Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

The Display

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Emotionally crushed by Chris Cuomo’s announcement today that he’s abandoning me in the mornings, I’m thinking about how I’ll miss the display of his beauty each day. Hunks on display is a big part of what gets me going. For example, straight-up aggressive fighting often isn’t a pretty sight. The action is frequently up close, with a lot of clutches that obscure the action and the bodies, victory determined by subtle points of pressure rather than dramatic displays of dominance. But pro-wrestling and homoerotic wrestling know what the audience is looking for: beautiful bodies on display. So even when it isn’t particularly effective combat, the pros make the display of suffering bodies as much an art as a science. Victory may not be defined by some of these exhibitionist moves, but satisfying the fans is.

Wrestling Arsenal, which I’m thrilled is now blogging, has a huge catalogue of the wrestling art of displaying suffering hunks. The kneeboard that stretches out this captured stud is a classic example. As the sadist focuses his torture on the center of his victim’s back, the rest of us are treated to the stunning display of that massive chest, the sweaty abs, and the spread-eagle display centering his crotch. It’s about the struggle, the suffering, the pain… but it’s most certainly also about the stunning display of a hot, muscled body.
In the Can-Am classic match up of Vic Silver vs. Johnny Lightning, musclegod Vic transitions a double hammerlock into this fantastic variation, lifting Johnny entirely off his feet and suspending the suffering hunk’s body. Truthfully, a position like this requires some serious cooperation between these two competitors. This doesn’t just happen in the beat down of one man on another. But this isn’t just about the beat down. It’s about the exploration of Johnny’s gorgeous body, all his muscles and power laid out vulnerably and helplessly for our appraisal and, let’s face it, worship. Vic owns Johnny here, and generously, he shares his stunning prize with those of us watching on in awe.
Steve Arnold and Doug Brandon square off in another Can-Am oldie. Again, the double hammer lock ostensibly tells the story of Doug’s dominance over oil-soaked bodybuilder Steve. Doug’s gloating smile looking down on the anguish contorting Steve’s face tells the story of the sadist feeding his lust for humiliating a muscle jobber. But the other story, the implied story, is that we, through the lens of the camera, are being treated to the awesome display of Steve’s rippled torso immobilized and presented for our lustful gaze. Steve is Doug’s victim here, but he’s our trophy, thoughtfully oiled up, trussed up, and humiliated for our appreciation.
No one understands this better than BG East’s Kid Leopard. Kid has always been the master of not only dominating and humiliating his studly opponents, but positioning them in such a way as to lay them open in astonishingly intimate and vulnerable ways that invite us to examine every crack and crevice of their beautiful form. It’s no wonder Kid is a successful promoter, because he obviously knows what the audience wants to see, and he’s happy to oblige us. Kid twists and ties them, squeezes and pries them into such bizarre, exposed, suspended positions of vulnerability that we can’t help be marvel at the beauty of the captured male body. In his dismantling of Dick the Prick in Submissions 4, from his feet he manages to spread his opponent’s legs wide, crush the jobbers chin to his chest, and display Dick’s ass, package, taut legs, and muscled abs and chest all in one pretty picture. This surely wasn’t the most direct route to defeating the stud, but it was undoubtedly one of the hottest thanks to Kid’s generous, thoughtful, artistry in displaying the helpless hunk for our benefit.

I’m Devastated… and You Should Be, Too

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It’s not right. IT’S NOT RIGHT! I don’t ask so much. Some gorgeous Italian hotness with my morning cup of tea, and I can face my day. But after a couple of weeks of vile, nasty speculation that George Stephanopoulos is replacing Diane Sawyer at Good Morning America (ahead of also-ran, my morning ray of sunshine, Chris Cuomo), now I get this devastating news: Chris is, indeed, leaving Good Morning America. Perez Hilton reports that it isn’t true, which is almost certain evidence that it is, in fact, true.

