Tag: Brad Rochelle

To Job or Not to Job

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I once suggested to John Savage that one of his wrestling comic series might include the “hero” tasting victory. John’s fantastic art and stories, including the superheroes and the jungle king characters, tell the excellent story of the classic heel who destroys and humiliates the boy scout. I thought it might spice things up to see a muscle hero snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Perhaps it could be hot to see a boy scout pushed beyond the edge, forced over the line and turned in the heat of battle into a nasty vessel of humiliating punishment for the cocky heel. John gently, but firmly assured me that was not a story I was ever likely to see in his work. A few other fans chimed in to remind me that a jobber is a jobber, and toying with that universal law is not kosher.

Similarly, I posted a fantasy fiction short story a few months back portraying one of the loveliest muscleboys with a devastating cleft chin, Brad Rochelle. I wrote Brad post-heel turn, digging deep and dirty to torture and humiliate Tyrell Tomsen, tying him to a corner and stripping the newbie musclegod naked. A few impassioned fans of seeing Brad’s masterful suffering let me know that it was a “nice” story (ouch), but that Brad would always and forever remain a jobber in their wrestling fantasies.
I think I’m frequently out of sync with the classic pro-wrestling scenario. I’m often one of the naive rubes rooting for the pretty boys who are destined to suffer humiliatingly. Before Paul Roma’s character evolved, he spent several years as the stunning Roman god repeatedly dismantled and destroyed by physically-lesser men. I totally get it, of course. Featuring a main character who uses skill and guile to own a stunning specimen like Paul Roma teaches the fans what type of bad-ass the giant-killer is. The massive, shining muscles of Paul Roma were the backdrop, providing perspective on just how dangerous must be the man who could conquer Roma’s godlike body. But I harbored a lustful desire to get a glimpse of those amazing muscles as devices of torture.
The job-as-career leaves me a little unsatisfied. Don’t get me wrong: I’m first in line to lap up the image of a handsome, confident muscle god brought to his knees in agony and fear. But any Johnny-One-Note loses my interest eventually. If Paul Roma had never scrambled his way into a real story line, even his stunning beauty would have eventually left me uninspired.
Marcus Bagwell was another early-career babyface who dabbled with jobbing. As the Handsome Stranger, Bagwell’s massive, round muscles were obviously the object of fanatic, sexual lust. As such, it’s no wonder he was often scripted for a severe beating. The beating wasn’t “about” Bagwell, really. He was simply the device to push the story of the devious heel who delighted in humiliating the Handsome Stranger in front of his worshipping fans. Bagwell was simply beautiful scenery in front of which the real play was acted out.
Seriously, I get it. But even Bagwell’s beautiful bod would have lost its allure for me if he’d never made his turn. If there’s no arc to a story, if a character is flat and entirely predictable, then my imagination is left flaccid. And no one should be happy with a flaccid imagination.

So, still, I say, mix it up. Tell me a story that keeps me guessing. String along the rubes like me that are lusting for the occasional conquering face, the boy scout delivering a knee the groin, the crisis of conscience for the muscle god who has to decide what to do when he realizes that his dominating power is just not enough. There will always be plenty of room for jobs, but if you plan to keep a jobber on the payroll for any length of time, make them more than a caricature. Give them character. Tease me. Toy with my naive sympathies that every so often want to see a good guy come out on top, perhaps a little tarnished and morally ambiguous, but at least momentarily planting his boot on his opponent’s chest and raising his muscled arms in victory.

