Another decisive victory in yesterday’s quarterfinal propels Gabriel Ross and Lorenzo Lowe into the semis with a 37 to 26 spanking over Morgan Cruise, Skip Vance and Christian Taylor. Tyler Ford nearly rips Jimmy Clay’s head off to suck the trapped stud’s face.
There’s only one spot left in the semi-finals, and we have our first intermural contest of smoking hot kisses occurring in recent homoerotic wrestling releases. First, another candidate from what I think is the best thing coming out of Can-Am lately, their Pro Sex Fight series. Specifically, this mid-match liplock between Jimmy Clay and Tyler Ford in Pro Sex Fight 7. These hard hot hunks have ripped, stripped, stroked, pummeled, squeezed and slammed each other all over the ring. Tyler Ford exploits his opponent’s vulnerability as hunky Jimmy Clay hangs dazed and confused, spreadeagled across the middle turnbuckle. Tyler pries Jimmy’s head backward by the chin and slaps on an aggressive, deep liplock from behind.
Ethan Andrews batters, then woos hunky Christian Taylor with an all-in kiss.
Challenging Clay and Ford for the last spot in the semis is one more shot from reigning BG East kisser-in-residence Christian Taylor, who gets a mouthful from amorous hunk-punk Ethan Andrews near the end of Gazebo Grapplers 15. Having stripped one another to thongs, Ethan has slowly revealed his master plan (well, plan A) to so sexually dominate the long, lean runway model beauty to make Christian completely forget about his boyfriend back at home, Skip Vance. Christian is unimpressed, batting away Ethan’s aggressive passes one by one as he holds his own stunningly intimate mat wrestling, that is, until Ethan slaps his lips down on Christian’s and makes Mr. Vance absolutely melt!
Remarkably different candidates, different genres, different production companies, different narratives all together this time. Apples. Oranges. You decide!
I’m calling yesterday’s face off as another decisive victory. As of this post, Rusty Stevens’ liplockon Kevin Crowes easily buries catchweight face sucking between Drake Wild and Tyler St. James. The vote was a conclusive 35 – 19, and Rusty and Kevin move on to the semis along with Lorenzo Lowe’s liplockon Steven Ponce. Two more spots are still open to join the next round, so let’s get right down to this 3rd quarter-final match-up.
Gabriel Ross shocks and awes Lorenzo Lowe with his lips.
First is a second drink from the well for Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe who can’t seem to keep his luscious lips off his opponents. Wrestle Shack 16 pitted bubble-butted Jake against a veteran opponent this time, angelic babyface muscle brute Gabriel Ross. Gabriel stuns with his mammoth pecs and cherubic face, but Jake seems to seriously go limp (except for his crotch) right around the time that Gabriel plants a wet one on him.
Bodybuilder beatdown: Morgan Cruise crushes an intimate liplock out of outmatched Skip Vance and boyfriend Christian Taylor.
The next contenders to move on from the quarterfinals are a unique threesome, pulled from Tag Team Torture 16: Boyfriend Beatdown. Jobber extraordinaire Skip Vance and his real life lover, Christian Taylor, get more than they can handle when they both climb into the ring against single-handed Mason “the Mastodon” Cruise. Morgan milks the humiliation of boyfriends having to watch each other be crushed, and then squeezes out still more sweet pathos by forcing the boys to exchange intimacies at his command while he makes the both of them his tandem bitch. A unique kissing moment in a novel homoerotic wrestling match vies for your vote!
It’s your civic duty to vote, so get to clicking on the kiss that’s hottest!
Or is that the third coming!? Whatever the fuck you want to call it, the earth just shook a little underneath my feet, because I just landed on the BG East website and saw the huge reveal celebrating BGE’s release of their 100th catalog: Brad Rochelle is back!
Tease no more, Brad Rochelle is back!
I’d heard told this prophecy over 2 years ago when I made my humble pilgrimage to BG East Headquarters. Kid Leopard and several of the boys assured me that Brad was returning to the homoerotic wrestling universe and that all hell was breaking loose in response. I even was granted some epic preview pics from, what turns out to be, The Contract 10: The Reckoning, that I dutifully shared with the saints and apostles of homoerotic wrestling here at neverland. And still, over the past 2 years, I’ve been questioned, interrogated even, as to the veracity of my gospel account that Brad would one day return. Doubters and nay-sayers questioned my integrity. My devout belief in the promise handed down to me at times left me a little cold and lonely, as other homoerotic wrestling fans rolled their eyes and encouraged me to abandon all hope. It’s not really going to happen. They’re just stringing us Brad-fans along. You’ve been duped.
Brad double-troubled.
