Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

I Saw Him First

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I’m hopelessly behind the curve. You’d never say it, because you’re very generous, but my friends on this side of the computer screen are quick to point out that I’m notoriously late to ever spot a worthwhile trend. For example, I usually wait until a new TV show hits its second season before I decide to commit any serious time into checking it out (other than anything on HBO). I finally figure out who’s hot well after they’ve become passé.

That’s why seeing Christopher Gorham get a lot of attention for the hot little, nerdy hunk he is just makes me need to say: I was into Christopher Gorham way before you were. It was his gig on Popular around the turn of the century that made me think naughty thoughts about a fully mature actor who happened to play a high school kid.
Before he was in Ugly Betty, and ages before Covert Affairs, I was feeling some fantasy lust for Christopher. He earned his way into a fantasy wrestling match I wrote a while back, playing the surprise sadist determined to physically tame and sexually dominate Jerry O’Connell. Jerry had no idea what was in store for him, or what the stakes were.
I’ll probably jump ahead of a trend around the turn of the next century. In the meantime, don’t tell me that you were lusting after Christopher when he was a walk-on in Buffy. Just give me this one moment. Please.

The Flex

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Lately, I’ve been drawn to strength. What’s getting my engine running is the powerful squeeze that makes a captured man gasp, or the brutal slam that even makes my head rattle just watching it. That said, I’ve also been reminded lately that I’m not a fan of musclebound bodies that are so massively developed that a bodybuilder can’t scratch his own nose because his biceps keep getting in the way. That just seems maladaptive and, frankly, not so sexy.
Flexibility is a grosslyundervalued aspect of physical health in general, and in wrestling, it’s even more important. Tolerances for pain and prying, twisting and turning are calibrated precisely to the hard-achieved flexibility of a wrestler. The same guillotine that makes one man scream a frantic submission may be endured, at least for a time, by a more flexible body not so easily pressed to the breaking point.
When I think of flexibility and the homoerotic wrestler, Paul Perris inevitably pops into my brain first. Paul always managed to work the splits into his matches, and really, why not? It’s like a dog licking his own balls… if you or I could physically manage that feat, wouldn’t we be caught doing it ALL the time, wouldn’t we? Anyway, back to Paul… his splits provided a means of delivering punishment to Paul and receiving punishment from Paul. He frequently seemed to enjoy sliding down into splits, particularly in his oil matches, as he tortured his opponent in, say, a full nelson. I don’t see how the splits really added anything to the wrestling, but they were stunning, nonetheless, and they offered fascinating angles to view his muscleboy bubblebutt. Frequently, Paul would be ruthlessly captured by his opponents who would manage to spread his legs freakishly wide as Paul sold some sweet suffering. On those rare occasions he was matched with an equally flexible musclegod like Roman Stone (which he did 3 times), Paul seemed to relish throwing in some split-torture of his own.

Once I’ve managed to stop fixating on an oiled Paul Perris in the splits, my second fondest wrestling contortionist is Brad Rochelle.

Brad’s flexibility is probably easy to overlook. You aren’t alone in being completely intoxicated by the stunning beauty of his muscled physique. His proportions and power are what can sell a still of Brad any day. And speaking of selling, his salesmanship is second to no one’s as far as I’m concerned. But in appreciating Brad matches, it has to be acknowledged, he was one twist-tie of a man.

This is probably why Brad-as-jobber commands such a fanatical following full 2 years after the last match was released with Brad. His flexibility made his capture and torture astonishing to behold. He could be pried so far past the point of normal flexibility, that you couldn’t help but be amazed and fully on board with the notion that he was suffering well beyond the pale.

All this to say that flexibility has got to be the motor oil lubricating my wrestling kink engine. I like ’em big and powerful, no doubt. But I need to see them bend, too. Clearly, I need to get back into yoga.

