Getting Turned On

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Angelo Blanco

I really like Angelo Blanco. While he isn’t the biggest or hardest muscle hunk in homoerotic wrestling, and he doesn’t bring the deepest arsenal of wrestling holds to the mat (yet), he does possess several qualities that I find fantastically stirring.

When I saw him debut against bad boy Skull, I felt an instant erotic connection with A.B. His body is tantalizingly tasty. My earlier comments about his physique notwithstanding, he’s got fantastic proportions, beautiful olive skin, and legs that look astonishingly strong on his 5’7″, 150 pound frame. Watching that match from Masked Mayhem 7, it felt like I was watching an eager rookie, green around the gills and still working out how to feel comfortable in a speedo and a wrestling mask. But the operative word for me is “eager.” Angelo looks like he’s ready to fuck someone from the start, and the wrestling only stokes his lustful fire more with each twist and turn of the match. His cock takes up more and more room in his tight white trunks, as he’s forced to dial up the down-n-dirty tactics to keep pace with that little devil, Skull. Each passing moment of the sweaty mat action makes him (and me) harder. His opponent, wrestling here under a pseudonym, clearly has more experience. He has more mat savvy. But there’s something irrepressible about Angelo’s determination to rub his throbbing cock against his opponent that makes me deeply satisfied by the atypical rookie victory.

A.B. is back in Masked Mayhem 8. It seems as if he’s soaked up by osmosis some of the darkness of his first opponent, continuing his transformation as a fallen angel. This time he’s sporting incredibly hot fantasy-wear mesh tights that leave plenty of room for that irrepressible cock of his to grow. He’s aroused from the start, though, as he eyes and engages in mutual stroking of his shredded twink opponent, Aqua, also better known under another name when not wrestling masked. Aqua seems to have the same reaction to A.B. that I do. The twink’s gaze roams over Angelo’s hot body slowly. His hands rise lustfully to feel A.B.’s torso. And the first words out of Aqua’s mouth are acknowledgment that he likes what he sees.

A.B. seems more at home on the mat this outing. He takes the initiative, just like he takes Aqua’s crotch in hand over and over again. A.B. rubs his cock in the twink’s face every chance he gets (and he gets many). He works up a quick sheen of sweat, which always dials up the homoeroticism in my book.

It’s that erection that just captivates me, though. A.B. enjoys this work. It’s not the sort of enjoyment that comes with lots of humor and playfulness and camp (not that there’s anything wrong with that). It’s not  even the sort of enjoyment that comes from being tested in competitive physical combat (again, not a thing wrong with that, either). But it’s the sort of enjoyment that a man wearing nothing but a mesh thong with an expandable banana hammock built-in just can’t hide.

A.B. is physically aroused by wrestling Aqua. It’s unmistakable. There’s an authenticity to it that’s more than just evidenced by the erection. He doesn’t smile.  There’s no hint of self-conciousness. It’s as if he’s completely oblivious to the fact that there’s a cameraman dancing around the room catching every provocative angle. This is what I mean when I talk about “all-in” wrestling. Everything is happening on the mat. There’s nothing spilling over to shatter the illusion that these two are completely focused on nothing other than each other and the battle for physical and sexual (and, dare I say, spiritual) domination. There’s all sorts of mystery about a masked man that leaves me guessing about Angelo Blanco. But one thing that I have no uncertainty about at all is the fact that he gets off on wrestling every ounce as much as I do. He isn’t just going through the motions of giving a homoerotic wrestling kink audience a show. He’s got to be one of us. And especially for that (in addition to his fucking sexy body and his paralyzing kiss and his beautiful cock that figures prominently in the culmination of this match and catapults him into my criteria for joining the pornboy ranks), I really, really like Angelo Blanco.

The Rain Clouds Open Up

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Whew! The long drought in my wrestling fiction has broken. It wasn’t writer’s block or melancholy interrupting the creative flow. It was brutal, exhausting, largely unpaid “real” work stealing my best creative juices. Thankfully, the juices are spilling again into my preferred past-time of writing homoerotic wrestling fiction.

David Gandy

A co-author helped me sketch this match out months ago. In it, we meet some of the executive assistants from rival titans around the globe, including big British brute, David Gandy, who, it turns out, seems to me to be seriously lacking a sense of humor.

