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!

Ode to Legs

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Legs are fantastic tools of control and humiliation in wrestling. The alignment of gorgeous legs and homoerotic domination is hot, hot, hot. While my current obsession with sexy legs is at the forefront of my own thinking about the subject, clearly I’m not the only one appreciating the many excellent uses to which legs can be put in hot wrestling action.

Wrestling Arsenal has page after page of fantastic head scissors from every angle. He has one entire page marveling at the joys of Mr. Joshua’s crushing legs. As Wrestling Arsenal points out, Joshua Goodman likes to deploy his massively muscled legs not only to wear down his man, but to torture and humiliate him. In this shot, Joshua is looking down the length of his beautiful body to watch his opponent’s pained face squeezed beet red, just inches from Joshua’s notorious package.
Wrestling pornboy extraordainare Mark Wolff always had the thickness to make men squirm when trapped between his bodybuilder thighs. In Muscle Match 3, muscleboy Ken Daniels enjoyed turning those tables and eliciting a grunt of pain with Mark’s muscle-armored waist trapped between his knees.
It’s not just the homoerotic boys squeezing the breath out of their opponents in humiliating fashion. Paul Roma (well, okay, he’s got to be considered homoerotic!) frequently used those shiny, steel-trap legs to squeeze his opponent’s bodyparts tight and up close. This remarkable shot of Roma with Animal’s head trapped between his legs while hanging horizontally, propped up on the turnbuckle, is pure artistry.
Speaking of art, Kevin Von Erich was always the master of torturing his opponents with his legs… and what beautiful, beautiful devices of torture he had!
Still, I think the explicitly homoerotic boys get the most mileage from their legs-as-means-of-torture, better than the pros. Troy Baker could squeeze out a whimpering submission from sheer brute force, making it that much sweeter when the tables were turned on the doe-eyed muscleboy.
Standing scissors seem to me to be the most humiliating and dominating use of a wrestler’s legs. The complete, abject vulnerability of the victim in contrast with the upright, almost unconcerned affect of the squeezer tells the story I love to hear: bodies dominating bodies, possessing and taming them, controlling and claiming them.

Encouraging Exhibitionists

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Online video sharing platforms are such a remarkable evolution in human community. How else would some musclehead get instantly worshipped by thousands of viewers worldwide, with nothing more than a webcam and no shame?

I’m currently infatuated with the handsome boy who goes by SteelMuscleGod. His profile says he’s from Romania, and despite excellent English, he does have a thick accent, so Romania sounds about as believable as anything else. And speaking of thick… holy crap, his latest video spotlighting his legs is incredible. As I’ve mentioned, I’m on a leg kick, and SteelMuscleGod’s legs manage to make my head spin. The soundtrack to this clip alone is cumworthy. The accent totally puts it over the top. He gets bonus adoration points for making sure we get a gander at the muscle calves. Very, very beautiful.
I remember seeing this guy on a cheaper webcam many months ago, dressed in a wrestling singlet and growling about all the dominating torture he would inflict on his opponent. He flexed and twisted, showing off every inch of his upper body. The fact that he kept his glasses on was so charming. I’m bummed that I can’t find that clip any longer. Is it my imagination, or is YouTube getting less user-friendly by the hour?
Anyway, up with exhibitionists! I’m not really interested in paying $40 for a 10 minute private web show (if I made $240 per hour, perhaps I’d be more open to hiring someone for $240 per hour), but if others are ready to shell out that cash, I say more power to SteelMuscleGod. Now, if perhaps SteelMuscleGod and this guy were to trade bodyscissors until one man screamed, that might tempt me to shell out some serious dough (if it lasted long enough… and it got sweaty… and they were seriously into it).

What Turned Me Gay (again, not really)

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Buck Rogers turned me gay. The television show was only on for a couple of years when I was a pre-pre-teen, and I somehow remember every episode. Gil Gerard was always sucking in his gut, squeezed into skin tight spandex, with lots of visible chest hair. He was the modern-day man transported into the 25th century, forced to find his place out of his time. He was more direct, more brutish, more aggressive and masculine than his 25th century counterparts (can we say “anti-feminist backlash?”).

Looking back, it was total camp aimed at pre-teen boys. Pre-teen boys… camp… hunky dude squeezed into skin tight spandex…. I can do the math. Yes, indeed, Buck Rogers turned me gay.