Labors and Love

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Labor Day weekend is coming to a close in the US, and a nation that’s forgotten its roots in valorizing hard working, working class heroes once again has no idea what to do with itself. Since we really no longer celebrate labor as a nation, and really now model our national success stories after lottery winners and corporate captains of “industry” (who’ve never broken a sweat in their lives), I’m feeling nostalgic today for some hard, hot guys who get dirty.
So this Labor Day, I’m saying bring on the firefighters. Particularly the hunky, hot bodied, gym toned, chisel chinned, runway-ready ones that show up in the calendars, but I’m really a fan of all of them. They work hard doing dangerous work on all sorts of crazy-ass schedules. And they save lives. True story, when I was a small kid our house caught fire and I hid in a closet (the literal one, not the metaphorical one). I was rescued by a firefighter, and the house wasn’t a total loss. Enter my lifelong lust for a hero in rubber boots with a two-handed grasp on his massive hose. It’s not a competition, of course. But I have to say I’m awful partial to the boys that Seattle puts up each year as they raise money for burn prevention and research. And whatever they feed them in Seattle, their firefighters seem to have sliced to shreds abs, year in and year out.
I tend to harbor a grudge against most things New York, because New Yorkers seem to consider themselves the center of gravitational pull for the entire universe (admit it, New Yorkers… you do…). They do hire some sweet, hardbodied hotties to whip out their hoses, though. And the proceeds benefit the Staten Island Burn Center. Win-win.

I haven’t actually seen a South Florida Firefighters Calendar, but these tall, dark and handsome hardbodies make me think I’m due for a trip to Miami Beach. I’m not as compelled by the generic charities they seem to raise money for, but if they oiled this pair up and let me watch them wrestle, I’d sign over most of everything I own for… whatever it is they want my money for.

Some more honorable mentions… Colorado has been putting up beautiful, shaved, massive, bare pecs for a while now. They’re working for your dollars and cents to support Children’s Hospital Burn Center.
And finally, a couple of delightful contenders (though it’s still NOT a competition) who only get honorable mentions because they aren’t celebrating Labor Day where the come from. This tatooed, axe-weilding, babyface hero is from a Toronto firefighter calendar, where they show their big and beautiful bare chests for cancer research. Burn research seems more an intuitive connection with firefighters to me, but there’s nothing wrong with cancer research, by any means.

Finally, this slice of beef is indicative of the quality meat exploited in the UK to get you to donate for services for fire and burn victims in the UK. So, in my recovered memory from being a small child trapped in my closet, this is what it looked like when the firefighter came in and rescued me. Exactly like this.

Happy Labor Day.

Two Great Tastes…

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Trent Diesel, my July homoerotic wrestler of the month, twitted just a couple of days ago that he has a new scene for Raging Stallion online with Rusty Stevens (whose on-again/off-again website has been sadly off again for quite a while). My July homoerotic wrestler of the month paired up with my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy is an excellent combination. The two of them in a boxing ring is the butter cream icing on an already fantastically tasty cake.
I’m pacing myself with regard to my porn budget these days, so I haven’t taken the bait and signed on to see the entire scene at Raging Stallion’s online membership site, Rear Stable. But they’ve offered a provocative-if-brief free teaser. Trent is looking as beautiful as ever with that awesomely aesthetic ink, but more notably in my book, Rusty is sporting a full beard. This fascinates me to no end. I don’t know if I prefer him with or without the beard, but more importantly, I’m thrilled with the opportunity to choose.
The teaser features tragically brief glimpses of these two stars of my wrestling fantasies sucking and screwing from different angles and positions, outside and inside a fight ring. There’s no hint of actual wrestling or fighting in the teaser, so the setting may be all ambient kink. The fact that both of these gorgeous pornboys have some impressive homoerotic wrestling on the resume’ make me still hold out hope that there’s some pre or post fuck wrestling (or during). But it’s all just me and my eternal optimism at this point. If someone else has actually seen the goods, you’ll have to tell me if this inhabits our corner of the homoerotic kink universe.
I continue to be intoxicated by Rusty in any setting. He’s stunning, fierce, and remarkably quick-witted in a career not exactly famous for it’s scholar-athletes. When he’s smooth and trim, Rusty makes me think of a classical marble study in the athletic male form.


With a furry chest, full beard, and hair on top of his head long enough to start to curl, he looks tailor-made for a pro-wrestling heel beatdown on some unsuspecting muscle jobber. I suspect Raging Stallion may not have actually brought that fantasy of mine to life, but the teaser is awfully inspiring, nonetheless.

