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Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

August 8, 2015August 8, 2015 wrestlebard10 Comments

I was on the road about half of July, but I still managed to squeeze in some viewing time. I didn’t come close to making it through Jose’s exhaustive list of every homoerotic wrestling new release in the month, but that’s not unusual. My homoerotic wrestler of the month title has less to do with an objective sampling of the entire catalog than it does with what wrestler, who I managed to watch, turned me on most. So this month the title was decisively won, but in an unconventional manner. Practically slapping me in the face with his claim to the title, July’s homoerotic wrestler of the month is…

…Ty Alexander.

Ty-Jonny — Ty cops a feel of Jonny’s big, beautiful muscles.

Ty just barely squeezed in under the wire with his Custom Combat bashing at the hands of Jonny Firestorm on Jonny’s pay site, Club Firestorm. The match was released for a limited time for Club members on the last day of the month. Like Jonny’s Custom Combat match against (steamrolling over) Drake Marcos on BG East, Ty was treated to what must have amounted to about 15 hours of video recording to come up with over an hour and a half of choose-your-own-adventure style wrestling narrative, bashed, thrashed and tenderized in such a way that you, the viewer, can order up your favorite dish of destruction, then come back to the buffet for an entirely different encore meal moments later. The jobber extraordinaire is pressed to, and then beyond, the edges of sanity and consciousness again and again, striking a fabulous chord paired with one of the most accomplished and technically masterful heels in the business.

Ty-Jonny2 — Sometimes Ty’s agony looks suspiciously much like orgasm to me.

Strip wrestling always has a spot in my heart, so beautifully vulnerable Ty getting ripped out of one gear to the next, each one skimpier than the last, is lush. The kid screams like a lamb heading to slaughter, which, frankly, is just barely a metaphor. You have to wonder if the jobber boy bit off more than he can chew partway through. Sure, Ty has been campaigning to be resident top jobber with a fierceness I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. He’s tightening up his baby smooth body, sucking down more and more punishment, getting picked apart again and again (in this case, repeatedly in the same product), and then climbing back up to his chair at the big boy table and demanding another heaping helping of corporal punishment. There’s that motif of the jobber who is such an obsessive masochist that the only question is whether his body is capable of surviving the level of torture that his mind and soul lust for. Yeah, that’s Ty.

Ty-Jonny3 — Ty is right where Jonny wants him.

And Ty looks so good doing it. Jonny’s face squeezed tightly between Ty’s thighs as he positions the jobber for a spine tingling piledriver gives us (and, obviously, Jonny) a fabulous view of Ty’s pride and joy bubble butt. Sleepered, slammed, submitted again and again, this is a marathon for Ty (though probably, if we’re honest, a dozen or more sprints to the finish for you and me).

Ty-Jonny4 — Jonny works Ty’s every last vulnerability. And there are a lot of those.

But here’s the thing, Ty worked me hardest in July not just because of his July 31 Custom Combat release on Club Firestorm. No, behind the scenes, Ty has been reaching out to let me know, in no uncertain terms, that he believes he’s long overdue to have earned the homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Like, half a dozen or more times Ty has chatted me up about this in recent weeks. He’s plied me with photos documenting his fitness progress. He’s demanded the title be his. He’s pleaded. He’s threatened. Then he’s pleaded again.

Ty2 — Ty has a firm handle on how to make a persuasive case.

And somewhere along the line it occurred to me, this is fucking turning me on! And as I just mentioned, that’s the raison d’etre of the homoerotic wrestler of the month title. It was a little surprising to me the first time I came across confirmation that a homoerotic wrestling infatuation of mine not only read my words, but was pleased by them. It’s only a certain slice of homoerotic wrestlers who read reviews of their matches, I realize. And I certainly don’t begrudge a hot slice of beef with better things to do than track the confessions of this particular fanboy. But yeah, there’s an undeniable ego stroke that comes from a wrestler starring on my screen one day and commenting on my review the next. Perhaps it’s a deep character flaw of mine that it’s not just my ego that gets stroked when a handsome stud sends me back even a small fraction of the love I toss his way.

Ty4 — Ty offered me this Ty’s-eye view of his bronzed bod oiled up and soaking in the sun.

Ty isn’t the first wrestler to campaign for some attention, but he is, without a doubt, the most vociferous. He teases me with near naked selfies and gear fetish pics. He taunts me, shoving that round bubble butt in my face, flashing his come-hither blue steel, showing off his hardening core. He dangles little treats just out of my reach, like telling me he’s just wrestled a private match with some other favorite infatuation of mine, but refusing to tell me who it is.

I have a strong feeling I’m not the first to get played by adorable young Ty. And I mean no disrespect by that. I’m more than willing to follow a silky smooth babyface jobber with a bodacious bubble butt and an all over tan who lassos me by the cock. There’s something particularly tantalizing about a lithe, limber jobber who runs headlong into walls of muscle like Jonny Firestorm, and then turns around and slaps down a charm offensive on “his media” to wring out every ounce of applause and adoration he richly deserves. No, he may look like a barely legal lamb, but that cocky charm, those titillating teases and taunts, that shake of the ass and heavy lidded smirk are professional class. I have no doubt I’m just joining the back of the line that wraps around the corner, populated by appreciative gay men who’ve willingly been cornered by seductive wiles of Ty Alexander.

Ty-Jonny5 — Speaking of being sensationally cornered…

For those readers who bitch that my opinions have been biased, that I’m showing favoritism, that clearly I’ve been swayed by Ty’s persistent campaigning behind-the-scenes… uh, yeah. The pages of this blog are devoted entirely and unabashedly to my favorites and my biases And fuck, yes, I’m more than happy to welcome back door campaigning from any enthusiastic wrestler pushing his brand and demonstrating that he knows how to grab me by the balls off camera as effectively as he does on camera.

Ty5 — 21st Century-style homoerotic wrestling self-promotion at it’s finest.

In fact, I’m doing a little campaigning myself to encourage wrestlers and producers to toy with that fourth wall, to bring those characters we crave off the screen and at least give the impression of interacting with their adoring fans. Because, honestly, I’m starting to seriously prioritize the wrestling that acknowledges those of us fueling this homoerotic economy. I’m no longer just counting it as bonus when wrestlers mention their fans in their matches, when they openly acknowledge knowing, and appreciating, what it is about them that makes us line up and pull out our… wallets. No, that’s not just value added for me any longer. I’m also actively docking points from those wrestling products that offer nothing but subtext to acknowledge their audience, who seem reluctant to even imply that they know that the wrestling they produce and star in is the stuff of erotic fantasies turning on the vast majority of their audience composed of gay men with a wrestling fetish.

Ty-Jonny6 — Obviously, it isn’t only what happens outside the ring that matters.

I hope that Ty Alexander is a glimpse of things to come, when homoerotic wrestling turns increasingly social media-forward, increasingly committed to engage their gay audience in the erotic fantasy that, for god’s sakes, we all know is fueling our attentive gaze. I saw a lot of beefcake on the mats last month. I watched hot muscleboys flexing and grunting and squeezing in ways that I truly enjoy. I saw a lot of men ripped right of my erotic fantasies, squeezed into suction packed trunks, getting crushed and clawed and slammed and stomped. And fuck, yes, that’s all sensationally satisfying stuff that holds my attention. But nobody came close to turning me on, winding me up, and igniting my erotic imagination in July like Ty Alexander.

11232175_1676040052630141_4686612004199508091_n — July 2015 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – Ty Alexander

The Big Bad Wolf is Back

July 30, 2015 wrestlebard7 Comments

Having documented my instant infatuation with Thunder’s Arena’s newbie sensation Wolf, I ponied up for a second helping of the big slab of beefcake. Testing the theory that two great tastes taste great together, I settled on what appears to be Wolf’s debut match, staring down Thunder’s current It-Boy, June’s Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month, smooth, seductive, sexy Marco.

Wolf vs Marco 19-1 — Marco stares at Wolf’s crotch, and, I believe, Wolf’s crotch stares back.

Rough & Ready 59 is classic Thunder’s Arena mat wrestling. Wolf is awe inspiring in nothing but those outstandingly over-stretched baby blue and white trunks that never quite successfully manage to cover the muscled expanse of his ass cheeks. Marco is packed tightly inside his lime green and dark blue very briefs and also wearing black wrestling boots. Visually the two are a stunning study in contrasts. Wolf is 5’11” and listed at 225 pounds, all muscle. Marco is 5’8″ and weighing in a much more mortal 180 pounds, similarly all muscle, just leaner, less massive. Wolf is groomed just like I like him, his torso and traps covered in tastefully, but not aggressively trimmed hair, whereas Marco is lickably smooth. Wolf has a full, sexy beard unable to disguise an adorably baby face and tantalizing lips. Marco has a few whispy whiskers on the tip of his chin, looking like I did when I was 15 and working on coaxing my peach fuzz into a manly need for a razor. The side by side has already written a fantastic homoerotic wrestling narrative before the boys even lock up. Now, if only they can pull it off…

Wolf vs Marco 21 — “I bet your boyfriend lays his penis right here.”

