Stand and Deliver

As I’ve mentioned often in the past, one of my favorite things about summer is seeing hunks showing off their legs. Hot temps require shorts, and finally, after being hidden for months, big, beautiful thighs, and sculpted calves are set free. Someone recently referred to me as a “leg man,” which on the one hand, I don’t think I am, because I also crave big juicy pecs, peaked biceps, roped triceps, crystal cut abs, boulder-like deltoids. I love wide, bulging backs that taper in a V to a muscled ass with a shelf that you could set your martini glass on. Fuck, for that matter, I can get off on strong, sexy hands, beautiful feet, dimpled cheeks, a cleft chin, heavy-lidded bedroom eyes… the list goes on and on. But on the other hand, I have a special joy for summer exposure of powerful, thick, meaty thighs.

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Kid Karisma’s massive rugby thighs know what I’m talking about in Gazebo Grapplers 17.

So today, I’m dedicating this post to a hold that invariably turns my crank and feeds my seasonal fetish for the particular allure of sexy legs. I once enjoyed the opportunity a favorite wrestler of mine offered me, to tell him what moves and holds I hoped to see most in his upcoming matches. I had an immediate answer for this stud in particular: standing headscissors. Like almost nothing else, there’s something so erotic about a dominant hunk with powerful thighs crushing an opponent’s head while just standing there. The inherent narrative is delicious. Standing headscissors require one battered stud to not only be kneeling or seated while his opponent punishes him, but the captured wrestler generally has to be pretty blown away already. They require that the pitcher bears down on the skull between his thighs, which, honestly, means he’s a little precariously positioned, not flat on his feet. The catcher could likely upend his tormentor with a little leverage and effort, so luxuriously long held standing headscissors are the stuff of total control. Like a cat playing with his fatally wounded prey, they signal the ascendency of the erect wrestler.

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Brooklyn Bodywrecker was the master of the standing headscissors.

And speaking of erection, I’m always fantasizing about standing headscissors getting topped off with the controlling wrestler jerking off to the feel of completely owning his opponent. It’s a hands free hold, so sure, flex and preen, trash talk good and long. But what I’d love to see is that standing grappler pounding one out all over the back of the humiliated meatscicle on his knees. Fuck, that would be a skunk in my book, instantly counting for two falls in the column of the cocky thigh master.

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Marco looks ready to get off on crushing TAK between his massively muscled thighs.

In any case, let’s drink a toast to summer, and the hot, powerful, punishing legs that now come out to play.

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Wade Cutler feels the squeeze in Hard Pros 6.
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Standing headscissors look so fine with the sun glistening off of oiled bodies.
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Kickboxer Brigham Bell keeps babyface Tommy Tara in place between his crushing legs with an assist from the ropes.
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Someone is almost as excited to lock on this hold as I am to watch him do it!
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Jeremy Burk grabs hold of Bulldog Barzini’s gargantuan thighs and holds on for dear life.
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Possibly the thickest thighs in the business put to their best use, whenever Mike Columbo did this.
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Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy!
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You’ve got hands, you gorgeous hunk. Use them!
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One last shot of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler demonstrating he knows what drives me crazy.

Expiration Dates

I’m venturing into highly contested waters today, so put your life vests on and buckle in. Age. I’ve chatted with homoerotic wrestling fans who consider hunks old enough to legally drink alcohol as getting too old for their tastes. Mind you, the fans in question are more than twice that age, but for the time being, let me just focus on the wrestlers. By the same token, I’ve talked with homoerotic wrestling fans who are a tad creeped out by wrestlers that look too young. Hell, I had an extended exchange with a fan who was gagging for a silver fox bracket of homoerotic wrestling for mature muscle only. I’ve also heard rumor of homoerotic wrestling companies who turn away handsome, magnificently muscled, high quality man meat with impeccable wrestling credentials and a sensational sell because they only work with guys younger than 30 years old.  Age is clearly something that factors into the homoerotic wrestling scene in complex ways.

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Billy Lodi looks like a high school sophomore and wrestles like a wildcat.

You know me, of course. I can pump out a teary eyed infatuation for hunks across a wide range of demographics.  I’ve been known to get off on one of those barely legal babyface kids who, although he’s old enough to vote, has the look of a high school sophomore. Now, I fully endorse limiting the subjects of erotic products to those of legal age to comptently give their consent. I don’t want to see (let me repeat for the morality police: I DON’T want to see) an actual 14 year old, no matter how sweet his ass, step into a wrestling ring to be an object of erotic lust for grown men, much less for him to be groped or ground by an amorous wrestling opponent. If a 21 year old could pass for a 14 year old, and he has that sweet ass I just mentioned, fuck yes, get his legal signature on a contract, throw him into a ring to get slammed, stripped, and sucked, and then pay him handsomely. My line isn’t whether the audience could imagine the hunks to be underage. It’s just a question of whether they are, in the eyes of the law, legally capable of consenting to adult decisions like starring in media targeted toward erotically interested consumers. There’s got to be a line with regard to age, maturity, and capacity to give consent, and I’m just fine with the legal standards that operate in the homoerotic wrestling industry.

