Winning the Hard Way

Jake Jenkins is stunning to watch use those muscles to choke out Eli Black

Sometimes I think of myself as a homoerotic wrestling kink therapist.  I often hear from wrestling fans who have questions and problems they want solved with regard to homoerotic wrestling.  “Tell BG East to…” or “Why does Rock Hard Wrestling always…?” And not uncommonly, I get messages from readers who tell me that they “just need to vent.”  For example, a reader and homoerotic wrestling fan recently “vented” to me in an email regarding a recurring frustration.  Like me, he’s a major Jake Jenkins fan. And like me, he enjoys watching Jake kick ass.  So when he sees a lot of JJ’s new releases in which the stud puppy clearly gets squashed, he’s irritated.  This reader knows my recurring answer to these types of questions: tastes vary.  Some of us likely get more kink for the buck to see a hot muscle kid like JJ dominated, while others of us get a harder push over the edge by watching handsome Jake on the conquering in of the equation.  But this reader still questions what makes those on “the other side” tick, and what makes them want to see more and more of JJ getting owned.

Jake goes down in a puddle of sweat beneath a victorious Kid Karisma

This exchange brought to mind a similar brief correspondence I had with a reader several months ago, who asked me to exercise influence over Steel Muscle God to convince him to tape some wrestling action in which the godly one gets dominated.  This is hardly the first time someone has vastly overestimated my influence. And it’s actually not the first time I’ve heard this particular plea.  Personally, I LOVE watching SMG totally use an opponent, particularly one of those hot muscleboys he’s pummeled lately.  There’s an absolutely intoxicating scene in SMG’s recent release of a ring “bout” in which he repeatedly sleepers a hot, hard hunk.  He puts the fiesty stud out flat on this stomach, and I’m 110% on board with the sell that this is an actual choke out.  The hunk goes limp like a noodle.  And when SMG shakes and shoves him and rolls him over, the hottie looks absolutely out cold.  SMG prods and pokes the unresisting hunk, standing over top of him and flexing his guns, leering down into his slack face, until finally after a half a minute or so, the vulnerable hunk of meat comes to.  Fuck me there something so erotic about that little exchange!

Steel Muscle God wreaks divine justice all over another hot muscle buddy

But ripping myself back to my topic for today.  Some readers have repeatedly complained that SMG “always wins.”  Why doesn’t he star in a muscleboy-in-trouble-scenario for those desperately waiting for him to stroke that g-spot where many fans get topped off by the powerful muscle stud shocked, laid out and humiliated?  For the record, SMG has said that he does have a wrestling match in which he “loses,” but I haven’t actually seen it (I think you have to buy it separately from the membership site, and I’m too frugal).  But the issue seems to be repeated from many of my kink therapy clients: “my getting off on a homoerotic wrestling match requires that my primary object of lust win (or lose).”

Brad Rochelle wrote the book in making a muscleboy loser epically homoerotic.

And both of these conversations call to mind still another set of exchanges I’ve had with a long-time commentator and avid student of homoerotic wrestling who more than once has chided me that I’m too focused on who wins and who loses.  What tweaks the subconscious wrestling kink, he argues, is almost entirely unrelated to specifically whose shoulders are pinned to the mat or which hunk sobs, “I give!”  The passion play that homoerotic wrestling presents us is about themes broader than the specific “winner” or “loser,” like broken egos, revenge on bullies, the battle of might versus right, or our personal secret longings to be dominated or to dominate.  And, this commentator has also argued, it’s about much more specific elements than the literal “win” as well, such as the particular sell of suffering, how persuasively we’re sucked into longing to see someone punished, the precise angle at which a wrestler’s lower back is pried backward in a Boston crab that convinces us he’s hurting while simultaneously displaying is gorgeous body and bulging package so tantalizingly.  There’s definitely the school of thought that literal “winning” and “losing” is almost entirely beside the point.

Brad Rochelle also looks GORGEOUS milking victory out of Patrick Donovan’s withering body!

I’ve pushed back against that hard line.  I think the drama of coming out on top is very central to what strokes my homoerotic wrestling kink.  The notion of two powerful men, both fully expecting to be top-stud as they climb into the ring is precisely the tension that thrills me.  One of them will end up defeated, knocked down a peg, put in his place, while the other will stride out of the ring victorious, top dog, in control.  Turn this into a non-competitive, everybody wins, nobody loses, passionless dance of pretty bodies, and I might as well be watching a yoga class, which even when the bodies are smoking hot, it’ll never do for me what a hot wrestling match does.

