Freshly Inked

I think it’s been a while since I mused over my infatuation with tattooed wrestlers.  It’s true that my own ink likely biases me toward my appreciation of illustrated hunks, but then again, my appreciation of illustrated hunks definitely influenced my own body art choices.  Not everyone looks good inked.  Definitely not all ink looks good, as far as I’m concerned.  But there are many tattooed wrestlers who instantly own my allegiance when the step onto the mat or into the ring, in large part because they’ve got incredibly sexy ink that I crave to see wrapped up all over their suffering opponent.
Here’s some of my choice pics from the recent crops of new release homoerotic wrestling products, featuring ink that grabs my attention and makes me pull for one hardbodied hottie over the other based in large part on the artistry they embody even before they sculpt their bodies into that most provocative aesthetic form: homoerotic wrestling.
Illustrated Eli: BG East’s Mat Hunks 9
Okay, I love me some Cameron Matthews.  His attitude, his wit, his relatively recently redefined incredibly conditioned physique, that ASS(!!!)… it’s hard not to find myself wanting to identify with the babyface brawler turned muscle daddy for a heel bid.  But fuck!  Eli Black works his magic in my shorts once again in Mat Hunks 9, solidly holding my gaze and making me acknowledge he’s my boy in this match, and I have to think it’s his ever growing collection of tattoos. 
Kevin Crowes’ crows: Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4
A relatively recent release in what I think is Can-Am’s best genre contribution to homoerotic wrestling pits epically long-time favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy of mine, Rusty Stevens, against almost painfully beautiful pretty boy, Kevin Crowes in Pro Sex Fight 4.  I have a documented record years-long that proves that there’s almost nobody to compete with Rusty Stevens in delighting, entrancing and infatuating me, starting well before he lays a finger on an opponent.  And Rusty’s got some sweet ink, albeit he could use some touch ups, if you ask me.  But Kevin Crowes’ combination of imminently fuckable classically proportioned beauty along with his bold, massive, gorgeous ink does what perhaps only one man before has been able to do: hold my attention and settle my ass securely and convincingly in the opposite corner from Rusty Stevens.
Paul Hudson’s tatted bicep makes Lon Dumont just a little less pretty.

Lon Dumont’s skin is smooth, clear and entirely absent of foreign pigment.  It’s not the art tatted onto Lon’s body that has propelled him into the top echelons of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers, but the incredible beauty of his competition physique paired with a smart, vicious persona and high quality pro wrestling execution.  What could make me root against my reigning favorite!?  I think it’s two things, really.  One, there’s something deeply stirring watching a whittled to an anatomy chart physique star go slack over and over in a knock outs match, and (more to the point of this post), his opponent Paul Hudson surprises me by smacking me firmly into the Hudson camp with his bulging trunks and upper arm ink.  Lon’s face slack and smashed into the black band inked across Paul’s right bicep is simply gorgeous.

Illustrated MJ rides Attila’s ass

The 3rd match in Mat Hunks 9 catches me by surprise by how compelled I am by it.  Attila Dynasty (and in particular, his ass) has long been an infatuation of mine.  But MJ Vergara is visually astonishing the moment he walks into the BG East mat room and shoves Attila stumbling ahead of him.  The mohawked muscle man is amazingly built, veins popping, muscles bulging, 25 inch waist (my guess, I haven’t measure him myself… but I’d be very happy to).  His bold, beautiful tattoo stretched across the whole of his left pec and massive deltoid and trapezius muscles is simply beautiful! Attila is such a smart ass, such a cocky, swaggering, proven-dangerous son of a bitch, of course, and there are plenty of matches in which that character is exactly the one I can’t wait to watch work up a head of sadistic steam all over his crushed opponent’s body.  Not this time, however.  Fuck, I’m all on board with compact muscle stud MJ going ape shit all over Attila’s fine, fine ass, and I’m thinking that he’s got me sucked in to identifying with his plans for bully revenge thanks in large part to that gorgeous ink that absolutely swallows up Attila whole.

Beauty and power you just have to touch.

Chace LaChance and Braden Charron in BG East’s Summer Sizzler’s bonus are both in the best shape I’ve ever seen either of them, and sporting more ink than I think we’ve ever seen on either phenomenal muscle men.  All of that inked muscle wrapped around each other, squeezing, stretching, and flexing is breathtaking.  Who to root for when both stunning physique stars are in the best condition and most extensive ink ever?  It’s a toss up for me, but I’m not complaining.  There’s no way this can miss!

 Big Sexy’s big, sexy ink on display.

Less surprising is Thunder’s Arena’s Big Sexy owning my lustful allegiance in Battle Space 45.  If there’s a “total package” in homoerotic wrestling these days (by the way I estimate packages, at least), Big Sexy probably has the best claim.  He’s smart and funny, highly skilled on the mats, handsome as hell, beautifully built, one of the most fuckable asses on the planet, and all of that beautiful artwork!  Both an artist and a work of art, I’m entirely a Big Sexy fanatic when he steps onto the mats with the entirely tattooless muscles of a muscle star, Muscles.

Oiled ink on ridiculously hot Landon Conrad.
Naked Kombat’s newest release makes me gasp.  Even if Landon Conrad didn’t have a few, modest tats  on that insanely hot muscle bod, he’d definitely be my man in his match against amazingly hot, yet somehow unavoidably diminished in comparison, Alex Law.  However, ridiculously handsome muscle hunk Landon does, indeed, have tats that drive home the point that this porn gladiator is suddenly my #1 Naked Kombat kombatant in any match for the foreseeable future.
Specimen illustrates total domination.

Thunder’s Arena has long been the place for the battles of the big men, and Battle Space 46 is a prime example.  Looking for everything like Superman’s alternate universe arch enemy Bizzaro, bad boy and mighty meat head Vinny was never going to be my man after the tiff he dusted up around his “gay taunt” earlier in his Thunder’s career.  But then again, with beautiful, branded beef like Specimen is serving up, it wasn’t like Vinny had a chance anyway.  Beat his ass, make him cry, and give him an up-close examination of every tat, Specimen!

