Year in Review – 4th Favorite Moment of 2011

Just to keep things interesting, last February I did my own homage to Squarehippies “Guess this Hairy Chest” series. The concept takes me back to one of my favorite old game shows from my childhood, Name That Tune. Based on just a glimpse, just a few notes, can you identify the whole work of art?

Can you name these sculpted muscle glutes?

In keeping with the theme of this blog and my infatuations, my game was “Name That Ass.” Readers were invited to identify the homoerotic wrestlers to whom these stunningly beautiful butts belonged. The game was tougher than I expected it to be. I honestly anticipated multiple perfect scores and people chastising me for making it all too easy. But even expert homoerotic wrestling connoisseurs could put their fingers on only a few of the gorgeous glutes.

Inaugural Name That Ass Answer: Joshua Goodman
(That’s Mr. Joshua to You!)

I readily admit that this year’s “Name That” quizzes probably pleased me more than anyone else. Obsessing over the perfect camera angle on the most mouth-watering bodyparts of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers is a labor of love, trust me.  However, several neverland readers played along and accepted the challenge to give it a go.

Homoerotic wrestler tats: Name this work of art!

It dawned on me at some point that I didn’t have to just obsess over asses, and so I also posted “Name that Tat” quizzes and “Name that Cock” quizzes over the course of last winter and spring. Spending so much time examining close up images of homoerotic wrestlers’ bodies was so much fun!

Recognize this wrestling cock?
Topher does!

My favorite moment in “Name That…” quizzes came in April, when regular reader and top tier homoerotic wrestling expert Topher scored the first perfect score, correctly identifying all five wrestling cocks and the opponents who faced them in the pictured matches. Topher was on fire, demonstrating a mastery of identifying hot wrestling cocks that puts him in a league all his own. Never let it be said that Topher doesn’t know his homoerotic wrestling cocks!

Tom Flex gives Guy Bolton a close up view of
his well-oiled cock
Name That
Gear

As a reward for the first Name That perfect score, Topher got a pic of one of my tats and the naming rights for the next Name That quiz. Always bringing his own unique brand of hot creativity, Topher asked for the next Name That quiz to take a close-up view of wrestling gear.  After a few more rounds of quizzes, I let class out for the summer as neverland took a hiatus from Name That quizzes for a while. There wasn’t much reader response to an early autumn Name That quiz, so I’ve let the gimmick lay fallow a while. However, considering how much enjoyment the quizzes provide me, I won’t be surprised to see more Name That quizzes in the coming year. And when it comes to reflecting on my favorite moments of 2011, Topher’s rock hard hold on the title of teacher’s pet is my my fourth most favorite moment of year.

Adam Killion is unimpressed with Josh Avery’s head gear.

Thanks to everyone who played along with a Name That quiz this year. I hope 2012 brings you a lot more homoerotic wrestling asses, tats, cocks and gear to enjoy, and more top marks to brag about.

Cocks Named

No one ought to be surprised that it was Topher who officially earned the first “Name That…” perfect score. He’s a homoerotic wrestling connoisseur who knows his stuff! Even with housework to do and guests to entertain, he still managed to correctly name all five of the cocks in yesterday’s quiz, along with all five (six, really) opponents in the matches pictured. In addition to being quiz master for the week (should that be cock master?), Topher gets a photo of one of my tats (whether he wants it or not) and he can name the subject matter for next week’s quiz, if he likes. Let’s just review the excellent work that Topher correctly turned in…

Topher correctly identified cock #1 as belonging to…

 And specifically, this is Derek’s gorgeous cock after taking a prolonged and paradigmatically vicious ball beating at the hands of the master, Kid Vicious in BG East’s Ball Bash 1.

And as for why I would delight in discussing “deceased French philosophers” with Derek on our fantasy date (prior to a multiple submission/emission wrestling marathon back at his place), Derek’s website describes him as into post structural philosophy, along with his interests in wrestling, bondage, and safe sex. That’s one well rounded man with one profoundly inspiring body!
Cock #2, indeed, belongs to…
…BG East’s Casey Cutler.
And Casey’s aesthetically pleasing phallus is here on display for not only you and me, but also his opponent for Ringwars 3, Dick the Prick (thus, aptly named). BG East describes Casey as Wade Cutler’s  “gorgeous younger cousin,” which makes it a crying shame that we never saw the cousins go head-to-head (much less, cock-to-cock). I’ve harbored a deep, deep infatuation with Wade, but Casey took the erotic a step farther in his wrestling than his cousin ever did, and for that we (and, I’m sure, Dick the Prick) are grateful.
Topher zoomed right in on cock #3 as belonging to…
…Naked Kombat’s DJ.

