Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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He-Man (and the Masters of the Universe) turned me gay. Yes, a cartoon is to blame. How better to indoctrinate young boys into the joys of musclebound, scantily clad, sword-thrusting-obsessed gym bunnies? I was a tad older than the target audience for the animated television show, but I avidly snuck in some guilty after-school viewing because it was totally titillating. I was a little confused about the whole idea of an animated character turning me on, but I didn’t allow that confusion to kill my buzz. He-Man and his massive, nippleless chest enthralled me. His six pack abs disappearing down into his furry briefs and those lovingly drawn legs with quads as big as his waist (and calves not far behind)… I’m not sure if I wanted to be He-Man’s boytoy in Eternia or have He-Man materialize in the eye-popping flesh in my world. Either would have been fine with me.
He-Man was actually a royal prince who was a total wuss. He was a bodybeautiful musclegod behind the thin disguise of a sissy boy. Ummmm… seriously? Is anyone shocked that a whole crop of gay boys sprang from that seed!? The closet case who thrusts his sword erect to claim the liberating power of a leather harness and bikini briefs? He-Man should be the mascot for EVERY gay pride parade.
I was way too old to have any excuse to have seen the Dolph Lundgren live-action movie Master’s of the Universe in the late 1980’s… and yet I saw it. Did I mention Dolph Lundgren was in it? Perhaps my first in a long line of giant, blond, Swedish stunners for me to obsess about.
Dress Dolph in nothing but a harness and a leather bikini bottom (or less!), and I’m defenseless. Get him sweaty, chained, and whipped, and my teenage self was ready to cum hands-free, right there in the theater. Dolph, Dolph, Dolph… so many fantasies…
Apparently there’s been on again/off again rumors that a new He-Man project could be in the works (most recently: off again). It seems that there’s debate about how “cheesy” to make it, or whether to play it as some sort of Conan the Barbarian melodrama. David Madison at Unreality Mag spent some time fantasy-casting the new movie according to his tastes, with a very respectable choice of True Blood Aussie bodybeautiful, Ryan Kwanten. I like that thinking, though Ryan would need to add at least 35 pounds of muscle mass to have any resemblance to the demi-god of Eternia. The rest of Madison’s choices leave me flaccid, and that is distinctly not in keeping with my childhood memories of He-Man. Perhaps we’ve missed the basic premise that EVERYONE in Eternia is built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Gary Oldman as an evil villain with 20-inch biceps and obliques that can cut crystal? I’m smelling bad special effects or very disappointing eye candy (and box office suicide).
I’m all for a remake of Masters of the Universe. It must have some of the key elements that made it iconic in the first place, though. It must have an entire cast of muscle bound demi-gods, featuring the cock-tease king himself, He-Man, in a leather harness with a HUGE sword (a-hem…). It must include some bondage, preferably with our naive blond muscle hero humiliated in chains. It must have sweaty, muscle on muscle grappling. If this classic formula is adhered to, I guarantee box office success… and another generation of boys turning gay.

Tricks and Treats

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In keeping with the spirit of the season, I thought I’d send up Thunder’s Arena and their Halloween specials. Frankly, I think of Thunder’s Arena as a side dish of wrestling, but as far as I know, wrestling is all they’ve got going. So technically it’s a main dish, but the production, the sets, and the story lines seem pretty backyard-with-a-camcorder – familiar low-budget tricks. The prices, though, reflect the very beautiful boys that they put up.