As I’ve mentioned, I don’t swear lightly. But, what the fuck. This profanity is a statement rather than a question, because I am resigned and bitter. Chris has twitted the implied confirmation that he’s leaving the show. Rumors still swirl that he may land on the anchorless ship that is 20/20 (airing at 10 pm on Fridays? seriously?). To pour salt in my wound, the corollary rumor is that JuJu Chang will take Chris’ place. I do not want to see JuJu Chang’s shirtless fishing pics.
Up is down. Good is bad. I’m adrift in the fog of confusion and disappointment that makes me question if my morning tea will ever taste as sweet. One thing is for sure: on the day that Chris is no longer playfully teasing his love-struck weatherman on my morning television, that’s the day I return to the Today Show to take solace in the furry chest of Matt Lauer. But it’s just not the same.

Antici… pation

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So I tried the new Blogger editor yesterday and nearly had a brain aneurysm. I’m back to the “old” editor, and feeling much more the captain of my own ship. In honor of my empowered buzz, I’m lingering on thoughts of my second favorite homoerotic pornboy crush, Mitch Colby, who’s making a surge on the champion for my heart, Derek da Silva.

I’m working so fucking hard (sorry, I’m feeling emotional) to honor the spirit of the BG East Arena. Their newest catalogue isn’t available for public consumption yet, so it doesn’t seem right to post the new pics. But holy hell, how can I not discuss the previews for Mitch’s wrestler spotlight tape? I’ve seen the preview pics. I’ve lusted after the preview pics. I’ve pre-ordered my copy. Give me Mitch.

Without jumping the gun, let me just say that Mitch is being paired up with two known quantities and an intriguing unknown face. His first match is with the veteran from way, way back in BG East history, Patrick Donovan. Patrick’s got the roundest pecs for such a skinny body. He’s a consummate jobber who suffers admirably, ever since winning jobber of the year back in Wrestlefest 2. Patrick and Mitch have sweat pouring off of them in what looks like some nice mat action.

Mitch next shows up against porn-pornboy Peter Stallion (who goes by tons of other names elsewhere). Peter does not do it for me in the BG East format. I need to just put that out there. I have no idea why, but I don’t find myself all revved up. In his Wrestle Worship match against Rafe Sanchez, he was mostly furniture to me (true, I find it difficult tearing my eyes away from Rafe). Frankly, he doesn’t seem to be all revved up, so maybe that’s that. Still, Mitch and Peter look like they do some nice squeezing, topped off by some making out. I’ll buy that (literally).

The mystery man is named Marc Rion. I don’t recognize him, but I’m ready to get to know him much, much better. He’s got a handsome face, a couple tats, a shaved head, and… oh, did I mention that 90% of the preview pics posted so far are of mutually naked action? There are implications of very pleasing mutual body worship, and this looks like as much love as war. As long as they don’t short-change the war, I’m happy to see where the man-to-man combat takes them.

As soon as this tape is available, I’m sure I’ll return to considering it in more detail with you. Talk amongst yourselves.

Bodies Over Time

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I grew disenchanted with mainstream pro wrestling a while ago.  I don’t even remember any longer what the precipitating event was.  It was some over the top homophobic moment that just disgusted me, and disgust is not (for me) sexy.  Without the sexy in pro wrestling, there really isn’t anything else that I’m interested in there.
Well, almost nothing else.  I’ve seen Randy Orton in action just a couple of times.  In motion, he didn’t really ring my bell.  But seeing stills of him, particularly over time as his ink is growing, is undeniably pleasurable.
When he only had a partial band on his left bicep and a right shoulder tat, he was pretty.  Pretty can go either way for me, but generally it leaves me luke warm, right in the middle.
Adding some forearm ink and starting work across his back, and my engine starts running.  There’s something intensely sexual about a well-muscled man with his arms folded across his sternum and his massive pecs squeezed together.  Add to that some nice forearm ink across those thick muscles, and things are starting to get steamy for me.
But once Randy puts on sleeves that tie together everything across both arms and his upper back, and I’m fully at attention!  No longer so much pretty, Randy is transforming his body into stunning beauty for my tastes.  Good ink tweaks my oral fixation, and today Randy is nothing if not lickable.  I’m still not making mainstream pro destination TV, but I will always be a fan of gorgeous ink on a beautifully beasty boy.

Of course, I’ll be the first to admit that there are times when less is more.

A Promise Kept

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Rock Hard Wrestling finally went live. It didn’t happen in August as promised, or November as promised later. But it finally happened, and all is forgiven. In the interest of “consumer research,” I checked out two of their first three matches to see if the delivery lives up to the hype.

