Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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I’ve recently had no less than 3 back channel comments quibbling with my choices of homoerotic wrestler of the month in the past. I LOVE it that so many of you have strong opinions about who deserves the fan-love and fawning worship. I even appreciate it when you give me your well-considered rationales for why I may have got it wrong from time to time. Personally, I feel strongly that there’s room for a few more homoerotic wrestling fan blogs out there, which would most certainly result in competing wrestler infatuations for us to respectfully debate in the public arena. In the mean time, however, I feel compelled to humbly soldier onward, noting the flip of the calendar and the time to select a new reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Just to remind you, the method to my madness is to promote and celebrate new releases, so I choose each homoerotic wrestler of the month based on who turned me on the most from among the wrestlers who appeared in new wrestling products in the previous calendar month. June new releases posted a relatively small selection to choose from, and yet I found the decision a tough and close call. BG East came out with their summer surprise line-up, including for consideration the likes of Kid Karisma and Z-Man from Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros, cross-over rookie lovelies Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper from Ripped Rookies 1: A Score to Settle, Marc Merino for his work getting worshipped, worshipping, and then getting muscled out by Stan Greer in Wrestle Worship 2: Triple Emission, and both Ashley Ryder and Rob Chandler from their fantastically charged motel match from Gear Wars 3: UK Kink. Jake Jenkins did double time to stuff the ballot box this month, also appearing for Rock Hard Wrestling sporting square cuts and a mop of curly hair, initiating lean and mean Gunnar Bayani (I LOVE that name). Thunders Arena put up Dallas in both their newest Custom Vid against a second entry for Z-Man this month, as well as in a No Holds Barred match against the sexy one himself, Big Sexy. Can-Am presented extremely strong contenders in June, including Jobe Zander taking matters into his own hands against jaw-dropping rookie physique star, Thiago Diaz, and Rusty Stevens, the prodigal son himself, returning from retirement to climb into the ring and post a Pro Sex battle against new potential infatuation for me, Kevin Crowes. Finally, from Naked Kombat I’m tossing three pornboys into the hat this month, including DJ for appearing both in singles and tag competition, Phenix Saint for a powerful singles match and then walking away with his tail between his legs in tag competition, and Trent Diesel looking to be not only my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, but also the first 3-peat homoerotic wrestler of the month.
Did I miss anyone? Like I said, there are extremely strong contenders for my homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Veterans, current and former favorite homoerotic wrestlers, stunning rookies… a high quality field from a relatively small list (compared with some months). I’ve gone back and forth, making lists and comparing strengths. It’s fine, delicate calculus, but in the end, I’ve settled on one wrestler who is yanking my crank just a little harder than the rest…
…Jake Jenkins.
Here’s where I fully expect to get some push back, because I realize that there are several of you who are more smitten with Jake’s rookie buddy in BG East’s Ripped Rookies, Austin Cooper. And I totally see it. The golden boy with hollywood handsomeness and a bubble butt is fantastic, and with a couple inches taller and 10 pounds more muscle than Jake, Austin makes a really big impression on me, as well. But here’s where the subjectivity and completely personal tastes come into the picture. I’ve got a thing for the shorter hunk of muscle who goes toe-to-toe with the bigger opponent.

I’m certain that my lust for wrestling hunks under a certain height is directly related to my own stature. Watching Jake (or Denny or Lon…), I can’t help but identify with the shorter stud. And like Denny and Lon, Jake has the fiery, complete lack of self-consciousness about his size that gets me very hot and bothered. Austin’s gorgeousness and superficial superiority in still frame serve only to make me crazy for every snarl and commanding offense that Jake slaps down.

Jake’s presence on the mat for Ripped Rookies connects some dots for me that I was only guessing at from his ring work for Rock Hard Wrestling. A wrestler with amateur cred, who can dance on the balls of his feet, who can play a fraction of an inch of leverage for all its worth, who is both muscled and incredibly flexible… all of this can translate into instant erotic wrestling kink gold. With just a subtle shift of his center of gravity or the not-so-subtle tolerance of getting twisted and tied up into gorgeous, sweat-soaked, bare-assed knots, Jake’s body tells the story of an eager athlete who’s worked not only his beautiful muscles but also his awareness of his own body, his opponent’s body, and his understanding of the precise mechanics of joints and their tolerances.

Jake has timing and an awesome look of orgasmic ecstasy when he’s pressing an advantage on his way to a crowing victory. Particularly with Ripped Rookies, Jake has also illustrated in his rookie career that he can work up a tasty sweat, go muscle-for-muscle in tests of strength, and really wail in agony as someone who genuinely understands the experience of suffering.
Jake rocks me and delights me. Even on the mat or in the ring with bigger muscle boys with more classically handsome features (arguably), Jake grabs me by the chin, demands my eye contact, and refuses to let me glance away for even a moment. He’s a rookie, no doubt about it. He’s not always polished, and he doesn’t always tell a seamless story the way some of the veterans he beat out for the title this month can. But I’m infatuated with every moment he wrestles, every lightening fast counter, every stomp and squeeze, every roar and gasp.
You may have picked someone else (and I really do enjoy hearing about it). But I’m awfully pleased with the very strong performances of my new homoerotic wrestler of the month: Jake Jenkins.