Well, suck it you apostates! Brad Rochelle is back in Contract 10, appearing in the ring, on the mats, in the back offices, in the hallways… fuck, the guy apparently takes the action into the bathrooms of the BG East compound! First up, it appears that Brad’s trip to hell includes facing two dangerous hunks at once in the BGE ring: Attila Dynasty and Chace LaChance. This isn’t the first 2-on-1 Brad’s faced down, and he’s been precisely the hunk with the skills and strength to come out on top in the past. But does he take two of the finest young asses in the BG East stable today?
Brad forced to flex!!?
When I posted the potentially apocryphal photos I’d been handed from on high a couple of years ago, I misidentified Brad’s mat opponent as a shaggy-headed Denny Cartier. I was corrected, and Contract 10 provides abundant proof that Brad gets put through the ringer by none other than Naked Kombat alum, hunky stud Jeremy Tyler. The match description on the website makes it seem pretty clear that gorgeous Jeremy absolutely crushes Brad in his second-coming tracks, and the pics make me lose my shit all over again with what appears to be a forced-to-flex scenario with Brad’s head hanging down on hits chest in defeat, his arms outstretched like a homoerotic wrestling Jesus on the cross.
The Boss takes matters into his own hands.
Holy shit, match 3 looks insane. Brad opponent? The Boss himself, Kid Leopard. Are you kidding me!?! The prototypical sadist heel extraordinaire and the hunky babyface who battled way, way back from jobberhood to give his turn on the heel wheel himself!? The Boss’ return to full-on ring action would be worthy of trumpet fanfare itself, but his return to take matters (i.e., Brad’s balls) into his own hands is nothing short of seismic! I can’t make heads or tails of what happens, because the website is milking the suspense with further sadistic mastery (like what Brad fan needed more coaxing to put in their order for this one!?). But what I see in the previews is intensely exciting, including Brad’s mouthwatering ass exposed, slapped, and, what’s this, kissed!?! There have not been many who managed to take Brad by his bull balls, but holy shit, it certainly looks like The Boss can add that to his trophy case, as well. Again I say, this looks like absolute insanity in worthy proportion to the epic historical moments that Contract 10 documents!
Still bringing fans to their knees!
Finally, to those particular doubting Thomases who not only questioned my integrity in passing along the promise of Brad’s second-coming, but argued that Brad was probably bloated and completely out of shape at this point, again I just have to say: suck it! Fuck me, please! Brad does to me in these previews exactly what he’s done to me every moment of his career that I’ve enjoyed over and over again. He’s hot, hard, and handsome as ever, aged beautifully, and lickable from head to toe. There are lots of reasons there’s long been a feverish cadre of Brad-fanatics obsessively worshipping on their knees for every single minute of every match of his career. Just one of the reasons is that he was, and remains, a gorgeous hunk of man! Welcome back, Brad. Some of us have been faithfully waiting for you!
As of the writing of this post, yesterday’s poll is now closed and neverland readers have spoken. By a vote of 53 to 24, you picked Lorenzo Lowe’s lip lock/cock claw combo on ginger rookie Steven Ponce as measurably hotter than big Ben Monaco’s post-victory kiss on slack-jawed bon-bon Mason Brooks. Happily, the poll app here at neverland’s new host appears to be working reliably, so let’s get this Great Homoerotic Wrestling Kiss-Off rolling along with the second match up in this quarter final round. Aesthetically, erotically, acrobatically… whatever your criteria, which of these two contenders from among recently released homoerotic wrestling face sucking is hottest?
Rusty Stevens ties Kevin Crowes in the ropes and savors the moment in Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4.
The first kiss in today’s quarterfinal competition is from Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4, featuring Rusty Stevens and Kevin Crowes. In the interest of full disclosure, Rusty absolutely owned the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler for ages on end, and I unofficially consider him one of exactly two studs to be permanently a favorite-emeritus, so I’m always partial. When Rusty encountered stunningly gorgeous angel Kevin Crowes in his ring, it wasn’t long before the long time veteran shocked, awed, and then tied Kevin’s wrists to the top ropes to exploit the beauty’s stunning physique at a leisurely pace. If you know Rusty’s work, you know he wants to hurt an opponent, but Kevin’s dazzling beauty makes Rusty incapable of resisting taking a break from muscle torture and grabbing that handsome face to plant a full throttle kiss on the trapped stud.
Drake Wild tames muscle beast Tyler St. James with a schoolboy/liplock pin in Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 10.
Measure Rusty and Kevin’s make out against fellow Can-Am colleagues Drake Wild and Tyler St. James in Pro Sex Fight 10. The catch-weight/sex fight combo is packed with astonishing moments of hotness as petite Drake persistently climbs that mountain of muscle to make Tyler is bodybuilder bitch. This particular moment of hotness captures the little man owning the moment and his muscle man with a naked, sweaty schoolboy pin and keeping the big man flat on his back with a breath-stealing make out session.
So you decide which of these Can-Am kisses is hottest, with the winner moving on to the semi-final round in this Great Homoerotic Wrestling Kiss-Off.
