Well Lubricated

Can-Am’s Jimmy Royce, 5’10”, 180 lbs

I’ve talked about my infatuation with some of the early wrestling matches from Can-Am before. I’ve mentioned my infatuation with Jimmy Royce’s body (and particularly, that spectacular, muscled ass). But I don’t think I’ve actually done a full review of those classics, including one of my very first, treasured homoerotic wrestling purchases, Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.

Can-Am Classic Beau Hopkins – 6’1″, 217 lbs (soaking wet)

All 4 matches in the compilation have merits, but it’s the second match, (oil)pitting Jimmy Royce and Can-Am classic staple Beau Hopkins against one another, that I’ve savored most over the years. The match starts with each wrestler taking turns doing a solo self-oil down. There’s something particularly seductive about this type of pre-match “introduction” that I love. Movimus continues to do this type of foreplay with the viewer, showing each opponent in turn stretching in preparation for the match. Back in the day, On Top did it best, as far as I’m concerned, giving each wrestler camera time to answer some questions, talk about their preparation and game plan, sort of handicap their own match. It totally cemented the sell for me, establishing motivation, character, and, of course, giving ample opportunity to study the physiques about to square off. Naked Kombat has continued the pre (and post) match camera confessional, but last I was signed on to NK, they were so formulaic that the shine had worn off a bit for me.

Beau taunts and plays with us as we enjoy watching him cover his muscles in oil.

But watching Beau, and then Jimmy silently coating their gorgeous muscles in oil, only the sound of the padded mats underfoot shifting beneath them as they slowly, seductively move, I’m sucked right in. Beau grins at the camera a lot. He looks like he could easily pull out his cock and pound one out on nothing but the feel of his own gorgeous muscles coated in oil. He doesn’t do that, but the sly smirk on his face gives me the impression he knows I’m already compelled to unzip and release some of the pressure building in my pants.

Jimmy gives his best come-hither (I’m right there, Jimmy!!!)

Jimmy, on the other hand, doesn’t crack a smile. He holds solid eye contact with the camera as he bathes his phenomenal physique, but it isn’t playful, like Beau. Rather, he gives that look that I’m absolutely certain he uses to pick up beefcake in the bars, staring fixedly, silently signaling that he knows you want to get your hands on his muscles. It’s challenging and invitational. It’s an erection in 10 seconds (not Jimmy’s. Mine).

They cut to action is abrupt. Jimmy and Beau circle the oil pit cautiously. Footing is treacherous on the padded surface already slick with oil dripping off of their fine physiques. Jimmy moves in for the lock up, but suddenly Beau shifts to the side and charges forward, clotheslining the stud hard to wet mat. Instantly, Jimmy’s oil stained, tiny blue trunks ride way up his crack. His legs and ass are lightly hairy, in contrast to Beau’s baby smooth skin everywhere. Beau’s pink trunks (on my fading VHS tape, they’re pink, though the Can-Am photos reveal they’re actually orange) are form fitting, but he just isn’t packing the same mouthwatering muscle in the back end that Jimmy’s got. He quickly rolls his opponent to his stomach and cranks on a nasty hammerlock, prying Jimmy’s glistening, muscled arm high up between his shoulder blades. “How does that feel!?” Beau demands in a way that doesn’t seem nearly as cliche as those words sound in most matches these days. “Fuck you!” Jimmy shouts angrily, in a way that makes my balls contract just a little with excitement.

“Lick up the oil, cutie!”

What I love, adore, am completely owned by in this match is the suspense. Two big egos attached to two sensationally sexy bodies have me guessing from start to finish who will end up with bragging rights at the end of the day. They struggle to maintain holds, to apply pressure to joints, to keep a grip as they attempt to manhandle each other’s bodies, with so much excessive lubricant coming between them. I have to confess that I’m compelled to pull for a Jimmy victory, mostly because I just want to see him flex that mouthwatering body cockily over his vanquished foe. But early going, it’s clear that Beau is living it up as a heel in this bout. He cottons on early that if he takes Jimmy’s back (sign me up for that ride, please), the gorgeous boy is defenseless against a humiliating hammerlock. So he exploits that weakness often, letting gravity keep Jimmy solidly in place trapped underneath his opponent’s weight across his muscled back. “Smile for the camera!” Beau insists, yanking on Jimmy’s hair to pry his face up off the mat and stare humiliatingly into the faces of his fans on this side of the camera. “Lick up the oil!” Beau laughs maniacally, seeing how much he can control, dominate, and own his opponent.

“I… give… Mr…. Beau Hopkins.”