Twisted Kinks

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Regular readers know of my infatuation with hunky newsmen. It was at the heart of this blog from the beginning. I know I’m not alone in nursing a little newsman fantasy now and then, since there are definitely websites devoted to adoring earnest young hunks reporting world events. And, needless to say, I know that there are plenty of us who nurse a wrestling kink. I’m not sure, however, how many of us there are who invest the time and thought into combining these two fetishistic fascinations. As for me, the first homoerotic wrestling fiction I wrote for public consumption was a beach wrestling, no-holds-barred tournament starring 6 of my favorite reporters and anchors.
The decisive winner of that tournament is a lesser-known newsman by the name of Carter Evans, whose on the payroll of CNN, primarily covering their on-site financial reporting from the stock markets. He’s also beamed daily into my living room doing a contract with my local news station, giving a 1 minute stock market run down and covering local stocks of interest from the floor of the NASDAQ. In my fictional tournament of news champions, Carter beat out (and up) much more prominent favorites, including CNN weatherman Rob Marciano and new MSNBC host and openly gay hunk, Thomas Roberts. But Carter clinched his championship and simultaneously sparked an ongoing feud by viciously beating the living shit out my longtime newsman obsession, hunky Italian and brother of the same-sex marriage man of the hour, Chris Cuomo.
Carter has been absent from my local broadcasts for over a week now, and I learned earlier this week the reason. Some major league dick in a car hit him while Carter was on his bike. The ass hole broke Carter’s arm in 7 places. Damaging such gorgeous goods and pulling him out of my living room as he recovers makes me harbor some serious venom for the shit head who’s never heard of the 3 feet rule. The real Carter Evans, as far as I can tell, is a perfectly straight husband and recent father blessed with sexy charm and a boyish grin, who can work improv better than my local anchors can handle. He has a fantastically asymmetrical face that is simultaneously disarming and sexy as hell. He has the epitome of bedroom eyes and a handsome, square jaw. His dramatically deviated septum has been featured on this blog already, but suffice it to say that whatever it is that put that sharp twist in the cartilage of his nose, it makes me think of a bar fight or, much more to the point, some underground wrestling.
With that one word, I instantly leave behind the real Carter Evans and am transported into a fantasy world in my own imagination where Carter is a homoerotic wrestling god. He plays mind games like a puppet master, essentially winning most of his matches before he ever lays a hand on his opponents. He’s sexually voracious, especially for his tag-team partner in the tournament, and he’s a master of using his obvious sexual appetite to unsettle and unseat each contender he faces. As with almost everyone who manages to grasp hold of prominence in the entertainment industrial complex in my imagination, Carter is also a skilled, savvy wrestler who takes pure sadistic delight in crushing his opponents in body and soul, proving over and over again that this newsworld is his, and all the other news hunks just live in it.

Since plowing through his competition in the first tournament staged in the Producer’s Ring, Carter graduated to color commentator and ring announcer for an ongoing television series pitting other hunky newsman against one another. For the most part, he’s more than content to rake in the big bucks with his smart mouth and shit-eating grin from behind the announcer’s table. But whenever Chris Cuomo has the nerve to show his face in Carter’s arena, Mr. Deviated Septum is constitutionally incapable of leaving well enough alone. His simply loves humiliating the muscled Italian hunk with a passion that cannot be denied. In their most recent run-in, Carter “stole” Chris’ ABC protege, rookie news hunk and swiftly rising star, g-g-gorgeous Matt Gutman. 
Since real life is frequently little more than fodder for my homoerotic wrestling imagination, I predict that Carter, the homoerotic wrestling god of my fantasy world, may sustain a mysterious off camera injury that forces the champ to stay out of the action for a while. The power vacuum will inevitably lead to some opportunistic invaders swooping in to shake things up in Carter’s arena. Just how much damage can a nasty new gang of newsboys do in the 6 weeks it takes for Carter to get the green light from his doc to retake physical possession of the ring that is rightfully his?
Get well soon, Carter. Your fans miss you!

Injury Time-Out

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No, I’m not calling an injury time-out for myself. I’m just musing on the injury time-out in homoerotic wrestling. The point really is physical domination, so it should come as no surprise that wrestling of all stripes should come with the occasional injury. Even the “kayfabe” element of wrestling, I have to imagine, has it’s fair share of real-life bumps, bruises and breaks. Then of course there’s the sadistic angle so relished in our homoerotic wrestling fare – the wrestler who doesn’t just want to win; he wants to make his opponent hurt. While that’s one hot scenario from where I sit as a consumer, again, I have to imagine it’s chock full of risks associated with actual injury that requires (or should) medical attention.
This topic pops up for me in particular after I watched Naked Kombat’s release yesterday, pitting Phenix Saint and Cameron Adams against (never-bet-against-him) DJ and Viking farmboy Blake Daniels. Halfway through round 1, Phenix has DJ in a bad way. DJ’s head his locked against Phenix’ ribcage like a vice, with Phenix cranking like a mother-fucker on DJ’s left shoulder. He pulls DJ forward, sort of bulldogging/pile-driving the curly head scrapper into the mat. It looked nasty, with big, brute Phenix muscling the skinny boy around like a plaything.