And impressively, Topher managed to tease out that this beautiful uncut cock-shot comes from DJ’s masterful humiliation of Dragon, who I gave a hard time for in my review of the match because I think Dragon has a dangerously low BMI (thus I’d buy him a hamburger). DJ’s cock in the sex round is a marvel. The python is so long, it’s no wonder that every opponent he faces at one time or another delights in racking up NK points by giving it a firm tug (and often suck). But lately, 9 times out of ten, most of DJ’s opponents get to know his cock up close and personal as he first shoves it down their throats and then, after a pony ride, pounds it up their asses.

Cock #4 and its opponent appears to have given Topher the toughest challenge as belonging to…
Can-Am icon (Tom) Flex, staring down the gaping mouth of his opponent, Guy Bolton in their self-titled release.
 
 There’s something cringe-inspiring in me about this pic of Guy’s teeth looking like their about to bite into Flex’s sac. It’s not as if I blame Guy, though, for reflexively opening wide with that meat hanging inches from his mouth. On the recurring theme of what rides should be offered at a homoerotic wrestling theme park, I think oiling up a classic, naked Tom Flex and having patrons take turns in a chin-first head-scissors should rank pretty high up there.
And Topher did eventually nail down, so to speak, cock #5 and its opponents…
 …as none other than Trent Diesel sitting very pretty on top of Alex Slater, after having beat Patrick Rouge right out of the arena.
 Hot damn! There’s just nothing about Trent’s body that doesn’t rock me hard. His ass was featured in the very first Name That Ass quiz. I’m sure his tats will show up in a Name That Tat quiz. And in addition to being the reigning title holder as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Trent is also the inaugural and subsequently 2-time homoerotic wrestler of the month. Do you get the impression that I’m a fanatic? His “tie” in his last singles match at NK still sits under my skin, but Trent’s stock, just like that absolutely picture perfect erect cock of his, continues to trend decisively upward.
Frankly, I think Topher’s accomplishment this week should signal that he needs to start his own homoerotic wrestling blog, but I’ll understand if he doesn’t. It’s a time suck, big time, and there are always critics lurking around the corner to slap you around if you get too full of yourself on your own blog. But Topher is absolutely teacher’s pet, and he deserves a hearty congratulations and a swift smack on the ass. Well done!

A Fan Favorite

Yesterday I celebrated Brook Stetson, co-owner of my homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Today, at the risk of repeating myself, I turn to Brook’s partner in crime, the other co-owner of my homoerotic wrestler of the month title, Mitch Colby.

Mitch was a running feature obsession in this blog almost from the beginning. When he debuted for BG East in Alexi Adamov’s Wrestler Spotlight tape, I was instantly a fanatic. Drop dead gorgeous, strong as an ox, and glistening with sweat, there’s nothing that I don’t like about Mitch’s physique. But it was always something more, something unexpected that Mitch brought to the table that has made me never be able to take my eyes off of him when he wrestles.

It’s his maturity, by which I do not mean some asinine euphemism for his age. True, he showed up on the scene a decade or two later than some of the youngest bucks that vie for our attention in the homoerotic wrestling world, but frankly that’s neither here nor there for me. Mitch possesses a chilled calmness, an unflappability, a stone cold centeredness that reflects a mature soul. I mean, let’s face it, it’s hard to out-pretty Alexi Adamov. But Mitch is every ounce as gorgeous, as far as I’m concerned, and he’s a good bit sexier because he seems to understand exactly who he is at every moment, no matter what the trash talk and mind games his opponents toss his way. The way Mitch puts Alexi in his place and leaves him flat on his back in the gazebo is all sorts of pleasing.

I won’t try to give a comprehensive blow by blow of Mitch’s career because, let’s face it, that’s been an ongoing labor of love throughout the nearly two years of this blog. Rather, let me note the highlights that taught me something new about the big, beautiful Mitch. For example, after a hard, sweaty gazebo battle with pretty boy Alexi, things turned down right nasty for him when he climbed into the wrestling ring against one of BG East’s resident bad boys, ripped stud Cole Cassidy, in Ringwars 15. Sadly, this is Mitch’s only appearance to-date in the ring. Perhaps the seriously vicious beating he took at Cole’s expert hands (and particularly the torture Mitch’s pecs took in Cole’s claws) left Mitch with PTSD for ring action. Mitch works some nice offense in on the little powerhouse, but when it comes to decimating and displaying a big, hard hunk, there’s arguably no one better than Cole. Happily, Mitch proves that he can suffer and take a beating like that hard, ripped body of his would imply.