Marco brings his fearless homoerotic trash talk and slaps it down instantly, calling out what you and I have been entranced by from the start, Wolf’s “big hairy tits here.” He even cups the low hanging meat playfully, suggesting that Wolf’s genetics give him almost feminine proportions. Noting the astonishing separation between Wolf’s hairy pecs, Marco presses the side of his hand between them. “I bet your boyfriend lays his penis right there,” he says. He tauntingly wonders out loud if the big rookie has a vagina. Misogyny and mention of the female anatomy can throw cold water on a steamy set up for me, but the supposition is so patently ridiculous, it merely serves to call my attention to Wolf’s pouch. You can see the outline of the head of his cock, stretching to the right like it’s eager to make contact with the gorgeous young pup paying so much attention to Wolf’s bod.

Wolf vs Marco 26 — Marco is man enough to pay some attention to his opponent’s magnificent physique.

It’s that explicit attention paid to his opponent’s clearly impressive body that makes Marco such a sensational storyteller on the homoerotic wrestling mats. If he’d tried to ignore this magnificent specimen of muscle in front of him, if he’d not mentioned Wolf’s remarkable pecs, his stunning overall fitness and mass, this would turn the burner on low like so many homoerotic wrestling matches do. But Marco is always so fucking secure in his own masculinity, so pleased with his own awesomely aesthetic proportions, he doesn’t give up an ounce of raw sexiness to pay abundant attention to his opponent’s physique.

Wolf vs Marco 82 — Wolf looks like he likes what he sees.

Now here’s where rookies far too often drop the ball. Marco calls him out for having a boyfriend (let’s call it an involuntary outing rather than a homophobic locker room taunt, because there’s a lot more obvious homophobic crap in the industry than this). He draws attention to the rookie’s pecs, fondling them even. He speculates about what the newbie is packing in his trunks. So many rookies just can’t handle that heat. It unsettles them. They act insulted, threatened, turn the narrative to having to defend their masculinity from the homoerotic implications. But fuck yes, Wolf just smiles like he’s eating this shit up. Far from needing to turn to violence in the face of the erotic subtext, I get the impression that the big man just can’t wait to get his paws all over the young pup poking him with a stick. There’s a lot more eagerness than defensiveness, more hunger than anger about the rookie’s response. He’s game, goddamnit! I fucking love this guy!

Wolf vs Marco 24 — “You like that, boy!?”

The rookie suddenly grabs hold of his opponent and drives three solid, swift knees to the pretty pup’s gut. He throws the veteran babyface to the mat, and with Marco lying vulnerably on his stomach, the big bad Wolf straddles the kid’s tiny waist and applies a nasty arm bar. “You like that boy?” he asks, shoving the kid’s face into the mat. Holy fuck, I’m already pushing pausing and rehydrating!

Wolf vs Marco 41 — Marco dangles his meat in front of the hungry Wolf.

The narrative is one of a middleweight, very dangerous amateur pro with a ton of homoerotic pro experience putting his speed and technique up against the jaw dropping mass and power of an inexperienced rookie. Happily for me, this is not a squash by any definition. The boys trade riding time. Marco luxuriates in shoving his balls in the rookie’s face in a gorgeous schoolboy pin, but the newbie puts in the time to work his way free and return the favor, delighting in demanding to know how his crotch smells after skipping last night’s shower. “That’s right,” the rookie crows with a grin stretching ear to ear, “the big bad Wolf is going to put that in your face!” He tugs at the top of his own trunks, like he’s just barely restraining himself from yanking out his cock and dick-whipping Marco’s beautiful, trapped face. Absolutely, Marco controls the pace overall, but there’s an impressive sell from the rookie using his mouthwatering, grade A beef to muscle the kid into some sweetly vulnerable positions.

Wolf vs Marco 54 — “That’s right, the big, bad Wolf is going to put that in your face!”

When you’ve got a 45 pound weight advantage, clearly one of the most effective offensive tacts to take is to just fucking sit on your opponent. Again, showing the newbie’s got an impressive presence of mind, he does this often. After one sexy scramble of limbs, Wolf finds himself sitting on Marco’s lower back, facing the kid’s feet. Marco tries to squirm free, but Wolf wisely lets gravity do the work for him, leaving him plenty of time for the rookie to play bongos on the kid’s gorgeous ass. He laughs with pleasure that seems to be less about being a sadistic fuck, and more about an honest, raw delight in the opportunity to take liberties with the power packed muscle kid.

Wolf vs Marco 42 — “Mmmm, you like that, don’t you?”

There’s a second narrative, a sub-plot, if you will, that starts to change the tenor of the match about halfway through. The big, hairy, muscle beast of a rookie seems more and more hungry to take possession of his opponent’s hotly muscled young body. Personally, I think this is the perfect response to Marco’s opening homoerotic head games. He stokes the beast with talk of impressive muscles and speculating about what’s stuffed inside those trunks, and after a while of trading intimate holds, grinding muscles together, shoving each other’s faces in crotches, the big bad Wolf is licking his lips. At one point he has Marco trapped between his legs, the muscle kid’s ripped abs stretched backward, his pouch bulging beautifully. Wolf murmurs, as if startled to realize how erotic a wrestling match can turn, “Mmmmm, you like that, don’t you!?”

Wolf vs Marco 45-1 — “Look at that ass right there.”

A little later, he’s got Marco trapped in kneeling head scissors. The kid grunts and squirms, but have you seen those fucking massive thighs? He’s not going anywhere. Wolf stares down at the kid’s body with that look of hungry pleasure. “Mmmmmm,” he coos, “look at that ass right there!” Of course we’re looking at that ass, but more importantly, so is Wolf!

Wolf vs Marco 77 — “Yeah, I gotcha now!”

He flips Marco on his back and, I kid you not, sits that magnificently muscled ass squarely atop the kid’s trapped, sensationally smothered face. The plot could be all about dominance, which is of course a favorite narrative of ours. This moment could be punctuated with withering taunts about what a weak piece of shit the veteran is, so helplessly stuck in such a humiliating predicament. But Wolf stretches his hands forward and tells a totally different, 100% homoerotic tale, beginning to eagerly stroke Marco’s six-pack abs. “Yeah, I gotcha now,” he coos, his eyes following his hands as they stretch down to Marco’s thighs, squeezing, stroking, and then gently cupping the kid’s pouch.

Wolf vs Marco 85 — “Look at these fucking muscles right here. I like these!”

I’m not sure if Marco saw this coming. Remembering how much attention Marco paid earlier, the rookie smothers his face for days between those epic, hairy pecs. Near the end of the match, standing in the middle of the mats, Wolf takes advantage of controlling the kid from behind. Someone more focused on the competition might have sealed the deal then and there with a big, bulging bicep pressed across the kid’s carotid artery. But between Marco’s homoerotic taunts and the intoxicating elixir of sweaty muscles and adrenaline, Wolf just strums his finger tips down his opponent’s washboard abs. “Look at these fucking muscles right here,” he murmurs like it’s pillow talk, brushing his palm across Marco’s pouch again and feeling the kid’s strong upper quads. “I like these!” he announces unnecessarily. He kneads Marco’s sweet pecs in his big hands, playfully pinching the kid’s magnificent nipples. “Yeah, you like that?” Marco replies a little breathlessly.

Wolf vs Marco 81 — Marco puts down the big, bad Wolf.

The end of this story is abrupt and a little jarring. Wolf gets sleepered out cold (sort of), and Marco stomps off leaving all of the homoerotic tension just lying there. I’m left wondering if all of Marco’s infamous security in his own sexuality and masculinity may have been tested farther than he’s been tested before. He didn’t have nearly the sweet, game retort he typically has. He just puts the beast down and walks away.

Wolf vs Marco 98 — Marco flexes over his prey.

Kudos to both of these studs. They not only lived up to the hype and promise, they far exceeded it. Particularly the big bad Wolf brought something that I’m just unaccustomed to seeing on the Thunder’s Arena mat. If there’s any justice in this world, wrestling producers will be relently throwing sensationally hot pretty boys at this gorgeous, hairy beast, feeding his obvious hunger to explore just how erotic wrestling can be.

Sense8tional

July 24, 2015July 24, 2015 wrestlebard6 Comments

sense820 — Sense8 is a feast for the eyes.