Pectacular Patrick Donovan also looks dizzyingly hot slapping down a humiliating victory all over Z-Man’s  beautifully vulnerable muscle-bod.

And then there’s one last mental association I’m having with all of this talk of winners and losers. At the BGE Headquarters discussion group, someone who has frequently commented on this blog wrote a seemingly straightforward opinion, suggesting that he’d prefer the initial photo galleries in the membership site of BGE not “give away” which wrestler wins and which one loses.  He suggested that he’d prefer to maintain the suspense, particularly for those matches that he’s planning on purchasing.  Give him enough time to get the new release shipped to him before revealing who ends up top dog.

Z-Man can also delight in victory as he rips apart loser muscle boy Brody Hancock

Personally, I think this sounds entirely reasonable and well-reasoned.  However, another commentator left a bizarrely mismatched diatribe mocking anyone who could “believe these matches aren’t fake.” This commentator prejudices his own oddly aggressive response by tying them to appalling politics, but my point is actually not his apparent political self-hatred.  My point is really that he misses the point entirely.  The point is not how choreographed wrestling-for-pay may be in any given example.  The question of wanting to milk the suspense of not knowing who wins is wholly unrelated to whether the wrestlers or promoters are staging the matches as melodramas rather than as Olympic sport.  It seems to me that the investment many of us have in winners or losers in homoerotic wrestling is entirely about how wrestling speaks directly to our erotic fantasies, not some “objective” evaluation of who, in a fair fight, would kick whose ass.

Babyface Brody Hancock also make victory look so, so sexual when he puts magically nippled muscle hunk Cody Nelson on his back for good.

Suspense, anticipation, the establishment of tension in the plot, the development of compelling characters who establish motivation and commit to their particular roles… these are essential elements of satisfying homoerotic wrestling as far as I’m concerned.  However much a pretense it appears in any given match, the context of combat is a core component of what turns me on and tops me off as a homoerotic wrestling fan.  It isn’t so much who would win in an actual barroom brawl (not at all, really), but who tells a provocative story about passion and heat, power and strength, skill and strategy, muscle and beauty, and, without a doubt, winning and losing.

Sweat soaked and savoring victory, Cody Nelson titillates musclebully fans when he crushes handsome, lanky, lovely Christian Taylor aka Chris Cox.

So why do some JJ fans never seem to get tired of seeing him humiliated and defeated?  Why are others desperate to watch him use those gorgeous muscles of his to pick apart and make another hunk his bitch?  How are some fans filled up on a steady diet of SteelMuscleGod owning one opponent after another, while others are insanely aching to see SMG crushed and dominated?  I think this state of affairs is simply the landscape in which we live as homoerotic wrestling fans.  Our fantasies vary, even as we share a common passion for the eroticism of wrestling drama. It seems clear to me that winning and losing is far from beside the point, and who wins and who loses is directly and intimately tied to what strokes many of us hardest.  It’s not that we’re naively buying into the competitive pretense of wrestling-for-pay. I for one love watching Olympic wrestling, but the hottest amateur match is only a fraction as sexy as even the average homoerotic wrestling product as far as I’m concerned.  Explicitly homoerotic wrestling is much bigger than the raw rules and tests of strength and skill of amateurs, and more importantly, the point is entirely different.  The point of amateur wrestling is entirely winning and losing.  But the point of homoerotic wrestling is to get you and me off, and while it’s not the whole story, the drama of winning and losing is one of the elements that makes wrestling the kink that defines me (and many of you!).

For my tastes, Christian never looked hotter than when he brutalized his lover and rumored-to-be tag team partner Skip Vance, tying together homo, erotic, and wrestling in as beautiful a bow as any victory ever has!

Bard’s Fantasy League Picks

When Z-Man debuted with BG East 3 months ago, a regular reader emailed me to let me know just how excited he was by this news. He immediately speculated on who from the BG East roster Z-Man should wrestle next. Turns out, he hit the nail right on the head, proposing that a Z-Man v Kid Karisma bout would be over the top arousing.

Of course, now we know, Z-Man followed up his mat debut with BG East with a pro ring muscle match against none other than Kid K. Nice call, savvy neverland reader! And your prediction that a Z-Man v Kid K match would be smokin’ was perfect prognostication.

