecing together some wrestling moves, but he’s supremely confident that his sheer strength and bright, white smile will earn him victory. In match after match, his self-love of his own beautiful body becomes his undoing, and there’s just nothing “righter” than watching him think that he’s got it in the bag, only to find himself suffering and destroyed at the hands of an “inferior” opponent.

Inside the ring, that’s the formula that demands brutal, humiliating destruction of the classic golden boy. Inside the ring, justice simply requires that a less stunningly developed, less beautiful, perhaps less “deserving” of victory heel beat the living shit out of Troy again, and again, and again. Outside the ring, good looks, blond hair, a hard, tight body, and a healthy dose of entitlement and confidence will generally be very well rewarded. Inside the ring, they require crushing defeat and prolonged humiliation.

I think the morality tales of straight-up pro probably work the same way, but I think homoerotically directed wrestling has an even more salient subtext. Someone like muscle-beautiful Zack Johnathan/Vazquez getting completely taken to school by “skinny” kid Brody Hancock, for example, lets me work out all sorts of long standing “issues” I have as a gay man. Outside the ring, the most beautiful, straight-laced, used-to-getting-their-way straight boys tend to prosper and receive more than a heaping helping of social approval. But inside the ring, at least for this gayboy, there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing the classic jock pummeled. It speaks to me powerfully to see the classic cards of strength, youth, and power stacked against an overmatched opponent, who with sheer audacity and ferocity, does whatever it takes to pull the rug out from under the muscled juggernaut. The morality tale, for me at least, has more than a hint of the skinny (or fat), disregarded and underestimated sissy who spits in the face of the bullying jock and exacts humiliating revenge for getting thrown into the lockers.

I think what’s so engaging for me about homoerotic wrestling is this notion of new rules that overturn the standard morality of polite society. Well, okay, there’s that, plus the gorgeous, hot hunks squeezing and dominating each other in (or out) of completely revealing gear that leads to or at least inspires me to imagine them fucking for days. But no, really, the chance to rewrite the rules, to turn conventional morality and wisdom on its head, makes so much of wrestling homo to me, even when no one literally gets fucked, just fucked up.

Delightful Conundrum

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BG East’s Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you) remains a conundrum to me. On the one hand, he’s a heartless tease. His wrestling career is all about his mammoth package (at least as far as I’m concerned, that’s what it’s about), but despite being all about genitals, we’ve only barely glimpsed his bare essentials unleashed. His gear, his balls-in-face victory poses, his frequent mid-match hand down his trunks to rearrange the goods… he’s practically screaming, “Marvel at my gargantuan balls!” And yet he coyly, demurely (well, sort of) seems to have a non-nudity clause in his contract. This should make me hate him with a bitter resentment I reserve for few.
On the other hand, when I think of the line dividing straight-up wrestling from homoerotic fare, I can’t imagine thinking of Mr. Joshua as anything but flag-firmly-planted well on the homoerotic side. I’m the first (though I’m sure not the last) to point out that my opinions here may reveal me to be inconsistent, fickle, and potentially even hypocritical. None of those things really bother me so much. But on the topic of grab-ass in homoerotic wrestling, which I’ve been musing about lately, for all Mr. Joshua’s carefully covered assets, he frequently takes matters firmly in hand.
Perhaps not so frequently is the literal grab-ass in a Mr. Joshua bash, but particularly in his more recent appearances, someone’s balls are almost always getting grabbed. When Mr Joshua shoves his own mitt down the front of his trunks, honestly, I cheer (outloud… really). His fascination with his own balls is delightful to watch. It’s as if he just can’t keep from grabbing and tugging at himself (and honestly, haven’t we all been there?). But what connects the dots for me is that Mr. Joshua clearly has an irresistible need to grab hold precisely at the moment that he’s laid an opponent out commandingly. Something has shifted in his trunks simultaneous with his moment of humiliating domination over the punk who had the temerity to step into the ring/on the mat with the power and guile of Mr. Joshua. Even if he doesn’t whip it out and pop off on camera, he at least sells the story that he’s aroused by the act of hammering a barely clothed man down and climbing on top.
I’ve been particularly pleased with the development of his story to include the fact that his opponents can’t help but notice Mr. Joshua’s package and his own fascination with it. They frequently mock him with a crotch-to-face pin (which is an obligatory element in any Mr. Joshua victory), and shove their hand down their own trunks. Nearly no one has the package to compete with Mr. Joshua, though, so even on the bottom, his massive balls somehow manage to come out on top.
Early in his career, the focus on Mr. Joshua’s package was more implied. It was context in which the wrestling took place, as far as I can tell. But lately, both Mr. Joshua and his opponent’s have been taking matters more directly in hand. One of the sweetest Mr. Joshua matches, I think, was the summer’s release of the man himself going up against a much smaller Austin Raines. Mr. Joshua grabs hold of Austin’s throat and balls early and hard, and he gets it back in spades. Austin’s choke and throttle on Mr. Joshua comes in a very close second place to the “teabagging” moment as my very favorite moment in this match.

