Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Too Much of a Fantastic Thing

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I’m in major holiday-weekend barbecue zone right now. I’m not sure that I’ll even be able to manage to maintain my once a day posting. I’ll do my best for those of you who need a break from the beers, backyards, and poppies this Memorial Day weekend.

My brief posting for today is mostly just an opportunity to drool over my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens. Some of you may have noted that yesterday’s post won’t allow comments. That’s because the persistent, vile phisher who keeps trying to post malware links in comments to this blog is at it again. When I went to delete the comment, I mistakenly hit “publish.” Now I don’t know how to delete a published comment. Rather than risk someone stumbling across it, I just closed down comments entirely for that post and hid what was mistakenly posted.
In case you’re dying to get in your 2 cents on the wonders that are Rusty Stevens, I thought I’d just post a few more tantalizing images and leave the comments open. I also wanted to pass along this bizarrely fantastic story (at least from my point of view) that Rusty had to be rushed to the hospital with priapism from the set of a production he was starring in outside of Miami earlier this year. I’m desperate to hear that this whole thing happened when he and Mitch Colby met on the mats in Florida, and Rusty found himself so aroused by his #1 contender that his erection raged on with a mind of its own.
Hell, that fictional backstory alone earns Mitch some momentum in dethroning Rusty. Rusty better watch his back, and apparently he might want to lay off the viagra next time he’s finding himself scissored between Mitch’s powerful thighs.

Making Me a Believer

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Joe at Ringside at Skull Island recently noted that, if stuck on a desert island, he would simply have to have WiFi access to Naked Kombat in order to survive. Specifically, he calls out Rusty Steven’s oil match with Tommy Defendi as foundational to the wrestling kink ordered universe (okay, I’m taking major license with Joe’s eloquent words… read them for yourself for the real deal). In any case, although I’ve written about this match before, Joe’s musings sent me back to appreciate it all over again (thanks, Joe!).

Rusty is continuing to sit pretty atop the standings as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, just like he sits pretty atop Tommy’s face throughout much of their match. I think the image of Rusty’s gorgeous ass planted on Tommy’s face as Rusty tortures the kid’s cock and balls surely must be evidence of the existence of intelligent design. The alignment of so many perfect elements simply couldn’t have happened by chance: Rusty’s fantastic ass, Tommy’s handsomely bearded face, the oil, the cock torture, the tattoos, all caught on tape… This was simply meant to be.
Rusty’s performance should be referenced in the definition of the term “to manhandle.” He is one massive bundle of muscle and sheer will, tossing Tommy around like a sack of potatoes (a very, very hot sack of potatoes). When Rusty is pressing out of a tight spot, that fantastic guttural roar emerging from deep in his chest, I swear that sound all by itself can make me pre-cum.
No one, but NO ONE rides his beaten man like a pony quite like Rusty. The humiliation and complete ownership make me light-headed. The “rules” of NK leave it up to the victor to do what he will with the loser. Rusty, being the deserving champion he is, exercises such exquisite homoerotic domination, literally riding his man like a domesticated pack animal. Tommy, like all of Rusty’s conquests on NK, clearly resent his humiliated state. He performs reluctantly, allowing this god of a man to ridicule him because this is what he signed up for. The glimpse that this “sex round” offers into Rusty’s kinky mind is absolutely priceless. What would you do with a handsome muscle stud at your complete mercy for any sexual gratification you can imagine, Rusty? Why, Bard, I’ll ride him like a pony, verbally beat him into humiliated submission just as I beat him into physical submission, and work his body from every angle possible to the end that I (and you) reach the height of ecstatic climax. Awesome, Rusty. You are, indeed, the man.
The last bit of this match-up leaves me stunned. How could it get even more wrestling-kinktastic? Well, Bard, watch me scissor the kid’s neck between my legs as we both stroke ourselves to a gasping explosion as I toy with Tommy’s airway. Holy. Hell. Thank you, whatever divinity brought together these over-the-top perfect elements to create such an exquisite moment of wrestling kink mastery. I am a believer.

Value Added: Rumors and Fantasies

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Who’s getting a little damp fantasizing about the rumors that Daniel Craig has been seen at a gay bar, and then outside a gay bar making out with his buddy? I realize you can’t see it, but my hand is stretched enthusiastically overhead. Frankly, it all looks like catty bitches spreading rumors in order to generate advertising dollars. I’m highly suspicious that studpuppy Daniel has actually spent much time at all with his tongue down another man’s throat. It’s a pleasing image, mind you. I’m just suspicious.