One episode jumps out at me as highly erotic. Re-watching it today, I have to smile as I think back at my younger self getting so hot and bothered. The episode Olympiad featured futuristic athletes. In a classic cold war plot twist, one of the (read:Soviet) athletes was trying to defect. Buck Rogers had to come to the rescue to get the high jumper and his girlfriend out safely.
I remember thinking the high jumper was a hottie. As I re-examine the evidence, Barney McFadden, who played the character, was a pretty typical, late-70’s version of a stud. He was quite skinny, handsome, long hair, cleft chin. But squeezed into his extremely tight wonder-bra/muscle-shirt, along with the very high-cut shorts, he was instantly an object of lust for my pre-pre-teen heart. These days, the opening credits seem the hotter than McFadden. Check out the beautiful athlete at 02:40 totally making a cocky pass at the handsome reporter. Look at that eye contact! I’m guessing there’s going to be a hot time back at the Olympic village later.
Once the character Hawk came into the picture, I had a new object of lust. Tall, dark and handsome with an outfit making him appear to have a thick chest and crystal-cut abs trailing down an inhumanly long and slender torso… mmmmmm, Hawk. Thom Christopher certainly upped the sexiness.

Once again, I marvel at how much my tastes have changed over time. But as a young gay boy, just discovering the marvels of beautiful men, only inferring the wonders that those fascinating, hot bodies would one day offer, Buck Rogers and his boys absolutely steered me in the right direction.

Another Side of Wrestling

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I just stumbled across the PWP site and had a blast from the past. I used to lap that up. The wrestling is generally weak and the stories pretty unidimensional, but it’s not like they’re selling themselves as Oscar contenders. They’re just a troupe of male “exotic dancers” (not sure what’s so exotic, really) making some extra cash with some nice muscle on muscle action. They don’t try to sell more, so I totally forgive them for weak story lines and 1/2″ deep character arcs. Hell, most of their matches take place on the club floor where these guys dance (sweet Jesus, check out Scott in the dancer portfolios!!!). You can see the stripper pole in the background. This is wrestling as a side dish at its best. It’s not pretending to be a full course meal.

What I always liked about PWP was the story board format of their online store. They tell a story. Frankly, it’s not actually always the story that really happens in the match, but it’s a story with action-stills. The text is concise. Someone suffers and is ultimately humiliated in defeat. Next match.
My favorite PWP dancer-boy was, hands down, Special K. Regular readers could probably have guessed. That absolutely fantastic tummy tat is soooo tasty! It’s not like you need to make that body more attractive. Those massive shoulders and fantastically cut thighs would make this guy shine in the midst of just about any crowd. But the tummy tat makes me weak in the knees.

I think what ultimately made me lose track of PWP were the infrequent updates. They put out few products infrequently, and my postmodern mind just can’t sustain anticipation that long anymore. There are just too many bright and shiny things to distract me from remembering to check PWP once every four months. For what they offer and what they don’t pretend to be, though, they get my total respect.

Votes Needed

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I need help. Seriously, I know someone out there reads this blog. I never ask you for anything in return, now do I? But I’m asking. This is serious.

Huffington Post is running a poll regarding who should replace Diane Sawyer at Good Morning America. Generally I’m for democratic principles. But this is about Chris Cuomo, and in that case I am not above stuffing the ballot box.
The good news is that Chris is ranked #1 so far among the top 5 “candidates” being considered. The bad news is those bastards at city file are spreading the horrific rumor that Chris is slated to move to 20/20. I don’t know that even Chris could get me to tune in at 10 pm on a Friday evening to watch the snoozefest at 20/20. There MUST be a groundswell of mob rule demanding that he both stay on GMA and take the anchor seat.
Bizarrely, Cameron Mathison is #2, riding his qualifications as a former soap-opera star, Extra Entertainment “news” correspondent, and Dancing With The Stars flunky. Seriously, now. He’s gorgeous as hell, but one of these things is not like the others!
Speaking of the others, David Muir is ranked #3, as of my writing this. David is both competition for Chris in being an actual newsman and in sex appeal. David must be destroyed.
Bill Weir is ranked #4, where he should be. Bill is handsome and quick-witted, distinctly not as sexy as either Chris or David, but he’s been with ABC News for a while.
Shockingly, George Stephanopoulos is in last place. He filled in for Diane this morning, which is ominous (looks like GMA is taking the merchandise out for a test-drive). But why would George want the job? Face it, morning “news” programs in this country are only vaguely “news.” Seeing George ham it up with Jamie Oliver the Naked Chef over his recipe for pork loin just seems… well, demeaning for George Stephanopoulos. He should leave the demeaning fluff news (as in the anchor of GMA) to pretty boys who don’t mind. Like Chris Cuomo.

So I’m here to get out the vote. Vote now! Rank Chris #1. Then move to another computer and vote again.

Perhaps more importantly, I believe this is an absolutely perfect set-up for my wrestling fiction. I’m feeling a battle royale coming on. Five newsmen stripped to their trunks, last man standing in the ring gets the anchor chair. Hardbody Cameron has got to experience some fantastic suffering for presuming to get into the ring so completely outclassed. Okay, so the outcome may be a bit predictable, but I promise I’ll make it spicy!