Zack Vazquez seems to have been with Thunder’s Arena for most of the duration, and he’s often the feature fighter. The first time I saw Zack wrestle, I almost couldn’t stand it. He looked like he was about to bust up laughing at his own camp, which is a BUZZ-KILL. Oddly, re-watching the same match, for some reason I was less turned off. Eventually, Zack’s Thunder’s persona and weak salesmanship (particularly with regard to suffering) has somehow fit itself into my expectations, and I am thus now entirely free to marvel undistracted at his beautiful, modelboy body.
The two Halloween specials from Thunder’s Arena both feature Zack, and both coincidentally feature him getting the crap kicked out him and strangled (what they make up for in gorgeous bodies, they lack in original/interesting story). Despite the lack of range, Zack’s performances do permit us to see him stretched out and squeezed and manhandled, presenting viewers with multiple opportunities for body worship. His opponent’s never appreciate Zack’s assets, and frankly, that prevents me from investing more enthusiastically. But over-camping and underselling, Zack still makes my heart beat a little faster.
That first match I saw Zack in pitted him against Alexander. Thunder’s Arena sells Alexander as a “real indy-pro wrestler” who brings the realness to the camp of Thunder’s. I’ve never seen an indy-pro match with Alexander. Perhaps he can totally pull it off in a real ring. But here, he’s another beautiful/skinny boy with a body I could get into worshipping, but he does not sell. He’s featured in both matches in this year’s Halloween Havoc tape, including another match with Zack… and a chain… and a bucket (we see a lot of these props throughout Thunder’s Arena matches). But I’m most intrigued by the new face, “O’Shea” who, in the stills at least, appears to crack Alexander in half.
I’m only half-heartedly into Thunder’s Arena, but I do enjoy their holiday special matches. Somehow a holiday theme gives me the excuse to forgive the overcamp, look past the weak story, and just enjoy the gift (let’s call it our “treat”) of beautiful boys in speedos displaying their bodies for our viewing pleasure.

He Was a Skater Boy

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Surely I’m nothing if not predictable. The cover boy for yesterday’s post was male model Ben Godfre. In that pic, I’m not sure why Ben might be 1) in the rain in his underwear and 2) still soaking wet despite holding an umbrella. But ours is not to wonder why…

Ben has become a recurring character in my gay wrestling fiction, sometimes as just a background character, but more recently showing up “in the ring.” I’m intrigued that Ben’s YouTube channel is usernamed btwrestle05, and I’m running with the wrestling reference. In my imagination, so far Ben has beat the living shit out of Hunter Parrish and tenaciously stuck out a brutal battle with Christopher Meloni, ultimately using that beautiful body of his to dominate, humiliate, and tame some of the Producer’s Ring’s most unruly talents.
I can’t find a bad pic of Ben, which is probably testimony to both the careful image-management of “his people,” but also, I have to believe, evidence that he is simply stunning from every angle. He oozes sex, and while “oozing” isn’t at all necessarily sexy, Ben can ooze all over me anytime. Side by side with other gorgeous men, my eyes are riveted on him. In a modelboy world of narrow waists, big pecs and smoldering eyes, Ben can hold his own next to anyone.
Despite not being able to find a bad pic of him, I do take issue with the glaringly obvious work some of his shoots have done to cover up one of Ben’s sexiest features: his ink. Some shots have him twisted and strategically covered so as to leave no tat visible on a body with ink all over the place. What the hell? It would be like a beefcake shoot of Trevor Adams in a moo-moo. Don’t let them make you hide it under a bushel, Ben!
On the other hand, some photographers are seeing exactly what I’m seeing. Ben’s calf tat is sexy, sexy, sexy (when they aren’t making him wear knee high athletic socks to cover it up). In just a couple shots, I’m glimpsing some ink across the arch of his left foot (fantastic!). And the gorgeous ink on the back of his right arm is breathtaking (then again there are multiple points in this shot that are taking my breath).
But the inside bicep tat makes me need to wipe the drool from my chin every time I see it. The multiple shots of Ben with his right arm over his head, with that incredible ink side-by-side with those almost transparent brown eyes is simply art on art on art.
I’m predictable, I know. It’s not like you’d expect anything else from me. The gorgeous boy with the bold, unique ink, wearing next to nothing: it’s no wonder he’s a rising star in my wrestling fiction. Hopefully we’ll continue to see much more of skaterboy Ben in this world and in my imagination.

There is No Debate

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It’s the time of year in America when state and local elections hit the fan. Depending on where you live, you may be seeing a lot of homophobic, hateful campaigning (like I am) around polarizing candidates or statewide initiatives. It seems like pretty much every year, lately, the gays go up for a vote. And every year, we get sucked into believing that our liberation, our dignity, our very identities are at stake as our neighbors go and vote based on how bigoted or “tolerant” they are. If you’re like me, you can’t help but get swept up in it, to get anxious, to fear what happens if the votes go the “wrong way” or the hateful candidates (perhaps once again) win the day.


