Tag: Brad Rochelle

In the Ropes

wrestlebard1 Comment
These days, I’m getting worked over pretty hard. I’m working my ass off, just managing to stay on my feet. And, wouldn’t you know it, just when I find myself backed into the ropes, some nasty heel villain uses those very same ropes to work me over that much harder.
KV v Ken Mason (assisted by KL) – Tag Team Torture 1
Metaphorically, this makes my day-to-day life these days suck. On the other hand, literally, when someone uses the ring ropes to take advantage of an already battered hunk, that does not suck (at least not for the heel or for me, watching). Turning the set into an integral prop to tell the story is, in fact, a major turn on for me, further explaining my particular preference for ring action.
Brigham Bell v Patrick Donovan – Hunkbash 5
Sliced to hell and mean as a king cobra, Brigham Bell pretty much always used the ropes, and most of the time he took full advantage by not only capturing his hunks in the ropes, but then head scissoring them at the same time. Illustrated so delightfully in his ring action with Patrick Donovan, ultra-lean, muscled bodies put on artistic display is the icing on the cake. The cake itself, of course, is the completely gratuitous humiliation of an already suffering hunk. To capture 6’1″ pec-tacular Patrick so defenselessly, so vulnerably, and then to squeeze Patrick’s handsome face humiliatingly between Brigham’s tightly corded thighs… talk about the climax of a story!
Brad Rochelle v Patrick Donovan – Wrestlefest 2
Patrick, Patrick, Patrick… early in his BG East career, Patrick frequently occupied the restraints of the ring ropes. He just suffered so sweetly! It’s no wonder that opponent after opponent reveled in beating him down and then tying him up to not only soak up more punishment, to also have his ego crushed as decisively as his hot, long, gorgeous body. On his way to being awarded Rookie of the Year in Wrestlefest 2 (I vote for more Wrestlefests!), Brad Rochelle slapped Patrick into what I think, objectively speaking, is the hottest bit of ring rope torture ever captured on camera. Hunk-on-hunk, stunning body on stunning body, handsome face squaring off against handsome face, and Brad taking a foreshadowing turn to the dark side to lock Patrick’s throat between the bottom to ropes and then boston crag his legs, sitting his fine (fine, fine, fine, fine) ass down across Patrick’s shoulders to choke him that much more. 

Brad Rochelle v Dom the Dominator – Demolition 3

Brad, Brad, Brad… of course, any regular reader of this blog is already fully immersed in the drama of Brad Rochelle’s BGE career, as his fratboy face and go-go boy muscles went through years of jobbing, suffering like perhaps none other, not infrequently himself trapped in the very same ropes with which he’d humiliated Patrick and won rookie of the year. Dom’s boot in his ass and his back cranked backward over the top rope, Brad’s rope-suffering illustrates what is the tastiest pay off of all with rope work: the stunning body of a hunk displayed so fully and vulnerably.

Rio Garza v Donnie Drake v “Trevor” Mathews – Pro Bashed Triple Threat
I noticed in recent pics from Can-Am’s new (upcoming?) release, Pro Bashed Triple Threat, that Rio Garza is on the receiving end of some tasty hunk rope punishment at the hands of Donnie Drake. This is, perhaps, the best representation of my own subjective experience at the moment. Clearly outmuscled and at the mercy of a nasty, big, brick house bastard, like Rio under the control of Donnie Drake, I’m getting pried backward and pounded on with nothing to do but take it and look pretty (I can pull that off, too).
As I whine, just a bit, about my own woes (I can sell suffering when it’s my turn), I find some comfort in the sight of some beautiful hunks getting tied up and beat down with the assistance of the ropes. Well, okay, so perhaps “comfort” isn’t the word. But it does, somehow, make the nasty heels in my own life a little more tolerable when I spend a little time admiring the aesthetics and erotics of homoerotic wrestling heels taking the picture frame itself and choking the daylights out of the stunning portrait of a musclehunk in the middle.

Between Takes

wrestlebard2 Comments

I love it that you’re reading a homoerotic wrestling kink blog on Christmas! You are such the hardcore, ironman wrestling kinkster! Or, you’re reading a back edition… or this isn’t even your holiday… but in any case, I’m taking it easy today. I’m trying not to sweat the obligatory family drama. I’m trying not to resent the cacophony of carols that have nearly bored a hold straight through my head by now. I’m trying to relax and let it all wash over me.