Another Sideline

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I get a kick out of the Fantasy BGE Wrestling group. I possess a predilection for gay wrestling fiction, and I like seeing BG East style wrestling fiction through the eyes of different authors. It’s fascinating to see what each of us focuses on in writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. Some of us clearly find our kink in the strut and swagger, the cocky attitudes and dominating trash talk as two studs ante up before laying their cards on the table. Some of us are into the wrestling holds, with simply naming a series of moves and holds as the beginning and end of a hot grappling session. Some of us are mostly about the bodies, with detailed descriptions of the muscles, the cocks, the stretch and the flex. Personally, it all gets me hot and bothered, and there’s an added kink-kick of reading a match through the eyes of someone else as they get hot and bothered. I feel like the voyeur’s voyeur. Sharing the author’s lens seems just as intimate as the sweaty, cum-soaked action in the ring.
I’ve submitted three contributions to that group. The first match pitted one of my classic favorites, Brad Rochelle, against the instant classic, Mitch Colby. Since we can never get enough of Brad, a second match puts him back in the ring against ring rookie Tyrell Tomsen. I submitted a third match last weekend, dangling man meat Rio Garza in front of the Dismantler, Cole Cassidy. Capitalizing on the “fantasy” side of things, that match offered me a chance to resurrect a BG East veteran we haven’t seen in quite a while for a special appearance.
The Garza vs. Cassidy match hasn’t been uploaded yet. But after I mentioned it a few days ago, I’ve had a few requests. So I’ve uploaded it to another site. I’ll add some stories over time (outside the Producer’s Ring storyline), and I hope others will contribute some of their works as well (any genre). Here’s a little teaser from early in Cole’s match with Rio:
In a flash, Cole wrapped his thickly muscled arms around Rio’s narrow waist. With a grunt, Cole lifted his opponent off his feet and drove Rio’s back hard to the mat, still maintaining his bearhug. Rio’s head bounced off the canvas, and his eyes blinked rapidly as his head swam. Cole disentangled his arms from his opponent and sat back on his heels, perched between Rio’s knees. “Intimidated yet?” he asked without a smile, glaring down at Rio, who clutched his hands to the back of his head.

Cole clenched his right fist, bit his lower lip in concentration, then jabbed his fist into Rio’s abdomen. Rio’s stunning six-pack flexed, and Cole’s fist bounced off. Again, Cole cocked his fist and pounded it hard into the rookie’s abs, but once again, Rio flexed and the blow bounced off with no effect. Again and again, Cole drilled his fists, back and forth into the rookie’s midsection, but the blows seemed to do nothing but clear Rio’s head. Rio looked up at the veteran and smiled. “Is that all you’ve got, old man?”

The Crushing Embrace

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In honor of this blog being listed on Bearhugger.net, I thought I’d pick out some of my favorite belly-to-bellies and reflect a little on the crushing embrace.

The hug as a device of torture is a sweet paradox. One man wrapping his arms around another man’s waist, in a different context, is about tenderness and affection. When those arms are cinched tight, with the recipient squeezed hard, the intimacy of the embrace turns from tender to tortuous.
The mainstream pros do it at least as often as the homoerotic pros. When the musclegod Lex Luger clamped tight a bearhug, employing that stunning musculature in concentrated focus on the small of his opponent’s back, it’s no wonder that we could see not only pain, but fear on the faces of his victims. To be lifted off your feet and crushed against the sweaty, muscled torso of Luger must have been a nightmare for many, and surely a dream come true for at least a few.
The homoerotic pros, though, make explicit what’s undeniably implicit in every wrestling bearhug: the bearhug is all about the interplay of sexual intimacy and sadistic domination. Classic Can-Amer Cliff Conlin was a master salesman. Watching the hairy-chested heel beating up on his opponents was always golden, but when some studly challenger like Dean Christian captured Cliff, lifted him off his feet, and squeezed him until he screamed, that was priceless.
When Brad Rochelle picked to pieces Jeff Phoenix in BG East’s Fantasymen 18, the final and decisive fall was a long series of one impressive bearhug after another. Brad hoisted his man off his feet, pinned him against his pelvis, and squeezed the breath out of him until he passed out. Total control. Total domination.
David Taylor’s repeated bearhugs on Rusty Stevens in Wrestle Bait are amazing, not only due to the ease with which David holds Rusty off his feet, but even more impressively the way that David remains hard as a board throughout. Rusty looks like he’s sitting on that gorgeous cock of David’s as it sticks out from between Rusty’s ass cheeks perched in David’s powerful embrace. Passionate suffering becomes passionate ecstasy, and the bearhug is the seamless border between the two.
And finally, I have to mention again the inspired pairing of Mitch Colby and Cole Cassidy in BG East’s Ringwars 15. Mitch’s beautiful body is flexed everywhichway as he drags Cole off his feet and lifts him high in his arms. The fantastic juxtaposition of Cole’s delicious suffering and Mitch’s cocky self-congratulations for his stunning domination makes my head spin. And what makes my head spin even more is reading Kid Leopard’s teaser that the next BG East catalog will include a Wrestler Spotlight tape featuring three matches with Mitch! Sweet mother of God, someone has heard my prayers!

Message to the Electorate

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

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

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


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

Owning Hair

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Re-reading my own wrestling fiction is illuminating. Some patterns emerge that I didn’t recognize before. For example, I obviously get off on hair pulling. Who knew?