The Spice of Life

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Pyschology Today (via Towleroad, to me) has an interesting piece on the racial diversification of gay male porn over the past 3 to 5 years. Psychology Today is sort of like light beer… all packaging and marketing without much really satisfying inside. But I like the connections that the article draws between identifying what gay men find attractive and broader socio-demographic trends in racial politics.

As for me, I’m 100% in favor of more diversity. As a born-and-bred middle class suburban white boy, I was raised with deeply engrained, implicit lessons that chisel-chinned white boys are the physical ideal. Happily, just like other sexual tastes and attentions, I’ve since discovered that beautiful boys of all sorts of complexions offer treasures of objectified lusts.
I don’t really spend much of my time or money in the gay porn world, sans wrestling. It’s one long yawn for me. But even in the wrestling kink corner of homoerotica and porn, I think that we’re seeing more racial diversity and less a need to fetishize racial diversity, at the same time, which I think is a good combination.
Whereas it wasn’t long ago that products were prominently marketed that specifically catered to the tastes of those looking for cross-racial wrestling, these days when opponents reflect different racial-ethnic backgrounds, it most frequently goes uncommented on. In most cases, I think that’s progress. My homoerotic wrestler of the month, Bobby Horton, is a white guy who came into possession of that title on the merits of his smokin’ hot, edge-of-insanity dismantling of bodybeautiful muscle god, Tyrell Tomsen. I’m sure for many people still, a battle like that continues to be first and foremost a morality play in contemporary racial politics. And, true enough, the white boy delivers a beat down and humiliating defeat of the physically dominant black hunk, which stands in a long tradition of white fantasy about subduing and possessing the physical threat from men of color. But as far as I read the text (and I’ve been happy to read and reread that text over and over again to enjoy Bobby’s delightful performance) the story that’s primarily told is really about the battle between the beauty of brawn and the cunning of ring savvy. If anything, Tyrell plays the role of the refined, sculpted, entitled muscle god to Bobby’s crazy-ass, brutish, uncivilized short-cutter. I realize that this doesn’t eliminate the racial politics that play out in the homoerotic wrestling ring, but it screws with expectations and long-held prejudices enough to be at least resistant toward white privilege, if not entirely dismantling of it.
BG East has been promoting a lot of Latinos lately, and that’s 110% just fine with me. If white Eurocentric privilege managed to keep the likes of Rafe Sanchez (mmmm…. Rafe….), Rio Garza and Lobolito off of my shelf, my life would be much less entertaining.
Can-Am has been tossing the likes of Michael Vineland, Max Munoz, and yes, Rio Garza onto the mats, making their typically-happy-ending wrestling formula much more diverse than it may have been at one time.
Naked Kombat frequently puts up men of color, like recent battlers Jack Hammer, Derek Reynolds and Race Cooper. It’s not all one formula for fetishing the racial composition of the match, by any means. Depending on the fighters on any given day, Naked Kombat’s wrestlers of color end up battling each other or white guys, and they end up on top or on bottom with seemingly similar frequencies.
I’m intentionally taking a look at Thunder’s Arena with fresh eyes lately, particularly after reading the very enjoyable interview that Joe did with Mr. Mike and Ace Hanson at Ringside at Skull Island recently. Young stunner rookie AJ looks like another case in point of the expanding pool of skill and beauty to which homoerotically-inclined wrestling is turning.
More is better… variety is the spice of life… the pithy sayings go on and on to explain why it is that all of this is a very good thing. Still, I think we need to keep an eye on the way that racial politics play out even in (especially in) our erotic fantasies. I know, I know. It’s a buzz kill. But it also reveals something about what we believe down deep, how we live, and underneath any socialization or commitments to political correctness, how we picture ourselves in relation to racial difference. I like where things seem to be heading, and I think that we would all do well to remember where we’ve been, and the ways that racism have long played a major role in dominant homo-culture, much less hetero-culture, in the past forty years.

Where It Hurts

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When I was a kid, I’d typically scheme all the time to start a wrestling match with a friend. Inevitably in the fumbling scramble, sooner or later, someone would get “racked,” by which we meant that they took a blow to the groin. It was always unintentional… or, at least, it was always unintentional on my part. Looking back on it, I sort of suspect that some of my wrestling buddies probably threw in a precisely placed knee every so often. I was always such a naive babyface.

