Help Wanted

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Someone help me out. I’m awed by the bodies on display in this clip of Lindy Caulder vs. Mike Allen via ageless1 on YouTube. Mike Allen and his muscled arms, shaggy head of hair, scruffy face, and just the right amount of body hair is a hot little package (especially with those classic trunks pulled up to his bellybutton).

But my eyes pop out at the sight of Brit wrestler Lindy Caulder (and here’s where I need help). I can’t find anything else on this gorgeous musclegod other than some old card results from the 60’s. In this match, Lindy Caulder is right up my alley. Holy hell, look at the thickness of that back!
The clip is pretty poor quality, so I can’t snag any grabs of his stunning frontside that do him justice. But even poor quality grabs provide abundant evidence of the massive, round pecs, astonishingly pumped arms and thin little waist on this bodybeautiful.
The commentary on this match pisses me off. At least half the match, the commentators ignore the sweet action in the ring. Personally, I’d like to have seen Caulder hop out of the ring and bodyslam both of them to the cement for being so disrespectful. A seriously built bodybuilder who can move with such grace and speed in the ring is truly a wonder. That shaved, lickable head is way ahead of the curve, and the stash (the only bodyhair visible) is hot! I want more Lindy Caulder! Help me!

For Love of Zombies

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Perhaps more in keeping with Halloween, I just came across the trailer and website for L.A. Zombie. This is so much hipper than I am, but I’m fascinated and therefore must comment. L.A. Zombie is a film by Bruce LaBruce wedding zombies and gay porn. Prolific pornboy, Francois Sagat stars, and the trailers and promo pics show him in various states of either becoming the undead or transforming from the undead to alive, or both, in changing states of undress.

I’m finding this so provocative! I can honestly say I’ve never thought of zombies or zombie movies as a turn-on before. While I’m not at all into necrophilia, Sagat’s decomposing (yet unmistakably rocking) body turns my crank. I’m all confused and trying to decide if I should feel ashamed of lusting after a homicidal animated corpse… clearly this is art.
The website includes promo pics depicting some of the porn scenes (only hinted at in the YouTube trailer). A zombie getting a blow job just makes me tilt my head a little, wrinkle my brow, and grin sideways. What does it say about me that I see the equine cock of a muscleboy with gangrene skin and tusks protruding from his bloody mouth and I think, “I’d do that!”

I’m fairly deeply disturbed and pretty significantly titillated at the same time. Bruce LaBruce: you are an artist. And Francois Sagat: I’ll pick you up on the side of the road, dead or alive!

Message to the Electorate

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Okay, I promise. This will be my last politically-minded post for a while. Today, millions of people are casting ballots about “gay marriage,” legal protections for same-sex couples, and candidates whose campaigns are built at least in part on fear of “the Gays.” In times like this, it can be hard to stay centered. It can be difficult to know how to feel when you’re part of a small minority of the population being evaluated for the extent of your citizenship by the faceless majority. I suppose we could pray for a good outcome. We could wait on the edge of our seats as the returns start to roll in this evening. Or perhaps we could take a different approach:
BG East boy Brad Rochelle* has the right idea, I think. When the political storms are brewing, the best thing to do is look gorgeous and flip the bird.
Gerard Butler is a quickly rising stock in my lust-portfolio, in no small part due to the dozens of pics available displaying the Scotsman’s rational, reasonable response to annoying people who would strive to make him into an object and a commodity. We should take a lesson from Gerard’s response to the paparazzi, and salute “the electorate” accordingly.
Seriously, I have no clue who this guy is. TMZ tells us that he is (was, wants to be?) Miley Cyrus boyfriend. Whatever. He’s got sweetly rippled abs, a mouth poised for penetration, and exactly the attitude I’m feeling about election day 2009.