As I mull the high frequency of my fantasy fighters yanking one another around by the hair, I can certainly see the attraction. Wrestling Arsenal states it concisely: “Hair pulling is all about control.” It’s part and parcel of the humiliating submissions that turn my crank. There’s the heat-of-the-battle hair pull that signals the tables are beginning to tilt and one competitor is beginning to take ownership of his foe. Then, there’s the heel who’s destroyed his jobber and has him pinned, then at the last minute yanks the helpless victim up by the hair, thus interrupting the 3-count and rewarding the fans with more humiliating abuse. And of course there’s the post-victory gratuitous tossing around of the loser by his hair, rubbing in his humiliation and driving home the point that he wasn’t just beaten. He was owned.
One the the most over the top erotic collections in my mind is BG East’s Hunkbash 6. After exhausting oneself on the wonder of Joe Mazetti beating the crap out of Brad Rochelle, then the pure beauty of bouncer-stud and fantastically tattooed Mr. Big literally tossing Brad Leonard around the ring by his very long, curly locks (he’s clearly just asking for it), then you come to one-hit-wonders Danny Morris and Ryan Laramie. Ryan is a body beautiful muscle stud who looks like he’s going to crush little Danny. He worships himself in the mirror while pinning Danny’s shoulders to the mat and Danny’s face to his crotch with the aid of a convincing fistful of hair. The icing on this cake, though, is that Danny is a total sadist who ties the muscle hunk into the ropes and beats him up until he’s whimpering, “No more,” before eventually dragging the massive stud out of the room naked and on his knees. Ummm… yes.
For a dude with curly hair trailing down his back, Rolando certainly enjoys torturing his pretty young opponents with hair pulling. He relishes owning gorgeous bleach blond Matt Silodis in Jobberpalooza 1, commanding him to flex while holding the beaten hardbody by his hair. The juxtaposition of Matt being completely controlled by the hair and wincing in pain, while simultaneously flexing his meaty left bicep for Rolando to taunt him as having an inferior body is sweet, sweet (did I mention, sweet?) domination.
Cole Cassidy is such a gorgeous heel. In his Wrestler Spotlight tape, his beat down on Derek da Silva makes my day. The smooth “pretty” heel torturing the hairy, tattooed jobber is such a sweet turn on the classics. The shot of Cole almost casually leaning back, simultaneously bodyscissoring, hammerlocking, and hair pulling a screaming Derek is not just hot, it’s damn impressive! The choreography alone is astonishing, but both of these men also sell it like pros.
And speaking of pros, Brad Rochelle’s heel turn in The Contract 6 displays Brad’s salesmanship better than just about anything else I’ve seen him in. Johnny Firestorm is the heel-in-training punk using Brad as a practicing dummy, until Brad can stand it no longer. Jobber/muscleboy/face Brad FINALLY snaps, getting nasty on the smaller kid. Brad makes me believe that he’s gone over the edge, and the hair pulling is just one sign that Brad’s not taking shit from anyone anylonger. It’s a great set up for the second match on this tape, which allows Brad to truly display his new sadistic heel side and at the same time introduce for the first time the stunning body that we’ve come to know and love: Alexi Adamov.
Just to mix it up, I also wanted to mention a Can-Am classic, Suits to Nuts 1, for the joy of hair pulling. Strip wrestling is hot, in my book. The boundary-busting image of pretty boys in suits (despite the wrestling boots) throwing down, ripping each other’s gear to shreds, and fighting dirty is highly erotic. Brody and Mason both do their best at fighting nasty, including some nice hair pulls. As is Can-Am’s way, the ring action inevitably ends up on the blue tarp with both studs stripped and coated in oil.

So I realize that this could go on and on. Clearly I’m not the only one that enjoys seeing some fists full of hair as an element of domination in a wrestling match. Controlling your man by his hair tells a fantastic story of mastery, control, and humiliation… and I’m buying (and writing) that story.