My final tat shout out is for another a BG East newcomer, bad ass Vic Madone.  Vic is a perfect example of the difference between still frame homoerotic wrestling images and homoerotic wrestling in action.  In still frame, this gorgeous stud is GORGEOUS!  I mean, crystal blue eyes to swim in.  A face  that should be hocking ultra-expensive men’s cologne. A lickable body that appears to be the perfect intersection of form and function.  Even with all of those very, very nice tats, I could picture still-frame Vic easily donning a tuxedo and walking a red carpet (and then climbing into a wrestling ring for a rip-n-strip extravaganza).  But when I watched his debut match on Mat Hunks 9, there was nothing “pretty” about Vic.  He mumbles non-stop, and I’d pay money for a translator, because I’m sure that incessant trash talk is sexy as shit.  But Vic is an object of my lust like Michael Imperioli is in the Sopranos.  He’s rough, mean as hell, machismo oozing out of his pours, and absolutely BRUTAL!  Personally, I’m likely to root for anyone going up against Ray Naylor simply because I’m dying to see someone seriously ride that epic ass of his.  But Vic is honestly phenomenal in this match, slowly warming me up from an initial tingling in my crotch to a full-on raging fever over the course of the first 5 minutes.  I pity anyone who faces this hot, inked hunk, but I fully expect that if anyone does, you can count on me standing right behind Vic in anticipation of him doing serious damage.

So ink seems to be adding up to my allegiance lately.  Of course, just because I’m rooting for one wrestler to win doesn’t mean I don’t thoroughly enjoy being surprised, having my boy bested, watching the power I’m invested and identified with tamed and conquered.  But tattooed muscles wrapping up and locking down an outmatched opponent is a particular brand of hot for me.

Heel = Jobber [Guest Blogger: Alex]

In trying to help Bard with content, I have discovered that writing for a blog is difficult. Maybe I just don’t have that much to say. One of my limitations is that I don’t watch nearly as much wrestling as others. So today, I’m going to flip the script and ask you a question. I’ll seek your advice and perspective.

I admit it. I liked Barry Horowitz, with his pulled-too-high trunks and back patting antics. Barry, Reno Riggins, Brooklyn Brawler … these are just some of the guys who I don’t think I ever saw win a match, but I found their arrogance and optimism oddly appealing.
Sure, Brawler, you’re going to be the one to defeat Tatanka. Good luck with that.
While face jobbers are required to look scared, weak and may not even mount any offense, heel jobbers start out with unearned confidence, a bag of dirty tricks (that are doomed to fail) and manage to get in a few licks before the inevitable ending.
So, are there any really good heel jobbers right now?

It’s a real question. Maybe there are and I don’t know it. As I said, I don’t watch a ton of wrestling these days, so there could be. There are definitely heels who lose occasionally, especially against other heels, but I’m wondering about a strong guy who walks in wearing black, talking tough then gets beat down by the talented face. Are there any who lose with Darius-level consistency? Are there any who maintain, rather than suppress, their inherent heel-ness while losing? Is there a heel equivalent of Braden Charron?

What if Darius wore black instead of pastel blue?

What if Braden wrapped his muscles in leather instead of the flag?

These guys could still job, but they’d job with an attitude. They’d go down to the man in white and pink, still mouthing off until they lost consciousness. I have to say that I have seen this from Aryx Quinn, but not sure if there are others.

Does it happen? Is the idea even appealing? I’d love to hear thoughts.

Summertime and the Livin’ Is Easy

Like fresh picked berries and crotch watching at the beach, BG East’s Summer Sizzler’s releases have become a seasonal treat for me.  I’m a little dizzy from the initial overdose I just subjected myself to, scoping out the preview pics that are part of catalog 99.1, just released.

Boyfriend jobbers Skip and Christian make me think it’s not all bad getting crushed by Morgan Cruise.

Making my eyes water the hardest are the initial shots of Tag Team Torture 16: Boyfriend Beatdown, featuring the combo I’ve been bitching and moaning in anticipation of for years.  Skip Vance and his  real life boyfriend (and former HWOTM) Christian Taylor climb into the ring together for a 2-on-1 battle against heel-risen Morgan Cruise.  Holy shit, this looks insanely hot.  This looks like it’s heading in all the right directions, and I’m a little breathless in anticipation.

Chace LaChance and Braden Charron are RIPPED! 

Speaking of breathless, shocking me just a little are the preview pics of the “Bonus Match” (for ordering all of the Summer Sizzlers) featuring Braden Charron and Chace LaChance both appearing to have physically peaked for the season at precisely the same moment that they climbed into the ring together.  I may have seen Braden this ripped… possibly, but holy hell, I have never seen Chace as put together as this. Fuck. Me. Please.

Who’s Got Whom? Eli Black or Cameron Matthews? 

Mat Hunks 9 is a stand-alone compilation that delivers a pretty perfect 8-pack selection of thirst-quenching hunks such as I’m not sure I’ve seen all on one DVD before.  3-time HWOTM Eli Black looks like he’s got his hands full with former HWOTM Cameron Matthews.  This is a fascinating pairing, I think, and Cameron’s showmanship combined with Eli’s intensity seems like a formula for either disaster or perfection.  I’m voting for perfection.

Rafe Sanchez takes the ride of MY life!

And speaking of perfection, former HWOTM and former and long-running overall favorite homoerotic wrestler of mine, Mitch Colby, snaps those tanned, rock hard thighs around the smooth, sexy head of long, long running infatuation of mine (though never a HWOTM), Rafe Sanchez (mmmmmmmm… Rafe).  These two have appeared in some of the over the top sexiest wrestling I’ve ever enjoyed, so combined, I’m feeling dehydrated just thinking about it.  And I’m not even going to mention the perfection of asses featured in the other two matches on Mat Hunks 9… yet.

