More Olympic Spirit

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So I don’t actually know what the magazine Chatelaine is suppose to be about, but it’s my new favorite publication in the world. You do not have to be a Canadian woman to eat up what they’re serving with their expose’ of naked Canadian winter Olympic hunks. Until I can find a similar treasure trove for other nations, Canada officially is fielding my very favorite winter Olympic team of athletes. Take freestyle skier Warren Shouldice shown above… better yet, leave him all for me.
Another Candian freestyle skier, Ryan Blais, is sporting that “oh-you-caught-me-in-my-underwear-and-ski-boots” pose. It turns out, Ryan didn’t make the Canadian team, despite kicking major freestyle skier ass (speaking of, I think Ryan’s got a fantastically muscled one). I would be willing to offer my consolation and sympathy in whatever form Ryan would like. But the ski boots are not coming to bed.
Rob Fagan of snowboard cross is made for the ring, if you ask me. Those pecs need some serious pounding, and that mop of hair is asking to get yanked as he’s dragged from turnbuckle to turnbuckle.
Kyle Nissen, seen here strategically placed behind his freestyle skis, looks to me like he’s got attitude… and that he doesn’t manscape too much. Both of those are hot qualities in a winter Olympian, if you ask me. Put down the skis, Kyle, and remove the gloves.

Finally, long-track speed skater, Francois-Olivier Roberge illustrates why speed skaters make me so delirious. Sadly, Francois-Olivier’s legs are cut off in this pic, but the thickness of his right quad and the shape of that left glute are hinting at the world class wonders of a speed skater’s anatomy that bring me such joy.

Only 7 days to go of obsessing about the best bodies that winter sports has to offer. Go team Canada (naked)!

In the Eye of the Beholder

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A couple of weeks ago, someone was talking about the diversity of bodies and talents in the BG East stable at the BGE yahoo group. It seems every so often, we fans can get catty and hypercritical in our assessment of the homoerotic wrestling boys. Someone made a generous counterpoint, saying that even the boys that don’t have “the best bodies” offer something tasty to wrestling. Among the list of classic twinks with perhaps less than perfect bodies, Rafe Sanchez was mentioned.
Huh? I had to re-read the sentence several times. The proposition was that Rafe Sanchez is someone who doesn’t have the best of bodies, but we love him for his other talents. What the….?
The conversation reminded me how subjective beauty is. I, for one, find Rafe’s body simply stunning. Rafe, for another, is also clearly enraptured by the sight of his own physique. He routinely requires his opponents to worship him, which, in turn, makes me adore him even more.
I get it, that Rafe’s not exactly a bodybuilder. He’s not as thickly muscled as, say, Rio Garza. He’s not as sincere as, say, Mitch Colby (the champion homoerotic wrestling pornboy of my heart). He doesn’t have the wrestling chops of Kid Vicious, or the pendulous balls of Josh Goodman.
But I would certainly not meet this fine, fine body at a bar and think to myself, “Well, he doesn’t exactly have the best body.” Rafe is a tasty, tasty treat. He oozes sex. I can smell his intoxicating pheromones emanating off the screen. His ass is imminently squeezable. His pecs are clawable. His abs are evidence of some healthy workouts and a seriously high metabolism. When he sneers arrogantly, it drives me nuts with an impulse to grab him roughly by his shaved head and clamp my mouth onto his. And he’s in love (love, love, love) with his beautiful, long cock that stands at perfect attention; and loving yourself is an aphrodisiac if you ask me.

Not to ruin the suspense for anyone, but I for one am more than happy to see a familiar whipcord-tight, fantastically stubbly chested hardbody in the newest update on BG East, in Masked Mayhem 6. That body in a masked, erotic, competitive battle in the ring is golden.
Thankfully, diversity is the spice of life. Perhaps the hardbodies that turn your crank might leave me limp. I don’t begrudge anyone who would take a pass on pounding Rafe. But as for me, he’s an instant erection, never disappointing, and someone I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from in any setting.