One of my favorite blogging activities in the past was polling readers. However, the blogger poll widget turned to crap a year or so ago, so I stopped posting polls. I’m hoping that Sidelineland’s new host has a more reliable 3rd party poll app. Let’s test it out. This will be a tournament poll format. I’ve selected 8 homoerotic wrestling kisses from relatively recent releases. We’ll do a head-to-head(-to-head-to-head) contest in the coming days to determine which is the hottest homoerotic wrestling kiss of the bunch. Rather than throw them all at you at once, we’ll do this elimination style. Here are your first two kisses to choose from:
Ben Monaco savors the taste of victory over a wasted Mason Brooks in BG East’s Gazebo Grapplers 15.
First up in this quarter-final round is a kiss from BG East’s Gazebo Grappler’s 15, in which Canadian stud Ben Monaco lays out and stuns niptastic rookie Mason Brooks, locking lips late in the match.
Jake Lowe sucks Steven Ponce’s face and squeezes his balls in BG East’s X-Fights 35.
Ben and Mason are competing today against another BG East release from catalog 99.2, in which Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe twist ties eager ginger rookie Steven Ponce and pauses, mid-stream, to get a taste of things to come for X-Fights 35.
So you decide which of these two homoerotic wrestling kisses is hottest. Study these fine works of art closely to make the most informed opinion, and then vote below. I’ll announce the winner in 24 hours.
I feel like I’m just about to lose my shit in anticipation of BG East’s release of catalog 100. 100 catalogs packed with some of the sexiest, most iconic moments in homoerotic wrestling history!? You’ve got to expect that reaching the centennial mark will mean something big. The Arena preview pics so far are dizzyingly hot. Just check out Joe’s assessmentof just one of the matches from the upcoming Fantasymen 35. This match features perpetual top tier fantasyman Kid Karismagetting his hands all over unbelievably pretty newbie, Kip Sorrell,, and in Joe’s words, “Karisma does a genius job of showing off Sorell’s fine points while breaking the picture-perfect physique down for spare parts.” Prepare yourself to be dazzled before you click over to Joe’s, though. Sweet Gaia, the vascularity on Kip (who is, I predict, an immediate frontrunner for both babyface and rookie of the year awards) is blowing my mind! So far the boys at BG East have released preview shots for 4 new collections (Fantasymen 35, Matmen 24, Undagear 20, and Wrestlefest 3), but a typical catalog could have as many as 2 or 3 more products, so I’m holding my breath for what more mind/wad-blowing treasure they may still unveil for the 100th (what is that, like, the platinum-plated-gold anniversary?) Since I’m obsessing about this anyway, I thought I’d take time today to handicap one of the matches that’s previewed in the Arena and already haunting my dreams, Undagear 20’s yet-to-be-released match pitting Jake Jenkinsagainst Marco Carlow.
The tale of the tape is already compelling. Jake consistently weighs in at 155 lbs on his 5’7″ frame. Marco is an inch shorter and weighed in 15 pounds heavier in his one released BG East match. In other words, beautiful little muscle stud Jake is faced with, potentially, his biggest (pound-per-inch) competitor so far in his BG East tenure. Taking a look at Marco’s pics, it’s hard to ignore that the boy has slabs of beef hanging off of his ridiculously conditioned frame. I’d be willing to make a side bet that his right upper arm is measurably thicker than Jake’s neck (but I won’t pay up unless I’m the one holding the measuring tape to them!). In a side-by-side, the lusciously beautiful, proven powerful Jake Jenkins is instantly giving away serious advantage to the unquestionably superior size and, almost certainly, strength of muscle man Marco. On a scale of 0 to 10, with 0 being “absolutely impossible” and 10 being “a complete certainty,” I give the likelihood that Marco will repeatedly outmuscle Jake (tests-of-strength, powering out of full nelsons, squeezing submissions out of rib crushing bearhugs) at an 8.
Marco nearly tamed muscle beast Dev Michaels in Motel Madness 11.
Experience, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. Marco Carlow has exactly one prior appearance in a BG East release, in which he faced the muscle beast Dev Michaels in a New Orleans motel room for Motel Madness 11. Marco made a surprisingly good showing, as far as I was concerned, despite a good deal of flat-footedness, lack of speed, and limited repertoire. In this case, he was giving away 30 pounds to the mountain of muscle Michaels, and still Marco successfully put the hurt on the giant and quite nearly secured the final fall submission.
Marco got buried beneath raging bull Dev!
However impressive was Marco’s rookie debut, however, being flat-footed, slow, and technically limited in wrestling skill does not bode well for facing Jake Jenkins. Jake has wrestled 9 times for BG East and 12 times for Rock Hard Wrestling. Match descriptions indicate that Jake is both a highly accomplished amateur wrestler as well as a novice MMA boy, and he’s certainly taken to the special demands of homoerotic wrestling like white on rice. At RHW, Jake tends to be more of a bad ass than he is at BG East, where he generally wrestles clean, at least starts out amiable, and has a healthy (but not overinflated) sense of his extensive assets, especially on the mats.
