Boys and Balls

wrestlebard1 Comment
I followed organized sports half-heartedly up until the moment that I came out. Prior to that, I tracked college football and basketball and the occasional professional football season. But it was mostly just a perceived obligation of masculinity. I never really cared about the stats or the standings. As soon as I felt liberated from the heterosexist hegemony that equates homophobic contact sports with male virility, I stopped pretending to care. Homoerotic wrestling aside, my interest in the world of sport is seriously weak.
Australian Rugby Player and Gay Rights Advocate, David Pocock 

My ignorance of the world of rugby is filling me with regret as I see headline stories of rugby hotties “coming out” as either gay or allies. Like this fucking muscle monster by the name of David Pocock. All of the juvenile comments to be made about his last name evaporate when I read that this red-headed beast is a seriously outspoken ally of The Gays.

David Pocock and his gargantuan arms.
Seems that Pocock has stated repeatedly and clearly that he’s not getting married until everyone in Australia, including its gay citizens, have that right. Hot damn! I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, nothing, but nothing is sexier than a smoking hot muscle body paired with a visionary commitment to social justice.

David Pocock’s gorgeous ass and tree-trunk thighs

Well, nothing could be sexier, unless the aforementioned smoking hot muscle body paired with a visionary commitment to social justice was engaged in some nasty, ferocious, rules-be-damned wrestling. To the best of my knowledge (which is extremely limited), those ridiculously huge legs of David’s have not yet been used to their fullest potential: namely, crushing the skull of some lucky bastard in a forever-and-a-day face-to-crotch headscissors.

David Pocock meditating on social justice at the beach

David comes to my attention (thanks again, Towleroad), on the heels of my growing infatuation with Welsh rugby hunk, Gareth Thomas, coming out as an openly gay muscle beast.

Out Welsh rugby muscle beast, Thomas Gareth

Again, I say, look at the beef on those legs!!! Good God almighty…

Hairy rugby hunk and ally, Ben Cohen

And of course there’s hairy rugby hunk Ben Cohen who’s working full time combatting anti-gay bullying these days. Ben has already worked his way into a fan-inspired homoerotic wrestling match in my imagination, in which he crushes American footballer Tom Brady in a bone crunching hangman.

Rugby player and physique god, Nick Youngquest

And then there’s Australian rugby sexbomb, Nick Youngquest, who has also appeared in my homoerotic wrestling imagination. A collaborator helped me write Nick’s appearance in the Producer’s Ring, marking the beginning of the end of Andrew Stetson’s rise through the ranks of homoerotic wrestling producers in a locked door office mauling. Nick is, yet again, another rugby muscle stud happily committed to advocating for The Gays and, possibly even better, stripping naked to appear in gay rags and inspiring millions of boys’ wet dreams.

I realize that the world of macho sports, much less the world of professional rugby, is not suddenly rushing to embrace the gays. The fact that these rugby gods being openly gay or gay positive is headline news seems to most certainly imply that they are the exception, rather than the rule. Still, I’m suddenly considering whether ore not I need to give my local gay rugby club a new look. These boys are definitely inspiring me to give team sports a second glance.

All Things

wrestlebard1 Comment
Reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month and people’s choice:
Aryx Quinn
Reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Aryx Quinn, came about his title in a completely unique fashion. Aryx is the first wrestler to claim the crown by a popular vote. It was a dog fight between Aryx and one of his opponents in Can-Am’s Pro Tagteam Sex Battle 1, Landon Mycles (aka Marcus Mojo), but Aryx fans pounded out a victory for him, much like Aryx so often pounds a doggie-style victory fuck over his homoerotic wrestling opponents. 
Aryx yanks Brad Rochelle up by the hair, following orders in
BG East’s Contract 3.
I believe that my first introduction to Aryx Quinn was his Contract bout with the recently resurrected muscle jobber extraordinaire, Brad Rochelle. Kid Leopard himself gave Aryx his marching orders via a checklist of humiliating abuse to heap on sweetly suffering Brad. Aryx wakes the sleeping dragon, foreshadowing the eventual heel turn Brad is destined to make once he’s been beaten low enough. However, with some in-person tutorial, Aryx climbs back to his feet and double-teams the pale boy in white, learning at the feet of The Boss himself.
Aryx inspecting his prey in BG East’s Demolition 7.

Aryx has been bringing the erotic in homoerotic wrestling for a long time. Even when his matches don’t conclude with a literal victory fuck, Aryx leaves no doubt that he’s here to prove himself as a sexual gladiator, a practitioner in the arts of wrestling domination turned erotic foreplay. He’s put on muscle mass over time. He may not be quite the lovely, lean twink package harboring a larger than life bruiser heel that he once was, but he has consistently been a sculpted, smooth, high-topped work of art that makes the revelation that he also has an extensive career as porn-star Tristan Baldwin completely unsurprising.

Aryx’ head looks like it’s ready to pop off in BBW’s hands in
BG East’s Catch Weight 1.