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So there’s that threshold of age on the bottom end of the scale. But what about the top end of the scale? Do (should) wrestlers age out of being suitable stars of homoerotic wrestling?  Of course, I continue to advocate for legal capacity as a requirement. Guys with impaired capacity due to intellectual disabilities or mental health issues, no matter their age, no matter how rocking hot their six-pack abs and sculpted, tree trunk thighs are, shouldn’t be professional homoerotic wrestlers. But other than that small minority of adults, I see nothing wrong with, and in fact see many things very, very right with, wrestlers having no inherent expiration date for steaming up screens.

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Mitch Colby started homoerotic wrestling only after his phenomenal physique was aged to perfection.

My thoughts are distinct from, but related to, the occasional wrestling narrative of a younger stud taunting his older opponent. I actually love seeing younger and older wrestlers go to town on each other, though I confess I typically ache to see the more mature guy own the young buck’s ass (and any other body part he wants).  When Mitch Colby showed up for his debut match with BG East, wrestling against hottie Alexi Adamov, Alexi was already disparaging Mitch as ready to be put out to pasture. Mitch smirks in response to the “old man” banter, and then lets his gorgeous pecs and bulging biceps give the only answer necessary, laying Alexi the fuck OUT when all was said and done.

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Go on, Alexi. Take a look at the “old man” who just put you down.

Now I’m terrible at guessing ages. But I’m thinking Mitch couldn’t have been over 40 years old when he wrestled Alexi. Possibly early 40’s, but that absolutely requires that he have the genes of a comic book superhero. Look at that fucking rocking muscle bod!? So sure, he’s older than Alexi, and Alexi wants to unsettle this physical phenom of a newbie muscle stud, so the young Russian gets all snarky about the only thing he can imagine sensational Mitch could be, in any way, insecure about. About the time Alexi is doing the backstroke in a pool of their combined sweat, unable to pry is wasted, hot, gorgeous young body off the mat, the “old guy” drama comes to what I think of as a sensationally satisfying end.

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Bear daddy Brooklyn Bodywrecker takes full possession of every naked inch of Joshua Goodman (though we only see his gorgeous backside).

Physical maturity, pitched well, makes me weak in the knees.  Take Brooklyn Bodywrecker with salt-and-pepper goatee and chest hair bringing us as close as we’ve come to seeing Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) stripped naked and showing off the ballast he carries in his pouch. Joshua tries to get underneath the classic heel’s skin with the “o” word. Bodywrecker tags him, bags him, and takes out the prettiest trash on the planet. How old was BBW? I have no idea. I’m guessing over 40, but like I said, I suck at guessing ages. But one thing I do know for certain: he wasn’t “too old.”

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Christopher Bruce was a luscious babyface during his first stint with BG East well over a decade ago.

Take Christopher Bruce’s big comeback a few years ago, returning in mindblowing condition after last appearing a decade earlier as a doe eyed, shapely, lean go-go boy, now older, marginally wiser, and stealing the spotlight from every frustrated opponent with that insanely sexy, infinitely fuckable, massively muscled bubble butt. Cole Cassidy, Jonny Firestorm, they keep calling Chris out as some sort of doddering elder statesman, but that’s just the narrative tension in the story. The obvious truth is that he’s a fucking muscle god who, as far as I’m concerned, is about 30 times overtly sexier than he was a decade ago. Proving that it isn’t just the story of the mature hunk schooling a cocky young upstart that gets me off, he’s still getting his ass handed to him most of the time, but the years are absolutely nothing but value added in my book.

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Take a good look at an “old man” of the ring, Jonny!

So age, age differences, “oldness,” “youngness,” sure all of these things are moving parts, contested, manipulated, foregrounded strategically. But in and of itself, the actual notion that someone is too old, as a function of a particular number, just seems ludicrous to me. Sure, maybe over the course of his years a wrestler has fucked up his knees or lost his strength or gone on blood thinners, in which case high impact, highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling competition may not be for him anymore. But’s that’s about injury, disease, and fitness, not a number.