Frankly, though, I’m not sure these guys capture quite the sentiment that I’m trying to put my finger on here. The middle finger salute is on the right track, but it’s lacking the volume that I think is commensurate with the dehumanizing role that ballots play in offering the faceless majority the opportunity to screw over the Gays.
There we go. Brooklyn Bodywrecker is communicating the sentiment clearly. A double bird, the word “fuck” clearly forming across his lips, and his balls resting across the chin of some obliterated punk (let’s call him “Doug“)… that captures both the content and the volume of the only appropriate response to election day 2009.

And though Trevor Adams doesn’t appear particularly fierce in this fantastic performance art piece, I’d like to end with him and his shiny chest. Trevor looks ridiculous and ironically uninvested as he lets fly a pair of birds. Perhaps that’s the most constructive place to be in today. Looking gorgeous and oiled up, in a g-string, dancing, pointing a double-barreled “fuck you” at the world and yet not really caring so much.


*I don’t know the actual political opinions or ideological leanings of any of these guys. I do know, however, that they’re gorgeous and make me smile.

Leaving Legs

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The weather is turning, and my infatuation with legs is suffering from a lack of positive reinforcement as all the hardbodies bundle up. Until the speed skaters arrive in Vancouver with their tree trunk thighs squeezed into skin tight spandex, I’m afraid I won’t be seeing many gorgeous legs on display for a while. Putting to rest this latest infatuation, I thought I’d share just a handful more wonderful images of legs put to wonderful use, squeezing the breath out of an opponent.

Johnny Olson performed in a handful of matches for Can-Am early on. A baby-faced bodybuilder, Johnny cried out for humiliating abuse. When he got his knocks in, though, you could believe that when those muscles were put to good use, his opponents would seriously be in a world of hurt. Here, Johnny squeezes those massive, gorgeously hairy legs tight against a sweetly suffering Corby Banning, being choked by that massive calf muscle crushing his throat.
He didn’t hang around long, but I loved BG East studpuppy Marky Mark Oxner who oozed personality (and buckets of sweat) in his few matches. There are lots of great punishing scissors in his match in Fantasymen 9 (never a more aptly named tape). Marky was cocky, stunning, and made me believe that he believed he was the shit.
Steve Sterling, the classic bodybuilder turned homoerotic wrestler, had seriously huge legs. Look at the vascularity in those thick calves as he laces his ankles together. The arm bar, his chewing on his lower lip in concentration, the classic 80’s stash… a fantastic moment in time!
And finally, another classic moment in time from one of Mitch Colby’s finest wrestling moments (repeated on most of his matches, no less satisfyingly). I’ve mentioned it before, but it’s worth saying again, the most authentic moments in Mitch’s matches are when he’s got his opponent’s face trapped against his crotch, his legs squeezing the poor guy’s head. Mitch invariably rolls his head back, closes his eyes, and I completely buy the moment of his total, humiliating domination of his chump. Mitch is not an Oscar-ready actor, so I’ve got to believe he really gets off on this moment of scissoring his opponent’s face deep between his legs. Flexed and enthralled, Mitch appears transported, and I, in turn, am transported as well. Love me my Mitch (though he’s still only runner up to the newly crowned champion of my lust/heart: Derek Da Silva).

Another Side of Wrestling

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FetishHunks had several free clips from their wrestling vids up on YouTube until just a few days ago. Their account was cancelled all together, so I’m suspecting Big Brother may be involved. You can still see some clips on their webpage (click on some of the matches in the store and you’ll see a free preview – same as were up on YouTube). This is wrestling as a side dish, without a doubt. A little story and a lot of commitment give these guys some sweet credibility, I think.

Pornboy Nick Harmon seems to be the muscle dude behind the madness on FetishHunks. He’s also the most frequent protagonist showing up in their wrestling sides. He’s a sincere little studpuppy with a hot muclebod. He also makes several appearance in their Muscle Worship department (and Shaving, and Ass Play, and…), and that very round ass of his is a tasty morsel (decent ink, too).
In their wrestling sides, there’s a lot of script showing, but there also frequently appears to be a bit of legitimately throwing each other around. Even in the public pics there are some hard cocks on display, so at least some of these guys get down to business.
My number one turn off with FetishHunks (apart from the snuff-film crap) is the occasional site of XX chromosomes. The view between the legs of a spread-eagled woman is NOT what I want to see when I’m browsing for some turn-on material. Oy. Talk about buzzkill. Frankly, though, that’s what you get with homoerotic wrestling as a side dish: our wrestling side by side with someone else’s kink. So no harm, no foul. Just be forewarned.