Noah Mills

It also introduces Toronto-based executive assistant Noah Mills. Noah is one of those guys who has a little too much testosterone for his own good. No imagined slight or social faux pas can go unchallenged with unbridled physical confrontation for Noah. Clearly, he’s in the right man’s homoerotic wrestling imagination.

Mateus Verdelho

The boys are out at a club when Noah spills some of his drink as a result of getting bumped by buzzed skater hunk, Mateus Verdelho. Push comes to shove, quite literally. Shirts are ripped off, and that inevitable crowd of enablers spills out into the back alley behind the two of them to watch the sport.
Turns out, not only is Noah hyped up on testosterone. He also fights dirty. While in some crowds this would earn him major points, the club crowd this night turns on Noah for his underhanded, below-the-belt tactics. Big, beautiful blond hunk Tyler McPeak can’t stand it any longer, and he rushes into the fray to even the score and teach Noah the consequences of taking shortcuts.

Tyler McPeak

The details are over at Producer’s Ring, but things turn cocks-out and brutal, with two pretty boys shelved in the dumpsters with the rotting club food, and two others licking each others wounds with enthusiasm. My thanks to Metellus for carrying the water farther than he really should have had to, and for being infinitely patient with my “I’m just about to get down to writing again!” excuses.

The 98-pound Weakling and the Bully

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Hot damn! Trent Diesel only narrowly was denied a shot at a 3-peat for the title of my homoerotic wrestler of the month, but I simply have to say more about his most recent tag-team match over at Naked Kombat. The chemistry between all four wrestlers (Trent and his partner, Matthew Singer, going against Gavin Waters and Nikko Alexander), is off the charts. They’re absolutely ferocious and balls out on the clock, and when there’s a time out, there are these incredibly erotic moments of tenderness and respect shown among all four pornboys.

