Uncategorized – Page 9

“He was cute when he came in”

November 6, 2023 wrestlebard3 Comments

If you heard a collective gasp of shocked excitement about a week ago, it was me and a few hundred other homoerotic wrestling fans reacting to the news from the Arena that Brad Rochelle was going to star in a new release for BG East. Those full-throated shouts of near-ecstasy that you heard last Thursday were our reactions to Catalog 172 officially dropping, and seeing Brad returning to his coverboy status, standing alongside of Jonny Firestorm, who’s not coincidentally pointing at Brad’s gorgeous abs, that this decade or so later are still ripped hard enough to wash your laundry on. I can’t overstate how excited I am by The Comeback 3, and seeing the return of one of the first muscle hunk wrestlers I fell in virtual lust/love/infatuation, showing up at BG East at almost the same time that I was originally discovering the intoxicating and validating world of homoerotic wrestling videos. Just the anticipation and photos are so sensationally satisfying, that I have to admit that I was almost a little worried that the match very well might not be able to live up to my hopes for it. I’m sincerely pleased to share that it’s a fucking phenomenal match, showcasing the hot bodies, just a little larger than life personalities, and knee-bucklingly sexy wrestling style that BG East was the first to introduce to me, and is still producing so beautifully.

I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse for the poor, gorgeous fantasyman, Kal Connor, that he’s making his debut at the same time that Brad is coming out of early retirement. I’m guessing that it’s awesome exposure for the new kid, being introduced to the BGE audience when a whole lot of homoerotic wrestling fans are tapping deep into nostalgia like this. But holy hell, the pretty boy is in the ring with Jonny Firestorm and Brad Rochelle! Fuck, seriously, those two superstars could upstage … fuck, I’m at a loss for a comparison big enough to approximate just how big Jonny and Brad’s presence is in the ring. So, let me make sure and give Kal credit where due, right at the start of this review. Namely… FUCK, this kid’s body makes me swoon! And he’s got the babyface to match his magnificent proportions and sculpted bulges. As one of my friends put it, Kal’s “wardrobe malfunction” (when Jonny is yanking him around by the front of his tiny trunks and Kal’s luggage completely spills out) instantly dials up the heat in this match. And the lucky unlucky kid’s astonishingly meaty glutes are displayed so perfectly in one severe wedgie after another. Of course, his still frames are fucking compelling. But holy hell, Kal legitimately wrestles, and holy hell, he SELLS!

In fact, the incredibly tasty newbie, who adorably calls himself “the heel” in this threesome, is more than Jonny can handle. He exploits cocky Jonny’s sloppy overconfidence just a few minutes into what was looking like it was going to be a total rookie wrecking. Kal grabs the bull by the horn and does NOT let up, absolutely pounding the shit out of Jonny and keeping his foot on the gas pedal the whole time. It reminds me of some seriously brilliant moments when Dio Characi was delighting in humiliating Jonny in front of a live audience at WrestleFest 4 last year. Only, Kal is about 30 pounds lighter than Dio, and, let’s face it, shouldn’t be a serious challenge for legendary heel. When the handsome kid snaps on a totally legit figure-4 leg lock and threatens to end Jonny’s infamous career then and there, at least it’s not another public humiliation for the notorious heel… until Brad walks in on the scene.

“What’s going on here!?” Brad’s first words back on the scene are thick with nuance. He’s in dark sunglasses and bright, metallic silver square cuts that showcase his gorgeous ass. I know it’s been at least 10 years, probably more, since he climbed into that ring with the cameras rolling, but fuck… he hasn’t missed a beat. Rewind back to the finale reckoning of The Contract 10, and fuck, if anything, Brad may look even better!

Serious Rochellophiles may remember that Jonny was reluctantly selling out his buddy Brad at the start of Contract 10. There’s an implication that they’ve buried the hatchet since their extremely hot and contentious first meeting in Contract 6. Apparently, the hint of a friendship between them wasn’t bullshit. Because 13 years later, Jonny hedged his bets when he was preparing to square off against the newest newbie, Kal, by calling up his buddy Brad to check in on him after the match had started, to make sure the winds were all blowing Jonny’s directions. The enemies-friends-enemies trope in professional wrestling is an oft-told story, but you know what? I actually totally buy it, that Jonny and Brad are buds. Not only have I seen recent photographic evidence that they enjoy beating up on a lucky hot, handsome muscle hunk together, but they are amazingly in sync when they seriously tuck in to picking apart this tasty rookie morsel. I mean, there’s some fun and funny chemistry when Brad is trying to “help” by yanking on Kal’s arms, which only has the effect of wrenching more brutally on that figure-4 leglock Jonny was already trapped in. But genuinely, Brad and Jonny are pretty fucking amazingly coordinated in their attack on Kal. If I’m being brutally honest with you, I don’t always get on board with a double-team like this, not because it can’t be hot, but because it’s often a little messy, a little bumbling with unequally yoked double-teamers. This match keeps me laughing, awestruck, and turned on from start to finish, mostly propelled by the magic of Jonny and Brad seriously sending what two synchronized hunks can do to an unexpecting lone opponent.

Honestly, there are too many sensationally high quality moments for me to do justice to them in this review. The holds that epitomize the magic that Brad and Jonny bring include a double-team Mexican ceiling hold that looks like an absolute house of cards, the heel team members each taking one of Kal’s arms and legs and hoisting him suspended above them. Seriously, I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen a regular Mexican ceiling hold blown, because it’s a fucking hard hold to apply, secure in place, and then maintain. The added complexity of having to have the entire thing coordinated between two hunks working over their prey seems like it is not something to be attempted by the faint of heart. And damn it all, Jonny and Brad pull it off and fucking own the hold (and Kal) with total command. It takes serious timing and skill. Brad is (still) over half a foot taller than Jonny, so they had to negotiate different lengths of limbs and centers of gravity. And then they just fucking hang him up like laundry on the line, flapping helplessly in the wind. Fucking gorgeous!

The other hold that’s just something I’ve only seen before in graphic art is this… what the fuck to even call this? Let’s just call it a wishbone muscle buster (someone will correct me and make sure to snort with contempt at my ignorance… go ahead). Kal is hanging upside down, draped between the heels, one shoulder resting on each of their shoulders. The bad boys grab him by the ankles and wrench his legs apart, and fuck does Kal scream in panic. Jonny suggests they make a wish, and you can see the terror make Kal’s taut hamstring quiver in response.

I’ve having trouble restraining myself from writing a 30-page essay on this match, but indulge me in just a couple more points that I want to celebrate. First of all, chemistry. I know I’ve already used the word, but I cannot say enough about how hilarious and spontaneous the chemistry is, particularly between Jonny and Brad in this match. There’s a moment when they’ve got a double team bow-and-arrow locked on, down on the mat. Each of them have an arm and a leg, and once again, they’re using the ripped-to-shreds hot rookie hunk like a wishbone. As far as that goes, definitely, it’s all good. It’s gorgeous and a study in complete ownership and savoring of suffering. Kal is screaming… SCREAMING. Brad and Jonny are stomping their heels into Kal’s side, jerking the poor stud’s arms and legs out of their joints like he’s being drawn and quartered. And Brad comments on how handsome young Kal is. “His face is kind of pretty,” Brad observes calmly, as Kal is screaming bloody murder. “His face feels like an affront to us,” Brad grows philosophical, ignoring Kal’s screeching, panicked submission. To rectify the situation, Jonny and Brad shift position, placing one boot each on either side of Kal’s face and smashing his once-pretty mug between the soles of their boots. “I don’t like handsome young men,” Brad barks louder, to be heard over the tortured screams. “They make me feel old and angry!” I fucking love that line on so many levels!!! But without waxing too philosophical right now, it’s a great example of the spontaneity and cleverness of Jonny and Brad, and, again, it’s just that much more perfect with Kal’s full-throttled sell of his demoralized, terrorized suffering.

