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I’d be okay with picturing him as Garrett Hedlund from Tron: Legacy, also a studmuffin hacker boy with a six pack and big, broad pecs. Really, if I’m going to get violated and virtually fucked over, I’d much prefer to suffer at the hands of a big, hot hunk, than a pimple-ridden, value-less adolescent with delusional visions of grandeur because he can co-opt my email account to send malicious crap.

Seriously, this shit sucks and makes me a little sour on having an online presence at all. If my violator is Plague, who has to climb over his own delivery pizza boxes to make it to the toilet (if he bothers), then all of my earnest, sincere effort to explore the beauty of homoerotic wrestling and gorgeous men suddenly seems like just a little more trash littering his filthy loft. I’m suddenly struggling with an existential crisis here, my friends. What does it all amount to, if what seems like a beautiful thing to me is toilet paper to the next hacker who picks it up and wipes his butt with it?

On the other hand, if my hacker is a hot, snarky homo with a little Loki in him, nursing a bit of a heel-wannabe mischievousness just to keep us all on our toes, perhaps I shouldn’t despair. If I can replace the image of Plague rifling through my underwear drawer with the picture of a handsome, wicked smart, scrappy punk with a razor wire sense of humor and a body built by much more than roosting in front of a computer screen, maybe I shouldn’t be quite so disillusioned. If this is all some elaborate ruse to get my attention like a naughty puppy shredding my manuscript so that I’ll play with him, maybe this doesn’t merit a full on existential crisis. If he’s really just itching to arrange a face-to-face for me to kick his tight, athletic ass back and forth across the room, claw his balls until he screams, and crush his skull between my thighs as I jack his cock until he cums, then well-played. Game on.

For now, though, I’m irritated, bitter, and wondering if the lurker in the shadows will end up taking all the fun out of this for me.

I’m but a poor imitation of my betters. That said, here’s another concept I’m ripping off of another blogger, with my own particular wrestling kink twist to it: Name that Ass.

How do I miss these things? Someone who clearly knows my tastes very well commended BG East’s two book series entitled, “Sexfights at the BG Arena.” The text is by none other than Kid Leopard himself, and the graphics are by the incomparable, late MATT. This is the tale of hardcore pro-wrestling for you and me, told from the perspective of the hot, hard boys who climb into this very particular ring.

This is ALL about my kink! My own wrestling fiction has been striving to capture just a slice of what Sexfights offers. The characters are written with a lustful, loving hand. The ring action (thank you Jesus) is straight out of the very best of classic pro-wrestling, with the necessary twist that the ring is surrounded by hot and horny gay men with precisely the kink that draws you to read this very blog, and the star-studded talent in the ring is keen to please both the promoter and this particular crowd.

The 2-parter tells the story of one night at the BG Arena, with the blow-by-blow told from the locker room to the ring and back again throughout a packed card of hard muscled pro-wrestlers working for increasingly erotic stakes. My favorite match is from the second part, where former tag-team partners, Tony Napoli and Skeeter Birmingham, are consummating a long, slowly boiling over grudge. After their partnership dramatically collapsed, and two back-and-forth grudge matches over the course of a couple months split the score, tonight they show up for the decisive third match to determine who’s “going over.” In the end, Skeeter drapes Tony’s beaten body face-first across the top ropes in one corner. Yanking down Tony’s trunks to reveal his “rock hard butt,” Skeeter slides his massive cock up and down between his buddy’s muscle ass.

“Skeeter humped and thrust his spear into Tony’s most private public part. He leaned his full weight againt his buddy’s back, two sweat-soaked gladiators as engaged as they could possibly be. His teeth impressed on Tony’s earlobe and he stuck his tongue deep into Tony’s ear. His right thumb and forefinger located Tony’s protruding right nipple. He squeezed hard. ‘It’s over, T, and you lose.'”

Simply fantastic. I highly, highly recommend Sexfights for anyone who’s got a kick for wrestling kink text with a side of classic MATT homoerotic wrestling graphics. And my thanks to Kid Leopard for his permission to post these images and the delightful sample of text. Now, where do I get tickets for next Friday at the BG Arena!?

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.