So you pay $12.95 per instant download of DVD (note different match lengths, same price). Having entirely lost my ability to sustain prolonged anticipation, I went the download route. I started with the Ray Martinez vs. Cameron Davis match, mostly because I’m in awe of Ray (aka Alan Valdez aka Rio Garza, etc.). The production quality is very high. A lot of different cameras simultaneously film the action in HD. The close ups put you right in the ring, while the wider angles tell the story. The story itself is thin, though. Ray finds Cameron already in the ring and taunts him by explaining he already has a bigger fan base (it’s all about size). Ray turns his back on his opponent and poses for the camera, and predictably Cameron attacks him from behind in mid-flex. Cameron has clearly done some amateur wrestling, and he pretty much owns Ray from start to finish as a result. He turns him, tosses him, and pins him at will. Sweet Ray takes his punishment, but the nicest moments in this match are when Cameron finds himself chuckling at the completely dominated state of his hardbody opponent. More than once, Cameron looks at the camera and smirks as if to say, “Just look at me own this bitch!” In case you follow Ray/Rio at BG East, he’s not nearly as incredibly cut and hard as his BG East appearances. Two falls, eleven minutes, yours to own.
After getting a taste of RHW, I felt ethically bound to have more than one sample of the goods in order to offer a thorough review. So I also took a long look at the Zack Jonathan vs. Brody Hancock match (aka Zack Vazquez vs. Reese Wells). The story is basically the same premise from Ray and Cameron’s match. Zack arrives to find Brody already in the ring. Zack struts and preens for the camera, explaining that the fans pay up to see his stunning body. When Zack tosses a bottle of baby oil to Brody and insists on having him oil Zack up, Brody attacks from behind. These boys are a little more evenly matched than Ray and Cameron, in that neither of them look entirely at home in the ring. Still, Brody is by far the better salesman. He gives and takes some punishment with style that I like. Smirking Zack, though, predictably can’t quite stay in the moment, which is just distracting. The tide turns back and forth several times, resulting in three falls over 18 minutes. Once again, my favorite moments are catching Brody mug for the camera mid-action, sneering as he makes his overconfident, pinup boy opponent suffer.

For a blow by blow of the third match, check out Topher’s fine review yesterday in the comments at Ringside at Skull Island. RHW has put together a very high quality product with very beautiful muscleboys. Other than Cameron’s performance, the wrestling is weak, though Brody is a standout salesman that I’m willing to buy. Zack, God bless him, needs to seriously get his ass kicked, I think, in order to get in touch with what it really feels like to suffer a beat down. So if you’re looking for some convincing wrestling, domination, and suffering, these matches score relatively low (though I’m liking Cameron’s amateur skills). If you’re looking for some overt homoerotic action or body worship, these matches score very low. If you’re looking for beautiful muscleboys in skimpy outfits rolling around, these matches score very high.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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When Lost Boys hit the big screen, I’d already picked out Jason Patric as my crush-du-jour. Vampires, hot guys, man-on-man seduction… so many seeds sewn in that moment of my adolescence. But early in the movie when the screen was filled with a concert scene on the boardwalk in “Santa Carla,” my jaw dropped.

Yes, the liberally oiled, bodybuilder saxophone player and lead singer from Lost Boys turned me gay. I really only knew him as the liberally oiled, bodybuilder saxophone player and leader singer from Lost Boys until I did my research for this installment of What Turned Me Gay. Fortunately, now I can refer to him by his much more concise name, Timmy Cappello.
Timmy performed with a lot of artists, most notably Tina Turner. There’s just nothing that isn’t overtly sexual about Timmy as an artist, and his appearance in Lost Boys is the epitome of everything that worked for him in the 80’s. It’s not as if he could disguise those huge muscles (look at the thick cut of meat that are his pecs!), but with Timmy shirtless and absolutely lathered in baby oil, there’s nothing but sex that can come to mind. He moves like a go-go boy, and when he sticks the mouthpiece of that sax in his mouth and closes his eyes in ecstatic concentration… holy hell! That’s a magic spell that simply must have turned hundreds of us homo.
The choice to present this musician shirtless and bathed in oil was inspired. I think it represents the turn to overtly objectify and sexualize the male form that was going more and more mainstream throughout the ironically politically conservative 80’s. Timmy’s hardbody was completely extraneous to his musical entertainment, which only proves that it was sex and the unambiguously objectified male body that was on stage at least as much as it was music. The combination of the music, the body, the oil, and Timmy’s mouth blowing on that mouthpiece was guaranteed to turn someone gay. I, at least for one, am that gay someone.