Hot, hard muscles turned to jelly.
I will mention that my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler (non-pornboy) Lon Dumont is also out in a new product, Knock Outs 2 , appearing back in the day when his head was smoother than Rafe Sanchez’.  The match promises both Lon and his opponent, veteran pro Paul Hudson, get sleepered repeatedly, and the image of lovely, powerful Lon so vulnerable, out cold, is giving me hot flashes!
Mr. Joshua had better watch his back (I’ll keep an eye on his front for him)

Finally, Ring Hunks 1 (how is this only the first of that title!?) throws former overall favorite homoerotic wrestler Mr. Joshua’s massive package headlong into the dangerous machinations of former HWOTM and recent interviewee here, Aryx Quinn.  If anyone can unleash the beast, surely it’s diabolical Aryx!   Right?!  Please!?

Another who’s got whom from Summer Sizzlers: Wrestle Shack 17… my money is on Dylon Robert’s thighs.

So these releases technically fall in the month of May, but there’s no way I can assess them in time for tomorrow’s crowning of a new HWOTM, so they’re officially delayed to join the June releases.  In the mean time, pass me a protein drink.  I’m going in….

A Contract Worth Signing [Guest Blogger: Alex]

 Like most people, I hate signing contracts. Whether it’s for cell phones, cable or the gym, companies love to lock us in then treat us like crap. BGEast is the exception, of course. They have a contract I was happy to sign. Not just once, but a whopping nine times.

For those that don’t know, The Contract is a fantastic series that stars Brad Rochelle, a true superstar. If there were a Hall of Fame for BGEast icons, he’d get in on the first ballot for sure. This is Brad at his best – believable as face and heel, victim and victor, dominator and jobber.

Brad gets duped

Brad gets punished
Brad’s had enough

Brad’s in charge

I love Brad’s nearly unmatched range in skill, attitude, flexibility and personality. He’s at his bendy best throughout. The beatdown from the Enforcer stands out for me, as does Brad’s initiations of studs like Alexi and Braden.

I love the long form storytelling aspect, which is so unique. Rock Hard Wrestling and Thunder’s Arena do have wrestlers reference past encounters, but it’s not quite the same feel.

I love the evolution of Brad’s character during the series from hapless victim to malevolent mastermind.

And I love Brad’s opponents. They include a who’s who of BGEast talent, from established stars to emerging talent to debuts by future favorites:

Kid Leopard


Aryx Quinn
Jonny Firestorm
The Enforcer
Cameron Matthews
Alexi Adamov
Braden Charron

Unless I missed one, the ending for The Contract is left to the viewer to imagine. Brad gets ratted out, as KL is told what’s going on, but his wrath is never seen.

I’d love to see more series like this. Given the way these things work, what any company should do is either complete the entire series in one filming or at least film a concluding chapter in case the rest never gets filmed. I think people would be forgiving of changing bodies and hair styles to get closure. We’re used to it.

What are your thoughts? Love or hate The Contract? Would you like to see more series? Weigh in through the comments!

Beating the Odds

There are varying opinions about mismatched opponents in homoerotic wrestling.  I get the argument that the intoxicating heat of the competitive premise can suffer when there is, or appears to be, little chance of an outmatched wrestler holding his own, much less taking possession of his opponent’s.  Not infrequently, however, I have a sweet tooth for an apparent mismatch, for the tale of the tape that suggests there is no spread big enough to make this worth a bookie’s time.  Just that first glimpse of some plucky hunk staring down (more often up) extremely long odds can grab my attention with both hands.
Brian Baker stares down his nose at goldenboy Austin Cooper 

The long-odds wrestling match jumped front and center in my attention recently when I clicked through to the preview of my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, 5’9″, 170 pound Austin Cooper, trying not to have to strain his neck to look up at the stunningly handsome face of his young rookie opponent, Brian Baker (different one), who towers over him at 6’4″ at weighing in at an athletically lean 205 pounds.  I’m downloading this promise at this very moment, inspired largely by the promise of seeing what Coop can do with the rook’s seriously lovely ass and long, tattooed torso.  The online match description telegraphs (or, rather, painstakingly details) that not only does Coop tame the towering stud, but he humiliates Brian in a two-fall squash despite the 7 inches of height and 35 pounds of weight advantage the rookie comes in with.  Please tell me Coop draws out the schooling just as long as his lovely pupil’s body is!

Drake Wild has his hands full taming massive muscle beast Tyler St. James

In the way the universe does sometimes, I was fresh off of getting all breathless over Coop and Brian Baker when I stumbled across more tantalizing preview pics of Can-Am’s first catch-weight version of a Pro Sex Fight. reports that the sweet, hot punk Drake Wild is 5’5″ and 140 pounds, which explains why he looks absolutely dwarfed by Tyler St. James, who reports is 6’2″ and 240 pounds of insanely thick muscle.  That’s 7 inches and, I kid you not, a reported 100 pound difference, which is instantly translated into a sweaty brow and gasps of lust to see controlling the big man handily.   Fuck, that’s hot!

Gorgeous giant Paladin makes even notorious heel Jonny’s eyes grow wide.

Apparently there’s something in the water these days, because BG East’s latest catalog also boasts one of those inspiring apparent mismatches with the 5’5″ and 160 pound version of Jonny Firestorm, staring up at the chart topping beauty of 6’6″ and 210 pound Paladin in the 3 Stages of Jonny.  The online match description explains that Jonny’s been sent on a mission to cut the 6 and half foot giant down to size, but even Jonny and those magical forearms can’t prevent the man 50 pounds and over a foot taller from taking the first fall.  It’s never a good idea to count out Jonny, or his forearms, prematurely, and yet again another “little guy” beats the odds, and his massive opponent, to a pulp.