From a different angle, Cage Thunder recently called out both BG East rookie Austin Cooper AND proposed a detailed ring match scenario against Austin’s rookie buddy, Jake Jenkins. I’ve got a major league crush on Jake,  so Cage’s proposal to face him in the ring is fueling my imagination. Jake in white trunks with pale blue trim, then 30 minutes after stepping into the ring with Cage, stripped naked, pounded into a daze and helpless in Cage’s skilled hands… well, this concept is pure gold, in my estimation.

All of this speculation, proposal and prognostication sheds light on what I assume must be a nearly universal mental exercise that wrestling kinsters play: the fantasy homoerotic wrestling card. At least, I’ve been playing that game for as long as I’ve been erotically captivated by wrestling. I love that these virtual connections available to us now, like blogs and emails, give us the opportunity to compare notes. So, in addition to a Cage on Jake Jenkins ring strip battle, here are the current top 3 fantasy league homoerotic wrestling matches on my scorecard:

Lon Dumont v Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!)

I’ve fantasized about this combination long and hard. Not only would this settle once and for all the question of who deserves the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division (but remember, it’s about who turns me on the most, not necessarily who “wins”), I also think this would be an absolutely amazing mash-up of two delightfully different sets of assets.

Thiago Diaz v Brad Rochelle
I haven’t even had an opportunity to see if Thiago has anything at all to offer in the wrestling ring other than that fantasyman bod and that hefty package dangling between his legs, but I’m already lining him up for some rookie initiation. The return of Brad has been a long-held aching fantasy of mine (and many others, I know), and I think Brad working over Thiago’s muscles from top to bottom would be an earth-shaking combination of veteran fan favorite with jaw dropping rookie sensation.

First of all, Kid V partnering with Rafe Sanchez has long haunted my homoerotic wrestling dreams. Second, I’ve nursed a whole lot of lust for a PG-to-R-rated evolution of the careers of pretty, innocent, eager muscle boys Cody and Travis. I picture this as both a coming-of-age wrestling scenario for the bright-eyed boys as well as Rafe’s first apprenticeship match, learning from the master of sadism himself.

What are your fantasy league homoerotic wrestling matches of choice?


I have a friend who makes me play every kitschy pop culture game on the planet. For the record, in my life as a mini-series, I’d have Jason Bateman play me.

In my life as a motion picture, I’d have Jake Gyllenhaal play me.

Again, just for the record, I’d have to say that I’d fuck Joey…

…marry Chandler….

…and kill Ross (to stop the whining).

A more entertaining game, but not one my friend has the necessary expertise to play, would be to play with homoerotic wrestlers. Let me see. In my life as a mini-series, I’d have Cody Nelson play me.

In my life as a motion picture, I’d have Brad Rochelle play me.

And given the options that I’d need to squash, job, or competitively wrestle one each of the following, I’d choose to squash The Enforcer (that mask is coming off, baby, along with the trunks!)…

… job for Trent Diesel (I want to see that orgasm-twisted face of his staring down at me it victory)…

… and competitively wrestle with Denny Cartier (though he’ll just have to deal with the fact that I’m squeezing that beautiful round ass of his).

Instantly I want to change my answers… Now this fun!

Porn Sunday

In honor of the excellent concept of Porn Sunday, here are a few retailers that you might consider supporting today…

Billy Lodi v Skip Vance – BGE X-Fights 33

BG East’s X-iest new release is X-Fights 33, pitting twink buddies Skip Vance and Billy Lodi. Billy fiercely conquers and then tenderly rewards Skip. Looking for some mat wrestling, jerks, sucks, kissing and cum to celebrate Porn Sunday?

Sebastian Keys v Jake Austin – Naked Kombat

Naked Kombat’s newest release will treat you to Jake Austin determined not to lose his ass yet again against buzz cut Sebastian Keys. Jake’s fate is, of course, to get owned, spanked, and fucked 5 ways to Porn Sunday.

Landon Myclse v Michael Vineland – Can-Am Pro Sex Fight 1

For my tastes, Can-Am’s X-iest and best new release is Pro Sex Fight 1, starring the wrestling pornboy stylings of previous homoerotic wrestler of the month, Landon Mycles, and Can-Am work horse Michael Vineland. This offers a delightful recipe of pro wrestling, erotic wrestling, and mutually satisfying sex in the middle of the ring.

Trent Diesel v Hugo Milano – Raging Stallion’s Brutal Part 2

If you’re looking for more porn (it is, Porn Sunday, after all) in your porn/wrestling mix, you might want to celebrate the day with a purchase of Raging Stallion’s Brutal. My reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Trent Diesel, wrestles and fucks and fucks and fucks, among a non-stop, 2-part, pornboy after pornboy pornfest.