Mitch’s first motel match was notable for me, particularly, because he squared off with Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) in Motel Madness 7. Yes, the reigning top contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy went toe-to-toe with the reigning top contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy division. Mitch’s physique is simply perfect in this match, and I don’t blame him a bit for allowing Mr. J to maneuver him into position to shove that massively packed crotch of his into Mitch’s face.

My next stop on Mitch’s memory lane is another motel match, in which Mitch showed what he would do if BG East dangled a little bit of fluff in his face, by which I mean twink delight, Jeremy Burk, in Motel Madness 8. This is classic big v little wrestling, and I’m on the record repeatedly as partial to that scenario. What makes this match hit my list of must mentions about Mitch are two things, really. 1) This is a fantastically erotic match that’s expertly paced. Some squashes are downright boring, but there’s nothing at all boring about Mitch’s systematic pummeling of Jeremy. It gets hotter, more painful, more humiliating, and sexier with every passing moment. And 2) this was my first peek at Mitch naked. After crushing Jeremy, Mitch takes his little piece of fluff to the bathroom where they peel out of their gear and explore one another’s bodies in and out of the shower. My fetishistic lust to scrub Mitch down from head to toe with a thick, slick coat of lathered soap probably belongs on a different fetish blog, but suffice it to say, I’m bitterly envious of Jeremy.

Back to the Florida sunroom, and my next notable highlight of Mitch in action is his sweat-fest with Skrapper in Catchweight 3. Seems that Mitch has a taste for the lightweights, and despite putting up some serious offense, Skrapper was always destined to be schoolboy pinned with Mitch’s sweaty crotch shoved in his face. What stands out from this match, however, is the post-match pool play. Mitch fireman-carries his twink out of the sunroom (with Skrapper slyly copping a feel of Mitch’s glutes along the way… I tell you, that Skrapper impresses me!), and then tosses the spent punk into the pool. One last bearhug in the middle of the pool turns from a device for inflicting pain into a passionate embrace, as they make out enthusiastically. Many, many more homoerotic wrestling matches should end this way.

The same Florida sunroom is the setting for a true epiphany in Mitch’s resume. He takes matters firmly in hand against Derek da Silva in Crotch Crushers 1, tapping into his sadist side to beat, pound, claw and, indeed, crush Derek’s testicles. In addition to being the first time I saw Mitch really grab hold of his opponent’s manhood, it’s also memorable because it was right around this release that Derek stole the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy from Mitch for a brief time. The contrast of short, pale and hairy muscleboy v tall, tanned, and smooth muscleboy is aesthetically stunning.

It was the release of Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight tape that helped Mitch rip his inaugural title belt away from Derek and slap the hairy Italian into second place. Most specifically, it was Mitch’s matroom sweat fest with Patrick Donovan that turned my affections decisively back to Mitch. This match is profoundly arousing from start to finish, but it’s the bearhug competition right in the middle that makes my heart pump hardest. Patrick and Mitch are in the same league when it comes to almost everything… height, weight, good looks, fit physiques, wrestling skill, and maturity. So it’s that much more climactic when Mitch once and for all puts the veteran down, climbs on top, and locks lips with the loser.

A few months after Mitch regained his title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, he lost it in stunningly fast fashion against the wickedly nasty stylings of Rusty Stevens. From the realm of Naked Kombat and Can-Am, Rusty managed to grab my attention and hold on with both hands. Mitch slid into the top contender spot behind Rusty’s razor sharp trash talking and primal determination to dominate his opponents. So when BG East, just a few months later, released the Breaking Point: Sexiest, in which Rusty and Mitch have it out in the Florida sunroom, I was in awe. This was my fantasy come to life. I mean, most homoerotic wrestling is in one way or another my fantasies played out for me, but this was quite specifically and particularly my fantasy of pornboy v pornboy wrestling. While Mitch came out on top (at the same moment Rusty was cumming from the underneath), I had to say decisively that it was Rusty who aroused me most in this match, primarily on what is undeniably his #1 strength: his witty trash talk and delight in dishing out humiliation. It was a battle for the ages, but Mitch was relegated to stick it out in second place in my rankings.