Aryx has wrestled an extremely impressive 26 matches so far for BG East.  In addition to Brad Rochelle, Aryx has faced some BG East wrestlers that I count among the pantheon of timeless homoerotic wrestling greats. He’s been brutalized by Brooklyn Bodywrecker. Joe Mazetti nearly ripped Aryx sweet, tight pecs right off his rib cage. In a fantasy match made in heaven, he ran into the highly technically proficient buzzsaw of rockin’ gorgeous former tag team partner, Nick Archer.

Beefy Joe Mazetti rips Aryx apart in BG East’s Hunkbash 9.

In perhaps a case of art imitating life (or vice versa… I honestly can’t tell), something appeared to go terribly, terribly wrong in Aryx astonishingly prolific relationship with BG East. One moment, he appeared to be The Boss’ it-boy, showing up in every other catalog like daddy’s favorite son, and the next moment, he found himself getting a nasty beatdown at the hands of his former mentor and wrestling tutor.

The Boss applies a Kiss of Death on Aryx before annointing
Eddy Rey his replacement boytoy in Leopard’s Lair 3.

When Aryx faced off against the bass-voiced, muscled beauty of Eddy Rey, he apparently didn’t realize that The Boss was ready to trade up for a new it-boy who can speak Portuguese. Aryx finally conquers sweet, sexy Eddy only to find himself face to face with Kid Leopard who, with a smile, claws Aryx balls and opens up an astonishing can of whoop ass on Aryx with Eddy’s assistance. Putting Aryx out with that “Kiss of Death” that Aryx has made such hay with over the years, The Boss passes the torch with a literal kiss on the mouth and stroke of the crotch of hardbodied hottie, Eddy.

Turncoat Aryx assess the state of the competition at
Can-Am.

Kayfabe, right? The typical, delightful, arousing melodrama of professional wrestling with a homoerotic twist that keeps you and me tuning in over and over, right? Well shortly thereafter, Aryx busts into the end of Rusty Stevens‘ victory fuck over twice-lucky Brian Bodine to call out Rusty as a Can-Am convert. I’ve commented on this scene at least a couple of times before, but the image of Rusty and Aryx pacing like predators around the fallen prey of Brian’s motionless, naked body is possibly the most erotic homoerotic wrestling morsel to not include any actual wrestling I’ve ever seen. They trade verbal barbs. Aryx sports all Can-Am gear as he trash-talks BG East and says he’s set his sights on the big leagues of Can-Am. Rusty’s sculpted, naked body is pumped and primed from defeating and fucking Brian, his veiny, gorgeous cock still standing at attention and seemingly reinvigorated by the scent of Aryx arrival and schoolyard challenge.

When Aryx and Rusty consummated this courtship in Arena 2, the opening banter once again made me explosively happy before either hot, hard stud had even laid a finger on one another. East Coast swagger Aryx, however, is hands-down the indisputable loser of the opening salvo of insults, as razor-witted Rusty literally leaves Aryx stammering. The mat action, however, is not nearly so one-sided. Aryx gets every ounce as down and dirty as Can-Am & Naked Kombat veteran Rusty, and he eventually secures a decisive final fall victory before putting Rusty out cold with that very same “Kiss of Death.” Rusty awakens even as Aryx is sliding his lubricated cock pre-emptively between the muscled beauty of Rusty’s glutes, moments before he’s fucking his astonished opponent. In what may be the most innovative maneuver I’ve ever seen, Rusty finds himself on top, bouncing on Aryx rod. Slowly, with expert skill, Rusty spins around to face his fucker, leans forward to drape his body over top of Aryx, and slowly, before Aryx realizes what’s happening, Rusty slaps on a “Kiss of Death” of his own, knocking Aryx out cold while still squeezing Aryx cock tightly inside! Rusty returns the favor of initiating a post-knockout fuck before Aryx has quite returned to his senses, and equilibrium is eventually returned to the universe.

Aryx surfboards sweetly suffering Rio Garza for BG East’s
Bad Boys 1.

Aryx, now a “Can-Am exclusive,” apparently still had an extensive body of work already in the can and as yet unreleased back in Boston, however. BG East has continued to drop new matches with Aryx in them, even while Aryx was trash-talking his former employers on camera. This is where I found myself feeling the drama a little personally (which, I suppose, is evidence of the skill of the performer). I’ve criticized the odd insistence of competing wrestling companies pairing Aryx with some of the very same wrestlers. He’s hot beatdown of Rio Garza in BG Bad Boys 1 came out in October 2009. Six months later, Can-Am released Aryx facing off with, you guessed it, beautiful Rio Garza in Arena 3. Bad Boys has the two meeting in the ring, where Arena is on the mat, but the repetition of some of the very same holds applied between the very same wrestlers just leaves me questioning what the purpose of all of this is.

Aryx surfboards sweetly suffering Rio Garza for Can-Am’s Arena 3.

Happily, it seems that Can-Am is putting Aryx and most of the former BG East wrestlers to more novel use recently.  I’ve always associated Can-Am with being as much about wrestling porn as about homoerotic wrestling (fine distinction, I know), and Aryx/Tristan bringing both a long wrestling resume and a readiness to fuck and be fucked on camera makes such good sense at Can-Am.