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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He-Man (and the Masters of the Universe) turned me gay. Yes, a cartoon is to blame. How better to indoctrinate young boys into the joys of musclebound, scantily clad, sword-thrusting-obsessed gym bunnies? I was a tad older than the target audience for the animated television show, but I avidly snuck in some guilty after-school viewing because it was totally titillating. I was a little confused about the whole idea of an animated character turning me on, but I didn’t allow that confusion to kill my buzz. He-Man and his massive, nippleless chest enthralled me. His six pack abs disappearing down into his furry briefs and those lovingly drawn legs with quads as big as his waist (and calves not far behind)… I’m not sure if I wanted to be He-Man’s boytoy in Eternia or have He-Man materialize in the eye-popping flesh in my world. Either would have been fine with me.
He-Man was actually a royal prince who was a total wuss. He was a bodybeautiful musclegod behind the thin disguise of a sissy boy. Ummmm… seriously? Is anyone shocked that a whole crop of gay boys sprang from that seed!? The closet case who thrusts his sword erect to claim the liberating power of a leather harness and bikini briefs? He-Man should be the mascot for EVERY gay pride parade.
I was way too old to have any excuse to have seen the Dolph Lundgren live-action movie Master’s of the Universe in the late 1980’s… and yet I saw it. Did I mention Dolph Lundgren was in it? Perhaps my first in a long line of giant, blond, Swedish stunners for me to obsess about.
Dress Dolph in nothing but a harness and a leather bikini bottom (or less!), and I’m defenseless. Get him sweaty, chained, and whipped, and my teenage self was ready to cum hands-free, right there in the theater. Dolph, Dolph, Dolph… so many fantasies…
Apparently there’s been on again/off again rumors that a new He-Man project could be in the works (most recently: off again). It seems that there’s debate about how “cheesy” to make it, or whether to play it as some sort of Conan the Barbarian melodrama. David Madison at Unreality Mag spent some time fantasy-casting the new movie according to his tastes, with a very respectable choice of True Blood Aussie bodybeautiful, Ryan Kwanten. I like that thinking, though Ryan would need to add at least 35 pounds of muscle mass to have any resemblance to the demi-god of Eternia. The rest of Madison’s choices leave me flaccid, and that is distinctly not in keeping with my childhood memories of He-Man. Perhaps we’ve missed the basic premise that EVERYONE in Eternia is built like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Gary Oldman as an evil villain with 20-inch biceps and obliques that can cut crystal? I’m smelling bad special effects or very disappointing eye candy (and box office suicide).
I’m all for a remake of Masters of the Universe. It must have some of the key elements that made it iconic in the first place, though. It must have an entire cast of muscle bound demi-gods, featuring the cock-tease king himself, He-Man, in a leather harness with a HUGE sword (a-hem…). It must include some bondage, preferably with our naive blond muscle hero humiliated in chains. It must have sweaty, muscle on muscle grappling. If this classic formula is adhered to, I guarantee box office success… and another generation of boys turning gay.

Tricks and Treats

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In keeping with the spirit of the season, I thought I’d send up Thunder’s Arena and their Halloween specials. Frankly, I think of Thunder’s Arena as a side dish of wrestling, but as far as I know, wrestling is all they’ve got going. So technically it’s a main dish, but the production, the sets, and the story lines seem pretty backyard-with-a-camcorder – familiar low-budget tricks. The prices, though, reflect the very beautiful boys that they put up.