And then last month, BG East released Mitch’s most recent match for Sunshine Shooters 4, which earned him the homoerotic wrestler of the month co-title. Mitch is also currently in possession of the top contender spot for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy yet again, chomping at Trent Diesel’s gorgeous ass to take the title for the third time. Regardless, however, Mitch will always be a favorite, and wherever he is at any particular moment in the rankings of my favorites, I will always be a Mitch fanatic.

Tats Named

No one won the grand prize for perfect marks on yesterday’s quiz. One regular reader came pretty damn close, but he’s only getting a gold star. Here are the answers that would have won someone a pic of one of my tats:
Tat #1 belongs to…
This pic was from his delightful clash of the titans with Mitch Colby, wrestling for BG East’s Breaking Point release last summer. Fan-freaking-tastic match, which was one of my all time favorite moments of the year.
Rusty also has those provocative lipstick-tats around his crotch and ass. Damn, I’m still bitter that he’s forsworn porn.
Tat #2 belongs to…
There’s a bit of mystery about precisely when this posed pic may have been snapped, but I do believe it was in conjunction with his Jobberpalooza 9 beatdown of Kevin Lee.
All that astonishingly gorgeous ink, that wide, muscled back, that incredible ass, and the delightful pain-play… Derek is a homoerotic wrestling god as far as I’m concerned. And he has entertaining tweets.
Tat #3 belongs to…
…Angel.
Specifically, this is Angel’s 2-on-1 scrap with rookies Jackson and Scooter in Mat Wars 22 for Thunder’s Arena.
In case you missed it, 5’5″, 135 pound Angel is the 1 in this 2-on-1, but that awesome sleeve and the ribcage ink even the score, as far as I’m concerned.
Tat #4 belongs to…
In particular, this is David getting a riding rear choke from the owner of Tat #1 above, Rusty Stevens, for Can-Am’s Wrestle Bait.
I think David’s ink is possibly the most attractive in homoerotic wrestling history (me being the judge, of course). His long-held bearhug, suspending Rusty off his feet, with Rusty sitting across David’s fantastic erection like a fencepost, is also possibly the most arousing homoerotic wrestling image I’ve ever had seared into my memory.
No one ventured a guess at Tat #5, which in fact belongs to…
…Can-Am’s mysteriously named “Derek.”
Linger a while on the slabs of beef that are this man’s pecs, then continue when you’re ready to learn more.
So Derek, or Derek(2) as he’s listed in the by-model search at the Can-Am website, was quite the eye-catching muscle stud when I first caught sight of him in promotions for Ropin’ Ruckus. His pubescent, is-this-guy-legal opponent here is Oliver Swift. Derek was one handsome hunk of beef, who appropriately enough gets roped and ridden by young Master Swift. Derek(2) also appears in Can-Am’s Hotel Hell: Toronto and SuperMatch 25/26 tape for those of you as taken with the sight of him as I’ve always been.
So nicely played, those of you who checked your scores with me privately. Keep studying, and one day, perhaps, you’ll be teacher’s pet.

The Give and Take

At some point I lost track of Wrestling Arsenal’s fine blog, but I just found it again. He has a nice, smart take on wrestling, and he’s got a fun sense of humor. Wrestling Arsenal’s post yesterday, for example, offers an insightful examination of the suffering wrestling hunk.

“The true beauty of pro wrestling,” he writes, “lies not in the strength and stamina of the winner, but in the frailty, vulnerability, and suffering of the loser.” The ironic twist is that so many of us want to see our favorite wrestler suffer. Hell, I’d venture to guess 99.9% of the readers of this blog get wildly aroused to see our favorite wrestler suffer! Wrestling Arsenal argues that the sight of the suffering hero stirs the most profound pathos. Our sympathies and identification with the sufferer are boiled down to the most potent essence of humanity as we watch the vulnerability of one man laid out so completely, without the least pretense of dignity left to him.

I like this deconstruction of the iconic moment of a wrestler’s suffering. It strikes a chord in me. It also makes me think about the additional element that causes a drastic drop in my blood pressure: the victor gazing down upon the suffering loser. I think all the same elements apply that Wrestling Arsenal describes. And I think that there’s also an element of profound intimacy in that exchange between the two battlers that speaks directly to the inherent homoeroticism of wrestling.

