Tag: Bud Orton

Stay in Your Lane

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Last week there was a reckoning in pro wrestling, as victims of sexual misconduct and sexual assault stepped forward on several platforms to name the crimes and creeps they have endured for years in the pro wrestling context. While I’ve generally ignored mainstream pro wrestling for a couple of decades, for a number of reasons, I follow a few wrestlers outside of the homoerotic wrestling context, and more than a few wrestlers that straddle both worlds. Based on what I’ve read, most of the recently disclosed creepiness was perpetrated by men against women, but I’ve seen more than a few indictments of same sex assault and harassment. I don’t believe that I’m qualified or informed sufficiently to comment directly, but it does draw my attention to my lane on the road, namely wrestling produced for gay eyes.

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As I’ve documented extensively on this blog, I found wrestling inherently erotic from pretty much the first time I can remember seeing it. Clearly, I’m not alone. Vintage gay beefcake pin-up boys were often portrayed grappling, perhaps as cover for the explicit tension of seeing two nearly naked men all over each other. But for me, it’s not just cover. I have access to a world of homoerotic porn today, but what seriously turns me on is homoerotic wrestling (thus, this blog). I understand that there may be companies producing content with an explicit understanding that the wrestling is pretense, that the audience is understood to primarily include gay guys who only feel comfortable getting caught with their jack-off inspiration under the bed/in their downloads if they can attempt to argue that they’re just good ole straight boys into good old straight wrestling and it has nothing to do with their dicks. I’ll come back to that in a moment, but for now, let me say that I’m most interested in self-consciously, undeniably homoerotic wrestling.

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I get off on wrestling. Early in my life, it was a secret that I felt ashamed of. Mostly through blogging about it over the past 10 years, I’ve “come out” about it here, and face-to-face with some of my close friends. I still watch “family friendly” pro wrestling sometimes for the nostalgia, for the implicit connection to my young, gay self staying up late on a Saturday night, turning the volume down way, way low, and pounding a few out over the course of watching the likes of Billy Jack Haynes, the Dynamite Kid, and Steve Doll work up a sweat and put their hot bodies to the test in the ring. I realize that the producers of independent pro wrestling probably didn’t envision a whole lot of their audience consuming the product quite the way I did (though I strongly suspect producers have always known and counted on our corner of the fan base). Most of what I enjoy for the carnal enjoyment of it these days is wrestling-for-gay eyes, though, because the erotic text isn’t just the one I bring to the viewing. And in explicitly homoerotic wrestling (explicit or not), the eroticism crosses some topical boundaries (like groping, mismatched erotic desire between the combatants, aggressive kisses, gear being forcibly ripped off of each other) that are, in many ways, the very content of damning stories raised by wrestlers in mainstream pro wrestling about sexual harassment and sexual assault. But in homoerotic wrestling, it’s happening for the homoerotically-oriented wrestling audience, and it’s built on a pretense of consent. The boundary crossing is an erotic fantasy, self-consciously enacted by consenting wrestlers willingly, sometimes eagerly, rather than real-life boundary crossing perpetrated as an unwanted violation of consent.

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I’ve never seen a wrestling contract from BG East or W4H or Can-Am or Naked Kombat. I’ve never sat in on labor negotiations or match planning. But as a consumer, I’m assuming a foundation of consent, that the fine, hot hunks that populate my screen have signed up for the sexy situations that they find themselves in. I’d feel like an accomplice to a crime if I actually thought that IRL Bryan Powers was put in restraints in the corner and forced to watch helplessly as his sexy little fuck buddy Liam Ryan was beaten senseless, groped relentlessly, and force-fed Shane McCall’s cock as Shane and BBW made out over top of him, turned on by their cruel domination. If all 4 of the wrestlers didn’t sign-up for, at the very least, the possibility of the erotic turns and double-teaming injustice that played out, then that match would be prosecutable. The pretense of being overpowered and forced into sexually compromised positions only works for my fantasy life if there was consent from the start.

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The role of consent in my erotic fantasies has been explicitly on my mind for a long time. I remember rewriting, multiple times, one of my first homoerotic wrestling fiction stories, as I brought into focus the blurred lines of consent. The match was careening headlong into the winner fucking the unwilling loser.  But as the words hit the page, I actually felt pity for the loser. Even the imaginary violation of consent was such a buzz kill, and it sent me backward into the narrative, to figure out whether the hottest telling of my fantasy would be established on clarifying the mutually agreed upon stakes, or if the match needed to head a different direction all together.

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The idea of consent pops up in other ways in my blogging history. Along the way, I’ve requested, and received, permission from copyright owners to post images from homoerotic wrestling productions. Sometimes they have specific parameters within which they give me permission to post. One producer has specified that I not re-post their images that include nudity, for example. Also, in about 10 years of active blogging, there’s been about a dozen times when someone featured in an image I’ve posted has requested the image be removed. I always do, whether they are the copyright owners or not. I do my best to celebrate homoerotic wrestling and wrestlers, and the underlying consent of the hunks seems essential to demonstrating the relationship that I want to have with the genre, built on consent.