This time last year, I posted some of the behind-the-scenes shots from BG East, capturing the boys between slams and submissions, relaxed, smiling, and clearly just savoring a happy moment. I thought I’d reprise the theme again for another Christmas day, because these unguarded smiles on these hardworking hunks just lighten my mood.


We all take ourselves too seriously. I do it. You do it (don’t contradict me!). Hell knows, the politicians and pundits and preachers do it, particularly this time of year. So a glimpse of an almost shy smile on a granite-chiseled, merciless ring heel is a sweet reminder, I think, to just cool my jets. Whatever it is that gets me hot and bothered (in a bad way), if I just  just take a step back and remove my ego from the situation, 9 times out of ten it’s all just silliness not to be taken seriously.



There’s seriously messed up shit going on in the world right at this very moment, of course. That’s no laughing matter, but that said, in light of the serious shit, my shit honestly is laughable. So I had to wait in an insanely long line to get that last Christmas present that I put off until way, way too late. So the roads are filled with crazies. So another season of Dexter came and went and I still haven’t seen Michael C. Hall’s world class ass. None of it should be such a burden that I can’t set it down today, let the tension that I’m carrying in my body slip away, and just smile.


Okay, so I’m having trouble letting go of my bitterness about Michael C. Hall’s ass. I’ll keep working on it in between Scrabble games and slices of turkey and endless accounts of the inanity of my sibling’s miserable children (tension rising again… breathe……. okay, I’m back).


Whatever rituals you do or don’t engage in today, whatever your religious or familial proclivities, whatever the burdens you carry, my hope for you is a deep breath, a sly smile, a moment of innocent humor, and all the hot, sweaty, muscle thumping, crotch bumping, ass humping sexual pleasure your heart desires.

Delightful Conundrum

wrestlebard2 Comments
BG East’s Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you) remains a conundrum to me. On the one hand, he’s a heartless tease. His wrestling career is all about his mammoth package (at least as far as I’m concerned, that’s what it’s about), but despite being all about genitals, we’ve only barely glimpsed his bare essentials unleashed. His gear, his balls-in-face victory poses, his frequent mid-match hand down his trunks to rearrange the goods… he’s practically screaming, “Marvel at my gargantuan balls!” And yet he coyly, demurely (well, sort of) seems to have a non-nudity clause in his contract. This should make me hate him with a bitter resentment I reserve for few.
On the other hand, when I think of the line dividing straight-up wrestling from homoerotic fare, I can’t imagine thinking of Mr. Joshua as anything but flag-firmly-planted well on the homoerotic side. I’m the first (though I’m sure not the last) to point out that my opinions here may reveal me to be inconsistent, fickle, and potentially even hypocritical. None of those things really bother me so much. But on the topic of grab-ass in homoerotic wrestling, which I’ve been musing about lately, for all Mr. Joshua’s carefully covered assets, he frequently takes matters firmly in hand.
Perhaps not so frequently is the literal grab-ass in a Mr. Joshua bash, but particularly in his more recent appearances, someone’s balls are almost always getting grabbed. When Mr Joshua shoves his own mitt down the front of his trunks, honestly, I cheer (outloud… really). His fascination with his own balls is delightful to watch. It’s as if he just can’t keep from grabbing and tugging at himself (and honestly, haven’t we all been there?). But what connects the dots for me is that Mr. Joshua clearly has an irresistible need to grab hold precisely at the moment that he’s laid an opponent out commandingly. Something has shifted in his trunks simultaneous with his moment of humiliating domination over the punk who had the temerity to step into the ring/on the mat with the power and guile of Mr. Joshua. Even if he doesn’t whip it out and pop off on camera, he at least sells the story that he’s aroused by the act of hammering a barely clothed man down and climbing on top.
I’ve been particularly pleased with the development of his story to include the fact that his opponents can’t help but notice Mr. Joshua’s package and his own fascination with it. They frequently mock him with a crotch-to-face pin (which is an obligatory element in any Mr. Joshua victory), and shove their hand down their own trunks. Nearly no one has the package to compete with Mr. Joshua, though, so even on the bottom, his massive balls somehow manage to come out on top.
Early in his career, the focus on Mr. Joshua’s package was more implied. It was context in which the wrestling took place, as far as I can tell. But lately, both Mr. Joshua and his opponent’s have been taking matters more directly in hand. One of the sweetest Mr. Joshua matches, I think, was the summer’s release of the man himself going up against a much smaller Austin Raines. Mr. Joshua grabs hold of Austin’s throat and balls early and hard, and he gets it back in spades. Austin’s choke and throttle on Mr. Joshua comes in a very close second place to the “teabagging” moment as my very favorite moment in this match.