Every ounce of Cybertron’s 65 pound weight advantage threatens to break babyface Ronny Pearl in half

And then there’s the case of 5’8″, 185 pound Ronny Pearl, who I mentioned so adoringly yesterday, encountering 6’2″ and 250 pound wrecking ball Cybertron in Ringwars 21.  Compared to the previous 3 mismatches, Ronny’s “only” staring down a half a foot height difference (and, yeah, a 65 pound weight disadvantage).  Nevertheless, Cybertron demonstrates what “odds” are all about, capitalizing on every inch and ounce of superiority to crush the flowing-haired rookie with more brutality than I’ve seen in a match in a long time!

Big Sexy isn’t about to let even two opponent’s kick his fine, fine, FINE ass!

And if we’re counting numbers and assessing odds, Thunders Arena has posted a couple of new matches recently the devolve into 2-on-1 double-teams.  In Rough and Ready 33, peroxide punk Izzy was due to star in one of those totally outmatched features, though how much smaller he is than 6′, 205 pound Big Sexy is a mystery because he’s not listed yet in their roster (which seems ominous for his future).  Regardless, 5’8″, 156 pound Python apparently steps in to help little Izzy out, wrapping those superman arms around Big Sexy’s throat and turning the tide.  However, this is Big Sexy we’re talking about.  Worse for the double-team, it’s Big Sexy bigger, sweatier, and more beautiful than ever, demonstrating that it’ll take a lot more than 2-on-1 for the likes of these boys to ever best the likes of Big Sexy.

Butt-to-butt-to-butt, Tak and Coop work over Braden Charron’s luscious muscles.

On the flip side, you’ve got twink of my dreams, Tak, getting more than he bargained for when he tries to work his twink-dominator magic on the bulging muscles of body beautiful Braden Charron in Rough and Ready 34.  Braden is reportedly only 5’8″ and 155 pounds (really!? with that ass and those pecs, that astonishes me), whereas Tak is 5″10 and about the same weight, but even at the outset this looks like a mismatch for lean fratboy Tak.  When things go decidedly not his way, fellow goldenboy Frey (aka, homoerotic wrestler of the month Austin Cooper) steps in to go butt-to-butt with his buddy Tak in delivering a lick-lippingly sexy double-team dose of humiliation on the bubble-butted beauty Braden.  Braden stared down the odds stacked against him (and on top of him, and all around him) and learned the hard way that they’re “odds” for  a reason.

Coop’s got the towering rookie right where he wants him.

Mismatches, long odds, David and Goliath… sometimes the little guys surprise us.  Sometimes they don’t, and yet still delight us.  However the contrast, the conventional wisdom turned on its head, is very frequently a provocative element in homoerotic wrestling that sorts me out just right.

"Remember, it’s wrestling!"

Brendan Cage earned his homocredibility in the work he did in the ring for Cam-Am.  In Pro Tagteam Sex Battle 1, the handsome stud teamed up with porn tidal wave, Aryx Quinn, to physically, psychologically, and yes, sexually dominate mouthwatering former homoerotic wrestler of the month, Landon Mycles/Marcus Mojo and his partner Jake Lyons.  Brendan likes cock.  He also clearly likes pounding his cock up the ass of hot muscle hunks.  So when Brendan invaded the living room of Thunder’s Arena, I took notice.

Brendan Cage pays $400 for 25 minutes of “wrestling” with Braden Charron

Brendan brings the most overtly homoerotic element to Thunder’s Arena that I’ve seen yet.  For example, in Halloween Havoc 2012 he apparently went on the internet and found Braden Charron, looking as hard and ripped as we’ve ever seen him, advertising for some private, recreational wrestling services.  The offer of $400 by Brendan lures beautiful Braden to the Thunder’s mat room, where a hungry Brendan instantly begins to devour the tanned muscle god with his eyes.  “Pretty, pretty nice,” Brendan says with his mouth, though his eyes are screaming, Fuck, yes!  “You know a little bit about wrestling?” he asks.  Of course you and I know that Braden knows a lot about wrestling.  Or, at the very least, we can testify that Braden has logged some crazy hot hours in the ring and on the mat, for the most part getting his juicy muscle ass squashed in one bashing defeat after another at the eager hands of some of BG East’s most fierce grapplers.  “Are you ready to earn your $400 today?” Brendan asks, giving Braden an unsolicited, hearty squeeze of his huge, sculpted tricep.

“Remember, it’s wrestling!”

“Remember, it’s wrestling!” Braden cautions. “This isn’t a muscle worship thing!” And therein lies the paradox.  Thunder’s Arena is unquestionably about both wrestling and muscle worship.  It’s unmistakably pitched directly at a gay wrestling kink audience.  But typically Thunder’s relies on us to read between the lines, to supply our own heat to the pounding muscles of their strong suit: massive, meaty bodybuilders going toe-to-toe in mostly fun-and-games wrestling with frequent drift into selling competition, egos, and lusty desires to dominate.  It’s wrestling.  Undoubtedly.  It’s also “a muscle worship thing,” despite Braden’s protest.  But lately Brendan Cage is connecting the implicit and explicit stories written into the fabric of Thunder’s Arena more openly and enthusiastically than I’ve seen before.  In some ways, he embodies the role that Thunder’s plays in the homoerotic wrestling genre, creating a virtual universe in which straight bodybuilders grapple lightheartedly in g-strings and speedos, explicitly staying this side of “straight” wrestling, while giving an unmistakable nod to the other side of that line, where the homoeroticism of wrestling draws those like you and me.  Brendan’s frequent eyebrow wags at the camera are not-so-subtle signals that he’s turned on by beautiful Braden.  He’s offered $400 for a private session not just to wrestle, but to feed a hunger for getting his hands all over big Braden’s famously hot bod.  In short, Brendan is one of us, my friends, and he’s slipped in the back door of Thunder’s Arena to enjoy the fratboy hijinks there the way you and I have been imagining for ourselves for years.

Braden cops a feel, here or there, tempting Brendan farther down the path…

He wraps his arms around Braden  almost lovingly and turns him to the camera.  Brendan’s bright, blue eyes give us a knowing wink as he reaches around and feels Braden’s famously luscious pecs.  “Remember… wrestling,” Braden warns.  “I know, I know… I’m just fucking with you,” Brendan says with a smirk, wagging his eyebrows at the camera once more.