Cody Nelson v Max Powers – Rock Hard Wrestling

Less porn, but no perhaps more up your alley to celebrate Porn Sunday, includes Rock Hard Wrestling (you’d think with a name like that there might be more porn), and their just out release of new Mr. Franchise, Cody Nelson going muscle to muscle in the ring with Max Powers.

Conan v Johnny Bravo – Thunder’s Arena

Or you may want to see some big, big, big muscleboy’s wrestle in less-than-porn fun over at Thunder’s Arena, where Johnny Bravo pounds the bodybuilder pecs of Australian blond bombshell, Conan.

Trent Diesel – Reigning Favorite Homoerotic Wrestling Pornboy

I’m a booster. That’s pretty much what I have to offer, and so I’m fully in favor of a lot of us showing some love to the hardworking boys in front of and behind the camera, bringing us orgasm after orgasm of entertainment by celebrating Porn Sunday with a special purchase, dedicated to our favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. No shame. No way.

Miles Ahead

Today I’m offering another dish of sloppy seconds from Joe over at Ringside at Skull Island. Joe’s been on the ball and out of the gates so fast that I haven’t kept up with the fantastic materials he’s been reviewing lately. By my count, I’ve already mixed at least three metaphors in the first two sentences of this post, so no more beating around the bush. Let’s talk about the wonders that are Cody Nelson’s performance against Chris Cox over at Rock Hard Wrestling.

Again, see Joe for the definitive review. I’ll just linger around the edges here. To start with, haven’t I seen that long, lanky tall drink of water that is Chris Cox before? Why yes, indeed. BG East’s Christian Taylor is riding the gravy train of cross-promotional competition now. And speaking of riding, the juxtaposition of Cody’s absolutely fantastic muscle ass and Chris’ impressively stuffed crotch is highly provocative. The fact that both boys keep tugging at their trunks throughout the match makes me want to give the head costumer at RHW an award.

It seems worth noting that BG East has never put Christian’s talents in the ring before, so at the very least, we’re seeing him in a new context. It also seems worth noting that RHW has never, ever appeared to be about to show us the skin and the explicit homoeroticism of, say, Christian’s self-titled appearance against Billy Lodi in Taylor’s Twinks. In a world of more and more recycling, I’m willing to give some slack when the talent is getting repackaged in such a way that we actually see something new.

And frankly, 9 times out of 10 my kink is tweaked more by wrestling in the ring than in any other setting (which probably accounts for me only slowing warming to Thunder’s Arena and yet wearing rose-colored glasses and full of hope and promise for the development of RHW). So Christian Taylor as Chris Cox climbing into the high definition ring for RHW is already revving my engine in a new way.

Cody Nelson once again awes. As Joe points out, Cody is starting to look like a seasoned wrestler. He takes possession of this match immediately, launching an ominous assault that leaves Chris not quite clear on what end is up. Again, I’m just a weak echo of Joe’s point that Cody is selling a strike better and better all the time. Now, if he’d just wrap those gargantuan thighs of his around some poor hunk’s skull and squeeze long and hard, for, let’s say, a good 60 seconds of skull crushing torture, he’d be golden. Cody goes to the stomps and punches a little too often for me. Chris has some better pacing and variety of holds and blows here to keep things fresh. A pummeling has it’s delights, but surely it’s called Rock Hard Wrestling for a reason.

I’m fascinated to know the backstory behind Cody’s determined taunts. “How’s that feel, huh?” he demands as he nearly snaps Chris in half in a Boston Crab. “How’s that feel, getting beat!? You’re buddy’s not here. You’re buddy’s not here to help you out this time… come on, Chris, where’s your buddy!?… Come on, twig!” So the “twig” taunt is obvious. Surely one of Cody’s upper thighs is as thick as Chris’ waist. But who’s the buddy? I haven’t seen Chris’ first RHW match, and clearly I’ve missed some key elements of the drama, damn it. You KNOW that I love the drama!

Fans of musclemen armpits will delight in some of the early punishment Chris dishes out to Cody, as will fans of hair pulling, as Chris persistently throughout the bout drags the big man to his feet by a fist full. I also give Chris extra credit for working in a couple of subtle gropes of Cody’s powerful glutes.