Perhaps Mr. Joshua’s career left turn can be dated to his utter humiliation in the right hand of Brooklyn Bodywrecker in Mr. Joshua’s own Wrestler Spotlight DVD. It was this match that made me finally tear my eyes away from his package to admire the hard, powerful ass on Mr. Joshua. It was also the match that came closest to consummating the love affair that Mr. Joshua’s crotch has been nursing with the camera, including Mr. Joshua stripped naked and tossed over BBW’s shoulder. As I’ve complained bitterly about prior, though, don’t get your hopes up here. You’ll get a tasty, lingering look at Mr. Joshua’s bare and vulnerable cheeks, but BBW taunts us by refusing to show us the real moneymaker.

The hits and, more delightfully, the squeezes just keep coming in match after match. Giving…

…and taking, the main character in any Mr. Joshua match has got be acknowledged to be the crotch, and sooner or later it’s Mr. Joshua’s crotch that steals the spotlight, crowding everyone else off the stage.

So, while it’s true he unfortunately does not qualify to compete in my pornboy division, as a non-pornboy Mr. Joshua’s wrestling is still all about sex and the wonders that a hard, hot body like his can’t help but bring to mind. On a purely abstract level, I completely respect his decision to just barely/not quite keep his modesty in tact. Much more viscerally, though, I remain locked in a love/hate conundrum when I think about Mr. Joshua… and I frequently do.

He’s come such a long way since he debuted against the emerging legend of chisel-chinned Brad Rochelle as a musclehead with perhaps more brawn than brains underneath his frosted locks. A legend in his own right, as far as I’m concerned, looking back at Mr. Joshua’s debut makes me marvel. Who could predict what hot, productive homoerotic wrestling careers would be represented on the mat that day?

With wisdom born of experience and, I’d argue, an even hotter body today, Mr. Joshua makes me often possessed with the desire to trade places with any single opponent who’s had the privilege of experiencing a Mr. Joshua beatdown. Though, if I found myself in the enviable position of just a handful of those opponents (with Mr. Joshua’s balls resting on my lips), I almost certainly would be unable to honor his contract rider.

Collapsing the Metaphor

wrestlebard1 Comment
A little while back a reader interrogated me offline about my deprecating straight-up wrestling and fixating, instead, on more explicitly homoerotic fare. If it’s just about “grab-ass,” as he put it, doesn’t it lose the aggro, the potential ferocity? In short, he wondered, in my fixation on the homoerotic, don’t I lose some of what’s essential to an authentic wrestling kink?