I recently binge-watched the Netflix series Sense8. I echo Superherofans’ judgment that it’s the hottest show of the year. It was the most effective antidote to the empty hole that the end of True Blood left in me. In fact, the award I once wanted to give True Blood for best cast beefcake may need to get ripped from Ryan Kwanten & Joe Manganiello’s hands and bestowed upon Sense8. I’m a sci-fi nerd from way back, so the marriage of beefcake, eroticism, and sci-fi strokes me from nearly every direction. I know Sense8 is particularly fantastic because from scene to scene I keep changing my mind as to which gorgeous hunk is my favorite. The only thing that would turn this series into a full blown inferno would be some homoerotic wrestling. I almost wrote “naked homoerotic wrestling,” but I don’t think that additional qualifier is really necessary with Sense8. So much fabulous, on point, R-rated nudity in this show! I’m about to spoil the fuck out of this show, so be warned if you haven’t watched it.

sense8--1x02--09 — Alfonso Herrera (l) and Miguel Angel Silvestre (r) are now my favorite fictional couple of all time.

If there were a show stopper, I think it would have to be Miguel Angel Silvestre. He’s supposed to be the sexpot of the crew. He’s playing the steamy telenovela hypermasculine hunk turned mindblowingly hot for being partnered on the side with sizzlingly sexy Alfonso Herrera. When Silvestre undresses in episode 2, prior to climbing into bed to get it on with his nerd hunk lover, I have a similar reaction to watching Manganiello strip naked in TB. Unlike Mangeniello’s character, though, Silvestre’s storyline treats us to watching Herrera slide his hand down the showstopper’s underwear and latching hold of the Monte Perdido beneath. In a super sexy, over the top unself-conscious way, Silvestre’s wildly sexy lap dance for Herrera, just prior to them getting naked and fucking like porn stars, is a whole level of hotness that TB never approached. Regular readers know my fondest fantasy for tag team partner lovers, so sign these two up to strip to skin tight trunks and climb in the ring together.

sense8--1x02--28 — Brian J. Smith’s pecs completely disorient me.

Just when I’m feeling torn between who I’m most infatuated with, Silvestre or Herrera, the scene shifts to Brian J. Smith’s storyline, and my crotch instantly aches for some whiteboy next door hunkiness. Fuck, this guy is phenomenally beautiful! You could cut diamonds on this cheekbones, and I’d entertain myself for days with a pint of honey and those luscious pecs. So I get completely sold on Smith as the it-boy of the show, craving more screen time for him, more skin, more everything, then…

sense8--1x05--12 — Dazzlingly hot Max Riemelt makes jaws drop on screen and off.

…Max Riemelt takes over the script, and I’m dizzy and disoriented by his gorgeous face. And then they pan back and give us some shots of his sweaty ass pumping in the air as he fucks (a woman, ignore that), and then they linger long over his naked body swimming across a pool, and then he climbs out and there’s a close up full frontal of his cock and balls (because, in all seriousness, this is entirely part of the plot). And I’m struggling to remember what the other hunks in the show look like, as I’m delirious with lust.

sense8--1x05--13 — Never has a finer Schwanz been so integral to the plot of a television show.

So those are the headliners steaming up my glasses. The other male main character, played by Aml Ameen, is cast as an oddly naive, asexual character in comparison with the others. He’s adorable as fuck, but without seeing more skin or getting hand fed some hot erotic content for him, he’s totally benched thus far in the homoerotic wrestling inspiration (here’s hoping for a season 2, though).

There are some additional hot hunks as secondary players deserving of mention and a place in a homoerotic wrestling throw down. Raul Mendez plays a fabulously written character crying out to be a pro wrestling heel as far as I’m concerned. He’s fucking insane, sadistic, vile, and he’s got a rocking, ripped body. Mendez is the type of heel character that would make grown men quiver. Think Kid Vicious. Fuck, think Kid Leopard with a side of barely-holding-it-together psychopathy. Fuck yes, suit this guy up for the big leagues!

kai — Kai Fung Reick isn’t above cheating.

Another all too brief bit player shows up early as an MMA opponent for one of the female leads. Kai Fung Rieck is the actor. His pro wrestling character is basically already written, because in his MMA bout on screen, he’s a vile, vicious, cheating mother fucker with a ripped bod and calculated blood lust. When he’s moments from being forced to tap out in an armbar, no shit, his character bites his opponent’s leg. High impact, super fast, and did I mention ripped, ripped, ripped?

sense8--1x06--16 — The only thing that turns Herrera and Silvestre on more than each other’s bodies is tag teaming the fuck out of a couple of cheating heels.

With my principal infatuations in this cast, there are plenty hunks for a 3-way tag-team double elimination round robin in my imagination. To start the competition, Silvestre and Herrera outmuscle heel daddies Mendez and Kai, but the vicious badboys put a major hurt on Herrera along the way. Double teaming, low blows, they’ve got the Latino heart throbs rocking until Silvestre finally manages to tag in and open up a can of whoop ass. He’s got balls of granite, so the heels lose their mojo when their ball jabs fail to make a dent. They go down in side by side cock pins in the middle of the ring. Seriously pissed at the foul treatment, Herrera and Silvestre make them suck cock while the lovers make out over top of them.

sense8--1x06--30 — Sensationally sexy Silvestre flat on his back, clutching his balls.

Match 2, it’s Silvestre and Herrera facing down Riemelt and Smith. The German-American connection is a mixed bag, with Riemelt a horny heel and Smith playing babyface hero. High impact, high flying wrestling from both sides, though Smith gets outmuscled and isolated. But Riemelt doesn’t bother to wait for a legal tag, dropping Herrera with a kick to the balls and bulldogging Silvestre into a pool of helplessness. Determined to bust those granite balls, the German stomps them relentlessly until Silvestre screams and pleads for mercy. Just to keep things above board, Riemelt drags his partner’s hotly muscled, wasted body across the ring and on top of Silvestre for the 3 count victory.

Match 3, and the heel B-listers are fighting to stay in the competition taking on Riemelt and Smith. The heel daddies pick Riemelt as the linchpin, so they isolate the German and bash the fuck out of him, trapping him in their own corner, leaving Smith helplessly watching from across the ring. Kai rips the trunks off of the blond bomber, because that ass and that cock are so fucking notorious at this point. Mendez holds him in place while Kai drives knees repeatedly into the German’s gut. It’s looking ugly, until Smith proves he’s not such a Boy Scout after all, charging across the ring illegally and German suplexing the Korean heel. The heel daddies pounce all over Smith’s hot body, but giving Reimelt time to recover is their fatal mistake. Smith holds his own until his partner joins the melee, knocking Kai out cold in a figure-4 sleeper while dropping Mendez to his knees with a ball claw submission. The German-American team heats up the place with a tandem jack-off across the losers, sending them home wasted, sticky and humiliated.

sense8--1x06--10 — Smith cannot handle the sexy!

Match 4 sees Herrera and Silvestre facing possible elimination against the unbeaten juggernauts Riemelt and Smith. The German-American team has wasted these boys once already, so momentum is on their side. Herrera and Silvestre have to beat them twice in a row to avoid elimination and take the crown. Herrera presses the advantage first, targeting Riemelt’s balls for revenge. Both teams tag in and out frequently, but it’s the face off of Smith and Silvestre that becomes decisive. Smith works the Spaniard’s lower back in a powerful bearhug, but when Silvestre grabs the back of his tormentor’s head and smother’s Smith’s face between his huge, hairy pecs, Smith gets disoriented and clearly aroused. Silvestre powerslams the stud several times, pounding his big, beautiful muscles relentlessly into his fading opponent. When Riemelt ducks through the ropes to interfere, Herrera is on him this time, dropping the German with a knee to the balls and tossing him out of the ring. Flat on his back in the middle of the ring, Smith screams a submission to Silvestre’s ball claw with the stunningly handsome hunk’s lips hovering just overhead.

There’s one last match to be wrestled. Both teams have lost one to each other. Silvestre and Herrera have the momentum, but winning two in a row is a tall order. Exactly how does this play out? Let me know what you see happening next by commenting below. And keep in mind these guys are no strangers to full out orgies (see episode 6 again, and again, and again…).

sense8--1x06--18 — Herrera (l) and Silvestre (r) bump and grind!

sense8--1x06--25 — Sense8 leaves little to the imagination. But you and I are up to the challenge.

Squash Me Just Right

July 22, 2015 wrestlebard6 Comments

Despite my explicit preference for homoerotic wrestling fare with an element of competitive suspense about it, I’ve been finding myself watching, and enjoying, quite a number of one-sided matches lately. The “squash” is a particular subgenre that I can enjoy, but, like I’ve said, I tend to prefer to see more give and take, more narrative suspense. So it’s interesting to find myself sitting in front of a whole lot of lopsided squashes. Sampling more than my typical diet of them, I’ve been reflecting on what almost always does work for me in a squash, what can but doesn’t always work, and what almost never works for me in a squash.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h25m26s285 — Morgan squashes Joey in Back Buster 5.