Aryx loves owning a hard jobber, as in Can-Am’s
Pro Tagteam Sex Battle 1
I’ve been a big, big fan of the Pro Sex Fight series that Can-Am has been producing lately, bringing hot, explicitly erotic wrestling into the ring. The post victory fucks that are part of every script don’t exactly speak to me as a wrestling fetishist, but I suppose that they are powerfully inspiring to folks who are more equal parts porn and wrestling connoisseurs. But I do very much enjoy the explicitly sexual part of the Pro Sex Fight story lines, such as when Aryx cannot help himself but stroke the rippled muscles of Landon Mycles’ torso on his way to a tag team crushing of Landon and his jobber partner. This seems to me to be where Aryx shines brightest, and why he earned my nomination for you, dear readers, to eventually select him as this month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month. Aryx continues to be a nasty, proficient, innovative, sexy-as-hell homoerotic wrestler making me believe that pro ring arena that Can-Am has built is worth the cost of construction.  Aryx continues to snarl and snap, crush and devour, possess his opponents psychologically and physically, and draw a straight/gay line between the athleticism and artistry of wrestling and explicit homoeroticism.

Brendan Cage sets him up, and Aryx knocks him back in Can-Am’s Brutal Battle.
I’ve long had fantasies of pro wrestling turned explicitly sexual as a component of the wrestling drama itself, and Aryx has been living out that fantasy in his recent Can-Am work. His double team work with eventual tag team partner, hunky muscle stud Brendan Cage, is a prime example. Lucky, lucky, lucky loser Max Munoz is racked helplessly across Brendan’s back, and Aryx steps in to yank down Max’s trunks, stroke him hard and suck on his cock as he’s captured. Yes. Yes. Yes. As long as the wrestling doesn’t get lost in the sex (at which point, I rewind), wrestling as sex as wrestling as sex is awesomely entertaining and provocative for me. And Aryx is, unquestionably, one of the pillars who makes this finer blend of sex and wrestling work at Can-Am.
Aryx “wins” Can-Am’s Hollywood Fight Club 3

I’m still a little turned off by the BG East bashing that Aryx and his handlers chose to include in his introduction to Can-Am. I’m sure it’s all about the bottom line, deciding where to leverage the pathos, where to “compete” at the meta level, how much porn, wrestling, eroticism, athleticism, and drama to include in each company’s recipe. Aryx’ work in Pro Sex Fights, even though he’s obviously employing many of the tricks he learned on the East Coast, seems to me to be bringing something new, creative, and powerfully provocative of my homoerotic wrestling kink tastes. And for that, I’m happy to have Aryx Quinn as our reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.

I Smell Sex and Candy

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BG East’s Rafael Valmor
If there’s one thing the world could use more of, it’s a dark, curly haired, smolderingly sexy, hot, lean, Latin heart throb with a serious case of wrestling kink named Rafael. Rafael Valmor fills a need in me to see someone absolutely rank with sexual energy make a smokin’ hot rookie debut bringing every ounce of all-in homoerotic wrestling to the mat.

Sadly, I can’t actually smell the scene of rookie Rafael standing crotch-to-crotch and nose to nose as he faces off with Blaine Janus in Undagear 18, but I’m 100% convinced that the air is thick with the musk of hot, eager bodies already primed with sweat from an anticipatory pump of aroused adrenaline rushing through them as a result of both the fight and the fuck instincts.

Both Blaine and Rafael look like they’re famished from start to finish in this match up. I swear you can watch them swallow hard as they’re quite literally salivating, soaking in the sight of each other’s truly gorgeous bodies.  Blaine is absolutely desperate to taste Rafael’s lips, which I have no trouble at all understanding why. Over and over, the pale, blond veteran with a bodacious butt attempts (unsuccessfully) to exploit every advantage to swoop in and lock lips with the delicious rookie. Blaine is also clearly aching to feel every inch of Rafael’s body. He strokes the rookie’s crotch. He spreads his fingers wide and digs his fingertips into Rafael’s tight, athletic ass, even as the dark, curly haired hottie is bearhugging him and sending him crashing into the mat room walls.

There are plenty of times when I’m watching homoerotic wrestling and it occurs to me that the wrestlers are merely going through the motions. Sometimes, homoerotic wrestling, like porn itself, appears to be an obligatory stringing together of moves and half-heartedly recited lines (“How does that feel?”) that leave me fairly convinced that the boys are not only not into it themselves, but they aren’t particularly invested in helping me get into it either. Rafael’s tangle with Blaine is the opposite of that scenario. I believe from about 2.5 seconds after the scene opens to the very last millisecond of the mat tussle that these boys are hot for each other and aroused harder and harder as the hard fought wrestling battle heats up like a pot slowly rising to a boil.