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Dirk Caber is reported to have only started muscling up and settling into porn at age 30. With a handsome, grey beard and insanely hot, mature beef, he is a raging bull when he wrestles and fucks for Naked Kombat.

As with any professional athlete, I’m sure there’s a time when they may choose to do other things than exercise, diet, and train with the intensity it requires to be safe and healthy and successful in a pro wrestling ring. But I’m also sure there are plenty of hunks who are talented and enthusiastic enough to keep climbing through those ropes past their 30’s (for god’s sake), definitely past their 40’s, many, I’m sure past their 50’s and maybe even 60’s. While I know there are those fans who want nothing but barely legals, I’m in the camp (and I know there are many of us) who are happily entertained and fully aroused by homoerotic wrestling hunks of a variety of ages, in a broad array of scenarios, pitching, catching conquering and being conquered by peers and young punks alike. Bald spots and grey hair can grab me by the short hairs, when paired with a sexy body, an engaging attitude, and a skillful sell.

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Shane McCall returned to BG East competition this past year as a more mature, salt-n-pepper bearded bear daddy with a crazy sexy belly and a fierce readiness to teach twink Ty a thing or two (or twenty) in Catchweight 6.

Before I finish what has turned into a very long post, let me just add a word of encouragement and another word of caution to those who are inspired to comment here. First, I always enjoy hearing from readers, comparing notes, seeing where our tastes overlap and where they diverge. Please do let me know what you think about homoerotic wrestler expiration dates. And, as has been my policy for quite a while, note that I won’t approve posts that attack particular wrestlers or that disparage anyone with the balls to climb into a ring and wrestle for a bunch of horny gay men. You don’t have to like the same wrestlers I do. You don’t have to agree with my opinions. But comments are welcome here that are respectful of me and the homoerotic wrestlers who populate the pages of this blog and who deserve courtesy, even if you or I aren’t fans.

Independence Day

I typically take the time around the 4th of July to point out my lack of patriotism. But this year feels different. I know that I’m not the only one who feels a little more like a proud American this 4th of July. Such a major, seismic shift on marriage equality certainly doesn’t protect everyone’s rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, of course. LGBT Americans can legally be fired, denied housing, harrassed by both public and private authorities in a whole lot of places in this country still. But access to marriage is pretty cool.

Adam Battle from Can-Am’s Power Match 6-Pack

I’ve been fascinated to watch the strong and conflicting opinions the SCOTUS decision has sparked among my friends and colleagues, who, generally speaking, tend to pitch their tents in the same political camp. Straight people shamed for flying the rainbow flag. White gays shamed for celebrating marriage while people of color and trans folks are continuing to get fucked up and gunned down. Marriage advocates shamed for distracting us all from other problems like poverty and racism and gun violence and sexism.

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Brad Rochelle from BG East’s Fantasymen 20.

I’ve got my own opinions, of course, but I have to say that I can’t help but be pleased that we’re talking a little more openly about a lot of things that ought to be complicated and unsettled. I confess a little thrill that bigots are feeling compelled to have to state their bigotry and try to rationalize it as something else, rather than just silently assuming that they’re the moral majority. And I really like that a lot of people I know who have long assumed that we all think alike are realizing that one particular decision or policy or issue that we all may endorse to some extent doesn’t erase the rich diversity of who we are, what we value, where our priorities lie, and how we think.

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Brendan Byers from BG East’s Florida Fights 1

It’s not uncommon in homoerotic wrestling to see American flag wrestling trunks. This gear typically signals that the wearer is a babyface hero, handsome, virile, and virtuous. And in the homoerotic wrestling matches I watch, those guys get their stars and stripes clad asses handed to them 9 times out of 10. Not always, I know, but most of the time.

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BG East’s Military Muscle 2

The hunks in American flag trunks most often embody a naivete, a simple minded faith in things like hard work, strength, and sincerity to tip the scales of wrestling competition and justice their way. Their virginal earnestness is saccharine sweet, a glossy glaze over the realities of the homoerotic wrestling ring where things aren’t always (or even often) fair. Their wide-eyed, muscle bulging innocence seems to make them blind to a world where cheating, unsportsmanlike behavior, and ferocious mercilessness more often than not spank the ass of righteous, rule-abiding reverence for an honest battle of strength and skill.

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BG East’s Ringwars 5

I don’t know if this trope still plays the same way in mainstream pro wrestling (because I haven’t watched mainstream pro wrestling in forever), but I think it’s a particularly engaging narrative for homoerotic wrestling audiences. We know that survival often goes not to the fittest, but the most cunning. We know that when the rules are stacked against you, sometimes the most appropriate response is to fuck the rules. We know that often our most important assets in the battle against those who revile and oppress us behind a veneer or virtue and righteous indignation is to turn the repulsion right back around on them, to throw what they despise most in their faces, to metaphorically grab them by the balls until their self-righteous, “hard earned” privilege and power melts into weeping, impotent, contemptible helplessness.