Finally, I’ll just offer an example of the point that Joe makes so well. Cody’s salesmanship is simply hot. He’s taunting and humiliating Chris relentlessly. When he takes the second fall with an abdominal stretch as he beats his fist into Chris’ gut, he finally drops Chris in a heap and steps on him with disgust. Then he looks up to the camera with a sigh and subtle smirk, pumping out a single bicep. It’s as if he’s checking off his list of chores for the day. Make the bed. Feed the dog. Take out the trash. Beat Chris into a blithering, helpless heap. Check.

Cody, like RHW, has come  along way in the past year or so, and I for one am pleased to have been on the journey with him. He still hasn’t figured out what all he can do with those gorgeous, big muscles of his, but he’s learning. He’s learning…

Teeth for Days

I’m so easily manipulated. I know this about myself. You know it about me. And, more to the point, homoerotic wrestling companies know it. Not me, personally, of course. I’m not quite that much of a narcissist to believe that Rock Hard Wrestling is targeting me, personally, when they dangle a fresh,, blond, blue-eyed, teeth for days, muscleboy with a Southern accent in their newest match. But still, I see the likes of Travis Storm ready to go pec-to-pec with Wyoming farmboy Cody Nelson (I made up the Wyoming farmboy bit… it works for me), and I’m helpless. I watch my hand instantly start to stretch around to my back pocket. I swear, it has a mind of its own, as it grabs my wallet and pulls out my credit card. “Stop it,” I say to my hand. “I need to stick to my budget,” I tell it.

Two hellish download minutes later, and I’m still pleading with my possessed hand. “No!” I say. “I can’t afford it now that RHW has inflated their download prices to $14.95,” I argue. “Stop it!” I insist. Then I see Travis and Cody in a sweet little verbal sparring session that morphs into a posedown and physique comparison. “Stop… I mean, don’t stop,” I find myself wavering. The boys start a shoving match that quickly turns into an opening salvo of hot muscle beatdown from my Wyoming farmboy. Cody hooks his arm between Travis’ legs and scoops the hot young thing up in his arms, his hand cupping the astonishingly fine, tight little ass of the Southern boy in white. Don’t stop, I find myself pleading.

Am I the only one who talks to my hand? Anyway… I realize that one reason I so frequently find myself helpless against the wiles of RHW is that they specialize in ring action. I’m growing into more and more of a specifically ring fetish fan, I think. Another reason I keep taking the plunge with RHW is because in the past nine months or so, while their production quality has remained astonishingly high (multiple HD cameras, excellent angles, extremely skilled editing and packaging), the quality of the wrestling performances has been steadily on the rise. This Cody vs. Travis bout is no exception. Whereas I wanted to personally drop kick Cody’s gorgeous ass out of the ring in his first bout, due to some seriously weak salesmanship at several points, Cody is making undeniable progress. He still has a handful of moments that stretch even my ability to suspend disbelief. A delightful schoolboy pin turns disappointing when Cody proposes to pound the rookie’s pecs with obviously, literally, pulled punches. But overall, Cody has grown quick on his feet, delivering hot verbal humiliation, and showing a command of his opponent’s body that’s easily tripping my homoerotic wrestling kink tastes. I’d still love to see Cody seriously sell his own suffering. On more than one occasion, he’s on the short end of the stick, breathless and writhing on his back, seemingly barely able to move as Travis struts and taunts, and Cody suddenly snaps a quick, measured comeback without any hint of pain in his voice. This is subtle, I know, but it snags my attention.

While Cody appears to be working up a badboy character, including a sweet, pleased-with-himself low blow, I can’t take my eyes off of Travis (which is saying something, considering my well-documented lust for Cody’s ass and nipples). Travis isn’t as big as Cody, despite his early verbal volleys to the contrary. He’s clearly not as strong. He’s not quite as classically handsome. And still, he grabs hold of my attention with both hands and strokes my kink like a seasoned pro. First of all, he has a mouthful of teeth. I know that most of us, literally, have a mouthful of teeth, but just take a look at this boy, and you’ll know what I mean. When he’s strutting and when he’s suffering, he’s got teeth for days and there’s something absolutely gorgeous about that.  He also has a nice command and control of his own body that’s highly entertaining to watch. He has a green edge to him, by all means, but he sells his grunting stomps and kicks even better than Cody. At the point that Cody has Travis legs under his arms and moves to slip him to his stomach to apply one of several Boston Crabs in this match, Travis convincingly fights it for a moment, defying his muscleboy opponent. Finally, Cody twists a fraction harder, and Travis stunningly levitates, flips, and lands with a grunt in a way that makes this potentially throw away moment slick, professional, and absolutely believable. I’ll buy this Travis is a rookie, but only if I also get the backstory that he’s a freaking pro-wrestling prodigy who takes to this like Mozart on the piano.