Still a Mighty Pain to Love It Is

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They’re doing it to me again, those bastards. They’re taunting me. Teasing me. Rubbing my face in withholding what I’d like to have my face rubbed in. First of all, I return to my previous discussion of Michael C. Hall’s ass:

Yes, it’ s Dexter time. How many ways can they almost show some serious Dexter skin? The shower scene with the strategically placed shower head. The sex scene in which Dexter mysteriously keeps his pants on. It’s inhumane, I tell you! At least in this week’s episode we saw some shirtlessness… from across the room… slightly out of focus. Yet even with those obstacles, Michael C. Hall makes my mouth water. Take that shirt off, Michael. Slower…

Still no sight of that beautiful badonkadonk. Thank God for paparazzi and Michael’s need for cat litter. Even in jeans, that’s a beautiful butt! Quick, someone, find something else that Michael needs to load into the trunk! Come on Michael’s-wife, throw us a bone! Tell him to drop trou!
And speaking of bones, there’s Joshua Goodman’s cock (is that a butt-tease?). As if in answer to my diatribe about how Mr. Joshua’s package is both the center of attention and fastidiously kept under wraps at the same time, just days later BG East releases a match between package kings, Mr. Joshua and Jobe Zander.
Despite Jobe’s tats, he isn’t my favorite if he’s going head to head (if only) with Mr. Joshua. Both of these dudes have made considerable hay from straining the seams of their thongs with their equine genitalia. I haven’t seen the product yet, but all signs appear to be that this match is all about whose is bigger. Billed as “The Battle of the Bulge,” this match is conspicuously absent the little asterisk next to all the BG East products featuring nudity.
I repeat: You bastards. You cock-teasing (and/or butt-teasing), sadistic bastards. I should wipe my hands of Dexter and all Mr. Joshua products in disgust. Yet, there I go paying my cable bill for Showtime and pulling out my wallet for a fresh dose of gazebo grappling. You bastards…

Crowning a New Champion

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Ohmygod! I’m completely star struck. Derek da Silva “tweeted” (I hate that word!) about my blog last night. I feel like a teenage girl whose favorite boybander just made momentary eye contact with her from stage. Derek finds my blog entries about him “nice.” Sweet. I’ll be gabbing on and on about this brush with fame for weeks! My friends are going to hate me. Totally worth it.

I don’t know any erotic performers in real life, but I have to guess that Derek is not your typical pornboy. He was enjoying the Joffrey Ballet last night, and he’s reportedly a vegetarian into yoga and post structuralist philosophy. A gorgeous boy into BDSM AND post structuralism!?! Michel Foucault must be smiling down proudly (and with a hard-on).
As regular readers can attest, I had a crush on Derek long before he twitted (I prefer that word) about my blog. The fantastic tats, the prolific sweat, the awesome flexibility, the sublime suffering… Derek was made to order for all my kinks. But now that Derek glanced my way every so briefly, he’s jumped to the head of the line of my pornboy crushes. Mitch, you’re demoted to runner-up. If you don’t like it, you may fight it out in a sequel to Crotch Crushers (please).

Crushworthy, Captivating Calves

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I’m getting fixated again. Sorry. Sometimes, in some seasons, body parts just call to me. Sometimes it’s pecs. I’ve had infatuations with asses. These days it’s legs, and in particular, calves.

I could feel the calf obsession rising when I wrote a fantasy BG East wrestling match, in which bodybuilder Tyrell Tomsen worships his own flexing hardbody in the mirror, culminating in rolling up to the ball of one foot and flexing out his defined calf muscle. Mmmm…
So now, of course, everywhere I turn I’m captured (if only) by gorgeous legs and stunning calves. These off season pics of footballer Cristiano Ronaldo, in all his stunningly vascular glory, explain why he’s due to make an appearance in my wrestling fiction. Sweet God, just the idea of those legs scissoring someone makes me a little light headed. I’d insure those works of art for $130 million, too!
I haven’t seen the match yet, but BG East’s new release of BG’s Bad Boys looks like it starts with a pose off between Aryx Quinn and stunning newcomer, Rio Garza. If it’s a competition, Aryx’s look bigger and Rio’s look more beautiful. But it’s a win-win for me, any way you look at it.
I think well-muscled calves are particularly hot because it takes someone who really loves their body (or who naturally does a lot of sprints) to really pump out rock hard, massive calves. A lot of posers, even some bodybuilders, are huge all over, but still have skinny calves. Clearly genetics plays a big role, but someone with big, round, angular calves bears the evidence of more than a little narcissism. It takes cockiness, intense self-consciousness, and above all, focused effort to craft beautifully muscled calves. And these days, I’m smitten.