First, what almost always works for me is seeing a dominant pitcher deeply delighted by the feel of mastering his opponent. This is what I’m talking about when I prattle on about “owning,” when one wrestler doesn’t just beat the other, doesn’t just make him tap out or submit, but takes visceral pleasure in controlling an outmatched contender. Obviously, the absence of this element can make a squash a bore for me. The squash where the dominant stud seems thoroughly dismissive, so out of his opponent’s league that he can barely be bothered to pay attention to the suffering he’s causing, tends to disappoint me. I’ll feast for days off of a viscious, dominant heel who obliterates an opponent in a landslide and convinces me, one way or another, that he could very well need to rub one out soon before or soon after the camera’s are turned off, because he’s just too damned turned on. Frankly, this doesn’t even need to be entirely about sexual tension. I’m less interested in whether the winner wants to fuck his opponent’s ass in victory than I am in whether the experience of conquering, controlling, and possessing an outmatched opponent in and of itself seems capable of giving the winner erotic pleasure. Whether he cums all over the catcher’s face on camera, or just leaves me believing that he needs a little “alone time” in the locker room to pound one out on his own, I’m buying it, if he’s selling it.

0120_lg — Kid Vicious owns opponents just right, every time.

A lot of examples come to mind. Most of Kid Vicious’ catalog falls neatly into this category. If KV doesn’t bust a load all over a lamb-to-the-slaughter opponent, I feel 99% certainty that he took care of it soon afterward. He always looks to me like he’s mentally getting off on destroying an opponent (the prettier, the harder). Kid Karisma taps this consistently as well. His recent Undagear 23 match with reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month Marco Carlow is a perfect example. Kid K looks like he’s eating this squash up with a spoon, and when he rips Marco’s gear off, poses overtop of his fallen prey, and beats a hasty retreat from the mat room, I’m convinced it’s not just a hasty retreat he’s about to beat. Jake Jenkins muscle mauling of it-boy Kip Sorrell in Backyard Brawls 8 is another specific example. I think of JJ as one of the most G-rated wrestlers on the scene, but his laughter, his luxuriating in Kip’s total destruction beneath him leads me to write the off camera script that has JJ needing a moment to himself to celebrate beating the living fuck out of that ridiculously pretty pin-up boy.

0437_lg — Kid Karisma glistens with delight as he crushes Marco’s every luscious muscle.

There are other elements of a squash that can, but don’t always, work for me. A predator who plays with his food, for example, can sometimes turn me on, other times no. I’ve written my appreciation for trash talking taunts in the wrestling ring for ages, but in a squash, withering derision can seem more like dickishness than homoerotic tension. Personally, I find taunts more erotically provocative when the battle is close, when there’s suspense as to whose brash boasts will be born out as true, and who will be humiliated in regrets for winding up his betters with checks he couldn’t cash. In a squash, taunting trash talk and verbal humiliation are tricky for me. Sometimes I’m stoked hotter. Somtimes not. Cathweight squash scenarios also can go either way for me. When the opponents are so clearly, ridiculously mismatched in size, a big-beats-little squash can sometimes work for me in a big way, but at other times leave me a little bored with what turns out to be the forgone conclusion. Competitive catchweight matches or, even, little-beats-big squashes typically float my boat big time, all else considered, but it’s a touchy thing if it’s a big-beats-little squash from the start.

h0312_lg — Guido walks the line muscle bullying baby-babyface Kirk Donahue.

Guido Genatto’s matches teeter back and forth with me around some of these coin toss elements. He won’t relent in physical or emotional abuse until an opponent is a pool of sweat and tears, sometimes just this side of the line for turning me on, sometimes just the other. For the big beats little squash dilemma, big Joe Robbins similarly sometimes comes up heads, sometimes tails.

1425_lg — Big Joe Robbins is a big-beats-little Catch Weight veteran.

Finally, it’s a little hard to put my finger on precisely the element that almost never works for me in a squash. I know it by how I feel, rather than by the specific content of the wrestling. When I’m left genuinely feeling sorry for the loser, when I have this impulse to call the principal’s office and report an incident of homophobic bullying in the halls, then I’m totally not on board. When it’s so one sided and the dominant stud is heaping on misogynistic insults, questioning the battered boy’s masculinity, then it touches a nerve that makes it hard to stay in the mood for. There’s a particular stripe of sadism that’s more sociopathic than homoerotic, that delights in inflicting suffering but seems more likely to end in the winner pissing on the loser than cumming across him. That schtick is not in my wheelhouse (no judgment implied, though if it is in yours).

h1009_lg — Ethan beats Jayden in the first 3 minutes, then just taunts and tortures the pretty kid for 15 more.

My most recent experience with this is the third match in Undagear 23, in which Ethan Axel Andrews fucking brutalizes delicately gorgeous Jayden Mayne. I’m not just saying this because Jayden charmed the pants off me in his interview here late last year, selling the living fuck out of being an earnest, ambitious babyface on the rise (though that, he did). And fuck, Ethan’s turned my crank more times than I can count. But then there’s this crime scene that unfolds in Undagear 23. Ethan mauls Mr. Hollywood in such a way that I’m sort of hoping for someone on the camera crew to break this shit up. I’ve seen Ethan sell me over and over on his erotic delight in owning an opponent, but here, he just strikes me as a bully. He’s just mean, not because he’s getting off on it, or he cares if you’re getting off on it, or he secretely intends on stripping Jayden’s fine, fine ass bare and taking the spoils of victory with a Trojan on. He just comes across as enjoying hurting defenseless creatures, just because he can. Call PETA. There’s a sicko who enjoys torturing puppies!

h1030_lg — Ethan just keeps fucking the kid over.

Now, I’m 100% certain that there are plenty of homoerotic wrestling fans for whom Ethan’s mugging of Jayden is pure gold. Jayden is genuinely outmatched and outclassed from start to finish, and there’s an undeniable beauty in his spoiled masculine innocence. I’m not suggesting that anyone else does or should feel about it the way I do. I’m just musing, in my own little corner of the internet, about this thing that can take me a little by surprise: a homoerotic wrestling match that simply, essentially, fails to push my buttons. Squashes are just like that for me.

Sometimes they turn me on hard.

Sometimes they don’t.

The Big, Bad Wolf

July 21, 2015July 30, 2015 wrestlebard2 Comments

It’s been a while since I’ve settled in with a Thunder’s Arena match, but several promos and teasers from their new releases have been grabbing my attention hard. My first toe dipped back in the Thunder’s pool was sampling seriously big, beautiful, hairy Wolf.

“So this is the big bad wolf, right here,” Braden Charron checks out the rookie. “That’s right,” Wolf replies, just a little awkwardly, with just a slight tinge of stage fright in his voice. “You’ve got size. Some good definition,” Braden concedes. But the veteran muscle hunk is leaving so much more unsaid. Wolf is visually striking. Thunder’s promotes him as 5’11, 225 pounds. And those numbers, too, don’t come close to describing this handsome stud. The full beard, receding hairline, tastefully but not aggressively groomed body hair all over his torso, even a light coat across this bulging traps and upper back, place this rookie in the hyper-masculine end of the homoerotic wrestling pool.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 7 of 152 — Wolf’s hands fondle his package as he checks out his preening prey.

His massive muscles do as well. His pecs are incredibly thick, meaty, and astonishingly separated. His armored core screams out for a load of laundry, and from behind, his back tapers gorgeously into a tiny waist placed aesthetically atop incredibly, massively, beautifully built glutes. Honestly, a hiker could get lost for days in those mountains! His thighs are proportionally thick and powerful, and then there’s the most prominent bulge of all, his cock and balls cinched up tight and pulled slightly away from this body by that particular style of pouch-accentuating square cut trunks. Delightfully, the rookie can’t seem to keep his hands off his protruding crotch. He seems somehow both slightly distracted by the push-up pouch and, at the same time, thrilled by it. He persistently gives it gentle tugs. He delicately cups his balls absent-mindedly in the middle of posing, wrestling, and even as he’s being sleepered out cold near the end of the match. Top to bottom, Wolf checks off all the boxes in a made-to-order fantasy man gladiator.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 31 of 152 — The prettier a rookie is, the more he has to pay his dues. Hypermasculine Wolf is just pretty enough.

Braden has been a fixture in most corners of the homoerotic wrestling scene for what seems like a long time now. From his early days as a Randy Blue cam boy, Braden has come (and cum) a long way. These days, I’ve seen him most often cast as a seasoned, albeit narcissistic muscle pro who has picked up enough experience to be a serious competitor. Personally, I think I like him better as a dumbstruck physique star who can’t quite believe how easily his enthusiastic opponents take delighted possession of every inch of his mouthwatering body. In his Thunder TV confrontation with Wolf, Braden isn’t a heel, by any means. Through some rough scene cuts, he slowly ends up in the driver’s seat, though, muscle bullying the hypermasculine rookie with authority. He comes across to me a stern tutor, taking the inexperienced newbie to task relentlessly, doing his best to tip the scales of justice toward experience and beauty. An unwritten rule written in the pro wrestling stars is that pretty rookies must pay their dues. Hot, hairy, hunky Wolf is just pretty enough under all that hair to have to suck down some humbling from the veteran here.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 8 of 152-1 — Wolf hungrily licks his lips, sliding into place to take the muscle boy from behind.