So today’s post is both for you and for me: Breathe. Calm down. Turn off the television and the radio and stop reading the op-eds. Remind yourself that there is no vote that will determine whether you are acceptable or respectable. No hateful candidate will ever be able to legislate away the beautiful, passionate, precious person that you are. Your dignity is not in the hands of any citizens initiative. The haters can hate and the tolerant can tolerate, but that has nothing to do with the fucking fabulous human being you are, and they will never be able to do anything about your capacity to love and be loved.

So the next time you think they’re voting about you, or legislating about you, or judging about you, flip them the bird and consider these two gems:

1) First, if you haven’t seen it, you must check out this amazing commentary from the man who was robbed (ROBBED I say!) of the opportunity to run for the presidency (only) on the South Carolina ballot last year. This offers a nice, fresh perspective from my favorite “conservative” pundit:

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word – Don’t Ask Don’t Tell
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Religion


2) And second, just consider all the things that they cannot take away from us, no how, no way: Like Greek gods barely squeezed into black leather pants.
And amazing, shiny bodies that will be worshipped, whether they want it or not (and they do).
And massive pecs crying out for someone to thoroughly lick them.
And stunning bodies telling the timeless tale of domination and submission, cocky control and sublime suffering, power and surrender, mastery and compliance.
Who we are, the dignity with which we live, and the passion that makes our hearts pump faster is not up for debate.

From a Distance

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Despite my ambivalence about MMA action and its frequent dabbling in homophobic vomit, I keep coming across more and more MMA boys making me salivate (that’s a distasteful mixed metaphor, but I’m keeping it).


My twin-separated-at-birth, Joe at Ringside at Skull Island, recently asked us to consider how a match up between ultimate fighters Matt Riddle and Eric Bradley might play out. I have no idea what these guys really bring to the table regarding who comes out on top, but in my imagination, I can’t see a scuffle between these two guys ending without Riddle engaged in serious pec worship on Bradley (the pec tat decides the tale of the tape for me).
Tattooed Hunks is putting up some beautifully tatted, fierce looking boys, but sadly I have no idea who they are. This serious looking fella has some gorgeous, colorful ink on his arms. I would really enjoy the opportunity to help him out of his gloves… etc.
This shaved head brute (let’s call him Sigma Boy), looks like he’s got massive back ink and the jawbone of a gorilla. Whatever he’s doing with his hands, I’m up next!
And speaking of being up next, I would pay money for the ride that the pale dude is taking here. The massive beast with his opponent clamped to his throat and back squeezing the life out of him… that’s seriously sweet. I hope once the tat boy is knocked out, his opponent takes some time to closely inspect the artwork.
This guy has amazing coverage. The amount of time in the chair represented by that canvas is incredible. Personally I’d like to see some color, and the sheer size of those pec tats actually obscures what looks like decent muscle. But who the hell am I kidding? I’d worship that… particularly in his undies.

Okay. That’s about as much as I can take of MMA. The commentary, the interviews… they always end up just making me feel ashamed to have a Y chromosome. But I’m more than happy for other happy hunters to cherry pick the beauties for me to admire. Thanks!

Ode to Legs

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Legs are fantastic tools of control and humiliation in wrestling. The alignment of gorgeous legs and homoerotic domination is hot, hot, hot. While my current obsession with sexy legs is at the forefront of my own thinking about the subject, clearly I’m not the only one appreciating the many excellent uses to which legs can be put in hot wrestling action.

