Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

My Favorite Deadly Sin

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A friend in Italy just sent me an email confirming she saw the legendary “sexy priest” calendar on sale in Rome. Clearly this must be art, because it makes me feel guilty, pisses me off, and turns me on all at the same time. It’s the height of hypocrisy to make these strapping young hunks the objects of our lust, when they themselves have been sworn to celibacy in an institution that condemns lust, including man-crushes. Ah, forbidden fruit (yes, I said fruit). In honor of my favorite Italian, I wanted to share this head-scratching, yet provocative product that is making me deeply embrace at least one of the deadly sins.
Mr. Father August, 2010 looks like he’s into corporal punishment, if you ask me. Is it wrong to want to yank off his dog collar and throw him around by that floppy head of hair? I’m imagining that he’s into high-impact moves, and frankly I’d be okay with getting body slammed by him.
Here’s a pic from a few years ago featuring Mr. Father July, 2007. He’s making me feel all conflicted inside. Do I give him a lecture on the oppressive policies of the church, or do I get lost in those dreamy eyes and adorable dimples?
This studly man of the cloth was the coverboy for the 2007 calendar. Just try to tell me that he doesn’t know he’s gorgeous (still another deadly sin!). The slightly parted, full lips… the piercing, pale eyes… that Roman nose… this is about sex, and there’s no way that they don’t know that gay men are buying this crap up. “Lead me not into temptation,” indeed. We know that they know that these guys inspire lustful thoughts, and when I start thinking lustful thoughts, I’m inevitably going to imagine some sweaty wrestling scene with a hunky young cleric getting ripped out of his frock [I think I need a minute to myself before I can finish this thought]. Okay, if this had only been in print in my adolescence, I’d have loved to say that the sexy priests calendar turned me gay. As it is, I’m just happy to stumble across these men of the cloth with their come-hither stares, and let my imagination do the rest.

A Tall Stiff One

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Times a-wastin’, and we haven’t heard yet who’ll be replacing Diane Sawyer when she leaves Good Morning America in January. I know. I know. Some of you don’t give a damn. So write your own blog. I’ve got a dog in this fight, and his name is Chris Cuomo.

The astonishingly non-scientific-to-the-point-of-meaningless AOL poll on the subject asked readers who should succeed Sawyer. The AOL Television article reporting the chances of the contenders argues that George Stephanopoulos is “less stiff and easier on the eyes than Cuomo.” What… the… fuck? Excuse my language. I save up such words for only rare occasions of mind-boggling, inconceivable outrage. This, I assure you, is just such an occasion.
First of all, let’s start with the “less stiff.” Putting aside the adolescent jokes that spring to mind (as in, let me see both of them with stiffies and I’ll be the judge of that), let’s consider: D.C. George is never sans suit coat and tie. He’s nearly always sitting behind a desk, and when he’s not, he looks completely awkward, with his feet barely touching the floor in the lounge chair they use for interviews on GMA. I’m not a height queen by any stretch of the imagination, but I’m just sayin’… George straining to touch his tip-toes on the floor vs. Chris tearing out dry wall on a construction site. Whoever the hell said George is less stiff than Chris is smoking crack.
And speaking of smoking crack, let’s move on to the 2nd assertion that George is “easier on the eyes” than Chris. True confession: I was in love with George from his first press conference in the Clinton administration. I would have never left the balcony of my apartment if I’d lived with Rachel and Monica and could look into George’s window with binoculars. I would NOT kick him out of bed for leaving crumbs.