The first fall belongs to Beau. Jimmy has been milked for days in that oil choked hammerlock, face down to the mat. He’s clearly tired out when Beau slides his smooth, strong legs around Jimmy’s neck, locks his ankles together, and squeezes the kid’s windpipe shut. “Do you give, Jimmy Royce!?” Beau demands. Fuck, I love it that these guys know each other’s wrestling names. The implication is that they’ve sized each other up, they’ve prepared for this match. Jimmy resists, but Beau doubles down on the choke, leaving just enough air for Jimmy to breathlessly squeeze out the words, “Okay… I… give…” It’s not enough for the gorgeous heel. “Say it again! Say, ‘I give Mr. Beau Hopkins!'” Jimmy can barely breathe, but he finally sucks down just enough air to slowly squeak out the humiliating submission. “I… give…. Mr….. Beau Hopkins.” Beau laughs as he climbs to his feet and flexes his glistening body in victory.

“You want to give, baby?”

The second fall belongs to Jimmy. He’s got a fire lit under that magnificent ass after getting owned in the first fall. Beau grabs about 30 seconds of offense, but fuck it all if Jimmy isn’t ragingly in control and liking the feel of manhandling his hunk opponent almost from start to finish. He knows how to please his fans. He uses his gargantuan thighs to squeeze Beau’s face, then sits his gorgeous glutes down on top of the stud in total humiliation. In one stunningly aesthetic moment, he climbs on top of Beau, facing his feet, and wraps his huge, hairy thighs around his torso. Locking his ankles together behind his opponent’s back, Jimmy squeezes hard, digging his knees into Beau’s ribs. You can watch the muscle contraction wash like a wave up Jimmy’s hamstrings and across his muscled ass. I swear, even the most exclusive bottom has got to be picturing the ecstasy of sliding his cock deep between those two ripped, massive mounds of muscle. Beau is fucking toast with Jimmy on a roll, and slowly, surely, Jimmy slides his gasping opponent into position to wrap those aforementioned magnificent legs around his shoulders from behind in another award-worthy wrestling sculpture. “You’re finished!” Jimmy states the obvious with authority. “You want to give, baby?” he asks the whimpering hunk getting his arms ripped out of their shoulder sockets. The mortified heel resists, but finally concedes. “Mr. Jimmy Royce?” Jimmy demands to hear the meat say his name before he lets him go. Things are seriously all even. Fall to fall, humiliation to humiliation. Jimmy flexes his bicep in Beau’s face in victory, his ripped abs glistening so beautifully. He doesn’t give us a long, lingering look from behind at that epic ass that’s pretty much stolen the show, but there’s fall 3 still to come. My aching desire to see the decisive, post-victory full muscle showcase is so intense.

An oil lubricated Beau-and-Arrow is quite an impressive feat!

The third fall teeters back and forth. Both boys have tasted victory, and they’re both clearly hungry for the final score. Jimmy pulls out some amateur wrestling moves that make me ache for him that much harder. If exposing the back earned him points in homoerotic oil wrestling, he’d be way, way ahead as the match careens wildly toward its climactic end. But just controlling your opponent’s body doesn’t count. Their are no back points, much less riding time. And although Beau is often the babyface chump in other matches, he’s all heel as he doubles down on humiliating and wearing out luscious Jimmy. He sits on his face. Just sits there for a couple of seconds, letting Jimmy smell the vicious punishment coming his way. Then he slides into place, snapping his thighs around Jimmy’s skull and bearing down. Jimmy battles back, slipping free and managing to hold onto a beautiful bow-and-arrow (beau-and-arrow, in this case) that stretches Beau out and makes that bulge in the front of his trunks quiver. When Beau finally slips free Jimmy is on his back and applying a fish hook from behind, threatening to rip that classically handsome face right of the mean heel.

Fading, the ripped Jimmy Royce bulges beautifully.

But there’s a feel of inevitability about it when Beau turns the tables and plants his knees into Jimmy’s pecs, pulling on his arms and prying the kid’s head forward painfully pressed intimately against Beau’s bulging pouch. Jimmy’s ripped abs writhe, his hips sliding from side to side struggling to slip free. But there’s not enough oil in the world to earn luscious Jimmy reprieve from this one. His beautiful, blue bulge looks like he’s smuggling a grapefruit as he slowly stops struggling, the camera panning up his huge, hairy legs, over the mountainous bulge, up the ridges of his six pack abs, and into the agony contorting his face, framed so perfectly between the glistening smooth inner thighs of his tormentor.

This is what Beau thinks of my desperate lust to worship Jimmy’s muscled ass.