Wrestling Arsenal has page after page of fantastic head scissors from every angle. He has one entire page marveling at the joys of Mr. Joshua’s crushing legs. As Wrestling Arsenal points out, Joshua Goodman likes to deploy his massively muscled legs not only to wear down his man, but to torture and humiliate him. In this shot, Joshua is looking down the length of his beautiful body to watch his opponent’s pained face squeezed beet red, just inches from Joshua’s notorious package.
Wrestling pornboy extraordainare Mark Wolff always had the thickness to make men squirm when trapped between his bodybuilder thighs. In Muscle Match 3, muscleboy Ken Daniels enjoyed turning those tables and eliciting a grunt of pain with Mark’s muscle-armored waist trapped between his knees.
It’s not just the homoerotic boys squeezing the breath out of their opponents in humiliating fashion. Paul Roma (well, okay, he’s got to be considered homoerotic!) frequently used those shiny, steel-trap legs to squeeze his opponent’s bodyparts tight and up close. This remarkable shot of Roma with Animal’s head trapped between his legs while hanging horizontally, propped up on the turnbuckle, is pure artistry.
Speaking of art, Kevin Von Erich was always the master of torturing his opponents with his legs… and what beautiful, beautiful devices of torture he had!
Still, I think the explicitly homoerotic boys get the most mileage from their legs-as-means-of-torture, better than the pros. Troy Baker could squeeze out a whimpering submission from sheer brute force, making it that much sweeter when the tables were turned on the doe-eyed muscleboy.
Standing scissors seem to me to be the most humiliating and dominating use of a wrestler’s legs. The complete, abject vulnerability of the victim in contrast with the upright, almost unconcerned affect of the squeezer tells the story I love to hear: bodies dominating bodies, possessing and taming them, controlling and claiming them.

Encouraging Exhibitionists

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Online video sharing platforms are such a remarkable evolution in human community. How else would some musclehead get instantly worshipped by thousands of viewers worldwide, with nothing more than a webcam and no shame?

I’m currently infatuated with the handsome boy who goes by SteelMuscleGod. His profile says he’s from Romania, and despite excellent English, he does have a thick accent, so Romania sounds about as believable as anything else. And speaking of thick… holy crap, his latest video spotlighting his legs is incredible. As I’ve mentioned, I’m on a leg kick, and SteelMuscleGod’s legs manage to make my head spin. The soundtrack to this clip alone is cumworthy. The accent totally puts it over the top. He gets bonus adoration points for making sure we get a gander at the muscle calves. Very, very beautiful.
I remember seeing this guy on a cheaper webcam many months ago, dressed in a wrestling singlet and growling about all the dominating torture he would inflict on his opponent. He flexed and twisted, showing off every inch of his upper body. The fact that he kept his glasses on was so charming. I’m bummed that I can’t find that clip any longer. Is it my imagination, or is YouTube getting less user-friendly by the hour?
Anyway, up with exhibitionists! I’m not really interested in paying $40 for a 10 minute private web show (if I made $240 per hour, perhaps I’d be more open to hiring someone for $240 per hour), but if others are ready to shell out that cash, I say more power to SteelMuscleGod. Now, if perhaps SteelMuscleGod and this guy were to trade bodyscissors until one man screamed, that might tempt me to shell out some serious dough (if it lasted long enough… and it got sweaty… and they were seriously into it).

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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Buck Rogers turned me gay. The television show was only on for a couple of years when I was a pre-pre-teen, and I somehow remember every episode. Gil Gerard was always sucking in his gut, squeezed into skin tight spandex, with lots of visible chest hair. He was the modern-day man transported into the 25th century, forced to find his place out of his time. He was more direct, more brutish, more aggressive and masculine than his 25th century counterparts (can we say “anti-feminist backlash?”).

Looking back, it was total camp aimed at pre-teen boys. Pre-teen boys… camp… hunky dude squeezed into skin tight spandex…. I can do the math. Yes, indeed, Buck Rogers turned me gay.

One episode jumps out at me as highly erotic. Re-watching it today, I have to smile as I think back at my younger self getting so hot and bothered. The episode Olympiad featured futuristic athletes. In a classic cold war plot twist, one of the (read:Soviet) athletes was trying to defect. Buck Rogers had to come to the rescue to get the high jumper and his girlfriend out safely.
I remember thinking the high jumper was a hottie. As I re-examine the evidence, Barney McFadden, who played the character, was a pretty typical, late-70’s version of a stud. He was quite skinny, handsome, long hair, cleft chin. But squeezed into his extremely tight wonder-bra/muscle-shirt, along with the very high-cut shorts, he was instantly an object of lust for my pre-pre-teen heart. These days, the opening credits seem the hotter than McFadden. Check out the beautiful athlete at 02:40 totally making a cocky pass at the handsome reporter. Look at that eye contact! I’m guessing there’s going to be a hot time back at the Olympic village later.
Once the character Hawk came into the picture, I had a new object of lust. Tall, dark and handsome with an outfit making him appear to have a thick chest and crystal-cut abs trailing down an inhumanly long and slender torso… mmmmmm, Hawk. Thom Christopher certainly upped the sexiness.