The thing is, however, that Phenix actually fucked up his own shoulder in that maneuver. A few seconds later, after DJ has tagged in his partner, Phenix calls an injury time-out, rubbing his left shoulder and wincing in genuine pain. He finishes off the round, but disappears from the scene between rounds due to damaging his shoulder. NK adeptly improvises a 1-on-1 for round 2, and pulls in an unfortunate understudy to take Phenix’ place for round 3 (but not round 4… seems sketchy to me). In the post-match interview, DJ smirks when asked about the injury-provoking move when Phenix dropped him on his head. “Yeah, he got hurt out of it. I’m fine,” he chuckles. Like I said, do NOT bet against DJ.
For quite a while, NK explicitly swore off live audience matches because, they found, there were just too many injuries that resulted from the extra adrenaline pump the wrestlers got from the fans. Perhaps they have a new insurance carrier now, because a couple of months ago they began releasing many more live audience matches, which thrills me no end. Of course, injuries still occur. Leo Forte delivered a sharp, defensive foot to Trent Diesel’s face in their tag-team tussle from April 13, 2011 (setting up their “grudge” match last week). You can almost literally see stars circling around Trent’s head for a moment. Like the champion he is, however, Trent shakes it off, roars like a beast, and comes back hungrier than ever. Reminds me of Trent’s 2nd match from over a year ago, when he beat up on 2 opponents in one outing because Patrick Rouge had to bail for an injury after just one round. You can tell that, for the most part, the pornboys really respect and even care for one another over at NK… and STILL they end up doing serious damage from time to time.
I don’t think of myself as bloodthirsty, and yet… there’s something about the injury time-out that multiplies an already erotic wrestling match. Take Brit grapplers Brad Flash and Torvik Tirva and their Motel Madness 11 match. Just like a live audience does it for Naked Kombat, a pre-existing grudge can pretty much always increase the odds of injury. Apparently Torvik and Brad have met on more than one occasion prior to Motel Madness 11, and it seems that each time Torvik schools his smaller opponent with relish. While Motel Madness is hardly one-sided, and Brad dishes out just a fraction less than he gets in return, Torvik turns on the afterburners at the end of this match and goes for nothing less than twisting Brad’s knee like I used to twist Stretch Armstrong as a kid (have I done a “What Turned Me Gay” for my Stretch Armstrong yet?). Torvik is relentless and not merely uncaring of the potential for causing his opponent injury; he’s hungry for it. He bares his teeth like a feral animal and works that leglock like Brad’s knee had personally insulted Torvik’s mother. The match only comes to an end when Brad can’t stand on his messed up knee any longer. Nursing his knee on the couch, he extends his hand, conceding like a gentleman to the opponent that has yet again bested him. Torvik smacks the hand away with contempt, turns his back on the loser, and flexes with pride, rubbing in his cocky superiority.

Perhaps the wrestling injury is like the car race crash. No one wants to admit it, but they thrill to watch it happen. The adrenaline in the stands pumps harder. The vicarious rush of endorphins washes over us. No, it’s not like I want to see anyone permanently fucked up or require medical attention. But dancing along the edge of danger and flirting with injury-provoking aggression has an erotic component that I simply can’t deny. And the injury time-out, the nursing and assessing and wincing and gauging the will to soldier-on in the face of danger, is itself sweet, hot wrestling text.

Bard’s Fantasy League Picks

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When Z-Man debuted with BG East 3 months ago, a regular reader emailed me to let me know just how excited he was by this news. He immediately speculated on who from the BG East roster Z-Man should wrestle next. Turns out, he hit the nail right on the head, proposing that a Z-Man v Kid Karisma bout would be over the top arousing.

Of course, now we know, Z-Man followed up his mat debut with BG East with a pro ring muscle match against none other than Kid K. Nice call, savvy neverland reader! And your prediction that a Z-Man v Kid K match would be smokin’ was perfect prognostication.

From a different angle, Cage Thunder recently called out both BG East rookie Austin Cooper AND proposed a detailed ring match scenario against Austin’s rookie buddy, Jake Jenkins. I’ve got a major league crush on Jake,  so Cage’s proposal to face him in the ring is fueling my imagination. Jake in white trunks with pale blue trim, then 30 minutes after stepping into the ring with Cage, stripped naked, pounded into a daze and helpless in Cage’s skilled hands… well, this concept is pure gold, in my estimation.

All of this speculation, proposal and prognostication sheds light on what I assume must be a nearly universal mental exercise that wrestling kinsters play: the fantasy homoerotic wrestling card. At least, I’ve been playing that game for as long as I’ve been erotically captivated by wrestling. I love that these virtual connections available to us now, like blogs and emails, give us the opportunity to compare notes. So, in addition to a Cage on Jake Jenkins ring strip battle, here are the current top 3 fantasy league homoerotic wrestling matches on my scorecard:

Lon Dumont v Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!)

I’ve fantasized about this combination long and hard. Not only would this settle once and for all the question of who deserves the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division (but remember, it’s about who turns me on the most, not necessarily who “wins”), I also think this would be an absolutely amazing mash-up of two delightfully different sets of assets.