The story to start the match is explicitly told by Gavin and Nikko in their pre-match interview. Gavin promises that the outcome this time around will be distinctly different than in Trent’s humiliating initiation of Gavin in his debut match a couple of weeks ago. In no uncertain terms, Nikko and Gavin point out that Mattie is the “weakest link,” and they’re going to exploit that link all the way to their victory fucks in round 4. They’re absolutely right and absolutely wrong, as it turns out.
They’re absolutely right that Mattie is the weakest link. It’s no wonder, really. He’s been seriously outclassed in his prior matches, and once again he has very little stamina and wind (lay off the smokes, skinny boy, your lung capacity will thank you). There are moments when Gavin (6’2″, 200 pounds) is bullying Mattie (6’0″, 170 pounds) so miserably I feel a little bad for the babyface. When Mattie has panicked his way into a time out in round one, and he takes the down position for the restart, Gavin is beaming with joy as he strips out of his own trunks in order to press his naked cock provocatively against the Mattie’s ass. Nikko and Gavin seem determined to intimidate him, and they seem to succeed.
Nikko and Gavin also play fast and loose with the NK rules, which costs them dearly, as it turns out. In one of those bully-sessions, Gavin snaps on a nasty, illegal rear choke that has poor Mattie writhing in panic. When confronted with the rule infraction, Gavin offers, “But I’m blond!,” either as an excuse for being too dumb to know the rules, or as a trump card that probably gets his gorgeous ass plenty of free passes for being so damn pretty, I don’t know. Round 1 also has the bad boys in red tagging 4 times, when the rules permit only 3 per round. Both infractions earn the brutes penalties.
At least one moral of this story, I’d say, is that karma is a bitch. Turns out Trent and Matt squeak out a stunning upset victory. The real kicker, though, is that their margin of victory is smaller than the total penalty points Gavin and Nikko lost needlessly earlier in the match. Mattie’s reward in round 4 seems super sweet to me. The poor, outclassed “weakest link” struggled mightily to keep his head in this match during the first 3 rounds. You could virtually watch him swallow down the panic and primal fear he faced, as he plunged over and over again, headlong into the path of two big, bad muscle brutes. The skinny boy took a knee to the face in round one. He was maligned and overlooked before the match even started. So as he rides Nikko around the ring like a pony and then shoves that really, really, really huge cock of his up Gavin’s ass, there’s just something really sweet about the whole thing. It’s like the first Karate Kid movie, except this time, the skinny, outclassed wimp gets to humiliate and literally fuck his tormentors in front of a cheering crowd.
And of course, the crowd works for me. The crowd ratchets up the homoeroticism here about 150%. The prominently featured women in the front row of the crowd, unfortunately, then dock the homoeroticism about 25% for me (and for several other commentators, I note, on the NK website). But still, that’s 112.5% the homoeroticism that this extremely hot tag-team match-up already had going for it (trust me on the math… really). Trent is a wrestling god who fills me with awe every time I watch him on the mats. It should come as no surprise that he maintains a death grip on the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy. Mattie is a surprisingly compelling character who makes that former 98-pound weakling inside of me infinitely proud. And Gavin and Nikko are astonishingly pleasing as overconfident heels who push their luck and indulge their sadism just a fraction too much for their own good. Awesome story. Incredibly hot action. Even round 4 kept my attention, which isn’t always the case, and the “bonus” scene was a sweet “porn-meets-pro-wrestling” departure from the typical script of the “hardcore reality” vibe that NK likes to try to sell.
I highly recommend this match.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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Once again I face that delightful dilemma of too many top tier contenders for who, in my opinion, is homoerotic wrestler of the month. Seriously, you can’t swing a dead cat without smacking a half dozen gorgeous, grunting, fully committed homoerotic wrestling gods in their sweat soaked faces. BG East’s new catalog came out, so inevitably they are packing the contenders list, considering my tastes. I’m completely captured by muscle gods Dev Michaels and Marco Carlow from Motel Madness 11, and I admit to being caught off guard by how irrepressibly turned-on I am by Torvik Tirva’s beatdown on Brad Flash. Both Aqua and Angelo Blanco from Masked Mayhem 8 are instant contenders, with a special note of appreciation for the extra helping of the homoerotic in this homoerotic flesh fest.  I’m putting Mitch Colby on alert that a fantastically sexy lightweight by the name of Skrapper has his sights set on knocking Mitch out of the top contender spot for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy title, as well as easily claiming top contention for homoerotic wrestler of the month for his work in Undagear 17.  Rio Garza and Christopher Bruce from match 2 of that same DVD are both getting nods from me as well, and I can’t help but note that Rio is in absolutely jaw dropping physical form. I’m deeply moved by performances from BG’s Bad Boys 2, including Dick Rick, as well as the dynamic twosome of Jonny Firestorm and Bobby Horton from match 3. It’ll be no surprise to regular readers that both Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and Lon Dumont are in the pool of contention for their respective matches in Gut Bash 8.  Trent Diesel, my reigning homoerotic wrestling pornboy, worked his gorgeous ass off this month for Naked Kombat, delivering a humiliating beatdown on hardbody rookie Gavin Waters two (count them, two!) times, first in singles competition and then partnering with astonishingly doe-eyed Matt Singer in crushing and humiliating Gavin and sexy thug Nikko Alexander, who I’m also giving a nod for also doing double-time, earning a pony ride underneath babyface Singer a couple of weeks after he spanked and fucked twink Noah Brooks. Tyler Reeves and Max Powers grab my attention in the RockHardWrestling ring this month, and from Thunder’s Arena, I’m nominating Cody Nelson for clawing the fuck out of Bam Bam’s pecs in Bodybuilder Battle 29 as well as for tweaking my brother-on-brother erotic fantasies against his “little” bro, Troy Nelson, in Mat Wars 29.

May set the table for a truly phenomenal homoerotic wrestling feast. To pick just one is, as always, just a little torturous. Never one to shy away from a little punishment, I’ve thought about this long and hard. I nearly copped out and pronounced another tie, but by a hairs breadth, I’ve settled on one homoerotic wrestler who claims the title of my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Meet my new homoerotic wrestler of the month…
BG East’s Jonny Firestorm.

Several readers had thoughts and comments about the difference of opinions that Joe and I expressed over BG East’s last catalog release. Somehow, the world feels back on its axis now that we’ve returned to the 97.3% of agreement that Joe and I share in our homoerotic wrestling tastes and preferences. I couldn’t agree with him more, in fact, when he announced a few weeks ago that Jonny and Bobby Horton’s match in BG Bad Boys 2 is destined to be a classic. I love this match, and I’m crazy for both Jonny and Bobby from start to finish.