The new Arena update at BG East has tickled my fancy once again with some preview pics of an upcoming release featuring the mouth-watering ass of Kid Karisma in action against Len Harder. This looks like it leans more the to homoerotic side than most of what I’ve seen Kid in, including some suck-face and ball claws. Good, good times…
The fact that this catches my eye and tweaks my kink so instantly is a relatively new thing. When I was a kid and would wrestle with my buddies, getting “racked” was an instant time out. The action stopped whenever someone took a blow to the groin. Every boy learns about the bundle of nerve endings in the groin, don’t we? At some point or another, we all experience that near-paralyzing pain of taking a shot to the balls. All the air rushes out of your lungs. Your head feels like it’s about to explode. You instinctively roll up into the fetal position with your hands cupped over your crotch to protect it from further abuse. It’s no fun, and as a kid it was typically a mood-killer for me.
Ball abuse as a mood-maker has been only a pretty recent development for me. I’ve always liked the concept of hands on genitals in my homoerotic wrestling. I just always cringe when I see some convincing bashing, twinges of some of my own greatest hits echoing through my body. I swear, it’s tissue memory more than anything cognitive. I see a blow to the balls, and I have a pre-cognitive cringe reflex. But lately, I find some hot, hard ball claws intensely erotic. I’m writing ball abuse into every fictional wrestling match I write.
I think I attribute my expanding my wrestling kink repertoire to Derek da Silva. He shows up frequently in homoerotic wrestling on the other end of the ball bashing stick. And he clearly LOVES it. I mean, seriously, he gets harder the more he gets bashed. Now, if Derek were naked and just hanging the laundry on the line, I’d be unable to stop myself from masturbating. But Derek grappling, getting ball bashed, and getting off on getting bashed has just turned a key in the back of my mind somewhere.
I still cringe. But the cringe and the pain and the primal domination of ball abuse are somehow doing it for me these days like never before. And it’s not like you can shake a stick and not smack up some ball torture everywhere you turn. Hell, in Naked Kombat you get points for it. It’s absolutely mandatory.
Can-Am has long sprinkled ball torture throughout their products. I remember one particular match that blew my mind when I saw Jimmy Dean shove his hand down the back of Mark Wolff’s trunks, reach between his legs, and claw at his testicles from behind. The boys, the gear, the ring, the bodies… everything about that makes me gasp a little.
BG East has ball claws featured prominently everywhere, in explicitly ball-torture themed products and otherwise. There’s just something stunning about the sight of a bodybeautiful, musclegod/ken doll like Jace Bradley pressed against the ropes and completely at Mr. Joshua’s mercy with his balls firmly in Mr. Joshu’s hand.
So I guess what this post is really about is the evolution of sexual appetite, the refinement of erotic tastes, and the observation that even when it comes to my wrestling kink, I’m not the same person I was even a couple of years ago. What strikes me as erotic, arousing, and captivating is growing and maturing as I march through life, scarfing down homoerotic wrestling every chance I get.

Brothers in Arms

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I finally posted a reader-request superhero short story to the Sidelineland wrestling fiction group. As I mentioned before, this was a remarkably long time coming and a lot more challenging than I’d expected. I finally focused on the concept of the typical superheroes “beginnings” story from the perspective of homoerotic wrestling kink.
What sort of super power would you want to have as a full-time homoerotic wrestling extraordinaire? When push comes to shove, what superhuman ability might count for good wrestling kink drama? Those were the sort of questions that finally brought this wandering ship into port and helped me finish off a short story draft that I felt decent enough about to share.


So what I came up with was a “beginnings” story of two 18 year old adoptive brothers whose shared lifelong dream has been to earn their way into the ranks of “the League” of superheroes. I’ve built in some teasers for potential further chapters, including hinting at a post-apocalyptic context and more characters that might get sketched in. The two brothers find themselves wrestling one another for an audition to join the hero training program.

By the end of the 3-fall audition match, both young hunks are bewildered to discover that this wrestling match was like no other they’d experienced. They both tap into aptitudes previously unrecognized, and victory is balanced on skills that they never knew that they had before. Loyalties are tested, and their world is turned upside down as they both start to get the idea that the life of a superhero is something quite different than what they thought it would be.

