Promises Kept

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I’ve been hard on poor Zack Johnathan (aka Zack Vazquez) in the past. Of course, he’s deserved it. He’s ruined more than a few wrestling matches that I’ve been hot to watch, due to his poor salesmanship, his shit-eating self-conscious grinning, and his weakness in delivering or taking receipt on punishment in any convincing way. His body is incredible, but he’s been getting on my nerves in the ring.
I’m so pleased to report that Zack has entertained me pretty much from start to finish in his latest match for Rock Hard Wrestling. I’d have given this pitch a pass if it hadn’t been for my complete trust in the bulls eye delivery of Zack’s opponent, Brody Hancock (aka Reese Wells). This is a “revenge” match after Brody appropriately punished the model boy early in RHW’s inception. Zack arrives ready to even the score.
And shock of shocks, Zack delivers!!! His banter is much less self-conscious. He occasionally lets that shit-eating grin peek out, but he pretty quickly twists it into a focused, dominating sneer every time. And Zack’s wrestling is significantly improved, in my opinion. Zack delivers combination holds like a pro. Early in the match, he yanks boy-Brody off his feet by his throat, suspending him over his head in a sweetly convincing choke. Then smooth as silk, Zack slides Brody’s body down his own into a confidently snapped-on high bearhug. And without too much melodrama, Zack quickly sprints across the ring and drives Brody’s back into the turnbuckle. This is way more delivery and skill than I’ve come to expect from Zack.
Of course, by no means is this sale all about Zack. Dependably, Brody works this match with like the hard, hot workhorse he always is. His gear is a distinct improvement, and I’m thinking Brody is packing on some more muscle on that whipcord body that he’s making good use of. In answer to Zack’s cocky taunt, “How did you like my choke?,” Brody answers by raking Zack’s eyes across the top rope and demanding, “What did you think of that, huh?!” Later in the match, Brody has Zack pinned chest-first in the ropes, at which point he reaches over Zack’s head and shoves his fingers into the model boy’s nostrils, prying Zack’s nose upward. The gratuitous baseball pump at the end of round one illustrates the marvels of Brody’s beautiful body, though I have to note that he’s packing on enough muscle that I’m no longer wondering where he’s hiding those guns.
But still, for all the crap I’ve given Zack, I just have to say again that he just about redeems himself in this match. He’s working hard and innovating, such as countering a camel clutch by muscling his way to his feet with Brody still clamped to his back. Zack’s boston crab tapout submission totally sells me in a way that I just haven’t bought Zack’s submissions in the past. His kicks to Brody’s hamstring and smooth transition to a figure-4 leglock are polished. Even a blown gambit inside-outside the ropes suplex reversal manages to sort itself out without too much stretch of the imagination.
My one remaining complaint is a bit of off camera audio assistance that I’m finding distracting. Again I say, if the production quality wasn’t so excellent here, perhaps they could get away with some sound effects, but the picture is just too crystal to manage artificially-enhanced blows. Both boys are stomping and pounding pretty damn effectively on their own, so I really don’t think it’s at all necessary, at least not with these two. Zack as a serious contender is so nice to see. Our little boy is growing up, and his delivery of one of my all time favorite holds near the end of the match is commanding, convincing, and sweetly erotic, dominating, and humiliating. Nice work, Zack.

Ink from Behind

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Back ink works for me. Particularly a broad, muscled back makes for arguably the best canvas on the body. When utilized well, the body perfectly compliments the art and the art perfectly compliments the body. Case in point is perennial tat-boy favorite, muscle wrestler masochist extraordinaire and still in the running for my favorite homoerotic pornboy wrestling favorite rankings, Derek Da Silva. Every inch of Derek is astonishingly hot, but I could sit and stare at him from behind for days on end… okay, okay, his fantastic bubble butt is at least 30% of that, but most of the appeal is his broad, powerfully muscled, gorgeously inked back, especially when it has a sheen of fresh sweat… and he’s sitting on someone’s face.

Tattooed Hunks gives me a nearly daily fix of hunk ink, and I’m always particularly excited when some hot back art pops up. There’s just something intensely sexual about back ink. It’s obviously not something that the inked hunk himself can really admire, at least not conveniently. Rather, it’s an intensely personal text for the lucky boy who gets to see him stripped from behind. This is the view that you get when you’re on top, looking down at his stretched out back, your hips positioned against (and pumping) his ass. This is the essence of erotic intimacy – beautiful aesthetics paired with orgasm.