Thiago Diaz v Brad Rochelle
I haven’t even had an opportunity to see if Thiago has anything at all to offer in the wrestling ring other than that fantasyman bod and that hefty package dangling between his legs, but I’m already lining him up for some rookie initiation. The return of Brad has been a long-held aching fantasy of mine (and many others, I know), and I think Brad working over Thiago’s muscles from top to bottom would be an earth-shaking combination of veteran fan favorite with jaw dropping rookie sensation.
Cody Nelson & Travis Storm v Kid Vicious and Rafe Sanchez

First of all, Kid V partnering with Rafe Sanchez has long haunted my homoerotic wrestling dreams. Second, I’ve nursed a whole lot of lust for a PG-to-R-rated evolution of the careers of pretty, innocent, eager muscle boys Cody and Travis. I picture this as both a coming-of-age wrestling scenario for the bright-eyed boys as well as Rafe’s first apprenticeship match, learning from the master of sadism himself.

What are your fantasy league homoerotic wrestling matches of choice?

Tightening Bard’s Belt

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My post on the cost of my wrestling kink generated a lot of feedback. One nice result from my nervous confession that I’ve never tracked down permission from Can-Am to repost their pics is that I got an email from Can-Am giving me permission to repost their pics (thanks!).

Thiago Diaz and Jobe Zander – Can-Am’s Decrotchery

Speaking of which, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor when I saw the preview pics of Jobe Zander’s new match for Can-Am against one of the hottest new muscle bodies I’ve seen in a long time, who goes by the name Thiago Diaz. Thiago is absolutely phenomenal to look at in still frame.  My head is about to explode in anticipation of seeing if he’s just as kinetically hot and whether he can sell some sweet homoerotic wrestling. The sustained ball torture he appears to endure in his rookie debut entitled Decrotchery looks like seriously nasty shit of the variety that Jobe specializes in. If Thiago shows up in Can-Am’s series Pro Sex Fights, I may need CPR (preferably delivered by Thiago).

Rusty Stevens and Kevin Crowes – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4

And speaking of my jaw dropping (and hot muscle bodies and Pro Sex Fights), Can-Am has also posted in their store their newest Pro Sex Fight starring former long-time holder of the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens! I don’t know what this means for Rusty’s announcement that he was retiring from porn last autumn. But knowing nothing other than that Rusty has climbed into the pro wrestling ring, I can already say with absolutely certainty that he’s back in contention to slam, squeeze, pound and fuck his way through the ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers. And this rookie that he’s squaring off against is making my head spin with almost as much velocity as Thiago Diaz! Kevin Crowes is devastatingly handsome, constructed like a go-go boy addicted to his workout endorphins, and sporting what looks to an epic cock and major league, aesthetically gorgeous ink. Smart money might be on Rusty totally owning the rookie hunk, but then again, Rusty’s long resume of wrestling domination doesn’t feature much ring action at all, and this very well may be the first time that I’ve ever seen Rusty out-prettied by an opponent (possibly with the exception of David Taylor).

Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper – BG East’s Ripped Rookies 1: A Score to Settle

In addition to the happy bonus of getting word that Can-Am is okay with me reposting, joining the ranks of the generous folks at BG East, Thunder’s Arena, and Rock Hard Wrestling, my post on the cost of wrestling kink also generated some sincere efforts from several folks giving me advice about what subscription I ought to choose to be the one to drop. Jon gave me more of a psychological assessment of my core beliefs and motivations, concluding that his read on my equivocation is that I should drop Can-Am and Thunder’s. Off line, I had one adamant reader insist that once you’ve seen one Naked Kombat, you’ve seen them all, so I shouldn’t expect anything too new or novel to need to keep investing in them. Someone also made the most fair point that the real cost-benefit ratio should be measured at the top end of the discounts that all 4 of my subscriptions offer (even if I’m too undisciplined to budget the big bucks for one time per year cost savings).

Leo Forte & Trent Diesel – Naked Kombat – The Bondage Match June 22, 2011

With that in mind, let me point out that I could get 365 days of BG East Arena delights for $125. A year of Can-Am Max and the opportunity to pine over the likes of Thiago Diaz would set me back $179.95. The most cost-efficient means of enjoying Thunder’s Arena’s Thunder TV is 90 days for $59.99 on a recurring bill (not sure why a non-recurring 90 days should suddenly jump up to $100… should that be a year?), which would equate to $240 for a full 360 days. And finally, for Naked Kombat’s exclusive content, I could be maximizing the fuck for the buck with their 1-year subscription at $169.99.

Z-Man and Dallas – Thunder’s Arena’s Custom Match

Since I’m not made of money, and since I anticipate some big bills coming up related to a barrage of travel obligations in the next 6 months, I feel like the cost-benefit analysis brings me to an unmistakable conclusion. Thunder TV, I’m afraid, is the weakest link. I’m going to sign back off of them, regretfully, but I’ll check with Joe at Ringside at Skull Island for any can’t miss new releases that he reviews from Thunder’s. Thanks to everyone who gave me your thoughtful advice. Now, if anyone has any other wrestling kink websites out there that I’m not tracking, let me know if you think I’m missing out on some major kink gold. And of course, should Rock Hard Wrestling come out with an exclusive content membership option, I’ll have to reconsider everything. It would require a whole new cost analysis of my overall wrestling kink budget, of course…

Truely Hot

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The True Blood season premieres tonight, and I can’t think of a better way to cap off a Pride Day celebration (at least where I am). StayPuft helpfully commented to my recent mention of Joe Manganiello hotness that the True Blood werewolf is not only in GQ, but also in the coverboy for Muscle and Fitness (my very first pre-porn).