Fuck. I don’t get to see Jimmy show off that top shelf ass in preening victory. Somehow, Beau looks like he knows it as he smirks at the camera, flexing over top of his fallen foe. Like the vile heel he is, he’s both crushed Jimmy’s dreams and denied me my fawning adoration of my hero’s victorious muscles. Not that I’m not completely turned on by Beau’s classic form. He tugs at the sides of his trunks, accentuating the bulging pouch and taunting me with a glimpse of more of the terrain just beyond the borders of his covered, oil soaked cock.
Again, I say, fuck. It’s true, there’s a clumsiness inherent in oil wrestling. You’ll see no high flying. All but the most perfectly balanced holds are destined to pop free with all that muscle being so extensively lubricated. Long held suffering is rare. The oil pit is a relatively abridged territory, so the action is mostly in the center of the mat, more about scrambling and slipping and sliding across each other’s muscles than working an offense or a counter. But I love this match because there’s drama. I totally believe the pretense of competition. Precious few words and a lot of silent looks sell two sensationally 3-dimensional characters. The oil is gimmicky, I know, but these were younger days, before the industry needed to try to stay two steps ahead of a well-established customer opinion. And I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, there’s missed opportunities in not circling back to oil wrestling more these days. And without an ounce of sexual tension really spared for each other, both Beau and Jimmy place this match squarely in the homoerotic end of the pool for their taunting, tantalizing, seductive looks right into my wrestling fan soul. They know you and I are turned on, and frankly, they love it. Come and get it, they both say as they stroke their lubricated bodies and invite us to smell the oil, to feel the heat rising from their hardworking bodies, and to take pleasure in their combat as only you and I really do.

This shot does not do justice to the world class ass of Jimmy Royce on display in Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.

Love this match.

Riding Him Like a Pony

I was chatting with someone last night when the topic of getting choked in the ropes came up (you know, like it does).  I know there are wrestling fans who are far more into the fantasy of choking, but I certainly get it.  The element of control is so seductive when one hunk is literally rationing the air supply of his opponent. “You’ll breathe when I say you’ll breathe” is such an intimate, inside-out type of corporal domination. In any case the phrase, “choked in the ropes and riding him like a pony” came up, which sent me tracking down that particular moment in homoerotic wrestling archives. So much intimacy. Such control. So much humiliation. Sweet.

This was the first image that came to my mind, of a raging, dominating rookie of the year Brad Rochelle in Wrestlefest 2 choking Patrick Donovan in the ropes, sitting on his shoulders as their fellow BG East wrestlers parade by slapping the wasted jobber in the face.
Seems like something about gorgeous Patrick Donovan inspired many opponents to climb on board his sweaty, sexy back and shut down his windpipe. Here Jarret Cole saddles up in Patrick’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD.
Beau Hopkins feels the weight of gorgeous Vic Silver bearing down on him in Can-Am’s Canadian Musclehunk Wrestling 5.
Less riding the pony and more surfing the sucker, Colt Stevens crushes Gage Cordona’s throat underfoot in Rock Hard Wrestling’s Explosive Encounter.
Dick Rick added a little torque hanging from the ring apron while choking the fight out of beautiful Mike Pitt in Ringwars 16.
Can-Am’s Rush is the pony here, with Jay Moore reigning him in hard in Lean & Mean.
Bodybuilder Larry Janson is as humiliated as can be with irrepressible Brian Maxon holding him place with just one boot in Maxon vs. Janson.


The erotic art of an OTK backbreaker. Dirk Shannon and Peter Genelli are stunningly poised in this moment of total control from Canadian Musclehunks 8.

I recently commented that I’d trade most gay porn sex scenes for a mouthwatering over the knee backbreaker any day. This isn’t indicative of how I feel about sex, per se. I was pointing out that it’s the typical woodenness (not the good kind) and scriptedness of hardcore porn that I find less than fulfilling. However, it is indeed indicative of how I react to homoerotic wrestling, even when it’s sold with a pretty transparent script, and truth be told, the OTK backbreaker in particular works me every time. Even a poorly sold OTK makes my heart beat faster. But a truly exquisite OTK is a work of art that captures the essence of eroticism, domination, and combat that jerk my libido hard.  When I think of the OTK backbreakers that have stuck with me, seared into my memory and making my pulse pound even in retrospect, here are few of the G-rated (well, let’s say PG-rated just for the extra prudish out there) examples that I’ve filed away for safe keeping and frequent consulting.