I’ll try to wrap this up with just one last reflection on what I find super brilliant about The Comeback 3. From Kal’s adorable assertion that he’s going to be the heel, to Jonny getting seriously rocked, to one of the most standout babyface heroes of Greek tragedy/homoerotic wrestling licking his lips with delight over the suffering of a jobber, this entire thing is a sensational mind-fuck on classic wrestling tropes of heels, jobbers, and babyfaces. No one here can be easily reduced to the time honored, overly simplistic roles in classic professional wrestling. I don’t really watch a lot of mainstream pro wrestling for straight audiences these days (though I have a few YouTube infatuations from feds in other countries), but I believe the post-modern twist on these tropes is evident there as well, these days. But here, at BG East, in this match, for this audience, I think it poses even more provocative questions about the role of age and beauty in homoerotic wrestling (and homoerotic circles in general, really). It fucks with overly simple ideas of who’s a victim and who’s a bully, as well. The character arcs of Jonny and Brad, stretching over some 20 years, tell stories that much less ambitious or brilliant professional wrestling productions (especially those for straight audiences) just don’t even attempt, I think. I’m now infatuated with how that chemistry between frenemies plays out in real time, as the fraternity of homoerotic wrestling veterans builds ties that transcend on-camera rivalries, and then crash back into on-camera dramas separated by over a decade.

I walk away from The Comeback 3 absolutely fascinated by Jonny, the vulnerable heel, Kal, the devastatingly dangerous jobber, and Brad, the manically sadistic babyface hero. And then I push play again, because I fucking love this match!

“You’re So Hot!”

October 5, 2023 wrestlebard3 Comments

I realize that I’m not subtle, but for the sake of new readers, let me state what’s abundantly obvious to anyone who’s read me over the past 12 months or so: I am a fan of Dio Characi. I’d really love licking honey off every inch of his ridiculously beautiful body, of course, but my fan-status is based on more than that. Dio seems to seriously enjoy wrestling. I can’t say the same for all wrestlers who show up on our small screens, but Dio has this delightful presence, this immediacy in his matches that never fails to sell me the story that the cherubic Brazilian babyface with a sizzling hot body gets off on wrestling. Of course, for all I know, it could be bullshit. Dio could be like a lot of wrestling-for-gay-eyes guys, just clocking in and earning some extra cash off of eager marks like me. But if so, he’s even more brilliant than I already think he is, because he tells that story so fucking well.

I’m also a fan of Forrest Taylor. Honestly, I’ve taken some shit for saying that out loud, because Forrest seems to collect haters like overripe fruit attracts gnats. And I get that, truly and deeply. There’s something about his tenor voice, spitting out cocky, contemptuous trash talk, demanding to be praised/worshiped, that makes me want to gag him with his own sweat-soaked trunks. But about 42% of the way through every match I’ve seen of Forrest’s, I completely forget to be irritated by him. Instead, I just marvel at his remarkably hot body, his lily white complexion and fiery red hair pulled straight out of the same gene pool as I come from. Fuck, Forrest’s rock hard muscled ass and thick, aesthetically stunning thighs make all the argument needed to convince me that he deserves the praise he demands. I mean, sure, he deserves to have someone shove his own sweat-soaked trunks down his throat and spank those shockingly white glutes crimson. That, too. But fuck, I can’t quit the guilty pleasure of letting his relentless wrestling offense and carved-from-ivory physique make me forget, for a little while, how annoying his over-the-top overconfidence and smirking trash talk is.

So Dio, grinning hungrily at the start of Mat Scraps 4, openly acknowledging how hot he finds it watching Forrest’s thick quads stretching and flexing as they warm up, is all sorts of right. “It looks like you have good quads,” the Brazilian bombshell says what we’re all thinking, even if I’m the only other one saying it out loud. In that classic Dio way, it’s not so much a compliment as it is a come on. Dio’s fucking famished from the moment the video starts, and that lick smacking hunger is the slow burning vibe that keeps their mat scrap hot and homoerotic. I swear, 95% of hunks showing up to wrestle for gay eyes seem to bitterly loathe the idea of giving an opponent an ounce of credit. Now, that’s fucking irritating! Dio, on the other hand, pays Forrest well-deserved compliments from start to finish in this match, and not only is he the bigger man for it, he’s also lighting the match in my crotch as I eagerly watch to see where his relentless attraction is going to drive the two of them.

Forrest is… well, Forrest. Without skipping a beat after Dio’s honest opening compliment of his hot legs, the red-headed hottie smirks and says, “Oh, I know I do.” It’s this oddly hot subtext throughout the match, that Dio hungrily praises Forrest, and Forrest just keeps throwing sneering trash talk back at him. Fuck, it’s SO audaciously irritating when Forrest sucks up Dio’s compliments and serves him damningly faint praise in return. “Yours are nice, too,” he deadpans. “Just not as nice as mine.” Half the match later, Dio gasps, full sell, “You’re so hot.” Then, as Forrest is getting fucking swarmed by the Brazilian, forced to worship the Brazilian house-on-fire Best Body at BG East winner last year (his DEBUT year!!!), Forrest deadpans again, “You do have a good body, I’ll admit….” You can hear the “but” hanging silently in the air, as Forrest let’s the tension mount. “…even though you’re weaker than I am.” It’s a patently ridiculous statement, as he’s staring up at Dio, force fed Dio’s bulging biceps, made to lick Dio’s pits and squeeze Dio’s pecs. I’d be so fucking irritated with him, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s now wrestling in a jock strap, and that magnificent alabaster ass is bare and so fucking beautiful. What was Forrest saying? I can’t remember now.

Dio clearly forgives/forgets Forrest, too. When Forrest is taking a turn accumulating riding time, squeezing (convincingly!!!) Dio’s coverboy torso between his tree trunk thighs, the Brazilian both suffers and manages to tug Forrest’s trunks off his ass. Holy shit, Dio kneading his fingertips into the red-headed hunk’s glutes blows my mind, all by itself. Forrest’s ass DESERVES the greedy, possessive clawing and groping Dio gives it. When Forrest cockily shoves his opponent’s face between his cheeks, there’s this sweet, sweet moment of perfection, as Dio, unsolicited, offers, “I’m enjoying the view a lot from here!” Like, FUCK. Such a fucking authentic moment that speaks volumes of truth about both of these gorgeous hunks, as well as you and me.

It will surprise no more than about 3% of Forrest’s marks (me NOT included) that Dio is just too much for him to handle. The Brazilian is 5 inches taller and a good 40 pounds of solid, succulent muscle heavier than the impertinent bearded pretty boy with such a smart mouth. It’s not a squash by any means. It’s got some playful highlights to the schoolyard who’s-bigger/badder feel to it, as they trade holds and hurts. And Forrest makes the big boy hurt! Fuck, Dio’s suffering sell is luscious. But just like gravity pulls us just one direction, there’s an inevitability about Dio wearing Forrest out hard and long. There’s one sensationally hot moment when Dio is really building up a head of steam, crushing the snarky red-head, digging his fingers deep into Forrest’s rock hard core. He crushes Forrest’s balls and smothers him in his pit. Then, trapping Forrest’s left hand behind his head, he claws the living FUCK out of the red-head’s impressive lat muscle. It looks like he’s ripping meat of the bone, and holy shit, it makes me swoon!

In the end, Dio shuts up the relentless, notorious trash talker in the second best way I can think of. In case my take on how erotic this match is leads you to think the boys get naked, let me transparently point out that no cocks are visibly unsheathed. Two of the sexiest asses in the business are beautifully bared, and every other inch of their bodies is explored and destroyed, admired and tasted, though. Dio is a force of nature, and I’ve got a spare bottle of honey waiting in case I ever get the call from him. And Forrest is so fucking irritating, his confidence so overblown, and then about 42% of the way through the match, Dio rips off his trunks and kneads those tasty glutes and… what was I saying about Forrest? I just can’t remember much after that moment. Damn.