The video clip of Joe’s “celebrity workout” is hot. I don’t typically find it so hot to watch even hot guys putting in their time at the gym.  If they’re serious about their workout, it has all the sexual energy of watching someone do their taxes, as far as I’m concerned. But then again, I’m pretty confident that watching Joe do his taxes (like watching him workout) would be sufficient to top me off.

You can also catch a video of his covershoot for the pre-porn rag that launched my muscle fitness fantasies as a boy. This is one huge, incredibly fit specimen. I predict he’ll be making his third appearance in a homoerotic wrestling fantasy match before the summer is out.

And in the man-meat blitz that is the True Blood season 4 publicity campaign, there are also these very tasty shots from Men’s Health of Joe’s co-star, Stephen Moyer, looking harder than I’ve ever seen him in True Blood. Perhaps the superhuman physique of Joe’s season 3 debut has lit a fire under the smoldering Brit hottie.

A scenario I tend to be fond of in my homoerotic wrestling fiction is that of rival costars who have to sort out who’s packing more in a fiercely bitter wrestling match. These scenarios most often result in one cocky hunk hammered down to size and tagged and collared by the victor. Having sorted out who’s on top, they get on with a productive “working”(daddy-cub) relationship.

All I can say is that Stephen Moyer better damn well live at the gym and survive on protein shakes and supplements if he dares decide to take umbrage at the carnal appeal inspiring so many of us to boy down and worship at the feet of Mr. Manganiello.
Bring on the True Blood!

Kink Costs

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I just filled out an online survey as a BG East Arena member, giving them my impressions of the Arena content and subscription cost. It reminded me that I need to buckle down and do something that I’ve been telling myself that I need to do for some time. I need to dump a subscription. But which one? I’ve signed up for more than I really ought to, convincing myself that it’s in service of having more to review here on the blog (weak pretense, I know). But truth be told, I really shouldn’t be carrying quite this many recurring subscriptions. So let’s look at this by the numbers, and you tell me what I should do.

The BG East Arena membership is still stroking and stoking my kink quite nicely. I like the new weekly updates, even if they are proportionally smaller than their semi-monthly old updates used to be. I think I’m on the 90 day recurring billing scheme, for which I pay $34.95 for three months of access to the Arena. I’m under the impression that I get more quantity of content per penny with the Arena than I do with any of my other subscriptions (though a number cruncher may have more to say about that). I enjoy the preview pics of yet-to-be-released products, as well as the extensive galleries of new releases and “classics.” And I really enjoy the “action clips,” those little tasty morsels of a few minutes of BG East matches. BG East has also been very generous with permitting me to repost occasional Arena content here at neverland, which is extremely cool of them. I’m not inclined to put the Arena on the chopping block as I scale down my kink budget, but perhaps you have arguments for or against it?

I’m also subscribing to Can-AmMax. I believe I’m on the month-to-month recurring billing cycle, which gives me each month’s content for $19.95 (I could get 90 days recurring for $49.95). Can-AmMax is more hit-and-miss for me with regard to how into it I am at any one moment. When I’m particularly into Max releases (e.g., the first 2 Arena matches & Pro Sex Fight), I was scarfing it up and checking daily for when the next morsel would be offered. I like that I can watch entire matches, piece-by-piece, for the subscription price itself (unlike the extra charge over at the Arena). The photo galleries often aren’t always action-oriented (lot’s of posed Blue Steel stuff that leaves me bored), and the galleries don’t always correspond to new releases in a 1-to-1 relationship the way that the BG East Arena does.  I also repost Can-Am content holding my breath just a little, because though I’ve tried to figure out how to formally ask their permission to repost their content here, I haven’t been successful in receiving specific permission (if someday all Can-Am content has been removed from this blog, it’s because they must have finally asked me to stop treading on their copyrighted material). The wrestling action itself is running about 50/50 for me these days, with my sincere interest in their new releases rising only about half the time. I’d miss it if I dropped it, but I don’t know how much I’d miss it.

And yet again, I’m subscribing to Thunder’s Arena’s Thunder TV. I think I’m on the month-to-month plan with them as well, investing $29.99 recurring (I could get 90 days for $59.99). Thunders is striking a chord about as frequently as Can-Am Max (though very different chords). The wrestling, video, and photo quality are the weakest of the three, and the website itself is the lease intuitive or well-organized of anything I’m paying for. I like the personality and the personableness of Thunders. I like the humor and the big, big muscle boys. Mr. Mike has been sincerely generous in giving me permission to repost any Thunder’s content here, so they rock for that as well. It’s the coyest of all my subscriptions, with no nudity and only implied gay-themed content, which is frustrating. They do have some wrestlers that I enjoy that I just don’t see elsewhere (Big Sexy and Ace Hanson, I’ve got my eyes on you as I say that!). I’d miss the subscription from time to time, I’m sure. And this is the second time I’ve had a Thunder TV subscription, returning to the fold after a long hiatus. But it could be the low fruit ripe for picking in this bunch.