The success of this match for me is comprised of dozens of small, potent moments. The opening posedown has me laughing and adjusting my crotch at the same time, as “little” Jonny works extra hard to measure up next to an opponent of equal fitness and an additional 7″ in height. These delightful, small potent moments also include Jonny’s brutal wedgie on Bobby early on, baring Bobby’s beautiful buttocks for an over the knee spanking. Equally potent and provocative, Bobby nearly shreds Jonny’s silver trunks in a retribution wedgie later on.

I’m delighted and completely turned on by the bright, bright red palm prints that rage for minutes across Bobby’s beautiful pecs as a result of Jonny’s go-to chest smack.

It’s a small thing, I know, but I’m thrilled by the spine busting hip toss that whips big Bobby out of the corner with such velocity that it knocks his vanity mask sideways.

Someone else may not give a damn, but both of these boys catch air, and the brutal ballet that is 6’2″ Bobby soaring for miles on this way to splashing down brutally, crushing 5’5″ Jonny helplessly in the corner is incredibly satisfying. This is such a hot battle of fresh young heels that, truthfully, I nearly relented and named both Bobby and Jonny co-homoerotic wrestlers of the month (which would have pushed Bobby into the extremely elite category of being a 2-time title holder). But as entertainingly as both of these bad boys tell a story and sell their sadistic characters, Jonny has the razor’s edge for my affections here. It may be his head butt into Bobby’s abs as the big boy was still trying to recover, flat on his back, from a barrage of stomps. Perhaps it’s Jonny’s softball-size biceps, which are likely no bigger than Bobby’s but on his smaller frame simply look gargantuan. Maybe it’s my secret fetish for the little guy who overcomes the first-glance odds to power back and prevail over a much bigger opponent.

For all these and so many more truly outstanding elements in a start-to-finish thrilling pro wrestling match with precisely enough kink to make my ears buzz, and for Jonny’s undeniable athleticism, shredded fitness, incredible salesmanship and sweet-n-bitter delivery that leaves me laughing one minute and 100% aroused the next, I’m very satisfied that I’ve selected the right man for the job. My reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month could be no one other than BG Bad Boy Jonny Firestorm.

Cocks Named

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Jobberinnyc made short work of this week’s Name That Cock quiz. Way to go, jobberinnyc! He knows his homoerotic wrestling cocks, and for that, he’s head of the class this week here in neverland. Let’s review his excellent work, so that you can learn from his fine example.
Cock #1 belongs to…
… BG East’s Dino Serra. 

I’ve seen just a few of Dino’s matches, but my impression is that he had a loud-n-proud raging erection in every match. This fine display of his major league tool comes from his thrashing at the hands of eager beaver Jarrett Cole in Wrestleshack 7.

Cock #2 belongs to…
Naked Kombat’s Race Cooper.
In particular, this shot of his rod comes from his most recent match, posted March 16, going toe-to-toe and cock-to-cock with Roman gladiator-looking beefy stud Jeremy Tyler. Pornboy Race is sculpted perfection. Damn.
Cock #3 belongs to…
… BG East’s Jose.
Holy hell, the sight of Jose’s meat always makes me gasp. Greg Leary, pictured here pinned by the python with some gratuitous pec clawing thrown in just for kicks, thought his quite impressive cock would warrant some cred when he stripped off his trunks. Pointing to his pendulous cock, Greg let Jose know that he was bringing his “quarter pounder” into the final round of their match in Hard Pros 6. Jose simply smirked dismissively and peeled out of his own trunks, illustrating that he was slapping down “the whole Big Mac.” Win-win-lose, as far as I’m concerned (Jose wins; you and I win; Greg loses).
Cock #4 belongs to…
…Can-Am’s Billy Herrington/Billy Marcus.
Here, Billy has hoisted blond boytoy Dax Kelly over his gargantuan shoulders, on his way to breaking the twink down to complete adoring submission. Truth is, physiques as thick and massive as Billy’s make it tough to make even an impressive cock look proportional. However, Billy does just fine, as far as I’m concerned. The brain-trust that came up with the title “Wrestlers” for this release deserve a neverland razzie, but with Billy Herrington on the cover, who would ever remember the name of the tape?
Cock #5 belongs to…
… BG East’s heel extraordinaire, Kid Vicious.
So I’ve never admitted this to anyone, ever, but truth is that KV sort of looks like a bastard boss I used to have. This is disturbing on many levels, not the least of which is the haunting shadow image of my boss pounding his fist mercilessly into the naked cock of some poor, outclassed opponent. In this case, KV was beating the living daylights out of also-aptly named Skrapper (especially his cock) in Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun. I’m repeating myself when I say that KV is possibly the most accomplished master of connecting all the dots in homoerotic wrestling competing today. I’m also repeating myself when I say that Skrapper continues to catch me by surprise by how arousing I find his wrestling.
So there you have it. While jobberinnyc didn’t go the extra mile and name the opponents for yesterday’s quiz, he is nevertheless homoerotic wrestling fan #1 in the realm of neverland, at least for this week. Keep playing. Keep studying those homoerotic wrestlers, especially the ones with gorgeous asses, awe-inspiring cocks, and delightful tattoos, and maybe next week you’ll jump to the head of the class!