Gay Wrestling Fiction

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I finally had time (and recovered enough from my cold) to do some more writing this weekend. I managed to crank out two wrestling matches, for those interested in gay wrestling fiction. The first match I posted to my celebrity wrestling fiction group, the Producer’s Ring, pitting an ever more massive Christian Bale against an untested Chris Hemsworth. The match-up emerged from a reader recommendation, and I enjoyed the notion of the grappling veteran picking out promising talent to test both himself and the new crop of contenders. Here’s a quick moment from the action…

“Chris held the torture rack for a half a minute, but Christian continued to chuckle and taunt him. “Make me hurt, boy!” Christian said through gritted teeth. Chris slowly began walking in a tight circle in the middle of the mats, his knees wobbling with each step before locking out. With each stride, Christian grunted in pain, but he never stopped chuckling. Frustrated, Chris came to a halt in the center of the room. Releasing his grasp, he dropped Christian, who fell hard from the 6’3” frame upon which he’d been captured. Christian crashed to the mats directly behind Chris. Chris doubled forward, gasping, placing his hands on his knees, catching his breath. After a moment to recover, he turned around. Looking down at Christian, who lay on the mat on his back, Chris leaned down to scoop him up again. Before he laid a finger on him, Christian’s right fist shot between Chris’ legs and crunched upward into his balls.”

Since posting a fictional match pitting my long time obsessions, Brad Rochelle and Mitch Colby, against one another, I fielded a few requests for another match set in the BG East universe. With the writing bug upon me, I also polished off a new match, giving Brad a shot at another one of the new cocky body-beautifuls who’ve been hot in BG East (and in my imagination) in recent months: Tyrell Tomsen. After enjoying Tyrell’s pounding on Braden Charron, I was inspired by the notion that Tyrell is collecting his opponents’ clothing. So in this match, Tyrell shows up already wearing Brad’s boots, and the battle is waged over who’ll walk out of the ring in possession of the boots.

“I said…” Tyrell began, driving the heel of his right boot into the side of Brad’s head. Brad dropped to his side, his hands instinctively rising to protect his head. “I said…” Tyrell continued, “that these boots don’t have your name on them, mother fucker!” Again, Tyrell stomped the heel of his right boot, this time driving into Brad’s hip. Brad’s back arched away from the blow, and he rolled over to his stomach. Tyrell positioned himself next to his opponent once again, then hopped into the air before driving the heel of his boot into the small of Brad’s back. “So keep your fucking hands off!”

Check out the BG East match at the FantasyBGEwrestling Yahoo group (not my group, just where I’ve posted a couple matches), or read more of my celebrity wrestling fiction in the Producer’s Ring (my google group… don’t be afraid of the sign-up. I’m just trying to screen out the haters). If you’re interested in sharing some original short stories, let me know. I’m always interested in getting feedback, and I’m happy to offer it to others as well.

An Instant Classic

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This is my 100th post! On this auspicious occasion, I thought long and hard about how to celebrate this milestone. I decided to return once again to one of my favorite topics: the wonder that is Mitch Colby.

Mitch appeared on the scene at BG East only about 3 years ago, but it feels like I’ve been adoring him for much longer than that. He’s listed at 6’2″ and 206 pounds, and his bodybuilding site suggests that he perfected that fine form fairly recently, reminding us all that it’s never too late to get fit. I think what first caught my attention about Mitch was, in part, his age. He’s certainly not ready to collect social security, but he’s also not quite one of the countless just-finished-puberty boys that fill the ranks of the homoerotic wrestling genre. I love those captured moments when Mitch’s younger opponents (like Alexi, here) are clearly checking out his stunning body, despite themselves.
As I’ve mentioned, another fantastically attractive quality to Mitch is the speed with which he becomes completely soaked in sweat. He’s working hard against his opponents (and for us), and it shows.
Mitch suffers nicely. He sells his character as the bodybeautiful narcissist whose cockiness sometimes gets him in over his head. At 6’2″, Mitch shows some great ability (and readiness) to be twisted and lifted and thrown. His dismantling by the much smaller hardbody badboy Cole Cassidy is that much more stunning for the size differential.
Mitch continues to evolve in his salesmanship in dishing out punishment. He gave nearly as well as he took against Cole. This scene of Cole suffering in Mitch’s prolonged bearhug is an awesome display of Mitch’s beautifully muscled back and Cole displays the exact same face I make often when I’m thinking about Mitch!
His most recent bit with Derek da Silva showed Mitch exploring a new range that is very, very promising. I’m hoping someone will please smack him (hard) when the loses his concentration and looks into the camera, as he often does (Brad Rochelle needs to give Mitch “a lesson” in this, among other things). But it is a thing of beauty to see Mitch trap his opponent’s head between his legs, face to crotch, and squeeze those muscled thighs. Mitch seems genuinely transported into an ecstatic reverie in those moments, entirely present, and him getting turned on is a very hot turn on to watch.
Mitch seems to be venturing more into hardcore, and frankly I’ll only follow him so far down that path. But whenever he signs up for another wrestling match, particularly one which devolves from competitive passion to erotic passion, I’m there.