The Importance of Being Earnest

September 21, 2023 wrestlebard3 Comments

I often describe wrestlers as “earnest.” Definitions of the word include “serious and zealous in intention, purpose, or effort; showing depth and sincerity of feeling.” So, of course, when I’m describing a wrestler as “earnest,” that wrestler is a babyface. That quality of guilelessness, of unwavering devotion to overcome by unmatched effort, of faith in the rightness of one’s purpose and certainty in deserving victory… fuck, I love earnestness in a babyface wrestler. It’s in stark contrast to a heel who embraces duplicity, who cheats and steals his way to victory regardless of whether he’s the better man. I enjoy the way pro wrestling can play with earnestness. For example, when an obviously superior physical specimen, or a clearly superior technical wrestler, gets low-blowed and upended, that twist of fate is lovely drama. Or when a steadfastly righteous babyface gets poked one too many times, gets cheated out of the victories that, by all rights, should have been his, and he gets seduced by the darkside, turning vicious and vile and shedding the shackles of his earnest belief in hard work, that play on the vulnerability of earnestness is an awesome hook for me in enjoying wrestling drama.

“Beach Ken” – artistic rendering of Ryan Gosling as Ken, by ArtReplicant

A very good friend of mine (who would like it to be made clear that he is NOT obsessively infatuated with Ryan Gosling) talked me into going to the theater for the first time in about 6 years to see the movie Barbie. This friend, who HAS seen all of Ryan Gosling’s movies (and can quote extensive sections by heart), assured me that Gosling’s oiled up bare pecs in Barbie would be sufficient payoff for me. And, fuck. Yeah. I’m a total mark for that deep, deep crevice between Ryan’s pumped up pecs. He’s been building that rocking hot bod of his bigger and more beautiful, movie after movie. I think I noticed it first in Blade Runner 2049. He’s always had a pretty body, but, fuck… more muscle looks fucking good on him. My friend (who is NOT obsessively infatuated with him) confirms that in the sequence of when Gosling’s movies were filmed, he’s been steadily getting hunkier and more action-adventure muscly. The strategically pre-released teasers showcasing his hot shirtlessness and gorgeously displayed cleavage in Barbie should have been enough to drag me by my dick into the theater. But it helped that my friend (who may have made sure to be first in line for the very first screening he could possibly get to), who knows me well, assured me that I’d enjoy Gosling’s stellar body and probably broader themes in the movie.

Gosling plays Ken. Not “the” Ken. Just “a” Ken. And in Barbieland, the Kens are support players, at best. Kens are one dimensional, with little self-awareness. They’re serious and guileless. They focus on doing whatever they’re doing (e.g., “beaching”) to the very best of their ability, and that’s their whole ambition. Over and over, they’re mostly just window dressing for the real stars of the story, there to make them look good like an accessory. In other words, they’re earnest. Earnest babyface jobbers.

There are a lot of actually cool and sophisticated themes in Barbie, but the one with a homoerotic wrestling analogy I like best is the folly of the discontented jobber. Ken (Gosling) gets a glimpse of what life might be like if he were the master of his own fate. Spoiler alert… the Kens (all of them babyface jobbers) take over Barbieland in a misguided effort to claim the mantle of patriarchy that woman-centric Barbieland had remained immune to before then. They act bro-y and insensitive. They’re entitled and nasty. They leak piss down the side of the toilet and assume someone else will clean it up (<– that last one isn’t in the movie… Kens don’t have genitalia). They make their own rules and ignore the consequences. In other words, the jobbers turn heel.

But here’s the kicker (more spoiler alert): Ken’s just pretending to be an insensitive dick. All the while, deep down, he’s actually still earnest as hell. It’s not exactly that he wants to be dominated. He doesn’t want to be loser. He just needs to be earnest more than he wants to lie, cheat, and steal his way to being a winner.

I think that’s what must motivate any babyface jobber to keep climbing into the ring, time and time again, to get demolished. In a pro wrestling universe that transparently rewards might over right, deep down, a Ken has to be more devoted to his own earnestness than to winning. He has to love his earnestness more than he treasures his own dignity. He doesn’t want to get beaten. It’s not masochism or self-hatred. It’s just, deep down, he is, tried and true, earnest.

Barbie clearly isn’t a homoerotic wrestling movie, of course. Well, there is the epic fight scene with lot’s of over-the-top flashes of shirtless flexing and muscle posing. And Ryan Gosling has certainly starred in a lot of my homoerotic wrestling fantasies. And he’s oiled up and flexing and posing throughout almost the entire fucking movie. But it’s not a homoerotic wrestling movie. But if you’re like me and my friend (who may or may not be the amazing artist who rendered the image of Ryan Gosling as beach Ken above, and the pre-fight stretch of Gosling below), you might find it just kenough to make Barbie thought-provoking and titillating at the same time.

Ryan Gosling as a homoerotic wrestler in the Producer’s Ring – by ArtReplicant

The Curated Self: JJ Allen

September 13, 2023 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I bumped into JJ Allen on the Discord server The Wrestle Shack recently. He’s adorable. He insists on calling me “sir,” which gives me an intense urge to spank that bodacious butt of his. I’ve told him that. And, he keeps calling me sir, so…. you do the math. Anyway, I asked JJ what’s his favorite match of his that I should write a review of. Alex and Joe have reviewed several of JJ’s Muscleboy Wrestling matches already, with great things to say about them all, but I haven’t reviewed him here yet. It’s time to remedy that oversight, and JJ tells me that he thinks his hottest match was probably with Jake/Jesse Zane way back in catalog #3 for MBW.

The first thing I need to say is JJ is a hunk. Alex adoringly describes JJ as a “soft-bellied jobber,” and Joe is on record as referring to him in a complimentary fashion as a “sexy doughboy.” I get it, really, I do. JJ’s doesn’t have washboard abs. But holy fuck, I do NOT get a soft or doughy vibe from him. He’s got way more muscle than I think of classic doughboys having. He’s got sweet, strong pecs and arms, which I mention first to make sure and not forget them once I start admiring JJ’s legs. Because, FUCK, his legs!

His thighs, in particular, are fucking thick and juicy. His blue trunks look sewn onto his narrow (I stand by that 100%) waist and magnificently round bubble butt. And I LOVE that JJ knows his legs are dangerous as fuck. He pretty much says that, point blank, to Jake, and it’s not like there’s an argument to made to counter him. I stand up and cheer out loud when JJ’s snaps those monster quads around his lucky/unlucky opponent’s head in standing scissors, absolutely wringing Jake/Jesse out relentlessly. The babyface prettyboy gloats so beautifully, flexing his hot biceps and believably threatening to snap Jesse/Jake’s head right off his neck. And then his crotchpillow headscissors basically swallow Jake’s head whole. JJ has got a solid-as-fuck read on his own assets, as far as I’m concerned, and the yelps and screeches and whimpering submissions from the resident MBW It-Boy demonstrates that, no shit, JJ’s legs are NOT to be fucked with.

I’ve lost track of Mr. Zane’s wrestling-as name, so I’m not entirely sure what to call him. Back in his early career days when I first saw him at BGE, he was Lorenzo Lowe. Then “Jake” appeared in quotes (Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe), and then he seemed to mostly be called Jake. At MBW, his profile is Jesse Zane, and all of his match descriptions name him that, but in the match (and in the URLs), he goes by Jake. We all know who he is, of course, so maybe someone of his stature doesn’t need to worry about branding. He’s that lightweight, shredded, handsome little babyface stunner with mat skills that, 9 times out of 10, will fuck over opponents significantly bigger than he is. He’s cocky. He sneers with contempt a lot. He clearly loves wrestling and is turned on by the heat of his body grinding and sliding and pumping against a sexy opponent like JJ. So, when he gets ROCKED for almost exactly the first 50% of this 32 minute match… woah. JJ rides roughshod over him! I realize JJ’s brand is on the jobber side of the tracks, but, damn. His casual, delighted sell as he destroys Mr. Zane is compelling! JJ scoops him up in a feet-off-the-ground bearhug and looks like he’s literally wringing the sweat from Jake’s pores. And most compelling for me, JJ smiles slyly as he watches. He leans his head back to get a little perspective and soaks in the sight of his opponent’s adorable face twisted in agony. I feel really confident in saying that JJ enjoys being on top and watching what his hot body can do to an overwhelmed opponent. He wrings three honest-as-fuck submissions out of the notorious Mr. Zane, and I’m lapping up every one of them. “I think you know who’s got the better body,” JJ snarls at his writhing, wriggling worm-on-a-hook of an opponent, crushing those massive bodyscissors so hard that Jake is about to pass out.