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I once pressed Muscle Master Kevin at MDW on the topic of the use of gay slurs. MDW isn’t the only company that’s invoked the themes of humiliating “the sissies,” of course. MMK seemed quite honestly surprised to hear me say that I felt resentment about it. He explained that it comes from his private fans and MDW fans who specifically call for it, who demand it as a crucial component of what gets them off.  I had to sit with that for a while, frankly. In the end, I decided that my job isn’t to police anyone else’s erotic fantasies. As long as everyone understands that it’s mutually negotiated, then what does it matter what my critique of internalized homophobia may be? Helpfully, MMK suggested they would do a better job of labeling their products, so that those willingly seeking out homoerotic material featuring anti-gay themes could find what they need, and the rest of us can steer clear. I’m not exactly thrilled that there’s a significant market for gay guys wanting to get off on being gay bashed (at least figuratively), but if everyone involved is consenting, what does it matter what I think?

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Maybe #speakout will trickle down to homoerotic wrestling, and we’ll learn that there’s not always fully informed consent operating on camera, or that there’s harassment or assault off camera. I’ve heard rumors, but no first-hand accounts. For the record, I’m only interested in celebrating homoerotic wrestling in which what shows up on camera reflects willing consent (and hopefully eager enthusiasm) of the wrestlers involved. If there are aggressive liplocks, ripped off gear, muscle groping, cock stroking, sexual domination, erotic humiliation, humping, frottage, or full on fucking, then it should be willingly consented to by all parties involved. If it isn’t, I don’t want to watch it or promote it. If there are any hot, naive young hunks who show up on camera not knowing that the whole purpose of the product is for gay guys to jerk off to them, they should be informed. I think there’s a problem with fully informed consent, otherwise, and I don’t want to be crushing on some hot young muscle hunk who’s desperately ashamed and feeling duped to be associated with homoeroticism.

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If I go to wrestling-for-gay-eyes sites and see guys feeling each other up, grabbing each other’s crotches, sucking on each other’s nipples, bumping and grinding, stripping naked, making out, getting hard, dick whipping, cock sucking, muscle worshiping, or, best of all, doing all of the above in a ring full of baby oil with a dozen other like minded, fully aroused beefcakes celebrating the homoeroticism of wrestling for kindred spirits to enjoy over and over again on an endless repeat recording, then I fully expect everyone to have willingly consented, and hopefully exuberantly endorsed the production of an erotic wrestling fantasy. If anyone in mainstream pro wrestling, underground wrestling, homoerotic wrestling, or anyone else, thinks that they’re entitled to coerce, manipulate, or physically force anyone else against their will to participate in your erotic fantasy, I think that’s creepy and should be shut down every time. If your fantasy includes coercion, enjoy the creative and inspired artists, athletes, and producers who can indulge that fantasy without anyone being harmed, dehumanized, or criminally assaulted. Otherwise, stay in your own lane, and keep the eroticism out of your wrestling lives.

Still Kickin’

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I thought I’d better post something before someone prematurely starts writing my obituary.  I’m still adjusting to offline changes in my life, but I’m also happily carving out stolen moments here and there to enjoy watching hot wrestling. My thanks to those who periodically check-in when you notice I’m quiet for a while. It’s always nice to be missed. And a big word of humble gratitude to man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams who not only noticed my absence, not only dropped a comment on the blog asking how I’m doing, but also let me know that he’s thinking about arranging an opportunity for me to see him wrestle in person.

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Scott Williams

Fuck, that’ll bring me back from death’s doorstep anytime.  Honestly, if you ever find me in cardiac arrest, skip the CPR and just get Scott Williams on the line letting me know when and where I can get a live show of him making Ty Alexander cry and beg. I guarantee you that’ll be an instant miracle cure.

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Scott hurting pretty boys makes life livable.

If you know me, you know I’ve got opinions piling up about the best and brightest new releases that have come out over the past couple of months. While I’m assembling my thoughts and trying to sort through a backlog of reviews, this post is mostly just to let you know I’m still kicking. And in that spirit, here are some hot, decisive kicks that make my heart beat harder.

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Dylon Roberts vs. Hawk Rodman – Bulge Battles 1
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Flash LaCash vs. Kip Sorell – Demolition 21 (Best Squash of 2016)
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Kid Karisma vs. Reese Wells – Ringwars 27
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Biff Farrell vs. Chet Chastain – Babyface Brawl 4
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Dick Rick vs. Donnie Drake – Pros in Private 11
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Rudy Cortez vs. Nick Naughton – Ringwars 14
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Lane Hartley vs. Richie Douglas – Lane’s Sinister Side

Man of my dreams

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Scott “Man-of-my-Dreams” Williams
 
Someone reminded me this weekend of my simmering wrestling crush on BG East classic hunk Scott Williams. Similar to how I recently mentioned that I have this distorted perception of Kayden Keller’s height (he always seems smaller in my mind), I think of Scott has having a much longer wrestling CV than he actually does. He stars in just 5 products between catalogs 14 and 25, including his ensemble appearance in the spotlight feature on Philly’s gay amateur wrestling club, Meet the Spartans.