Name That Cock

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Memorial Day weekend has been tough on me.  I enjoy visiting family, but I’m inevitably stuffed with junk food, bored to tears with stories about my infinite nieces and nephews, and deprived of high speed internet. Hell, I tell you. This week’s quiz was ready to publish yesterday, but the only internet access I had either couldn’t handle the data-transfer of these five pics, or it just couldn’t swallow these close-ups of five big, beautiful cocks. Now that I’m reconnected to the real world, here’s this week’s quiz, our second edition of Name That Cock. See if you can identify the homoerotic wrestlers equipped with these impressive tools…
Cock #1:
5’10”, 160 pounds, ever-ready hard-on, 14 homoerotic wrestling matches that I know of, only 2 of which failed to feature unobstructed views of his lead pipe. Here, he’s tied up and getting his trunks pulled so tight that his throbbing cock looks like it’s getting choked into submission by his waistband.
Cock #2:
5’11”, 173 pounds, this is top shelf porn-quality cock. I can put my hands on five matches featuring this muscle stud, the most recent one (pictured here) putting him over .500. 
Cock #3:
5’10, 174 pounds, a considerable amount of that weight swinging between his legs. He taped around 16 homoerotic wrestling matches, half of which have him unleashing this boa constrictor on his awe-struck opponents, hypnotized by its ponderous pendulum swing. While his tag-team matches are my favorite examples of his work, the match pictured here is a 1-on-1 with another muscle hunk who, normally, would have been able to claim the most awesome cock in the ring. This time, however, his martial arts, ridiculous good looks, and “quarter pounder” were no match for the “whole Big Mac” pinning him to his back in the middle of the ring.
Cock #4:
Another top-shelf porn presence, this 6’1″ 245 pound musclebound fuck freak is probably known to most from his porn work that didn’t involve wrestling (though mash-ups of his wrestling seem to be awfully popular in some corners of the globe lately). You can get full credit for naming either of his stage names, but you’ll get extra credit for naming both. Here he has his bleach blond opponent helpless in a torture rack in possibly the least creatively named product ever.
Cock #5:
6’1″, 170 pounds of aptly named homoerotic wrestling icon. This homoerotic wrestler is always seamless in his devastating, all-in, fantastically focused sadistic wrestling assault and the inevitable sexual domination that must follow. Here, he’s beaten his lucky/unlucky opponent (who’s stock continues to steadily rise with me) with every inch of his body, culminating in a cock-whipping with the punk’s nose crushed beneath his balls.
Best of luck to you, boys. I hope you were able to celebrate the Memorial Day weekend with plenty of sweet, hard, beautiful cocks!