The Next Chapter

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Have you checked out Joe’s new writing group via Ringside at Skull Island? It’s just a week old, and already fun, interactive, and yanking hard on my wrestling kink chain. The rolling question for February is what celebrity do you want to see get his ass kicked, and who should do the kicking. I put in a plug for Sean Faris to get beaten senseless by either Brad Pitt or Fergal Devitt, whichever of them finishing off with their beautifully muscled asses planted on Sean’s face. Joe helpfully suggested a nice double-team scenario to enable both of them to make Sean suffer and get themselves off at the same time.

I’m seriously into Joe’s 15-minute free for all format. He’s started a celebrity wrestling story with Paul Walker strutting arrogantly to the ring. Contributors can then submit the next move of the match, each of us taking no more than 15 minutes to write what happens next. In all, three of us have contributed to what has become a seriously nasty bout with Italian heartthrob, Raoul Bova.
I haven’t discovered yet why these two are so fired up to fuck each other up, but clearly there’s something going on here. Paul didn’t let the Italian Stallion finish climbing through the ropes before launching a blindside attack on the hirsute stud (my contribution).
In a classic match up of blond, bronzed, blue-eyed surferboy vs. smoldering, dark, hairy hothead Italian, Paul and Raoul have traded crotch blows, headlocks, DDTs, eye gouges and bearhugs.
Hard feelings and hard cocks are growing quickly as the match unfolds. Promises are being made to mess up at least one of the pretty-boy faces in the ring. This is classic golden boy meets tall dark and handsome, with a side of sadistic sexual overtones. I can smell the sweat flying off of both of these hunks, I swear.
Where will the match go next? Who will ultimately emerge victorious, and how will he decisively humiliate his opponent and claim his prize? Sign on, read up, and write your next chapter in this wrestling kinkster’s dream. See you there.

More Olympic Spirit

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A few more provocative reflections on the winter Olympics. Apparently U.S. bronze medalist snowboarder Scotty Lago has left Vancouver “in disgrace” after these photos surfaced on TMZ. I’m a little unclear as to the melodrama of his shameful retreat. Are we seriously to believe that winning an Olympic medal is not getting most of these honored athletes laid? This photo only shows some playful, simulated oral sex. I would bet a lot of money that there are many, many more world class athletes getting blow jobs for packing some fresh metal on a ribbon these days. This should be a disgrace? And look at the abs and torso tat on Scotty! Does anyone believe that this hot young hunk wasn’t before, during, and after the Olympics enjoying groupies willing to worship that tight little body? Oy.

From It’sABeautifulLife and Chatelaine, I’ve also found some nice pics of Canadian winter Olympians looking quite studly and more than a bit suggestively posed . Biathlete Jean Phillippe Le Guellec is spread wide and straddling his long pole.
Similarly, freestyle skier Vincent Marquis is double fisting his pole. Now this is a world class body! I do love a curly head of hair to drag hardbody hunk around the ring with.
Put Vincent in the ring with Steve Omischl, another freestyler, and we have the makings of pure gold for all parties, if you ask me.
Ski jumper Stefan Read has abs made for pounding! I’m desperate for a jockstrap matchup between Stefan and “disgraced” Scotty Lago. Now this is what I’m talking about the winter Olympics needs more of!

A Little Closer

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I keep myself at arm’s length from mainstream pro wrestling these days. Too much homophobia; uninteresting stories; plasticized bodies. Mainstream also frequently leaves me with a need to pop in explicitly homoerotic wrestling to write a happy ending to the story. So why waste time with the middle man? The clever minds at BG East understand the potential of cross-promotion, though. They dangle teasers from New Pro Wrestling in the BG East updates to tempt me back to consume some more mainstream pro products. The latest Arena update at BGE nearly gave me whiplash. I scrolled through the teaser pics from New Pro 8 not expecting much to hold my interest. But then I got a look at Flyguy.