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BG East’s Wrestlefest 3

Because more often than not, it isn’t their righteousness that has propelled them forward in good fortune. It isn’t their hard work. They haven’t just wanted success more, as if their will power is superior to those who haven’t prospered and been rewarded as much. It’s just those fucking rules that have made the difference, that have been slowly (sometimes quickly) tipping the scales their way from the moment they were born, that have advantaged them not because they earned it or deserved it, but just because they were born into families with a particular hue and history, because they effortlessly found their affections drawn in the socially acceptable direction, because they had that silver spoon in their mouths all along. So, many of us with an eye for homoerotic wrestling have learned that it’s those fucking rules that are the problem, and watching a homoerotic wrestling heel fuck the rules and humiliate a stars and stripes clad goldenboy is deep down satisfying.

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BG East’s The Contract 8

I’m sure there’s much more to the American flag jobber narrative than that, but what I’m left wondering this year is whether my new found investment in my citizenship, riding this wave of judicial victory and the turning tide of public opinion, may make me, and perhaps you, a little less cynical about the American flag. I’m sure it won’t happen anytime soon, but is there a place in homoerotic wrestling iconography somewhere down the road for a sneering, contemptuous, irrepressible heel decked out in stars and stripes? Might finding myself embracing a little patriotric pride for being welcomed a little more into the fold of mainstream America shift my tastes for enjoying the sight of the American flag, strapped to the ass of an classically hot pretty boy, trampled and trashed for the poor excuse for institutional oppression it has so long seemed to me to represent? May I want to see an American patriot savvy and sly, queer and cunning, as vicious and vile as necessary to pound… who?… into tantalizingly sexy mincemeat?

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BG East’s Austin Cooper Wrestler Spotlight 2

In some ways I hope so.

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BG East’s Backyard Brawls 6

In many ways, I hope not.

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BG East’s Boston to Austin 2
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BG’s Badboys 1
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BG East’s Lon Dumont Wrestler Spotlight

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

Holy fuck.  I think the last time I crowned someone homoerotic wrestler of the month, it was January!  That should tell you just a little about the winter and spring I’ve had this year.  I’ve enjoyed a ton of new release wrestling in the mean time, however, so I feel like I’ve neglected some outstanding new contenders for the title. It may be cold comfort to the hard working hunks in question, but I’m retroactively awarding some HWOTM titles to give at least a little credit where abundant credit is due.

To start with, for today, let’s look back at February.  That was the month BG East dropped catalog 107, and there were a ton of standouts in that field.  One particular standout haunted my dreams and kept me toasty and warm and a little sweaty in the coldest months, though.  So for a February (or thereabouts) new release, I’m placing the laurel wreath atop the head off…

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Jonny Firestorm.

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Jonny’s trunks tent the more his adolescent wrestling hero, Christopher Bruce, gives the “rookie” pointers.

Jonny returns to the throne of HTOWM after last earning the title in May 2011. Perhaps I should be placing the laurel wreath around that massive, mountainous package that young Jonny sports throughout his Fan Fantasy 2 match with Christopher Bruce. Damn, that overstuffed pouch has got to give pretty Pete Sharp (2014 Best Bulge Winner) and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua, aka 2012 & 2013 Best Bulge Winner, to you) a run for their money for 2015’s awards. The only thing that seems to make that bulge swell more than getting manhandled by hunky Chris Bruce is turning the tables and absolutely obliterating his former hero.

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Christopher Bruce just can’t overlook how excited young Jonny is to take on his fantasyman crush. It’s staring him right in the face!

Honestly, it’s much more than just that mouthwatering mountain in his trunks, though, that makes me crush hard on Jonny in that match. It’s supremely sweet drama, a well told story, full on character development packaged sensationally with nasty small-brutalizes-big man shocks and awes. Christopher is a full on player in the drama, but really, Jonny is the total package of hot hard body, wrestling skill, full-in sell, and, oh yeah, did I mention his gargantuan package that convincingly telegraphs just how motivated he is to get this chance to wrestle his long-time wrestling hunk hero?

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Jonny is even more excited to have his adolescent fantasyman humiliated at his feet!

Jonny owned it in February!