When Jack Guerin climbed into the ring with Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), he had a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He was a young, hard, eager rookie. Seriously sweet pecs and thick shoulders. Ominously, he’d not done his homework, though. He didn’t really know who Mr. Joshua was. He didn’t know what Mr. Joshua was capable of. He didn’t know that 15 minutes later, he’d find himself flat on his stomach in the middle of the ring, completely dazed and nearly delirious. And the key thing that young Jack didn’t know was that Mr. Joshua was standing overtop of him, his feet straddling Jack’s torso, staring down at the young buck’s muscled back. There’s an element of self-congratulations about the victor’s gaze upon his beaten, defenseless opponent. He’s appreciating his handiwork. He’s admiring the effect of his labors played out so explicitly on the suffering body of his once-invincible challenger. Of course, Mr. Joshua is also just waiting for poor Jack to crawl back up to his hands and knees so that he can drop his ass down punishingly into the small of Jack’s back, sending him crashing back to the mat (and then needing to adjust his massive package for his effort). But before that, there’s something almost more intimate about Mr. Joshua’s fixed gaze on upon his outmatched opponent suffering beneath him than any physical contact exchanged between the two.

I haven’t yet seen the classic battle between Dante Rosetti and Davey Dee from Fantasymen 13, but I confess that I’ve been nursing a growing infatuation with Dante lately. The sight of Davey smiling down so malevolently as Dante is flat on his back in the center of the ring is an entire novel of story telling in one photo. Okay, set aside (if you can) the distracting sight of Davey’s cock so clearly outlined beneath the taut, shiny fabric of his white tights. And once you’ve managed to tear your eyes away from both men’s stunning physiques, take another look at Davey’s face. With his head cocked slightly to the side, he’s soaking in Dante’s defenseless. With his hands planted domineeringly on his narrow hips, Davey is simply delighting in the physical vulnerability of his gorgeous opponent. Even though I haven’t seen the match, I can tell with absolute certainty that the the gorgeous dark Italian that climbed into the ring with such a sense of inevitability about his victory couldn’t have imagined he’d be flattened and helpless soon enough. Whatever these two got up to in the ring (or out of the ring, for that matter), this pleased, assessing gaze that Davey gives his beaten hunk just seems astonishingly intimate to me.

My last case in point comes from one of the all time great mat battles in my book. Mitch Colby, the then owner of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy title, faced off against the timeless physique and constantly growing mat savvy of BG East veteran Patrick Donovan. These two stunning hunks compare stats before the match starts. Mitch has an extra inch of height and a couple handfuls of pounds over Patrick, but both coldly calculating studs agree that they’re evenly matched on paper. When the scramble begins, it turns out that they’re evenly matched in practice, as well. The submissions fly fast and furious. Both boys are twisted and crushed to the point that it makes me wince just to watch it. They both fight a little dirty, taking unnecessary advantage, refusing to break on submissions, resorting to crotch claws to steal the wind from each other’s sails. When Patrick suggests a bearhug challenge, both long, tall slabs of beef are soaked in sweat and put on gorgeous display as they take turns willingly suffering in each other’s arms. Back and forth, back and forth, you begin to wonder if either of these boys will manage to build the momentum to finally derail his tenacious opponent.

But in the end, Mitch conquers like the reigning champ he was. Patrick is lying in pools of both boys’ sweat, flat on his back, pretty much oblivious to the world in the exhausted haze Mitch left him in. Mitch flexes and preens. He throws his own little victory party as he celebrates while Patrick slowly writhes on the mat with Mitch’s foot planted alternatingly on his ass and then crushing his crotch. And then Mitch takes up that familiar position, his feet straddling Patrick’s ridiculously narrow waist as he stares down long and hard at the fallen gladiator. Patrick’s instantly inadequate orange thong barely does the job of reigning in the veteran’s swollen moneymaker. True enough, Mitch pretty quickly connects all the dots going through your mind and mine by dropping to his hand and knees, grinding his own pouch into Patrick’s, pinning the loser’s wrists over his head, and tasting the sweet taste of victory. But I swear to you, that moment that Mitch is hovering, gazing down at his beaten man, that’s the most intimate moment of this match in my mind, as Mitch simply witnesses up close what Wrestling Arsenal calls “the vulnerability, frailty, and suffering of the loser.”

Power and vulnerability. Strength and weakness. Dominance and submission. Victory and defeat. It’s the combination of these elements that write the wrestling stories that grab hold of us. I keep watching not for the sight of one man’s hand raised in victory, but for that erotic telling of the story of a relationship, of power against power and the slow turning of power into vulnerability.

The School Bus has Landed

Careful readers will have detected that I’ve been ass-obsessed for quite a while now. Typically, I tend to fixate on eroticized body parts on a rotation scheme. But I’ve been crazy for hard, round glutes over all else lately. 