 

It wasn’t always trash talk and derision between Shane McCall & Scott Williams
 
When I had the titillating pleasure of interviewing and being provoked by classic hunk Shane McCall, I mentioned my slackjawed crush on Scott, knowing that the 2 of them horsed around together in the Spartans. My reference to “Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams” got quite a rise out of Shane, who couldn’t resist dishing out some trash talk for his former rival. But I stand by the statement of fact that I have held, for quite a long time, and continue to hold a fanatical infatuation with the beauty, power, and wrestling style of hotty Scotty.

 

Classic wrestling hunk
 
Having been sent down memory lane, I’ve been browsing clips and pics of Scott and instantly getting that swelling feeling in my crotch. Aesthetically, physically speaking, there’s something both classically handsome and atypically tantalizing about his appearance. I say classically handsome because of his gorgeous proportions, his thick, ultra lean muscle mass, the jaw and chin of a Hollywood leading man and the nose of a toga clad Roman aristocrat. My tendency (certainly not 100%) to prefer smooth, lickable muscle men notwithstanding, there’s an effortless, masculine perfection about Scott’s thorougly coated, impeccably groomed hairy torso.

 

Hair, muscles and sweat in all the right places
 
At the same time, I say Scott speaks to me as an atypical wrestlng fantasyman mostly because of his bare pate, which is a downright novelty in homoerotic wrestling circles. There’s something effortless and real about a sizzling hot wrestling hunk with a bald head. Scott’s calm, sneering, underspoken confidence translates into over the top hypermasculinity, not just because of his rocking hot muscled body, but also because of that unapologetically muscledaddy smooth scalp. My hunch is that Scott isn’t all that much older than I am, but premature baldness made him always, from my earliest introduction to his wrestling, a mature, wise, worldly fantasyman that has always and will continue to make me infatuated with any “seasoned coach” wrestling character (hello, Mitch Colby).

 

Scott makes it hurt!
  
I’m sure I’ve mentioned Scott’s sell before, but fuck, I’m on a roll now, so I’m mentioning it again. I absolutely love the way he milks a hold. There are a lot of wrestlers (or at least guys wrestling) for whom I struggle to suspend disbelief. They apply an armbar or wristlock and we can all plainly see there’s no actual pressure on the joint. I never had to suspend anything other than my impulse to pull my hair trigger watching Scott Williams wrestle. He puts his opponents’ joints through their range of motion, so that when abruptly the lucky stud in his clutches goes from halfheartedly groaning to suddenly choking out a cry of pain an octave higher and 20 decibels louder, you can believe that shit just hurt. When any part of some fortunate fuck gets trapped between his wiry, crushing thighs, Scott works every inch of his body into screwing down those crushing scissors as tight as humanly possible. His hips twist to add pressure, he transitions his upper body from angle to angle to dig his legs as deep as possible into every available inch of flesh and muscle.

 

I can’t help but pucker up!
 
And then that face. Holy fuck, that face. When he purses his lips in concentration and effort, I’ve got a ravenous need to lock lips with the handsome hunk. He’s not the most demonstrative in his sell. There’s a slow simmer about him that doesn’t rely on a bullhorn to convey his emotional state. Rather, steering with such an even keel, every subtle smirk or gasp, every gutteral grunt speaks louder than most wrestlers’ screams and incessant monologues. You can see every fucking muscle fiber on his fabulous body because he’s just that amazingly lean, so Scott doesn’t need to growl like the Incredible Hulk to signal with complete clarity that he’s flexing, squeezing, pressing, or crushing.

 

Talk about a babyface hero!
 
And then that smile knocks my knees out from underneath me. Completely disarming. The kind of face that young, ambitious bucks would bust a nut to get the chance to see deliver an approving look, a nod of respect, a seriously appraising eye.

 

Like me right now, Scott looks like he needs to towel off
 
I’ve heard from the grapevine that Scott continues to wrestle in private, or in front of custom cameras in  command performances only these days. Which is a crying shame, as far as I’m concerned. Because I’ve so many Scott Williams wrestling fantasies, and he’s got such an abridged catalog. So, yeah, I’m a big, big fan (getting bigger by the second just thinking about him).  In a 2nd golden age of homoerotic wrestling, with classic comebacks like that of Christopher Bruce and Shane McCall, and the long-rumored return of the likes of Liam Ryan to competition, this fanatic will always carry a torch for one of my first, longest lasting, and instantly provocative classic wrestling infatuations, Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams.

Wrestling Romance

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Valentines Day typically leaves me cold.  Rampant, conspicuous displays of heterosexual romance get on my nerves. But I feel like reclaiming the day for myself this year. One of my fondest devices in homoerotic wrestling is the tender turn after a seriously nasty, bitter battle. When the winner claims his prize and both wrestlers are as enthusiastic about carnal delights as corporal punishment, I’m seriously sold.  Thumbing through the file cabinet in my head (augmented by the search function in my favorite homoerotic wrestling sites), I’m coming up with a sadly short list of my top tender moments in homoerotic wrestling. It’s a satisfying jaunt down memory lane, however. So for this month’s reader’s poll, let me just ask you: which romantic wrestling pair should be crowned Mr. and Mr. Valentines Day Wrestling Couple of 2012?

