Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Woah!

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I’m not sure which came first: my latest obsession with big pecs or the recent match in my gay wrestling fiction series featuring Joey Lawrence (which definitely spotlights his pecs). Besides making for good inspiration for a wrestling character, I’m left wondering, what happened to Joey? What series of choices transformed him from the floppy-haired kid starring opposite Nell Carter into the disturbingly cartoonish character he looks like today. Did he feel insecure about being the adorable child actor, so he overcompensated by bulking up? Somewhere between then and now he was just plain gorgeous.

Personally, I’m all for the shaved head.

And God knows I’ve made it clear I enjoy the big pecs. But in this photo, he’s got more cleavage than Dolly Parton, and that crosses over the line from sexy to creepy.
And please, please, please, his personal trainer must tell him to lay off the supplements and the heavy upper body work, and do some squats. He’s totally out of proportion, and it looks a little freakish. I’m worried that his legs are going to suddenly snap like twigs underneath the weight of his oversized upper body. I’m not saying that someone needs perfect proportion to be hot, but seriously, to be so overdeveloped upstairs with skinny legs and no butt downstairs… isn’t that the classic caricature of the musclehead? As obsessed as I may become with one body part, symmetry and proportion can make the difference between totally hot and vaguely creepy.

My Mistress’ Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun

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Speaking of obsessing over body parts, I’m a big advocate for the real deal. My best guess is that Mike Rowe from Dirty Jobs (and Ford commercials) is 100% real and sports entirely worship-worthy pecs. Every attempt to find a shortcut to crafting a hot male body falls short. The body is so beautiful because it lives and grows and responds, so slicing it open and sticking in a bag of silicone just doesn’t cut it (so to speak). Check out these before and after shots of this dude’s chest.

Seriously, now, the before shots look so much better! What a shame. It looks like someone blew air into his upper pecs like a beach ball.
When it comes to “supplements,” I think some guys manage them better than others. I’m sure a lot of the models, wrestlers and actors I lust after get an artificial boost to enhance their workouts and fill out their curves. But when it goes overboard, when a body packs on more muscle mass than the frame can reasonably hold, when pecs start looking like breasts and guys have to swing their legs from side to side to walk a straight line because their thighs are so thick… well, that’s really not so sexy. I’m sure that gay men like me that obsess about big, beautiful muscle men contribute to the body-facism that has crept into masculinity in the same way it has long been part of feminity. But as for me, the nips, tucks, implants and hormones aren’t nearly as sexy as the hot, hard working, beautifully imperfect male form. Give me Mike Rowe covered in mud, naked in the shower any day!

Poundable Pecs

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Do you ever get fixated on one particular body part? I do, and it varies. These days, I’m entranced by big pecs. Sometimes I’m more obsessed with legs (often, specifically, calves). Sometimes it’s asses. Occasionally it’s packages. But these days, it’s all about the pecs. In my surfing for pecs, I came across a Sexy Black Dudes blog with some very fine men, many of whom sport fantastic pecs. I’m absolutely mesmerized by this photo (above). My only complaint about the blog is the lack of detail on the models or sources of photos. As for the photos themselves: fantastic.

And speaking of fantastic and entrancing pecs, Mehcad Brooks once again delivered a spellbinding performance on True Blood last night, literally ripping his t-shirt off and getting into some kinky rough stuff (with a woman, but still, in my imagination it’s easy enough to remove her from the scenario and insert me). I’m thinking there may be a strip-wrestling match in my gay wrestling fiction sometime in the near future…
And finally, in this stream-of consciousness posting I conclude by commenting once again on Alexander Skarsgård’s appearance in True Blood last night as well. In his skin tight muscle shirt, he wasn’t showing off his pecs, but his muscled, broad back and shoulders were simply stunning. He is one huge, 6’4″ mass of svenska beauty! He also, finally, shared a scene with Ryan Kwanten’s character (whose most notable feature has to be his ass, though he has a beautiful chest as well), which only fuels my fantasy of a Brooks/Kwanten/Skårsgard ménage à trois. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The casting director of True Blood deserves a raise (and our profound gratitude)!

A Side of Wrestling

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Another “wrestling on the side” type of video, PowerMen.com has taken some notable stabs at the wrestling genre. In honor of a recent three-way match I just posted to my gay celebrity wrestling fiction group, I thought I’d give a shout out to one of the three-way wrestling (and workout, and worship, and boxing) vids publicly accessible. These fellows have a little more of a roid look than I generally get into, but there’s something endearing about the way that they try to maneuver their overly muscled bodies around in an attempt to grapple. The big guy clearly has no stamina whatsoever, but the boy in blue has some impressive flexibility for being so musclebound. They’re clearly more into being worshipped than in the wrestling, though, as they frequently get distracted with posing, licking their biceps, comparing physiques. In another stab at a wrestling-ish vid, PowerMen constructed the story of two swollen Eastern European muscle heads, squeezed into painted-on jeans over thongs, who get drunk, go back to their hotel room, and inexplicably start to grapple after comparing physiques. Once again, the models are a little more roided out than I typically enjoy and the wrestling is weak, but their commitment to the drunken straight-boys-go-gay storyline is pretty adorable. PowerMen.com hasn’t produced the most entertaining gay wrestling matches, but still, they get a “B-” for effort, in my book.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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It hardly needs mentioning that Steve Reeves must bear some of the responsibility for turning me and at least a couple generations of us gay. In my childhood, Hercules movies ran and re-ran on television on Saturday afternoons (often alternating with the aforementioned Tarzan flicks). Of course Hercules was also portrayed by actors other than Reeves, such as the very memorable Three Stooges Meets Hercules.