But let’s return to planet Earth here and reconsider the proposition that the 5’6″, 48 year old, skinny Greek is somehow easier on the eyes than the 6’3″, 39 year old Roman god who goes fishing shirtless. You knew I was going to bring up the fishing pics, so let’s just get on with it. I dare George to stand shirtless next to Chris, and let’s see if we can find anyone who could, in their wildest dreams, suggest that George is easier on the the eyes. Personally, I’d lick them both from head to toe (going slowly, particularly around the middle), but I’d start with the Greek appetizer before moving onto the the Italian entree’ that I’d be really waiting for.
Back to that astonishingly non-scientific-to-the-point-of-meaningless AOL poll. Despite the author’s assertion that the obvious choice is George, let’s re-examine the evidence. As Mediaite points out, AOL’s own poll shows Chris is the readers’ choice! Huffington Post’s poll agrees (thanks in part to me finding every computer I can sign onto so that I can register multiple votes). And in an entirely impartial contest in my wrestling fiction, George was suplexed over the top rope in a battle royale, leaving Chris to claim the anchor seat as his prize for beating his four challengers.

So the freakshow at AOL Television needs to print a retraction, and the puppet masters at ABC News need to do the right thing, the only thing, really, that makes a bit of sense: name Chris Cuomo the new co-anchor of GMA… and then send him on assignment to a nude beach, incognito.

…In Love and War

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There are plenty of products out there showing gorgeous men in skimpy trunks grappling, dominating and submitting. Sometimes, though, I want a little more of the “homoerotic” in my homoerotic wrestling. Of course the dick slap across the face, or the post-match blow job or fuck gets to the point. But a little more subtle, and often much more erotic, is the wrestling kiss. When they pull out the liplock, suddenly I’m not trying to guess if these guys are actually gay or just toying with us. When one man’s tongue is shoved down another man’s throat, I don’t really care anymore.
I’m not referring to the post-victory seal of ownership, though that’s nice as well. But the aggressive or defensive kiss in the middle of a match is a really delicious plot twist. In the middle of Patrick Donovan’s domination of Brandon Aldrich in Mat Brats 1, Brandon employs a defensive liplock that derails the veteran Patrick. Pecboy Patrick returns the favor with a cranking headlock on Brandon, who’s flat on his back with Patrick’s tongue down his throat. Patrick breaks the liplock, explaining that any further reward for Brandon will require him to earn it through abject suffering.

Patrick’s no stranger to kissing as ring-plot. His partner in Tag Team Torture 1 was the notorious kisser, Sean Patrick (in my mind I always wrote the backstory that these performers were lovers). In humiliation after humiliation suffered at the hands of heels Jose and Cruze, Patrick and Sean find themselves in naked, face-to-face, mirror-image camel clutches, with their lips shoved together in the middle of the ring (I confess I love this so much I wrote it into my fiction, with Adrian Pasdar and Milo Ventimiglia in a helpless liplock in the clutches of Sendhil Ramamurthy and Christopher Meloni). The choreography here is sweet. This isn’t the only time this device is used in BG East, but it’s certainly one of the sweetest. Cruz and Jose also torture the skinny studs in a remarkable naked, stacked, double camel clutch and boston crab that’s got to be seen to be believed.
Though Sean Patrick earned the moniker “The Kisser,” it must be said that Kid Vicious has got to be the master (of many things but in particular) of the aggressive match kiss. KV’s knack for using his wiry body to systematically pick to pieces his hot stud opponent’s is “mind”blowing all in itself. But his sadistic joy in wrapping his prey up in paralyzing positions and slapping a forced liplock on gets my motor running.

An astonishing tag moment near the top of my homoerotic wrestling favorites is the fantastic beatdown that the Brooklyn Bodywrecker and Shane McCall put on Liam Ryan and Brian Powers in Tag Team Torture 2. I think all tag team matches should include the overt storyline of teams of lovers fighting one another. After BBW made Shane is boy in Dark Knights 5, they show up clearly having sorted out their daddy/cub relationship. Liam and Brian similarly let us know that they had each other’s backs well before arriving in the ring. There’s a brief moment of fun when skinny boy Liam puts some ecstatic hurt on leatherboy BBW, but inevitably the heels slam the shit out of the Liam and Brian. Ultimately, Brian’s taped into one corner, and after having Liam’s face shoved in his partner’s crotch from every angle, the heels torture the skinny Irishman in the center of the ring. Near the final moment of victory, BBW gives his cub a treat by pinning Liam’s face against Shane’s crotch while the two heels enjoy some convincing making out. On paper, this may all sound like it runs thin, but I buy this from start to finish.