From my first BG East crush, Fantasymen 18, Brad Rochelle bends like a gymnast and Jeff Phoenix exploits that flexibility beautifully.
Kid Vicious never fails to make the most of an OTK, bringing gorgeously aroused Derek Da Silva to the edge of ecstasy and agony at the very same moment in Ball Bash 1.
Darius is the classic muscleman laid bare as Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) digs deep in Ringwars 16.
Vile Morgan Cruise uses Skip Vance’s lower leg to torture his boyfriend in a leg lock while simultaneously breaking Skip across his thigh in Tag Team Torture 16: Boyfriend Beatdown.
To of the finest bodies locked together in a beautiful display of muscle, balance, and flexibility as Tyrell Tomsen brutalizes Z-Man in Wrestle Revenge.
Simply gorgeous. Massively muscled Ted Shipp takes exquisitely sexy Beau Hopkins and stretches lays him out like a Thanksgiving feast in Canadian Musclehunks 6.

Thursday Thighs























I’ve already alliterated once today, so I’ll keep Thursday’s Thighs to a minimum.  Mostly, I just want to point out what I think is an odd convention of photographing hot homoerotic wrestling hunks with stunningly sexy legs from the knees (or even lower thighs) up.  Now I love me hot torsos, no doubt.  But the seeming aversion to giving loving photographic attention to the beautiful legs of beautiful wrestlers is just plain wrong!  Here are just a few classic stunners flexing their gorgeous thighs, and yet the focus of the camera remains riveted above the waist.

BG East’s Justin Pierce


Can-Am’s Beau Hopkins
BG East’s Troy Baker
Can-Am’s Roman Stone

Say My Name!!!

As I’ve been spending quality time with Kid Karisma and Austin Cooper in the ring, I’m finding more and more that turns my crank. My reigning homoerotic wrestler (non-pornboy division) is like a maestro, conducting this symphony of slaps, grunts, groans and bangs with awe inspiring grace. 
Kid K looks like he might kum to the soundtrack of
Austin Cooper’s screams.
There’s a knee-buckling moment for me when Kid Karisma locks up Austin’s ankles underneath his armpits and drops that jaw-droppingly gorgeous ass on top of Austin’s entirely mouthwatering derrière. Kid K is literally glowing with the overhead lights bouncing off his bulging muscles coated in such thick sweat I swear I can smell it. Kid is a vision, with a primal lust to dominate reaches climax as his face is transported into ecstatic reverie. Lovely Austin is screaming like 9-year old girl, but his bulging crotch leaves no room to mistake the fact that he’s all man, and he’s all twisted up in complete, hopeless, helpless humiliation.  “Say you give!” demands Kid K with a grin.  When Austin finally screams it out obediently, the karismatic one, chuckles and says, “Wait, wait, wait… what, what, what? I DIDN’T hear you!” he adds arching backward and wrenching Austin’s back harder.  It’s a climactic moment for me as well, but then Kid K sends me right over the top by refusing to let Austin admit defeat until he’s said his conquer’s name. “Now say, ‘I give Kid Karisma!'”
“I GIVE Kid Karisma!!!”
Holy hell I LOVE that! The intimacy quadruples in an instant. The submission is just the beginning as Kid K refuses to let up even after Austin’s tapped. Austin finally gasps through his sublime suffering, “I give… Kid… Karisma!” He chokes and sputters. Kid K flings Austin’s beautiful, beefy legs to the mat with contempt, stands up still straddling the rookie’s gorgeous glutes, and flexes for himself in the mirror.  I’ve lost it a half a dozen times before I can manage to get through all the way to simply admire Kid K’s stunning display, marveling not just a little over the major bulge stretching the crotch of his shiny black trunks. Fuck yes, Austin had better remember the name Kid Karisma!
Vintage Beau Hopkins chokes Jimmy Royce’s submission (and obedience)
right out of him.

This “say my name” moment transports me back to the first homoerotic wrestling product I ever purchased, Can-Am’s Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3. Specifically, the wet muscle tussle between butt-tastic Jimmy Royce and handsome company man, Beau Hopkins intrudes on my thoughts. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this match before. Royce and Hopkins are incredibly appealing. Jimmy seems to have a trick shoulder that gives him trouble, and like an opportunistic dick, Beau goes to wrenching that shoulder with arm bars over and over again. This would have been annoyingly repetitive if it weren’t usually accomplished with Jimmy on his stomach, trying not to swallow baby oil, and Beau straddling Jimmy’s INCREDIBLE muscle ass. I could look at that view for days. Beau attacks Jimmy’s trick shoulder for the 400th time, and all of those sweet, sculpted muscles on Jimmy turn to jelly when Beau’s got his arm torqued too far for Jimmy to be able to resist absolutely anything. Beau makes him lick the oil and sweat that are pooling on the blue tarp. He exploits and abuses Jimmy’s knees and lower back. Finally, a little awkwardly, he slides his legs around Jimmy’s throat and begins to squeeze. Jimmy tries to pry himself free, but Beau grabs his wrists and keeps him helpless on his back, feeling the air and blood pinched off between Beau’s knees digging into his throat.  “Say the word!” Beau barks at Jimmy. “Do you give, Jimmy Royce!?” He finally squeezes two humiliating “I GIVES!” out of Jimmy, but Beau holds on for one more. “Say it again! Say ‘I give Mr. Beau Hopkins!” Jimmy croaks it out, full of bitter resentment, “I… give… Mr. Beau…….. Hopkins.”