Jake feels the power in JJ’s pride-and-joy legs

Those first 16-minutes of the match are a delightful surprise to me. I get a little worried for the pretty boy with gargantuan thighs, though, when he starts counting his opponent out when Jake clearly still has some gas left in the tank. Heel-turn notes for you, JJ: don’t let up. I totally get that you want to savor your victory by shoving your crotch in a beaten tough guy’s face. Seriously, I’ve been there. But don’t count those chickens until a notorious terrier like Jake is flat out on his back and beaten to a senseless, motionless pulp. And even then… poke him a few times to make sure he’s not playing possum. Otherwise, you’ll get what Jake dished out to you, namely, a punch to the balls.

JJ catching is super compelling as well, for (obviously) different reasons. The second 50% of this match, the notorious franchise player grinds our prettyboy down to a raw, throbbing nub. JJ gets folded like origami and twisted like a pretzel. And at every damn turn, Jake delights in spanking his balls. JJ’s cool, cocky facade shatters into a million pieces, and it’s lovely to watch. The smirk on JJ’s pretty face melts into ugly, twisted agony. He whimpers and whines breathlessly, balanced on the edge of a sob. Jake drags him around by his hair, administering equal parts punishment and seductive face sucking. JJ’s stubborn fight evaporates out of him, and he’s begging for mercy early and often. Jake has to tell him to call him “sir” just once, and JJ dutifully says it every time thereafter that he’s pleading for his submission to be heard. The heel makes JJ call beg him by name. And JJ does it, frantically, with a little boy whimper, which is all that’s left of his smirking, pretty boy cockiness he was laying down 20 minutes earlier, when he was slapping his monster thighs proudly and crushing the fuck out of his opponent’s head in those standing scissors.

Jake makes JJ pay for his leg pride in the end, just about twisting the prettyboy’s right leg right out of its hip socket in one of those messed up, sadistic contortionist holds that Jake does better than almost anyone else. And then JJ sees from the other side what a victor can do when he’s squeezed absolutely everything out of an opponent. I don’t think either of them are really hating the victory lap at the end, to be honest. I certainly wasn’t!

I can see why JJ would pick this match out of his catalog as his favorite. It offers an outstanding, long, lush look at his range. He looks sweet enough to eat with a spoon. And those big fucking legs and that gorgeous bubble butt steal the show, both when he’s pitching and catching. Check out JJ’s MBW matches, and if you want to see more, browse his nearly 2 dozen videos on WatchFighters. I’ve seen a recent pic of JJ shirtless, and if anyone thinks they’re going to catch a match with him and face a doughboy, think again! And JJ, if you want me spank that bubble butt of yours, just keep calling me “sir.”

What a Shame

September 7, 2023 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Someone who has wrestled for both indy pro promoters and homoerotic wrestling producers once told me that in mainstream pro wrestling, making cash on the side by wrestling for gay eyes is considered a dirty little joke. Like, everyone knows that a lot of “legit” pro wrestlers do it, but it’s sort of an embarrassment that you aren’t supposed to talk about. I get the impression that it’s an “understandable” (to the straight gaze) side hustle, but it’s a roll-your-eyes-and-smirk sort of thing. Wrestling kink is the nudge-nudge-wink-wink punch line in an otherwise (still) hetero/macho dominated bro-y locker room culture. Playing up a gay trope in the ring has been around for generations. Openly gay wrestlers have been making a name for themselves in mainstream pro wrestling for a few years now, and while I’m sure it’s hardly easy sailing, it’s marketable enough for them to still get work. But having wrestled for BG East or W4H or Muscleboy or Weekend or any of the wrestling producers marketing not just to gay eyes, but to the homoerotic gaze turned on in particular by wrestling, isn’t something to be proud of.

Adrian Adonis, not gay, but wrestled gay for a mainstream pro wrestling audience

Over the past 14 years of blogging, I’ve occasionally had wrestlers contact me to ask me to pull down images and reviews of them as they take a run at breaking into mainstream pro wrestling. Sometimes, it’s specifically more erotically-oriented wrestling that they’d like to expunge from the internet record. Sometimes it’s just the fact that they wrestled for a company that explicitly markets to a wrestling kink-oriented audience. In either case, I always do it; and it always feels a little like I’m propping up the erotic-shame machine that so many of us have had to come to terms with in one fashion or another. The only reason I can think that it would help a wrestler’s chances to catch a break in wrestling for a mainstream (<–read hetero) audience is that the audience and the producers figuring out how to squeeze their marks couldn’t see their wrestling talent through the blurry haze of social stigma and shame encircling them for having done their thing knowing full-well guys like me are getting off on it. It’s not how talented they can be in the ring or in front of the camera. It’s the scarlet letter “K” tattooed across their chest for having been stained by association with wrestling kink.

I’ve been mulling all of this anew lately because MeetFighers recently released, with some aplomb and fanfare, an announcement entitled “Welcome to: Dating, Erotic content, Porn, Fetish, Kink, and Sex!” (exclamation point and misused colon included). You can read it here, but what’s been provoking deeper thoughts from me about it is this careful line that the administrators of MeetFighters and related sites are drawing between wrestling (and other combat sports) and wrestling kink. Apparently, they’ve received a lot of feedback for a while asking for them to reconsider their “firm stance on erotic content limits, especially when it comes to avatar pictures.” As back story, publicly visible pics on MeetFighters cannot be “too” erotic, and especially avatar photos used for MeetFighters accounts. What is “too” erotic, as you might guess, is a matter for debate among wildly disparate points of view. Ostensibly, if someone might see similar content and body exposure on mainstream television, then it’s okay. However, I’ve spoken with several guys who’ve shared avatar pics that have been disallowed as “too erotic,” and honestly, I cannot tell what line they’ve crossed. No full frontal, but having a big package, for example, appears to trip the sensors (sorry, Mr. Joshua, I hope you don’t dare show your award-winning bulge around those parts). The approval process for MeetFighters is crowd-sourced, and for the past several months, I’ve been diligently reviewing photos and giving my feedback on how erotic they appear to me to be. After you’ve assigned a rating, you can later see how you rated a photo and what the “final decision” was based on other crowd sourced ratings, and, seriously, I seem to be some sort of raving libertine, always (always) rating content at least one or two standard deviations less erotic than they’re eventually deemed to be. Anyway, all of that simply to say that MeetFighters has apparently been trying to police the incredibly subjective moving target of eroticism for a long time, in ways that many have disagreed with and found frustrating, of course.

Clayton Nash & Ross Davidson, Frisco Fights 2 (gay)

What catches my attention most in the MeetFighters announcement is the line that says, “Simply put, your public avatar and profile should represent the sport, not porn.” That is, there’s a clear and marked distinction between the sport of wrestling and kink. “The sport” refers to wrestling (and other combat sports represented on MeetFighters, but as far as I can tell, it’s predominantly wrestling-focused), and “porn” appears to refer to open acknowledgement of being turned on by wrestling. For context, when you sign up for MeetFighters and set up your profile, as I did a few months ago, there are several categories of preset, point-and-click options that the platform offers for you to provide your interests/reasons for having a profile:

“…profile should represent the sport, not porn.”

One of those sets of potential interests is entitled (by MeetFighters) as “Fetishes,” in which you can click on preferences such as being interested in sex, wanting to “wrestle for top,” be interested in cock-and-ball torture, having an interest in jacking off with an opponent (among many others). That’s part of the built-in options MeetFighters gives for users’ profiles… and… “your public avatar and profile should represent the sport, not porn.” I’m not pointing this out trying to call anyone out for hypocrisy or point fingers, but simply to point out that there isn’t an objective, clearly identifiable demarcation between what is “wrestling” and what is wrestling kink, and disentangling the two is… well, I’ll just say that it’s obviously fraught.