Finally, I’ve got a NakedKombat subscription for a whopping $34.95 per month, though if I was smart, I’d sign up for the 90 days recurring plan for $59.99. NK puts out exactly one new match every Wednesday that I can watch or download in its entirety, as I can any other NK match, at any time. I can also download photos of NK action from any match they’ve released, though the galleries sometimes aren’t as entertaining as in other subscriptions, nor do they have the bells and whistles and theme galleries that I enjoy elsewhere. NK doesn’t appear too worried about copyrighting their photos, so I don’t know how they feel about my reposts and reviews, but I suspect they don’t mind (wouldn’t be the first time I’m proven wrong, though). I’m into about every 2 out of 3 NK new releases, with my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys often showing up exclusively in this all-pornboy production (sweet Jesus I can’t get enough Trent Diesel!).  Round 4 and the victory sex interest me only rarely, frankly, since it’s the wrestling itself that really tweaks my kink the most. But rounds 1, 2 & 3 are highly entertaining and arousing for me for those matches that particularly speak to me. I’d miss it particularly for specific wrestlers that I go to for my hardcore pornboy wrestling moods.

So, surely someone out there is an CPA, MBA, financial advisor… someone with more money sense than I have. Crunch the numbers, wave a wrestling kink wand over top of them, and tell me what I should do to balance my checkbook and feel a bit better about my abundant outlay of cash in pursuit of wrestling kink.

Art-Inspiring Life

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From the roster of gorgeous guys who should mix it up in homoerotic wrestling (and who do, in my imagination at least), comes some sweet mainstream shots that inspire a fresh wave of celebrity wrestling fantasies in me.
Perhaps most noteworthy is the GQ spread featuring muscle god extraordinaire and always my number #1 werewolf, Joe Manganiello, showing off his bod and generating buzz for this weekend’s debut of season 4 of True Blood. A fellow wrestling kinkster made sure that I’d seen these shots of Joe yesterday, because I’m nothing if not transparent in my carnal lust for the mind-blowing hot muscle body of this massive hunk. This much muscle, this defined, on a 6’5″ body is simply inhumanly hot. 
Squeezing Joe into shirts and sweaters a size too small does nothing if not make my imagination fire double-time picturing him in a rip-n-strip scenario.

I’m fascinated by the littering of topless women in this GQ spread, almost entirely facing away from the camera, little more than architectural framing for the out of this world gorgeousness of Joe’s towering, incredible physique. There’s something almost more homoerotic about the vaguely disinterested and impersonal portrayal of the female body, juxtaposed against the riveting visual of Joe’s fantastic form. Sexualized portrayals of women in my hunk eye candy tend to make things go limp for me, but the composition in these GQ shots leave me completely engaged and aroused by Joe’s rippling abs and massive pecs.

And continuing the theme of rippling abs, massive pecs, and my homoerotic wrestling imagination, GQ also has a Chris Evans spread that revives my lusts for this captain, my captain. Chris is due out next month as Captain America, with some fresh new meat on those already sculpted, sexy bones of his. I pictured Chris as testing his homoerotic wrestling mettle against the similar career trajectory of funny man hot bod Ryan Reynolds, with Chris pulling off a surprising last minute upset that, let’s face it, really would upset no one at all.

Chris in bed and spread eagled is a winning photo in my book any day. Chris as an alpha dog only exponentiates the sex that he can’t help but ooze all over everything he comes into contact with.

And finally, from that homoerotic wrestling roster in my mind, comes these new preview caps of Henry Cavill’s astonishingly tasty looking pecs in Immortals, due out in theaters in November. Henry has found himself embroiled in an ongoing series of homoerotic wrestling stories in my imagination, first getting conquered and tamed by his co-star hottie, Jonathan Rhys-Meyers, then getting “stolen” from daddy Jonathan by the amorous twosome of Sean Maguire and Gerard Butler, and most recently tagging with Gerard against the intimidating duo of aforementioned giant musclestud, Joe Manganiello along with costar Mehcad Brooks. Daddy Sean plays a pivotal role from ringside, but it’s Henry who proves he is most definitely not the weakest link in this battle of muscle and wits, capping off the cum from behind victory with a post-match eruption that coats Joe’s face and torso with the surprising passion of the English phenom.

Life and the homoerotic wrestling arts are constantly entwined, at least in my imagination. And, truth be told, with the generous skin and skyrocketing careers of made-for-gay hunks like Joe, Chris and Henry, I strongly suspect that the overlap of life and homoeroticism is increasing by the moment.

The Crowd Who Seem to Favor This Sort of Wrestling

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“And welcome once again to BG Wrestling at Campus in beautiful Cambridge, Massachusetts in the heart of brain country, I guess you would say, halfway between Harvard and MIT.” Announcer and color commentator Bob Wood fills in all the juicy details over the PA system that set the stage for “Live at Campus.” He lets us know who the heels are and why their babyface opponents are motivated to try to conquer them. This classic club footage from a BG East catalog release from 1990 is pro wrestling entertainment that makes impressive use of a dance floor, a mat, and some slack ropes. Five matches comprise this DVD, with some classic, classic athleticism from the likes of Matt Carlton, Tiger Chuck Collins, Kid Leopard, Scott Rogers (before he turned Dark), and the Brooklyn Bodywrecker.

Regular readers here know that I have a running fantasy of live action homoerotic wrestling. I know of no live action homoerotic wrestling venues within several thousand miles of me, so watching classic club wrestling in front of a curious, sometimes enthusiastic crowd of gay guys in Live at Campus revives that lust to watch up close and personal wrestling action.