Wet Newsmen

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In the midst of my recent rush of productivity and, basically, kicking ass at work, I didn’t even notice that neverland turned 2 years old. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve been building this monstrosity for most of my life, so just ticking off a 2nd anniversary seems impossibly short. It’s been about 95% pleasurable, which is pretty damn good odds in my experience of past-times. In honor of the beginning of year 3, and taking us back to my homoerotic wrestling blogging roots, here are some pics from a Men’s Health feature on ABC News’ Chris Cuomo. Chris was the subject of my first topical post two years ago. Specifically, I snagged a capture of Chris in a dunking booth, his white t-shirt soaked and plastered to his rippled torso. These latest pics are of Chris, once again soaked (as he ought to be in every photo he ever takes), this time in muscle hugging lycra competing in his first triathlon. Chris commanded a whole lot of attention around these parts for about 8 months, until the point that Good Morning America passed over my favorite Italian stallion news muscle hunk and instead promoted George Stephanopolous to the anchor chair. Those bastards. I’m still bitter. Until Matt Gutman does a shirtless newscast slathered in baby oil, I will continue to resent ABC and refuse to return to my loyal GMA viewership.
My lust for newsmen muscle led to Chris Cuomo and five other news crushes of mine appearing in a fictional homoerotic wrestling tournament in my imagination. Chris was an early favorite in that tourney, though things didn’t quite go his way in the end. Because it seems like I can never get enough of fantasy-Chris, he did prevail in a five-way battle-royale in the serial News Division wrestling broadcast in the Producer’s Ring.

What Chris’ journey through my homoerotic wrestling imagination and through his real life evolution as a “serious” ABC newsman illustrates, and what my experience of blogging for two years confirms, life is full of change. For all that’s changed and all that’s stayed the same, for good friends and fellow kinksters, for hot homoerotic wrestling hunks, both real and imagined, I’m grateful for the past two years.

Use What You Got

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Did you see that Jeff Timmons, boybander from 98 Degrees, is now dancing with Chippendales? Word is that Jeff is planning on releasing a new album this summer, and some appearances stripping and singing with Chippendales in Las Vegas is a bit of a PR buzz to promote the music.
There’s a catty edge to the reporting on this that I’ve seen. There’s a wink-wink-nudge-nudge aspect to it that seems to suggest that there’s something shameful here. The headline for the NY Post asks if the “Sold Out” sign in front of Jeff is supposed to be ironic. The Inquisitr says that you should bring your “old” CDs from junior high and high school with you to the show.
I find the cattiness irritating on a few levels. For one, the suggestion that the only audience for Jeff is former 1990s teenie-boppers is patently absurd. I haven’t heard him sing in a while, but I was definitely not in junior high when 98 Degrees was a going concern, and I’d pay good money to see him take his clothes off (and, sure, sing some) any day. I’d pay even more to watch him wrestle… but more on that in a minute…

It’s not like having a body like that is something that anyone should need to apologize for. Being that fit and gorgeous doesn’t just fall into one’s lap, particularly not at age 38. I say more power to him for continuing to have a rockin’, totally marketable bod that people will pay money to watch and, if he’s got any chops, perhaps they’ll discover that he’s not just good to look at. Use what you got, baby. No apologies needed.

There’s something particularly nefarious about the social critique of the commodification of the body. The notion that we shouldn’t be “selling sex” or objectifying the body for sexual gratification has the odd capacity to put right-wing prudes and bra-burning feminists in bed together, which is a sure sign that it’s from Satan, if you ask me. The notion that we can “objectify” the human body is itself a ridiculous farce, as if to say that Jeff Timmons is something metaphysically removed from his smoking hot bod. It’s ridiculous to argue that to lust after him, to pay to see him wearing nothing (or the Chippendales equivalent), to be sucked in to ogle him in order for him to have a shot at pumping up record sales and padding his checking account… that somehow this is degrading to Jeff or a sign of shame. The commodification of the human body is the moral equivalent of “intellectual property.” What we produce, with our bodies, our minds, our creativity, our willpower, is now and has always been a good to barter for other goods. Whether he sells us the sounds that he can make with his vocal chords or the sexual fantasy of watching him flex his luscious pecs, it’s all Jeff making a living with what he’s got, with who he is. To insist that the marketization of Jeff’s completely marketable body is somehow an objectification of him as a person is to insist that who he is essentially non-physical, non-sexual, a mind-body-split entity hovering somewhere removed from his milky smooth skin, his icy blue eyes, his chiseled, dimpled chin and all those hot, hard muscles.