Pro wrestlers Effy and Chris Dickinson wrestling for Beyond Wrestling (performatively gay to a presumably non-kink audience)

MeetFighters new move in this chess game of social propriety is to create a new, separate platform. This new platform is called Lustfinity.com, and “promises to be an inclusive sanctuary for every imaginable fantasy and kink.” The roll out of Lustfinity appears to be all about kinks and fetishes, with nary a word about wrestling. It feels a lot like… well, like everything else that’s part of the erotic-shaming industrial complex, that says, “Your erotic interests in wrestling are not a wrestling interest. Don’t sully recreational meet-up wrestling with too much open discussion of your motivation being about how turned on you are by wrestling, by watching wrestling, by wrestling other guys, by talking about it and writing about it and sharing what you find hot about it. That’s a conversation about lust, not wrestling.” And those who are interested in meet-up wrestling and also clicking the “not interested in fetishes” preset option in their profile, apparently may be scandalized by the not-so-well-kept secret that a whole lot (a WHOLE FUCKING LOT) of MeetFighters profiles are for guys deeply invested in one or more homoerotic aspects of wrestling. These are all, ostensibly, adults, mind you (you have to be to sign up for an account). Of the 20 newest accounts created just today, as I write this, 16 of them list specific fetishes they’re interest in under “fetishes” or describe erotic scenarios they’re interested in as part of their introduction. I have no idea how representative of a sample that is of MeetFighters as a whole, but… that line between being turned on by wrestling and “the sport” is not objectively discernible.

Wade Cutler and Phil Latini in X-Fights 15 (gay)

The social project of policing the erotic (not just sex, but what is erotic) has a long, complex, and pretty insidious history. The “shame industrial complex,” as I described it above, reinforces all sorts of structures of social power that disenfranchise some and privilege others in concrete ways. MeetFighers’ Lustfinity project isn’t the first effort, and certainly won’t be the last, to distinguish eroticism from more socially acceptable topics, even when everyone reads the erotic subtext long coded into those socially acceptable topics (especially when everyone reads the erotic subtext!). I don’t think there’s any singular nefarious actor or tsk-tsking church lady to blame, because we’re all swimming in this same stream of history, in small ways and big ways going with the flow (and thereby making the flow that much more compelling for everyone), or, occasionally, swimming up stream, and bumping into and irritating the majority of folks who’d just rather be swept along with the subjective, changeable, ultimately unequally apportioned opportunities that come with the status quo.

MJF and Jonathan Gresham wrestling for Limitless Wrestling (not gay)

But all of this makes me think of a couple of things about my own swimming strokes. One of the things that has consistently surprised me from blogging about my homoerotic wrestling interests has been the number of individuals who have reached out to say, “I thought I was the only one!” I think that’s the way the shame industrial complex works, really. Silencing the erotic leaves most of us questioning why do we have these feelings? Why do we react this way? If it’s not heteronormative erotic-romanticism force fed to us in popular media, then we’re left under the mistaken impression that our experience is novel, niche, marginal, and aberrant. So, stumbling upon someone naming something that propriety defines as out of bounds for acceptable conversation feels revelatory. I can’t tell you how much back channel feedback I got about my recent post about growing up keying off of wrestling and fitness magazines, from so many readers who had the same experience, or close enough of that experience to feel seen by me writing about my experience. I’m proud of that, and it’s something that keeps me investing in writing more posts. I think that Lustfinity and other kink-positive corners of the internet offer some of that normalizing atmosphere. But I also think that a kink-ghetto probably advances the shame industrial complex at least as much as it works against it. The aspect of it all that says, “you aren’t into wrestling, you’re into your kink, so take that conversation elsewhere” probably isn’t 100% oppressive or liberatory, but I think it’s a little more the former.

Tyrell Tomsen and Braden Charron in Strip Stakes 1 (gay)

The other thing that this has led me to reflect on more deeply is the ways in which I buy into the shame industrial complex. I disclose A LOT on here about myself, but strategically don’t disclose everything, in order to try to bifurcate my life into what is and isn’t socially proper. A lot of people in my life who could know that I’m into homoerotic wrestling don’t, because I haven’t chosen to have that conversation in all of the places where people might otherwise casually talk about their erotic interests. I don’t exactly know where even I think the line ought to be between how I engage in the world as someone who participates in erotic interests and as someone who participates in any of the other interests that define me. My hunch is that shame tends to lean on that line more than I’d really like it to or am aware of. And when I don’t disclose with friends at the same level they do with me about what they find attractive, titillating, provocative and sexually exciting, I’m doing my little part to hold the whole edifice of shame and social power up. Like we all do, whenever we get tired of swimming against what feels like an irresistible current.

Pro wrestlers Kip Sabian and Dom Kubrick wrestling for Bar Wrestling (not gay)

I’m not sure what my point is here, other than to say I’m into wrestling. Maybe not the way you are, or for the same reasons. I’m into wrestling, and it’s a primary turn on for me. In into wrestling, and its homoerotic text and subtext give me a lot of pleasure. I’m gay, and turned on by wrestling, and turned on when I’m wrestling. I’m into wrestling, and I reject anyone else trying to tell me to pipe down and take that “naughty talk” out back. I’m into wrestling. Deal with it.

Next Time, Be Ready!

September 5, 2023 wrestlebardLeave a comment

“No rush or anything, I’m just facing some bitch, Kirk.”

“Hey, we didn’t ask for a deep tissue massage, buddy,” Leroy Blaze complains when his masseur starts digging in a little deep. “You can lighten up. No rush, or anything. I’m just facing that bitch Kirk.” What Leroy doesn’t realize is that Kirk Donahue just showed up and silently interrupted his massage, paying off the masseur (fuck, $100 is the going bribe?!?), and taking over the job(ber) himself. Unbeknownst to the jobber, Kirk silently claws at Leroy’s hot, lean muscles. He digs his knuckles and his elbows into the muscle fibers, grinding and crushing in a way that probably isn’t all the “therapeutic,” really. Kirk suddenly hammerlock’s Leroy’s right arm behind his back and claws the fuck out of his shoulders. Pretense aside, Leroy looks up to realize he’s in a world of danger. Kirk wraps Leroy’s towel around the jobber’s throat and drags him through the facilities to deposit him in the ring.

It’s that fucking attitude of Leroy’s the just keeps getting him into trouble. He’s double-booked the start of his match with Kirk and his last 30 minutes of his massage. With astonishing contempt for his opponent (astonishing, considering the way Leroy’s been steamrolled thus far in his BG East career), he just keeps asking for it. And holy fuck, BG East heels see this jobber’s long, lean, ripped physique and tuck into him like he’s a Thanksgiving turkey. The rising champ of over-the-top snark, Leroy bitches about not having “paid for deep tissue massage” even as Kirk is carving into him. Oh, fuck yeah, he’s deserving every relentlessly vicious, crippling attack he gets. “You’re just mad you weren’t the one getting a massage,” Leroy snarks unwisely between getting stomped and trampled like the mudroom rug. Fuck. Would Kirk be the sadistic dick of a heel he is if Leroy wasn’t such a smart ass? Trust me. We’ll never know the answer to that question for sure (because Leroy is SUCH a fucking smart ass).

Maybe next time get that massage after the match?

I mean, fuck, yeah, Leroy looks tasty. Those shiny silver trunks accentuate his skinny-boy-perky-booty nicely. He’s an illustration from a college anatomy and physiology textbook, every fucking muscle in crystal clear relief as every long inch of him is being stretched out and tortured. Once again, he has that barefoot babyface vibe, a mix of equal parts ambition, earnestness, athleticism, and naivete. When he’s getting slammed inches into the ring again and again, you can see the bolts of agony arcing their way through the length of his long limbs. His legs twisting and writhing, kicking uselessly behind him as he’s tapping out to a chin lock and knee to the back, is a compellingly steamy vision of hot jock suffering.