But I think it’s the sight of my new #1 favorite non-pornboy homoerotic wrestler, Mr. Joshua, and his package getting jostled about a bit in Matmen 21 that’s turned my tastes to cock lately. You know what a big fan I am of the erotic imagination, of course, but I’ve been getting some extra thrill recently from the boys that leave little to the imagination. Take, for example, body beautiful sadist heel, Max Dare, wrestling in oil and a mesh thong in Paradise 1.


Conventional clothing for men seems to be devoted to promoting the illusion that guys have nothing swinging between their legs. I don’t know if this is an expression of the emasculation of the “civilized” male in an effort to defuse violent competition and promote more complex forms of cooperative community, but the tight, flat front trouser seems the exact opposite of the beautifully aroused phallus encased in bulging wrestling gear. Derek da Silva’s gorgeous tool at full staff in his decimation at the hands of Kid Vicious is a case in point. To try to disguise that slab of beef, to tuck it or camouflage it in the interest of making it appear inconsequential, would be a crime against nature.

We haven’t seen buzz cut boy Joe Driver in a long time, but any conversation about a prominent wrestling cock should mention the image of his stuffed trunks. He was a lean, mean wrestling machine, perhaps a little too lean yet not mean enough for my tastes most days. But that massive bulge was absolutely hypnotizing!

The pic of Joe’s crotch straining at the seams of his trunks as he bridges high with his head trapped between the thighs of Cole Cassidy is simply art. This should be slapped in a gilt frame and set hanging in a museum. It also arouses in me a recurring fantasy of my lover in a wrestling match, trapping, stretching, and exposing his hunky opponent vulnerably and humiliatingly, and me climbing in the ring to capitalize on the capture of my lover’s prey.



Lance Jeffers is another name that I think simply has to be included in any discussion of astounding appearances by cock in a wrestling match. In his case, Lance’s truly astonishing cock probably diverts too much attention away from his impressive wrestling skills. He was an impressive, scrappy, savvy wrestler who deserves to be admired for that… but then there was that monster cock! Watching that python grow in his trunks was like it’s own Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom episode. Lance’s throbbing, bobbing, incredibly long and beautiful beast was x-rated well before his trunks ever came off. I’ve only seen preview teasers for Wrestleshack 6, but that’s been enough to sear into my memory the incredible image of Shon Tracy punching Lance’s school bus like a heavy bag.



Perhaps the most inspired incorporation of a monster cock in a wrestling match, in my book, was in X-Fights 15 (you’ll have to ask for it by name if you want to order it). DW and Doug Perry face off in one of the most balanced combinations of erotic and wrestling that I’ve ever seen. Doug Perry’s crotch is simply mind-boggling before it ever gets pulled out of his trunks. I confess to having thought, “Surely that can’t be real.” Then DW slips Doug’s meat free of his trunks, and my jaw falls open. “Holy shit… it’s real!” But the most priceless moment is when DW has Doug in an over-the-knee backbreaker, naked and fully erect. Doug’s monster is flopping around as he squirms in pain in this torture hold. And then DW grabs hold of it, strokes and massages it for a while, lulling Doug into stillness. Then shockingly and abruptly, DW pulls upward on Doug’s massive cock at the same time he slips his leg out from underneath of him, slamming Doug to the mat and never losing his grip for an instant on the raging python. It makes me gasp every time I watch it.

I’m sure there are many more that I’ve unfairly left unmentioned. The pretty boy stretch Armstrong-looking Jordan, for example, seemed like he had to lean backward just a little to compensate for the inordinate weight he was carrying in the front of his trunks. It’s also an iron clad truism that it doesn’t have to be huge to be stunningly beautiful, at least as far as I’m concerned. But at the moment, all credit and obsessive homoerotic wrestling thoughts of mine are heaped upon the boys with ample quantity as well as quality. 

Collapsing the Metaphor

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

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

Where It Hurts


When I was a kid, I’d typically scheme all the time to start
a wrestling match with a friend. Inevitably in the fumbling scramble, sooner or later, someone would get “racked,” by which we meant that they took a blow to the groin. It was always unintentional… or, at least, it was always unintentional on my part. Looking back on it, I sort of suspect that some of my wrestling buddies probably threw in a precisely placed knee every so often. I was always such a naive babyface.