First, I want to say that the occasional, seemingly inadvertant (yet literal) grab-ass in a match has quite an allure, even in the context of a match that’s light on the homo or the explicitly erotic. Dom the Dominator and the seventh wonder of the world known as his physique are profoundly arousing for me in most any context. But when he scoops up a young, eager Brad Rochelle to drop him across his knee, digging his fingertips into the gorgeous, round, hard ass of boy wonder… well, I know I’m not alone in wearing out the VCR tape at that precise moment to catch that delightful moment of grab-ass in freeze frame (and later, slow motion). I like to think even the more straight-up performers throw in some gratuitous moments like this. And I adore them for it.
But back to my original point… there are plenty of moments when watching two beautiful men pound the hell out of each other and sell some convincing aggression will be all I need to completely exhaust myself. But there are some periods, such as the one I’m in now, where I absolutely crave the homoerotic component of my homoerotic wrestling. A literal, lingering grab of the ass can catapult me into a deeply satisfying, body-affirming, gay-affirming, passionate place that without it, can leave me feeling a little desperate. The BGE classic, Tommy Lopez, in a mutual, tender ass grab in the midst of a sweaty, snarling smack down is the value-added that I’ve got a major lust for these days.
It’s not just the literal grab-ass I’m talking about, of course. Grab most anything and hold on appreciatively, and it can definitely count in my book. Of course, a cock-grab or a ball-grab (or for those with large enough hands, a cock-and-ball-grab) connects all the dots for the elements that I’m talking about. But frankly, a commanding, appraising hold on your opponent’s chin can leap-frog well you beyond a play-it-straight tussle. An appreciative squeeze of a meaty pec (I’m not talking a claw here, but a grab), sends my brain firing on all cylinders in moods like I’m in right now.
But I love a collapsed metaphor, and a commanding, solid handful of glute seals the deal for me whenever I’m treated to the sight. Another BGE classic, Brian Baxter, had an ass for days himself, so his thumping of Tim Anderson’s juicy melons is just asking for it, begging for it, making me start talking at the screen pleading for a return of that awesome, satisfying favor on Brian. Grab that ass! I’m looking for the element of grab-ass in my wrestling right at the moment.
You know me. You know I can go on and on about the role of imagination, and you know I can fill in the gaps in just about any story to make it suit my particular kinky tastes. But even I, sometimes, find myself feeling like a literalist. So to the reader who complained that I’m too much into the “grab-ass” scene, I do, truly, get your point. And sometimes, nothing else but some grab-ass will do.

Bodies Over Time

wrestlebard3 Comments
I’m on the record many times over as a holding a fascination for the maturing of bodies over time. I do like them young and flush with the recent flood of post-adolescent testosterone, no doubt. But I also like them as they mature, like a fine wine growing more complex, well-rounded, and smooth going down (so to speak). So the recent dust-up at the BG East Headquarters yahoo group over whether Brad Rochelle stayed in the homoerotic wrestling biz too long is a no brainer for me. Of course not.

I’m happy to remember that it was Brad as cover-boy on the BG East website years and years ago that made me a BGE devotee instantly. Young, hard, with a baby-face despite the cleft chin… Brad looked like the stunningly handsome fratboy of my dreams. There was just something instantly classic about Brad in stills, the captured moment of hard, hot youth dripping with eager, effortless sensuality. The stills and description of Brad on the website were what made me purchase my first BG East video, and Brad’s amazing performance cemented the deal. I’m now hooked, and I suspect I’ll never have “enough” BG East products to keep me from jonesin’ for the latest tempting treat that they continue to produce.

Kid Leopard, fielding some critiques aimed at Brad’s physique in more recent career appearances, rhetorically pointed out that he’d love to be 20 years old again, but none of us really have that option, so how is it valid to fault a 30-something (?) year old Brad for not looking exactly like he did when he first appeared in a wrestling video around 1993 or so. I, for one, would not love to be 20 years old again. Not just because I was so anxious and uncertain about my own sexuality, but frankly, I wasn’t in nearly the physical shape I am now as I rapidly approach 40. To tell the truth, if I met my 20 year old self today, I could kick his ass in a heartbeat. And if I’m being truthful, I think I’d find it cathartic to beat the crap out of my anxiety-wracked, skinny, 20 year-old self. Hell, there’s even something sort of hot about the idea. Okay, now I’ve probably gone and said too much…

Back to Brad: then, now… whatever. His most recent BGE appearance, I believe, was released in 2006. And true enough, in a side by side comparison, he’s not quite as rock hard as he was when he was 20 or so. He isn’t as tanned, which is something that comes with the wisdom of age. His pecs aren’t filled out to quite the extent they were in 1993. His shoulders are surely not quite as wide. But come on! His most recent incarnation includes a six pack, bulging biceps, astonishingly low body-fat, and gorgeous, strong legs. He’s not a twin of his younger self, but he’s hardly someone that would fail to grab my attention and make my heart race were I to see him out at a bar. More importantly, as far as I’m concerned, his most recent incarnation continues to be one in which he pounds and gets pounded, squeezes and gets squeezed, and weaves together a smoking hot story of a snarling will to dominate and a chip on his heart-of-a-jobber shoulder that he’ll never quite shake, no matter how many young challengers he decimates. Those are all the elements that keep me happily entertained by homoerotic wrestling today and a decade ago, and from start to finish, Brad was always a sure-fire go-to guy to make my fantasies come to life.