The Gratuity

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I caught a young, nicely muscled hottie in the gym locker room flexing in the mirror. Context is everything. I see (and appreciate) flexing in the work out room all the time. On the gym floor, posing is cocky, perhaps competitive, certainly exhibitionist. But in the locker room, a double bicep in the mirror is just gratuitous, narcissistic, and, frankly, incredibly hot.


The wrestling flex-pose is all about context, too, I think. The spontaneous surge of adrenalin that inspires a dominating victor to pump out a most-muscular makes sense. It’s self-congratulatory, self-reveling, the exclamation point at the end of the statement, “I own you now!”

Prior to a match, the flex-pose is a little more like the gym bunny in the workout room. The two as-yet-untested studs flex for one another, to be seen by one another, to be compared with one another. The pre-match flex is about intimidation and psyching each other out, as in, “Just look at these muscles! This body is too much for you to handle.” The pre-match flex sets the stage for the grappling, sometimes serving as the only real plot, as both men present their bids (I’m the strongest… my muscled arms will break you… my powerful thighs will squeeze you), and then as the match unfolds, they play their cards to see who actually has the best hand.

The flex-pose during the match is more like the self-worshipping muscle boy in the locker room, it seems to me. Once the action has begun, pausing to flash a lat-spread doesn’t really make sense, other than to tell the story of the narcissist who simply can’t get enough of his own hard body. The flex-pose in the course of a match is gratuitous, even risky, and often threatens the suspension of disbelief… oh, and did I mention, it’s hot?
Classic Brit wrestler “Mr. Muscles” Johnny England seemed to enjoy portraying the self-worshipping musclehead in the ring. In his match against Steve Grey, his pre-match posing-to-intimidate just keeps going well after the bell rings. The match opening test of strength displays Mr. Muscles dominant power as he toys with his weaker opponent, alternately driving him to his knees and dragging him to the balls of his feet with a sneer (I admit to writing up that very scene in my wrestling fiction because it’s so entirely tasty). England’s straight-arm overhead press at 08:07 is one FANTASTIC use of a bodybuilder-wrestler. For my money, though he’s clearly less heavily muscled, Steve Grey has by far the more worship-worthy bod in this match, and his peculiar move at 06:48 makes me think all sorts of naughty thoughts.
I recently saved up my pennies to take a look at Tyrell Tomsen’s match against Braden Charron in StripStakes 1 (please, please, please let there be a StripStakes 2!). Neither of these body-beautifuls sell me on the action. There are some nice pec claws clamped onto Braden (tragically, the move is not reciprocated on Tyrell’s gorgeous pecs). But Tyrell’s body and his constant flex-posing (literally from frame one) is entrancing. Tyrell basically re-enacts the locker room scene I saw yesterday (or vice versa), as he worships his incredible muscles in the mirror – in the middle of his match. When he gets sweaty (perhaps relying a little on stagecraft), his stunning, naked, anatomy-chart of a body could be put to no better use than to flex… not for Braden, but for his own self-worship (and, of course, ours).
Finally, I can’t help but mention the artistry of Brad Rochelle once again. His match against indy heel Kurt Kurtis in Hunkbash 7 reveals Brad’s awesome presence and self-awareness in the ring. As the title of the tape would suggest, Brad gets bashed. But the first fall is a back-and-forth. Early on, Kurt calls out Brad, saying, “all those muscles can’t help you now!” So Brad’s luscious muscles become the subject of the first fall. Brad fights to prove that his muscles will destroy Kurt’s guile. At one point, Brad has Kurt on his stomach, his lower legs being bent forward painfully. From behind his opponent, spontaneously, Brad flexes one of his beautiful baseball biceps. Brad helps us believe his self-worship, by monologuing, “You just wish you could see this,” to his opponent who clearly can’t see his posing. Brad makes sense of the mid-match flex for us, acknowledging that the posing is for his own self-congratulatory narcissism (of course, really, it’s for you and me).
The wrestling flex-pose probably, in most cases, defies belief. It’s extraneous to the contest. It’s a distraction from the stated task of securing domination of one man’s body. And personally, I’d have it no other way. Keep giving me my own, private show, that marries hot wrestling with unadulterated body worship.

Sublime Suffering

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Some guys love the bearhug, but for my money, an over the knee backbreaker makes me swoon more than any other hold. Chris Geary taps into this fantastic move a lot, here being both owned and worshipped simultaneously.