The star of the show for me, however, (other than Wolf’s phenomenally meaty ass) is the hairy rookie’s newborn homoerotic wrestling character. That initial awkwardness I sensed when Braden strolled onto the mat is quickly replaced by an aggressive, hungry, baby heel attitude that thrills me. As Braden condescendingly gives him muscle posing pointers, Wolf slides in from behind and locks on a luscious full nelson to interrupt the veteran’s lat spread. “You’re too slow!” the chuckling muscle rookie crows. “You’ve been around too long! It’s time for me to take care of the competition.”

Braden v Wolf - TV - 22 of 152 — Wolf laughs heartily after using Braden’s balls for a punching bag.

Just to drive home the point that Wolf is a baby heel at birth, he delivers a completely unnecessary rake to his opponent’s eyes. He smirks and struts, happy as fuck to hear his bodybuilder opponent grunt and strain against the rookie’s bigger body. Wolf likes the hurt. He enjoys the control. He somehow swells bigger and badder as he swarms all over the smooth, beautiful veteran’s muscles. Thunder’s says there’s only 3 inches difference in height, but fuck it if the big, bad wolf doesn’t completely dwarf the gorgeous, muscled Ken doll under his spell.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 64 of 152 — Wolf in charge.

A minute in, and I’m hooked on Wolf. Cockily, he lets his prey go and flexes his gargantuan guns, consciously turning his back on his dangerous opponent, confidently challenging the popular muscle boy to try to reach up (up, up) and just see if he has the height to cinch on a full nelson, the legitimate muscle to maintain the hold, the fucking balls to enter the fray again with this sensational newbie.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 60 of 152 — Wolf likes the direct approach to countering a headlock: a swift, solid punch to the balls.

Like I said, Braden’s learned a few things in his years of getting his bubble butt beat. He slaps on a side headlock and cranks hard, dragging the rookie to his knees. He absolutely milks it, like he’s trying to squeeze a glass of orange juice out of Wolf’s skull. The veteran chides the newbie for celebrating too soon, for strutting too boldly, for sticking his dick out too far. And telegraphing absolutely nothing at all, Wolf jabs his fist hard into Braden’s low hanging balls!

Braden v Wolf - TV - 40 of 152 — Something just looks so right about the Big Bad Wolf riding his screaming opponent’s muscled ass.

Oh, fuck, yes. The rookie doesn’t just trash talk, either. He narrates. “You gotta be careful,” he offers the veteran some unsolicited advice. “You got too comfortable,” he smirks.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 47 of 152 — Braden shows off the show stopper.

I assume this match will be released in its entirety at some point, but what’s on Thunder’s TV cuts awkwardly to a bearhug challenge. More precisely, to Braden locking on a deep, hard bearhug on the hirsute hottie. Whatever the lack of choreography, I can see why this had to happen, and why the TV version quickly cuts to this hold: because Wolf’s ass is mind blowing! Captured, suspended, his lower back slightly arched in agony, those sensational, massive mountains of gluteus muscle take my breath away. As strong as Braden is, he clearly reaches exhaustion and flings the rookie to the mat. A few seconds to catch his breath, though, and he scoops Wolf back up in his arms, the rook’s prominent pouch sandwiched tightly against Braden’s lower abs.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 135 of 152 — That looks like just too much muscle man for you to manage there, Braden!

The remainder of the cut and paste clips are of Braden completely in control, Wolf with nothing left to offer even the most minimal defense. The rookie’s bulging muscles sweat and glint beneath his fur. I get the impression he’s meant to be a vision of cocky muscle made impotent, but even in utter defeat, I’m not quite buying it. Braden struggles to hoist the huge beast across his shoulders, and even as wide as Braden’s boulder shoulders are, Wolf just looks like too much man, too much muscle, just fucking too, too much for me to believe that he’s completely tagged and bagged.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 121 of 152 — I can’t quite forgive Braden for closing his eyes.

Braden lifts the wasted newbie upside down, squeezing Wolf’s skull between his knees, holding him there a couple of sweet seconds before delivering a piledriver. The top of the rookie’s head hits the mats. All of that magnificent, hairy muscle flops down, twitches a little, and then lies still. Braden flexes in victory overtop of the felled Wolf, but my eyes are riveted on the hairy beast flat on his back.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 152 of 152 — Pass me the baby oil!

I’m lighting a candle, burning some sage, and pouring out a shot of whiskey in offering to the homoerotic wrestling gods in prayerful hope of several things for young, handsome, hairy Wolf. First, I’m hoping that as soon as I can get my hands on his tussle with Rough & Ready 59, I will discover that last month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month, Marco, brings the sexy right out of the tantalizing rookie. Second, I’m praying that Wolf will grow into a full fledged muscle heel someday with a lust for explicit, sexual domination. And third, and closely related, I’m pleading to get to see Wolf’s ass unleashed, to see that epic physique in all it’s glory wrestling naked, to see every last inch of this hypermasculine gladiator bearing down like a force of nature on some lucky son of a bitch who will pay for the mistake of facing down this beast by enthusiastically and unapologetically worshiping every hairy bulge.

Braden v Wolf - TV - 23 of 152 — On your knees, bitches!

“I’m pathetic.”

July 17, 2015 wrestlebardLeave a comment

“You think it’s going to be that easy?” Morgan Cruise asks incredulously. He’s been beating the shit out of adorable boyband beauty Joey Carter for several minutes already. “I hope,” Joey says, with more than a little smart ass tone in his voice. “Then you don’t know a damn thing about wrestling!”

While this moment happens partway through the match, this pretty much sums up Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Back B uster 5 from start to finish. Joey, literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, doesn’t know a damn thing about wrestling. Morgan and I don’t just mean that Joey’s got zero wrestling offense. We don’t must mean, as Morgan states explicitly, that Joey has absolutely no clue about executing a reversal or counter move. It’s so much worse than that for dimple cheeked Joey. He doesn’t know the first thing about selling his own suffering.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h20m09s908 — Morgan puts him through the ringer, but Joey isn’t nearly juicy enough.

Those who commented on my recent post advocating for more mature wrestlers on the homoerotic wrestling scene, who said that young, barely legal boys do nothing for them, well, I’ve got bad news. Joey looks like he was handed his high school diploma yesterday (at best). He’s smooth and supple and with dimpled cheeks that need either pinched our slapped hard. If the achingly young, unspoiled baby-babyface is not a character who can move you, Joey will do nothing for you. However, I am not so burdened, thankfully.

joey2 — Morgan turns up the heat, but Joey can’t keep a straight face.

The action starts with Morgan tossing the kid into a corner and “bashing” him in the chest with a forearm. It’s a showy move, meant to convey high impact brutality. But obviously there’s little actual force behind Morgan’s blow. I say “obviously,” because Joey literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, looks at the camera and smirks. It’s like he’s struggling not to laugh at the melodramatic play acting. There’s almost a hint of “Fuck, you’re paying me to do this shit?” in his twinkling, dreamy eyes.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h02m07s521 — Morgan mauls the kid, but only slowly does Joey cotton on that this hurts.

“Please, you’re stronger,” Joey pleads for mercy as Morgan locks on yet another in a long series of back-busting pro holds. I say “pleads,” but there’s no panic in his voice. He’s fucking underselling this like a chump! Maybe he’ll be able to go back to his buddies and save a little face by pointing out that this was all just paddy cake, but in the homoerotic wrestling universe, Joey Carter is a fucking chump! If there’s any cardinal sin that offends the homoerotic wrestling gods (and, more importantly, the fans), lazy ass underselling has got to be one. I’m thinking early on here, please, oh please, Morgan, actually hurt this beautiful twink just so we can hear him literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, cry.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h08m40s756 — Joey spends a lot of time hiding his face, so Morgan has to force the kid to stare into the camera and try to sell.

So there are a ton of elements here that should mean I hate Back Buster 5. A totally unprepared, uncommitted rookie twink. A start to finish, no suspense, frankly little drama squash. And Morgan delivering exactly everything that we’ve come to expect from him, not a penny less, not a penny more. I’m supposed to be sitting here and writing a scathing review, or, as has been my default in the past couple years, just ignoring this match entirely because I don’t have anything good to say about it.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h11m37s524 — The breakout star of Back Buster 5: Joey Carter’s ass!

But I do. Shocking even me, I have to say, this match turned me on harder than the average homoerotic wrestling fare I sample these days. What the fuck, you may be asking. I’m asking that myself. But if I have to put my finger on the one thing that spins this train wreck right back around and tosses it squarely in my wheel house, I know what it is. Joey Carter’s ass. And yes, I’d literally like to put a finger (and both hands, and other body parts) on that ass!

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h21m13s469 — Morgan never mention’s Joey’s ass, or seems to pay much attention to it, but MDW already knew what I was going to be obsessing about.