Mr. Jimmy Royce turns the tables.

After dropping the first fall, Jimmy battles back for a surprise 2nd fall victory by locking up Beau’s arms with his luscious legs (good GOD this man had to have been a dancer!). The chicken wing is incredibly tasty.  Beau’s hot torso and barely contained bulge writhe and buck, but all Jimmy has to do is squeeze and Beau’s arms start to pop right of out his shoulder sockets. Jimmy taunts his opponent, asking if he wants to quit. “You’re finished!” Jimmy proclaims without any doubt. “Do you want to give? Huh, do you want to give yet, baby?” Ferociously Beau refuses with a deep, wolverine growl, “Never!” Jimmy squeezes his meat-packed thighs a little harder and makes Beau gasp in pain and quickly rethink his absolutes. He finally gives, but Jimmy insists, “I can’t hear you!” Beau growls out another contemptuous submission and Jimmy prods him on at the end, “… Mr.?  Mr. Jimmy Royce?” Jimmy demands retribution, insisting on hearing Beau not just admit defeat, but say the name of the muscle stud who’s conquered him from behind. “Mr. WHO!?” Beau spits defiantly at first, but when it’s clear Jimmy can either hold him helplessly like this forever or, perhaps, snap his shoulders apart completely, Beau reluctantly, bitterly snaps, “I… give… Mr…. Jimmy…….. Royce!”

Reigning Favorite Homoerotic Wrestler, Kid Karisma
bulges in ALL the right places!

Unlike for Kid Karisma, Jimmy learns the hard way that payback is one seriously nasty bitch. He goes down in the 3rd fall as a result of Beau going yet again for the trick shoulder. But even with all that oil, all those muscles, Jimmy’s slamming muscled ass, that hot, wet, tight wrestling action… it’s the submissions that demand of the loser to name the winner that stick out as the highlights of those falls. There’s just something primal about shoving your name down your opponent’s throat, like owning a bit of his soul just like you’ve completely owned his body. I’m sure there are plenty of other examples of the “Say My Name” submission (please do tell!), but I’m awfully pleased with Kid K’s latest rendition of this hot, hot, hot erotic wrestling maneuver!

Asses Named

So how did you do on our back-to-school edition of Name That Ass? Pull out your bubble sheet and let’s review the answers.
Ass #1 belongs to…

… BG East’s Cole Cassidy.

Cole’s body is sculpture. Every inch of him (at least every inch I’ve seen) is stunningly proportioned and absolutely perfectly Cole. That this perfectly tuned weapon is in the possession of such a sadistic heel ought to make much more competitive wrestlers than poor Brendan Byers quake in their wrestling boots. When Cole plants those muscled glutes across the mouth of devastated Brendan in their newly released match in Florida Fights 3, for that half a minute as Cole flexes and preens in victorious ecstasy above him, I’m bitterly envious of Brendan.
Ass #2 belongs to…

Rio’s got to have earned major frequent flyer miles getting that beautiful ass beaten from Florida to Boston to Los Angeles. He has some of the most loyal fans on the planet, and while I don’t consider myself a Rio devotee by any means, I unquestionably appreciate the aesthetic lines and sculpted contours of Rio’s beautiful body. I loved the concept of indy pros Cameron Mathews and Paul Hudson putting on a 2-on-1 clinic for Rio to tutor him in the arts of a professional-quality wrestling beatdown in Can-Am’s So You Want to Be a Pro Wrestler. Here’s another fantasy concept I’m just throwing out there… how about a rookie tutored by a pro and a homoerotic fantasyman? The pro beats him senseless and the fantasyman sexually dominates him.