I’ve also noticed (or at least, I’ve had the impression) that a good share of the rookies making their debuts in homoerotic wrestling are just a little reticent to throw themselves into the deep end. Sometimes, there’s a sense that a rookie intellectually knows that his task is to ride the homoerotic wrestling train, to sell not only the battle for domination, but also to sell the carnal, primal delight of controlling, feeling, and possessing his opponent’s body. But despite “knowing” this, it takes some rookies a while to really live into it. At times, rookies seem too ready to abandon a dominating hold, too ready to pass up the opportunity to humiliate, to expose, to grab and squeeze and express joy in exploiting their opponents’ vulnerabilities. Again, Rafael is not that rookie. He’s fucking loving this.

Rafael and Blaine are both stunning to watch. They’re intensely present, fully engaged in the 1-on-1 underwear battle to control each other. They work for each hold, each submission, every second on top like it matters to them every ounce as much as it matters to me. They’re coated in sweat, gasping for air, riding the rise and fall of tempers, pounding the mat in frustrated humiliation, and quite obviously experiencing the roaring engine of two libidos in warp drive. Again, I can’t literally smell it, but their exhausted, soaked bodies sliding across one another, as a very inspiring rookie plants his lips across his opponent’s lips on his own terms, fills my nostrils with the smell of homoerotic wrestling lusts. This hits the very center of the bullseye for me. Hope to see more of Rafael Valmor (in at least two meanings of that phrase) soon!

Still Kickin’

wrestlebard1 Comment
Kieran Dunne’s gorgeous narrow waist about to be stomped by
rookie Guido Tori – BG East’s Ring Rookies 1 

Thanks again to those of you inquiring about my well-being in my absence from posting for several days. No major problems to report. I was just, yet again, traveling for work and crazy busy along the way. Despite my inactivity around here, I’m still alive and kickin‘.

Jayden Mayne softens up big boy Trent Blayze with a boot to the back –
BG East’s Ringwars 19

I learned this summer about guys particularly turned on with trampling, stomping, and kicking. This was a new concept to me, really. I think the dominating, sadistic, overpowering aspect of trampling is hot, of course. But I typically find myself attending more to the long held holds: the over-the-knee backbreakers, the bearhugs, the scissors, the abdominal stretches. I usually think of stomps as more like the explanation points at the end of homoerotic wrestling poetry stanzas, rather than the meat of the matter.

Nikoli Bakov drives an impressive strike to Tom Flex’s
muscled back in Can-Am’s 2-on-1 Grudge Match

But I’m told that there are die-hard trampling fans whose fondest fetish is the kick to the back, the stomp to the gut, the boot to the crotch. The moments that rock some of us the hardest involve a swift kick to a vulnerable hunk’s battered body.

Psycho Capone takes a boot to a naked Dynamo Dean –
BG East’s Hard Pros 2

Just knowing that there are those of us with an eye for trampling has had the effect of making me turned on a couple of notches more when I see it in my homoerotic wrestling fare. I’m feeling it. The extra dose of humiliation, the gratuitous delivery of suffering, the tenderizing of a once-invulnerable stud to soften him up to be devoured whole… some hot stomping can take my breath away these days.

Ripped Rio Garza works out some frustration with the heel of his boot
stomping Jobe Zander’s masterpiece – Can-Am’s Rio’s Revenge

I suppose we could all be happily consuming our favorite homoerotic wrestling in the privacy of our own fantasies, but this opportunity to cross-pollinate our particular tastes is an aspect of blogging and discussing our shared fetish that I enjoy so much. To have my eye drawn, my anticipation heightened, my senses tuned to something new to inspire my appreciation of erotic wrestling is a beautiful part of sharing this corner of the virtual homoerotic wrestling with so many of you. Hopefully, I’ll be back to a bit more regular posting in the coming weeks. I’ve missed our little chats!

Coincidences

wrestlebard2 Comments
Have you noticed how in Hollywood movies it’s a moral imperative to believe in the supernatural? I keep hearing the words, “I don’t believe in coincidences” in movies and on television lately. The implication seems to always be that there’s some divine hand moving the universe, lining up otherwise random events into non-coincidental patterns. Well, frankly, I do believe in coincidences. That army of monkeys will, indeed, one day hammer out the complete works of Shakespeare by sheer chance. I’m okay with that.  That’s not to suggest, however, that I don’t like musing on a notable coincidence when it falls in my lap.
Kid Leopard planting a Tree of Woe for Sean Cannon
in BG East’s Superbouts 2
Take, for instance, the third time in as many days that the “tree of woe” has come up in three entirely unrelated conversations I’ve been part of.  Three different homoerotic wrestling fans raised the topic of how hot the tree of woe scenario is. The only reason I really know much about it, as such, is from a series of comments on Rants, Roids & Rasslin’ a while back, in which folks were dissecting a panel from one of RR&R’s wrestling comics. “Tree of woe” is apparently the moniker for that precarious situation when a wrestler discovers himself hanging upside down from the corner turnbuckle, completely vulnerable to a humiliating and devastating attack.
BG East’s Brooklyn Bodywrecker exploiting an opponent’s vulnerability.
It seems to me that there’s more than just a little element of bondage, with the poor catcher’s ankles locked and laced underneath the supports tying the turnbuckle to the ring post. A knee to the gut, a boot to the face… the options appear to be endless. Yes, and hot…
Rock Hard Wrestling’s Lucas Payne lives up to his name in Austin Cooper’s
Tree of Woe

The position also offers an opportunity to see a hot muscle boy stretched out and in jeopardy. Hot strong bodies are the best subjects with which to construct a tree of woe, it seems to me. The mechanics probably work best with a strong, compact, relatively limber body. The aesthetics also work best that way, too, I think.