This match is apparently the Kirk-as-heel side of “The Two Sides of Kirk,” and coming off of watching him get upset by sultry lightweight Mason Broder, I can’t help but read his bitterness toward Leroy as classic transference. I mean, sure, Leroy’s disrespectful double-booking deserves the heat. But it’s like Kirk is earning back self-respect from some deficit far deeper than just being left waiting in the ring while Leroy gets his shiatsu in. Next to Leroy (and Mason, for that matter), Kirk looks like the seriously beefy heel on the rampage. His (disputed… only by me) award-winning butt looks tasty even to me, squeezed into those lime green trunks. And he’s mean to the core. At one point, he offers to let Leroy submit as soon as the jobber taps the mat… and then locks Leroy’s arms behind his back not letting his digits anywhere near the mat. “Who gets a massage before a wrestling match,” he demands to know, rhetorically, because Leroy’s choking on the pain as Kirk’s boot crushes his spine. “You’re going to need physical therapy after this one!”

It’s pro-quality punishment dished out onto a punishment sponge, so there’s an organic feel to the pairing of these two. Kirk fights vicious and dirty in a way that seems in keeping with an indy pro veteran let loose on a jobber without a ref anywhere in sight. He yanks on Leroy’s hair. He chokes him in the ropes. He does everything and anything to royally fuck up Leroy’s back and destroy any good qi the jobber was storing up from his interrupted massage.

I enjoy seeing flashes of brilliant offense from Leroy when Kirk sinks a fraction too deep into his narcissistic self-worship. Leroy leapfrogs out of the corner he’s thrown into at one point, does a (ragged but respectable) cartwheel, and then catches the heel across the neck with a superhero-quality flying lariat. But then, of course, he loses every shred of humility he ought to have been saving up from the first 15 minutes of the match. Leroy gets cocky, strutting and snarking and gloating over every flinch and grunt from Kirk. Like the postmodern babyface he is, he chokes his opponent in the ropes and slaps him in the face just to add insult to injury. He flicks his sweat in Kirk’s face. He flies high, pushing the seasoned heel hard, taking a gloating, no-effort, foot-on-the-chest pinfall from the rocked indy pro stud. Holy FUCK he takes out such an impossibly huge line of credit, he’s going to be paying that back for the next 20 years.

Kirk puts a stop to that shit decisively and in an instant. There are countless high impact OTKs (hello, made to order for a certain blogger?!). Leroy’s anatomy chart body twisted and tortured in the ropes is stunning. The final 13 minutes of the match are just the first installment on Leroy’s payment plan to try to make a dent in the interest he’s already accrued on that line of credit he just took out gloating and strutting. Kirk uses every inch of the ring to catapult and pummel and pound the hot jobber. He twist-ties Leroy’s once relaxed back around the ring post. Will Leroy walk away from this beating a little wiser? Maybe a little more circumspect? A little less cocky? Will he take Kirk’s parting advice, “Next time, be ready!?” Will he throw fewer punch lines at a vicious heel’s expense? Watching him writhe and choke on his humiliation and anguish, my head tells me that surely Leroy’s learned his lesson. But my heart tells me that we haven’t seen the last of his long, lean, hardbodied smart assness.

RecPro Wrestling

September 1, 2023 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I recently stumbled across some hot new content produced under the name RecPro Wrestling by WRSLMEDIA. It appears to be an earnest as hell little cottage industry that plucks a retro chord paired with smarty, savvy editing, and it feels novel to me. It’s super fresh, with just a few matches currently available after starting to post content about a month ago, but I’ve reached out to the team behind RecPro and they assure me that they’ve got plenty more in the pipeline and on their schedule. It’s a little more organized and thought-through as a cohesive concept than a lot of what I’ve found on WatchFighters. While I am, admittedly, quite new to exploring WatchFighters, I also would venture to say that the editing and final product of RecPro Wrestling is better than the majority of the self-produced content I’ve seen. They’re building a brand, with a fun flavor that feels respectful of homoerotic wrestling histories and sensibilities.

WRSLMSK lives large and in charge at RecPro Wrestling

In their own words, RecPro Wrestling aims to be “a modern day throwback… to the old school traditional style, gear, and pace of the great 70’s, 80’s, and early 90’s pro wrestling action.” It’s a little deceptive, because the matches have this pop-up (aka, recreational) feel to them, but the two-camera editing is packaged with some hot polish that gives them great immediacy. I feel like I’m in the room. The damp thuds of sweaty bodies slamming into each other almost echo on my side of the screen. The hand held camera angle, edited skillfully together with a stationary camera, makes the bumps vibrate inside my chest. One of the production team members for RecPro described their brand for me as “raw, underproduced backroom bar-pro-aesthetic,” but I think “underproduced” undersells the quality of the videos so far. There’s a ton of potential, but they’ve already achieved something that feels professional to me.

WRSLMSK on the receiving end of some hot punishment in 001

The wrestling is fucking INTENSE. The pricing so far feels reasonable to me, particularly considering how short the matches are (match 001 is about 15 minutes, match 002 is about 14, each currently for $9.99). But again, the time stamps are deceiving. There’s not a wasted second. The wrestlers are going at it from 00:01, with no editing breaks, no breathers, no pre-match posturing (though, to be honest, I’d love a little pre-match posturing for context with these guys). They are earning that sweat, and they deserve every hard fought submission and pin, and there’s a TON of wrestling happening in that concise time frame.

WRSLMSK appears to be the franchise, starring in everything so far. He’s handsome, with a hot body, and fuck, he’s cocky as he confidently executes sensationally sold pro wrestling moves with hungry, erotic seasoning. And, holy hell, I had NO idea what an itch I had that only a sneering, gloating, taunting Australian accent can scratch.

Mean Machismo’s ass is (screen-) grabable

I think the matches are getting better and better. Match 002 is a nudge better than Match 001, which is a nudge better than the “Genesis Grapple” prequel. I’m pretty sure there’s a mathematical formula that, if this progress were plotted and an x/y axis, would have RecPro taking over the world within a couple of years. But it’s ground floor right here and now, and there’s something exciting about catching sight of their nascent vision.

002, my favorite thus far, features sensational chemistry between WRSLMSK and his leaner, possibly just a fraction less mean opponent, Mean Machismo. I don’t know exactly how these two ended up tearing into each other with this much heat. The super brief match description just says, “This slow methodical school yard bully-meets-jobber beatdown gets started before the bell rings.” Mean Machismo gets a couple of licks in, and I am on the record as a fan of a bully heel taking some licks along the way (WRSLMSK gets worked harder by his 001 opponent). But Mean Machismo in jeopardy, sweet ass wedged and slapped red, rolled over and folded in half like origami, is hot as hell. He’s a fierce, hot hunk, mind you, which only makes it that much more incendiary when Machismo is literally crawling across the mat in full on retreat, trying to claw his battered body to the nearest exit before he gets bashed and groped and possessed any more. (Spoiler alert: he gets bashed, groped, and possessed more). It’s erotic without being explicit, which can be a fine line to walk, but wrapped up in this intensely produced package, it’s just fucking hot.

So, the polished product plays on a “rough cut” VHS aesthetic in 21st century HD, which brings a ton of character. I’d LOVE to know more of the context on the other, unseen edges of the rough cut. Like who are these guys?! Why does WRSLMSK want to fucking DEVOUR Mean Machismo, and why does Mean Machismo put his ass on the line like that against this clearly dangerous sadist? I mean, I know why I would want to fucking DEVOUR Mean Machismo, but that’s the backstory I bring. I’m looking forward to the continued RecPro build out with just… more! More text, more context, more showcasing of the personalities that are shining through the fast and furious quality wrestling. Already, I’m invested, damn it. I want stills. I want bios. I want WRSLMSK to talk to us in that contemptuous Aussie accent about what twisted, fucked up things must have happened to him in his past to make him want to out-hustle and out-muscle tasty opponents and cock-pin their faces to the mat.