Zack Vazquez seems to have been with Thunder’s Arena for most of the duration, and he’s often the feature fighter. The first time I saw Zack wrestle, I almost couldn’t stand it. He looked like he was about to bust up laughing at his own camp, which is a BUZZ-KILL. Oddly, re-watching the same match, for some reason I was less turned off. Eventually, Zack’s Thunder’s persona and weak salesmanship (particularly with regard to suffering) has somehow fit itself into my expectations, and I am thus now entirely free to marvel undistracted at his beautiful, modelboy body.
The two Halloween specials from Thunder’s Arena both feature Zack, and both coincidentally feature him getting the crap kicked out him and strangled (what they make up for in gorgeous bodies, they lack in original/interesting story). Despite the lack of range, Zack’s performances do permit us to see him stretched out and squeezed and manhandled, presenting viewers with multiple opportunities for body worship. His opponent’s never appreciate Zack’s assets, and frankly, that prevents me from investing more enthusiastically. But over-camping and underselling, Zack still makes my heart beat a little faster.
That first match I saw Zack in pitted him against Alexander. Thunder’s Arena sells Alexander as a “real indy-pro wrestler” who brings the realness to the camp of Thunder’s. I’ve never seen an indy-pro match with Alexander. Perhaps he can totally pull it off in a real ring. But here, he’s another beautiful/skinny boy with a body I could get into worshipping, but he does not sell. He’s featured in both matches in this year’s Halloween Havoc tape, including another match with Zack… and a chain… and a bucket (we see a lot of these props throughout Thunder’s Arena matches). But I’m most intrigued by the new face, “O’Shea” who, in the stills at least, appears to crack Alexander in half.
I’m only half-heartedly into Thunder’s Arena, but I do enjoy their holiday special matches. Somehow a holiday theme gives me the excuse to forgive the overcamp, look past the weak story, and just enjoy the gift (let’s call it our “treat”) of beautiful boys in speedos displaying their bodies for our viewing pleasure.

He Was a Skater Boy

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Surely I’m nothing if not predictable. The cover boy for yesterday’s post was male model Ben Godfre. In that pic, I’m not sure why Ben might be 1) in the rain in his underwear and 2) still soaking wet despite holding an umbrella. But ours is not to wonder why…

Ben has become a recurring character in my gay wrestling fiction, sometimes as just a background character, but more recently showing up “in the ring.” I’m intrigued that Ben’s YouTube channel is usernamed btwrestle05, and I’m running with the wrestling reference. In my imagination, so far Ben has beat the living shit out of Hunter Parrish and tenaciously stuck out a brutal battle with Christopher Meloni, ultimately using that beautiful body of his to dominate, humiliate, and tame some of the Producer’s Ring’s most unruly talents.
I can’t find a bad pic of Ben, which is probably testimony to both the careful image-management of “his people,” but also, I have to believe, evidence that he is simply stunning from every angle. He oozes sex, and while “oozing” isn’t at all necessarily sexy, Ben can ooze all over me anytime. Side by side with other gorgeous men, my eyes are riveted on him. In a modelboy world of narrow waists, big pecs and smoldering eyes, Ben can hold his own next to anyone.
Despite not being able to find a bad pic of him, I do take issue with the glaringly obvious work some of his shoots have done to cover up one of Ben’s sexiest features: his ink. Some shots have him twisted and strategically covered so as to leave no tat visible on a body with ink all over the place. What the hell? It would be like a beefcake shoot of Trevor Adams in a moo-moo. Don’t let them make you hide it under a bushel, Ben!
On the other hand, some photographers are seeing exactly what I’m seeing. Ben’s calf tat is sexy, sexy, sexy (when they aren’t making him wear knee high athletic socks to cover it up). In just a couple shots, I’m glimpsing some ink across the arch of his left foot (fantastic!). And the gorgeous ink on the back of his right arm is breathtaking (then again there are multiple points in this shot that are taking my breath).
But the inside bicep tat makes me need to wipe the drool from my chin every time I see it. The multiple shots of Ben with his right arm over his head, with that incredible ink side-by-side with those almost transparent brown eyes is simply art on art on art.
I’m predictable, I know. It’s not like you’d expect anything else from me. The gorgeous boy with the bold, unique ink, wearing next to nothing: it’s no wonder he’s a rising star in my wrestling fiction. Hopefully we’ll continue to see much more of skaterboy Ben in this world and in my imagination.