Cole Cassidy goes to work on Kevin Lee in BG’s Bad Boys

Accomplished master in the fine arts of sadistic ring punishment, Cole Cassidy made the most of bewildered Kevin Lee trapped in his tree of woe.

Cole uses those gorgeous muscles to crush Kevin’s head and midsection.

A bearhug and headscissors combination on Kevin illustrates some of the more creative opportunities that a tree of woe offers to an innovative heel.

Cole leans in real good, adding every ounce of leverage to crush Kevin’s balls.

Of course, any tree of woe that fails to include crotch torture is a waste. Cole is never, ever one to waste anything. A long, slow elbow driven crushing into Kevin’s balls softens him up.

Cole claws Kevin’s crotch and enjoys watching the agony.
Cole latching on a ball claw, with his freakishly fantastic forearms bulging like a cartoon superhero is incredibly erotic.
Cole’s boots and knees tenderize his suspended opponent.

And of course some nasty stomps to Kevin’s… well, to Kevin’s everything, shows why a tree of woe is a blank canvas in the hands of a true artist, at least when Cole is working his magic.

BG East’s Dante Rosetti (I think) uses his head.

I’m on the record many times over as completely partial to ring wrestling, and the tree of woe illustrates just one of the many reasons why ring wrestling cranks my kink harder than just about any other context. The opportunities to use the architecture, to capitalize on the structure, to exploit the parts of the ring that stretch as well as those that don’t, all contribute to making ring wrestling my wrestling kink of choice.

At long, long last, Rio Garza pays it back against Jobe Zander in
Can-Am’s Rio’s Revenge

So I completely believe that three different people raising the topic of the tree of woe in as many days is 100% coincidence. I’m sure it’s randomness, and I don’t feel the need to read into the coincidence some guiding, invisible hand that wants me to appreciate deeper the erotic potential of corner abuse. That doesn’t mean, however, that I don’t enjoy riding the tide and getting a kinked kick out of where it takes me.

Rock Hard Wrestling’s Trent Novak treats Austin Cooper to a Tree of Woe beatdown

Jake Jenkins’ House

wrestlebard1 Comment
Eli Black receives the customary welcome to Jake Jenkins’ House
I completely concur with Joe when he concludes that when it comes to Jake Jenkins’ newest release on Rock Hard Wrestling, “This is a match that makes my blood surge.” Of course, Jake has never failed to make my blood surge. Standing perfectly still, this man makes me shift in my seat. When he climbs into the wrestling ring, struts around a bit, and then drop kicks and slams the hell out of his opponents, I’m reminded why he’s both a former homoerotic wrestler of the month around these parts and why he’s currently muscling his way through a highly competitive pack non-pornboys vying to break into my reigning favorites.
Eli is lean, mean and looking to send a message by destroying Jake in his debut with RHW.
Jake’s opponent is 5’7″, 140 pound “rookie” Eli Black. Eli gets the rookie card only because this is his first appearance on RHW. As far as I can tell, it’s his first appearance in the world of aboveground/underground wrestling for a gay audience (please do correct me if I’m wrong!). I was prepared to be underwhelmed by Eli and have eyes for no one other than Jake, but as is often the case (and always delightful), I was surprised that the astonishingly lean, blond battler gets my heart pumping as well. Eli appears completely overwhelmed and outmatched in the opening salvo, but when Jake flashes a double bicep and taunts him, he awakens a fierce fighter in the rookie. With Jake still in mid pose, Eli shoulder tackles the cocky stud, lifting him off his feet and spearing him violently to the mat.
Two distinctly different body types, but all rock hard muscle on both.

Eli is all muscle. Jake is too, of course, but they wear their amazingly fit muscles very differently. Eli is incredibly lean. He unquestionably qualifies as “rock hard,” but it’s an entirely different aesthetic than Jake’s thick, powerful bulges in all those beautiful places. Despite Eli’s leanness, however, one aspect of his amazingly trained body sticks out – that amazingly hot beefy ass!  
Eli makes a wish to become the next RHW phenom.
Eli’s ring presence also jumps out at me as something notable, impressive, and not quite “rookie” quality.  He tells his story with skill that exponentiates his raw, lean sexiness. He even takes the 2nd fall with an fantastically hot triangle choke hold. The degree of hot wrestling kink in this submission is comprised of equal parts gorgeous salesmanship from both wrestlers, the extremely erotic positioning of Jake’s face stuffed high up between Eli’s thighs, and Eli’s aggressive, taunting crowing as he’s in such complete control of his muscle stud opponent. “Tap!” he barks down domineeringly into Jake’s purple-hued face. “I’m the champ now! My turn to shine! Jake Jenkins is OLD NEWS!!!” When Jake does, indeed, submit breathlessly, Eli’s flexing victory lap around the ring is an incredible, detailed, stunning display of human anatomy. 
Jake Jenkins’ living large in Jake Jenkins’ house.