Sorry. Sorry. I’ll try not to get ahead of myself, or to jump into the future when RecPro is the fully formed finished product that it hints at with its seriously nice hook of a brand. My thanks to the RecPro boys for giving me permission to share these images here, and for letting me dump a boatload of enthusiastic fanboy feedback into their DMs. Check them out on WatchFighters, and it looks like they’re starting to build out their own web presence on GumRoad.

Remember My Name

August 25, 2023 wrestlebard2 Comments

Apparently, Gabe Steel has met Zach Ramos before, but doesn’t remember him. Now, I’m a virtuoso when it comes to suspending disbelief. I can swallow a whole lot (figuratively speaking), but holy shit, the idea that someone could forget meeting Zach stretches even my professional-level imagination. He’s 6-foot, 200 pounds, and so fucking effortlessly sexy! The goatee. The ponytail. The slyly handsome face. And that ambition?! Fuck. “You’re going to be hearing a lot more of me,” Zach says, smirking in Gabe’s face. And then, when Zach explains that he’s going to make his name at BG East by kicking Gabe’s legendary ass in his debut match, I’m sold.

Zach’s BG East debut against Gabe takes place in the new release Ruff ‘N’ Raunchy 7. The match catches me by surprise for a few reasons. For one reason, Gabe has been eating up and chewing out newbies lately, and I was totally expecting a steam roller of a match. Not that Gabe can’t take a lot, but he’s just been dishing it out so much lately. He’s proven he can squash an outmatched newbie with panache. He looks bigger, harder, and stronger in every match. The next BGE Wrestlefest, save this hunk a seat on the heel bench. So squaring off against another hot newbie babyface has “one-sided romp” written all over it. And early days, it totally reads that way when Gabe muscle bullies the big, pretty boy relentlessly. He has 200 pound Zach off his feet in a bearhug within seconds. He suplexes the rookie with abandon, planting the boy’s lower lumbar inches deep into the ring. And, no shit, within the first couple of minutes, he manhandles Zach suspended upside down and delivers a piledriver to the stunned stud. “I thought you were going to do something, that you were going to make a name for yourself.” Big Gabe has already busted out a sweaty sheen, crowing and sneering over the bashed babyface at his feet. “Still waiting!”

But, just when I’m settled in only half paying attention because I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie before, Zach stops taking punches and starts delivering them. Just when Gabe has peeled him off the mat like roadkill and has him kneeling at his feet, the rookie starts punching the rock hard wall of Gabe’s gut, and he just doesn’t stop! The punches connect. I’m fucking sold, watching coiled Zach unspool a roundhouse that lifts Gabe off his feet. He beats the big man down with sheer nerve and conviction and has him in a cradle pin that Gabe is too rocked to kick out of. He pries the rising muscle heel apart, joint by joint, with a kneeling surfboard, literally, gleefully, genuinely laughing when Gabe tries to muscle his way to an escape and can’t pull it off. “When I’m done with you, everyone’s going to know my name!”

So Zach packing serious offense and big, big personality to match that big, beautiful body is surprise #1 for me. Surprise #2 is how relentlessly erotic this match turns. It’s like the pull of gravity sending a satellite plunging back to earth, it’s just so fucking irresistible. So, sure, it’s in the Ruff ‘N’ Raunchy product line, so I’m expecting this to turn way sexy. But fuck, I was NOT expecting this! Both hunks go for broke targeting each other’s balls, which isn’t the surprising part. They both get super handsy, shoving their mitts inside each other’s pouches and squeezing the obvious excitement they’re both experiencing harder and harder (again, this ISN’T really the surprising part for me). The crotch-to-crotch grinding, pounding, that fine line between raging domination and just careening toward getting off on each other’s suffering starts to take me a bit by surprise, not so much because it happens, but the ferocity with which it keeps happening. But when the hands on the crotch stop squeezing and start stroking, it absolutely catches me off guard. When the trunks come off and the wrestling continues, every inch of their bodies explored and displayed… fuck, yeah, that was more intense than I expected…

…but holy fuck, when Zach is suspended naked in an inverted bearhug and forced (fuck, no one is telling me he’s not loving his job right then, though) to give the infamous heel head while he hangs there, I’m genuinely surprised by the level of intimacy, strength, and acrobatics. And then, mid-servicing, Gabe delivers a gorgeous, naked piledriver to the rookie!?!? Holy fuck, maybe the biggest surprise for me is that Gabe’s cock is still attached, because I was seriously worried how a mid-fellatio piledriver might turn out for either/both of them.

Zach lands with full on personality. That almost unhinged little spontaneous laugh of his absolutely sends me, making me buy that he’s thrilled to be putting his ass on the line in this bid to establish himself as a BG East wrestler to be remembered. And, sure, maybe, just maybe, I can’t help but identify with him, coming face-to-face with an A-List gay who can’t be bothered to even remember that they’ve met before, and beating the living shit out of him, savoring the moment of Gabe’s suffering on behalf of all of us not quite (yet) impressive enough for a cocky white party it-boy to recall his name.

I’m not saying he comes out on top in this match. But I will put money down on the fact that Gabe is going to remember the name Zach Ramos from this point onward. And the name Zach Ramos is certainly lingering on my lips. Get this gorgeous side of beef back into the ring, pronto!

Crush

August 21, 2023 wrestlebard10 Comments

If you’ve read ANY posts prior to this one, it will come as no surprise when I say that I’m prone to crushes. In no small way, the past 1,683 posts document in excessive detail (I admit) hundreds of moments of my infatuation. They all rotate around the gravitational pull of erotic wrestling for me, of course. Whether I’m crushing on erotic wrestlers, pro wrestlers, or amateur wrestlers, or imagining erotic wrestling between hot actors, models, bodybuilders, or people I spy in my everyday life, my crushes are varied and, simultaneously, singular. I’ve been asked several times recently about my original motivation and approach to starting this blog. Honestly, it took a while for me to spiral in on the heart of what it has become, but at this point, I think of that heart as being about the wrestling crushes that linger, that I feel compelled to explore here. It’s the reason why when, occasionally, someone critiques or complains about what I’ve written about, that it sort of takes me by surprise. This is me, reflecting “out loud” on where my lustful eye lands. I’m thrilled when my reflections intersect with or provoke reflections in others, but honestly, it’s all about me. I swear, I don’t walk through my life prattling on and on about what/who turns me on, but here… yeah. If you’re looking for other content, I’m sure you can find it elsewhere.

Most of what I write about has been wrestling-for-gay-eyes. It’s not always “gay wrestling,” and definitely not always erotic wrestling, but most of my attention settles on the industry that has grown up marketing to guys like me. For about half of the life of the blog, I was maintaining running tallies of my current favorite homoerotic wrestlers, picking out my lasting crushes and my instant infatuations among the new releases from the likes of BG East, Can-Am, Naked Kombat, and the half a dozen more companies that have sprouted from the fertile soil of the early innovators and entrepreneurs. Starting the “discipline” of keeping track of who my favorite wrestler was at any one time, and combing through the new releases each month to highlight one hunk who grabbed me by the balls hardest, probably deserves a lot of the credit for the overall vibe of what I think I’m using this blog for. Like, when I picked Mitch Colby in May of 2009 to be my inaugural reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, it’s not that I expected him to be everyone’s favorite. I wasn’t proscribing Mitch as somehow independently verifiable as superior to anyone else by any metric other than for being the stunning, 6’2, 200 pound marble statue of Adonis that I couldn’t get my mind off of at the time. When, over the years, commenters have quibble about a choice I’ve made for my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, I would always delight in comparing notes, but… no, the choice was never “wrong,” because it was always about who turned me on (and, yeah, I’m THE expert in that, if nothing else!).