But it was Reeves’ ridiculously handsome face and dizzyingly, perfectly muscled body that fueled some of my earliest sexual fantasies. His torso was almost always bare and oiled up. By definition, he was perpetually engaged in grunting tests of strength. And, the coup de gras, he almost invariably wrestled in every movie. Watching Hercules grappling, dominating, and possessing his opponents must get a great deal of the credit for my lifelong obsession with wrestling body-beautifuls. In Hercules Unchained, Reeves fights an extended battle with the pro-wrestler Primo Carnera. Hercules is such a dismissively cocky heel in this scene! Bearhugs, full nelsons, cocky carries… all seeds planted in the fertile imagination of a gay boy.
In addition to cementing the homoerotic images of wrestling, Reeves’ Hercules also taught me the joys of body worship. In the 1959 Hercules, beautiful but lesser young men literally throw themselves at Hercules in adoration. As Hercules watches perched on a rock above, soldiers in training spar and exhibit their feats of strength and athletic prowess (9:14) in an effort to catch Hercules’ eye. One elder observes that the young men “have all become fanatics since Hercules arrived” (9:41) . The one eager young man who pole vaults up to Hercules’ perch (0:06) is clearly in love, desperate to worship at the feet of the bodybuilder demigod. “I wanted you to notice me!” he says passionately (0:20), despite his father’s disapproval. Like the good muscle Daddy, Hercules both disciplines and encourages the young cub who offers himself to the son of Zeus. In the sequel Hercules Unchained, as Ulysses tries to convince the amnesiac Hercules who he is, Hercules strips his torso bare and stretches across a table for an oil massage. Lustful body worship, infatuation with the cocky muscle stud, the eager bottom offering himself to the dominant top, the passion of sweaty, body-to-body wrestling… all the wonderful lessons that Hercules taught me as a gay boy.

The Wrestling Voyeur

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Wrestling commentators can make a match distinctly sexy. Of course, there are the loudmouth commentators who pump their own storyline and serve little purpose other than to distract from the action in the ring. But the commentator doing his job, commenting, describing in detail, focused intently, can kick up the sexiness. The role of the commentator is by default the perspective of the voyeur. He observes the muscled fighters from a distance, uninvolved directly in the action. He’s like the guy in the shadows, the third man who gets off on sitting in the corner of the room watching two others go at it. He has the ability to heighten the sexuality for all involved, appreciating the details, bringing the bird’s eye view of the intimate moment that the two grapplers themselves are too close to perceive. The British commentator for this old match from the UK is clearly engaged in some spontaneous body worship of the very hotly muscled Japanese wrestler, Fuji Yamada. “13 and a half stone of solid muscle,” (07:05) is both true and perhaps a little gratuitous. One might think that the commentator is drawn to note Yamada’s muscles in comparison to his scrawny, ugly Brit opponent. But then in a moment of watching Yamada just circling the ring, the commentator sounds almost beside himself, noting from out of the blue, “the musculature there… look, just look at the body on that Japanese guy!” (00:15). Of course, we were already looking! But the excitement from the voyeur on the sidelines publicly confirms what we’ve privately recognized. This is a body to be marveled at, remarked upon, admired and worshipped.


Heck, just the written descriptions of matches from some of the gay wrestling companies like BG East, BG Wrestling, and Can-Am make even more erotic the visual images of hot bodies grappling. Not that anybody needs any more inspiration than Tyrell Tomsen’s stunningly naked body bearhugging his totally outclassed opponent, but BG East’s write-up of Strip Stakes 1 is hot voyeurism:
  • “Chiseled slabs tense and ripple in high relief as he flexes in a self-indulgent display that will thrill muscle marks and even entrances the cameraman, who can’t tear himself away as The Arena door opens and Tyrell’s opponent enters.”
Its the color commentary, the perspective from voyeur sitting in the shadows in the corner, watching and worshipping, that helps to turn the concept of competitive violence into homoeroticism.

John Savage’s bouts in Arena Island Celebrity Wrestling (get there via Rants Roids n Rasslin if he’s taking new members) do a nice job with celebrity “color commentary,” bringing both humor and a distinctly voyeuristic sexiness to the wrestling happening in the ring. In my own homoerotic wrestling fiction in the Producer’s Ring, I think I see my narrative as the view of the voyeur, the third-person color commentator. Perhaps it would be sexy to try to out the character of an actual commentator at some point.