This may not be the cup of tea for many folks who’re drawn to homoerotic wrestling chatter. It also may not quite line up with eroticized superhero fanatics. But for the narrow slice of you into a homoerotic wrestling superhero fantasy, check it out. If it strikes your fancy, let me know what works and what you might like to see more of. If it’s a miss for you, send me a sample of your own original wrestling fiction to give me an idea of how it’s done right!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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Trent Diesel’s reign as my homoerotic wrestler of the month is coming to a close. I’m still rooting for more wrestling action from the prime time porn boy, at which point he might make another -of-the-month appearance, or he could seriously make a run in my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy rankings. In the mean time, time marches on. New releases this month have been pretty abundant, particularly for the lean months of summer. BG East released the second half of their catalog 83 new releases, including some notable performances by Rio Garza & Reese Wells, Bobby Horton & Tyrell Tomsen, and an impressive 1-on-2 beatdown by Donnie Drake. Naked Kombat put up 4 contenders, including a pretty damn tasty oil match debut for one hard, compact little bundle of hot muscle, Sami Damo. I’m too confused to track the timing of Can-Am’s to-disc releases, so I’m just going to count their Max subscription releases as new to me, since that’s where I’m getting most of my Can-Am fix lately. As a result, I’m tossing in the first few scenes from Arena 4, Toy Fights, and Jobe Zander vs. Aryz Quinn Director’s Battle as contenders. If you’re keeping count, Aryx Quinn is in all three of these Can-Am releases, which brings to mind my comments about Rio Garza’s overexposure recently. But in the interest of keeping the peace, I’ll just let it pass. Did I miss any new releases?

Well, without further ado… my pick for reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month is Bobby Horton.

A major factor in my selection of Bobby is how he came completely out of the blue to shock me into awed respect. The last time I caught sight of Bobby, Mitch Colby’s balls were wresting on his chin in Backyard Brawls 5. While I was jealous of that position, I really didn’t take much note of Bobby (my eyes were all over Mitch).

Well, Bobby’s come a long way, baby. Storming the ring against muscleboy Tyrell Tomsen in BG East’s Ring Rookies 3: A Heel is Born, Bobby grabbed hold of my attention with both hands, shook me around a bit, slapped my ass and absolutely made me sit up and take notice.
Bobby emerges as an out-and-out freak in this bout with Tyrell. A screw shook loose somewhere along the way (perhaps in getting manhandled by the drop dead gorgeousness of Mitch), and Bobby is wrestling like he just doesn’t care who he hurts any more. Wait, I take that back… Bobby is wrestling like he cares just a little too much about hurting just about anyone. He’s a little maniacal, a lot sadistic, and he moves like a work of pro-style art.
Not to give it all away, but Bobby is the one mentioned in the subtitle of this match. He’s getting some major kicks thwarting the overwhelming power of Tyrell and, in turn, laying some devastating hurt on the big man. He also takes as good as he gives, but it’s the give that really turned me into a Bobby fan this month. Bobby’s in the nonpornboy ranks (so far… I can always dream), but he brings plenty of kink with him to his beatdown on Tyrell. He’s got the moves. He’s got a hot, made-for-pro, rough and tumble body. And now that he’s got a balls-out giant-killer lust to lay down some hurt, I say he’s the total package. Bring on some more Bobby!

It’s the Pits

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I have friends who are as fanatical about armpits as I am about a screaming body scissors (I’m a little fixated lately, I know). Personally, I find armpits about as erotic as the rest of the body, which means I find them very erotic. But they don’t typically stand out for me. On the other hand, the fashion model pose with hands behind head, camera’s gaze centered on the armpit, is absolutely everywhere, so clearly male beauty and armpits are closely linked for a lot of folks.
I know some guys who are into nothing but hairy pits. They scoff and roll their eyes at the sight of shaved pits and make derogatory comments about the man’s gender and masculinity. As for me, sure, I’m all for hairy armpits. Take newest member of my wrestling fiction pantheon, Jared Prudoff.
On second thought, you can’t take him. He’s mine. Instead, take fitness model Hendrik Snyman and his hairy-if-coiffed pits. There’s just nothing wrong with either of these sets armpits, as far as I’m concerned.
I do pose the caveat that I’m not a fan of deodorant caked into hairy armpits. I’m just fine to do some armpit worship as long as everything is tidy and clean, or during and after a wrestling match, as long as there’s nothing but the musky sweet of hard earned sweat. Portuguese bodybeautiful Rodriogo Guilherme, for example, who I posted unattributed a few days ago (shame on me) may be water-soaked or sweat-soaked, but his pits are primed and ready for some worship.
I do have a couple of friends who are exclusively fans of shaved armpits. They turn their nose up at anything more than a 5 o’clock shadow under the arms. As for me, I’m entirely a fan of shaved pits, particularly on well-muscled physiques adorned only in wrestling gear. Take one-named Russian model Anatoli (who I also posted uncited a couple of days ago). With muscles like that, a nice shave does nothing but accentuate the shape and size of those gorgeous pecs and arms.

