Category: Uncategorized

Joe has already posted an excellent low-down on the entertainingly bizarre Thunder’s Arena holiday release featuring a masked Secret Santa and his Evil Elf beating the crap out of one another. For an overview of what you get with this novelty match, including a most insightful implication of this as a Marxist morality tale, check out Ringside at Skull Island. On this 11th day of Christmas, I’d just like to point out a couple of additional things that caught me by surprise with this match.

Santa’s ass ROCKS! Even covered head-to-toe in red spandex, Santa is one hot, hot, HOT sexy beast! That perky, diamond-cut pair of glutes somehow defies the laws of physiques and human physiology at the same time. This is one of those moments when I find myself talking at the screen as I’m watching: “You’ve got to be kidding me! I could balance a beer bottle on that shelf!” The Evil Elf’s ass is quite an astonishing piece of art as well, but I’ve talked about those glutes extensively already.

Another point worth repeating is that, for what at first glance appears to be all gimmick, Secret Santa v the Evil Elf is packed with some impressive wrestling action. This seems less surprising once the masks are ripped off and we see the talent underneath. Of course, too much gimmick can signal weak wrestling, but that’s just not the case here. It has more a sense of horseplay than fierce competition, but the action is legitimate pros-on-mats quality that makes me stop thinking of this as a novelty match and more as entertaining wrestling.

A third point (I know, I planned on only making two), Secret Santa v the Evil Elf plays more homoerotic than I typically expect from Thunder’s Arena. The wrestlers here are both quick witted and sharp tongued, and they skillfully walk a fine line between homophobic locker room barbs and full-on gay fantasy (which is a very, very fine line indeed, as far as I’m concerned). When the boys started telling their story at the beginning of the match, I suspected that this could turn horribly wrong. Santa drops in several, “That’s not what you said last night…” lines, alluding to having owned Elf’s ass in their shared bedroom. This could have gone in a train wreck, “no-homo,” sort of direction.

But surprisingly, it doesn’t! They both tell the same story throughout, certainly with tongue-in-cheek but seemingly without apology. Santa and the Evil Elf are lovers, with Santa as a domineering dom and Elf as his under-appreciated buttboy houseboy. The relentless dom that Santa is, he’s riding Elf constantly for being a slacker and needing to be disciplined. Elf is the fiesty cub who decides he’s going to challenge his bear daddy once and for all. Sure, he may bottom by night, but he’s determined to climb on top and whip Santa’s mind-blowing ass by day. I both applaud and empathize with that goal!

It’s a formula that Thunder’s is doing with increasing skill, I think. They’re fully committing. They’ve always, from the very beginning, had their tongues firmly in cheeks. Most of the Thunder’s wrestlers display a sharp-witted, self-deprecating sense of humor that’s quite endearing. More and more, they’re bringing a smart and smart-ass sensibility to their matches, telling a story, letting some homoeroticism hang there in the air without flinching, and seeing the whole thing through without breaking face (which has been a big complaint of mine in the distant past of Thunder’s matches).

So in addition to everything Joe has to say about Secret Santa v the Evil Elf, I also just want to say that this match really took me by surprise, entertained me, and grabbed hold of my wrestling kink with both hands. Having been introduced to Santa’s ass, I’m now combing through the back catalog to catch more of that aptly-named performer’s body of work. For the over-the-top gimmickry, for the legitimate pro-mat wrestling, for the powerfully beautiful bodies, and for the all-in story telling, I must say, I, too, am a fan of Secret Santa v the Evil Elf.

Last month, Bearhugs sent me a pro-wrestling short story to post over at Sidelineland. It stars bodybuilder bruiser “Neil,” a local scene pro-wrestling fixture, who has a chance meeting with an old high school buddy at his gym. His old buddy, Shane, drops into conversation that he’s been staying in shape with a wrestling club, and just hoping for a shot at the big time sooner or later. It seems like kismet when Neil proposes to do his buddy a favor, and signs them both up with his wrestling promoter for a match to introduce Shane to the crowds at the arena that very night.