The mechanics of the OTK backbreaker are initially beautifully simple. The high impact aspect is fantastic, and it writes its own story. One man scoops up his opponent, cradling him across his chest, then drops down to one knee, driving his opponent’s prone back crashing down on top of his thigh. How much more vulnerable and helpless can a man be than swept off his feet and clutched across his opponent’s chest? How much more deliciously sadistic can a wrestler get than to cradle his opponent like a child, then plow his lower back across his leg.
Personally, I think anyone can sell the OTK backbreaker drop. But it’s a much more refined skill to sell the prolonged OTK backbreaker hold. Frankly, I think the physics and kinesthetics argue against this hold. There are too many ways for a victim to squirm, roll, or pike themselves free (or at least throw their opponent off balance). Many of the best intentioned OTK holds end up falling apart because even when both fighters are willing, the balance and positioning are a delicate thing.

So it takes a real salesman to convince us that he is caught and suffering helplessly while bent backward across his opponent’s thigh. My first Can-Am purchase, Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3, features one-hit-wonder (sadly) Marco Denetti just barely managing to handle an OTK finisher on Ed Harte. The funny thing is, while Denetti is totally committed to his performance from go, Harte is an underwhelming salesman… until he’s suffering in the OTK. Denetti can barely maintain his balance with this massively thick bodybuilder perched across his thigh (in fact, there are a couple of collapsed OTK attempts earlier where he just can’t manage it). But when Denetti finally gets Harte in position and presses down on his leg and chest, bending the bodybuilder backward, Harte suddenly kicks it into high gear. He groans like he’s in the middle of a long and sweet climax, and then suddenly his voice raises an octave and he cries out his pained submission. “Do you give, pretty boy!?” Denetti shouts. “I giiiiive!!!” Harte finally cries out. It’s perhaps the only moment in the entire match that I buy, but Harte finally sells me.
My first BG East purchase (I feel like I’m retelling a series of first dates), was Fantasymen 18. While this collection is a little inconsistent from match to match, it features the consummate artist Brad Rochelle being cracked in half, bent backward across Jeff Phoenix’s knee. As a jobber, as a heel, as a face, Brad always commits. In their first of three falls, Brad sells us the notion that Phoenix (who, let’s face it, doesn’t always look like he knows what he’s doing), has surprisingly reversed Brad’s joint torture into applying a bow and arrow. Dragging him up by the hair (love that!), Phoenix then sweeps Brad up in his arms and drops him across his outstretched knee in a classic OTK. Here’s where Brad’s mastery kicks in. With Phoenix prying his captured hunk backward, pressing down on his chin and leg, Brad looks like he’s being bent so far backward that he’s really just about to break. Brad may look like a muscled fratboy, but (my God!) he bends like Barishnikov! And he suffers like no one else can.
Blond muscleboy Phoenix helps convince us that Brad is helplessly suffering. “Do you want more pain!? Do you want more pain!?” he demands. “I’ll give it to ya!” Brad chokes and whimpers, rejecting the invitation to submit. Phoenix has broken out into a full sweat now, the vascularity in his chest popping out as he flexes impressively, appearing to fold Brad still farther across his knee. Brad’s speedo-clad crotch is arched upward at the apex of his bridge, but Phoenix doesn’t pay it any attention (we never see Brad’s jewels… someone needs to find that price point). Eventually, Phoenix breaks the OTK and flips his opponent over to his stomach in an almost-as-hot boston crab. Brad sounds almost like he’s sobbing, crying out, “No, no, no…” for what seems like an eternity. The cocky Phoenix claims, “I can do this all day. Do you wanna give!?” Brad chokes desperately in that stuttering near-sob of pain, suffering just to the point that can’t be believed, before finally, frantically tapping the mat and weakly panting, “I give, I give, I give, I give…”
Now, just seeing Brad and his opponent in tight speedos would be worth the price of admission. But the genre of homoerotic wrestling adds to the spectacle of body beautifuls the element of suffering, control, domination and submission. Brad doesn’t just submit to lose the fall, we get just the hint that he submitted to letting his opponent capture him, torture him, and humiliate him. Brad eventually destroys the blond stud in falls two and three, but without a doubt Brad is at the top of his game when prone, bent backward at an astonishing angle, and sobbing in pain across his opponent’s outstretched leg.

For my money (and yes, I’ve invested quite a bit), the over the knee backbreaker, when done right, is by far the sexiest tool in the homoerotic wrestling arsenal.