Category: Brooklyn Bodywrecker

…In My Hands

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Having returned to a fixation on asses, here’s yet another ode to the wonders of the wrestling muscle butt. I’ve mentioned before the particular joys and plot of the ass slap. A slightly different story captivating me lately is the ass grab.

Fine distinction, perhaps, but we’d hardly say a forearm to the side of the head is the same as a excruciatingly long side-headlock, would we? No, (to answer my own question), we would not. The slap is a humiliating strike, the playful sting that delivers the message of pain on command. The grab, on the other hand, is the more sexualized sign of ownership.
My favorite wrestling pornboys are most sympathetic to me when squeezing their opponent’s cheeks. Hands down, that’s the moment through which I’m most intimately living vicariously in the homoerotic wrestling scenario. When Sebastian Rios finds himself on his knees in front of a thonged, oiled Rafe Sanchez, he does precisely what I would do… what simply has to be done in that moment (well, at least one of the things that must be done). He slides the palms of his hands up Rafe’s gorgeous cheeks and underneath his thong. Any opponent that fails to take an adoring squeeze at Rafe’s ass is a little unbelievable to me.
I surprise myself just a little at how much I get into Bruno Sinclair and Ricardo Dias’ cub training session. Ricardo’s lingering squeeze on Bruno’s muscled glute just looks so right. That’s an authentic moment that sucks me right into the scene. Whatever else I may not quite believe about homoerotic wrestling products, I’m utterly convinced by the slow, solid squeeze of a hard ass cheek.
When it happens in the heat of battle, all the better. I totally get it when Michael Wood finds his head captured in Ross Davidson’s arm, squeezed against Davidson’s ribs and inches away from his muscled ass, and Michael grabs two, open-fingered handfuls of muscle. Sure, it doesn’t do anything to counter Davidson’s advantage. Okay, so perhaps Michael will suffer that much more for his distraction. But that’s so very much, precisely, absolutely what I’d have to do, were I in his position.
The victory squeeze isn’t bad, either. After the story is told and one man has been owned, the appreciative cup of the cheek, once again, makes complete sense to me. I believe that my libido and Kid Vicious’ hands are, in fact, psychically linked, considering he always grabs, pounds, and squeezes exactly what I’m thinking. After delightfully owning Niku Samir in every humiliating position possible, Kid takes a feel of Niku’s ass appreciatively. The drive to dominate and humiliate, paired with the lustful adoration of a loser’s physique, is just genuine in my mind.
Truth be told, I’m a softy at heart. The mutual ass squeeze, naked and sweaty, at the end of a balls out battle is just about the most satisfying denouement for my money. I don’t care for watching a lot of pulled punches, or at least not a lot of poorly sold punches, but I completely buy it when ferocity to dominate turns into mutual worship. Cock pressed to cock, hands squeezing each other’s glutes, the wet heat shared as hearts pound, chest to chest… that’s what it’s all about for me.

Prometheus Bound

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What is the relationship between a homoerotic wrestling kink and bondage? Is the wrestling kinkster a subset of S&M bondage kink? Are they kissing (punching) cousins? Is it all the same, just packaged differently?
Like Prometheus bound or St. Sebastian, the image of a muscled hunk suffering in restraints is essentially homo-provocative, I think. Power captured, virility claimed, challenger conquered… the bound hardbody certainly tells a story that rings true (and rings my bell) to what gets me so hot and bothered about wrestling. The virile, arrogant young hot shot with all the confidence in the world in his powerful muscles and determination to be victorious is highly eroticized for me at the point that he is restrained, made vulnerable, and suffering in the humiliating realization that he has been bested.
The bound hunk shows up regularly in homoerotic wrestling. Is Paul Perris, with his arms bound at his sides in a rope and suffering the sadistic whims of Bart Tyler, essentially the same provocation that makes me hard at seeing Paul Perris body scissored, writhing and immobilized in pain? The wrestling hold is, after all, simply another means of binding a hot hunk in sweet vulnerability.
Still, I’m not so sure it’s all the same thing, at least not to me. Some days I’m hot for a hunk tied up like a rack of lamb, but somedays I’m not. My tastes for bondage with ropes, chains, shoelaces (etc., etc., etc.) are inconsistent. Justin Pierce finding himself literally tied in knots with the boxing tape that was moments ago wrapped protectively around his wrist is not always the scene that I keep rewinding over and over again to see until I’m driven irresistibly to climax. Sometimes it is, but not all the time.
But Brad Rochelle sobbing in pain cracked backward across any opponent’s knee is always, always, always instantly gratifying to me. The humiliation of Brad taped into the corner of the ring, hanging in unconscious humiliation between beatings is a sweet sight, but seeing the Enforcer tie him up with nothing more than Brad’s own arms twisted around his own neck like a Christmas bow is, without fail, guaranteed to make me salivate.
Affectively, then, the hunk bound and the hunk wrestle-bashed is not necessarily the same (again, at least for me). The elements are almost identical: the battler suffering, paralyzed, captured, and claimed. But the means of achieving his vulnerability seems to make a difference. Mr. Perpetual Erection, Dino Serra, is always in need of a severe spanking. Admittedly, suspended from the ceiling certainly displays his most impressive muscle more vividly than almost any other means of his destruction. Frequently, watching him be bound, stripped, and have his cock and balls worked over with sadistic glee is entirely filling: check please! But it isn’t as invariable as watching Dino’s erection get slapped around as he’s squeezed between the thighs of his grinning opponent.