Personally, I’ve been fantasizing about a Jeff Timmons revival for a while now. I had him written into the wrestling ring months ago, taking on rival boybander JC Chasez for a crack at a second swig from the jug of fame. It’s a nasty fight that even a square ref can’t quite keep entirely within the lines. Outside interference earns one former boybander the victory by disqualification, but I always imagined there being a sequel to really settle the score… maybe Jeff’s due for some PR buzz and bodyworship in my imagination, as well.

Precisely My Kink

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I’m perpetually irritated by the presumption of politicians who propose to speak on behalf of “the American people.” As soon as I hear the phrase, “the American people” come out of the mouth of a politician, I have an instant, low boil rage that starts. Even when politicians who speak on behalf of “the American people” say things that I agree with, I’m irritated by the arrogant, self-serving rhetorical device of glossing over the diversity of opinions, priorities and passions of 300 million in order to construct some nugget of partial truth that is fundamentally nothing more than pithy propaganda. I’ve toyed with the notion of refusing to vote for any politician who speaks on behalf of “the American people,” but within the past 10 years, that would mean that I’d never vote for any candidates for national office, and that just doesn’t seem right to me.
The purpose of this rant is really just to reiterate a point that I make often around here: even within the relatively cozy confines of the homoerotic wrestling kink “community,” a multitude of tastes and opinions and passions define us as diverse, contradictory, and complex. Anytime I see someone argue about what “gay wrestling fans really want,” I stop reading, because it’s a fundamentally flawed premise that undermines any argument that follows. If at any point I’ve ventured into that territory of speaking for “us all,” then you have every right to call me out on my hypocrisy. But despite any unapologetic moments of intellectual discontinuity, I strive to reflect on the pages of this blog my tastes, my kinks, my passions and predilections. Come along for the ride if you like, but I really know only what I like, not what you like.
For example, I’m infatuated with Lon Dumont. While I’ve heard from several readers who are similarly fanatical about Lon, I’m not under the impression that all of us in the homoerotic wrestling kink corner of the internet are unanimously enraptured with the sharp as a whip, witty, competition bodybuilder with many years of pro-wrestling experience. Some of you probably didn’t have the same knee-jerk, raging arousal to learn that Lon would be appearing in a catalog 87 new release from BG East. Speaking for no one other than myself, however, the news a couple of weeks ago of a Lon Dumont wrestling match was profoundly titillating.
Gut Bash 8, turns out, completely strokes my kink! I’ll wax ecstatic about the sight of Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) trapping Eddy Rey in the ropes and squeezing his head between Mr. J’s bulging thighs some other day. For today, I’m going to focus in on the marathon of gut pounding torture of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy, and the muscle-ox that is his opponent, Joe Robbins.
The existential dilemma posed by Lon v Joe is age-old and intimately wrapped up in the calculus of aesthetics and masculinity in the male form. Lon is a gasp-worthy work of art. He’s perfectly proportioned, cut like a Tiffany diamond, and virtually flawless. I say “virtually” only to give a nod to Lon’s concession that Joe has incomparable legs, which Lon doesn’t even pretend he can compete with. But Lon is unwilling to concede that his sliced to the bone abdominals and obliques are indisputably superior to Joe’s, which, less face it, are flat and fit but nowhere near the perfect shape of Lon’s. Joe, on the other hand, dismisses Lon’s abs for being just about aesthetics, and instead argues that his are superior because they “serve a purpose.” Form versus function, beauty versus beast, grace versus power… there are a lot of ways to approach it, but in the end, it touches on primal questions of the nature of masculinity, making this match explicitly about who’s got better abs, but implicitly about who’s got bigger balls.
Joe is always menacing understated, at least in everything I’ve seen him in. His voice rumbles at an octave lower than some canine’s can hear. It isn’t necessarily apparent at the beginning of the exchange just how personally Joe takes Lon’s rapid fire, cocky swagger and insistence on his superiority. As they take turns, all gentlemanly and self-restrained, delivering fists into each other’s mid-sections, the irritation on Joe’s face slowly grows. It’s not until Lon’s final punch doubles Joe over and sends him stumbling backward, clearly in pain, that we see with crystal clarity how Joe really feels about this entire situation. He’s pissed. He’s really, really pissed.
As Lon predicted in his exclusive interview on this blog a few months ago, the one thing that can pose a serious challenge to Lon in a 1-on-1 is a massive freak of mother nature about 100 pounds bigger than he. Joe is precisely that massive freak of mother nature, and Lon is just never going to weather Hurricane Joe for the long haul without an act of God intervening on his behalf. This match quickly reminds me of some of the classic “endurance” battles of homoerotic wrestling days gone by, where the match is all about watching how much punishment one man can take. The pinfall or the submission is less pertinent than the seconds of agony ticking away between them, each one bearing testimony to the man on the bottom’s tolerance for pain.
With wrestling savvy, salesmanship, and world-class conditioning, Lon can take a whole lot of punishment. He manages just a few rallies, but momentum never stays Lon’s way for long. But what exponentiates Lon’s sexiness in Gut Bash 8 isn’t just the erotic gold of watching a gorgeous hunk suffer; it’s that he takes it for so long. He makes Joe work for every gasp and wince and pleading submission. Joe is coated in sweat by the end of this story, because Lon makes the big, big boy work for it like someone with a the weight advantage that Joe has over Lon should never have to work. 
The hints from earlier in the year were that Lon has an invitation to appear in more BG East bouts, perhaps this time sporting a full head of hair, even harder muscles, bigger quads, and a thicker back. I don’t know if Lon is still on tap to show up in another wrestling fantasy for me to be infatuated with. But if he is, I’m pulling for the powers that be to unleash Lon on boys who are, say, within 30 pounds of his weight class. Watching Lon take on big boys is definitely entertaining, but I’d love to watch him work over a cocky musclehunk somewhere near his own size. Lon has a commanding presence, a totally packaged persona, and top-notch delivery of precisely the wrestling repertoire that turns me on. More Lon may not be at the top of everyone’s wish list, but it’s at the top of mine!
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Reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Lucas Payne, has a lot going for him. His body wears me out just looking at him. Everything is notable… the thick pecs, the gorgeously shaped arms, his self-named “thunder thighs” (which I think had an entirely different connotation about 20 years ago), that stunningly tight muscle ass.