Art Imitating Life: Christian Taylor and Skip Vance

Skip Vance and Christian Taylor get the pole position in this race to the climax, because Skip has let it be known through his Facebook page that he and Christian are, in real life, long-time lovers. This sent me (and at least one reader I’ve heard from) scurrying back to their ferocious mat room battle in Sexy Showdown 6: Sexier to reconsider the nasty humiliation and pain that these two hot, hard, lean grapplers pour out onto each other before settling in for some naked, sweaty, tender tongue wrestling. These boys get more hot and bothered the meaner the action turns, making me picture infinite homoerotic wrestling scenarios in the Taylor/Vance household. These two sweat soaked boys with their crotches grinding and their lips hovering over each other could totally redeem Valentines Day for me. How about you?

Teasing Done: Rafael Valmor and Blaine Janus

I have no idea what Rafael Valmor and Blaine Janus’ relationship is off the mat, but on the mat in Undagear 18, it was mind-blowing. Other things blew for me as well, and in no small part it was due to the gorgeous tension that Rafael builds by adamantly refusing to let Blaine kiss him throughout their increasingly amorous mat battle. You can just about see Blaine’s balls turn blue inside his tight red trunks as he wrings another sweat-soaked submission out of the Latin lover and leans in to taste victory, only to be shoved away as the brown-eyed boy refuses to give it away for free. Butts get squeezed with rising passion. The submissions get uglier. And once Blaine is just finally wasted with sexy Rafael stretched out on top of him, the curly haired adonis slaps on that priceless kiss on nobody’s but his own terms. Now that’s a love story worthy of Shakespeare! And it’s also an entirely convincing option for Rafael and Blaine to be the 2012 Mr. and Mr. Valentines Day Wrestling Couple.

Sure Thing: Marc Rion and Mitch Colby

On a completely different end of the spectrum (at least when it comes to bodies), I’m also strongly drawn to the outrageously hot sexual tension that rages like a wildfire from the first second Mitch Colby  steps onto the mat with one-hit-wonder Marc Rion as the climax (and I mean climax!) of Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight.  Holy shit, their bodies are both off the charts, and I don’t care how good of actors they are, there’s some genuine lust slapped down all over their naked bodies! They’re so hot for one another, in fact, that the wrestling is nearly tossed out the window, which would be a cardinal sin in my book. Happily, they manage to get some hot, dominating wrestling in on top of other cardinal sins, earning my profound pleasure and a competitive bid to be poster boys for my Valentines Day redux.

Just can’t hide it: Jared Curzon and Gabriel Ross
Boy toy Gabriel Ross also sometimes dances just this side of forgetting the wrestling in my wrestling fare. But he and Jared Curzon strike such a heart-melting scene in their Motel Madness UK 5 tussle! Again, they’re raging hot for one another from go, and they’re so fucking adorable as to be nearly too sweet to swallow. Get a load of Jared’s luscious ass and monster cock, however, and you’ll reconsider any reluctance to swallow that you might have had. The back and forth between passionate embrace and bearhug makes my heart (and other parts of my anatomy) pound, and I would have no trouble seeing them as the redeeming Valentine’s Day for homoerotic wrestling fans.

Signed, Sealed, Delivered: Sean Patrick and Bud Orton
It’s hard to make a list of wrestling matches with over the top sexual tension turned tender without seeing Sean Patrick show up at least once. The infamous “Kisser” of classic BG East days, Sean slapped his lips on his opponents’ time after time, clearly turned on by the intimacy of domination wrestling. Pretty much anything on Sean’s wrestling resume could qualify, but I think this shot of him from Sexy Showdown 4 making out with always amorous Bud Orton while simultaneously locking him up tight in an ass-up, body contorting, completely humiliating spladle seems like it could be the iconic image of the erotic component of homoerotic wrestling. Oh yeah, sweat pours off of them like Niagra falls and the wrestling is fucking fierce! How do you feel about Sean and Bud being Mr. and Mr. Valentine around here?
Three’s Company: Shane McCall, Brooklyn Bodywrecker
and Liam Ryan
Another image that I’ve remarked on many times on this blog is the victory celebration with tag team partners Shane McCall and Brooklyn Bodywrecker sucking face in Tag Team Torture 2 while one half of the losing team, sexy little Liam Ryan, sucks on Shane’s cock through his trunks. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, this story has GOT to be repeated, because there’s just nothing sexier than tag team partners/lovers battling for domination and getting more and more aroused as they pick to pieces and utterly humiliate their losing opponents (who are also lovers)! And eroticism in the ring is at least 20 times hotter than it is anywhere else, as far as I’m concerned! Maybe it’s not fair, but this pic proves the delightful possibility that the hottest homoerotic wrestling couple could easily be a threesome (or more)!  Shane, BBW and Liam get my nod as connecting all the dots between tender loving and hard slamming homoerotic wrestling.