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Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – February 2015

Their Best Side

I’ve been obsessing lately on magnificently muscled asses. You know the kind I’m talking about.  The sort that takes more than two, big, eager hands to grab hold of entirely. That type that contracts into rock hard slabs of squared off granite that could grab hold with a grip like a vice. Of course, the finest specimens belong on the backside of handsome, hunky, athletic wrestlers. Sampling the new homoerotic wrestling releases is feeding my obsession nicely.

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BG East Best Butt winner for 2014, Cameron Matthews shows that awesome ass of his as he prepares for Barefoot Babyfaces 1.
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Kid Karisma shows off why the title of BG East’s Best Butt is always in contention with his ass around. Perfect muscle sculpture as he poses in preparation for Gazebo Grapplers 17.
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Muscleman Chace LaChance is sculpted beautifully from every angle, particularly from behind, as he prepares for his most explosive match yet, Ring Releases 2.
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In Fan Fantasy 2, Jonny Firestorm gives this fan exactly what I crave: Chris Bruce’s magnificent, meaty, wedgied ass.
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Eye of the Cyclone’s serial “Hard as Ice” includes three of my fondest things: a naked, muscle shower scene, beautiful, glistening glutes, and the fantasy man superhero SubZero.
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Jake Jenkins hot, firm ass is perfectly suited to his acrobatic antics, and that backside may have never looked sweeter than pumped and primed for his Barefoot Babyface battle with Morgan Cruise.
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And speaking of the Mastodon, his beautiful, beefy butt is a totally different sort, but no less obsession-worthy.
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Supersized glutes (and bulges) feature prominently in Eye of the Cyclone’s “Who Do You Voodoo?” serial, with superhero partners Flex and HALO forced like puppets on a string to grope and grind one another.
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Primally hot Zach Reno’s lovely ass is simply stunning as he prepares to get trounced by Kid Karisma in Gazebo Grapplers 17.
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Hello, Sam Sellers, big, beefy, bulging rookie from BG East’s Mat Scraps 3. Nice ass, rook!
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In “Idle Hands,” villainous minions of bodiless hands go for the gold in their assault on Eye of the Cyclone’s Archangel. That’s a heavenly, hotly muscled ass!  

My Kind of Hero Worship

If you’d asked me last week which classic BG East wrestler a young, green, newbie Jonny Firestorm would have most admired when he first arrived at BG East, most wanted to follow in his footsteps, it would not have been Christopher Bruce. Kid Leopard, probably. Kid Vicious, maybe. BBW, possibly. But Christopher Bruce? Never.  Then I watched Fan Fantasy 2.

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Jonny Firestorm is exceedingly happy to meet his hero, Christopher Bruce!

Jonny is fucking bouncing on the balls of his feet, he’s so excited when Christopher Bruce walks into the ring room.  He’s actually a little breathless, slightly tongue-tied, he’s so excited. His crotch is tented like Mt. Rainier, for god’s sakes, he’s so fucking excited!  He whips out a classic Christopher Bruce pin-up boy shot from years ago.

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Christopher Bruce in his early days at BG East, showing off what has made him the wrestling fantasy man for so many of us.

Yeah, I’ve lost some fluids over that very shot, too, Jonny.  I can so easily see how a young, homoerotic wrestling fan/aspiring wrestler would be star struck to see sensational hottie Christopher in real life. But when Jonny says he’s trying to pattern his career after the notorious muscle jobber, I choked on my tea.  This cannot be happening.

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Jonny is stoked hard, and I mean HARD, to get a autographed beefcake shot of his idol.

Fan Fantasy 2 was clearly shot several years ago.  In the evolving incarnations of Jonny’s physique, this is obviously one of his earliest matches. He’s incredibly lean, tight, just atop the minimum age requirement. I swear that mammoth bulge in his trunks quivers just a little when Christopher signs the pic especially for him, wishing him best of luck in his career. Jonny is practically gagging for the start of this match, to lock up with a fantasy man he’s studied lustfully for years. Who the fuck would have guessed!?

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Christopher gets a close look at just how excited Jonny is to feel his idol’s muscles.

Dreaming of meeting your “idol,” your “hero” as Jonny calls Christopher, turns out to be significantly different than actually, in real life, squaring off against the likes of Christopher Bruce.  Christopher looks like he’s right about the shape he was in when he made his epic comeback facing down, then looking way up at, Cole Cassidy in Demolition 10. He’s the perfect example of a hot, hard young hunk of man meat who, in my opinion, turns about 250% hotter with a few more years, a lot of devotion to building his body, and a calm, cool maturity.  He takes Jonny’s frothing fanaticism in stride. He’s humble. Like a class act, he offers the newbie some advice about succeeding in the cutthroat world of BG East wrestling. When Jonny keeps wanting to show off his own hard trained muscles for Christopher’s appraisal, the veteran keeps reminding him that it’s the fans on the other side of the camera he needs to please, not his opponent.  Fuck, I love Christopher Bruce.

