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While enjoying my recent purchase of BG East’s Backyard Brawls 6, I was reminded once again what a beauty Denny Cartier is. I hope that there’s a broad audience for hunky Denny, as I want to see much, much more of him. He has the body and moves that make all the erotic connections for me in wrestling kink. What also strikes me is what a gorgeous face and what a fantastic, hunky, handsome cleft chin he has.

I’ve mentioned it before, but I don’t really know what it is that’s triggered in me when I see a hot cleft chin. Is it some evolutionary programming to associate strong jaws lines and classically carved chins with masculinity? Brad Rochelle, for example, has always been sex on a stick in my mind. There are a lot of things about Brad that make me hot and hard, but it’s that dramatically dimpled chin that makes me melt.
You don’t have to be a homoerotic wrestler to have a cleft chin that turns me on (though it does help). Aaron Eckhart is mostly chin, and the awesome cleft is an incredible turn on. He can play the clown, the cad, the smarmy bad boy, but he’s always the highly erotic sex puppy in my mind.
Thomas Jane of HBO’s Hung similarly wins me over with he chiseled chin. Frankly, I initially went back and forth, trying to decide if Thomas was lust worthy. Something doesn’t quite all line up in Thomas, but I can’t put my finger it. But that fantastic profile makes me set aside whatever hang up I can’t quite name, and place Thomas unquestionably in the sex-stud category.
I never had any pause in worshipping Viggo Mortensen. He oozes sexuality. I’ll crown him king and worship at his feet any day, anywhere.
Like I said, one doesn’t have to be a homoerotic wrestler to have a chin that I obsess over… but it helps. Chip Slater is the chin that launches a thousand ships in my mind. I was not expecting to be fixated on Chip when I bought my first product that included him. But he’s so… fucking… hot! He wrestles hard, and he gives every indication of being a legitimate sadist. He tortures every opponent’s balls. He’s vicious and completely into domination. He has a hot, while not overly muscled body. But that chin is almost obscenely sexy!

Whatever it is… evolutionary hardwiring, socialization, personal idiosyncrasy, I’m a big fan of the chiseled, cleft chin.

It’s Art

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A YouTube video entitled Hot Guys with Tattoos posted by a Dutch boy who goes by fckinghotguy? As if there’s any way that I wouldn’t watch that! Sweet collection of hot stills of beautiful boys with tats.

Here are few of my favorites. The color, the bodies, the muscles, the art… This sort of ink is so tactile! I just want to touch it, read it… okay, lick it.

Check out 2:12, where Wolf Schmidt from BG East’s roster makes a well-deserved appearance. I didn’t see the stunning back of Derek da Silva, which is a tragic omission, but otherwise, this looks like a comprehensive, highly entertaining, eroticized homage to the beauty of “hot guys with tattoos.” Nice work!


Go-To Guy

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If you’re like me (and of course, you are), you occasionally find yourself jonesin’ for a big, round, squeezable ass. I don’t know what I’ve been smokin’ lately, but I’m definitely jonesin’ these days. If you find yourself in a similar place, may I make a recommendation?

His name is Sandro. Just Sandro. Like Cher and Madonna, Sandro needs only one name. I suspect that he realized no one was listening long enough to pay attention to his last name. That stunning ass is just too distracting.
I recently succumbed to the manipulation of advertising and purchased BG East’s Backyard Brawls 6. Sandro’s late night face-off with TJ Tanner is a wonder for anyone on the hunt for a bubble butt. TJ gets it, too, and I sincerely appreciate that about him. He can’t keep his hands off Sandro’s ass from start to finish. Every opportunity he gets, he smacks Sandro’s glutes. When Sandro puts on his game face and repeatedly applies bearhug variations, TJ suffers nicely, but truth be told, I’m screaming at the screen to get the camera angle on Sandro’s sweet ass.
Sandro has a nice coital/wrestling face. He has a beautiful body and a fiercely handsome look. But if it’s a gorgeous, round, muscled bubble butt that you need, Sandro’s got to be on your list.

A Perfectly Good Shirt

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Generally, I’m up for most things. At least I’m willing to give most things a try. It’s not that I find everything erotic… but I’ve got an active imagination and a perpetual-motion-machine for a libido. That said, clearly there’s a fetish market out there that, at first glance, you might think I’d be totally into. Yet when it comes to shirt ripping (or other clothes shredding), I must say, it doesn’t do much for me.