Masks and Melting: The Enforcer and Blueboy

Again in the ring, the stunning image from Masked Mayhem 4 of Blueboy making big, bad bruiser Enforcer melt in the corner as he nibbles on his lips and prominent chin turns… me… ON! Two gorgeous bodies, masked in mystery and coated in sweat are a formula for arousing wrestling. But with Blueboy toying with the big heel’s nipple and leaning in close, crotch to crotch and tasting the hunky heel’s mouth, I’m totally turned into a blubbering romantic fool. Maybe Mr. and Mr. Valentines Day Wrestling Couple 2012 are hot, horny masked men?
Hurt So Good: Cruze/Jose and Patrick/Sean

Like I said, it’s hard not to have at least one Sean Patrick match on a list like this, and so here’s a second (with another recurring nominee).  I think of this as another iconic image in homoerotic wrestling from Tag Team Torture 1, with Jose and Cruze heaping agony and humiliation onto Sean and Patrick Donovan in the closing moments of their incredibly sexy victory. Stripped naked, locked into mirror image camel clutches and forced to kiss in the middle of the ring, Patrick and Sean prove that the erotic heat doesn’t have to come from opposite sides of the confrontation. Perhaps this is the most iconic image of homoerotic wrestling passion, and the winning “couple” is, in this case, a foursome of hot, horny, hung hunks with bodies locked together in gorgeous symmetry and power and complete domination.

So who do you think should get the nod? You only get one vote. Of course, these are only the nominees that came to my mind. You may have another set of favorites to suggest. So vote in the right margin, and if you select “other,” then name your wrestling picks for who should be Mr. and Mr. Valentines Day Wrestling Couple 2012.

A Feast for the Senses

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I’m coated in sweat at this moment. Normally, that might be a signal of something hot and thrilling going on for me. But at this moment, it’s just a symptom of my low tolerance for heat and humidity. However, it brings me back to the topic that I’ve expounded on many times before: my love of sweat-lubricated homoerotic wrestling.
Landon Mycles v Michael Vineland – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 1
Yes, please! There’s something that much more intimate about two hunks wrestling lathered in sweat. The lubrication is itself part of the association with value-added arousal, I’m sure. Less friction, harder and hotter action. Just an application of lubricant can bring me to full attention, so an entire body coated in lubricating sweat is profoundly arousing.
Sweat-Pig Extraordinaire Bud Orton v Kevin Shea –
BG East’s Wrestleshack 6

It’s not just the physiology of a penile reflex to lubrication, though. Just the sight of sweat dripping off a wrestler’s nose or chin makes me light headed. There’s a deep, homoerotic masculinity about a sweat-soaked body engaged in combat. When the hair is plastered to the scalp, wringing with sweat, when beads are dripping off the brow like a leaky faucet, the wrestler becomes even more an object of primal, sexualized strength and domination than he was before. The smell of fresh sweat, still clinging to the body, is like vintage wine, stimulating all the senses at once.

Rio Garza v sweat-soaked Chris Bruce – BG East’s Undagear 17

I’m a fan of sweat-soaked gear, as well. The gear that allows you to trace the path of moisture pouring from the pores is extra goodness. Peeling off sweaty gear is even more erotic. The hollow sound of heavy, soaked gear slapping against skin or smacking the mat is over the top arousing for me.

Lickable Denny Cartier v Mikey Vee – BG East’s Mat Hunks 8

And, as I’ve mentioned before, in addition to a visual, tactile, olfactory and auditory arousal associated with sweat, there are some prize homoerotic wrestlers bodies that, when coated in a sheen of sweat, I find myself desperately fantasizing about licking. I’d like to see more licking in my homoerotic wrestling. The primal sensuality of tasting your opponent’s body, the pairing of domination and caressing as your tongue slides across the salty surface of a hunk’s muscles, is powerfully thrilling.