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Just like Jonny, I’ve dreamed of precisely this view of muscleman Christopher Bruce.

They lock up. Push, shove, and Christopher abruptly hoists Jonny off his feet and sends him flying into the next zip code. At first, Jonny chuckles, still awed at all that power that he’d only dreamed of before. That was fucking awesome, he thinks. Until Christopher does it to him again. And again. And then scoop slams him again, and again, and again, just about burying the newbie several inches deep into the mat. The look of slack jawed adoration evaporates, and a look of bitter resentment at being completely muscle bullied takes its place.

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Perhaps that huge mountain of excitement in Jonny’s trunks wasn’t just for “meeting” his idol Christopher Bruce.

I love every second I’ve ever seen of Christopher Bruce in charge. He’s like a gorgeous landslide starting off slow and deliberate and building a completely crushing head of steam. When Jonny tries a defensive wedgie, trapped in Christopher’s bearhug, the veteran muscle jobber snarls with contempt and shrugs it off. How many opponents have desensitized him to the shocking discomfort of getting his balls squeezed and his crack flossed?  He’s just so damn dominant in size, in cool confidence, in raw power.  I’m always a sucker for a punk ass kid getting fucked up hard by a savvy, seasoned veteran.  But then again, I’m a full blown Christopher Bruce fan, so I’m obviously not exactly uninspired to see Jonny drop the handsome muscleman to his knees with several choice, nasty punches to his vulnerable testicles.

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Holy fuck, that hurts!

Once Jonny has turned the corner, once he’s set aside his childish ways, no longer humbled to just be sharing the same ring with his long-time idol, the shit gets real, real fast. We’ve seen Christopher brutalized.  A lot. But I can’t remember ever seeing an opponent put the hunk on his back, spread his oak tree thighs wide, and not just jump onto his balls with both feet, but stay there, pulverizing poor Christopher’s delicate jewels. This is the Jonny we’ve come to know and love, not the slack jawed fan creaming over an autograph, but the vile, merciless, almost feral lightweight heel who carves up massive musclejobbers like Christopher Bruce like a Thanksgiving turkey.

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Jonny puts his muscle jobber “hero” right where he wants him, lips pressed snug and intimate against his hugely swollen pride.

Discounted heel versus naive muscle jobber. It’s a formula we’ve seen before.  And still there’s a lot here that takes me by surprise, makes me gasp, and reminds me all over again how supremely fantastic both of these wrestlers are at doing what they do best. The only box not yet ticked for me is to see an opponent worship Christopher Bruce’s unbelievably sexy body even half as devotedly as I do, though I do love seeing how deep down excited Jonny is to tell this story. A catchweight train wreck like this is top notch, powerfully arousing, and perfectly on point.

A Case for a Face

Red-white-and-blue junior Captain Americas as pretty, pumped, and competitive as babyfaces can be: Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper
All in the same day a couple of days ago, SP at Inner Jobber posted a by-the-numbers “how to be a fantasy wrestling jobber (like Curtis Thompson)” post, and Joe at Ringside at Skull Island posted a “you might be a heel if…” list of distinguishing characteristics of the heel set, and I briefly mentioned my guilty pleasure of watching a babyface hero defeat an evil doer in the ring.  I think there’s less said than should be about professional wrestlers who fall neither into the doomed to be exploited category or the devious exploiters category.  Since SP and Joe did such thoughtful treatments of jobbers and heels, I decided to try to do a little more justice on behalf of that oft-maligned class of homoerotic wrestlers: the face.
I’ve got a longstanding crush on handsome hero Mitch Colby.

I say oft-maligned because I think to be compelled to pull for the handsome hero is frequently portrayed as gullible.  To boost for the “good guy,” the hard worker, the play-by-the rules, sincere competitor is frequently equated with naiveté.  Guys into the conquering and suffering of a pretty boy may ache for their jobbers, and guys into domination and humiliation dished out by a villain will pull for their heels.  I have a long, long record of working up a head of steam for plenty of jobbers and plenty of heels.  But call me gullible and naive, because (not always, but definitely sometimes) nothing will crank on my chain as convincingly as an all-in babyface (or just “face”) beauty using brains and brawn to overcome treachery and deceit.

Gorgeous face Denny Cartier is all skill, stamina, and strength on the mat.