Jake breaks Christian Taylor in half in Wet ‘n’ Wild 6
The heaviest opponent Jake has faced at BGE was Christian Taylor in Wet ‘n’ Wild 6, but that seems a poor comparison to judge his promise against the likes of Marco Carlow. Christian’s 175 lbs are stretched across 6’2″ of height, which averages out to about 2.36 pounds per inch of height. In other words, Christian is one stunningly beautiful, long, tall drink of water, but he’s no muscle man. Inch-for-pound, although over half a foot shorter, Jake was almost exactly the same proportionally (2.35 pounds per inch), and with a boatload more mat experience, it’s not surprisingly he tied the tallboy into knots and left him whimpering in a pile. Rating the likelihood that Jake will spin his nearly naked, sweat-lubricated body all over a stunned Marco and lock the muscle boy up tight repeatedly like a twist-tie, I give it another 8 out of 10. The likelihood that Marco will be knocked on his ass when he pushes amiable Jake one step too far: 9 out of 10. The likelihood that Marco will, like half of Jake’s opponents before him, comment on Jake’s ferocious intensity that makes pit bulls cower: 4 out of 10.The likelihood that Marco squashes Jake and gets out without suffering multiple, expertly administered, joint-snapping submission holds that Marco’s never even heard of, much less suffered in: 1 out of 10.
Sweat-soaked buddy Austin Cooper proved too much for “little” Jake to handle!
Perhaps a more realistic comp would be to look at a couple other of Jake’s opponents who, although technically not as heavy as Christian, are closer to the weight/power ratio of Marco. First, Jake’s long-time tag partner Austin Cooper faced Jake in their simultaneous BGE debut in Ripped Rookie’s 1. Austin’s weight-height ratio is 2.39 pounds per inch of height, which makes for a pretty noticeable size advantage over little Jake (4/100ths in this case is not a negligible difference). Also, the two are pretty damn equally matched in mat experience, and they’ve wrestled each other and together as a tag team multiple times, essentially zeroing out any experience advantage. Against equal experience and a not-insignificant size disadvantage, how did Jake do? It was incredibly competitive (as in, please bottle those gallons of sweat, because I’m buying!), but slowly, but surely, goldenboy Austin absolutely owned Jake’s lovely ass! I believe Ripped Rookies was filmed in the very same mat room as Jake’s match with Marco Carlow, and in both matches, the boys start in singlets and end in jock straps. So if Jake’s performance against the dominating power of Coop is any measure, he could be in for a world of hurt against Marco whose weight-height ratio is a jaw-dropping 2.58 pounds per inch of height. I put the likelihood that Jake is hoisted off his feet and completely at Marco’s mercy at one point or another at around a 7 out of 10.
Kid Karisma owned “monkey boy’s” smoking hot ass!
One other comp I think needs to be addressed, and that’s Jake’s ring match against 165 pound Kid Karisma in Hunkbash 12. Kid K’s weight-height ratio is, before now, the most dominating that Jake has faced, with a 2.42 pounds per inch of height measured. Again, Kid K has a boatload more experience than Marco Carlow, and for my tastes, Kid Karisma is never more dangerous than he is in the ring, which is arguably Jake’s weakest genre. So how did Jake, 2012’s top babyface, do against 2012’s best ass winner? Holy fuck, it was a massacre! Karisma trounced the babyface before Jake even left the locker room! JJ battled back to claim one submission, but that was his one bright spot in an unremitting train wreck of a match for poor Jake. Kid K destroys him, tying his spine in knots around the ring post, crushing his face into the apron, trampling, pounding, squeezing, and delectably dominating Jake into yet another quivering pool of sweat and humiliation. So again, although he’s been highly competitive and dominant even, against boys his size, including extremely pedigreed mat wrestlers and MMA fighters, when Jake’s been faced with serious muscle boys not even close to Marco’s concentrated muscle mass, he’s gone down brutally hard. The likelihood that still-green muscle man Marco will enjoy serious riding time on Jake’s ass, bullying the babyface and rendering Jake’s hot bod a limp rag at various points in this match: 6 out of 10. The likelihood he’ll make Jake cry: 4 out of 10. The likelihood he’ll make Jake beg like a bitch for mercy: 3 out of 10.
A few more numbers that I’m estimating based on nothing more than my personal tastes and adoring study of countless hours of homoerotic wrestling (remember, 0 means “absolutely impossible” and 10 means “a complete certainty”):
Likelihood that either of these boys loose their jockstraps: 2.
Likelihood that they both lose their jock straps: 1 (I’m an eternal optimist).
Likelihood that we catch a glimpse of either of their balls spilling out of their jockstraps: 4.
Likelihood that we catch a glimpse of either of their assholes: 6.