And speaking of wrestling armpits, wrestlers, like the fashion model boys, frequently appear in stills proudly displaying their pits. Whatever is most comfortable for the battleboys in question is exactly what I’m a fan of. When cleft-chin fratboy extrordinaire Brad Rochelle wrestled with some carefully coiffed pit hair, I was ecstatic. I’d schoolboy that hunk, pin his arm over his head, and lick every inch of him within reach of my tongue morning, noon and night.

Same hunk a few years later wrestling entirely shaved, and nothing at all has changed as far as I’m concerned. Schoolboy…arm pinned overhead… severe tongue lashing… absolute gratification.

I’m a major fan of the post-victory flex-pose of Reese Wells, in no small part because of the remarkable display he offers of his physique, including the pits. I swear he’s a magician. He gives every impression of being a barely-legal, skinny white boy. But when he’s posing with his arms over his head, his shaved armpits stretching up into remarkably defined and solidly massive biceps and triceps are just astounding. There’s just something about Reese that just screams out for him to get dropped gut first across my knee for a severe spanking, followed up immediately by getting dropped back-first across my knee for a screaming OTK backbreaker with a ball-claw chaser. Not sure what it is that makes him seem to me to demand such treatment, but there it is.

So for beautiful model boys and wrestlers alike, and especially for beautiful model boys who wrestle (in real life, or in my imagination) I may not always mention it, but I’m entirely a fan of the pits. The eroticized, objectified male physique seems to be unable to be examined without a close up, centered gaze on the armpits. I’m all for it, whatever grooming regimen you ascribe to (as long as you ascribe to one).

The Morning News

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I’ve seen a lot of chatter about the probably-ill-advised off-handed joke from Brian Williams that his penis is so huge that he can’t wear flat-front pants. Although I have a well-documented newsboy fetish, Brian doesn’t really quite do it for me. Still, I like this whole train of thought. Long before Brian’s interview, I’d already spent a whole lot of time imagining what some of my favorite newsboys might be packing underneath their cinched ties and navy blue suits. Just to tally the stats from my strip-wrestling fantasies, I imagine that Thomas Roberts is notably long; Chris Cuomo is thick with massive balls; Carter Evans is long and keeps everything shaved and tidy; and Rob Marciano is another thick Italian who manscapes only conservatively. Bill Hemmer is short and stubby, but that’s the least of his problems. For the record, I’m a fan of cocks in a variety of shapes and sizes… except for Bill Hemmer. Wouldn’t touch that with a 10-foot pole.
Anyhow… once again I feel the need to call out another ABC news hunk. Jeremy Hubbard caught my eye this morning filling in as the newsreader. He must be around 37 years old, and it looks like he used to carry a bit more weight at one time than he does now. For my purposes, I’m going to call him “fighting trim.” It suits him well.
The perpetual upturn at the innermost point of his right eyebrow is seriously adorable. There’s something boyish at him, with a “who… me?” false innocence permanently plastered on his face. If that doesn’t translate into the wrestling ring, what does!?
And he’s an alpha dog, which exponentiates his hotness. And if I’m not mistaken, that’s a terrier he’s with, which doubles his already exponentiated hotness. His look doesn’t quit grab be by the genitals the way that Chris or fellow rookie, Matt Gutman does. But as we all know, superior looks are far from what counts the most in the ring. Watch out, News Division. Someone’s got a date with a skinny white boy rookie!