Holy fuck, this kid has got a phenomenally beautiful ass! If MDW did year end awards (which they couldn’t because Muscle Master Kevin and Morgan would have to win everything or else it would damage the “alpha dog” shtick), I would both nominate and be campaign manager to get Joey the title of Best Ass. Whoever writes the online match descriptions for MDW knew that the real break out star of Back Buster 5 would be the rookie’s sensational butt. The match description is as fixated on Joey’s ass as I am. The text mentions Joey’s ass 5 times, which is exactly 100% more often than Morgan does during the match, despite the heavy innuendo throughout the description implying Morgan wants to fuck that tantalizing butt hard. I feel a little like an American shorthair who’s just been tossed a toy full of catnip. Fuck, I cannot tear my eyes away from Joey’s ass!

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h22m48s236 — Suddenly, the rookie’s struggle selling isn’t what I’m paying attention to!

It’s not just his ass though that manages to redeem this match for me. Truly, Morgan pries and pummels the kid, pushing his tolerances enough that near the end, with Joey finally screaming his pleas for mercy, I’m almost believing him. And I suppose there’s the sufficient suspense that grabs me. That’s the narrative that I’m always saying I crave in my wrestling. In this case, the narrative that captures me is wondering if Morgan is actually going to hurt the kid enough for me to hear the sincerity wrenched out of Joey’s lickable young body. The rook says all the right things. He weeps and moans. He screams and sobs. But moment to moment I’m still trying to decide if I buy it. Is this punk still going to go back to his bros and talk shit about homoerotic wrestling as full of pussies and playacting? Or can I believe that the kid is going to wake up tomorrow honestly bruised, aching, and wondering if he has what it takes, and if it’s worth it, to pick up the phone when Muscle Master Kevin calls to try to book him and his sensational ass in the ring again?

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h31m39s681 — Come on, Joey, sell it!!!

I go back and forth on the verdict, frankly. It’s not like I’m ever totally sold, but I enjoy watching Morgan press the envelope, and I get a kick out of watching Joey scream just a little louder, humiliate himself just a little worse, as the minutes tick by. And in those moments when his phenomenal ass isn’t in the spotlight, I’m completely mesmerized by Joey’s eyebrows. Those fucking eyebrows sell about 20 times better than anything that comes out of his mouth. His eyebrows dance and bounce, as if pain is washing over his face. They pucker up in an anguished Darwin’s V, and then arch as if astonished by the pain. His mouth may be saying, “All right. I’m pathetic. I’m sorry,” almost like a petulant child, but his eyebrows are fucking working it like an Oscar winner.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-10h31m46s884 — Perhaps the first time I’m turned on by eyebrows?

In the end, Joey has conceded that Morgan is stronger and more handsome than he is (definitely, do not try to put that to a vote, Morgan!). He’s repeated over and over that he understands truly and deeply that he is now and forever Morgan’s bitch. He acknoweldges that his only reason for ever stepping into the ring and getting his “pretty little face” bashed in by anyone else will be for him to assure his future tormentors that Morgan Cruise punished him worst of all. He will be Morgan’s bitch. He will be his spokesperson. He’ll be his ring announcer.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h22m30s156 — As long as that ass is in the picture, I’ll saddle up for another ride with Joey any day.

As long as he shows off that sensational ass and continues up the learning curve of both selling and wrestling, I’ll buy it.

vlcsnap-2015-07-17-09h36m08s450 — Come on, Joey. Scream for me!

The Doctor is In

July 15, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

I get off on character development (among other things). Heel turns. Rookies graduating into sophomores. Cocky mat masters completely humiliated when they try to take that shit into the ring. The evolution of a pro wrestling character is the perfect antidote for what can be (is by necessity?) typically formulaic sets of taunts and holds culminating in a crowing victor flexing over top of his vanquished opponent.

0202_lg — Ripped Goldenboy Austin Cooper

If anyone is keeping me guessing these days, it’s Austin Cooper. I’ve been a fan since I first saw him at Rock Hard Wrestling. These days, you can sample his goods (“fantastics”) at RHW, BG East, and Thunder’s Arena (wrestling as Frey). Austin’s most recent BG East release, Muscle Rookies, highlighted for me just how effectively he has muscled his golden physique into my erotic imagination with an element that can be too often lacking in this genre: suspense.

0503_lg — 5’9″, 210 lbs., Muscle Rookie Adam Atom

Austin’s opponent is the titular muscle rookie, Adam Atom. Another Thunder’s Arena alum, Adam is built like a Mac truck. Everything about this kid is phenomenally thick. If there’s any justice in the world, the homoerotic wrestling gods have blessed Adam with a beer can cock to compliment his tree trunk thighs, bubble butt, barrel chest and that neck that I’m pretty sure is thicker than my waist.

h0509_lg — Adam owns Austin on the mats.

A former very successful amateur wrestler, Adam tears it up on the mats. More precisely, he tears Austin up. This is fantastic storytelling for my tastes. Austin’s initial BG East match was Ripped Rookies, in which he and fellow RHW muscle buddy Jake Jenkins went from good natured buddy wrestling to sweat soaked strip and spank wrestling with the studied deliberateness and pacing of grapplers much more experienced. There was something privileged and too, too pretty about Austin back then that made me announce that, although he finally trashed Jake decisively, it was JJ’s consistent, raw, intense sell (not to mention his coverboy face) that grabbed me. Joe at Ringside at Skull Island announced he was on team Coop, while I signed up for team JJ.

Not that I didn’t fully appreciate Austin. There’s something of an intensely sensual comic book superhero about him that’s sensational. But I have to say it wasn’t until around Demolition 16 that I really found myself captivated by the goldenboy. Not surprisingly, the subtitle for Demo 16 is “Austin’s Heel Turn.” Shedding the stars and stripes trunks and turning decisively vicious and sadistic, I found myself mulling over a membership card for team Coop.

0131_lg — Dr. Cooper “treated” the bloody nose he gave Richie Douglas by suspending him in a tree of woe and stomping the ripped rookie’s abs in Gutbash 11.

It may just be the random sequencing of releases from BG East, but since then, Austin has gone back and forth between saccharine babyface hero and truly vile heel. The narrative in the web text has argued that the goldenboy had some sort of mental break, a dissociative episode in which two crazy hot wrestling hunks were born within the same powerful, bulging, aesthetically beautiful body. If it’s Austin who climbs into the ring these days, he’ll be handsome and clever and awesomely athletic and, most likely, get thrashed by a cunning heel who eats babyface beauties for breakfast. If it’s “Dr. Cooper” who climbs through the ropes, he’ll be unnecessarily vicious. He’ll break all the rules just to make a point. He’ll laugh out loud when he makes an opponent cry out, whimper, or even on occasion bleed. In a better world, we could see Austin face off against (and get fucked over) by Dr. Cooper. In this world, we’re left with the mystery of discovering which of the sensational studs it will be showing up with each new match.

h0213_lg — Handing Austin’s ass to him makes Adam Atom get cocky.

I mentioned that everything about Adam Atom seems thick and juicy (including that outrageously kitschy ring name!). The muscled fireplug demonstrates that, at least at this point in his career, he’s just a little thick in the head, as well. While it’s true that he completely OWNS Austin’s sensational ass on the mats (Dr. Cooper is nowhere in sight), Adam smirks at Austin’s suggestion that “if only” they’d met in the ring, the story would have gone completely differently. “See, I can do anything I want with you!” Adam taunts with a liberal dose of double entendre. “I’m unstoppable here. I’ll be an unstoppable pro!” Something visibly comes over Austin. I swear, you can just about see that dissociative switch thrown. He peels out of his golden singlet and challenges the muscle rookie to take this shit to the ring. Adam agrees, not recognizing that there’s an entirely different opponent standing in front of him now, in green and yellow trunks and with a complete disregard for common decency. This is the goldenboy turned mad doctor who has forgotten more about mat wrestling than Adam will ever learn about the ring. Adam assumes that his mat success translates directly into pro ring skill. Oh, you hot, thick, ripe for the picking muscle rookie.

0527_lg — Things look a little different in the ring, now, don’t they Adam?

Dr. Cooper paces the ring like a starving puma eying an oblivious buck. Adam is game for this, but Coop milks this home field advantage for everything its worth. There’s more geography here than in the mat room. There are ropes and corner posts that the cocky rookie is just getting introduced to. Unfortunately for him, it’s Coop making the introductions.

0211_lg — A surprising, expertly applied camel clutch makes me wonder who may be initiating whom?

Adam does an impressive job hanging with the beautiful, shining, golden heel for a while. I don’t know where the fuck an amateur learns how to smack on a gorgeous, spine snapping camel clutch like that, but I have to assume Adam has either been a longtime fan of mainstream pro, or he’s secretly had some pointers from one of BG East’s many background coaches. There’s a moment here where I’m wondering if all of that total humiliation on the mat is about to repress Dr. Cooper behind the veil, leaving only goldenboy Austin to get his big beautiful ass handed to him by nothing but a rookie.

h0231_lg — Doctor’s orders: just apply pressure.