Likelihood that I decide before this match is over that I’d tap Jake’s ass over Marco’s: 3.
Likelihood that Marco’s mountainous pecs get clawed: 7 (though that doesn’t seem to be Jake’s style).
Likelihood that Jake gets stretched over Marco’s knee and spanked like a naughty boy: 3.
Likelihood that Marco shoves Jake’s face in his crotch and makes him smell his sweaty crotch: 3.
Likelihood that both boys give a bare-assed muscle posing session towering over top of their prone opponent: 10 (because the Arena documents both!).
Likelihood that Jake takes the final fall: 8.
Likelihood that one of these boys claims my homoerotic wrestler of the month title off this match: 3.
Likelihood that have to push pause and clean up a bit within the first 5 minutes: 6.
Likelihood I’ll be obsessing about catalog 100 all day long: 10.
Daddy’s little rich boy, Damien Rush is back at Muscle Domination Wrestling after taking some time off to build his beautiful muscles bigger (and presumably accounting for some moonlighting for Kid Leopard). In Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Season 5, Damien shows up for Meaty Muscle Massacre 3, sporting sparkling royal purple trunks, purple armbands/garters, and a brand new pair of boots. Damien loves his hot bod nearly as much as I do, which is saying a lot. And he’s never shy about saying so to the random newbies that dare to climb into the ring with him, in this case, hot stud Rodriguez Cortez.
“Feel that fucking bicep, huh!?”
Like always, Damien is a little flabbergasted that anyone, much less fresh meat like newbie Rodriguez, would have the nerve to stand face to face with Mr. Rush’s hotbodied baby boy. He flexes his biceps and demands that the newbie feel the steel, giving Rodriguez and opportunity to simply admit his inferiority and run from the ring in fear. “I’ve defeated everything Muscle Domination Wrestling has to offer!” Damien boasts to the rook. Rich white guys always get to re-write history, so this blatant misrepresentation of Damien’s ring record at MDW shouldn’t surprise anyone. “I’ve defeated the biggest, the baddest, the best!”
Rodriguez Cortez is not impressed.
Damien’s love affair with his own physique appears to have completely distracted him from noticing the newbie’s bod, but I, however, have most definitely noticed. Holy shit, the kid his stunningly beautiful! True enough, I’m guessing he’s not quite as hard as Damien. It’s entirely possible he is not as fiercely conditioned, probably owing to the fact he may not be able to afford a beck-and-call personal trainer like Damien can. But damn, damn, damn, his smooth, brown body is nothing if not lickable, and I’d give an appendage to get my mouth on those sexy lips of his! Little wonder he’s not rolling over and letting the blue blood climb on top, because I have a strong feeling Mr. Cortez gets plenty of panting adoration of his gorgeous body to keep his ego strength up.
“Collared and owned… by me!”
The wrestling trends toward a tit-for-tat motif, as the beautiful boys work each other over in turn, trading holds, shoveling on mountains of trash talk, comparing how devastatingly they can milk a maneuver. Honestly, Damien’s experience advantage is clearly evident. He works the tough kid hard, and while Rodriguez keeps battling back, the question appears to be whether he can keep catching up from behind. “Some newbie steps into my ring?!” Damien snarls when he’s got the rook rocking. “MY RING!!?” he asks, incredulous. Using one of his purple armbands to choke the fight out of Rodriguez, sweat glistens off of the hairy blue blood’s bod, dripping off his nose. “Collared and owned… by me!” he snarls in the kid’s ear. I have no idea if the daddy’s-little-richboy is just a gimmick, but Damien sure sells the story of privileged fucker accustomed to owning anything and everything quite convincingly!
“Climb these tree trunks!”
More than one he puts the gorgeous rookie on his ass and then demands that the kid climb his tree trunk thighs back to this feet again. Holy shit, that device moves me down deep! A little dazed, a lot furious, and just a tad obedient, Rodriguez puts his paws on Damien’s hairy legs and claws his way back up for another round of rookie-bashing.
“There’s nothing you can do to beat this glorious statue of a body!”
Damien just gets more insanely hot the harder he works, the sweatier he gets, and the more exhaustion and pain contorts his face. “There’s nothing you can do to beat this glorious statue of a body!” he taunts, having just beaten back a renewed flurry of offense from the stubborn newbie.
The newbie takes matters into his own hands.
“Newbie,” however, does not mean dummy in this case. Having ordered Rodriguez to climb his tree trunk thighs once too often, the rook’s eyes lock onto that pretty purple bulge and fire a gorgeous shot into those crown jewels. Rodriguez dishes out plenty of trash talk when he’s got a hold of the rich boy by a fistful of hair, but his message is loudest and clearest when he just keeps barreling down on the breathless beauty, dragging Damien up, crying like a baby, only to beat him back down again. The sheen of sweat on his lickable body is hypnotic, but again, it’s those sneering, curled-in-rage lips that make my knees buckle.