Perhaps Mr. Joshua’s career left turn can be dated to his utter humiliation in the right hand of Brooklyn Bodywrecker in Mr. Joshua’s own Wrestler Spotlight DVD. It was this match that made me finally tear my eyes away from his package to admire the hard, powerful ass on Mr. Joshua. It was also the match that came closest to consummating the love affair that Mr. Joshua’s crotch has been nursing with the camera, including Mr. Joshua stripped naked and tossed over BBW’s shoulder. As I’ve complained bitterly about prior, though, don’t get your hopes up here. You’ll get a tasty, lingering look at Mr. Joshua’s bare and vulnerable cheeks, but BBW taunts us by refusing to show us the real moneymaker.

The hits and, more delightfully, the squeezes just keep coming in match after match. Giving…

…and taking, the main character in any Mr. Joshua match has got be acknowledged to be the crotch, and sooner or later it’s Mr. Joshua’s crotch that steals the spotlight, crowding everyone else off the stage.

So, while it’s true he unfortunately does not qualify to compete in my pornboy division, as a non-pornboy Mr. Joshua’s wrestling is still all about sex and the wonders that a hard, hot body like his can’t help but bring to mind. On a purely abstract level, I completely respect his decision to just barely/not quite keep his modesty in tact. Much more viscerally, though, I remain locked in a love/hate conundrum when I think about Mr. Joshua… and I frequently do.

He’s come such a long way since he debuted against the emerging legend of chisel-chinned Brad Rochelle as a musclehead with perhaps more brawn than brains underneath his frosted locks. A legend in his own right, as far as I’m concerned, looking back at Mr. Joshua’s debut makes me marvel. Who could predict what hot, productive homoerotic wrestling careers would be represented on the mat that day?

With wisdom born of experience and, I’d argue, an even hotter body today, Mr. Joshua makes me often possessed with the desire to trade places with any single opponent who’s had the privilege of experiencing a Mr. Joshua beatdown. Though, if I found myself in the enviable position of just a handful of those opponents (with Mr. Joshua’s balls resting on my lips), I almost certainly would be unable to honor his contract rider.

Formula 1

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I haven’t been genuinely excited about a Can-Am release in a while. I think Rusty Stevens’ performance in the Arena 1 and 2 were the last to make my heart flutter. But Can-Am Max has put up teaser pics for a to-be-released product entitled Pro Sex Fight 1. Catching sight of blond, blue-eyed bodybeautiful Landon Mycles in the pro ring made me do a double take. All I can say is, “Wow.”

Okay, you knew that wouldn’t be all I could say. You also probably know all about Landon. I hadn’t heard of him, but he’s a pornboy with a growing body of work built on his tight, hard body, square jawed baby face, and blond blue-eyed dream boat looks along with an apparent happiness to screw and be screwed by just about anyone.

I’m really pleased to see Can-Am returning to the formula that I think they do particularly well. Eager, young pornboys giving it their all in a pro ring is just classic Can-Am. Taking a break from recycling wrestlers from other companies in “underground” mat scenarios, the teasers of Landon in the ring with Michael Vineland are raising my hopes for a return of what I’ve traditionally turned to Can-Am to provide. I think Can-Am is firing on all cylinders when they put astonishingly gorgeous, porn quality bodies in a wrestling ring, inevitably heading toward sex with prolonged, straight-faced wrestling foreplay. This is what I’m hoping Pro Sex Fight 1 might be about. From Landon’s Twitter pics, I can already see that the typical Can-Am formula of featuring a performer in a wrestling-first scenario and then putting him into a second product at the same time with a superheroes-first scenario appears to be in the making.

What I’m seeing in the teasers for Pro Sex Fight 1 includes some classic pro wrestling moves, corner abuse, and the delightful line-crossing of pro-holds that you and I know make for a perfect transition into more homoerotic fare. A leg-lock appears to set the stage for a gleeful, sweaty Landon to begin to strip Michael out of his gear. Another shot shows Landon spread-eagled, suspended in the ropes in a corner, with Michael standing on the turnbuckle outside the ring to reign down a barrage of blows on the babyface rookie. So far, soooo good.
An up close and deeply personal head scissors appears to provide the opportunity both for Michael to cop a feel of those incredibly toned pecs on wonder boy Landon, as well as an opportunity for Landon to reach behind him and begin to work over Michael’s cock. The teasers suggest that the ring action charges headlong into full on naked bodyworship, mutual cock sucking, and one star’s ankles in the air getting the enthusiastic treatment for which only a couple of pornboys will do.
All the elements of what Can-Am does well appear to be here. And I’ve been longing for a pro ring turned sex scenario for quite a while. I’ve been concerned that Can-Am is stuck chasing BG East’s tail lately, trying to out-BGE BGE (which I think was always going to be a lost cause for Can-Am, frankly).  What’s raising my hopes and tormenting me with delayed gratification here is not the expectation that Landon will have the spot-on wrestling chops of Jonny Firestorm or the exquisite salesmanship of Lon Dumont. I shop at a different store entirely when I’m looking for full-on wrestling kink homoerotic wrestling, with an emphasis on repeating the words “wrestling.” But if Landon and Michael can hold my attention and convincingly build the sexual tension with straight-faced, all-in (even if not completely polished and accomplished) wrestling performances, then this product could easily be a go-to feature in my library for hot domination porn with enough satisfying wrestling foreplay and context to get my adrenalin pumping for everyone’s happy ending. I’m keeping my fingers crossed!