Sweet. The sight of this gorgeous bodybuilder absolutely destroying his much smaller boy-next-door babyface opponent immediately puts me at full attention. His tattoo doesn’t hurt his appeal for me, either. His jewelry looks like a serious hazard in the ring… I’m surprised the insurance company would allow something like that.
The description of this match at New Pro doesn’t quite name this as a squash, but I have to believe that’s what this is. Per my comments earlier this week on what works about a squash for me, Flyguy’s work throwing Wildfire around like a child puts me way over the top. From the preview pics and video, it appears that Flyguy has his totally dominating, sadistic way with his plaything.
While I don’t quite buy the end of this match, I give total credit to any man with Flyguy’s physique who can pull this off. In the ropes, suspended upside down, bodyscissors intending to apply maximum pressure on torquing the boy’s back in the wrong direction… it looks like Flyguy commits to this, and I appreciate it. I don’t buy this as the match finisher. The illegality of it makes the submission a little nonsensical. But for showmanship and sell, it makes me smile.
I still feel the need to keep mainstream pro at arm’s length. The Wal-Mart-ization of pro wrestling still leaves me longing for a more regionally based industry, with better skills and more wholehearted performances. New Pro 8 makes me want to pull Flyguy a little closer than arm’s length though. Perhaps trading bearhugs…
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Battle of the Gods, finale

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Despite what you may have heard, I’m not delusional. It’s not just a figment of my imagination that Adam400m and SteelMuscleGod are engaged in mouthwatering muscle competition. After both bodybeautifuls have been absent new posts for many weeks, on Monday SMG posts a fantastic new, snarling, flexing, bouncing, shirt ripping, open challenge to all comers to measure up or shut up and worship him like the god he is.

Then, less than a day later, Adam400m shows up out of nowhere to show off the freakishly superhuman vascularity in his forearm. It’s as if he just couldn’t stand letting SMG have the most recent video out, so he tossed a 15 second bone to remind everyone that he’s worship worthy and ready to be sized up.
In late December, the same scenario played out, with Adam400m posting just two days after SMG. Three weeks earlier, SMG posted a cum worthy display of cockiness, followed less than a day later by Adam400m showing a new clip of his monster quad workout. It’s not just my imagination. These muscleboys are in a battle of the gods, vying for worshippers and snapping and snarling at one another implicitly.
Speaking of my imagination, last I filled in the story of this battle of the gods, SMG had managed an astonishing reversal. Crushing Adam into the wall, SMG was leaning over and verbally humiliating his dazed rival slumped defenseless on the floor.
“You’re a big boy, but you’re no god,” SMG spits. Dragging Adam up to a seated position by a handful of hair, SMG wraps his right arm around Adam’s head and slowly curls Adam’s face tighter and tighter against his flexing pec. “Look at that muscle…” SMG growls, clearly in lust with his own physique. “Look at it!” he suddenly shouts, commanding Adam to open his eyes. Adam’s eyes flash open obediently, finding his nose being crushed against the rock hard slab of muscle of SMG’s right pec. The scent of SMG’s sweat, testosterone and adrenaline fill Adam’s nostrils. SMG pumps his right arm, grinding Adam’s face deeper into his smothering chest. “I think you’re ready,” SMG says after Adam passively suffers his humiliation without protest for a full minute. ” Grabbing the back of Adam’s head in both hands, SMG position’s Adam’s mouth directly on top of his right nipple. “Suck the tit of your new god, mortal!” SMG barks. “Lick it, now!”

Adam no longer realizes where or when he is. He’s disoriented and exhausted. Without conscious will on his own part, he finds himself automatically obeying his opponent. He plants his lips around the perimeter of SMG’s nipple and traces its circumference with his tongue. Adam savors the salty flesh in his mouth, beginning to suck, massaging the tip of his god’s nipple with his eager tongue. Adoringly, he wraps his arms around SMG’s waist and presses his face harder against SMG’s chest, abandoning his claim to believe himself a worthy rival any longer.

A low, animal-like groan come deep in SMG’s throat. He smiles down at his obedient worshipper, before his eyes wander adoringly across the mounds of muscle of his own body.

The Gift that Keeps on Giving

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I’m so pleased with a couple of President’s Day presents I got this year. What, you don’t exchange presents on President’s Day? How sad for you. You should consider it next year. It’s fun.