Reading the Contract

wrestlebard3 Comments
I just posted my latest flight of fancy over at the Sidelineland group. It’s a sequel to my resurrection/homage to BG East’s “The Contract” series which featured muscle jobber extraordinaire, Brad Rochelle, being made everyone’s bitch until he finally had enough, turned heel, and started laying out fresh face after fresh face. Like so many, I miss Brad, and it’s not hard to detect my nostalgia for some sweet Brad performances in this new piece of wrestling fiction.
In fact, Brad plays a role in the unfolding story of James Dawson Martin’s forced face down with the terms of the contract he signed with BGE boss Kid Leopard. In real life, Martin is a YouTube phenom, Britboy transplant to LA who’s been trying to work up traction as a fitness model, actor, personal trainer to the stars… whatever a smoking hard physique on a 6’3″ flawless body coupled with an English accent will get you (in my book, it’ll get you far).
Brad is a supporting character in this bout, leaving the head-to-head rookie slamfest to one of my rising favorites currently at BGE, Joe Robbins. Joe delivers the action, but I must admit that this story is merely foreplay for one of my fondest recurring fantasies, that being Brad moving into an explicitly homoerotic sex wrestling direction. I’m a big proponent of the argument that wrestling most certainly doesn’t need to involve fucking or sucking to qualify as homoerotic. That said, even the more conventional wrestling motif in homoerotic wrestling typically fires me up most when I can’t help but picture a post-match scenario that turns physical into sexual conquest. It’s a little like unrequited love that Brad never took a turn in the more explicit niche of homoerotic wrestling. That never stopped me from imagining it, though… fondly.
BG East has been generous in giving me their permission to post pics here, and they seem to tolerate the license I take with their hot characters as I write them into my own homoerotic wrestling scenarios. BG East and the fantastic performances of folks like Kid Leopard, Kid Vicious, Brad Rochelle, and Joe Robbins have given me a lot of satisfying entertainment for a long time. My hope is that writing them into fantasy matches of my own making is as respectful, humble contribution to promoting the BG East and larger homoerotic wrestling universe.
And writing them turns me on.

The Flex

wrestlebard1 Comment
Lately, I’ve been drawn to strength. What’s getting my engine running is the powerful squeeze that makes a captured man gasp, or the brutal slam that even makes my head rattle just watching it. That said, I’ve also been reminded lately that I’m not a fan of musclebound bodies that are so massively developed that a bodybuilder can’t scratch his own nose because his biceps keep getting in the way. That just seems maladaptive and, frankly, not so sexy.
Flexibility is a grosslyundervalued aspect of physical health in general, and in wrestling, it’s even more important. Tolerances for pain and prying, twisting and turning are calibrated precisely to the hard-achieved flexibility of a wrestler. The same guillotine that makes one man scream a frantic submission may be endured, at least for a time, by a more flexible body not so easily pressed to the breaking point.
When I think of flexibility and the homoerotic wrestler, Paul Perris inevitably pops into my brain first. Paul always managed to work the splits into his matches, and really, why not? It’s like a dog licking his own balls… if you or I could physically manage that feat, wouldn’t we be caught doing it ALL the time, wouldn’t we? Anyway, back to Paul… his splits provided a means of delivering punishment to Paul and receiving punishment from Paul. He frequently seemed to enjoy sliding down into splits, particularly in his oil matches, as he tortured his opponent in, say, a full nelson. I don’t see how the splits really added anything to the wrestling, but they were stunning, nonetheless, and they offered fascinating angles to view his muscleboy bubblebutt. Frequently, Paul would be ruthlessly captured by his opponents who would manage to spread his legs freakishly wide as Paul sold some sweet suffering. On those rare occasions he was matched with an equally flexible musclegod like Roman Stone (which he did 3 times), Paul seemed to relish throwing in some split-torture of his own.

Once I’ve managed to stop fixating on an oiled Paul Perris in the splits, my second fondest wrestling contortionist is Brad Rochelle.

Brad’s flexibility is probably easy to overlook. You aren’t alone in being completely intoxicated by the stunning beauty of his muscled physique. His proportions and power are what can sell a still of Brad any day. And speaking of selling, his salesmanship is second to no one’s as far as I’m concerned. But in appreciating Brad matches, it has to be acknowledged, he was one twist-tie of a man.