“Yeah, I’m ready, but this ain’t touchy-feely!”

It’s Brendan’s $400, so Braden obeys his instructions to get down on all fours.  Brendan slides in behind him, pressing his crotch against Braden’s fantasyman ass and sliding his hand slowly around the muscle hunk’s narrow waist in order to squeeze his right pec.  “Just let me know when you’re ready,” Brendan purrs.  Braden growls threateningly, “Yeah, I’m ready, but this ain’t touchy-feely!”  “I know!” Brendan grins, “this is the position you get in.  This is called the opening stance.”  He digs his fingers into Braden’s massive traps.

There’s a fine line between a passionate hug and an erotic bearhug.

“Is this opening stance or a massage!?” Braden protests again.  But he doesn’t flinch, really.  He doesn’t shove Brendan’s exploring hand away.  So Brendan slaps Braden’s ass. When Braden doesn’t complain, he slaps it again.  “Cut the shit, and let’s wrestle!” Braden snaps, his patience finally wearing thin.  He wants to wrestle, and just playing a game of ass-grab isn’t on the menu (so maybe it’s actually Braden who’s really “one of us” in this scenario!).

“You really don’t like this!?” Brendan asks incredulously.

They do wrestle, and it’s hot action.  Brendan hoists his musclebunny off his feet in a lovely bear hug, before slamming his back to the mat and mounting his ass provocatively.  He spends a lot (alotalotalot) of the 24 minutes of this match mounted across Braden’s back, shoving the muscleboy’s face into the mat and grinding his crotch into Braden’s bubble-muscle-butt.  He keeps dialing up the sexual tension, groaning lustfully as he pumps his hips, until he crosses some invisible line that pisses Braden off.  Where is that line, up to which Braden will permit Brendan to stroke, squeeze, and grind, but beyond which he’s not willing to go, even for $400?  That’s pretty much the eternal question gay man have been asking through the ages, haven’t they, playing fratboy hijinks with their macho buddies, psychologically masterbating off of the sublimated intimacy while upping the ante, bit by bit, to test whether the defensive heterosexuality is merely a veneer overtop of a deep down cocklust?

“Yeah, come on, that don’t bother ya!”

Braden catapults Braden off of him when near-pin morphs into a some rousing worship of his massive biceps and sculpted pecs.  “That’s not my thing!” Braden protests.  “If I wanted a massage, I’d go down the street.”  “Take it easy man, take it easy,” Brendan smirks, reminding Braden he’s earning $400 to walk that fine line with him.  Brendan’s rides the wave across most of the best of what Braden offers, including those mountainous biceps and pecs, but also including slapping and even kissing his ass. “You really don’t like this?” Brendan asks, his crotch pressed tightly against Braden’s ass as he squeezes tight to a full nelson.  “Really?” he repeats incredulously.  Braden complains, “I just thought we were gonna wrestle!”

“Oh, yeah, it’s just wrestling, man!” Brendan mocks.

Of course, 30 seconds later, Braden is the one who’s the first to rip off his opponent’s baggy shorts to reveal Brendan’s speedo underneath.  The smile that stretches across Brendan’s surprised face is priceless.  He spins around in shock and gives Braden another appraising look.  Is he, or isn’t he?  Just how far can he take this mouthwatering brick house?!  “Oh, yeah, it’s just wrestling, man!” Brendan mocks, even as Braden immediately starts to protest that he’s just here for above board athletic competition.  Sensing a green light to go another block, Brendan returns the favor and peels Braden down to a bikini-bottom.  “This is good!” Brendan laughs.  “You’re having fun with me right? You’re having fun?”  Braden isn’t exactly enthusiastic in response, but he doesn’t quite give his lustful benefactor the red light, either.

Brendan leans in extra close in a distracted test of strength

A test of strength looks like Brendan is in way over his head as Braden begins to power up, but when the salt-n-pepper daddy leans in and rests his cheek on the muscleboy’s flexing pec, Braden loses his concentration and quickly ends up on his back again.  “Look at that muscle!” Brendan marvels, pinning his opponent’s wrists to the mat.  He leans in and kisses Braden’s right bicep.  “Does that bother you?” he asks, doing the same to the left bicep.  He slides his hips forward and rests his pouch on Braden’s chin, laughing.  “You gotta admit, this is pretty fun!”  Braden grimaces and turns his mouth away, but he doesn’t exactly “say no.”  “Does that bother ya?” Brendan asks, slapping Braden’s cheeks with his cock stretching the fabric of his speedo.  “Yeah, come on, that don’t bother you.  I know how you are.”

“I’ll keep feelin’; you keep squeezin’!”

Braden acknowledges the attention that Brendan is paying to his stunningly hot legs and offers his benefactor the opportunity to feel their power in a headscissors.  “Yeah, okay!” Brendan accepts eagerly.  Brendan strokes his opponent’s muscles wrapped around his skull lustily, making Braden threaten to squeeze harder.  “Go ahead!” Brendan says through clenched teeth.  “I’ll keep feelin’, you keep squeezin’!”  The headscissors turns into a schoolboy pin, with Braden slapping his low-hanging pouch across his opponent’s cheeks in retribution.  “Remember that? This is the way you like it, right?” The smile stretched across Brendan’s face is a crystal clear answer.

This is, most definitely, the way Brendan likes it!

What else do you get for $400 and 25 minutes with Braden Charon?  Brendan requests the pleasure of being captured in Braden’s side headlock and trying to escape.  Braden crushes him mercilessly, though the proximity of Brendan’s captured face to his opponent’s bulging pouch doesn’t seem to be entirely “punishment.”  Later, Braden allows Brendan to stroke his washboard abs for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, that’s enough of that.”  Stroke his abs? No, but Braden will let you punch his abs.  And he’ll raise his arms and let you lift him off his feet in a bearhug, and then treat you to the same just to show you what it feels like to have all that muscle wrapped around you.