At least when I put in print homoerotic fantasies about Daniel Craig, I’m clear that it’s fiction. Daniel is one of the undefeated titans in my homoerotic wrestling fiction. He hasn’t shown up on the mats in quite a while, but he remains one of my favorite characters to write. Daniel’s over-the-knee backbreaker applied to Christian Bale, stroking Christian hard and then clawing his testicles harder, is a favorite image in my mind. Another fond mental picture is Daniel’s naked musclebutt planted across Hugh Jackman’s face as the Brit claws at the Aussie’s pecs. Good times.
So, just to be clear, all of that is fiction. It didn’t happen. Perhaps I wish it would, but it’s all a product of my imagination. What’s a fact is that Daniel Craig is just about the sexiest hunk of man meat on the big screen, for my money. And picking up on my latest obsession, Daniel with a full beard works for me big time. The salt and pepper is fantastic. His ice blue eyes somehow look even more fluorescent when he’s sporting facial hair.
Still, Daniel with a judicious coverage of scruff actually works just a little better for my tastes. If I’m going to picture being his buddy, backed against a wall on a late, LA night, with Daniel pressing his thick pecs and swelling crotch into me as he leans in with those pouty lips, then I’ll take him with a couple days growth. This is fiction, after all.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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I’m not sure why I’m strolling down memory lane so much lately. Perhaps it’s a desperate attempt to retreat from the current demands of my life. In any case, I had a completely out of the blue epiphany yesterday. Hands down, undeniably, I’m absolutely convinced of it: Steve Bond turned me gay.

Steve was the flavor of the month right in my most impressionable adolescent years (aren’t they all, really?). I saw him splashed across magazine covers all over the place for a brief moment in time. It was around the time he was on General Hospital. I wasn’t familiar with him from there, though. I knew him as the jaw-dropping adonis showing up everywhere I looked on the newsstand, making me hard as granite and drooling like a Saint Bernard.
Oddly enough, I think the only acting work I ever saw him in was an episode of Matlock. Holy shit, that’s embarrassing to confess. Yes, for a period of time I watched Matlock. No, I’m not old enough to be your grandfather (bite me). But seriously, I have a crystal clear image of the gorgeous coverboy on Matlock, if I’m not mistaken, shirtless. IMDB confirms that this isn’t just a brain fart. He did appear in an episode of Matlock around 1987.
IMDB also tell me that sex-on-a-stick Steve was a Chippendale dancer. Yes. Yes, indeed. And IMDB also gives the fascinating detail that he was born with the name Shlomo Goldberg in Haifa. Sweet God. It’s no wonder this man snatched up my adolescent imagination and made me worship him with mindless abandon. Perhaps the name Shlomo doesn’t do it for you. I realize I may be entirely on my own on this one. But that’s over-the-top, nipple licking, cock massaging, (his) knees across my shoulders, homoerotic to me.
I owe my firstborn (okay, I think I’ve given that one away multiple times… let’s say my fifth born) to the Shrine to the Soap Hunks for cataloging precisely the images that I remember capturing me by the cock as a teenager. Just browsing through these pics makes me feel 14 years old again, discovering that I am immediately weak in the knees and hard in several other places at the sight of a gorgeous, muscled hardbody.
Despite the fact that I totally knew I was gay long before I caught pin-up boy Steve’s stunning, provocatively posed body, I’ll stick to my guns on this one. If there was any chance that I was going to grow out of my Muscle & Fitness collecting, erotic obsession with muscled hunks and instead turn out straight, Steve Bond put a stop to that singlehandedly. Yes, indeed. Steve Bond turned me gay (thanks, Shlomo).

Bard’s Ass Gets Kicked (again)

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At this very moment, I am once again getting my ass kicked.