The new Arena update at BG East has tickled my fancy once again with some preview pics of an upcoming release featuring the mouth-watering ass of Kid Karisma in action against Len Harder. This looks like it leans more the to homoerotic side than most of what I’ve seen Kid in, including some suck-face and ball claws. Good, good times…
The fact that this catches my eye and tweaks my kink so instantly is a relatively new thing. When I was a kid and would wrestle with my buddies, getting “racked” was an instant time out. The action stopped whenever someone took a blow to the groin. Every boy learns about the bundle of nerve endings in the groin, don’t we? At some point or another, we all experience that near-paralyzing pain of taking a shot to the balls. All the air rushes out of your lungs. Your head feels like it’s about to explode. You instinctively roll up into the fetal position with your hands cupped over your crotch to protect it from further abuse. It’s no fun, and as a kid it was typically a mood-killer for me.
Ball abuse as a mood-maker has been only a pretty recent development for me. I’ve always liked the concept of hands on genitals in my homoerotic wrestling. I just always cringe when I see some convincing bashing, twinges of some of my own greatest hits echoing through my body. I swear, it’s tissue memory more than anything cognitive. I see a blow to the balls, and I have a pre-cognitive cringe reflex. But lately, I find some hot, hard ball claws intensely erotic. I’m writing ball abuse into every fictional wrestling match I write.
I think I attribute my expanding my wrestling kink repertoire to Derek da Silva. He shows up frequently in homoerotic wrestling on the other end of the ball bashing stick. And he clearly LOVES it. I mean, seriously, he gets harder the more he gets bashed. Now, if Derek were naked and just hanging the laundry on the line, I’d be unable to stop myself from masturbating. But Derek grappling, getting ball bashed, and getting off on getting bashed has just turned a key in the back of my mind somewhere.
I still cringe. But the cringe and the pain and the primal domination of ball abuse are somehow doing it for me these days like never before. And it’s not like you can shake a stick and not smack up some ball torture everywhere you turn. Hell, in Naked Kombat you get points for it. It’s absolutely mandatory.
Can-Am has long sprinkled ball torture throughout their products. I remember one particular match that blew my mind when I saw Jimmy Dean shove his hand down the back of Mark Wolff’s trunks, reach between his legs, and claw at his testicles from behind. The boys, the gear, the ring, the bodies… everything about that makes me gasp a little.
BG East has ball claws featured prominently everywhere, in explicitly ball-torture themed products and otherwise. There’s just something stunning about the sight of a bodybeautiful, musclegod/ken doll like Jace Bradley pressed against the ropes and completely at Mr. Joshua’s mercy with his balls firmly in Mr. Joshu’s hand.
So I guess what this post is really about is the evolution of sexual appetite, the refinement of erotic tastes, and the observation that even when it comes to my wrestling kink, I’m not the same person I was even a couple of years ago. What strikes me as erotic, arousing, and captivating is growing and maturing as I march through life, scarfing down homoerotic wrestling every chance I get.