I’m a sucker for colorful ink. To whomever could send me some full on pics of this young stud’s artwork, I’d owe you bigtime. Not that there’s anything wrong with this view. Tats like this that traverse traditional modesty lines drive me insane. The back ink that stretches down onto his ass cheek simply demands that he unbuckle that belt and slide his cheek out from underneath his pants. That’s what good ink does anywhere, I think. It involves the whole body in telling a story. It draws the eye across the lines of muscle and ink, calling to you to feel, admire, and worship the beautiful male form.

Next to Appear on My Credit Card Statement

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Last week I mentioned (not for the first time) my love-hate relationship with Mr. Joshua Goodman’s crotch. Just to taunt and tease me viciously, in the last BG East Arena update, there are preview pics of the upcoming match with Mr. Joshua’s crotch (and the rest of him).

It looks like Mr. Joshua will square off against erotic never-say-die twinkboy on the rise, Austin Raines. The product is another in the Demolition series, and from the preview pics, I’m not entirely sure who gets demolished. Both boys look like they get some licks in (metaphorically speaking). And there are several, lingering shots of Mr. Joshua with his hand shoved down the front of his trunks, making my eyes water just a bit (as always).
This looks like it may be a step up the homoerotic scale a bit, though. It looks like both Austin and Mr. Joshua treat one another to some painful ball claws (and that’s got to be quite a handful for Austin to handle!). Perhaps even more enticing, it looks like Mr. Joshua may finally be seriously rubbing his opponent’s face in it. Where do I get in line for that ride?
Match 3 on the same DVD looks like it features Lon Dumont destroying a baby-baby-baby face. KL made my day over at the yahoo group for BGE Headquarters, letting us know that this product is available for sale even prior to the new catalog release. I can already hear the shuffle of dollar bills escaping my wallet…

More Swedish Delights

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Did you catch the story in the NYT in which Swedish/Seattle soccer beauty and underwear model extraordinaire Freddie Ljungberg says that he’s proud to be the subject of gay rumors? What’s with all the athletes rocking the pro-gay message lately? Nice work boys.

Freddie holds a particularly beloved spot in my heart for many reasons. First of all, he’s a stunningly gorgeous boy. Look at those cheek bones! … I said the cheek bones, not his oiled, muscled torso. Oh, okay, look at the oiled muscle torso. It’s all proving the same point. He’s stunningly beautiful. Score one for the knockout Swede.
Speaking of knockout Swedes, he’s also a favorite of mine for his appearance in my homoerotic wrestling fiction. He’s actually made two appearances there, first with countryman Alexander Skarsgård at his back as Freddie faced off with underwear model challenger David Beckham in the inaugural match of the All-Stars. Not to spoil the suspense for anyone who’d like to read it, but the match includes a favored image of mine of Freddie’s head trapped in a front-to-back figure-4 headlock, his face getting smashed into David’s ass, just before he escapes the humiliating hold with a nasty ball claw (good times!). Freddie’s second appearance comes in the midst of “contract renegotiations,” as part of the multi-chapter unraveling of executive assistant Andrew’s career (which in turn, set up the current Secretarial Pool auditions to replace him). So, all told, Freddie’s been at the pivot point of more than one wrestling fantasy of mine.
Freddie also owns a warm and fuzzy (okay, hot and hard) spot for me due to his tattooing. Freddie’s tats are tasteful, and a peekabo tat at the waist is over the top erotic. How can you not just desperately need to yank the waistband of his underwear down to see the rest of that tiger (which you absolutely know must be the nickname for his cock)?
Finally, as if Freddie needed any further eroticizing, he’s also an Alpha Dog. The pic of him sitting on the dock in Seattle with his Newfoundland makes me desperate to tackle the Swede and rip his clothes off him… except for the boots. A grappling session with a naked, sexually secure Freddie wearing only his black work boots is my idea of streets lined with gold!