Ass #3 belongs to…
… BG East’s Lon Dumont.
Ironically, the close-up of Lon’s ass appeared in the quiz right next to his image as my #1 favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division in the right margin. In particular, Lon is pictured here crushing the skull of Doug Rand on opposite sides of their Tag Team Torture 12 encounter. Lon has been in sole possession of the #1 spot in my non-pornboy rankings for a helluva long time, particularly considering he hasn’t had a new release in a little while. And still, hands down, he’s my favorite for his equal portions of smoking hot competitive bodybuilder physique and wrestling kink golden pro wrestling persona and ring skills. I’m not ashamed to say I’m a little obsessed with Lon, particularly after our delightful interview earlier this year in which he revealed himself to be both everything that turns my on in a wrestler as well as a damn fine human being. For those who regularly write me, asking for any news of the hunk, I’m deeply thrilled to pass on three titillating tidbits I’ve gathered: 1) Lon has achieved even more stunning development of his physique as he enters the new bodybuilding season, 2) he is still sporting the full head of hair he foreshadowed last winter, and 3) he and his full head of hair and mind-blowing muscles will indeed be showing up again in action for BG East!

Ass #4 belongs to…

… BG East’s classic workhorse, Bryan.

This beautiful, blond stud seemed to have been marching arm-in-arm with Kid Leopard in the pioneering early days of BG East. I think he was never more arousing than when he was 100% pro, in the ring in boots and square cut trunks and slamming some hot, pretty young thing’s face into a turnbuckle. However, the matroom pairing of Bryan and a very young, tan, in the peak of fitness Brad Rochelle in the seminal edition of Ultra Fight is awfully, awfully compelling. Those are two incredibly notable asses locked together in one hot, ferocious battle!

Ass #5 belongs to…

…Can-Am’s Beau Hopkins.

I repeat myself when I say that his opponent in Supermatch 11, Tom Flex, knew exactly what he was doing when he locked his crushing legs around Beau’s narrow waist, squeezed until the dark, hairy hunk screamed out, and then yanked on Beau’s trunks so hard that they entirely disappeared between those astonishingly beautiful ass cheeks. This is also a reminder of the delights that we miss out on, with the absence of baby oil in homoerotic wrestling for many years.

So it appears we have our work cut out for us as we start the new school year. No perfect scores were recorded for this Name That Ass quiz. The eternal strengths-based instructor, however, I think that just leaves so much more room to improve and to grow in our expertise when it comes to the studied appreciation of homoerotic wrestling asses.

The Classics

There’s little that can warm up the chill of winter better than a tight, hot homoerotic wrestler with an unbelievable ass. Jimmy Royce is made to order for sub-zero temperatures, as far as I’m concerned. At 5’10, 180 pounds, blond and blue-eyed, Jimmy wrestled in 7 of the prototypical Can-Am franchise products, Canadian Musclehunk Wrestling (both in and out of oil). I’m warming up just thinking about him.

Jimmy surely gets major credit for enticing me to purchase my first homoerotic wrestling product, Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3. More to the point, Jimmy’s ass gets the credit. I still don’t think I’ve seen anything quite like it since. I’m not sure what physical activity a young 20-something pretty boy has to engage in to develop glutes like that. Dancing, perhaps, though I think his legs were relatively underdeveloped in comparison to the astonishing development of those massive, muscled ass cheeks of his.

Wedgies were simply impossible for Jimmy to avoid when he climbed into the ring or oil pit. In fact, before any physical contact, he’d often have at least one of those gorgeous glutes squeezing free from the ridiculously inadequate dimensions of his speedo.

His backside was so eye catching, one could be excused for taking a little while to appreciate the stuffed basket he sported up front. Jimmy was next to none in managing to just barely wear his gear, his cock and balls appearing at any instant ready to pop out of his trunks. Particularly in oil, with his trunks nearly disappeared between his lightly hairy, epic ass cheeks, his speedo stretched so tightly across his crotch that every contour, bulge and crevice was outlined as if with a highlighter.

My hunch is that Jimmy had some legitimate amateur wrestling in his background. He frequently seemed to be working points by exposing his opponent’s back to the mat or mentally keeping count of his riding time, which is obviously nearly pointless in homoerotic wrestling (unless we’re talking about an entirely different type of “riding time”). He was also frequently undone by distinctly non-amateur tactics, such as the inevitable position Jimmy seemed to always find himself in, with his ankles trapped in his opponent’s hands while his opponent shoved his foot high and hard up his ass.