“You better stay down… it’ll be over soon!”
Rodriguez puts Damien’s personally trained body through the ringer when he’s got momentum going his way. Like the whiny bitch he is (particularly at MDW), Damien screams and squirms and fires off a dozen excuses for how humbled he is in the newbie’s control. “You better stay down. Stay down!” Rodriguez warns Damien when the richboy keeps coming back for more. “It’ll be over soon!”
Sneering, sweaty, sexy newbie!
Damien’s got his hands full, and Rodriguez has no qualms about beating the fight right out of the richboy, starting (again and again) with Damien’s balls. While Damien hasn’t quite beaten everything MDW has thrown at him, it is true he’s tallied an impressive resume of hard knocks given as well as received. He had been on quite a roll of a dominating heel turn, as the cocky narcissist richboy made inroads in putting his bod and training to good use. But sexy as hell Rodriguez is a blank slate, and putting Damien right back into the Jobber category would be quite a debut coup.
Damien needs a helping hand.
Meaty Muscle Massacre 3 is a sweet example of MDW doing straightforward pro wrestling as promised with intensity and erotic undertones. The bodies are stunning. The characters are compelling. The wrestling is hard, slow, and all about muscles. I can’t wait to get my eyes on more of Rodriguez Cortez (not to mention my tongue). And I’m just saying, if there’s one thing a daddy’s-little-richboy-pro-wrestler needs is a personal valet to accompany him to the ring, peel him off the mat when he’s trashed, carry him back to the locker room, slip him out of his gear, give him a full body, recuperative massage, shower him down, and put him to bed. I have my resume ready, Damien.
Vada Magazine calls itself “A new queer perspective. Fresh takes, hot opinions, news and reviews. The Young Gay Pretender.” I’m not entirely clear on what that means, but the editorial team looks like a gaggle of young, pretty, gay-hipster geek hotties. Their profile pics make me think of countless skinny, twink-come-nerd boys I’ve known with jobs attached in one form or another to corporate IT departments. This genus nearly universally includes an embarrassing fluency in sci-fi, comic books, and/or Coen Brothers films. They tend to be both oddly anti-sport and, not infrequently but paradoxically, involved in organized soccer, ultimate frisbee, and/or hacky-sack (because it’s so retro). Do I sound contemptuous? I don’t mean to, because I’ve had many a crush on a specimen precisely from this fraternity. In fact, I had an profoundly satisfying month or so of dating a manager of a tech store (for a company that shall remain nameless, but just turn on the news today and try to avoid it), who momentarily had me obsessed with Sims and worshipping his thick, hairy, sculpted legs (curiously attached to a hairless, skinny, flat-chested torso). Yeah, scanning the editorial team of Vada takes me back to good times, and I’d take a stab at knocking the fedoras off pretty much any of their heads, scooping them up in my arms and powerslamming them in the middle of a wrestling ring.
First on my list, though, is adorkable Editor-in-Chief Stuart Forward, who grabbed my attention yesterday by penning the piece entitled “11 Reasons Why Wrestling is Pretty Damn Gay.” Sweet prose! In laid back language with a subtly structured free-formish style, Stuart catalogs his 11 reasons for questioning how professional wrestling can be associated with hyper-masculinity while, at the same time, being so damn gay. The piece is part autobiography, part testimonial, part confession, along with a heavy dose of queer critique for both the pro wrestling industry and the social construction of masculinity itself. My favorite of the 11 reasons why wrestling is pretty damn gay is #9: pro wrestling’s obsession with men’s asses. Write’s Mr. Forward:
Whether this, Mr. Ass, the Fameasser, Vince McMahon’s Kiss My Ass club, Rikishi’s ass, repeated use of asshole, or just kicking that sonbitch’s ass, it’s fair to say that wrestling masculinity became a bit fixated on ass and doing things to each other’s asses. Just saying. In this bizarre, skewed power game played out in the ring, this generation put ass firmly on centre stage. All totally above board of course. After all, what could be more manly than getting a man to kiss your ass?