Sadly, so sadly, it’s not the hot, erotic kind of ass-kicking. It’s the suffocate you with paperwork ass-kicking. It’s the kind of ass-kicking that comes from doing the same, tedious task over and over until you’re so limp you worry that you’ll never be able to get hard again. It’s the cold-ice down your pants kind of ass-kicking that leaves your testicles shrunken and your eyes watering.
I can think of many, many more ass-kickings I’d much rather be enduring right now.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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So this could count for any number of regular themed posts on this blog. Bodies over time. Hunks I want to pec claw until they scream. But most genuinely, it has to be said, Steve Guttenberg turned me gay.
Steve’s gorgeous, hairy pecs appeared throughout the late eighties and early nineties in movie after movie. It was seeing him shirtless and wet in Cocoon that turned a certain impressionable adolescent into a hunk-lusting lover of men.
Like so many of my favorite fantasy men, Steve is sexier by a multiple of 20.5 (precisely) as a result of being both a hot, hardbodied hunk and a smart ass class clown. There’s something disarming about a comedian-by-day that leaves me helpless to do anything other than worship him when he’s a pec-tacular body-beautiful by night.

Squarehippies is reposting some pics from Dreamcaps of Steve still working those muscled, hairy pecs even today. This is a body that has held up extremely well over time, and in fact I think Steve at 52 offers some fantasy delights that Steve at 27 didn’t even bring to the table. Now… then… anytime in-between – those fantastic, broad, defined furry pecs are screaming out for some serious punishment-turned-pleasure.

So perhaps Steve Guttenberg didn’t exactly turn me gay. But my moments of pec-fetish even today have got to be traced to the beauty of his recurring bare torso during my adolescence.

My Left Kidney

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The next season of True Blood is quickly approaching, so news and teasers are popping up with increasing frequency. In turn, my obsession for the Norse god, Alexander Skarsgård, is kicking into high gear.

Alexander is also a study in scruff. I think Hollywood must have a shortage of razors, considering the prevalence of stubble everywhere. Alexander’s beard is a bit sketchy. Some beards just don’t grow in as well as others. Alexander’s is patchy and not altogether value added, I think.

Case in point that not all facial hair gets my vote. Also, case in point that I’d sell a kidney to buy the opportunity to have this 6’4″ Swedish stunner pick me off my feet in a bearhug (hope he doesn’t mind me cumming on his abdomen).
Speaking of Alexander and bearhugs, he’s made three appearances in my wrestling fiction, though only two featured in the ring/on the mats. In the Producer’s Ring he is undefeated, savagely dominant, and chomping at the bit for more shots at propelling his career to greater heights.

In my imagination, Alexander as wrestler is a total ball basher. Interestingly, in this world, at least one fan couldn’t help herself from grabbing a handful of his crotch, not unlike his performances in the Producer’s Ring. From the pics of this scene from Just Jared, Alexander looks pretty nonplussed by the crotch grab, which only adds to my fixation on his performance as a ball bashing, cock torturing, so-far-unstoppable Swedish buzzsaw. I love battlers with balls of steel (e.g., Chip Slater).

Apparently a new teaser for True Blood shows Alexander shirtless, ripped, and potentially entirely naked. Just the thought makes my heart race and my head a little light. This is a man of my fantasies, indeed.

Earning a Shot, continued

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The battle of the internet muscle gods is firing up again. A couple days ago, SteelMuscleGod posted a new clip, showing us that he’s continued to build his beautiful muscles while he’s been absent from posting recently.

Of course, Adam400m, even on vacation in Cyprus, can’t let SMG have the last word, so he posted an update of his gorgeous, Mediterranean tanned, sun bleach blond muscle body today. Adam’s growing into his role as worship-worthy. Check out his gloating smile and nod of self-congratulation as he admires his own muscles at 0:24 and 0:34. Sizzling…
Which reminds me that we last left the Battle of the Gods some time ago, with French stallion Yann making Adam weep and beg in a figure-4 leg lock.
While torturing Adam’s tree-trunk legs, Yann lifts his arms and flexes his massive biceps, his torso turned to face his true target, SteelMuscleGod. Adam screams in primal anguish as his back arches and his torso flexes futilely. “This is nothing,” Yann snarls, his upper lip curled in disgust as his eyes remain riveted on SMG who remains leaning against a wall watching the action. “If this is your best competition, your days as a god are numbered!” SMG purses his lips and flexes his thick pecs intimidatingly, ominously silent.
With Yann’s attentions on his next bout, he fails to notice Adam twisting his shoulders, slowly rolling toward his right side. Too late, Yann’s eyes snap back to see Adam capitalize on his size advantage, rolling both men over to their stomaches. The switch in positions leaves Adam free to bend his captured knee, and quickly Adam presses himself off the mat. Disentangling their legs, grabs the Frenchman’s ankles and slowly lowers his muscled ass down across the small of Yann’s back, immobilizing Yann’s legs.
Yann grunts in pain, pounding his fist on the floor in frustration. Adam’s mouth hangs open, his tongue out slightly in concentration as he laces Yann’s ankles together and then pulls hard on the Frenchman’s left foot, stretching the tendons in his ankle and knee dangerously. Yann cries out in panic.
“For that sucker kick, I’m going to snap these little pencils that you call legs in half, you piece of shit!” Adam barks down. He twists harder, feeling the tension approaching the breaking point in his opponent’s knee. Adam chuckles, his eyes closing in reverie. Silently smiling at his own domination of his opponent, he whispers, “This is going to hurt a lot, my mortal friend.”