As Bearhugs tells us, Neil was considerably less benevolent in setting this whole scenario up than it first appeared. He beats the living crap out of his “old buddy,” humiliating him across every inch of the ring until the crowds actually grow concerned for Shane’s survival. Neil reveals that he’s been harboring an old grudge for years, and he’s working out not only an epic heel-turn career move, but some pent up needs to even an old score. The bell signals the end of Shane’s “big break” in pro wrestling, and Neil drags him helplessly back to the locker rooms where he ties him up for some post match postscript.

Then Bearhugs challenged me to write “part 2” of Shane’s Big Break. What an excellent intellectual and creative challenge! And I’m nothing if not turned on by a challenge. So I’ve completed my vision of “part 2” of Shane’s Big Break, in which Shane learns that both Neil and the world of pro wrestling have a lot more to teach him, still. This is my stab at a hands on, full on erotic sex-text, in accord with some of the chatter over at Sidelineland and Producer’s Ring looking for a few loser-seriously-gets-fucked matches. Personally, I find a lot of wrestling entirely and satisfyingly homoerotic without anyone getting literally fucked, but there’s nothing at all wrong with loser-gets-fucked stakes, either. I’ve posted Shane’s Big Break – Part 2 over at Sidelineland right now for members to check out.

I hope that I’ve done Bearhugs’ set-up justice. I’ve developed a serious crush on baby-monster heel Neil, and I’d love to see someone else take a shot at Part 3 (I’m thinking there are some High Rollers who’d pay to see No Holds Barred 1-on-2 action with Neil schooling Shane and some other twink pro wannabe at the same time). Thanks for the fun, Bearhugs!

Tis the season and all that jazz. I’m feeling a little unmoored in the season of holidays this year. It’ll probably pass in time for me to get stuffed with food and feel the nostalgic adrenaline rush of receiving presents to tear open like a lion taking down a gazelle.

In the mean time, I’ve got my tongue firmly in cheek as we head into the eve of the notorious day. I’ve got a taste for the irreverent Christmas treat, the scandalous perversion of the high holy day, the middle finger flown in the face of uptight carolers. If anyone deserves a lump of coal in his stocking this year, I’m sure it’s me.

As you well know, in my brain, all good things (and most bad) lead back to hot men in various stages of undress, frequently engaged in wrestling scenarios with homoerotic undertones or, even better, overtones. Frankly, I find it hard to find hot, Christmas-themed homoerotic wrestling treasure, and that’s just sad.

I suppose the notorious day is supposed to make us all feel pre-pubescent, harkening back to a more innocent time when we couldn’t quite imagine what sex was and the most thrilling thing in the world was an unopened gift. I think that time passed for me when I was about 5 years old, though (seriously). And these days I’m all about injecting the sexy into the holidays. With that in mind, here’s my vote for sexiest YouTube santa. I think absolutely every Santa should have a six pack, a dimpled chin, ice blue eyes, (okay, so just a tad less mousse), a back tat, a tight round ass and a tightly packed crotch. Here’s hoping you have happy holiday dreams of a hardbody Santa squeezing down your chimney tonight!

Snapper sent me a link to “BattleBang.” This is one of those perplexing glimpses into heterosexual porn… I guess… that oddly attracts me and repulses me at the same time (or in rapid succession… I’ll explain…).

Apparently, BattleBang pits two male porn stars against one another in a cage fight. The winner is rewarded with sex with the pretty woman, and the loser is punished by suffering humiliating domination by an overweight dominatrix.

I hate conformity. Not to say that I don’t do my share of cow-towing conforming, but I hate it. Squeezing everything and everyone into the same package just makes me feel so… closeted somehow. What brings this existential thought on at this moment is Google. Google has just told me that I have to use the new, “better” Blogger editor. And suddenly I can’t find the font size that I want anymore. The text is either too small or WAY TOO BIG!!!! The font size I liked in the old editor just isn’t an option anymore. I must conform to Blogger’s interpretation of progress. I hate conformity.

I had a social worker boyfriend once who told me that I was oppositional-defiant. Apparently, I was supposed to feel some shame about that. It’s apparently the clinical diagnosis that they give kids who are on their way to being officially labeled sociopaths once they’re adults. But “oppositional-defiant” has a ring to it that I like, somehow. Whatever it means clinically, I like to think of it as a highbrow way of saying that I march to the beat of my own drummer.