Earning a Shot, continued

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Adam400m is up again with a new post featuring his behemoth legs. To whomever made that request of him, thank you! Next, can you request to see the same angles in a speedo… then a thong… then a jock strap?
That muscle butt of his is truly incredible, even when viewed only through the contours of his workout shorts. This makes for two video clips from Adam that have uncharacteristically gone unanswered by SteelMuscleGod. Adam is tanned, toned and more massive than ever. I hope that SMG isn’t starting to feel intimidated by the competition. When last we left Adam in the machinations of my imagination, he had ripped poor Yann’s knee and was proceeding to smother the Frenchman in the deep crevice between his rock hard, mountainous pecs.
Yann tries desperately to pry his face away from Adam’s crushing chest. He beats his fists at the Englishman’s massive shoulders, but Adam just smiles, unfazed. Yann begins to sag in Adam’s grasp, but he suddenly rallies, pulling his weight back onto his one good leg and clawing frantically at Adam’s bulging arms. The rally is shortlived, though. Slowly, Yann sags again in Adam’s grasp, until finally he’s hanging limply, arms at his sides, his face smashed against Adam’s chest by the Englishman’s arms wrapped around his head.
With a broad smile still on his face, Adam looks over to SteelMuscleGod, leaning against the wall. Adam’s eyebrows raise, questioningly but silent. SMG purses his lips in thought for a few seconds, the nods at Adam, saying simply, “Make him beg.”

Suddenly, Adam releases his hold on Yann’s head, causing the Frenchman to drop to his knees in a semi-conscious stupor. Adam grabs the back of Yann’s head in both his hands and shoves the Frenchman’s face into Adam’s speedo-clad crotch. He grinds Yann’s face into his package in slow circles for several seconds, until Yann sl0wly comes to his senses with Adam’s balls pressed against his lips. With a panicked start, Yann pulls his head away, only to find Adam powerfully shoving it downward again. Lifting his massive right leg to the side, Adam shoves Yann’s head between his thighs. The Frenchman’s entire head disappears between the girth of the Englishman’s monstrous quads.
Slowly and deliberately, Adam flexes his stunning legs, each muscle group hardening and separating in beautiful detail. Yann’s muffled cries come from deep between his opponent’s legs. Raising his hands to the back of his head, Adam flexes his core muscles and slowly gyrates his hips, applying excruciating pressure to every angle of Yann’s captured head and neck. Yann’s cries rise an octave as fear mixes with pain. Desperately Yann taps submissively at Adam’s rock hard thighs. A broad smile opens up across Adam’s face as he demands, “Beg for it!” Yann continues tapping frantically as sobs make his body quiver. Finally, Yann’s muffled voice comes from between Adam’s legs, pleading. “I beg you, please, please, please….” Adam’s smile turns into a sneer of contempt. He chuckles as he spreads his legs, watching Yann collapse at his feet, cradling his head in his hands.

Yann remains in a fetal position on the floor, cradling his throbbing head in his hands for several minutes. He pointedly keeps his eyes shut, praying for no further humiliation at the hands of his opponent. When he suddenly feels a hand grab a hold of the hair on top of his head, Yann gasps, startled. “Please…” he murmurs.

Opening his eyes, Yann looks up into the face of SteelMuscleGod hovering overhead, twisting Yann’s face toward him by his handful of hair. “Looks like you choked on your hors d’oeuvre,” SteelMuscleGod chuckled. “Now, I think I’ll have you for dessert.”

R Space

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As regular readers will realize, I occasionally have a tough time keeping up with the demands of both work and play. Work sometimes slams me so hard I can’t see straight, impeding on my social life and, more importantly for some of you, my online musings. I’m closing in on completing my contract with myself to write a blog post a day for a year. It sounded like a simple, straight-forward discipline when I set to it about a year ago. It was just intended to get me writing more, putting my thoughts out there, and building up some thick skin when it comes to comments and reviews. But it’s been anything but simple.