The crowd that night is a mix of curious gawkers, guys chatting each other up without much interest in the wrestling, and a smattering of hardcore wrestling fans who start showing up later in the card. In the Fallen Angel v Tiger Chuck Collins match, the fans slowly warm up to their role in this scenario. One angry fan, fed up with Collins’ seeming inability to defend himself against his masked opponent, throws trash ontop of Collins while the the tiger-striped-one is getting the crap beat out of him at the start of round 3.

When Kid Leopard and Scott Rogers face off for a title match in the second half of the card, the crowd around the makeshift ring has grown thicker, rowdier, and more attentive. A hot, bearded hunk with big pecs and a sleeveless t-shirt shows up ringside just as the action starts. Like a growing number of the fans gathering ringside, he’s got a look about him that makes me think he’s got to be one of us who enjoys his wrestling kink. He pumps his fist, flexing an impressively thick bicep, and shouts in celebration when KL is introduced as the hometown boy with a bad attitude.

The hot boy with the beard fades into the crowd partway through KL’s successful title defense, but from the moment that the final match is announced, the battle for the “Bruiser Weight Championship Belt,” he’s back and furiously stakes out his claim to a front row, unobstructed view of the action.  This action consists of Maine native Terry Mercen, in white trunks and boots and a white satin jacket (Bob Wood gives Terry’s hardworking, straight-up babyface credentials), facing down an astonishingly young, ripped, gorgeous Brooklyn Bodywrecker in red trunks and black boots. BBW is sporting his perennial “fuck ’em up” attitude that he dishes out with relish to his opponent, the announcer, the fans… pretty much anyone and everyone.

Before the match has technically started, BBW ambushes Terry from behind when the Maine grizzly tries to take his white satin jacket off. When BBW starts to choke Terry with it, some heel fans initially cheer, but things quickly quiet down as BBW’s mauling of the man in white is visually simply stunning.  After an astonishingly relentless battering of his caught-off-guard opponent, BBW hops to his feet, sets his snarling sights on none other than the hot, bearded hunk in the front row, and points his finger at him. It looks like an aggressive move, but there’s no way to really tell what BBW is saying to the hunk in the crowd. A match dedication, perhaps? A promise to deal with those hot pecs next? Whatever BBW says, the pec boy seems to cheer that much more enthusiastically with every cruel stomp, kick, and slam that BBW delivers. A step-over toe hold looks like it’s about to snap poor Terry’s knee in two, to the rising “ooo’s” and “aaah’s” of the appreciative crowd. A double knee drop to Terry’s hamstrings clearly titillates more than one spectator. “I like that! Give him another one!” an excited voice rises an octave above the crowd.

The boy in the white sleeveless t-shirt, the one with the big pecs and bulging biceps, gets more and more animated as the match progresses. When Terry launches an impressive rally that has BBW reeling in fall 2, the hot stud in the front row gives the ref an earful, complaining about some clearly fictitious rule infraction that the fan believes Terry used to gain the upper hand. But when BBW bounces back from that unexpected 2nd fall pin to grab hold of this match with both hands in fall 3, his #1 fan is literally roaring. Actually roaring, yes. He gives BBW a “thumbs-up” of encouragement to start round 3. When BBW battles back to control the match momentum, pec boy pumps his fists and flexes those meaty biceps encouragingly. Every slam, every kick has the hunk outside the ring cheering and pumping his fists harder.  When BBW bodyslams Terry onto the wooden bar tables at ringside, all the heel fans rejoice. His over-the-knee backbreaker on Terry has the muscled hunk in the front row pumping his fists again with a big, toothy smile stretching ear to ear. When BBW cranks out a humiliating final fall submission from Terry, his #1 fan celebrates furiously, reaching over the barrier to slap BBW’s hand in congratulations. When BBW, as is his way, goes back and muscles out a post-victory piledriver on a completely helpless Terry, muscleboy at ringside is laughing and applauding feverishly.

“The bodywrecker has developed quite a little following here this evening,” announcer Bob Wood can’t help but note. “And now he accepts the BG Bruiser Weight Championship belt… holds it high… and accepts the cheers of those in the crowd who seem to favor this sort of wrestling.”

Live action homoerotic wrestling has got to be the sexiest venue possible. When there’s chemistry like the chemistry BBW clearly has with his muscleboy fan in the front row, my arousal skyrockets. The adrenaline rush of the crowd egging on the combatants, the call-and-response between wrestlers and their fully engaged boosters, it all makes the story extend outside of the literal ring. There’s an extra pump from proxy champions fighting it out, carrying the standard, standing for the virility and savvy and will to dominate of everyone on “their side.” Like the hot, bearded boy with the meaty pecs, I’m certainly part of that crowd that “seems to favor this sort of wrestling!”

There Oughta Be a Law

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I was holding vigil all weekend in anticipation of the arrival of summer. It still hasn’t arrived, as evidenced by my pasty white skin and layers of clothes, but the hot morning weatherman on my local television news station promises me that I’ll be in short sleeves tomorrow, just in time for the solstice.

So there’s no quiz for you this week. Considering school’s out and the grads are still hung over, I figure you deserve a break from test-taking. I’ve also been abundantly distracted by my first taste of the juicy new releases from BG East. I’ve been trying to pace myself and drink plenty of fluids, but one moment in Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros keeps grabbing my attention. At one key point in the development of the match, Z-Man is appropriately taking a well-earned, nasty beating from Kid Karisma. They’ve both given and taken their fair share of pounding, but now Kid K has beaten the mocha-skinned muscle model into submission, and then added a gratuitous ball claw on the pretty boy just to seal the deal. Z-Man is finally writhing on his stomach on the canvas, clutching his balls in agony, when Kid K bends over (just linger on those last 4 words a while…. okay, now continue), grabs Z-Man’s pink trunks, and wedgies them high up his ass.