And so when I must conform, I’m resentful. The brilliant minds at Google not only have recently told me that I must conform to use the new, “improved” Blogger editor, but I also have been using Google Groups all wrong for the past year. Despite them having a web address, I’ve been informed that the two wrestling fiction group sites I administer are not, in fact, “websites.” I must migrate all my wrestling fiction and graphics somewhere else, because they will delete my pages and files soon. I’ll be happier, they tell me, following the directions and conforming. Straighten my tie, they tell me. Part my hair down the side, they say. Don’t be too outrageous or “alternative.” Be happy with the choices that they’ve given me and forget about what I was already quite happy with that I can’t have any longer.

That’s not trash talk, I swear. That alone can pass the time for me three days out of ten. It’s at least twice the eroticism as a “solo” video of a hot harbody stripping naked and working one out all by himself. And I’m seriously a fan of the guy on top of this schoolboy pin. He’s got a look that makes me feel compelled to do things to him that I’m normally way too much of a prude to think twice about.

So I think all that credit-where-credit’s-due above now entitles me to point out the obvious. This just isn’t wrestling. It isn’t tag team wrestling. It isn’t pitched to wrestling kink really at all. It’s mostly a photo shoot of these four muscleboys posing in “wrestling-inspired” positions. Frankly, it’s a little odd in video format for that very reason. It’s all about striking a provocative pose, which most of the time is mildly entertaining with a 3 times out of 10 return value for the aesthetics, not the kink. And in my HUMBLE opinion, four guys leaning against a wall, eyes closed, oblivious to one another as they all masturbate, isn’t particularly erotic. Whatever is turning these guys on, it isn’t each other, and that’s just disappointing and anti-climactic, regardless of the four climaxes on tape. I was willing to cut my blond bombshell, Jay from Powermen’s Kane vs. Jay some slack on this count. But the Tagteam boys just can’t drag me down that road like Jay can.

About a year ago, I started checking the stats on this blog. I was feeling insecure, wondering if I was blathering on to an empty house. The exercise of writing daily was an end to itself, but the thought of putting time into posting a public blog that no one read was a possibility that was going to defeat me. I needed to know that at least it was being read. I didn’t worry so much that people enjoyed it or agreed with it. But just that its existence was noted.

Of course, more and more we learn that homosexuality, and same-sex mating and pairings are much more common across many species than the heterosexual version of evolution would suggest. And the story of young, virile men battling with one another is both age old and intimately tied to erotic arts, sexual prowess, and physical attraction. And clearly, mainstream fight-sport is pitched not for female eyes at all. MMA, boxing, wrestling, frat house grappling… these are not packaged and pitched for women to consume. It’s not a female audience that makes televised fight-sport profitable. These competitions are between men, managed by men, for male eyes to hungrily witness.

I wouldn’t suggest that all men who treat a UFC pay-per view as must-see television are raging ‘mos. But I certainly don’t buy the argument that the physical excitement, passionate intensity, and visceral delight that so many men take from following the UFC, or boxing, or pro-wrestling, or their frat brothers scrapping in the chapter house, or the furious young punks throwing down behind the gym after school is somehow an intellectual pursuit divorced from erotic pleasure. Viewers aren’t engaged on a simply cerebral level, no matter how exclusively they sleep with women. They care because watching young, fit, fierce men battle single-handedly for physical domination is titillating. They’re hearts beat faster. Faces grow flushed. Lungs automatically pump faster. Adrenalin is released at the sight of the hard bodies going head-to-head. And men of all stripes find themselves physically reacting, aroused at the sight of young bodies locked in battle for domination, with a physical, climactic thrill to see one competitor decisively triumph, leaving his challenger entirely, physically at his mercy.

You and I aren’t at the far margins of human sexuality. Straight men may not actually have sexual fantasies about wrestling competitions between hard-bodied men (and then again, a lot of them probably do). But the physical arousal to witness beautiful male bodies in body-on-body competition is hardly some unexplained, bizarrely fringe, freakishly abnormal kink.