As Joe suggests, however, at RHW, Jake is increasingly thrilling as a coldly calculating sadistic heel. While Eli has an arsenal that no “rookie” ever possessed, the bundle of beautifully bulging muscles that is Jake Jenkins simply doesn’t stay down for long. In round 3, he has Eli gasping for air and soaked in sweat, back to being outmuscled and outmaneuvered. He snaps on a tit-for-tat triangle choke, but just as Eli looks like he’s about to concede, Jake lets him go (as in, he releases the hold and then instantly drags his nearly defenseless opponent back up to his feet for more torture).  He humiliates Eli with a nasty wrist lock, demanding that the blond cry “mercy,” even as Jake steps on his head, crushing Eli’s face into the mat with a sadistic smile.  It’s like the sheen of sweat coating Jake’s gorgeous pecs serves to lubricate his momentum as he plows from one crushing, torturous hold to the next. His tantalizingly long-held Boston crab, butt to beautiful butt, is some of the most beautiful sculpture on the planet.  When Jake flings the dumbfounded rookie over the top rope and into the shadows of the RHW set, I can’t always make out what he’s saying, but Jake continues to snarl contempt down upon Eli as the rookie slowly peels himself off the concrete only to find himself slammed back inside the ring. The final chapter of this entertaining 27 minutes is all about Jake’s sadism. “I wanna hear you screamin’,” he repeats calmly, over and over as he locks the rookie up in one debilitating hold after another.

“Don’t come in my ring,” Jake says with a smirk as he looks at the withered rookie. “This is Jake Jenkins’ house, buddy!”

Picking Up the Remote… Again

wrestlebard3 Comments

What the fuck? Sorry about my crass language, but again: what the fuck? Less than a year after the morning “news” landscape brightened considerably with the installment of a blond and blue eyed, 6’3″ hunk with powerful arms and big, beautiful pecs behind the anchor desk of The Early Show, latest scoop is that Chris Wragge is out.

Despite his shirtless appearance training for the triathalon, Wragge gets dunked.

This isn’t sending me into the spiral of despair and existential angst that Good Morning, America’s decision to turn their backs on Chris Cuomo did.  There’s a definite hierarchy in my lustful fanaticism for my morning cup of Chris, and Wragge comes in second place behind a certain curly headed Italian with a fondness for fishing shirtless.

Chris Cuomo illustrates while he’s still the hottest newsman getting no respect.

However, the rumor is that CBS has decided to replace Wragge with Charlie Rose and Gayle King.

What. The. Fuck?

And now I return to my primary question of the day: what the fuck!? Now, some toothy, nerdy hunkiness from adorable lisper Jeff Glor, and the sincerity of even nerdier West Coast blond pretty boy correspondent Ben Tracey are legitimately entertaining side shows. But replace the sheer hunky sexual magnetism of Chris Wragge with either Charlie Rose or Gayle King and the message couldn’t be clearer.

Totally hot back-up singer, but I don’t think Jeff Glor can be the headline attraction for this audience of one.

I am NOT the demographic that CBS is aiming for. I suppose it’s back to Good Morning, America to relive 18 year old fantasies of meeting George Stephanopoulos in a wrestling ring. Then again, there are rumors that the gorgeous diminutive Greek may be on the way out as well! But of course there’s the tragically rare treat of seeing Chris Cuomo doing a guest bit as “legal analyst”on GMA, though it seems like he and Dan Abrams are due for a no-holds-barred loser-leaves-town beat down to once and for all settle whose legal briefs are on top at ABC.

Dan Abrams has both attracted and repelled me ever since O.J. introduced him to the world.

There is clearly no shortage of hunky newsmen who could give drowsy heads a welcome dose of adrenaline in the mornings. The obstinate refusal of the news outlets to dangle some tasty meat to get our hearts pumping is making me contemplate switching to HGTV for my morning devotions. Sure, maybe I won’t be as well informed about world events (though let’s not overestimate the morning news programs for their capacity to accomplish that), but at least I’ll be happy and eager to wake up again.

More Making Somebody Happy

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Lon’s back bigger, harder, and with a full head of hair.

My fellow Lon Dumont fans likely have already taken note of the best news I’ve heard all month: Lon is back in a new release from BG East called Rookie Wreckers!! Yes, my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division, is back in ring action, sporting that full head of hair he hinted at in my interview many months ago, and looking unbelievably ripped!

