




Jared Prudoff can’t wait to see who steps out of the rec room and into the final round with him.





Jared Prudoff can’t wait to see who steps out of the rec room and into the final round with him.












Dick is pitched just right for this low budget commercial. He sells a fast and silly premise with zero dialogue and an annoying co-star (I know I’m projecting, and I’m fine with that). Soaking him down at the end of the commercial so that we all get hint of those thick, round pecs and sliced up abs is genius marketing. First and foremost a pro, Dick sells.







Of course, more and more we learn that homosexuality, and same-sex mating and pairings are much more common across many species than the heterosexual version of evolution would suggest. And the story of young, virile men battling with one another is both age old and intimately tied to erotic arts, sexual prowess, and physical attraction. And clearly, mainstream fight-sport is pitched not for female eyes at all. MMA, boxing, wrestling, frat house grappling… these are not packaged and pitched for women to consume. It’s not a female audience that makes televised fight-sport profitable. These competitions are between men, managed by men, for male eyes to hungrily witness.
I wouldn’t suggest that all men who treat a UFC pay-per view as must-see television are raging ‘mos. But I certainly don’t buy the argument that the physical excitement, passionate intensity, and visceral delight that so many men take from following the UFC, or boxing, or pro-wrestling, or their frat brothers scrapping in the chapter house, or the furious young punks throwing down behind the gym after school is somehow an intellectual pursuit divorced from erotic pleasure. Viewers aren’t engaged on a simply cerebral level, no matter how exclusively they sleep with women. They care because watching young, fit, fierce men battle single-handedly for physical domination is titillating. They’re hearts beat faster. Faces grow flushed. Lungs automatically pump faster. Adrenalin is released at the sight of the hard bodies going head-to-head. And men of all stripes find themselves physically reacting, aroused at the sight of young bodies locked in battle for domination, with a physical, climactic thrill to see one competitor decisively triumph, leaving his challenger entirely, physically at his mercy.



Making progress on my wrestling fiction, I’ve posted the first semi-final match in the Producer’s Ring Secretarial Pool auditions. It pits first round stand-outs Jared Prudoff and Rafael Verga in a balls out, back and forth battle to the bitter end.





As I sit with the paradox of anyone with a bad thing to say about my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, the truth slowly sinks through my initial defensiveness. Of course there will be people who completely disagree with my estimation of the wonders and joys of Rusty. The great thing about tastes is that they vary. The skills that I value most may not be at all what turns the crank or sells the goods to the kinkster sitting (virtually) next to me.





I neglected to thank the generous boys at MuscleRomania for giving me permission to repost a few of their photos yesterday. I also had a couple of last thoughts about these delightful Romanian hunks, so here’s part 2 of yesterday’s post:















I’ve sat and looked at this photo shoot of Diego getting baptized in his underwear for quite a while, and I still can’t get enough. Somewhere in there, there’s a critique of the church and the sexuality/asexuality of the Roman Catholic priesthood. I’m sure of it. I can’t quite pull together all the pieces of the text of this art, but it’s there, and it provokes, and I’m enthralled, and Diego is both art and the content of art in this case, which warps my mind just a little.
I promised to owe a favor to whomever rounded up full on pics of this beauty’s ink. I’ll have to decide how to cash in and treat myself…