But no. A little offense from the rook just brings out the best in Coop. The gorgeous heel targets the rookie’s testicles for special attention. Low blows drive home the lesson that this isn’t mat wrestling, Adam. Being big man on campus doesn’t amount to shit when you step into the ring for the first time against a seasoned pro wrestler who we’ve watched develop an obvious fetish for inflicting ring torture. You’re fast on the mats, Adam? Getting your balls crushed mercilessly into the ring post will slow you down.

h0529_lg — Coop is all over the rookie’s powerful, impotent muscles.

Dr. Cooper on a roll is a magnificent thing to watch. The mixture of veteran ring skills and mouthwatering thrill at ripping an opponent to shreds is sensational. It’s not like I don’t know that Austin has it in him to bear down like a hurricane all over a slack jawed rook. It’s just, I don’t know whether it’ll be goldenboy Austin or dark and dangerous Dr. Cooper showing up when I sit down with a new release. Will this be the awesome telling of the destruction of a pumped up muscle rookie by a sly, sadistic heel, or will this be the thrilling upset of a seasoned veteran babyface by a completely green but devastating rookie savant?

I hope that poor Adam Atom isn’t turned off to future BG East appearances. The powerhouse rookie gets the full treatment from Dr. Cooper, and sometimes cocky jocks fresh off the mats have relatively delicate egos when it comes to being initiated into the high impact homoerotic pro wrestling world. But he calls to mind BG East classic Buster, who, perhaps ironically, needed only one name to Adam’s redundant two. And if Adam can have even half the homoerotic wrestling success and fans of Buster, he’ll be a major player. And best news of all, Adam: BG East practically NEVER books rematches.

Stand and Deliver

July 14, 2015July 14, 2015 wrestlebardLeave a comment

As I’ve mentioned often in the past, one of my favorite things about summer is seeing hunks showing off their legs. Hot temps require shorts, and finally, after being hidden for months, big, beautiful thighs, and sculpted calves are set free. Someone recently referred to me as a “leg man,” which on the one hand, I don’t think I am, because I also crave big juicy pecs, peaked biceps, roped triceps, crystal cut abs, boulder-like deltoids. I love wide, bulging backs that taper in a V to a muscled ass with a shelf that you could set your martini glass on. Fuck, for that matter, I can get off on strong, sexy hands, beautiful feet, dimpled cheeks, a cleft chin, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes… the list goes on and on. But on the other hand, I have a special joy for summer exposure of powerful, thick, meaty thighs.

0119_lg — Kid Karisma’s massive rugby thighs know what I’m talking about in Gazebo Grapplers 17.

So today, I’m dedicating this post to a hold that invariably turns my crank and feeds my seasonal fetish for the particular allure of sexy legs. I once enjoyed the opportunity a favorite wrestler of mine offered me, to tell him what moves and holds I hoped to see most in his upcoming matches. I had an immediate answer for this stud in particular: standing headscissors. Like almost nothing else, there’s something so erotic about a dominant hunk with powerful thighs crushing an opponent’s head while just standing there. The inherent narrative is delicious. Standing headscissors require one battered stud to not only be kneeling or seated while his opponent punishes him, but the captured wrestler generally has to be pretty blown away already. They require that the pitcher bears down on the skull between his thighs, which, honestly, means he’s a little precariously positioned, not flat on his feet. The catcher could likely upend his tormentor with a little leverage and effort, so luxuriously long held standing headscissors are the stuff of total control. Like a cat playing with his fatally wounded prey, they signal the ascendency of the erect wrestler.

09_lg — Brooklyn Bodywrecker was the master of the standing headscissors.

And speaking of erection, I’m always fantasizing about standing headscissors getting topped off with the controlling wrestler jerking off to the feel of completely owning his opponent. It’s a hands free hold, so sure, flex and preen, trash talk good and long. But what I’d love to see is that standing grappler pounding one out all over the back of the humiliated meatscicle on his knees. Fuck, that would be a skunk in my book, instantly counting for two falls in the column of the cocky thigh master.

marco7 — Marco looks ready to get off on crushing TAK between his massively muscled thighs.

In any case, let’s drink a toast to summer, and the hot, powerful, punishing legs that now come out to play.

01_lg — Wade Cutler feels the squeeze in Hard Pros 6.

outdoor — Standing headscissors look so fine with the sun glistening off of oiled bodies.

03_lg-1 — Kickboxer Brigham Bell keeps babyface Tommy Tara in place between his crushing legs with an assist from the ropes.

hollywooderotic — Someone is almost as excited to lock on this hold as I am to watch him do it!

10_lg — Jeremy Burk grabs hold of Bulldog Barzini’s gargantuan thighs and holds on for dear life.

0412_lg — Possibly the thickest thighs in the business put to their best use, whenever Mike Columbo did this.

christopher3 — Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!

outdoor2 — You’ve got hands, you gorgeous hunk. Use them!

1314_lg — One last shot of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler demonstrating he knows what drives me crazy.

Expiration Dates

July 6, 2015July 6, 2015 wrestlebard10 Comments

I’m venturing into highly contested waters today, so put your life vests on and buckle in. Age. I’ve chatted with homoerotic wrestling fans who consider hunks old enough to legally drink alcohol as getting too old for their tastes. Mind you, the fans in question are more than twice that age, but for the time being, let me just focus on the wrestlers. By the same token, I’ve talked with homoerotic wrestling fans who are a tad creeped out by wrestlers that look too young. Hell, I had an extended exchange with a fan who was gagging for a silver fox bracket of homoerotic wrestling for mature muscle only. I’ve also heard rumor of homoerotic wrestling companies who turn away handsome, magnificently muscled, high quality man meat with impeccable wrestling credentials and a sensational sell because they only work with guys younger than 30 years old. Age is clearly something that factors into the homoerotic wrestling scene in complex ways.

lodi — Billy Lodi looks like a high school sophomore and wrestles like a wildcat.

You know me, of course. I can pump out a teary eyed infatuation for hunks across a wide range of demographics. I’ve been known to get off on one of those barely legal babyface kids who, although he’s old enough to vote, has the look of a high school sophomore. Now, I fully endorse limiting the subjects of erotic products to those of legal age to comptently give their consent. I don’t want to see (let me repeat for the morality police: I DON’T want to see) an actual 14 year old, no matter how sweet his ass, step into a wrestling ring to be an object of erotic lust for grown men, much less for him to be groped or ground by an amorous wrestling opponent. If a 21 year old could pass for a 14 year old, and he has that sweet ass I just mentioned, fuck yes, get his legal signature on a contract, throw him into a ring to get slammed, stripped, and sucked, and then pay him handsomely. My line isn’t whether the audience could imagine the hunks to be underage. It’s just a question of whether they are, in the eyes of the law, legally capable of consenting to adult decisions like starring in media targeted toward erotically interested consumers. There’s got to be a line with regard to age, maturity, and capacity to give consent, and I’m just fine with the legal standards that operate in the homoerotic wrestling industry.

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So there’s that threshold of age on the bottom end of the scale. But what about the top end of the scale? Do (should) wrestlers age out of being suitable stars of homoerotic wrestling? Of course, I continue to advocate for legal capacity as a requirement. Guys with impaired capacity due to intellectual disabilities or mental health issues, no matter their age, no matter how rocking hot their six-pack abs and sculpted, tree trunk thighs are, shouldn’t be professional homoerotic wrestlers. But other than that small minority of adults, I see nothing wrong with, and in fact see many things very, very right with, wrestlers having no inherent expiration date for steaming up screens.

mitch — Mitch Colby started homoerotic wrestling only after his phenomenal physique was aged to perfection.

My thoughts are distinct from, but related to, the occasional wrestling narrative of a younger stud taunting his older opponent. I actually love seeing younger and older wrestlers go to town on each other, though I confess I typically ache to see the more mature guy own the young buck’s ass (and any other body part he wants). When Mitch Colby showed up for his debut match with BG East, wrestling against hottie Alexi Adamov, Alexi was already disparaging Mitch as ready to be put out to pasture. Mitch smirks in response to the “old man” banter, and then lets his gorgeous pecs and bulging biceps give the only answer necessary, laying Alexi the fuck OUT when all was said and done.

mitch2 — Go on, Alexi. Take a look at the “old man” who just put you down.

Now I’m terrible at guessing ages. But I’m thinking Mitch couldn’t have been over 40 years old when he wrestled Alexi. Possibly early 40’s, but that absolutely requires that he have the genes of a comic book superhero. Look at that fucking rocking muscle bod!? So sure, he’s older than Alexi, and Alexi wants to unsettle this physical phenom of a newbie muscle stud, so the young Russian gets all snarky about the only thing he can imagine sensational Mitch could be, in any way, insecure about. About the time Alexi is doing the backstroke in a pool of their combined sweat, unable to pry is wasted, hot, gorgeous young body off the mat, the “old guy” drama comes to what I think of as a sensationally satisfying end.

mitch3 — Bear daddy Brooklyn Bodywrecker takes full possession of every naked inch of Joshua Goodman (though we only see his gorgeous backside).