Lon looks like he’s squeezing the produce in readiness to crush Morgan like a grape.
I’ll compose a full review in a few days, but I’m chomping at the bit to just revel in the thrill of seeing Lon back in the ring. Hot damn, this man turns me on and holds my rapt attention like the beautiful, cocky, incredibly hot and entertaining pro he is! Looks like he’s returning to those bygone days he mentioned in my interview of schooling up-and-comers in the harsh realities of professional wrestling. Beefy, hairy rookie Morgan Cruise seems like he could be a handful, even for the likes of indy wrestler turned competitive bodybuilder Lon. Morgan looks big and cocky, with nowhere near the level of peak conditioning that Lon is sporting, but big and strong enough to potentially do some damage on his smaller “trainer.”
Lon sets the fishhooks deep, ready to reel in the rookie and mount him over the fireplace.
Then again, Lon looks to me to be up to the challenge, and the collection is called “Rookie Wreckers” for God’s sake! I’ve been in sporadic communication with Lon in the months since our interview, and I believe that this match was filmed as he was heading into the current bodybuilding competition season. This would explain his truly astonishing fitness, notably harder and bigger than before. He’s seriously lean… like this-man-has-got-to-be-ravenous-for-some-carbs type of lean. If a miserable month and a half on the Atkins diet taught me anything, it’s that when deprived of carbs, a human being can get incredibly short-tempered, just a bit irrational, and down right nasty at the slightest provocation. All this might explain the look of terror, bewilderment, and semi-consciousness that’s playing across Morgan’s baby face in the first pics released from this match.
Who has striated back muscles!!!? Lon Dumont does!
Good God, who has striated back muscles!!!? And let me give an obvious nod to the continuation of my recent theme of asses that drive me insane. I doubt Morgan fully appreciates just how envious I am of the opportunity to feel Lon’s legs crushing his midsection and rearranging some internal organs. Lon’s incredibly high-quality physique paired with, what did he say, eight years in indy pro wrestling is possibly the hottest combination I can imagine in the characteristics that are sure to make me break a sweat. Add to all that a razor-wire wit and a knack for telling a story, and it’s no wonder that I’m ready to start a citizen’s initiative to name a holiday after him. I’m setting off some fireworks tonight in honor of Dumont Day in the WrestleBard household!

Time Warp

wrestlebard1 Comment

Friends and casual neverland readers will back me up when I say that I tend to be very age-positive. That is to say, while my sexual interests include young (adult) hunky wrestlers, I’m frequently even more turned on by more mature wrestling bodies.  Like good wine and cheese, a homoerotic wrestler with a few more seasons under his belt is often more my taste than a smooth, bright-eyed and bushy tailed youth. Before anyone lobs some ageist insult my way, let me state that this has been pretty constant throughout my adulthood. Now at 40 years old, my fantasies are frequently populated by homoerotic wrestlers at least my own age. There’s a seasoned confidence, a practiced self-possession that seems to me to come only from the accumulation of years that extremely few men can pull off until they stop getting carded when they buy alcohol (though I don’t know if there’s a direct connection with being carded).

Daniel Radcliffe (wand jokes forgone)

But there are moments when age creeps up on me unexpected, and I have to just sit back and check myself. This happened when I was recently re-watching the first Harry Potter movie. No, I’m not ashamed to say it. In my late 20s and early 30’s, I joined the generation of pre-teens consumed with fascination of the world of J.K. Rowling’s imagination. Apart from intrusive fantasies about Professor Lupine (a werewolf, no wonder), the whole franchise was awfully separate from my sexual appetites until pics from Daniel Radcliffe’s stint in Equus surfaced, showing off his barely legal (but legal!) bare body and unmistakably provocative assets. So, having graduated into sexual fantasy material, going back to watch a movie filmed when he was only 11 years old or so is… oddly disturbing. His Sorcerer’s Stone incarnation is not alluring to me, but I can see the smoldering, sexy young adult that he’s going to become and suddenly Jungian taboos grip my conscience as if I were a 17th century Puritan.

Jonathan Lipnicki, all grown up.

Similarly, I’m unsettled in seeing these recent shots of Jonathan Lipnicki, the formerly bespectacled, precocious child star to Tom Cruise’s type-cast, shallow, PR juggernaut who loses his own sense of self in his fanatic devotion to marketing who he thinks he’s supposed to be in Jerry Maguire. Not that I like the movie, so I’m not likely to watch it again anytime soon or frequently. But the superimposition of Lipnicki’s child-self onto these rockin’ images of his sweaty, ripped young adult body is a powerful reminder to me: I’m not as young as I once was.

Lipnicki now does BJJ

It seems that Lipnicki is still acting, and more to the point, he’s competitive in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I simply would never have guessed when I watched him, sort of wanting to punch him for his über-cuteness in 1996, that I’d find myself sexually aroused and sporting runaway homoerotic wrestling fantasies about him 15 years later.

Age is a slippery thing. To say that it’s relative is a gross understatement. At the age of 40, I’m old enough to remember sexy young adults when they were just diapered, slobbering infants. I’m also old enough to carry a mental filing cabinet of sexual fantasies including some lovely, horny, classic hunks who may be of an age to once again be diapered and possibly slobering as elders.  And people wear their ages differently. Some 21 year olds, like Lipnicki, strike me as chiseled, fantasy-worthy hunks, whereas some of their peers appear to me to be far too young to be uncorked. Some 60 year olds sport sculpted, toned bodies and sharp, sexy minds to go with them, whereas some of their peers look… well, “old”!

Lipnicki looks like he’s itching for a fight.