There is No Debate

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It’s the time of year in America when state and local elections hit the fan. Depending on where you live, you may be seeing a lot of homophobic, hateful campaigning (like I am) around polarizing candidates or statewide initiatives. It seems like pretty much every year, lately, the gays go up for a vote. And every year, we get sucked into believing that our liberation, our dignity, our very identities are at stake as our neighbors go and vote based on how bigoted or “tolerant” they are. If you’re like me, you can’t help but get swept up in it, to get anxious, to fear what happens if the votes go the “wrong way” or the hateful candidates (perhaps once again) win the day.


So today’s post is both for you and for me: Breathe. Calm down. Turn off the television and the radio and stop reading the op-eds. Remind yourself that there is no vote that will determine whether you are acceptable or respectable. No hateful candidate will ever be able to legislate away the beautiful, passionate, precious person that you are. Your dignity is not in the hands of any citizens initiative. The haters can hate and the tolerant can tolerate, but that has nothing to do with the fucking fabulous human being you are, and they will never be able to do anything about your capacity to love and be loved.

So the next time you think they’re voting about you, or legislating about you, or judging about you, flip them the bird and consider these two gems:

1) First, if you haven’t seen it, you must check out this amazing commentary from the man who was robbed (ROBBED I say!) of the opportunity to run for the presidency (only) on the South Carolina ballot last year. This offers a nice, fresh perspective from my favorite “conservative” pundit:

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word – Don’t Ask Don’t Tell
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Religion


2) And second, just consider all the things that they cannot take away from us, no how, no way: Like Greek gods barely squeezed into black leather pants.
And amazing, shiny bodies that will be worshipped, whether they want it or not (and they do).
And massive pecs crying out for someone to thoroughly lick them.
And stunning bodies telling the timeless tale of domination and submission, cocky control and sublime suffering, power and surrender, mastery and compliance.
Who we are, the dignity with which we live, and the passion that makes our hearts pump faster is not up for debate.

From a Distance

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Despite my ambivalence about MMA action and its frequent dabbling in homophobic vomit, I keep coming across more and more MMA boys making me salivate (that’s a distasteful mixed metaphor, but I’m keeping it).


My twin-separated-at-birth, Joe at Ringside at Skull Island, recently asked us to consider how a match up between ultimate fighters Matt Riddle and Eric Bradley might play out. I have no idea what these guys really bring to the table regarding who comes out on top, but in my imagination, I can’t see a scuffle between these two guys ending without Riddle engaged in serious pec worship on Bradley (the pec tat decides the tale of the tape for me).
Tattooed Hunks is putting up some beautifully tatted, fierce looking boys, but sadly I have no idea who they are. This serious looking fella has some gorgeous, colorful ink on his arms. I would really enjoy the opportunity to help him out of his gloves… etc.
This shaved head brute (let’s call him Sigma Boy), looks like he’s got massive back ink and the jawbone of a gorilla. Whatever he’s doing with his hands, I’m up next!
And speaking of being up next, I would pay money for the ride that the pale dude is taking here. The massive beast with his opponent clamped to his throat and back squeezing the life out of him… that’s seriously sweet. I hope once the tat boy is knocked out, his opponent takes some time to closely inspect the artwork.
This guy has amazing coverage. The amount of time in the chair represented by that canvas is incredible. Personally I’d like to see some color, and the sheer size of those pec tats actually obscures what looks like decent muscle. But who the hell am I kidding? I’d worship that… particularly in his undies.

Okay. That’s about as much as I can take of MMA. The commentary, the interviews… they always end up just making me feel ashamed to have a Y chromosome. But I’m more than happy for other happy hunters to cherry pick the beauties for me to admire. Thanks!