Cody has two precious moments in this match that are going to continue to haunt my dreams. First, he applies two Boston Crabs over the course of the 20 minutes it takes these boys to settle who’s on top. Here’s where Cody seriously transforms what could be a relatively amateur version of a pro moment into a profoundly arousing homoerotic thrill. He squats low, with Cody’s ankles locked tightly under his arms. Then, with beautiful self-possession, he sticks his chest out, pulls his shoulders back, and pries the muscleboy hips off the canvas beneath him. I just about can’t take my eyes off Travis’ ass in this moment.  Whoever came up with the idea that this stud should go commando underneath his white trunks deserves a major raise (I hope it was Travis). But wait, it’s just a little better than that, even. The second time he snaps on a Boston Crab, squatting in that ass-tastic position, Travis rocks forward and back, over and over, cranking the pressure on Cody’s lower back and relishing every second of his dominance.
Competing for the most hauntingly hot image of this match is Travis snapping on a figure-4 body scissors on Cody that makes the farmboy grunt hard. Completely controlling his opponent’s back, Travis is thrilled with himself, alternating choking with his arms and squeezing the air out of Cody’s lungs with his legs. Another nearly throw away moment has Travis lace his fingers behind his head, leaning back, and doing some quick crunches with Cody squirming and struggling between his legs. My… oh… my….
Travis clearly went to the same wrestling school Cody did, at least so far as he learned that head-scratching version of a schoolboy pec pounding that looks like nothing other than some weak-ass back-handed tapping on Cody’s thick pecs (claw those massive handfuls of meat!!!). But all in all, I’m officially apologizing to my hand right here and now. Hand, you were right all along. This was a match that I’m very happy I didn’t pass up.

Shaken, Not Stirred

I’m fully aware that homoerotic wrestlers are not born… they’re made. Indeed, it’s hardly a stretch to realize that the name “Brooklyn Bodywrecker” doesn’t appear on anyone’s birth certificate. And, for that matter, if there is a birth certificate with the name “Steve Shannon” on it (which there probably is), the probability that such a birth certificate belongs to this guy is infinitesimal.
No, homoerotic wrestlers are crafted, shaped, branded and packaged to optimize the full-on fantasy that we sign up for. Sometimes the construction of the name is a little more obvious. Beau Nasty, for example, simply can’t have emerged from the womb with that surname. The name is clearly meant to communicate something more than just a handle. It’s a nod to a persona. It’s the poured concrete foundation upon which a successful homoerotic wrestler can build a character, embody a new person, and live in a world in which camel clutches and over the knee backbreakers are everyday currency.
Cody Nelson from Rock Hard Wrestling would be hard not to notice in any setting. Cody’s body speaks volumes before he ever needs to open his mouth. Personally, I’m enthralled with Cody’s ass and his nipples (in that order), but honestly he’s a smorgasbord of muscle worship fantasies for nearly every niche and corner of the wrestling kink market (if muscleboys are you’re thing). I’m not entirely sure yet what the name Cody Nelson communicates… it has a whiteboy next door ring to it, and that may be the point. There’s a “just folks” hit from the name Cody Nelson that makes him seem to me to be a little less celestial and unreachable than if I just saw him in a tight shirt standing at the bar. Cody gives me a mountain west feel, like a Wyoming farm kid who grew up bench pressing livestock until he woke up one day and realized that he had a body to die for that could translate into cash in hand in the big city… let’s say, Miami. Cody Nelson is someone who got tired of beating the crap out of every upstart punk in a thousand mile radius and moved on to prove that he can beat the crap out of every upstart punk in a ten thousand mile radius. As a straight-up homoerotic wrestling name, Cody Nelson carries some water, I think. I don’t know that Cody’s entirely lived into his name, nor has he yet entirely embodied a wrestling character for me to hate/love/lust for/all the above. He’s still mostly a stunningly muscled, massive, ass of granite, dollar coin nippled, rippled-abbed, wet dream in a still shot, hot bundle of homoerotic wrestling potential.
Over at Vista Video and also at All American Guys, the same face, the same smirk, the same nipples, ass, abs and perhaps just a little bit bigger of biceps… it’s all squeezed into a different wrapper known simply as Ray.