This is probably why Brad-as-jobber commands such a fanatical following full 2 years after the last match was released with Brad. His flexibility made his capture and torture astonishing to behold. He could be pried so far past the point of normal flexibility, that you couldn’t help but be amazed and fully on board with the notion that he was suffering well beyond the pale.

All this to say that flexibility has got to be the motor oil lubricating my wrestling kink engine. I like ’em big and powerful, no doubt. But I need to see them bend, too. Clearly, I need to get back into yoga.

It’s the Pits

wrestlebardLeave a comment
I have friends who are as fanatical about armpits as I am about a screaming body scissors (I’m a little fixated lately, I know). Personally, I find armpits about as erotic as the rest of the body, which means I find them very erotic. But they don’t typically stand out for me. On the other hand, the fashion model pose with hands behind head, camera’s gaze centered on the armpit, is absolutely everywhere, so clearly male beauty and armpits are closely linked for a lot of folks.
I know some guys who are into nothing but hairy pits. They scoff and roll their eyes at the sight of shaved pits and make derogatory comments about the man’s gender and masculinity. As for me, sure, I’m all for hairy armpits. Take newest member of my wrestling fiction pantheon, Jared Prudoff.
On second thought, you can’t take him. He’s mine. Instead, take fitness model Hendrik Snyman and his hairy-if-coiffed pits. There’s just nothing wrong with either of these sets armpits, as far as I’m concerned.
I do pose the caveat that I’m not a fan of deodorant caked into hairy armpits. I’m just fine to do some armpit worship as long as everything is tidy and clean, or during and after a wrestling match, as long as there’s nothing but the musky sweet of hard earned sweat. Portuguese bodybeautiful Rodriogo Guilherme, for example, who I posted unattributed a few days ago (shame on me) may be water-soaked or sweat-soaked, but his pits are primed and ready for some worship.
I do have a couple of friends who are exclusively fans of shaved armpits. They turn their nose up at anything more than a 5 o’clock shadow under the arms. As for me, I’m entirely a fan of shaved pits, particularly on well-muscled physiques adorned only in wrestling gear. Take one-named Russian model Anatoli (who I also posted uncited a couple of days ago). With muscles like that, a nice shave does nothing but accentuate the shape and size of those gorgeous pecs and arms.

And speaking of wrestling armpits, wrestlers, like the fashion model boys, frequently appear in stills proudly displaying their pits. Whatever is most comfortable for the battleboys in question is exactly what I’m a fan of. When cleft-chin fratboy extrordinaire Brad Rochelle wrestled with some carefully coiffed pit hair, I was ecstatic. I’d schoolboy that hunk, pin his arm over his head, and lick every inch of him within reach of my tongue morning, noon and night.

Same hunk a few years later wrestling entirely shaved, and nothing at all has changed as far as I’m concerned. Schoolboy…arm pinned overhead… severe tongue lashing… absolute gratification.

I’m a major fan of the post-victory flex-pose of Reese Wells, in no small part because of the remarkable display he offers of his physique, including the pits. I swear he’s a magician. He gives every impression of being a barely-legal, skinny white boy. But when he’s posing with his arms over his head, his shaved armpits stretching up into remarkably defined and solidly massive biceps and triceps are just astounding. There’s just something about Reese that just screams out for him to get dropped gut first across my knee for a severe spanking, followed up immediately by getting dropped back-first across my knee for a screaming OTK backbreaker with a ball-claw chaser. Not sure what it is that makes him seem to me to demand such treatment, but there it is.

So for beautiful model boys and wrestlers alike, and especially for beautiful model boys who wrestle (in real life, or in my imagination) I may not always mention it, but I’m entirely a fan of the pits. The eroticized, objectified male physique seems to be unable to be examined without a close up, centered gaze on the armpits. I’m all for it, whatever grooming regimen you ascribe to (as long as you ascribe to one).