$200, right?

“Come here, man.  That’s good.  That was very fun!” Brendan finally embraces his wrestle rentboy, slapping him on those pecs he so admires.  But wait, was it $400 or $200 they agreed on?  When Braden confesses he doesn’t actually have $400 on him, he may have crossed the line once and for all.  Trying to bargain Braden down after the fact earns a suddenly panicked Brendan a fireman’s carry out of Thunder’s Arena to be forcibly transported to the nearest ATM to pay up.

There’s a morality tale or two in this match.  There’s something here to be said about the dangers of playing the “just how straight are you?” game with your buddies.  Of course, real fans who know of Braden’s work from his Randy Blue days know that he’ll go a lot farther, but presumably $400 won’t cover the ground he staked out for RB.   I also think there’s a morality tale about walking that delicate line between appealing to a homoerotic wrestling audience while simultaneously appealing to a more closeted, just-this-side-of-the-line gay audience whose closet boundaries may be less threatened by strictly straight-up wrestling than full on porn.  It’s a dangerous line to walk, with pitfalls both for straying too close or keeping too safe a distance away from the line.  I have to think that there a lot of you who are like me (and Brendan) who harbor a serious lust to see the beautiful bodybuilders of Thunder’s Arena more exposed, infused with more erotic content, slapped down, felt up, squeezed and kissed in exchange for suffering domination at the hands of a randy wrestling opponent.  I for one am glad to see someone like Brendan Cage facing the danger head on and pushing that line (both Braden’s and Thunder’s).

Tats Named

I completed a major milestone today that I’ve been working toward for the past 4 months (accounting for spotty posting and neglected wrestling fiction in that time). So in honor of a banner day in the Bard household, I’m declaring you all “Name That Tat” quiz geniuses, and I’m passing out gold stars to everyone. Let’s review what you, my homoerotic wrestling genius friends, already know:
Tat #1 belongs to…

Jobe works his ass off in many venues, but here he’s pictured in his hot-off-the-presses newest release for BG East, wrestling against Cage Thunder in Masked Mayhem 8.

Tat #2 belongs to…
…BG East’s Braden Charron.
I haven’t seen this match, but from the stills, I have to say that I think Braden’s gear in Hunk Bash 11 against Kieran Dunne is my very favorite thing that I’ve seen Braden in (excluding seeing him in nothing at all). I’d still like to hear a translation for the shoulder tat. I’m guessing it says something like, “Beautiful Bubble-Butt Boy.”

Tat #3 belongs to…
…Thunder’s Arena’s rookie, Sledge.
Now those are pecs you can sink your teeth (or claws) into! Here, Sledge is pictured in his debut match, going up against muscle tat body beautiful, Eric Fury, in Bodybuilder Battle 27.

Tat #4 belongs to…
…Naked Kombat’s Tyler Saint.
 Tyler is back this week from a long absence from Naked Kombat and homoerotic wrestling, and true to the PR, he’s looking bigger and harder than ever against hairy hunk Alessio Romero.

And tat #5 belongs to…
…BG East classic, Syddo Riley.
Syddo’s buried deep in the catalogs, but he’s a treasure to look at when you find him. This sweet bicep flex from Syddo seems to be not directly related to any one wrestling match that I can find him in, but just to illustrate the excellent use he managed to put all those muscles to, here he is ripping the deltoid muscles off the bone of babyface muscleboy, Tony Romano for Bratpack 12.
So raise your glass with me now and toast to your homoerotic wrestling acuity and to my success of the day! Well done, my friends!

Asses Named

No one posted a perfect score for this week’s installment of Name That Ass. I’m still looking for teacher’s pet. Keep studying, gentlemen. Adoring homoerotic wrestling asses requires intense, exhaustive study. Don’t be discouraged if you didn’t do well. I grade on a curve, and preparing for the next quiz should be it’s own reward. In the meantime, here are the answers to the quiz:
Ass #1 belongs to:

 BG East’s Tyrell Tomsen.
Stunning size and gorgeous proportions, when Tyrell is naked and soaked in sweat in the wrestling ring, he can strike one of the most lustworthy still life’s on record. As pictured, Tyrell was playing dominating bully to opponent Braden Charron for Strip Stakes 1. It was Tyrell’s Summer Sizzler against Bobby Horton that convinced me that Bobby deserved the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month last summer.  Tyrell has definitely been out-wrestled in his brief tenure with BG East, but he’s never been out-muscled or out-classed when it comes to his picturesque physique.
Ass #2 belongs to:
BG East’s Kid Karisma.
Kid K has captured me in his gravitational pull lately, and I’ve found myself circling back to marvel at his performances over and over again. His ass, in particular, is simply astonishingly beautiful. This particular shot is from his face off with Rocco in Gear Wars 1. I’ll gush soon about his Wet ‘n Wild appearance with Christian Taylor, but in the mean time, marvel a little longer at those glutes…

Did ass #3 pose a challenge? It belongs to none other than…
Can-Am’s pornboy extraordinaire, Mark Wolff.
Blake Onassis would have also earned you full marks for this one, since he’s cross listed under both names. This particularly fun shot is of Mark getting his face smashed into the lockers by Billy Herrington (also AKA’s Billy Marcus) for Lords of the Lockerroom. He was always a pornboy musclegod, with an ass for days and nipples the size of half dollars. Frankly, it wasn’t really Mark’s wrestling that ever sold me, but I’d buy some full contact moving pictures of that body anyday.
I imagined ass #4 might have given some students trouble. It belongs to…
Naked Kombat’s John Magnum.

I’m positive that I’ve seen Magnum wrestling somewhere else, but for the life of me, I can’t remember where. He blew my socks off (pants, too!), when I saw him in his one and only (to date) appearance at Naked Kombat in a nail-biter against Phillip Aubrey. Phillip nearly took the big muscle brute in this match. If there was ever a tie, in the gestalt sense, these two boys were perfectly, evenly matched, despite having distinctly different styles and builds. John’s personality, though, is absolutely kink-stastic. He’s 110% present. He delights in every second of domination, and he struggles to free himself from absolutely ever nano-second under Phillip’s control. He’s a beautiful man, and although I haven’t had an opportunity to enjoy much more wrestling from him, I get a little contact high off of his tweets now and then.