Still, everyone’s doing it (even in slow motion!), so somebody must be getting into it. People are paying money to see All American boys and Vista boys and Musclehunk boys and Flex-Studio boys (hey, I think that boy got his ass beat by Mitch Colby!) rip their wife beaters off. I’m not judging, mind you. I fully approve of seeing more skin. But some of you, I can tell, are a little orgasmic at that very point at which the fabric rips away from the muscled specimen underneath. More power to you. I just doesn’t tickle my fancy like that.
SteelMuscleGod is taking a break from observing YannS try to topple Adam400m out of top contender’s position for a crack at SMG’s divinity. He just posted another adorable clip of him in a size-too-small club shirt. His godliness does his best incredible hulk routine, flexing so hard that he busts out at the seams. Someone is fantastically titillated by that moment, and I so respect you for that. As for me, I just want to hear him snarl and watch him flex, and like Joe, I’m getting some extra value-added at the sight of SMG in his glasses.
The homoerotic wrestling boys of course get into the action, further providing evidence that there’s a market out there that I’m just not part of. They pretty much all end up yanking each other’s clothes off, but a select subgenre is clearly catering to you kinksters who want to see the clothing actually ripped as they’re stripped. Can-Am has been running their Suits to Nuts 1 series in serial format in their pay-area recently. I keep checking it out, figuring that at some point I’ll suddenly get it, but the shredded clothes just don’t do it for me. In fact, they get in the way of the hot bodies a bit for my taste. I do appreciate the use of a ripped sleeve to savagely choke out your opponent. But that’s just about foreign objects to me, not the clothes themselves.
So it’s not my kink. Still, it tells a nice story, and I can completely understand how it might be your kink. I may not necessarily buy it for myself, but I’ll damned well defend your right to buy it for you!

Playing with Fire

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The final season of the Tudors is finally running. Katherine Howard is burning bright and sprinting swiftly toward headlessness. Henry is finally looking a little less like an Abercrombie and Fitch model. JRM looks like he put on a little (just a little) weight. They’ve filled out his face with more facial hair. And they’re showing close-ups of his horrifically oozing leg wound (nice FX, boys!) that probably made him the bitter, fevered, stinky, foul creature he became as his megalomania consumed him.

Enter hot young thing to play the part of Thomas Culpepper. Torrance Coombs’ eyes are astonishing. It’s hard to look away whenever he’s on screen. This smoldering young hottie is going places, undoubtedly.
I can find no one capping The Tudors, so I can’t find any of the shirtless shots of Torrance from episode 1. So let me paint the picture for you: pale skinny white boy. What, you say? That doesn’t turn you on? Excellent. More lovin’ for me, then.
Not all pale skinny white boys do it for me, but a healthy subset of them light a fire in my crotch. Torrance is most definitely a case in point. The nerd, the geek, the underestimated vicious heel… there are a lot of roles for a skinny white boy that I find plenty erotic. When they have absolutely riveting faces like young Torrance, he gets a pass to the front of the line in my affections. I don’t think it’s just me, though. Thomas Culpepper doesn’t have long to live (unless they once again seriously screw with history), but Torrance is one skinny white boy heading somewhere.

Sex in the Morning

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I haven’t found much to obsess about among the newsmen lately. The morning news time slot is skimpy on hot hunks these days, and that’s a crying shame. Matt Lauer continues to fail to satisfy my lust for news hunks. Harry Smith from The Early Show on CBS possesses both a forgettable name and face. So despite my promise to punish ABC for denying me my daily dose of Chris Cuomo, I’ve occasionally flipped through Good Morning America in search of a new newsman crush.

Perhaps, just perhaps, the GMA substitute weatherman, Jeff Smith, could qualify for a new newsman crush. He has a “president of his fraternity” look about him, which can go either way for me. He has a quick wit, which makes him definitely sexier. And it’s probably just me, but I think he looks like a cleaned-up version of Andy Roddick (which can’t be bad). Yeah, it’s probably just me, but they could at least be brothers. Jeff:
Andy:
Clearly, Jeff is the object of more than just my affections. He has NYC girls pining over him on the boards. If I could find more looks at him, I think he’d find himself in the cue for a debut in some wrestling fiction. Perhaps Jeff and Andy (who has already made his Producer’s Ring debut) might need to throw down for a frat house chapter room romp. More likely, I could see our hunky meteorologist going toe to toe with Mr. Abercrombie himself, David Muir, for the title of champion news hunk on the rise. David made a seriously strong debut in his first wrestling fiction match, and I think that David has the sort of character that I’ll particularly enjoy writing more of. Hold onto your dimples, Jeff, because I think David will be fiercely intent on rearranging that pretty face of yours.
Personally, I think the morning news seriously needs to take some cues from the Producer’s Ring. No one, and I mean NO ONE is tuning into television news in order to be informed these days. We get information a thousand times faster elsewhere. But we still tune in, because we’re interested in the packaging. We’re looking for some sugar with our coffee (or, in my case, tea), to sweeten the otherwise bitter taste. If we’re going to have to ingest earthquakes and legislative hearings and the daily tally of who is killing whom and how many, then at least titillate us with a groin stirring hunk of a weatherman or newsreader.