Once again, I marvel at how much my tastes have changed over time. But as a young gay boy, just discovering the marvels of beautiful men, only inferring the wonders that those fascinating, hot bodies would one day offer, Buck Rogers and his boys absolutely steered me in the right direction.

Another Side of Wrestling

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I just stumbled across the PWP site and had a blast from the past. I used to lap that up. The wrestling is generally weak and the stories pretty unidimensional, but it’s not like they’re selling themselves as Oscar contenders. They’re just a troupe of male “exotic dancers” (not sure what’s so exotic, really) making some extra cash with some nice muscle on muscle action. They don’t try to sell more, so I totally forgive them for weak story lines and 1/2″ deep character arcs. Hell, most of their matches take place on the club floor where these guys dance (sweet Jesus, check out Scott in the dancer portfolios!!!). You can see the stripper pole in the background. This is wrestling as a side dish at its best. It’s not pretending to be a full course meal.

What I always liked about PWP was the story board format of their online store. They tell a story. Frankly, it’s not actually always the story that really happens in the match, but it’s a story with action-stills. The text is concise. Someone suffers and is ultimately humiliated in defeat. Next match.
My favorite PWP dancer-boy was, hands down, Special K. Regular readers could probably have guessed. That absolutely fantastic tummy tat is soooo tasty! It’s not like you need to make that body more attractive. Those massive shoulders and fantastically cut thighs would make this guy shine in the midst of just about any crowd. But the tummy tat makes me weak in the knees.

I think what ultimately made me lose track of PWP were the infrequent updates. They put out few products infrequently, and my postmodern mind just can’t sustain anticipation that long anymore. There are just too many bright and shiny things to distract me from remembering to check PWP once every four months. For what they offer and what they don’t pretend to be, though, they get my total respect.

Votes Needed

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I need help. Seriously, I know someone out there reads this blog. I never ask you for anything in return, now do I? But I’m asking. This is serious.

Huffington Post is running a poll regarding who should replace Diane Sawyer at Good Morning America. Generally I’m for democratic principles. But this is about Chris Cuomo, and in that case I am not above stuffing the ballot box.
The good news is that Chris is ranked #1 so far among the top 5 “candidates” being considered. The bad news is those bastards at city file are spreading the horrific rumor that Chris is slated to move to 20/20. I don’t know that even Chris could get me to tune in at 10 pm on a Friday evening to watch the snoozefest at 20/20. There MUST be a groundswell of mob rule demanding that he both stay on GMA and take the anchor seat.
Bizarrely, Cameron Mathison is #2, riding his qualifications as a former soap-opera star, Extra Entertainment “news” correspondent, and Dancing With The Stars flunky. Seriously, now. He’s gorgeous as hell, but one of these things is not like the others!
Speaking of the others, David Muir is ranked #3, as of my writing this. David is both competition for Chris in being an actual newsman and in sex appeal. David must be destroyed.
Bill Weir is ranked #4, where he should be. Bill is handsome and quick-witted, distinctly not as sexy as either Chris or David, but he’s been with ABC News for a while.
Shockingly, George Stephanopoulos is in last place. He filled in for Diane this morning, which is ominous (looks like GMA is taking the merchandise out for a test-drive). But why would George want the job? Face it, morning “news” programs in this country are only vaguely “news.” Seeing George ham it up with Jamie Oliver the Naked Chef over his recipe for pork loin just seems… well, demeaning for George Stephanopoulos. He should leave the demeaning fluff news (as in the anchor of GMA) to pretty boys who don’t mind. Like Chris Cuomo.

So I’m here to get out the vote. Vote now! Rank Chris #1. Then move to another computer and vote again.

Perhaps more importantly, I believe this is an absolutely perfect set-up for my wrestling fiction. I’m feeling a battle royale coming on. Five newsmen stripped to their trunks, last man standing in the ring gets the anchor chair. Hardbody Cameron has got to experience some fantastic suffering for presuming to get into the ring so completely outclassed. Okay, so the outcome may be a bit predictable, but I promise I’ll make it spicy!