Silver Lining

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As I’ve mentioned, mixed martial arts don’t generally do it for me. For one thing, Joe Rogan creeps me out for some reason (the ink, the body, the grappling… you’d figure I’d be all over that). And there’s Dana White’s, “oops, sorry for saying ‘faggot.'” If the whole genre, from top to bottom, didn’t seem to be overcompensating for sexual insecurities, this would be much more of a gay destination sport (which would send the bi-curious self-haters running, but would make them much more money). But I do appreciate an astonishingly hot body, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu fighter and coach Pablo Popovitch is dizzyingly hot. Seriously, now, look at that body move. Now that puts the “art” in martial arts. I don’t know about his sexual orientation or how secure he feels in his sexuality, but he really has no choice in the matter: he might as well just sit back and be worshipped!

Forecast: Hot

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Hooray once again for studly newsmen publishing photos of themselves shirtless! Rob Marciano is the beautiful weatherman from CNN with a big internet fan following. A series of artsy-model photos shows that Rob’s looks have long been identified as a key asset he brings to his broadcasts. He’s got a sexy deep voice, a sense of humor that frequently cracks up his anchors, and as is apparent from his beach photo, a very nice body.

My gay wrestling fiction prominently features Marciano in the first series of matches that I wrote for the Producer’s Ring. I’m guessing that he’ll make future appearances in The News Division, perhaps in an intramural CNN weatherman-match against their international weatherman Guillermo Arduino.

The Body Block and the Bassist

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Is it wrong for a gay man to get turned on by a television program targeted at children? No, I’m not talking about my lustful appreciation of Sportacus from Lazytown, or the nerdy, yet oddly hot brothers from Kratts’ Creatures (though I could be). I’m actually thinking of the very short-lived Saturday morning live-action wrestling-themed program, Los Luchadores. It should come as no surprise that in 2001 my alarm clock was set for 7:30 Saturday mornings to see this fantastically tragic, sexy, dorky trainwreck. It was a supercamp, superhero wrestling story. Think Batman/Robin meet the WWF, with a script written by a Power Ranger. The Argentine slab of meat, Maximo Morrone first caught my eye as Lobo Fuerte, a tag-team professional wrestler by day, and a superhero crime fighter the rest of the time.

I was initially uncertain whether I could, with a clear conscience, lust after Lobo Fuerte’s youthful ward and tag team partner, Turbine. Played by Levi James, I believe he was supposed to be an impetuous, overenthusiastic, somewhat clumsy and naive adolescent. I was SO relieved to discover that James was 22 when the series came out, so checking out is hot little bod in wrestling tights seemed okay at the point. When the series ended, I was sorely disappointed, but not surprised. James carried the show as the every-boy, hero-worshipping, superhero in training, over-the-top cheese-factory. But Morrone was all body, no chemistry, and the scripts really were stolen from the most inane Power Ranger’s episodes.

Now, I think I’m connecting the dots correctly, when I say what a fun thrill it was to stumble across Levi James playing bass and managing his rock band, Irreverents, in his hometown of Vancouver, BC. I think he’s about 30 years old now, and my…. oh…. my, he grew up nice. He’s making a go of his band, pimping himself out for modeling jobs, and keeping a toe in the acting world all at the same time. He’s made some guest appearances on a few series, but hasn’t gotten a hold of anything big. But I am officially beginning my campaign to get this man more exposure. Look at the guns on him!
Holy hell. His shirtless pics on stage are insurance that I will ceaselessly track down the Irreverents every time I’m in Vancouver, from now on (oh, yeah, they’ve got a great sound!). Casting directors take note: hire this man now. I will personally make sure that every gay man on the west coast will pay money to see him, preferably shirtless. Perhaps he won’t be doing anymore wrestling. In fact, I suspect if he were ever to make it big, Jay Leno would interview him and play a clip from Los Luchadores to embarrass him (that asshole, Leno). But as for me, I became a hardcore fan of whatever he does from that first moment I saw him in his red tights get whipped into the ring ropes and fly through the air for a crossbody block. Rock on, Levi!

A Side of Wrestling

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Some of my favorite gay wrestling porn is from porn companies that don’t specialize in wrestling. Perhaps one-shot wrestling products like Randy Blue’s bout with Chris Rockway and Reese Rideout are enjoyable because of the genre crossing. These guys clearly aren’t wrestlers, or actors for that matter. But they’re gorgeous, campy, and fuck like pros (okay, that they are). They don’t even pretend that this is anything other than over-the-top, which has a distinct charm all its own. And speaking of charm, Rockway and Rideout are charmers. I got sucked into a Randy Blue subscription for a while (mostly to check out the uncensored wrestling bout), and most of these performers’ work is not only incredibly hot (have I managed to control myself from mentioning Reese Rideout’s dizzyingly gorgeous ass this long!?), but they both have a nice presence on camera. So I guess they are pretty good actors after all, I suppose.