A reader recently asked me if I’d thought about posting more about the aural aspects of homoerotic wrestling, the grunts and slaps and thumps and groans. Of the abundance of delights in Jimmy’s match with Beau Hopkins in Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3, the most erotic for me by far was when Beau had Jimmy caught for the umpteenth time on his stomach, both arms wrenched painfully behind his back and pried nearly up to the base of his neck. He was helpless against this move from Beau, and the smirking baby heel milked it relentlessly. Straddling that world class ass, Beau held onto Jimmy’s wrists and bounced his weight up and down over and over, driving Jimmy’s face repeatedly into the oil soaked mat and threatening to pop Jimmy’s shoulders entirely out of joint. Jimmy’s grunts of pain were squeezed out of him in rhythm with Beau’s sadistic bouncing. At first, the air came rushing out of Jimmy’s lungs in low, strained gasps. After about half dozen or so bounces, though, Jimmy’s voice suddenly rose an octave and a half with what had to be genuine pain and a twinge of panic. The last two guttural gasps were more like a primal pleading for mercy, as if signaling to Beau that he just pushed the fun and games a fraction too far. The nasty heel planted on Jimmy’s wedgied ass did, indeed relent, but only with a cocky smirk and sneering chuckle as he reveled in his precise control of Jimmy’s beautiful body’s tolerances.

Jimmy wasn’t the biggest homoerotic wrestler. He wasn’t the most muscular, or even the prettiest (though pretty he was). He might qualify to be in the running for the best ass in homoerotic wrestling, but even there he’d have stiff competition. But Jimmy was a hard working classic, and he can turn me on today every bit as instantly as he did 14 years ago.

In Your Face

What is it that’s happening when a wrestler grinds his opponent’s face into his crotch?Okay, I mean, besides the obvious. What’s the story line there? I’m NOT complaining, mind you, I’m just taking a second look at something that I typically take for granted.

PWP has just posted a couple of new matches. Pretty dancer boys are tossing and squeezing one another predictably. A beautiful, long pale hottie, White Angel, takes his turn working over and getting worked on in “The Challenge Series“. This image of him schoolboy pinning Mario, with what looks like a big smile on Mario’s face, brings the topic to mind. Part of the story, at least, is humiliation. Dominating your opponent so completely that you can drop your most vulnerable parts across his face with impunity has got to send a message: You are owned.
Can-Am’s Tom Flex was constantly planting his abundant package across his opponents’ faces. This position is repeated multiply throughout Flex’s wrestling history, both clothed and naked. Here, Beau Hopkins turns his face away to avoid Flex’s testicles pressed against his lips. Clearly, part of the story is also the allusion to forced oral sex. The dominant muscle stud possesses such command over his helpless opponent that he can force feed his cock and transform his opponent into his sexual toy.
Like Tom Flex, BG East’s Mr. Joshua Goodman frequently smothers his opponents with his overstuffed package, and like Flex, Joshua frequently puts his own stunning body on gorgeous display while he does it. Joshua is a case in point of another aspect of this crotch-to-face story. Joshua’s massive, low hanging balls are ALWAYS a feature of his matches. He’s gorgeously muscled, handsome, and has a nice, cocky persona, but let’s face it, it’s hard to associate Mr. Joshua with much else other than his pendulous package. The crotch-to-face is the exclamation point at the end of the sentence: Mr. Joshua’s balls are huge! His figure-four crotch-to-face is the unspoken (often spoken) message that Mr. Joshua is hyper-masculine, unstoppable, and irrepressible.

Mitch Colby, current top contender to take back the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, reaches that moment in pretty much every match where he has his opponent’s head wedged high between his thighs. He takes both hands and grasps the down man’s head, and presses his opponent’s face into this crotch. Mitch tells the whole story explicitly that so many only imply. Invariably, Mitch’s head rolls backward, his eyes are shut in ecstasy, and his face is enraptured by this moment of sexual domination. I swear, I expect to see Mitch cum in his jock strap every time he does this. Mitch is getting off on this, and for that particular story he tells so well, he remains firmly ensconced in the pantheon of my absolute favorites. To have a muscle hunk’s face crushed against your cock and balls should absolutely be about sexual gratification.

Speaking of pale, skinny white boys,
Brigham Bell always did it for me in a way that never ceased to catch me by surprise. With zero bodyfat, Brigham was a walking anatomy chart, with every muscle, tendon and bone in clear relief. He was so skilled at using that whipcord of a body to beat down, conquer, and humiliate his bigger opponents. Squeezing a hard boy’s head into his crotch was standard fare for Brigham, using the maneuver to hammer home the point that it’s not always how big the muscles are that determine the tale. This pale, skinny white boy that you completely underestimated is suddenly planted across your shoulders, driving your chin into his balls. Whatever you thought was going to happen in this match, however you thought you’d overpower and dominate the skinny kid, it was always fated that you’d be flat on your back with his cock slapped down across your lips.

As always, I love the muscled bodies, the erotic, dominating positions, the enthused salesmanship. But it’s the arc of the story that I find most erotic. It’s the plot of two men staring one another down, untested and cock-sure of themselves, and all the fantastic elements that go into one of them ending up lying flat on his back, defenseless, with his opponent’s crotch shoved into his face.