I haven’t dropped coin in Vista Video or All American Guys, so I only know these companies from the front stoop. But by definition, a company called “All American Guys” is promoting the boy next door dreamboat, right? These guys look like the whitebread version of the football player kid around the corner who keeps pumping iron long after the season is over. Over there, “Cody Nelson” is just “Ray…” (you fill in the last name of whatever neighborhood kid you grew up lusting after).

Over there, Raymond always has a little bit of
a sheepish grin when he peels off his skin tight shirt to flex for the camera. He’s in some “real” context, outside or in the gym, as if he was just walking through his day and some persuasive person with a video camera convinced him to start talking, flexing, showing off a little in public. He’s asking you what you think of his body, making an appeal for your praise, as if he needs you to validate him. Whereas Cody, in the ring, is cocked and loaded, supremely confident in his opponent’s inevitable destruction, Raymond, on the other hand, is almost shy, embarrassed of the attention and, at the same time, proud of the hard work that went into shaping his body.

The up close, “real,” boy next door with chiseled pecs just chattin’ me up in the gym, giving me a little self-conscious show, smiling slyly because he knows what I’m thinking and he doesn’t mind… that’s hot. I see ads for Vista EVERYWHERE, so I assume this is a strategy that sells.
What I realize, though, is that what’s much, much hotter for me is that other guy, the side-of-beef bench pressing farmboy who migrated to deeper waters when he found he could kick the ass of everyone he knew, so now he climbs into the wrestling ring to stand pec to glorious pec with some other invincible local boy cocksure that he’s the shit and no Wyoming farmboy could stand a chance against him. That’s the backstory that sucks me in. That’s the chemistry that makes my blood pump harder. That’s the foundational eroticism that claims me and my wallet like no solo shot, boy next door muscle showcase ever could.

But that’s just me.

The Art of Owning a Bodybuilder

I haven’t taken a bite out of the fruit of temptation that is RockHardWrestling for a while, but the promise of Brody Hancock (aka Reese Wells) bringing his high class pro beat down on another bodybuilder never-say-die jobber is hard to resist. Enter Cody Nelson, Mr. Muscles himself glaring across the ring at cocky and confident ring veteran, Brody.

Once again, RockHardWrestling delivers on several of its promises. First, both battle boys are rock hard, though of different body types. Brody continues to make me marvel at his mature and massively muscled biceps and pecs on an otherwise skinny-punk of a body. Just to see Brody’s babyface out in the world, I’m sure I’d assume that he’s about 15 years old. But seeing him pump his double bi and squeeze out a flex of those pecs with his boot planted on his conquered musclebound opponent leaves no doubt that he is all man.
For his part, Cody is a jaw dropping adonis. He has an ass for days, major league nipples that scream out for unrequited torture, and thick, sculpted proportions from neck to ankle, including the sizeable heft he packs in the front of those trunks. Brody continues to make me a believer by not only decisively taking ownership of this beautiful bodybuilder, but then displaying him like a trophy, perfectly positioned for you and me to examine and appreciate the musclehunk’s every gorgeous muscle. As far as I know, Brody has stayed just barely on the entirely straight-side of his homoerotic wrestling performances to date, but this young man clearly has a gift for both musclehunk destruction and giving a homoerotically-kinked audience a generous display of his opponent’s goods. With instincts like he has, he’d be a superstar of epic proportions if he delivered some sexual domination as masterfully as he manages physical domination.
Most of the first fall reminds me of watching two puppies tussle. Picture a big, thick, Rottweiler puppy who keeps getting put on his back by a Jack Russell puppy. Cody clearly doesn’t quite know yet what to do with all those muscles and the power that they imply, and despite managing a rally late in the fall which features a sweetly satisfying lift and slam of Brody to his back, Cody is clearly destined in this fall to submit to Brody’s persistent, stubborn dominance.
These boys start out a little quiet for my tastes, but both of them finally work into the cocky banter that makes this story fly for me. In his on top moments, Cody is snarling and demanding. “Get up! Give up! Had enough?” When Brody has rolled the Rottweiler puppy to his back once more, he growls through gritted teeth, “How do you like me now, huh!?” In response, the sculpted muscles of Cody strain and flex as he snarls, “Pussy!”
I genuinely appreciate my growing collection of RockHardWrestling downloads. Watching the production and the wrestlers develop over the past several months has been fascinating and exciting. What remains weak in this particular match is the wrestling polish on the bodybuilder rookie. Cody’s forearms across Brody’s chest are weak-ass, and he pretty miserably telegraphs the choreography at the very end of this match. What does work for me here is a laundry list of delights. As always, Brody smoothly transitions from hold to punishing hold, manipulating and controlling the bodybuilder’s limbs and joints at every turn with style and confidence. Brody geneously wraps the hunk in the ropes, displaying Cody’s gorgoues, rippled torso for us until the bodybuilder submits and Brody flexes a most-muscular over top of him. Cody pulls off some happy moments himself, including some great slams of his much lighter opponent and some convincing use of his muscled body as a battering ram. He finally deploys his superior strength by wrapping those tree trunks that he calls his thighs around Brody’s relatively pencil-size legs and punishing him sternly, though he hasn’t figured out how to piece together a climactic finisher yet. The production quality is top-notch, high definition, beautiful camera angles, and the music is a little less intrusive than in past bouts (though I’ve personally not had a problem with it either way).
In all, this is another fine match from the baby company. Cody’s performance is uneven, but Brody is smooth and on target as always from start to finish. Finally, this delivery format is simply my very favorite. Instant download-to-own, over 16 and a half minutes, and the price is right. I’m hoping Brody is continuing to offer wrestling clinics to the muscle boys of RHW, and that the performances will continue to improve. He’s a delight to watch as he dismantles, disables, and humiliates another muscle-armored hopeful.