…In My Hands

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Having returned to a fixation on asses, here’s yet another ode to the wonders of the wrestling muscle butt. I’ve mentioned before the particular joys and plot of the ass slap. A slightly different story captivating me lately is the ass grab.

Fine distinction, perhaps, but we’d hardly say a forearm to the side of the head is the same as a excruciatingly long side-headlock, would we? No, (to answer my own question), we would not. The slap is a humiliating strike, the playful sting that delivers the message of pain on command. The grab, on the other hand, is the more sexualized sign of ownership.
My favorite wrestling pornboys are most sympathetic to me when squeezing their opponent’s cheeks. Hands down, that’s the moment through which I’m most intimately living vicariously in the homoerotic wrestling scenario. When Sebastian Rios finds himself on his knees in front of a thonged, oiled Rafe Sanchez, he does precisely what I would do… what simply has to be done in that moment (well, at least one of the things that must be done). He slides the palms of his hands up Rafe’s gorgeous cheeks and underneath his thong. Any opponent that fails to take an adoring squeeze at Rafe’s ass is a little unbelievable to me.
I surprise myself just a little at how much I get into Bruno Sinclair and Ricardo Dias’ cub training session. Ricardo’s lingering squeeze on Bruno’s muscled glute just looks so right. That’s an authentic moment that sucks me right into the scene. Whatever else I may not quite believe about homoerotic wrestling products, I’m utterly convinced by the slow, solid squeeze of a hard ass cheek.
When it happens in the heat of battle, all the better. I totally get it when Michael Wood finds his head captured in Ross Davidson’s arm, squeezed against Davidson’s ribs and inches away from his muscled ass, and Michael grabs two, open-fingered handfuls of muscle. Sure, it doesn’t do anything to counter Davidson’s advantage. Okay, so perhaps Michael will suffer that much more for his distraction. But that’s so very much, precisely, absolutely what I’d have to do, were I in his position.
The victory squeeze isn’t bad, either. After the story is told and one man has been owned, the appreciative cup of the cheek, once again, makes complete sense to me. I believe that my libido and Kid Vicious’ hands are, in fact, psychically linked, considering he always grabs, pounds, and squeezes exactly what I’m thinking. After delightfully owning Niku Samir in every humiliating position possible, Kid takes a feel of Niku’s ass appreciatively. The drive to dominate and humiliate, paired with the lustful adoration of a loser’s physique, is just genuine in my mind.
Truth be told, I’m a softy at heart. The mutual ass squeeze, naked and sweaty, at the end of a balls out battle is just about the most satisfying denouement for my money. I don’t care for watching a lot of pulled punches, or at least not a lot of poorly sold punches, but I completely buy it when ferocity to dominate turns into mutual worship. Cock pressed to cock, hands squeezing each other’s glutes, the wet heat shared as hearts pound, chest to chest… that’s what it’s all about for me.

Another Blast from the Past

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Joe at Ringside at Skull Island got me obsessing about Kevin Von Erich again. It doesn’t take much to get me obsessing about Kevin. He’s starred in so many of my personal erotic wrestling fantasies. I remember watching him in a match, had to be late 80’s, where he was apparently fighting with one bad arm. As a result, the entire match was a series of drop kicks and body scissors in which Kevin proved that he could, indeed, beat his opponent with one hand tied behind his back.

This photo of Kevin in his youth, squeezing a sack of grain between his ripped thighs, takes my breath away. I’m not a wealthy man, but I’d put it all on the table to exchange places with that sack of grain for fifteen minutes. Kevin’s physical development was at least 10 years ahead of the rest of the pro-field, and even then, I’d take Kevin then over a room full of WWE roidheads today.

As far as I remember (someone will correct me, I’m sure), Kevin always played the the sincere farmboy white knight. He was always indignant at the presence of evil heels anywhere and everywhere. He battled to prove the superiority of skill and hard-earned muscle over the machinations of guile and underhandedness. He was always a little pissed off, never content, even with his arms raised and screaming fans pawing at him in desperately lustful adoration.
Kevin never had a classically handsome face, but who the hell would ever notice with a body like that? His legs, the eroticism of his bare feet, his ripped torso, massive pecs, thick shoulders and veiny, muscular arms… it was ostensibly all about the hard-honed warrior, but no one, not even the straightest Texas straightboy, could have missed that Kevin was an object of mindless, hormonal, sexual lust. His ass… my, oh my.. his ass… Every drop kick and scissor hold required him to flex and squeeze those muscled cheeks, and without fail I continue to be slack-jawed and 100% aroused at the sight of Kevin (particularly from behind).