Narcissus

According to Greek mythology, Narcissus was a devastatingly beautiful and proud mortal man who disdained those who loved him. When Narcissus glimpsed his own reflection in a pool, he was captured by the sight of his own beauty and slowly died unable to tear himself away from adoring his image.
It’s an ancient tale that survives today because it says something that’s timeless. Narcissus is a morality tale, most genuinely, warning against excessive pride and self-worship. On another level, it’s a story about the way things are at the heart of the human condition. We praise beauty. We idolize and idealize the beautiful. We worship beauty, and those in possession of an overabundance of socially reinforced standards of beauty fail to surprise us when they are clearly wrapped up in their worshiping within themselves that which others prize, praise, and worship in them.
Confession: I’m a sucker for a hardbodied narcissist who’s completely in love with himself. Sadly, that’s true in my personal life, but more to the point, it’s definitely true when it comes to the homoerotic wrestling that I dig. Self-worship is a succinct, well-trod tale in the wrestling ring. The opening scene of the narcissist soaking in the gorgeousness of his own reflection sets the table for countless battles. Sometimes the challenger arrives equally as self-adoring, and the match ensues as each adonis defends his claim to embody the pinnacle of beauty. The banter that centers around, “sure, you’re not so bad, but take a look at me!” works to establish the characters, define the terms of the contest, and begs the question of who the objective observer would select as the most beautiful of the beautiful. A delightful alternate ending to this tale is when both beauties are so evenly matched that slowly, eventually, the competition turns into mutual muscle worship.
Sometimes, the narcissist is met by a challenger less concerned with his own self-worship and more incited by contempt to attack and tear down the work of art before him. The battle is its own morality tale, determining the superiority of the aesthete or the athlete. When the phrase “pretty boy” pops up frequently in the ring, we see the psychological struggle to determine who is the superior man: the one with the stunning proportions and classic beauty, or the one built of rougher stuff filled with determination to mess up his opponent’s beautiful face. This story works swinging either direction, as far as I’m concerned. I’m no less a fan of the pretty boy beatdown than I am of the I-told-you-so narcissist victory.
The narcissist in the ring is a character that typically works for me. It’s probably a profound character flaw in me (which would explain a lot of my dating history), that I find a man deeply in love with the sight of his own beautiful body incredibly arousing. Now I’m completely engaged by a muscled stud who poses proudly to awe and intimidate his opponent (and you and me). But the hot side of beef who is stunningly beautiful, knows he’s stunningly beautiful, and just a little awed and aroused by his own stunning beauty, is a character I’m tragically drawn to.
I think it’s no coincidence that both Lon Dumont (my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy) and Mr. Joshua Goodman (top contender for Lon’s title) are fantastic self-worshipers. Lon’s compact, competition-ready musclebod is sufficient to give me whiplash, but Lon’s delight in looking at himself propels him to the heights of homoeroticism in my book. Mr. Joshua is probably even more the epitome of the narcissist enamored his own gorgeous, crafted muscles and overabundant endowments. Win or lose, Joshua’s role is the stunning muscle stud who genuinely, passionately adores his own fantastic body and is ready to deploy his painstakingly toned muscles to demand from any opponent their concession to his superior beauty. It’s not hard for me to imagine that when Joshua’s eyes are closed in that moment just before orgasm, the image that fills his imagination is his own classically proportioned naked body.

I believe my pathological arousal for a self-loving hardbody probably also explains why Rafe Sanchez manages to keep rising to the surface of the homoerotic wrestling matches in my cue. Any and every match that I’ve seen with Rafe prominently features a healthy dose of Rafe self-love. Even when his opponent’s engage in Rafe-worship, it seems to only fuel Rafe’s arousal even more as he marvels at every beautiful inch (and he has plenty of inches) of his hot, tight body. And the more Rafe adores his gorgeous proportions and flexed muscles, the more I’m entirely at his mercy.

Even short of full on, characterological narcissism, just a lingering gaze a muscled wrestler gives his body is a major plus in my book. A classic babyface hero who can’t help but pause and marvel at his own massive bicep (Mitch Colby, I’m looking at you) is astonishingly erotic. In fact, I’d say that what gets plenty of people in the world diagnosed with a personality disorder is the very same thing that puts at least 75% of the homoerotic into my favorite homoerotic wrestling. So bring on the self-worshiping body beautiful muscle hunks in awe and obviously aroused by the sight of their own stunning bodies… I just can’t help myself.

Ink from Behind

Back ink works for me. Particularly a broad, muscled back makes for arguably the best canvas on the body. When utilized well, the body perfectly compliments the art and the art perfectly compliments the body. Case in point is perennial tat-boy favorite, muscle wrestler masochist extraordinaire and still in the running for my favorite homoerotic pornboy wrestling favorite rankings, Derek Da Silva. Every inch of Derek is astonishingly hot, but I could sit and stare at him from behind for days on end… okay, okay, his fantastic bubble butt is at least 30% of that, but most of the appeal is his broad, powerfully muscled, gorgeously inked back, especially when it has a sheen of fresh sweat… and he’s sitting on someone’s face.

Tattooed Hunks gives me a nearly daily fix of hunk ink, and I’m always particularly excited when some hot back art pops up. There’s just something intensely sexual about back ink. It’s obviously not something that the inked hunk himself can really admire, at least not conveniently. Rather, it’s an intensely personal text for the lucky boy who gets to see him stripped from behind. This is the view that you get when you’re on top, looking down at his stretched out back, your hips positioned against (and pumping) his ass. This is the essence of erotic intimacy – beautiful aesthetics paired with orgasm.

I’m a sucker for colorful ink. To whomever could send me some full on pics of this young stud’s artwork, I’d owe you bigtime. Not that there’s anything wrong with this view. Tats like this that traverse traditional modesty lines drive me insane. The back ink that stretches down onto his ass cheek simply demands that he unbuckle that belt and slide his cheek out from underneath his pants. That’s what good ink does anywhere, I think. It involves the whole body in telling a story. It draws the eye across the lines of muscle and ink, calling to you to feel, admire, and worship the beautiful male form.