Backseat Driving

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Yesterday I was full of myself sufficiently to presume to offer advice to the hardworking, creative minds at Rock Hard Wrestling. I’m such a backseat driver. Worse, I’m the first to admit that I’ve never in my life produced a homoerotic wrestling video, so I’m sure I can’t imagine the challenges of working with athletes, sets, lights, cameras, gear… Producers of homoerotic wrestling are always free to slap me upside the head and chew me out for second guessing them all the time.
Dane Tarsen v Leo Lessard – BG East’s Britbouts 2
One thing I recommended to RHW yesterday was that even without explicitly sexing it up, they’d probably speak even more provocatively to the gay wrestling kink crowd with some of the bread ‘n’ butter devices that signal a wrestling match is at the very least implicitly homoerotic, and not just latently. For example, some nipple torture seems to me to be a tried and true move that directly links dominating pain and homoerotic pleasure.
Chip Slater v Jeff Jordan – BG East’s Wrestlefest 2
Take Chip Slater and Jeff Jordan from BG East’s Wrestlefest 2 (I love that entire collection!). Chip is a notorious sadist who, I believe, never failed to crank on his opponent’s balls with awesome viciousness. Perhaps it was when Jeff had the temerity to grind Chip’s nose against his pec in a face-rearranging side headlock that Chip couldn’t help but notice the beautiful target of Jeff’s nipples. Sure enough, climbing on top and twisting until the hunk screamed, Chip latched onto Jeff’s nipple like a clothespin.
Shane McCall, who was in the audience for Wrestlefest 2, must have been taking notes. When Shane had a go at Jeff a while later for X-Fights 23, he seemed to be taking a long, hard look at Jeff’s sweaty pecs and shiny nips as Shane reveled in the sight of his domination in the mirror in front of him. Did Shane have a flashback to Chip’s assault on those very same big nipples?
Shane McCall v Jeff Jordan – BG East’s X-Fights 23

Whether or not it was an echo of Chip, Shane inevitably slapped Jeff to his back, immobilized the hunk’s right arm behind his neck and trapping Jeff’s left arm underneath Shane’s body. With Jeff’s big, round pecs completely vulnerable and open, Shane grabbed hold and cranked on the dial with gusto.

The pain contorting Jeff’s face juxtaposed with the wide eyed, enraptured joy on Shane’s face as he watches the fruits of his labors is absolutely smokin’ hot.

Dick the Prick v Patrick Donovan – BG East’s Ringwars 4

When Patrick Donovan faced Dick the Prick in Ringwars 4, you had to expect Patrick’s broad, sexy pecs and gorgeous nipples to be in the sights of the Prick. Pretty much everyone had a go at squeezing every ounce of suffering from Patrick around that point in his career. Tall, handsome, lanky but with aesthetically compelling muscle tone, Patrick was on the menu over and over again.

Which made it all the sweeter when Patrick laced those mile long legs around the Prick’s abdomen and trapped Dick’a arms over his head, in order to have an unobstructed angle to pinch the punk’s right nipple. You can just see the look of fierce concentration forming as Patrick begins to go to town. There were a lot more blunt forms of abuse that Patrick could have employed at that very point, but his choice to twist the Prick’s nips so methodically signals to me that this is far from being simply about beating his opponent. This is about the delivery of pain for both physical and sexual domination.

Bud Orton v Mark Nelson – BG East’s Wrestleshack 4

There was nothing but sexual domination that ever seemed to be on Bud Orton’s mind. Bud seemed to have a look about him as if he was perpetually moments away from an orgasm. Sweat soaked and aroused in Wrestleshack 4, he looks absolutely ravenous as his gaze fixes on Mark Nelson’s pecs.

Trapping Mark’s wrists behind his back, sure enough, Bud proceeds to torture his opponent’s nipple with his teeth. Of course, anything done with a wrestler’s mouth is going to be that much more homoerotic than if it were done with any other part of the body. RHW may want to pay it straighter than that, but the theory stays the same: some focused attention on nipples signals this is homoeroticism and not just latent sexuality disguised as macho aggression.

Rusty Stevens v Mitch Colby – BG East’s The Breaking Point

Examples are everywhere, of course. One of my favorite examples to illustrate pretty much anything is Rusty Stevens‘ clash of the titans with Mitch Colby in The Breaking Point. Rusty puts on a cocky, “I’m impervious” face to start any competition, but the display of his gorgeous body above seems to center his left nipple like a target.

And, indeed, Mitch takes aim and scores with a love/hate maneuver of simultaneous nipple twisting and kissing.

Kid Leopard v Rusty Behr – BG East’s Punishment 1

On and on, nipple torture has a long and storied role in the homoeroticism of homoerotic wrestling. So RHW (or any other wrestling company, for that matter) is welcome to tell me to go fuck myself for backseat driving. I’d totally understand. And yet, still, I must persist. Give me a little stronger dose of the homoerotic in my wrestling if you aim to really satisfy.

The "Good," the "Bad," and the "Ugly"

wrestlebard1 Comment
Muscle stud Kevin Shea appeared in two Wrestleshack matches for BG East a decade ago. I’ve recently been introduced to the highly entertaining match up of Kevin and champion sweat pig (said very, very lovingly), Bud Orton, in Wrestleshack 6.

Kevin is a sexy musclestud. The pics of him relaxed and smiling for the camera illustrate that he’s classically handsome with a retro stash that works for him (wouldn’t for just anyone, though). He’s got a mouthful of teeth, and you know how I like that. He’s gorgeously fit – simply beautiful to look at. Bud sees what I’m talking about instantly as he squares off against Kevin in the BGE wrestleshack. Like always, Bud is immediately bent on dominating his opponent, controlling and punishing him, as foreplay.