Physical maturity, pitched well, makes me weak in the knees. Take Brooklyn Bodywrecker with salt-and-pepper goatee and chest hair bringing us as close as we’ve come to seeing Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) stripped naked and showing off the ballast he carries in his pouch. Joshua tries to get underneath the classic heel’s skin with the “o” word. Bodywrecker tags him, bags him, and takes out the prettiest trash on the planet. How old was BBW? I have no idea. I’m guessing over 40, but like I said, I suck at guessing ages. But one thing I do know for certain: he wasn’t “too old.”

Take Christopher Bruce’s big comeback a few years ago, returning in mindblowing condition after last appearing a decade earlier as a doe eyed, shapely, lean go-go boy, now older, marginally wiser, and stealing the spotlight from every frustrated opponent with that insanely sexy, infinitely fuckable, massively muscled bubble butt. Cole Cassidy, Jonny Firestorm, they keep calling Chris out as some sort of doddering elder statesman, but that’s just the narrative tension in the story. The obvious truth is that he’s a fucking muscle god who, as far as I’m concerned, is about 30 times overtly sexier than he was a decade ago. Proving that it isn’t just the story of the mature hunk schooling a cocky young upstart that gets me off, he’s still getting his ass handed to him most of the time, but the years are absolutely nothing but value added in my book.

So age, age differences, “oldness,” “youngness,” sure all of these things are moving parts, contested, manipulated, foregrounded strategically. But in and of itself, the actual notion that someone is too old, as a function of a particular number, just seems ludicrous to me. Sure, maybe over the course of his years a wrestler has fucked up his knees or lost his strength or gone on blood thinners, in which case high impact, highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling competition may not be for him anymore. But’s that’s about injury, disease, and fitness, not a number.

dirk — Dirk Caber is reported to have only started muscling up and settling into porn at age 30. With a handsome, grey beard and insanely hot, mature beef, he is a raging bull when he wrestles and fucks for Naked Kombat.

As with any professional athlete, I’m sure there’s a time when they may choose to do other things than exercise, diet, and train with the intensity it requires to be safe and healthy and successful in a pro wrestling ring. But I’m also sure there are plenty of hunks who are talented and enthusiastic enough to keep climbing through those ropes past their 30’s (for god’s sake), definitely past their 40’s, many, I’m sure past their 50’s and maybe even 60’s. While I know there are those fans who want nothing but barely legals, I’m in the camp (and I know there are many of us) who are happily entertained and fully aroused by homoerotic wrestling hunks of a variety of ages, in a broad array of scenarios, pitching, catching conquering and being conquered by peers and young punks alike. Bald spots and grey hair can grab me by the short hairs, when paired with a sexy body, an engaging attitude, and a skillful sell.

shane — Shane McCall returned to BG East competition this past year as a more mature, salt-n-pepper bearded bear daddy with a crazy sexy belly and a fierce readiness to teach twink Ty a thing or two (or twenty) in Catchweight 6.

Before I finish what has turned into a very long post, let me just add a word of encouragement and another word of caution to those who are inspired to comment here. First, I always enjoy hearing from readers, comparing notes, seeing where our tastes overlap and where they diverge. Please do let me know what you think about homoerotic wrestler expiration dates. And, as has been my policy for quite a while, note that I won’t approve posts that attack particular wrestlers or that disparage anyone with the balls to climb into a ring and wrestle for a bunch of horny gay men. You don’t have to like the same wrestlers I do. You don’t have to agree with my opinions. But comments are welcome here that are respectful of me and the homoerotic wrestlers who populate the pages of this blog and who deserve courtesy, even if you or I aren’t fans.

Independence Day

July 4, 2015July 4, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

I typically take the time around the 4th of July to point out my lack of patriotism. But this year feels different. I know that I’m not the only one who feels a little more like a proud American this 4th of July. Such a major, seismic shift on marriage equality certainly doesn’t protect everyone’s rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, of course. LGBT Americans can legally be fired, denied housing, harrassed by both public and private authorities in a whole lot of places in this country still. But access to marriage is pretty cool.

Adam Battle from Can-Am’s Power Match 6-Pack

I’ve been fascinated to watch the strong and conflicting opinions the SCOTUS decision has sparked among my friends and colleagues, who, generally speaking, tend to pitch their tents in the same political camp. Straight people shamed for flying the rainbow flag. White gays shamed for celebrating marriage while people of color and trans folks are continuing to get fucked up and gunned down. Marriage advocates shamed for distracting us all from other problems like poverty and racism and gun violence and sexism.

0109_lg — Brad Rochelle from BG East’s Fantasymen 20.

I’ve got my own opinions, of course, but I have to say that I can’t help but be pleased that we’re talking a little more openly about a lot of things that ought to be complicated and unsettled. I confess a little thrill that bigots are feeling compelled to have to state their bigotry and try to rationalize it as something else, rather than just silently assuming that they’re the moral majority. And I really like that a lot of people I know who have long assumed that we all think alike are realizing that one particular decision or policy or issue that we all may endorse to some extent doesn’t erase the rich diversity of who we are, what we value, where our priorities lie, and how we think.

byers — Brendan Byers from BG East’s Florida Fights 1

It’s not uncommon in homoerotic wrestling to see American flag wrestling trunks. This gear typically signals that the wearer is a babyface hero, handsome, virile, and virtuous. And in the homoerotic wrestling matches I watch, those guys get their stars and stripes clad asses handed to them 9 times out of 10. Not always, I know, but most of the time.

BG East's Military Muscle 2 — BG East’s Military Muscle 2

The hunks in American flag trunks most often embody a naivete, a simple minded faith in things like hard work, strength, and sincerity to tip the scales of wrestling competition and justice their way. Their virginal earnestness is saccharine sweet, a glossy glaze over the realities of the homoerotic wrestling ring where things aren’t always (or even often) fair. Their wide-eyed, muscle bulging innocence seems to make them blind to a world where cheating, unsportsmanlike behavior, and ferocious mercilessness more often than not spank the ass of righteous, rule-abiding reverence for an honest battle of strength and skill.

I don’t know if this trope still plays the same way in mainstream pro wrestling (because I haven’t watched mainstream pro wrestling in forever), but I think it’s a particularly engaging narrative for homoerotic wrestling audiences. We know that survival often goes not to the fittest, but the most cunning. We know that when the rules are stacked against you, sometimes the most appropriate response is to fuck the rules. We know that often our most important assets in the battle against those who revile and oppress us behind a veneer or virtue and righteous indignation is to turn the repulsion right back around on them, to throw what they despise most in their faces, to metaphorically grab them by the balls until their self-righteous, “hard earned” privilege and power melts into weeping, impotent, contemptible helplessness.

Because more often than not, it isn’t their righteousness that has propelled them forward in good fortune. It isn’t their hard work. They haven’t just wanted success more, as if their will power is superior to those who haven’t prospered and been rewarded as much. It’s just those fucking rules that have made the difference, that have been slowly (sometimes quickly) tipping the scales their way from the moment they were born, that have advantaged them not because they earned it or deserved it, but just because they were born into families with a particular hue and history, because they effortlessly found their affections drawn in the socially acceptable direction, because they had that silver spoon in their mouths all along. So, many of us with an eye for homoerotic wrestling have learned that it’s those fucking rules that are the problem, and watching a homoerotic wrestling heel fuck the rules and humiliate a stars and stripes clad goldenboy is deep down satisfying.

I’m sure there’s much more to the American flag jobber narrative than that, but what I’m left wondering this year is whether my new found investment in my citizenship, riding this wave of judicial victory and the turning tide of public opinion, may make me, and perhaps you, a little less cynical about the American flag. I’m sure it won’t happen anytime soon, but is there a place in homoerotic wrestling iconography somewhere down the road for a sneering, contemptuous, irrepressible heel decked out in stars and stripes? Might finding myself embracing a little patriotric pride for being welcomed a little more into the fold of mainstream America shift my tastes for enjoying the sight of the American flag, strapped to the ass of an classically hot pretty boy, trampled and trashed for the poor excuse for institutional oppression it has so long seemed to me to represent? May I want to see an American patriot savvy and sly, queer and cunning, as vicious and vile as necessary to pound… who?… into tantalizingly sexy mincemeat?

1129_lg — BG East’s Austin Cooper Wrestler Spotlight 2

In some ways I hope so.

In many ways, I hope not.

h0116_lg — BG East’s Lon Dumont Wrestler Spotlight

	Chris H on You Want a Body Like This
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	wrestlebard on About Beau
	swagsupernaturally3c… on About Beau
	swagsupernaturally3c… on About Beau