The first present I received was a nice, hot piece of wrestling fiction giving us a glimpse of what Bode Miller’s future might look like if he ever accepts an invitation to meet with Vince McMahon. Bode won bronze just a couple of days ago at the Olympics. He also gave an interview with Matt Lauer that made me think that Bode’s still a little dickish. Matt had to spoon feed Bode some lines to get Bode to say something warm and fuzzy about his baby.
Bode still has a naughty fratboy air about him that I continue to think would serve him well in pro-wrestling. This new piece of fiction now posted at the Sidelineland wrestling fiction group paints a picture of Bode’s up-close introduction Chris Master’s granite pecs.
Then, totally coincidentally, another reader dropped still another fictional wrestling match in my inbox to share with the Sidelineland wrestling fiction group. Sweet! From an entirely different angle, this second original piece of hot creativity paints us the picture of what it would look like for the boys of the 80’s TV show CHiPs to finally prove who’s in charge. I seriously love me some of Jon’s blond farmboy look, and frankly I was ready to put money on him cracking Ponch like a hazelnut across his knee. But don’t count out the Latin heartthrob.
I was so inspired with the spirit of giving, I put my nose to the grindstone and finished off a fictional match I’ve been working on for a while. Ripped from the headlines, my twisted imagination wondered what might it look like for fitness model muscle god, James Dawson Martin to answer Mitch Colby’s MySpace ad looking for some musclehead to wrestle. Mitch, the reigning title holder of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, has his hands full with the massive muscles of ambitious young James. The production team gets sucked into the action in this BG East fantasy fight, as muscleboys learn, once again, the importance of reading the fine print before you sign your contract.

For anyone interested in reading and, hopefully, contributing some original wrestling fiction, you can find these hot and sweaty tales of hardbodies at the Sidelineland wrestling fiction group.

Seriously, this was my favorite President’s Day ever. By far. Hands down.

The Sincerest Form of Flattery

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Somewhere I lost track of Smallville. You’d think that would be like heroin to me (as in, addictive), but pretty faces without much skin to show for themselves made me lose interest. I also waver back and forth with Superboyman Tom Welling. Sometimes I’d tap that; sometimes I’d kick it to the curb.

But last weekend I was stood up and bitterly channel surfing, and lo and behold, I stumbled across some very, very tasty skin on Smallville. Carlo Marks, where have you been all my life? Well, you look like you’re about 17 years old, so I’m guessing you’ve been jail bait all, if not most, of your life.

The brief but explicit body worship here reminds me a little of the 80’s movie, Hunk, picking apart each gorgeous aspect of a muscle stud’s rocking body. It also bears more than a passing resemblance to Tobey Maguire’s mirror scene in Spiderman where he wakes up to discover that he’s suddenly “buff.” For that matter, Tom Hanks should probably get some royalties for the entire plot of this episode.
More Carlo Marks beefiness, please. And while you’re at it, I think Tobey Maguire may have a score to settle with him for stealing his scene. The two of them in a cage match is the only way to settle this. I’ll tune in to the CW again once that’s ready to air.

Never Had a Chance

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The Canadian women’s hockey team has been criticized for beating their first round opponents 18 – 0. It’s not in the spirit of the Olympics, so the story goes, to humiliate your opponents. Just beat them. What is it that goes into deciding to score those 5 goals in the 3rd period? It’s simply not about winning anymore. It’s about statement. Frankly, it’s not really about making a statement to your opponent, really. It’s about making a statement to potential opponents who might be considering taking you on. Show no mercy in utterly humiliating your outclassed opponent and tell the world you’ll fuck up anyone else who dares to go toe to toe with you, too.