Something happens to handsome, hottie Kevin in this match, though. Perhaps Bud pushes him just a little too far. Maybe Kevin always nurses a raging beast just beneath the surface of his ripped muscle bod. But as this match turns nasty, Kevin’s face begins to contort. It’s a little tough to describe, but it starts as a sneer. Both lips curl. His stash stretches and bends with the contortion of his mouth. His big, beautiful teeth are bared like a rabid dog. His nostrils flare, and there’s a feral glaze that falls across his eyes. Kevin’s retro classic appearance that moments ago made him look as if he was ripped out of a 70’s Playgirl centerfold turns into something that I can only describe as ugly.

I’m not saying that Kevin becomes unattractive – not by any means, in fact. He matches Bud ounce for ounce in pouring sweat off of his gorgeous, hardworking muscles. His physique seems to get both harder and bigger with every move and counter move. But particularly when he opens his mouth wide and sticks his tongue out with a primal, grunting growl emerging from deep in his throat, he’s just fantastically ugly. Kevin looks like he wants to take a bite out of Bud, to make lunch out of one of Bud’s thick pecs. He seems suddenly dangerous, resentful, ferocious and unpredictable.

Most men would undoubtedly keep Kevin and his chomping teeth and lapping tongue at arm’s length, but Bud reacts just the opposite. Never one to be intimidated (never), the more primal Kevin becomes, the more intensely Bud becomes determined to wrap him up and tame him. Well, perhaps not “tame” him… Bud mounts and muscles this hunk around, Kevin’s tongue darting and lapping hungrily every moment, until Bud finally has the sweaty hunk entirely under his control. At that point, Bud becomes equally hungry, planting his mouth across Kevin’s gaping maw. Their jaws flex and pump, as if both chewing on a tough piece of steak. The wrestling is intense and hard fought, but in the last five minutes, who gives a crap!? Bud and Kevin clearly don’t, and neither do I.

Can You Lend a Hand?

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My post yesterday omitted what is for many, perhaps, the most important sexual behavior of all: masturbating. I’ve heard rumor that there are guys out there that don’t even participate in this mode of orgasm, but no one has actually ever admitted it to me. When it comes to porn in general and in particular homoerotic wrestling kink (whether we want to characterize our favorite matches as “porn” is still entirely another conversation), I suppose the most common mode of consumption is isolated self-stimulating with just the recorded images, the viewer, and his imagination (and, of course, his hand). There’s an element of voyeuristic kink here. To watch, not to directly participate, as an end in and of itself, clearly relieves tension for (nearly?) all of us, and for some of us, it’s the exclusive means of carnal delights.

I’m a big fan of taking care of my own business on a routine basis. And 19 times out of 20, homoerotic wrestling is precisely the means for that private end. To watch two beautiful men wrestle hard is entirely arousing to me, even when I’m watching it remotely. I know my own body better than any one else does, so a private session with just me and a DVD can be profoundly satisfying. I know the right pace and pressure, the right amount of friction, to make the pleasure profoundly satisfying. I can anticipate the images, the sounds, the scenarios that will put me over the top, and with that knowledge I can stretch the duration of play much longer than any other partner has ever managed. 

Perhaps it’s the act of solitary masturbating, focused on images of male bodies, that is the quintessential “behavior” of gay sex, ironically. But I have to commend diversifying the portfolio for those of you who find yourself sticking to this formula exclusively. First, finding a partner who can enjoy the kink of watching homoerotic wrestling with you is such an intensely erotic joy. So many of us have spent so much time nurturing our kink with the curtains drawn, at least half-ashamed, drawn within ourselves. But clearly there are plenty of others out there, and sharing the joy of watching what gets you off with someone else who gets off that way too is powerful. Some of my most enthusiastic moments with a partner have a grunting, groaning, trash talking BGE soundtrack playing in the background, multiplying what’s going right for me in that moment many times over. Getting inspired by the action on screen can also segue into a fantastic translation in real time. Sliding a lover between your legs and squeezing him in a gasp-inspiring body scissors at the same time that your homoerotic wrestling hero does the same thing up on the wall is just all sorts of right. The intimacy is simply unmatched when you’ve got a partner to share everything that turns you both on.

Even if other items on the menu don’t seal the deal for you, I think there’s something more fulfilling and lasting about jerking off with (or in the hands of) a partner than by yourself. There’s just something centering and grounding in our own humanity about an orgasm witnessed and an orgasm shared. Now, you know what a major fan I am of the erotic imagination, but I’m a little skeptical of the completely inwardly drawn imagination that can end up entirely isolating us as sexual performers. I simply love that physical presence, the adoring stroke, that wonderful moment that never loses its novelty for me when I find myself feeling incredibly awed to be naked and vulnerable and powerful and intimately present with another man. And there’s just nothing as intimately personal as seeing another man’s cum-face.

So these last two posts make me feel a little like I’m playing Dr. Ruth. It’s not my intention to sound like the sexpert or to cast another marginalizing net around what should be considered “normal.” I’m all for your sexual satisfaction, at least as far as it comes from an act of mutual, consenting pleasures. I just think it’s worth saying that what defines the crowd that tends to read this blog shouldn’t be something that removes us from pleasures shared. We don’t all have to live up to the physical standards or peak performances of our homoerotic wrestling heroes, by any means. But we can take a cue from them that there’s a whole world of erotic pleasures and beautiful men to share them with.