The only thing that I’m very certain of in the socially constructed shifting sands of age and eroticism is that my choice of the objects of my lust almost definitely say more about me than about them or their subjective states. We are, all of us, in possession of that moving target of age. But what that means, and how we inhabit our ages and our bodies and our sexualities, is nothing more and nothing less than works of our own invention.

Working Difference

wrestlebard3 Comments

I’ve got deadlines coming out of all of my orifices (yes, it’s as unpleasant as it sounds). But I want to muse just a bit over a recent reflection. I was just this morning marveling once again at the wonders of BG East’s recent release, The Science of Scissors. The two wrestlers on this two-match DVD that grab, shake, and drain me dry the most are match #1’s Attila Dynasty and match #2’s Jimmy Gee. As I contemplated the juxtaposition of these two wrestlers, it suddenly occurred to me that as different as these two wrestlers are on many counts, regarding both of them, I’m most enthralled with their gorgeous asses.

NOTHING at all wrong with Jimmy or Rio Garza from the front, either!

Yes, yes, another post about asses. I’ve been fixated on hot wrestling asses for a long time now, I realize. I don’t self-judge such things; I just enjoy my lusts as they move me. In this case, however, I’m fascinated that these two very different wrestlers move me in much the same way, despite sporting distinctly different body types, including very, very different types of asses.

Attila is gorgeous from every angle.

I know I’m not alone in my growing fascination with BG East discovery, Attila Dynasty. I’ve heard from a number of readers craving more of this sweet, acrobatic, fiercely competitive, tightly packed stud puppy. I’ve marveled before, at least a couple of times, at being astonished and provoked by the sight of Attila’s hefty package that he’s sporting throughout his squeeze fest with Trent Blayze. But as I re-watch this match (repeatedly and adoringly), it’s Attila’s ass that’s grabbing me (now that’s an image I’m going to have to sit back and linger on for a while).

I’m incredibly jealous of Trent’s view!

It’s a tight, hard, athletic ass. Attila’s is an ass that belongs to flexible, endurance athletes. It’s all muscle, but that muscle is sculpted in perfect proportion to the extremely lean, taut, no-wasted-mass body that makes Attila such a sight from head to toe. His glutes are round and a perfect handful (at least for me), but they aren’t expansive or excessively massive. Attila is simply beautifully proportioned, and with that acrobatic training he clearly has, my mind wanders helplessly to a whole menu of contortions and physical feats of dexterity that such a supple, hard, rigorously trained physique could bring to some post-match sex (not that Attila has appeared to be overtly aiming for an erotic top off to one of his inspiring matches… yet….).

Kaboom. There I go again…

In some ways, the contrast between Attila’s ass and Jimmy Gee’s makes me check myself. Jimmy’s glutes are a study in the art of building a body huge from obsessive, superhuman heavy weight training. The word “proportional” doesn’t come to mind as I stare in awe at Jimmy’s ass, though that’s not because he’s somehow disproportionate in any way. It’s just that globes so fucking huge, ripped and powerful as his are clearly not the end result of someone searching for anything as subtle as “proportional” aesthetics. Once Rio Garza, bless his soul, peels Jimmy’s lime green square cuts off to reveal the banana hammock underneath, I suddenly cannot, through any voluntary force of will, tear my eyes away from Jimmy’s rocking, awesome, awe-inspiring muscle ass.

Rio’s got to admit that his suffering is so worth the view!

The headscissors that Jimmy applies to Rio make my heart skip a beat. The standing scissors in which he slowly shuffles across the mats, dragging a gasping, dizzy Rio with him as he crushes Rio’s head between those gargantuan thighs, has made me lose my load more than once at precisely the moment that the cameraman FINALLY circles behind for a clear look at Jimmy’s flexing glutes.  When I’m able to keep watching past that point (usually only because I start again watching farther into the match), the sight of Jimmy’s next standing headscissors in which he has Rio bent backward with his face being crushed like a grape, his nose shoved high up between those ponderous hamstrings a mere fraction of an inch away from Jimmy’s granite, hard, gorgeous glutes makes me helpless to resist still another explosive reaction. Seriously, I only know how this match ends because I finally fast-forwarded through to the final moments out of curiosity. Otherwise, Jimmy’s flexing muscle ass crushing Rio’s head would never let me manage to get to the end.

As if with a mind of their own, my hands reach out to grab a couple of handfuls.

So both Attila and Jimmy have asses inspiring my homoerotic wrestling fantasies and tweaking my wrestling kink very, very hard. As different as they are, their fantastic asses similarly hold my lustful gaze like a vice. Two very different body types drill down to the same spot at the core of my wrestling lust, and Attila’s taut, round, athletic glutes do to me almost exactly the same (fucking awesome!) thing that Jimmy’s powerhouse, superhuman, lived-at-the-squat-rack-for-months rock hard, angular, massive muscle ass does. For some reason, this juxtaposition thrills me and speaks to me about what turns me on quite apart from some Platonic Form of my pro-typical not-quite imagined ideal of the perfectly perfect homoerotic wrestler.