I venture into this territory with eyes open.  I’ve seen the equivalent of doctoral dissertations written on parsing out opinions about what and who qualifies to be classified as a babyface wrestler.  I’d bet money someone will let me know where I got it wrong by the time I finish this post.  And I love that about us.  We’re the aroused, gorgeous gay nerds of professional wrestling.  We care way too much, leading us to quibble and at times even squabble about what is, let’s face it, minutiae and trivia.  We openly defy orthodoxies on one hand (e.g., celebrating the fierce, butch, dangerously strong and masculine gay man), while on the other hand bitterly defend other orthodoxies (e.g., heaping contempt on the commenter who describes your favorite jobber as a face, or vice versa).  Despite the apparent perception of others that I consider myself an expert, I offer this as nothing more than my personal system for classifying that distinctive breed of wrestler-for-pay who is not the villain, and he’s not the wrestler who seems eternally destined to lose beautifully.  But rather, he’s the heroic athlete determined to defeat his opponents with skill, stamina, and strength, and sometimes, he even succeeds.

Fiercely pretty babyface tagteam Zack Coleman and Brian Barnes.
Like babies themselves, I can’t think of anyone ugly who I’d classify as a babyface wrestler.  Granted, “ugly” is entirely subjective, but inclusion criteria for babyface wrestlers (as far as I’m concerned), include a strong, chiseled chin, gorgeous, piercing (often blue) eyes, and a gym-toned body with beautiful skin.  The parameters are flexible to accommodate an assortment of tastes (eye of the beholder and all), but something obviously beautiful seems a prerequisite.  A babyface seems to, by definition, be attractive in a conventional sense.  It’s not like particularly homoerotic wrestling is well-populated with men who fail to meet basic standards of physical attractiveness, but those especially handsome Clark Kent-esque boys tend to get checks in my personal tally of elements that add up to the essential ingredients of a compelling face.  Necessary but not sufficient criteria to be a babyface, it seems to me, is eye-catching beauty.  
Alexi Adamov strives valiantly to honestly overcome notorious Aryx Quinn’s dirty tricks.
Further inclusion criteria for me include that babyface wrestlers tend to stick to the straight and narrow when faced with (as they frequently are) an underhanded, dirty, no-good heel.  Here’s where it comes in handy to have powerful muscles and innate athleticism (again, necessary but not sufficient characteristics of faces – plenty of heels and jobbers have beautiful muscles and obvious athleticism).  When faced with cheating and trickery, the Pearl Harbor before the bell rings, the hair pull, the crotch blow, the foreign object, the refusal to break a hold when the action hits the ropes, the babyface hero grimaces, shakes his head (“kids these days”) and reinvests his faith in his thousands of hours of gym time and, hopefully, substantive experience and wrestling skills.  An occasional venture into a retributive low blow not-withstanding (particularly in homoerotic wrestling), the face places his confidence in the superiority of his physique, his mental preparation, his wrestling prowess, and the sincerity of his heart.  In a post-modern world, faces can get away with a lot more rule bending and still be objects of heroic adoration, of course.  They can most definitely lose their temper, open a can of unnecessarily rough whoop-ass, ravage an opponent momentarily in a rage.  But in the morality tales of homoerotic wrestling, if I see a handsome stud tend toward the exercise of self-restraint and appear to intentionally decline to take shortcuts, I check off another box in the face checklist.

Who’s got whom? Babyface hearthrob Brad Rochelle battles babyface heartthrob Jeff Phoenix

That’s not to say a babyface can only be seen in matches against heels, of course.  He can most definitely wrestle another babyface or a jobber, by all means.  Sometimes, he may be less easily identified in those settings, but nevertheless he perseveres in the certainty that he is the “better man” which will lead to his victory (as opposed to the heel who sees his victory, by whatever means, as the evidence that he’s the better man).  A babyface v babyface battle can be a particularly compelling thing of beauty.  Two hard, hardworking studs who’ve been convinced by accolades and past victories that they are destined to succeed can generate intensely satisfying and homoerotically charged wrestling entertainment.  The allure of the thrill of competition (which I argue is an essential element of what turns me on about the drama of homoerotic wrestling) can be most poignant and compelling for me when it’s face v face, beauty v beauty, power v power.  These are matches in which tit-for-tat wrestling often makes me smile, as athletes play a game of HORSE, showing off their skills and strength in a one-upsmanship format.  Like knights in armor of old, they charge upright into one another with a typically unspoken assumption that purity of heart will add weight to the scales of justice, and the outcome is less about the delectable doings inside the ropes as it is about who wanted it more as demonstrated by preparation, training, and hard work before they entered the ring.