Sometimes my kink is just seeing guys beating the crap out of one another. Sometimes I’m really looking for some humiliation. But serve me up some genuine liplocks as aggression (or defense) in the wrestling ring, and I’m sold.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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Greg Louganis turned me gay, God bless him. I don’t think I’d even heard of “competitive diving” before I caught a glimpse of Greg on television, diving in the 1984 Olympics. In a sport full of tight, hot bodies barely squeezed into speedos 2 sizes too small, Greg was a stunning standout even before he left the diving board. Those thick, gorgeously muscled thighs… the stunningly defined torso… that shy, handsome face… I was captured the moment I saw him. Then I saw him dive… the amazing grace… the astonishing control of every thrilling muscle… that toe point!… and the moment he hit the water, I was gay.

I lapped up all the coverage of Olympic diving I could to adore Greg. He was not only the object of my teenage lust, he also kicked ass! The juxtaposition of his shy smile and his totally dominating performance, blowing his competition out of the water made me not only lust for him, I was in love. And then he went and posed for Playgirl. Oh… my… God…
I don’t think it ever occurred to me when I was young that the guys I so lustfully worshipped could actually be gay. When Greg came out in 1994, it honestly opened my eyes to the adage, “We’re everywhere.” Discovering that my teenage crush also played for my team was one of the most liberating moments of my coming out.
Greg’s continued grace and class only reinforces his iconic status in my life. The promo pics of Greg coaching hardbody Mario Lopez in preparation for his portrayal of the Olympian in the movie Breaking the Surface, propels both of them still higher up my lust index.
Greg Louganis didn’t inspire me to become a diver, but without a doubt, he turned me gay…. Well, if he didn’t actually “turn me gay,” he certainly opened my eyes to the world full of beautiful, graceful, hot and hardbodied gay boys all around me. So let the games begin!

…Why Don’t You Love Me?

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I’ve lusted after David Duchovny ever since Fox Mulder sulked into my heart in the very first season of X-Files. I was so excited that David was coming back to TV when Californication launched a couple of years ago. I watched the first season, despite the many XX chromosomes over-exposed all over the place and graphic talk about the simulated sex acts with women that really, really (really) doesn’t interest me. Still, David’s naked body frequently on display was enough to keep me tuning in.

The second season totally turned me off. How completely depressing and unsympathetic can a character be before even David Duchovny’s naked body can’t keep me interested? Answer: really, really depressing and unsympathetic.

That said, I’m tentatively tuning back in for season 3, and I’m not so depressed quite so quickly. And David’s stint in “rehab” (a.k.a. his wife screaming at him for three months straight for fucking around all over the place) has turned out an even beefier studpuppy (check out these abs captured by superherofan!)
Now, can we introduce David to Michael C. Hall? Michael desperately needs to take some lessons in the art of satisfying the lustful gaze, and a fellow Showtime buddy like David is surely the man for the job. I WANT to see this shot of Dexter. Now.

Help Wanted

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Someone help me out. I’m awed by the bodies on display in this clip of Lindy Caulder vs. Mike Allen via ageless1 on YouTube. Mike Allen and his muscled arms, shaggy head of hair, scruffy face, and just the right amount of body hair is a hot little package (especially with those classic trunks pulled up to his bellybutton).