A Warm Front from the Bayou

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Since Dexter is forcing me to take cold showers just as the winter winds blow in, I’m happy to get a warm front from off-season news about True Blood. I first saw the newsbreak on Towleroad, which is slowly becoming my only source of relevant news. Now I see it everywhere. Grant Bowler and Theo Alexander are joining True Blood for season 3.

Bowler is somewhat of a known quantity. Another Aussie, he and Ryan can speak each other’s language between takes. The few shirtless pics I can scare up of Grant make me very, very happy. Apparently he’ll be playing a werewolf, and EVERYONE knows that werewolves must rip off their clothing and be naked before turning. It’s a law… in Bon Temps, Louisiana… or else it should be. Grant is bringing nice, mature beef to the already packed meat market that is True Blood. For a show with naked hunks spilling into every other scene, though, True Blood doesn’t pair up the bevy of beauties nearly enough. For example, when will we see some extended [lovemaking] scenes between Alexander Skarsgård and Ryan Kwanten? New cuts of beef must include some more attractive presentation (as in man-on-man action!)!!
Speaking of that, apparently Theo Alexander will be playing a gay vampire… Aren’t they all ambiguously bi/pansexual? The sexual tension between Scandinavian sizzlers Alexander Skarsgård and Allan Hyde was unmistakable and so promising. So if someone is going to bill Theo as a “gay vampire,” then damn it, I want to see something gay happen there (and not just that he wears an apron in the kitchen)! I’m completely at a loss with knowing much at all about this actor upon whom I’m already heaping so many hopes. I see nothing wrong with the few pics I’m finding so far. The smoldering eyes, the lickable lips… the equipment all seems to be in order. I’m hoping for a little more seductive a gay character than this one here, though.
Still, I’m willing to buy the promise of hotness to come.

Battle of the Gods

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As you probably already realize, there are always beautiful muscleboys fighting it out in my imagination. Walking through my day, I see handsome hardbodies, and my first thought is, “I wonder which of those hunks would win in a submission battle.” I watch television and see hollywood gym bunnies, and my first question is, “Which hottie could make the other scream first?”
Two of my muscleworship crushes are fighting tooth and nail in the arena in my mind. SteelMuscleGod posted a new worship vid, primarily focusing on those astounding legs. Posing in his yellow briefs, SMG is growling and snarling at the camera throughout. “Big muscles are back, more shredded, and harder than ever.” He’s a handsome studpuppy, and his glasses make me smile. He’s looking bigger in each video he posts, and he demands, “Contribute and worship!”

Battling head-to-head with SteelMuscleGod is Adam400m, the English bodybuilder. As if in answer to SteelMuscleGod’s upload on Monday, Adam posted a legs-video on Tuesday. Adam similarly is growing in every upload, helpfully explaining that his legs are “definitely getting beefier from squats.” Adam yanks up the fronts of his shorts, showing off his sweet upper thighs and giving a nice glimpse of the heft of that shapely package. Adam isn’t as verbal as SteelMuscleGod, but he’s also inviting our contributions (via his website) and implicitly demanding to be worshipped.

I’m not made of money. I can’t whip out my… credit card for every hardbody YouTube god demanding to be worshipped. This competition for my heart/wallet must be translated into a muscle battle. These boys both love their quads, but I have to imagine Adam having the edge in a body scissor battle. Trading body scissors, SteelMuscleGod would be whimpering in pain.
When SteelMuscleGod snaps a headlock on Adam, though, I think the tide would turn. SMG is sporting thicker biceps that Adam would struggle against, but finally be unable to escape. When SMG suddenly captures Adam in a bearhug, he’d pull the Englishman off his feet. Adam would try to scissor his captor’s muscled torso with those shredded thighs, but SMG would squeeze the air out of his opponent’s lungs and leave him powerless.
There might eventually be some bondage involved, but regardless, SMG would psychologically overwhelm Adam with that husky, cocky, snarling voice. “Worship me!” he’d demand of his crushed and breathless opponent. Adam would resist, but when SMG licks his own massive peaks and then shoves them in Adam’s face, the end would be near. As my scene closes, Adam would be on his knees, his face being smashed into victor’s torso as SMG holds him by fistfuls of hair. A tongue flickering out of the defeated man’s mouth would signal the sweetest submission of all.
I’m just saying…