Classic babyface Christopher Bruce shocks and awes perennially supine Rio Garza

I also like the drama of a babyface v jobber match, though again, I think this can confuse folks who equate a serious mauling as the exclusive domain of a heel.  By my way of thinking, a babyface is generally convinced in the superiority of his training, conditioning, and strength, so there’s most definitely still a story to tell when he encounters a pretty slice of heaven with a track record for getting crushed and humiliated.  He wrestles because he has faith in the premise that if he is the better man, he will win.  Dangling a jobber in front of his face, particularly a tasty, pretty, unknowingly vulnerable jobber, merely offers him the opportunity to collect evidence to confirm what he already knew: all of his hard work destines him to conquer an unworthy opponent.  A jobber’s job is that much more crucial in a babyface v jobber match, because his suffering must rise from being outmatched and outwitted above board.  There’s not likely a low blow or a nipple-twist to explain what threw the jobber off his game, so the two must dance the intricate dance of decisive, convincing combat.  A jobber must beat like a wave upon the sand against the superior strength of body and spirit, only slowly to ebb in will and perseverance in the face of the innate dominance of the finely tuned babyface offense.  Not an ounce less agony, not a smidge less suffering is required than if the jobber took a fist to the scrotum and had his face forced into a heel’s swelling crotch.  This tale is just a tad more subtle but no less tantalizing and tempting for my tastes, for the drama of a jobber slowly crumbling beneath a face.

Heel rising Morgan Cruise drops gorgeous giant Diego Diaz with a shocking low blow

Finally, I’d like to make a case for holding these archetypes in pro wrestling lightly when it comes to homoerotic fare.  While I’m sure I’ll get crap for getting it wrong (won’t be the first time… to get crap or to get it wrong), I’ll also suggest that so far, there isn’t a homoerotic wrestling company producing a through-story with quite the consistency of a weekly mainstream pro wrestling serial in which these archetypes were birthed in live wrestling and televised wrestling entertainment decades ago (probably centuries, really).  Character development takes time and consistency that I think is particularly challenging in the catch-as-catch-can world of the homoerotic wrestling industry.  While there are notable exceptions, such as the highly entertaining through-story that Alex recently posted about regarding the crushing humiliation of fan-favorite face Brad Rochelle until Brad pulled off a sweetly satisfying heel turn in the middle of the Contract series, a chaptered story building motivation and a story arc is a rare element in homoerotic wrestling.  And therefore a face, jobber, or heel may be built or broken within the confines of a given match.  I find this type of story telling more intense, though inherently more difficult to latch onto favorite characters over time (because characters may play multiple roles in seemingly out-of-order sequences).  In other words, my favorite industry highlights that a face (or a jobber or a heel) is not who a wrestler is, but what a wrestler does.  The sum total of a storied career in pro wrestling for gay eyes likely demonstrates that “one man in his time plays many parts.”

Gorgeous babyface Justin Pierce puts the hurt on gorgeous babyface Tommy Tara

In his last post, Alex proposed a new Contract (or Contract-like-series) to chart another rare chaptered story of homoerotic wrestling drama.  I love that idea.  I’d also add my dream of an honest-to-god serial homoerotic pro wrestling story, released as a “season,” witnessing the rise and fall of wrestling hopefuls, the tensions and betrayals, the shocking humiliations and victories-against-the-well-established-odds… alliances made, loyalties tested, egos crushed, losers showing up again owned and operated by the man who bested them… roaring testimonials, sweat-soaked post-match interviews, an explicitly named grudge, a quest for vengeance.  There are some nice tropes and devices of classic mainstream pro wrestling that I think have yet to be fully translated into an explicitly homoerotic context.  I’m sure it would require an entirely different production, likely including prohibitive amounts of scheduling, investment, and choreography.  But seriously, I’d pay a premium for that, particularly with an explicitly homoerotic angle.  Some more suspense, a story arc, a chance to tune in repeatedly to be compelled by a favorite face, heel or jobber… surely there’s a significant market for that.

Babyface beauty Cameron Matthews heeled by Kid Vicious
So I started by making a case for a face, which I still stand by enthusiastically.  Heroes battling for good, winning valiantly, losing in soul-crushing, despair-inducing humiliation… fuck, I love that guy.  But I’d love him even more in a context in which I could watch his character grow and change, in which his motivation is more explicit, contrasts drawn more starkly, perhaps his heel turn that much more shocking because he’d convinced me of his utter trust that right will ultimately overcome might.  I’m sure it’s a pipe dream, but it’s still a dream that makes my blood pulse harder.