But I’m surprisingly drawn to his upper back as I marvel at young Mr. Payne. He has a beautiful medallion tattoo right between his shoulder blades. I struggled for way too long to try to snag a decent close-up of it to feature him in this week’s Name That Tat quiz, but I never quite caught the right view, damn it. Even more captivating for me, however is the width of his astonishingly wide lats. There’s just something about those proportions that screams for you to (try to) wrap your arms all the way around the astounding thickness packed across his upper torso… the lats, the boulder-size shoulders, and those mountainous pecs all ringing his torso like a suit of armor.

Lucas got my nod for homoerotic wrestler of the month primarily on attitude, not that the body hurt his chances any. I like rookies who make a big impression on me, so Mr. Payne was destined to be in the running for some kind of accolades sooner or later from me.

I went into some detail about his newest release (and his first victory) for RHW against Trent Novack, and I just spent some time enjoying his debut match against Austin Cooper. I won’t belabor the full assessment of Payne going down to Cooper, because I tend to consider Joe and Ringside at Skull Island’s reviews the definitive word as a rule. I will say that I love Lucas’ delivery of abuse in the corners, and I’m weak in the knees to see him on the receiving end of humiliating torture captured in the ropes. Love a big, beautiful muscle man taking punishment trapped in the ropes…

The veins popping out across his shoulders as he threatens to snap Austin in half in a fall 1 winning over-the-knee backbreaker is also made-to-order for my particular kinks. It’s certainly not the case that Lucas Payne has “arrived.” He could do so much more with all those muscles, all that attitude, and all that athleticism. Frankly, however, potential can turn me on, as well. I’d love to watch him develop even more ring presence. It’d be fantastic to watch a big, hard young buck like that take his knocks, learn the ropes, and really command a plot in the ring against some savvy competition.

But it’s an excellent start to a story, with all the raw elements to grab my attention, hold my attention, and keep me watching, wanting more, anticipating what the future could hold for a gorgeous, snarling, bodybuilder breaking into homoerotic wrestling. There are a whole lot of fly-bys in the business, so I won’t be surprised if he quickly fades into obscurity. But for simply entertaining me like few rookies of his experience ever do, I’ll keep my fingers crossed that he hangs around long enough for some character development to occur.