I’ve hung onto the daily discipline by the skin of my teeth, frequently having to sacrifice my more intentional fiction writing for weeks at a time. So the idea of also keeping up on a MySpace page, Twitter, Facebook, or whatever is now cool (clearly I’m not), seems laughable. Still, I’ve set up a MySpace page and Twitter account for reasons still unknown to me. I haven’t worked them into my life, really, but they’re there.
Occasionally readers have found me on those sites and hit me up to be “friends.” I’m resisting that word these days. Virtual social networks have cheapened the concept of a friend a bit, I think. Take, for example, the dozens of big breasted women who keep hitting me up to “friend” me. Clearly they have no idea who I am, so the presumption of friendship just seems absurd.
Still, I’m happy to be socially networked with other homoerotic wrestling kinksters, if you’re entirely understanding that my presence is very, very hit-and-miss other than on the pages of this blog. So if you’re wanting to be socially networked further, look me up and let me know in your request that you read this blog, or that you’re a fellow homoerotic wrestling kinkster, or what you’re favorite wrestling hold is… just something that distinguishes you from the phishing, vile army of devious characters hiding behind profile pictures of big breasted women.
See you around…

By Any Other Name

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I haven’t been into soccer/football in quite a while. I think I lost my taste for it when playing intramurals in college, precisely at the point at which I saw a compound fracture result from a nasty tackle (I wasn’t directly involved… just a witness). Even more precisely, I’d say it was at the point at which I heard the compound fracture. It still haunts me a little.
Haunting me in an entirely different way is the U.S. Men’s World Cup team as seen on the pages of Interview magazine. Oguchi Onyewu may be my favorite in this spread. Like all the boys, he’s got the fierce game face that makes me think he’d just as soon corner kick your head as the ball. His sculpted torso all covered in grime is fantastic.
My second favorite soccer boy from the pages of Interview is Carlos Bocanegra. He looks like he could use some help cleaning off. You can’t see it, but I’ve got two hands free at the moment to help lather him up.
Third on my list is goalie Tim Howard. Sweet pecs, shaved head, generous ink… everything except the sullen look and the four spiritual laws (I bet the two are connected) are making me a big fan.
Next up for my tastes is Benny Feilhaber. I’ll forgive him for keeping his shirt on, but only because even in a black and white photo, his eyes are flourescent. When I’m done in the shower with Carlos, I’ll be ready to hose off Benny.

Bringing up the rear in this line up is Jonathan Bornstein. Nothing wrong here at all, but he gets my last place ranking for bad posture. He’s also conspicuously lusting after Megan Fox… that’ll drop a promising hunk into last place most days for me.


I have half an eye on the competition in South Africa. I’m not nearly as into as most of my friends and, I’m sure, many of you. But I’m definitely rooting for the dirty, sweaty hardbodies from the pages of Interview. Of course, then there are the pages of Vanity Fair…

True Skin

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Is there anything to be said that hasn’t already been said eloquently? Squarehippies calls it the best premiere ever. Superhero raves, “Epic and hilarious and damn sexy!” Dlisted says that the season opener of True Blood was produced by his wet dreams.

I say Alan Ball is a genius. Nearly every sweet hunk regular on the show displayed significant amounts of skin. It’s like a hunting ought to be: no wasted flesh. To start with, I need to linger on my favorite scene of the night, and one of my favorite images of all time. 6’4″ Swedish adonis, Alexander Skarsgård, beautifully bare-assed.
The camera was making love to Alexander throughout this episode, which seems appropriate for the 6 hour fuck fest that his character was supposed to have been engaged in. The close ups, the naked rearview, the low-slung leisure wear later on… this man is incredible. The promise of even more explicit scenes to come this season is making me a little numb. He’s also amazing in this character (and not just for the skin). Alexander is skillfully playing both inhumanly cold and calculating with subtle twinges of vulnerability. Alexander has shown up three times in my wrestling fiction, twice in action, but never bare-assed. That must be remedied, and this is just the inspiration to make that happen.
Next, let’s move on to Stephen Moyer and Sam Trammell, co-starring in the homoerotic fantasy of Sam’s character. Pec to pec, this pair is indeed the stuff of fantasies. As Stephen’s character promises that a tandem shower will be a real good time, both Sam and I swoon just a little, entirely convinced. Like Alexander, Stephen and Sam have made an appearance in my wrestling fiction fantasies, appropriately enough in a tag team match taking on werewolf and vampire buddies on Being Human, Russell Tovey and Aidan Turner. There was no tandem shower scene in that fantasy, so True Blood yet again drives my imagination to new heights.
Finally, let’s linger a while on the ridiculously gorgeous bubble butt of Bon Temps favorite muscle slut, played by Ryan Kwanten. In the season premiere, Ryan is unable to get it up for two naked women working him over simultaneously. There’s a whole story line that makes this sensical, but I think a much better story line would be to see Moyer and Trammell show up after their steamy shower and satisfy blueballed Jason like only two big, hard hunks can. And just to round out my homoerotic wrestling fantasy fascination with the golden cast of True Blood, Ryan appears in three of my fictional wrestling matches, starting with losing all self-control as Jamie Bamber bearhugged Ryan into a frot frenzy.
Hell, True Blood is employing the talent so well, the real thing is starting to catch up with my homoerotic imagination! I predict that I will be up to the challenge, though, with more full contact, full frontal wrestling action to come for every single one of the True Blood regulars. And did I mention that Alan Ball is a genius?