Value Added: The Ryans

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I’m still a little fixated on facial hair lately, so I’m just thinking through a couple more cases in point:

Tear your eyes away from Ryan Reynolds’ gorgeous pecs and ripped abs with every line of his torso pointing like an arrow to his crotch. I’ll give you a minute…


Okay, now consider the slightly(?) airbrushed face. There may be a little scruff there, but from this distance, we have an essentially clean shaven hunk. Gorgeous facial structure. Great, strong chin. The perpetual Ryan Reynolds smirk. Nothing at all wrong here.
Now let’s examine Mr. Reynolds with a full beard. I know, I know. Having him in shackles, bruised and bleeding, and on his knees totally biases this little comparison. This is directly out of a homoerotic bondage fantasy. Still, try to examine the face again. For the time it takes me to construct a jack-off fantasy, the beard is total value added.
While we’re on Ryans (double entendre intended), let’s consider my other favorite Ryan as of late. Ryan Gosling is extremely fond of the two-day scruff, but here’s a pic of him relatively smooth shaven and absolutely mouth watering with his bulging biceps and shoulders and fantastic pecs stretching the confines of his club boy sleeveless T. If I can manage to stop fantasizing about alternating pain and pleasure applied to those nipples, I say this hunk is worship-worthy as is.

Ryan with a full on beard, and I’m a little light-headed. Kissing a bearded face like this is a major plus in my experience, despite the scratchy/itchy whining I’ve heard from some of my friends. A little pain is nothing but more erotic (as if I need to tell that to this crowd!). Speaking of which, maneuvering this pouty hardbody into a camel clutch, with your fingers laced just underneath that bearded chin, and I swear I’d be cumming across his upper back hands-free. Definite, undeniable, stick a fork in it, value added.

Filthy/Gorgeous

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I try to restrain myself from controversial topics here. Sure, I’ll ponder the pleasures of wrestling kink and consider its connections to BDSM. I’ll examine the intuitive eroticism of gorgeous men crushing one another with nothing but their barely clad bodies. But I do my best (though often I fail) to avoid really sticky topics like politics and music. I brace myself for inciting someone’s rage if I ever venture into such subjective tastes that clearly do not unite us as a wrestling kink community.
But I simply can’t ignore the recent pics from Tetu of Scissor Sisters rocker Jake Shears that are popping up all over the internet. Homofantastic Shears is jaw dropping gorgeous in this photo shoot.
Full disclosure (bracing myself): I am a fan. In fact, I frequently listen to Scissor Sisters when I’m heading into a particularly trying day, which usually transforms me into someone fuck-it-all empowered, seriously-fuck-it-all eroticized, and ready to take no prisoners. Just this morning I was getting my full dose injection of Scissor Sisters, singing along to Music is the Victim.

They might not agree, but I think the band is populated by kindred spirits. The overt homoeroticism of Scissor Sisters is unapologetic and laced with more than a healthy dose of humor. Jake clawing at his own balls on stage stripped to his bikini underwear is highly motivating for me, and whatever it is, it’s flipping the same switch that goes off inside me when I see a muscled badboy cracked backward in an over-the-knee backbreaker getting his cock squeezed by his sneering opponent.
I’m not hugely into music, really. But an over the top homo male stripper hottie turned homoerotic disco rocker will always be able to grab me by the balls (in the good way).