A recent conversation at Ringside at Skull Island made me think some more about the wrestling squash match. Some folks just aren’t into the squash. Seeing one man completely outclass his opponent on the way to devastating humiliation doesn’t turn everyone crank.
Most often, though, it turns mine. For me, it isn’t that there’s no competitive spirit in a squash. The competition just isn’t all happening in the ring. The humiliating squash is the message sent to the arrogant punks sizing you up back in the locker room later on. When Billyboy took a jab at Brad Rochelle’s balls, Brad completely demolished the doe-eyed hunk. Brad tortured the punk far past the point of necessity as a message to the next piece of shit that might think it was worth a stab to use Brad’s testicles like a speed bag. The testosterone laced kink is the sneering challenge to the hot shot who thinks they’re ready to take you on next. Just try me, and you’ll see me unleash the merciless destruction on your ass that I’m unleashing on this piece of shit.
It’s a fascinating, titillating sight to see an eager/dumbass young hopeful climb into the ring when the rest of us know that he’s got no chance. It doesn’t have to be a mystery to be hot in my book. When Jeff Phoenix showed up without his partner for his tag team match against Jose and Cruze, the hardbody hunk was all mouth. He boasted he could beat both heels by himself. You knew and I knew that Jeff was in for complete destruction. Jose knew it. Cruze knew it. Hell, for all his bluster, Jeff knew it. The heels took their time in systematically double teaming Jeff’s muscle ass like artists, illustrating that it’s not the science of the knowing that always matters, just like it isn’t strictly the competition that tells the story in the ring. Sometimes, it’s the artful execution and merciless thrill that makes it worth it.
The demolition as art can be a beautiful thing that revs my engine. Kid Leopard’s skills have always been awe inspiring. It’s not like we can’t tell when he steps into the ring with another eager/dumbass musclehead destined for humiliation. We watch because we want to see just how he’ll go about it this time. In what way will he twist and torture the stud? What gravity defying position will he force the unsuspecting blowhard into, and how long will he toy with his victim before forcing him to finally scream in submission? How will he make us gasp and his victim cry?
Kid Vicious is the same sort of battler. The smile on his face as he crushes Joe Driver’s hhhhhuge package under his boot makes me a little lightheaded. KV sells his sadism with such mastery. His inevitable dismantling of the fresh meat dangled in front of his face is never seriously in doubt. It’s his style, his savagery, and the systematic ownership of his opponents that keeps me coming back for more. Like several voices at the BG East listserv, I’m all for a long overdue KV spotlight. I just vote to throw him at least a couple bright-eyed, hardbodied rookies who actually think that they have a chance when they step in the ring. Their shock will be my happy ending.
Finally, Mitch’s motel match against Jeremy Burk comes to mind as one more squash done right, in my book. The reigning champion for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy title, Mitch is relentless. Jeremy is his plaything from the moment he steps into the room. Mitch overpowers him and completely owns him just about every step of the way. And I turn every page eagerly, not because the climax is somehow in doubt, not because the “what” of the plot keeps me guessing, but because the how is so delightful to see unfold. Spank that punk’s ass with his own shoe, Mitch! Suspend him upside down with his head squeezed between your knees. Do those push ups on top of him, grinding your crotch into his face over and over again. I knew you could do it. I just wanted to watch. It may not be the spirit of competition, but it gets me off.

More Olympic Spirit

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I swear, I won’t obsess about the Olympics ceaselessly. But I can’t help myself but comment on the Dutch Olympic champion 5,000 m speed skating gold medalist, Sven Kramer.

This is precisely why I’m an occasional consumer-fan of speed skating. If a sport requires you to be covered neck to toe, at least make it so skin tight that we can tell if you’re circumcised. 6’1″ (isn’t that short for the Dutch?), 23 year old stunner Sven was incredible to watch yesterday. Those tree trunk thighs pumping smoothly as his notable package was pressed side to side with each stride… I was hypnotized.
This pic is from a different competition, but offers another pleasing view of the wonders of speed skating gear. I could seriously get into some gear fetish with Sven packed into his cat suit like that!

Apparently, Sven is a promoter of bread products back at home. I love that the ad boys had the wisdom to oil Sven up for this shot. Yeah, bread… that’s what this shot is selling.

Less oil, more bread in this shot. The sly smile on his face here is filling me with the Olympic spirit. I’d like tickets to the after-party where dimpled-face Canadian Denny Morrison, frustrated with his 18th place finish, lures Sven on the back patio and pearl harbors him from behind. Some speed skater on speed skater crotch abuse is surely in order. I’m not sure who would win, but bones could surely be snapped if the tussle turned to scissors.