Confession and Kink

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It’s not like I go around discussing my wrestling kink with everyone I meet. I consider myself pretty blunt, but I certainly disclose much more to all of you perfect strangers than I do among the people I see every day. The public confession of sexual desire has been made commonplace by the shrinking world in which we live, facilitated by instantly gratifying technology like the internet. But why do I write what I write in this blog, and why do you read it?

Someone who recently signed up to read my homoerotic wrestling fiction explained his interest by simply writing, “I thought I was the only one!” First, that’s an excellent answer. Second, I think the public confession of sexual desire has that function of allowing people to recognize common interests (and kinks) and discover a sense of community that perhaps they weren’t aware of before. Perhaps you read a blog about someone’s personal gay wrestling fetish because you catch a glimpse of yourself.

But why do I write it? Have you ever just had something that you needed to tell someone? Have you ever found yourself feeling more genuinely yourself for saying out loud (or writing publicly) something that gives you joy? I also write this blog because the process of writing each day teaches me new insights about who I am and what I’m passionate about.
In honor of my favorite poststructuralist pornboy and homoerotic wrestler, Derek da Silva, I feel compelled to also mention the insights of Michel Foucault. Foucault argued that the confession of sexual desire not only illustrates for people their shared sexual desires and identities. Foucault argued that it’s titillating to confess and to hear someone’s confession. The act of talking about what turns you on and gets you off becomes its own form of sexual fetish. And the act of witnessing someone’s confession of sexual desire can also become its own kink.
I tend to think all of the above are at play in why I write and why you read my ramblings about my wrestling kink and musings about the beautiful men I lust after. In the end, whatever else it all means, it’s nice to discover that you’re not alone. It’s nice to know that whatever silences may fill up your daily life, there’s still a place where the words you want to say are spoken and heard.

Serving Satan

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I used to lust after Lex Luger guilt-free. Lex could probably qualify for an installment in my “What Turned Me Gay” series, but honestly, I knew that I was gay and happily nurturing my wrestling kink before Lex’s standout physique caught my eye.

Wrestling Arsenal captures Lex nicely, characterizing him as a bully. He was at his best making lesser men scream, refusing to break the hold once the bell rang, and crunching out most musculars knowing that no matter how much the crowd booed, we we were all in awe of his stunning body.

1000 Holds recently posted a great squash by Lex. As is so often the case, the commentary is undisguised body worship. 1000 Holds has helpfully highlighted the most blatant body worship dialogue with pop-ups (I love pop-ups). My favorites are “He has literally bulldozed his way through every top wrestler around,” and, “Luger is just the much larger of these two… 30 inch thighs!” Seriously, he knows the precise measurement of Luger’s thighs. These commentators are hot and bothered by body beautiful Lex, and their patter makes this squash match about much more than just a three-count pin. This is about worship at the feet of a muscle god.
At some point in the 90’s, Lex started to turn into his own plastic action figure. I’m not sure what cocktail makes the big boys lose definition and look completely plastic, but it’s a shame. Of course, it’s not as much of a shame as being arrested with intent to distribute. And of course there’s the shame of introducing your girlfriend to the recreational drugs that ultimately killed her. Then there’s the shame of desperately turning über-Christian and blaming “Satan” for your dumb ass, self-destructive, literally narcissistic choices on your way to hocking the magazine you write for (I’m really fine with religion, but I can’t tolerate the Christian-capitalist marketing machine).
I don’t mean to second guess anyone. If Lex is a happy camper, more power to him. As for me, I like to remember Lex from around 1990, when he was still serving Satan, turning me (and clearly more than a couple commentators) on, and telling the timeless story of a muscle god destroying the mere mortals in his way.