Me wrestling TxWresl at Wrestlefest Canada

As I’ve documented here, over the past few months I’ve enjoyed exploring meet-up wrestling for the first time. It’s been an interesting evolution from long-time homoerotic wrestling fanatic to rookie homoerotic wrestler. Well, it’s not like I’ve evolved out of being a fanatic. I continue to nurse my infatuations over the wrestlers that show up regularly on my screens in new releases and classic favorites. I’m both a seasoned, long-time aficionado and a very fresh and untested rookie at the same time. But both in the (over)abundance of what I’ve learned about the pleasure I get from watching homoerotic wrestling, and in my nascent understanding of what I enjoy about participating in homoerotic wrestling myself, my natural inclinations remain the same. The holds and the heat, the range of bodies and builds, the necessary chemistry and vibe are close to the same in turning me on watching or wrestling.

I’ve enjoyed all of my wrestling experiences so far, and I know that I shouldn’t take that for granted. Friends have shared with me stories of meet-ups that have not gone well, or just been downright bad. I haven’t had a match that I regret, or a bad experience with any of my opponents. And, to one extent or another, I develop mini-infatuations on all of them. What is intense and hot and enjoyable is both varied, and singular, as it has been with what I enjoy about watching good homoerotic wrestling. My most recent two matches definitely linger. In my downtime, I find myself wandering to them repeatedly, crushing on a hold, a look, a feel. Maybe these last two matches continue to linger because, well, they’re my most recent two. Or, maybe, it’s because they were both rematches, of a sort. Maybe the heat lingers because, a second (or more) time around with a wrestler, the intensity is jump started by familiarity? Of course, one of the two is Scott Williams, who has been entirely successfully translated from my homoerotic wrestling-watching crush into a homoerotic wrestling opponent crush. This surprises me not in the least, although it still tickles me that Scott is apparently having enough fun with his #1 fan to stubbornly keep coming back for more. He’s been starring in the masturbation reel in my mind for years, and he continues to be hot as hell. So, of course, my mind wanders back to our last match a couple of weeks ago, giving me a little uncomfortable pressure in my pants at inopportune times (no complaints from me, though).

SeattleFight making me wonder whose camel clutch is most punishing, Scott’s or his

The other intrusive, pleasurable memories that my mind’s eye keeps settling on feature the last opponent I wrestled in Toronto three weeks ago. I wrote then about the instant, magnetic impact SeattleFight had on me over and over at WrestleFest. Again, there are some obvious elements that go a long way to explaining why I experienced an instant crush on SeattleFight. He’s handsome and armored in gorgeous (and super functional) muscle. He’s unselfconsciously intense as fuck when he’s wrestling. Maybe less obvious, I also keep returning to my memories of him catching my eye, in groups, at the bar, in a random encounter in a shop on Church Street, and repeatedly experiencing this electric spark. When we’ve exchanged messages since, my heart skips just a little with excitement to see something from him. Yep, that’s me crushing.

When I’ve blogged about my favorite wrestlers featured in homoerotic wrestling products, I’ve routinely pitted contending crushes against one another, if only in my imagination. In my imagination, I’m doing it all the fucking time, picturing what would a match look like between two stunning hunks that, separately, I can’t get my mind off of. For example, in 2010, I was vacillating back and forth, almost month by month, between Mitch Colby and Rusty Stevens as my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler. Both of them in their best shape, selling each of their distinctive attitudes and styles, classic babyface and pitch-perfect heel, gave me whiplash turning back and forth between their new releases, trying to decide which of them gets the penthouse suite living rent free in my head. I mused on the pages of this blog that what I really needed to see was the two of them settling the question by wrestling against each other. My faith in the existence of the homoerotic gods was cemented when less than a year later, BG East released their one and only match featuring Rusty… taking on Mitch. Fuuuck. I still manage to both melt and get hard at the same time just thinking about it.

When it comes to my lingering wrestling crushes on Scott and SeattleFight, it turns out they have wrestled each other in the past. Fuck, to be a fly on that wall! I haven’t heard too many details about their encounter. I realize not everyone has their inner monologue on public broadcast at all times quite like I do, so I’m not sure how polite it is for me to ask for details. But, fuck. I think seeing them, firsthand, square off against one another would make that divine moment of watching Mitch and Rusty wrestle in The Breaking Point pale by homoerotic comparison. One thing I’ve learned in my early experiences with meet-up wrestling is that just getting two interested wrestlers in the same place at the same time is more than half the challenge. So, I can’t imagine the luck and coordinated effort it would require to get all three of us in the same place. But, if Scott and SeattleFight ever have the rematch that the homoerotic wrestling gods WANT to happen (no, no, I’m not projecting…), and I’m within a days drive, holy FUCK I’d better get a front row seat! Hell, I’ll buy refs stripes and a whistle and be closer than the front row. Fuck, I’ll wear trunks underneath, just in case.

And now… that’s the image that’s going to live rent free in the penthouse apartment in my head.

Worth the Time

August 16, 2023August 15, 2023 wrestlebard4 Comments

A friend of mine recently posited that Ash DeLeon deserves most of the credit for the current popularity of gut bashing. I can’t really say, myself. I’ve only been at the margins of the serious gut bashing scene. One particular opponent I wrestled at Wrestlefest Canada couldn’t get enough of it, but it hasn’t been something that I’m seriously dialed into. Ash, however, seems way, way, way dialed into gut bashing. He said as much in my interview with him about 7 years ago, when he was just debuting with BG East, and in a follow up interview we had about 3 years ago.

Then, 7 years later, he sees Jason Aleqsander’s insanely ripped abs strolling by on his way down to the lake for an early evening swim, and there we have Backyard Brawls 17. Ash keeps it low key, but I’m convinced that he is salivating. He tells Jason he needs a pinch hitter to fill in for some no-show. “Is it worth my time?” Fuck, Jason keeps it cool. Ash assures him, “I think it’ll be worth the time for both of us.”

Ash’s swagger grows every time I see him in a new match. He’s full on heel, dubbing Jason “Abercrombie” instead of bothering to learn his name. He bullies the rookie easily for a while, out-muscling his lighter opponent and throwing him down to the mat with contempt. But fierce little Jason tears into him like a badger, tackling Ash and raining down punches and stomps in a fit of babyface rage. Ash chides him, though, after Jason reels in his rage and climbs off, giving Ash the break that he’d never, ever have offered if the shoe were on the other foot. “That’s not needed,” Jason coldly dismisses the idea that he should kick an opponent when he’s down. “This is just a game to me.”

This is what Jason has in mind when he plays games

I really, really enjoy Jason on offense. He’s aggressive and swarms Ash at one point, locking those sexy ass legs of his around him in a triangle choke. He starts slamming down sledge hammer punches into the gut-punch king’s abs, and there’s this flash of honey sweet passion from him. “This is what you wanted, huh?!”

Ash takes his fair share of lumps, but he’s all heel in this match. More than once, he lifts Jason off his feet and wrings him out relentlessly in bearhugs. They’re lush and long, and they show off that biteable ass on the swimmer boy beautifully. It’s Ash, of course, so a good 50-60% of him on offense is ab abuse. Punches, claws, bouncing fireman’s carries… tenderizing those stunningly visible abs on the blond prettyboy is the point for Ash. But Jason keeps things hot and spicy, sucking it down like a fucking sponge, refusing to submit for ages. “You think you’re really doing something,” Jason demands, and even through clenched teeth, it’s fucking defiant and sexy. “Those abs ARE going to give to me,” Ash snarls back furiously.

There’s a super sweet, rare moment, in a brief break in the action, when both stubborn boys reluctantly give each other credit for the hard fought battle so far. Honestly, I love that glimpse of genuine respect. It doesn’t take away even a stitch from the hot rivalry and battle of wills and bodies. It doesn’t cost them anything at all to acknowledge what’s clearly evident on this side of the screen, that they’re both sexy, tough-as-shit, quick-witted, well-matched young hunks. The drama holds together nicely, the suspense building through to the end, both wearing a little less than they started, one of them just a bit more humble than when he started.

“You need to rearrange your fucking priorities!”

It’s a whole lot more than solely a gut-bashing match, but both sets of abs are severely tested along the way. The personalities are fun, the bodies hot, and the wrestling rough. It has a genuine feel of a spontaneous, chance encounter between two fierce competitors who enjoy putting their muscles, and skills, and self-assurance to the test against a worthy opponent.

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