Good Use

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Did you catch the story that the U.S. Health and Human Services Department advisory board has once again decided to retain the policy that any man who’s had sex with another man anytime in the last 33 years can’t donate blood? On the day after the debut of the new season of True Blood (more on that tomorrow), it begs the question of what’s the truth about blood?
Those of us who’ve been very, very happy to have had sex with other men since 1977 could find this profoundly insulting, dehumanizing, and humiliating. In a world in which people are literally dying because of a lack of available blood products, our blood is deemed not fit for human consumption. It’s no longer about an inability to test confidently for communicable diseases… we’re well past that problem. It’s not about HIV, regardless of what they say. There’s absolutely nothing prohibiting rampantly promiscuous men and women engaged in outrageously high-risk sexual activity from getting in the donor pool, as long as their high risk behavior was with someone of the opposite gender (which definitely still can transmit HIV). It’s about gay blood being treated as essentially suspect, inferior, and dangerous.

So perhaps the real “fuck you” message here isn’t directed at us. The real “fuck you” message is for all the desperately ill and injured straight people on the edge of survival due to a lack of my universal donor, coveted type O negative. So sorry. This blood ain’t for you. It could save your life, but because of social prejudice, the HHS would rather see you die than for you to possibly receive a transfusion of my blood.
From day to day, my blood seems pretty cheap, frankly. A paper cut here… some tender gums there… spilling a little doesn’t really amount to much. Full contact competition illustrates that blood outside the body even has an entertainment value to it. But blood for life, for the survival of those most in need, the ban on my blood being donated for the health of someone else shouldn’t just infuriate me (and you). It should absolutely appall everyone with a breakable, cut-able, illness prone body who could, through no fault of their own, end up in desperate need of a transfusion. To you, the HHS advisory committee says, “fuck you.” Protecting social bigotry is more important than your life.

With a Friend to Call My Own

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Towleroad has turned me on to a tweet-flirt that makes my mind spin. Aussie rugby boy of my dreams, the tattooed muscle god who graces the pages of gay rags often, Nick Youngquest has been tweeting back and forth with recently out Brit rugby boy beast, Gareth “Alfie” Thomas. Gareth proposed a naked Twister competition between the two of them (at which point my heart skips a beat). Nick has replied with this ADORABLE photo of the two of them shirtless and chumming in the locker room.

There’s just so much right here. Two gorgeous muscle gods clearly enjoying each other behind the scenes… muscle-on-muscle, tat-on-tat embracing… both boys with their hands at their crotches… and the sweet, unselfconscious ribbing of a seriously sexually secure straight man (Nick) hamming around with an openly gay friend.
Frequent collaborator Swito first pointed me in Nick’s direction. Swito also helped me work up one of my favorite homoerotic wrestling fiction storylines including Nick laying some massive, humiliating destruction on Canadian male model, Andrew Stetson.
Nick stars in many of my personal fantasies, and I get the impression that in real life, he wouldn’t mind. That’s a straight man worth knowing. The fact that he’s an incredibly carved, stunningly handsome, athletic bodybeautiful of iconic proportions is just icing.
Gareth is a fantastic muscle beast worthy of worship as well. He’s the sort of fierce, muscled force of nature that I always think is wasted on heterosexuality. And then, low and behold, Gareth comes out!
I’m not a misogynist, at least not self-consciously so. It’s just that I have to imagine such an incredible body like Gareth’s simply can’t be fully appreciated by a woman. My gut tells me that it takes a man to entirely satisfy and be satisfied by the incredible form of a snarling beast of a rugby player like this. The fact that Gareth has a straight muscle buddy to joke around with (and hang out shirtless with in the locker room) just makes me all kinds of happy!