Of course, sometimes the bondage with other than human restraints and the wrestling domination is indistinguishable. When Brooklyn Bodwrecker and Shane McCall tape Brian Powers into the corner, and then proceed to drive Brian’s partner, Liam Ryan, inverted and crushed against him… well, where does the bondage begin and the wrestling humiliation end? For that matter, where does BBW begin and Shane McCall end? The scenario of immobilizing capture and sadistic humiliation is complex, creative, and frankly an impressive feat of physics and human ingenuity.

Perhaps it doesn’t really matter. If we just follow the lead of our cocks, I suppose like any form of art, we’ll know what tweaks our kink when we see it. Still, it all makes me wonder what is the essence of the wrestling kink that gives me (and so many of you) so much pleasure. Not all bondage does it for me, by any means. Even the bondage that does it for me a lot of the time doesn’t always do it for me. But wrestling hardbodies telling the story of cocky competition to decide who’s on top and who’s destined to suffer the humiliating defeat at the hands of the better man… these are always what gets my blood pumping in all the right directions.

…In Love and War

wrestlebard3 Comments

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

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

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

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

Message to the Electorate

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

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

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


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

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.

A Mighty Pain to Love It Is

wrestlebard3 Comments
Unrequited loved… the cock tease… these are cruel, cruel manipulations of the heart. To have the object of your affections dangled before you, but just out of reach, hidden just out of sight. It’s sadistic cruelty, I tell you (not the good kind).
Evidentiary item #1: Michael C. Hall as Dexter. It was with anxious anticipation that I sat down to drink in the first episode of season 4 of Dexter. Honestly, I really enjoy the writing. Nicely complicated, yet tidy story lines. Can we all just acknowledge the elephant in the room, though. Michael C. Hall’s booty.
Michael is one fine looking man, and he’s done a wonderful job with the subtleties of playing the part of a serial killer playing the part of an averagely neurotic tech-nerd. But Michael’s most powerful asset that he brings to the small screen, his ass, remains only hinted at. Once again in last night’s season opener, we’re treated to Michael walking away, that fabulous bubble butt framed nicely in his chinos. But despite a plot including a kinky sex scene (well… vanilla-wafer, suburbanite housewife “kink”), we barely catch a glimpse of our beautifully psychopathic hero shirtless.

You shameless, horrible tease! Michael and his handlers clearly have negotiated to keep his gorgeous ass under wraps, but we all know that we’re all tuning in for that magical moment when Michael finally drops trou. It’s like Sam and Diane all over again, the ridiculous dramatic tension drawn out to the point of total frustration, bordering on disgust. You know that we know that you know we’re paying our Showtime subscription fees to see Michael’s bare-ass. You cruel, cruel bastards.
Evidentiary Item #2: On the other side of the pelvis, I have a bone to pick (so to speak) with Joshua Goodman (Mr. Joshua) of BG East. Similar to Michael C. Hall, BG East has been teasing us, taunting us, sadistically torturing us by dangling Joshua’s packed package before us for years without finally paying up. I lost hope of finally seeing Joshua’s bona fides, so I haven’t seen all his matches to verify that we never see his sizeable cock and balls (please, please let me know that I’m wrong). But we’re continually taunted by Joshua in tight trunks and thongs, his pendulum swinging impressively. Joshua himself can’t seem to keep his hands off his cock, constantly adjusting himself both from the exterior as well as the interior of his briefs. Just to tantalize us, we’ve occasionally glimpsed his balls squeezing out the sides of his trunk-crotch (cha-ching!). Joshua tells a nice story, both pitching and catching, but it’s hard not to find your eyes fixated on his pouch, waiting for the moment when the goods come spilling out (or busting out at the seams!).
But the cruelest cut of all was Joshua’s Wrestler Spotlight tape. The pics of the Brooklyn Bodywrecker hoisting the naked Joshua up over one shoulder was finally the long awaited promised land. This pic of Joshua’s quite beautifully naked ass and thick, muscled legs hanging down from BBW’s shoulder is truly a work of art.
I totally took the bait. Only to find that, despite Joshua getting stripped out of his g-string, we are treated only to the visual of his captured butt (totally worth the price of admission… but still!!!). BBW sadistically rubs salt in our wounds, taunting us by pointing out that he knows we’ve tuned in to see Joshua’s goods. He assures us that Joshua’s bits and parts are stunning. Then he carries Joshua back to the dressing room, leaving my jaw dropped open, my pants unzipped, and my face red with frustration.

Michael C. Hall and Mr. Joshua, you are hereby put on notice! If you continue with your cock-teasing ways, I will wash my hands of you in disgust. I will no longer pay up if you continue to refuse to pay up! I will not be so manipulated any longer! … okay, just one more episode… just one more match… if I just give them one more shot, they’ll give me what I want, won’t they!?