Living Into the Promise

Like Joe, I was captured by the sight of Rock Hard Wrestling’s new match teaser, pitting two new fighters from their roster. Since my copy of Tag Team Wrestling 12 didn’t arrive yet, and since I have a well-documented lack of impulse control, I decided to taste another sample from RHW in the mean time.

I still say that RHW’s trend is in tact. This latest match is another incremental improvement on what they’ve done thus far. The new boys are stunning. Apparently Tyler Reeves is Czech. In not sure how the name and the ethnicity add up, but this is all about suspending disbelief anyway, right? So the long, pale Czech, Tyler, is fiercely enthusiastic from go. His opponent, Cody Nelson, for the life of me looks like the love child of fellow RHW battler, Zack Johnathan and BGE alum, Justin Pierce (who despite his profile page at BGE is not, actually, 4′ tall). I realize that both timing and anatomy make this scenario impossible, but let’s just keep going with the suspension of disbelief (it’s going to come in handy a little later).
Where RHW has made improvements is primarily in pacing. These muscleboys are continually selling, mixing up strikes, slams and submission holds and well-placed strutting breathers as one man steps back and surveys the damage he’s inflicted thus far. For my tastes, it’s a two-steps-forward/one-step-back situation, though (which if my math skills work, still counts as progress). What they’ve gained from pacing 17 minutes of smooth action and transitions, they’ve lost with some poor sliced-in cuts in the action and a few really, really unfortunate pulled punches (to the point of being laughable). At a few glaring places, both boys are nowhere near connecting and then overselling the blatant misses. One particularly egregious case right at the 6:00 mark shows a close up of Cody diving on top of Tyler and then swinging wide, in an apparent move to punch him in the gut. The excellent camera work is perhaps a little too excellent, though, as we get a close up look at Cody pounding his fist into his own hand as Tyler grunts and writhes. When Cody loses that fall humiliatingly, I applaud it as punishment for his lapse in salesmanship.
In addition to pacing, though, what’s working here includes a new ring that apparently is safer for slams, as these boys lift and throw one another down repeatedly and satisfyingly throughout. They talk, taunting and baiting one another, which is a HUGE improvement over a couple notable RHW matches. They nearly tell a story, with an actual story arc. The start of round 3 with both boys sprayed down is a little obvious, and yet I’m always a sucker for a wet muscle fighter. They cobble together some sweet moves that turn me on. In particular, when Tyler has a dazed Cody bent forward over the top rope, repeatedly pounding his fists into Cody’s ribs, I’m seriously happy. But when Cody takes the second fall by lifting Tyler cradled against his chest and then dropping him down in an over-the-knee-backbreaker, I am sold. Tyler gives way (WAY) too quickly to entirely satisfy me (that bitch), but the whole thing is nicely executed and plays to this audience of 1.
Other than production quality and convenience, I still say that there are others that pull this off better and with more satisfyingly explicit homoerotic text. But I just can’t help myself but watch and appreciate RHW for the good, solid work that they’re doing to build a brand. Now I’m waiting to see Cody teach papa Zack a relentless and long overdue lesson in salesmanship.