I don’t think there’s ever been a pro-pro who’s done it for me quite like Kevin. These days, I simply have to turn to the pro-pornboys to capture the homoerotic text that Kevin dictated so commandingly 25 years ago. Like Joe, I long for the days when the pros actually battled, body to body, with long held, punishing holds squeezing the strength out of one another until one barefoot muscle adonis outlasted his opponent, leaving the poor loser helpless on his back, looking up at the fierce young musclegod having his arms raised to the shrieking approval of all of us desperate to touch, feel, and be captured by our hard hero.

Giveth and Taketh Away

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BG East has some seriously sadistic sickos working for them, and I’m not sure whether I mean that in a good way. Here’s the story: I woke up this morning, and when it occurred to me that today’s is the 15th of the month, I eagerly checked for the BG East Arena update. Truth be told, I look forward to the Arena updates probably a little too much, each 1st and 15th of the month. I get a little disregulated if the updates are late. Today, though, I was thrilled to see that the update was already posted early in the morning.

I felt a little light-headed with excitement when I saw posted an advance peek at catalog 82’s Tag Team Torture 12, because my most recent wrestling boy crush, Lon Dumont, was there. Lon is clad in brief, shiny orange trunks that match his gorgeous tag partner. If anything, Lon looks even more shredded than in his BG debut in Fantasymen 32. I am instantly enraptured at the sight of Lon’s swagger, his polished pro strikes, his timing and tight, shredded body. I checked out a couple of the photos, and then decided I needed some morning caffeine to truly appreciate the beauty of this wonderful find.
When I came back to my computer several minutes later with tea in hand, Lon’s tag match was gone. True, nearly as exciting, Tyrell Tomsen is now up in another tag match, apparently from the same tape. Tyrell is in his competition bodybuilder shape. He’s gorgeous. I’m thrilled to see more of him. But what… the… hell… happened… to… Lon!?!?
You cruel, cruel bastards! Don’t get me wrong. I love your work. I love the quality and quantity of your work. I love your excellent customer service and quick ships. I feel like we’re old friends, considering how much correspondence has gone back and forth between us over the years of me buying your products. But this cut is so deep! What did I do to you? How did I offend you so, to deserve this horrific treatment!? Tag Team Torture, indeed. Is this because I said I’d like to see the behind-the-scenes match-ups that surely resulted from short-tempers as a result of your recent overtime coping with the flooding? Is it because I pointed out that you had some typos in the description of Lon’s products? Why?
My desperate hope is that your webmaster just hit “replace” rather than “add,” and that I will have the opportunity to drool over fresh, hard picks of Lon soon. Please. Please? My pre-order is in hand. I’ll shine your shoes (or whatever else requires me to be on my knees in front of you). I’ll probably hate you just a little for some time to come over this cruel, sadistic move to torment me. But we can make this right. I don’t mind some sweetly erotic suffering from time to time, but this is just vicious!

I Need a Hero

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This piece of bizarre from the New York Post grabbed my attention. The story reads, “NYC’s own superheroes.” Apparently, there are actual costume donning hero-types who walk around seeking to intervene on behalf of the forces of good. I’m a little unclear on a few points… for example, how does anyone in a superhero costume in NYC attempting to intervene in ANYTHING avoid getting a major ass-kicking?
Well, okay, this guy probably avoids a major ass-kicking because he’s a sexy piece of meat. “Dark Guardian,” as he calls himself, reportedly surveils Washington Square Park drug traffic. Being extra-conspicuous, both by wearing a superhero costume and by being a sexy little hunk of dark and handsome, probably helps to keep plenty of eyes on him, which in turn makes him less likely to be assaulted. I don’t have the research on that theory, but it makes sense to me.

I suspect DG bewilders his evil foes with the combination of crazy-mother-fucker and sexy-piece-of-ass personas. Apparently he’s all about doing good pro bono, but I think he could make it worth his time to hire himself out for some masked beatdowns in the ring. Not that I’m naming names, but I can think of at least one internet wrestling kinkster who writes homoerotic wrestling fiction who wouldn’t mind being DG’s arch-enemy. Let’s just call this supervillain “The Bard-inator,” and then picture the comic book panel with our villain’s arms locked across DG’s abdomen, lifting him off his feet in an excruciating rear bear hug.
There are apparently other masked hereos prowling the streets of New York who the Bard-inator would have in sights. Once Dark Guardian has been conquered and turned into his arch-enemy’s slave-toy, the two of them would almost certainly have to ambush the Camerman and Life in a dark, steamy alley. The Bard-inator would lay claim to personally destroy Life, piledriving the top of his head to the pavement, ripping off his mask, and similarly turning another white knight into a minion of the Bard-inator’s sexual conquest of all cocky do-gooders everywhere. Life… fiction… life.. fiction… whatever. Bring it on!