How Does That Feel!?

wrestlebardLeave a comment


It’s cliche’, I know. But I can’t help myself but be sucked in when one wrestler snarls at his opponent, “How does that feel!?“

It’s not as if it’s a real question. It’s typically asked when one man is clearly suffering. The obvious answer is, “It hurts!” The question is rhetorical. It’s not asked in an effort to gather information, but to domineer. It’s a question intended to humiliate, to drive home the point that the suffering man is paid for and owned outright by his opponent. Asking the question, “how does that feel,” is about pointing out all that’s obvious here: I control you. Where your pain starts and stops is completely in my hands. I own your body, and once you acknowledge the foregone conclusion that you have no choice but submit to me, you’re entirely mine.
Let me just put it out there. When I’m watching a favorite homoerotic beat down and I hear the rhetorical question, “How does that feel,” I frequently answer. Out loud. Emphatically. As usual, even as I type this I wonder, “Am I just disclosing way too much?” Ah, what the hell. When I hear Cole or Mitch or Rusty or Derek snarl down at some muscled boy that they’ve just broken in body and spirit, asking him how it feels, I often answer, saying something like, “That feels fucking awesome!” I realize that they aren’t actually asking me, but that question can collapse the distance between entertainer and entertained for me, transporting me ringside where my muscle champion inflicts pain explicitly for my pleasure. Sure, he’s looking down into his opponent’s face as he crushes the suffering man’s balls beneath his feet, but his question is for me, “How does that feel, Bard?”
He’s digging his claws into the fantastically meaty pecs of his jobber boy, whose face is contorted with pain and near-sobs are wracking his body. And when he asks, “How does that feel?” he’s asking me, “Is this what you want to see? If I claw my fingers in deeper, how does that make you feel, Bard?”
It’s a contemptuous, domineering, humiliating throw away line that’s just meant to tell the story of one man’s complete domination. But when the fighter on top asks, “How does that feel,” the words frequently transport me ringside, where this muscle on muscle battle is being waged for my pleasure. The ars erotica of the beautiful body beatdown becomes more than just implicitly for my pleasure. The dispenser of punishment is considerately checking in with his patron. “How about if I twist his rippled body a few inches farther? What if I crank his neck until he cries. How does that feel, Bard?”
Feels fucking awesome, Mitch. Keep it up.
wrestlebardLeave a comment


While enjoying my recent purchase of BG East’s Backyard Brawls 6, I was reminded once again what a beauty Denny Cartier is. I hope that there’s a broad audience for hunky Denny, as I want to see much, much more of him. He has the body and moves that make all the erotic connections for me in wrestling kink. What also strikes me is what a gorgeous face and what a fantastic, hunky, handsome cleft chin he has.

I’ve mentioned it before, but I don’t really know what it is that’s triggered in me when I see a hot cleft chin. Is it some evolutionary programming to associate strong jaws lines and classically carved chins with masculinity? Brad Rochelle, for example, has always been sex on a stick in my mind. There are a lot of things about Brad that make me hot and hard, but it’s that dramatically dimpled chin that makes me melt.
You don’t have to be a homoerotic wrestler to have a cleft chin that turns me on (though it does help). Aaron Eckhart is mostly chin, and the awesome cleft is an incredible turn on. He can play the clown, the cad, the smarmy bad boy, but he’s always the highly erotic sex puppy in my mind.
Thomas Jane of HBO’s Hung similarly wins me over with he chiseled chin. Frankly, I initially went back and forth, trying to decide if Thomas was lust worthy. Something doesn’t quite all line up in Thomas, but I can’t put my finger it. But that fantastic profile makes me set aside whatever hang up I can’t quite name, and place Thomas unquestionably in the sex-stud category.
I never had any pause in worshipping Viggo Mortensen. He oozes sexuality. I’ll crown him king and worship at his feet any day, anywhere.
Like I said, one doesn’t have to be a homoerotic wrestler to have a chin that I obsess over… but it helps. Chip Slater is the chin that launches a thousand ships in my mind. I was not expecting to be fixated on Chip when I bought my first product that included him. But he’s so… fucking… hot! He wrestles hard, and he gives every indication of being a legitimate sadist. He tortures every opponent’s balls. He’s vicious and completely into domination. He has a hot, while not overly muscled body. But that chin is almost obscenely sexy!

Whatever it is… evolutionary hardwiring, socialization, personal idiosyncrasy, I’m a big fan of the chiseled, cleft chin.