So a couple things speak to me here that probably don’t need mentioning (but that’s what I do around here, isn’t it? I mention everything I think). Z-Man’s bare ass is beautiful. A work of art. I’d go so far as to say his ass is even pretty, and I mean that with all due respect. I’d frame those golden glutes and hang them on a wall. Yanking the fabric away to give a less-obstructed view is nothing but an act of politeness from Kid K to you and me, as far as I’m concerned. Sure, it seems to dial up the agony in Z-Man, but seriously, that wedgie is a thoughtful gift from Kid K to us. “Take a look boys,” Kid K could have just as easily said out loud. As Kid K himself remarked earlier in the match, examining Z-Man’s vulnerable ass in a compromised moment, “Oh yeah, definitely very, very pretty!”

But then Z-Man does the unforgivable (as far as I’m concerned). As soon as he catches his breath, he quickly reaches behind him and digs the pink fabric out of his crack, re-covering those dessert-like cheeks. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you, I yelled at the screen the first time I saw this. That punk-ass bastard (said lovingly)!  When the trunks get wedgied, ripped, yanked or stripped, in homoerotic wrestling they need to stay that way. Screw your decency and sense of humility or dignity, Z-Man! Those went out the door well before you were screaming like a baby, trapped in the ropes, with Kid K’s claw crushing your testicles from behind. When your ass gets displayed by someone as generous and thoughtful as Kid K, you should just take it like the babyface muscle model rookie that you are (at least in these parts).

Before anyone gets the wrong idea (though I have no control over that, I’m reminded often), let me clarify that I love this match. I love Z-Man in this match. I LOVE Kid Karisma in this match. I can’t quite make it 10 minutes into this match before a dramatic cardiovascular event happens within me. It’s not that I actually don’t like Z-Man or his work here. I just feel like there should be some policy that says that homoerotic wrestlers that lose full coverage of their gear should have to just grin and bear it. There’s sort of a justice about it. Once the skin is exposed, it should have to stay that way. Any homoerotic wrestler who readjusts his gear to cover back up should merit a merciless and humiliating beating and the penalty of losing ALL his gear before all is said and done.

This brings to mind (in my constant stream of consciousness sort of way), Christopher Bruce’s “comeback” against Cole Cassidy in Demolition 10. Cole applies perhaps the nastiest wedgie I’ve ever seen as a defensive maneuver when he’s trapped in Christopher’s crushing bearhug. Unlike Z-Man, however, Christopher shows the instincts of a veteran. He and Cole deliver precisely what it is I’m tuning in to see here. He just keeps right on wrestling, his gorgeous bubble butt bouncing beautifully unencumbered by his trunks. I’m sure it wasn’t comfortable, but Christopher didn’t climb into that ring to be comfortable. He climbed in there to deliver what you and I pay for!

Naked Kombat’s recent match illustrated that Phenix Saint has the same veteran instincts. I’m pretty sure that NK instructs the wrestlers to leave the gear wherever the action takes it. But some can’t help themselves but tug the trunks back up, as if that was going to mean anything in round 3 and 4. But I enjoy watching Phenix completely un-selfconcious as he soldiers on after rookie farmboy Blake has yanked his red trunks three-quarters of the way down his ass. The trunks and the exposure clearly mean nothing to Phenix, and yet they mean so much to me. So his single-minded focus in ignoring his ass hanging out makes me root for Phenix that much harder.

And speaking of hard, and just to complete this stream of consciousness ranting, this makes me think of the truly remarkable rookie debut four months ago of seriously entertaining grappler, Adonis, running circles around Gianni Luca and tying the Italian up in knots. NK gives points for getting your opponent’s gear off of him. They get special points in round 2 when they can yank their opponent’s jockstraps over their heads, as opposed to just ripping them off. Adonis illustrates his tenacity and determination by working the “over-the-head” points in round 1, when Gianni is still in his speedo-style trunks. Cranking on Gianni’s skimpy red trunks like there’s no tomorrow, Adonis rips the crotch out of them and slowly manages to stretch them up and over the Italian jobber’s head and eventually entirely off his body. Not only is this a feat, in and of itself (buy a pair of speedos and just try this!), Adonis doesn’t skip even a beat as he performs this maneuver while simultaneously maintaining complete control of Gianni in one completely dominating, crushing, humiliating hold after another. We need to see Adonis and his gorgeous tool in action again!

I’m not entirely sure I’m finishing this post in the same spot where I started it, but let me just conclude by saying this is what gear is meant for in homoerotic wrestling: getting removed. Whether it’s in the form of a vicious wedgie that reveals the gorgeous glutes beneath, or if it’s in the form of ripping the extraneous garment off entirely, gear inevitably stands between me and the next level of homoerotic pleasure. While it’s certainly true that I can be entertained with hot wrestling involving all gear staying firmly in place from start to finish, if there are any wardrobe malfunctions (and especially the intentional ones), it ought-a be a law! Leave gear where ever the action takes it, especially if that’s stretched so high up Z-Man’s ass crack that it makes the muscleboy gag!