It’s a nice piece that gathers several strands that I’ve heard from many of you homoerotic wrestling kinksters who still keep up with or give a damn about straight-up pro wrestling. But there’s something about the piece that keeps echoing in the back of my mind. Something’s tickling a sensitive spot on my hippocampus. I think it’s this line:
Whilst wrestling evidently did not turn me gay, here are 10 reasons why it may have made my destined path to wooftery a little clearer at the time…
Okay, it’s 11 reasons, but counting is such a modernist construct, so ignore that bit. It’s the phrase, “Whilst wrestling evidently did not turn me gay….” Honestly, I would not try to claim copyright on any part of my series “What turned me gay… not really,” (though the text is genuinely entirely my own), the device of positing the relationship between mainstream homoerotic subtext and what did (not really) turn me gay is a trope that I feel I have some squatting rights for. Specifically in reference to exposure to straight-up wrestling as foundational exposure to homoeroticism, that was bread and butter around here at neverland for about a year and a half. The writing style, the social critique, the snarky contempt for masculine pretense, along with a “what turned me gay… not really” twist, and I have to ask… am I Stuart Forward!!? The fact that Vada Magazine “favorited” my post yesterday on my infatuation with standing headscissors only confuses me more…
Hello, Jonathan. ~ Bard at neverland
Then there’s Jonathan Pizzaro’s recurring column entitled “Hello Neverland.” Hello, Jonathan. Again, sweet prose and thoughtful writing (though, as far as I’ve found, nothing on wrestling… yet). Jonathan’s two-partpiece on body image, his body, and his learning to love himself has a strong hit of beautiful authenticity about it. I haven’t seen what he looked like when he was cringing at the sight of himself in the mirror, but he looks gorgeous today. In fact, he looks quite a lot like that tech store manager with epic soccer legs! Wait…
Anyway, check out Vada. If they hold onto that slightly self-depracating tone sprinkled on top of clear voices and an undisguised delight in shrugging off homonormativity and the pursuit of acceptability, I’m hooked. And if Jonathan and Stuart are interested in a 3-way no-holds-barred homoerotic wrestling rumble, send them my way.
There are some holds, some moves, some moments in homoerotic wrestling that are a sure bet to make me gasp a little and set off fireworks in my brain. I frequently mention my adoration of a beautifully executed OTK, for example. The position of the bodies, the contrast of powerful control and total vulnerability… hot, hot, hot every time. Another hold that regularly strokes my lusts with extra friction and speed is the standing headscissors.
Bulldog Barzini crushes Jeremy Burk’s skull between his thighs in BG East’s Catch-Weight 1.
There’s a lot to enjoy about a standing headscissors. The hold gives the hunk in charge the opportunity to display his upper body for adoration while his lower body bears down on the noggin trapped between his thighs. A dominating, powerful, beautiful body on display, as if he’s not in the ring but shooting a double bi for the bodybuilding competition judges, turns my crank hard.
Unquestionably value added from this hold is the narrative. There’s a strong can’t-be-bothered subtext about a sweet standing headscissors that absolutely electrifies me. It’s as if the upright stud is saying (and sometimes, he actually does say) I’m so in control of you that I can make you suffer helplessly by just standing here. Just a flex of those quads, a shift of muscle barely noticeable from a distance, and the boy in charge captures his prey and makes him wail. The hold communicates that cocky, told-you-so, you-should-be-humiliated-by-how-helpless-you-are story that, little wonder, speaks to the very heart of my homoerotic wrestling kink.
BBW applies a faceclaw to a totally crushed Dino Serra in Squared Circle IV, not because he needs to, but just because it’s so fucking hot!
Of course, I enjoy it when the hunk bearing down does bother enough to tear himself away from gloating and flexing and preening to rub in the total control and humiliation he owns in this moment. A completely unnecessary claw to the face, for example. Yanking on the poor fucker’s ears or hair, cinching his head up nice and tight, pressed against his new owner’s balls… that’s the ticket!
Look, Ma, no hands! Jonny Firestorm crushes Andy Hammer in body and soul in BG East’s Jobberpaloozer 8.
The standing headscissors seems to me to never be about what it takes to best an opponent. Guys don’t pull this one out of their quiver in a flurry of moves and counter-moves, for the most part. This isn’t a competitive hold that brings an opponent to submission or pins his shoulders to the mat or even efficiently wears him down, nearly as much as it is a gloating, sadistic, exploitation of a groveling challenger who’s already been beaten down to size. The standing headscissors seems to me to logically appear in the chain of the well-told homoerotic wrestling story right after the tide-turning offensive maneuver, but a few moves before the stick-a-fork-in-it-you’re-done-mother-fucker finisher.
Dante Rosetti’s gargantuan thighs say, “Welcome to your new home,” to Barry Longshaw’s skull in BG East’s Fantasymen 9.
My personal infatuation with the standing headscissors was featured in one of my favorite pieces of celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction from my collection, the Producer’s Ring. The match pits Scottish bull Gerard Butler out to wipe the smirk off the face of English beefcake, Sean Maguire, after Sean’s sweetly humiliating parody of Gerard’s muscle-fantasy performance in the movie 300.
Which naked hunk grinds out a standing headscissors? Gerard Butler on the left (scene from “300”), or Sean Maguire on the right (scene from 300 parody “Meet the Spartans”)?