I didn’t hear from any advanced players who correctly identified the monster muscle glutes of ass #5 as belonging to…
Thunder’s Arena’s Coupe.

I’ve marveled before that Coupe is a muscle freak. That does not always equate to homoerotic gold, but just like his trunks in his poolside back-and-forth with Cameron Mathews, Coupe is indeed homoerotic wrestling kink gold in my book. If ever there was a body that absolutely required comment, even awe from his opponents, it’s Coupe’s. But that’s not really what Thunder’s does, sadly. It’s much more frat house romp than full on homoerotic body worship. I haven’t seen him at Thunder’s in a while, but I’ll just put it out there here and now, if ever Coupe is looking for some homo muscle worship to make up for all the neglect the boys at Thunder’s have made him suffer, I’m first in line with the baby oil.

So how did you do? I put more weight in progress over time than any individual quiz grade, so I hope that you’re finding that you’re performance is improving as you take more Name That Ass quizzes. Don’t be discouraged if you didn’t do as well as you’d hoped. We both know that you love the subject matter, so devoting yourself with renewed enthusiasm to your studies should be no burden at all.

Value Added

Several recent comments here have sent me thinking more deeply about what it is that a wrestling kinkster gets in explicitly homoerotic wrestling that he doesn’t in basic cable pro. “The gay” has had a longstanding presence in straight-up pro wrestling for… well, forever, hasn’t it? The classic flaming pro-wrestler with his feather boa, dancing on the balls of his feet, have been a not-so latent element in the scene for at least as long as pro wrestling has been televised, it seems to me. I made a break with regularly following straight-up pro scenes about a decade ago, but when I’m flipping through the channels, I get the impression that “the gay” continues to creep more and more into that scene. Hasn’t there been and openly gay wrestler or two? Isn’t the erotic sub-text getting more and more main-text, as the modern audience is catching on to what so many of us have understood for a long time… that two hardbodied, barely clothed hunks grinding and squeezing their bodies together can’t help but be about sexual prowess, if not outright sex.

But I’m so far out of the straight-up pro loop, I’ll have to rely on those many of you who keep up with it to correct me. Feel free, in fact. I’m blindly wandering into a subject that I know, at most, only 50% about: what is it that we gay wrestling kinksters get in our homoerotic wrestling that we don’t get in straight-up basic cable pro? (Indie fanatics can tell me if this applies to that scene as well)…. In no particular order:
Tear-away crotch gear. And for that matter, full-on centering of the gorgeous male erection. If these elements were popping up in straight-up pro, it would seriously make me consider diving back into that scene. As it is, I’m thinking that, despite a diversity of gear and gear-related stories in straight-up pro, the tear-away crotch and the aroused cock are entirely in the domain of the homoerotic side of wrestling. Please, tell me I’m wrong.
Hand-to-bare-crotch ball abuse. Before I washed my hands of straight-up pro entirely, crotch abuse was on the rise. But as far as I know (and you will correct me), wrestlers actually stuffing their hands down each other’s trunks and clawing each other’s balls for all it’s worth (or even better, entirely naked, prolonged cock and ball bashing), marks a dividing line between wrestling packaged for us as opposed to wrestling packaged for them.
Passionate, full on, tongues-down-throats kissing. I can remember at least a couple of instances where a straight-up pro story used a man-on-man kiss as the excuse for violence (not hard to read the homosexual panic storyline here), but never as the mutual climax of the physical competition. Hard fought, sweaty, pounding, tooth-and-nail wrestling should lead to some intense respect and mutual gratification, I think. If the buff bigboys on basic cable occasionally lost themselves in passion at the end of a particularly close fought match, again, I’d absolutely have to tune back in.
Naked bearhugs. Well, naked everything, really. So we’ve been led to believe that the ancient Greeks battled it out this way, but as far as I know, other than the occasional bare-ass moment (treated as a moment of ego-crushing humiliation), the straight-up pros keep their gear on their bodies. A bearhug or a boston crab or a head scissors may be technically identical between the two genres, but the innovation of losing the gear first completely retranslates everything into a language I’m much more fluent in, and whose tones I find much more pleasing.
Oil wrestling. Especially naked oil wrestling, but seriously, any kind of oil wrestling seems like it’s this side of the neutral zone between straight-up pro and full-on homoerotic wrestling. Lubricating bodies can’t help but make everything more arousing, both in the action and on this side of my television screen. I suspect I could be on thin ice on this one, and I’ll be very pleased to be corrected to learn that the straight-up pros are breaking out the babyoil for one another… but I’m doubtful.
Toe-sucking. Okay, I can’t remember seeing this in a wrestling match before my current favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens, pulled it out as a defensive move against Mitch Colby this summer. So it isn’t exactly a staple of homoerotic wrestling. But somehow, I can’t see this innovation showing up in prime-time. Both genres have overlapping standard toolkits for distraction and diversion in a match, but I, for one, am really pleased when I see some erotic worship as a strategic move.
The naked pony ride. Or, really, the loser-gets-used scenario in general, involving any element of nakedness. The pony ride itself seems to be a signature primarily at Naked Kombat, though I’d love to see this gimmick show-up elsewhere. Somehow, I could imagine seeing it cross-pollinate through other homoerotic wrestling companies about a century before it would show up in straight-up pro… though Joe at Ringside at Skull Island continues to feature some fantastic indie boys I’d pay good money to see ride or get ridden… naked, of course.
The jack-off. Either post-match or, as Aryx Quinn illustrates here with Braden Charron (and KL on Chris from yesterday’s post), locked in a classic wrestling move, a forced to cum show of domination/voyeurism/humiliation. This falls under the same theme as the any-straight-up-pro hold that turns naked idea, but add to that some masturbation, and, well, this just isn’t going to show up on basic cable anytime soon… or a pay-per-view extravaganza… or, well, anywhere other than the homoerotic specialists.
Oral. The spoils of victory never tasted so sweet on any, any, any straight-up pro match as it does when a homoerotic wrestler lays his loser out and sucks his cock like there’s no tomorrow. Depending on the angle, the loser-gets-forced-to-suck story (see every Naked Kombat match, for example), also works only on this side of the line. Just as an aside, I’m more a fan of the taste of victory than I am of the loser-gets-face-fucked plot. Ironically, there’s something almost “straight” feeling about the latter to me…
Anal. Most of the same comments apply here. This just isn’t going to show up for the straight-up pro boys, though how sweet would that be to see some of those fine, muscle-asses on the line and plowed in the center of the ring when they lose? But that’s precisely what leads me (and many of us, I’m sure) to homoerotic wrestling products. Straight-up pro only takes us so far. Our imaginations can complete the scene, but there’s something awfully satisfying and, in some ways, validating about seeing the scenario play out exactly the way you and I would imagine. I don’t think that a match needs to end in a forced-fuck to be homoerotic, by any means. In fact, I get a little tired when it seems to be obligatory, and I get the impression that the creativity and competition of a wrestling match sometimes turn into clock-punching routine as the boys go through the familiar motions. But a victory fuck closes the circuit in my mind. From the anticipation, promise, and implications of straight-up pro, homoerotic wrestling fills in the silences and opens up the possibilities that turn me on like no baggy-shorts prime-timer has ever done.