But my eyes pop out at the sight of Brit wrestler Lindy Caulder (and here’s where I need help). I can’t find anything else on this gorgeous musclegod other than some old card results from the 60’s. In this match, Lindy Caulder is right up my alley. Holy hell, look at the thickness of that back!
The clip is pretty poor quality, so I can’t snag any grabs of his stunning frontside that do him justice. But even poor quality grabs provide abundant evidence of the massive, round pecs, astonishingly pumped arms and thin little waist on this bodybeautiful.
The commentary on this match pisses me off. At least half the match, the commentators ignore the sweet action in the ring. Personally, I’d like to have seen Caulder hop out of the ring and bodyslam both of them to the cement for being so disrespectful. A seriously built bodybuilder who can move with such grace and speed in the ring is truly a wonder. That shaved, lickable head is way ahead of the curve, and the stash (the only bodyhair visible) is hot! I want more Lindy Caulder! Help me!

For Love of Zombies

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Perhaps more in keeping with Halloween, I just came across the trailer and website for L.A. Zombie. This is so much hipper than I am, but I’m fascinated and therefore must comment. L.A. Zombie is a film by Bruce LaBruce wedding zombies and gay porn. Prolific pornboy, Francois Sagat stars, and the trailers and promo pics show him in various states of either becoming the undead or transforming from the undead to alive, or both, in changing states of undress.

I’m finding this so provocative! I can honestly say I’ve never thought of zombies or zombie movies as a turn-on before. While I’m not at all into necrophilia, Sagat’s decomposing (yet unmistakably rocking) body turns my crank. I’m all confused and trying to decide if I should feel ashamed of lusting after a homicidal animated corpse… clearly this is art.
The website includes promo pics depicting some of the porn scenes (only hinted at in the YouTube trailer). A zombie getting a blow job just makes me tilt my head a little, wrinkle my brow, and grin sideways. What does it say about me that I see the equine cock of a muscleboy with gangrene skin and tusks protruding from his bloody mouth and I think, “I’d do that!”

I’m fairly deeply disturbed and pretty significantly titillated at the same time. Bruce LaBruce: you are an artist. And Francois Sagat: I’ll pick you up on the side of the road, dead or alive!

Message to the Electorate

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Okay, I promise. This will be my last politically-minded post for a while. Today, millions of people are casting ballots about “gay marriage,” legal protections for same-sex couples, and candidates whose campaigns are built at least in part on fear of “the Gays.” In times like this, it can be hard to stay centered. It can be difficult to know how to feel when you’re part of a small minority of the population being evaluated for the extent of your citizenship by the faceless majority. I suppose we could pray for a good outcome. We could wait on the edge of our seats as the returns start to roll in this evening. Or perhaps we could take a different approach:
BG East boy Brad Rochelle* has the right idea, I think. When the political storms are brewing, the best thing to do is look gorgeous and flip the bird.
Gerard Butler is a quickly rising stock in my lust-portfolio, in no small part due to the dozens of pics available displaying the Scotsman’s rational, reasonable response to annoying people who would strive to make him into an object and a commodity. We should take a lesson from Gerard’s response to the paparazzi, and salute “the electorate” accordingly.
Seriously, I have no clue who this guy is. TMZ tells us that he is (was, wants to be?) Miley Cyrus boyfriend. Whatever. He’s got sweetly rippled abs, a mouth poised for penetration, and exactly the attitude I’m feeling about election day 2009.

Frankly, though, I’m not sure these guys capture quite the sentiment that I’m trying to put my finger on here. The middle finger salute is on the right track, but it’s lacking the volume that I think is commensurate with the dehumanizing role that ballots play in offering the faceless majority the opportunity to screw over the Gays.
There we go. Brooklyn Bodywrecker is communicating the sentiment clearly. A double bird, the word “fuck” clearly forming across his lips, and his balls resting across the chin of some obliterated punk (let’s call him “Doug“)… that captures both the content and the volume of the only appropriate response to election day 2009.