Intimate Impact

Pro-style wrestling, when done well, is all about pacing. I love me some long-held torturous holds where a poor battler has the life squeezed out of him inch by inch. Still, sometimes I’m in the mood to seem someone slammed to the ground… hard. While I enjoy watching a man scream in pain while his joints are slowly ripped apart, today I’m more in the mood to watch a cocky musclehead get shut up by a body slam. I can think of a few people who deserve a silencing pounding from six feet off the ground. I think of the body slam like the exclamation point at the end of the sentence, “Fuck you!” That’s the sentiment I’m going for today (not necessarily you personally… unless you deserve it…).

The body slam is fast and blunt, when it satisfies. Today I’m hot for a stud snatched off his feet and immediately driven into the mat hard. Brad Rochelle is 100% golden when he’s suffering, but note his superhuman body awareness. In the split second before his ass is pounded to the mat, Brad’s hand darts out and clutches at Jed Jamison’s crotch dangling tantalizingly in front of Brad’s face…. a master at work….
This amazingly muscled hardbody in jeans slamming the bruiser in trunks (via Wrestling Arsenal) is exactly working for me on so many levels. The street-clothed stud ripping off his shirt and diving under the ropes to take on the wrestler in his natural habitat tweaks several of my kinks. His fierce hold on the dude’s trunks, looking like he’s about to rip them off his helpless projectile, tells a nice story of ferocity and presence. Blue jeans-boy is intent on controlling his victim and delivering precisely the dose of pain that he has coming to him. Whatever he did, I instantly believe that trunks-boy deserved it in spades.
Jaxx O’Doul setting up the stunningly skilled BG East babyface jobber, Cameron Matthews, connects the dots between impact and intimacy. First of all, have you SEEN Cameron’s ass? I frankly can’t quite understand how his opponent’s can restrain themselves from commenting on it all the time (or at least staring for a good long time). In this pic, Jaxx has somewhat demurely cupped Cameron’s ample left cheek in his hand, suggesting that he’s self-consciously avoiding really digging in his fingertips for a good solid grip. His carefully avoiding sinking his claws into Cameron’s glute only goes to show that Jaxx is just as keenly aware of Cameron’s #1 asset as I am. Going out his way to avoid a serious grab of that booty is Jaxx’s tell that he’s absolutely taken note of the booty-in-question. Cameron, for his part, is selling like an Amway Double Diamond, looking awed, frightened, and already in the throes of anticipatory suffering. Cameron’s all business, so I doubt that he’s intending to dig his pinky underneath Jaxx’s trunks, directly overtop of his cock, but nevertheless, that’s exactly what ends up happening. Regardless what Jaxx and Cameron’s intentions are, they illustrate that a body slam just can’t help be both brutal and intimate.
When bodybuilder Ted Shipp scooped up sadist Beau Hopkins in Canadian Musclehunk Wrestling 6, he had one thing in mind. Look at his eyes, and you can just tell. Ted has just a little bit of a crazed ecstasy in his eyes as he swings Beau’s hips high over his shoulder in preparation for driving him to the canvas. Ted is clearly feeling the kink that I’m all about today. Turn that cocky muscleboy into your plaything, Ted! Dangle him helplessly in the air with your rocking body tensed and gorgeous. Sure, let him plant his left hand across your rock hard quad. Indulge him for that split second. Because once you’ve pounded his ass to ground, you’ll have a few moments of peace and quiet from that bastard’s constant, cocky banter. Shut him up hard and commandingly!
Clearly I’m working out some of my own frustrations with my lustful read of the wrestling body slam. There are some overconfident ass holes I know who are crying out for a silencing pounding. But of course in between the lines of every lustful desire for a delivery of pain is the profound intimacy of that moment. The exchange of power and powerlessness, anticipation and consummation, and fear and agony is 100% sexual domination, as least as I read the text. Denny Cartier’s line of sight and right hand here are writing the story. Being owned by the giant-boy Joe Robbins has got to be a helpless, frightening, agonizing experience. Giving up over a half a foot and 80 pounds (!!!), Denny is caught in that instant of dreading the shock of being driven to his back from 6 feet off the ground. He’s captured and helpless, and Denny (a swiftly rising stock in my estimation) can’t help himself but be fixated, biting his lower lip in concentration, and instinctively reaching toward Joe’s package.

Brutality and intimacy. Brutality as intimacy. Fear and agony as the flip side of the lustful ecstasy coin. That’s the currency I’m looking for today. Ready to pay up?