I know I’ve missed a lot. I’m sure I’ve overstated my case… because that’s just what happens when I have a whole blog to myself to rant and ramble. But seriously… sincerely… I’ll be pleased no end to hear what I’ve managed to get completely wrong here.

The Gratuity

I caught a young, nicely muscled hottie in the gym locker room flexing in the mirror. Context is everything. I see (and appreciate) flexing in the work out room all the time. On the gym floor, posing is cocky, perhaps competitive, certainly exhibitionist. But in the locker room, a double bicep in the mirror is just gratuitous, narcissistic, and, frankly, incredibly hot.

The wrestling flex-pose is all about context, too, I think. The spontaneous surge of adrenalin that inspires a dominating victor to pump out a most-muscular makes sense. It’s self-congratulatory, self-reveling, the exclamation point at the end of the statement, “I own you now!”

Prior to a match, the flex-pose is a little more like the gym bunny in the workout room. The two as-yet-untested studs flex for one another, to be seen by one another, to be compared with one another. The pre-match flex is about intimidation and psyching each other out, as in, “Just look at these muscles! This body is too much for you to handle.” The pre-match flex sets the stage for the grappling, sometimes serving as the only real plot, as both men present their bids (I’m the strongest… my muscled arms will break you… my powerful thighs will squeeze you), and then as the match unfolds, they play their cards to see who actually has the best hand.

The flex-pose during the match is more like the self-worshipping muscle boy in the locker room, it seems to me. Once the action has begun, pausing to flash a lat-spread doesn’t really make sense, other than to tell the story of the narcissist who simply can’t get enough of his own hard body. The flex-pose in the course of a match is gratuitous, even risky, and often threatens the suspension of disbelief… oh, and did I mention, it’s hot?
Classic Brit wrestler “Mr. Muscles” Johnny England seemed to enjoy portraying the self-worshipping musclehead in the ring. In his match against Steve Grey, his pre-match posing-to-intimidate just keeps going well after the bell rings. The match opening test of strength displays Mr. Muscles dominant power as he toys with his weaker opponent, alternately driving him to his knees and dragging him to the balls of his feet with a sneer (I admit to writing up that very scene in my wrestling fiction because it’s so entirely tasty). England’s straight-arm overhead press at 08:07 is one FANTASTIC use of a bodybuilder-wrestler. For my money, though he’s clearly less heavily muscled, Steve Grey has by far the more worship-worthy bod in this match, and his peculiar move at 06:48 makes me think all sorts of naughty thoughts.
I recently saved up my pennies to take a look at Tyrell Tomsen’s match against Braden Charron in StripStakes 1 (please, please, please let there be a StripStakes 2!). Neither of these body-beautifuls sell me on the action. There are some nice pec claws clamped onto Braden (tragically, the move is not reciprocated on Tyrell’s gorgeous pecs). But Tyrell’s body and his constant flex-posing (literally from frame one) is entrancing. Tyrell basically re-enacts the locker room scene I saw yesterday (or vice versa), as he worships his incredible muscles in the mirror – in the middle of his match. When he gets sweaty (perhaps relying a little on stagecraft), his stunning, naked, anatomy-chart of a body could be put to no better use than to flex… not for Braden, but for his own self-worship (and, of course, ours).
Finally, I can’t help but mention the artistry of Brad Rochelle once again. His match against indy heel Kurt Kurtis in Hunkbash 7 reveals Brad’s awesome presence and self-awareness in the ring. As the title of the tape would suggest, Brad gets bashed. But the first fall is a back-and-forth. Early on, Kurt calls out Brad, saying, “all those muscles can’t help you now!” So Brad’s luscious muscles become the subject of the first fall. Brad fights to prove that his muscles will destroy Kurt’s guile. At one point, Brad has Kurt on his stomach, his lower legs being bent forward painfully. From behind his opponent, spontaneously, Brad flexes one of his beautiful baseball biceps. Brad helps us believe his self-worship, by monologuing, “You just wish you could see this,” to his opponent who clearly can’t see his posing. Brad makes sense of the mid-match flex for us, acknowledging that the posing is for his own self-congratulatory narcissism (of course, really, it’s for you and me).
The wrestling flex-pose probably, in most cases, defies belief. It’s extraneous to the contest. It’s a distraction from the stated task of securing domination of one man’s body. And personally, I’d have it no other way. Keep giving me my own, private show, that marries hot wrestling with unadulterated body worship.