There is No Debate

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It’s the time of year in America when state and local elections hit the fan. Depending on where you live, you may be seeing a lot of homophobic, hateful campaigning (like I am) around polarizing candidates or statewide initiatives. It seems like pretty much every year, lately, the gays go up for a vote. And every year, we get sucked into believing that our liberation, our dignity, our very identities are at stake as our neighbors go and vote based on how bigoted or “tolerant” they are. If you’re like me, you can’t help but get swept up in it, to get anxious, to fear what happens if the votes go the “wrong way” or the hateful candidates (perhaps once again) win the day.


So today’s post is both for you and for me: Breathe. Calm down. Turn off the television and the radio and stop reading the op-eds. Remind yourself that there is no vote that will determine whether you are acceptable or respectable. No hateful candidate will ever be able to legislate away the beautiful, passionate, precious person that you are. Your dignity is not in the hands of any citizens initiative. The haters can hate and the tolerant can tolerate, but that has nothing to do with the fucking fabulous human being you are, and they will never be able to do anything about your capacity to love and be loved.

So the next time you think they’re voting about you, or legislating about you, or judging about you, flip them the bird and consider these two gems:

1) First, if you haven’t seen it, you must check out this amazing commentary from the man who was robbed (ROBBED I say!) of the opportunity to run for the presidency (only) on the South Carolina ballot last year. This offers a nice, fresh perspective from my favorite “conservative” pundit:

The Colbert Report Mon – Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
The Word – Don’t Ask Don’t Tell
www.colbertnation.com
Colbert Report Full Episodes Political Humor Religion


2) And second, just consider all the things that they cannot take away from us, no how, no way: Like Greek gods barely squeezed into black leather pants.
And amazing, shiny bodies that will be worshipped, whether they want it or not (and they do).
And massive pecs crying out for someone to thoroughly lick them.
And stunning bodies telling the timeless tale of domination and submission, cocky control and sublime suffering, power and surrender, mastery and compliance.
Who we are, the dignity with which we live, and the passion that makes our hearts pump faster is not up for debate.

The Substance of Wrestling

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Someone who recently signed up to read my gay wrestling fiction commented that, after reading this blog, he thinks that he’s just as much a fan of sweaty, naked men as I am. There was something sort of competitive about the comment, which, frankly, seems entirely in keeping with the spirit of what turns me on. So in honor of those who get an extra thrill from slippery, sweaty muscle-bods, here are a few of my favorite things: sweaty, naked grappling.

Some guys are just gifted in breaking out into sexy, soaking sweat. Sweat becomes a major (hot) feature of Casey Cutler’s mat action against Bud Orton in the BG East classic X-Fights 20. Orton looks like he stepped out of the shower about two minutes into the tussle, causing Casey to comment that he’s just too damn slippery to keep hold of! A breather between falls features mutual toweling off that turns into some sensual displays of muscle and power. Both hardbodies are naked and sliding across each other and the mat before the tale is told. While it falls just shy of full on body worship, I love this match for the humor, the explicit sensuality, and, most of all, the slippery, sweat soaked muscles! But what happened to the Wade Cutler/Doug Warren match from this set (or anything having to do with Doug Warren)!? I’m so glad I got my copy before it was dropped. While not nearly as sweaty, it could never be a bad thing to see Wade Cutler drop his delicious bubble butt across anyone’s face.
I’ve mentioned it before, and I’ll likely wax adoringly about it again, but Mitch Colby and Derek DaSilva are both champion sweat-studs. In their recent head-to-head in Crotch Crushers, they’re both soaked within minutes, making a freshly tanned Mitch absolutely glow. While Mitch stays in his trunks (I cry foul!!!), Derek is stripped and hard as a board halfway through the match. While ball torture isn’t really my idea of fun, I confess to being completely awestruck by the sight of a soaking wet Derek pleading for Mitch to pound his balls more as he’s heading to his climax.
I recently re-watched old-school workhorses Rob Cryston and Eduardo in Rip ‘n’ Strip Wrestling for Close-Up Entertainment (found on Can-Am’s site). Like Derek DaSilva, these muscle warriors quickly find their hairy bodies soaked in sweat. Despite some very up close and personal ball licking, Cryston and Eduardo don’t quite convince me that they’re actually enjoying the battle. The lack of chemistry is off-set, though, by Eduardo’s fantastically hairy pecs shimmering with a sheen of sweat.

I’m always on the look out for some genuinely sexy, sweaty action, so let me know if you have some favorites I haven’t mentioned. Sweat brings all the senses into focus in a homoerotic wrestling match, I think. The tactile joy of bodies slipping and sliding… what must be the fantastic musk of man scent… the sound of wet bodies slapping together… the salty taste of the evidence of sincerely hardworking men grinding and pounding. Needless to say, the sight of sweaty, naked bodies on the mats or in the ring is a thing of beauty, if you ask me.