And though Trevor Adams doesn’t appear particularly fierce in this fantastic performance art piece, I’d like to end with him and his shiny chest. Trevor looks ridiculous and ironically uninvested as he lets fly a pair of birds. Perhaps that’s the most constructive place to be in today. Looking gorgeous and oiled up, in a g-string, dancing, pointing a double-barreled “fuck you” at the world and yet not really caring so much.


*I don’t know the actual political opinions or ideological leanings of any of these guys. I do know, however, that they’re gorgeous and make me smile.

Leaving Legs

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The weather is turning, and my infatuation with legs is suffering from a lack of positive reinforcement as all the hardbodies bundle up. Until the speed skaters arrive in Vancouver with their tree trunk thighs squeezed into skin tight spandex, I’m afraid I won’t be seeing many gorgeous legs on display for a while. Putting to rest this latest infatuation, I thought I’d share just a handful more wonderful images of legs put to wonderful use, squeezing the breath out of an opponent.

Johnny Olson performed in a handful of matches for Can-Am early on. A baby-faced bodybuilder, Johnny cried out for humiliating abuse. When he got his knocks in, though, you could believe that when those muscles were put to good use, his opponents would seriously be in a world of hurt. Here, Johnny squeezes those massive, gorgeously hairy legs tight against a sweetly suffering Corby Banning, being choked by that massive calf muscle crushing his throat.
He didn’t hang around long, but I loved BG East studpuppy Marky Mark Oxner who oozed personality (and buckets of sweat) in his few matches. There are lots of great punishing scissors in his match in Fantasymen 9 (never a more aptly named tape). Marky was cocky, stunning, and made me believe that he believed he was the shit.
Steve Sterling, the classic bodybuilder turned homoerotic wrestler, had seriously huge legs. Look at the vascularity in those thick calves as he laces his ankles together. The arm bar, his chewing on his lower lip in concentration, the classic 80’s stash… a fantastic moment in time!
And finally, another classic moment in time from one of Mitch Colby’s finest wrestling moments (repeated on most of his matches, no less satisfyingly). I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s worth saying again, the most authentic moments in Mitch’s matches are when he’s got his opponent’s face trapped against his crotch, his legs squeezing the poor guy’s head. Mitch invariably rolls his head back, closes his eyes, and I completely buy the moment of his total, humiliating domination of his chump. Mitch is not an Oscar-ready actor, so I’ve got to believe he really gets off on this moment of scissoring his opponent’s face deep between his legs. Flexed and enthralled, Mitch appears transported, and I, in turn, am transported as well. Love me my Mitch (though he’s still only runner up to the newly crowned champion of my lust/heart: Derek Da Silva).

Another Side of Wrestling

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FetishHunks had several free clips from their wrestling vids up on YouTube until just a few days ago. Their account was cancelled all together, so I’m suspecting Big Brother may be involved. You can still see some clips on their webpage (click on some of the matches in the store and you’ll see a free preview – same as were up on YouTube). This is wrestling as a side dish, without a doubt. A little story and a lot of commitment give these guys some sweet credibility, I think.

Pornboy Nick Harmon seems to be the muscle dude behind the madness on FetishHunks. He’s also the most frequent protagonist showing up in their wrestling sides. He’s a sincere little studpuppy with a hot muclebod. He also makes several appearance in their Muscle Worship department (and Shaving, and Ass Play, and…), and that very round ass of his is a tasty morsel (decent ink, too).
In their wrestling sides, there’s a lot of script showing, but there also frequently appears to be a bit of legitimately throwing each other around. Even in the public pics there are some hard cocks on display, so at least some of these guys get down to business.
My number one turn off with FetishHunks (apart from the snuff-film crap) is the occasional site of XX chromosomes. The view between the legs of a spread-eagled woman is NOT what I want to see when I’m browsing for some turn-on material. Oy. Talk about buzzkill. Frankly, though, that’s what you get with homoerotic wrestling as a side dish: our wrestling side by side with someone else’s kink. So no harm, no foul. Just be forewarned.