Again, the scenario is precisely after the tide-turner, before the official end of the match. Spectacularly muscled Gerard (damn, I love his body!) has been crushed (starting with his scrotum), and terrorized into total submission. Smart-ass hottie Sean verbally commands the groveling Scot to willingly shove his head in between Sean’s thighs. There’s a moment’s pause, but Gerard has been laid waste by this point. In a moment of complete submission, on his knees, he slides his head in, and Sean proceeds to crush, nearly rips Gerard’s massive shoulders out of their sockets, and then pumps out a two-fisted orgasm, slathering the Scot’s wide, rippled back in cum. Yeah, that’s pretty much how that fantasy rolls…
Muscle fantasyman Wade Cutler gets milked dry trapped in an exquisitely beautiful standing headscissors by Nick Caruso in BG East’s Hard Pros 6.
Not long ago, in one of those nervous, self-concious, try-not-to-appear-criminally-obsessed moments, I wrote a personal note to encourage one of my top currently competing homoerotic wrestling infatuations to keep a standing headscissors in mind when he’s called up for another match. He promised me he’d take it under advisement. For my tastes, it’s underused, and some wrestlers can tell that story of total domination and barely-need-to-lift-my-finger-to-fuck-you-over narrative so, so well. My eyes are peeled, because just thinking about a standing headscissors is making me sweat!
It’s that time of year again. Once again, football fever has struck. This is my second autumn living somewhere that’s truly fanatical about football. I mean, some people should really be embarrassed (but they aren’t). I’m reminded frequently of the close association between masculinity and this particular sport in American culture, because football leaves me limp. My inability to care to express an opinion about the most recent game in casual conversation with coworkers invariably earns me askance glances and shrugged shoulders, and I never fail to feel like my “manliness” just took a hit. Honestly, for various reasons I’ve watched plenty of football at the high school, collegiate, and professional levels. I’ve felt the crowd-think as the stands erupt in roars of excitement or nearly rush the field with righteous indignation at a blown call. But it doesn’t move me, and I haven’t watched a game in at least a decade.
Looks like a viking god, but Clay Matthews is a massive Packer.
I can understand why a lot of gay men are fully on board with football. Certain playing positions tend to produce hardbodied hunks who can easily star in erotic fantasies. And, for that matter, other positions that tend to produce less hardbodies certainly have an appeal to those into bellies and something to grab hold of. Of course, the uniforms pretty much guarantee that football bodies are both covered and their proportions disguised beneath mountains of protective gear. Stunningly hot bodies that we almost never get to see? I can’t say I get so fired up about that scenario.
Jordy Nelson’s ass could almost make me watch a game.
I do admit that there are some sweetly provocative moments in football, mind you. The huddle, as sweaty, fierce gladiators wrap their arms around one another and psych each other up to crush the other side. The pile on tackle, as muscled men make a mountain out of their assembled bodies stacked on top of the other. The moments of ferocity, the expressions of primal rage, bruised egos, taunting trash talk… sure, I get that. But 9 minutes of standing around for every 1 minute of game play!? Puh-lease.
Sans padding, and a football player could definitely hold my attention.
Of course, fans of Can-Am’s “Football Fracas” classic can attest that football doesn’t have to be such a ploddingly ponderous, padded affair. More skin alone would instantly make me give a shit.
Quarterbacks taking the time to admire the view before the snap… that’s football that I could get into.
The explicit acknowledgement that pounding muscled bodies into one another possesses inherently erotic subtext would get my ass on the couch on a Sunday afternoon from time to time. Put on a little boom-chicka-boom soundtrack and slow it down to half-speed, and there’s no sane person on the planet who could deny that football is punctuated by tons of incredibly intimate moments.
Scoring the kind of points I want to see!
Add a rip-n-strip angle here, and I wouldn’t resent the hardbodied athletes showing up all covered in outsized jerseys and plastic pads. Because assigning points for ripping that shit off would make this more of a full-contact male-revue, and, sure, I’d buy that morning, noon and night!
Now that’s a tackle he’ll remember!
But honestly, tinkering with the gear won’t stroke me the right way until all of that muscle pounding, head-to-head aggression is unleashed, and tackles turn into submission wrestling. The restrained chaos, the constrained primal man who releases his foe at the sound of a whistle like a trained dog… what the fuck is that!? They want to pound muscles and crush one another, let them go at it, for god’s sake!
Eat turf, bitch.
Let’s see those muscles flexing, the nostrils flaring, the will to dominate burst the flood gates into full on public humiliation! Stuff his mouth with grass! Slap his flexed ass! Grab his balls to turn the tables!
So in control, he can take a water break.
This isn’t real, channeled physical aggression and man-on-man sport until asses are slapped (in domination), faces are sat on, and losers are wailing and weeping and begging for mercy.
Football done right.
Unleash the beasts and let this shit get real, or stop giving me those looks like I’m so nelly because I don’t care about whether some completely covered, indistinguishable hunk-or-chunk-I-can’t-tell touched his knee ever so slightly to the ground so that even on instant replay (viewed for another 10 minutes), it’s hard to tell for certain.
Yeah. I could be a football fanatic, but truth be told, only if it was a whole lot more like homoerotic wrestling.
Sidelineland 