Tag: Enforcer

Games

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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!

A True Romantic

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I’m not into Valentines Day, really. Too much compulsory heterosexuality in the air. It’s NOT that I’m not a romantic. It’s just that I can’t take red heart chocolate boxes and red roses seriously (well, I’m always a sucker for receiving flowers… just something other than red roses, please).

The Enforcer v Blueboy – BG East – Masked Mayhem 4
Even more than the compulsive heterosexuality, there’s something intentionally fictive about Valentines Day that irks me. No one’s relationship, even the most melba toast straight couple, looks like the gooey, saccharine, “you complete me” idea promoted in commercials and greeting cards. There’s something passionless and sterile about the whole production that swings the whole constructed reality of romance toward enmeshment and abstraction and away from physicality. Sure, the morning news shows mentioned men giving lingerie to women as evidence of the link between sex and Valentines Day. But if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that there’s likely a decrease in the amount of sex happening today, directly attributable to the chocolates-and-roses sentimentality of it all.

Kid Karisma v Len Harder – BG East – Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun

Now, if there were a Valentines Day card that said something like, “Show me that you really care: Wrestle me to the ground, pound me into submission, and then shove your tongue down my throat,” well, then perhaps I’d think that this contrived “holiday” has something for me.

Dean Tucker v Drake Jaden – Naked Kombat – 7/22/09

If there were an FTD card that I could send with the orchids that said something like, “First to cum gets ridden like a pony,” that might enhance the romance of the day for me.

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

If a date promised me that, for dessert, he’d treat me to an over-the-knee backbreaker, then just maybe I might associate Valentines Day with some sexual passion.

Mitch Colby v Patrick Donovan – BG East – Wrestler Spotlight – Mitch Colby

A jock strap, buckets of sweat, and a schoolboy pin lip lock are a so much more to the point than chocolates and lace and plastic-wrapped shrubbery. I hope today has something truly romantic and passionate in store for all of us, which will have absolutely nothing to do with Hallmark, FTD, or Godiva. It’s not that I’m not looking for romance. I just don’t think it comes to any of us tied up with a bow with the sales receipt in our pockets.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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September has brought a bumper crop of homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month contenders. Can-Am has a September release date for their Hollywood Fight Club 3, featuring ever-ready wrestler-of-the-month quality from Chris Bruce, Donnie Drake, Rio Garza, and “Can-Am Exclusives” Drake Davenport and Michael Vineland. BG East released 6 new tapes this month, and top contenders for the -of-the-month title have to include veteran Patrick Donovan, Kid Karisma, Alexi Adamov, the Enforcer, and sweet rookie, Angelo Blanco. Rock Hard Wrestling is putting up the beauty and burgeoning wrestling prowess of Cody Nelson and Travis Storm. Now that I’m tracking Thunders Arena again, I feel compelled to throw in Ace Hanson (I think his “Custom Series” came out this month) as well as Thunders’ monster rookie STL and everyone, and I mean everyone’s high class jobber Cameron Mathews (who’s showing up in new releases in both Can-Am and Thunders, raising my overexposure caution flag). I haven’t even had time to mention it, but the Naked Kombat performance of Phillip Aubrey this month was extremely satisfying for me, perhaps topped only by the domination of July’s homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month, Trent Diesel by the muscleboy Ken-doll who goes by the thoroughly pornboy name, Ryan Rockford.

Holy crap! The good news is that the market is thick with new products, lustworthy wrestlers, and stories that are grabbing me hard. The bad news is that I’ve set up for myself the task of choosing just one for my favorite homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month. I’m sorely tempted to pick a rookie, to just drive home my plea for continued recruitment and promotion of quality new talent. Admittedly, I’m far too poor to have actually seen all these matches, so quite a bit of this decision hinges on the packaging (which is shaky ground, I’ll admit). But there’s nothing left to do but to do it. My favorite homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month, out of an extremely crowded and brutal field this time around, is…

…the Enforcer.

The Enforcer appeared this month in BG East’s new release, Masked Mayhem 7. He put his gorgeous body and undefeated record on the line against militia-looking meanie, the Marauder. I’m very, very happy to say that I have seen this match, and it’s an epic battle that takes my breath away. These big, big boys are brutal. They accomplish a key element that I find a major turn on, that being that they hold my suspense. Both of these guys are amazing salesmen and accomplished wrestlers. And the Enforcer is as pristine and timeless a classic masked wrestler today as he was six years ago when he first stepped into BG East’s ring to lay some brutal, completely unnecessary, muscleboy beatdown on the already humiliated and destroyed Brad Rochelle.

Whatever it is that the Enforcer is doing to keep in shape, he should bottle it and make a fortune. He looks every ounce as stunning and absolutely identical to his devastating form 6 years ago. More than just looking “as good” as he did, he just looks exactly the same.

He remains creepily quiet in his matches, which is a challenge for someone like me that lives for the humiliating dialogue in the ring. Nevertheless, he communicates it all with great skill. He grunts, gasps and groans, and I find myself on the edge of my seat waiting for the next sound to get pummeled out of that massive chest. Despite his notorious humiliation of an already destroyed Brad, the Enforcer is no untouchable squasher. He takes his hits (and occasionally, licks). He suffers and squirms. That big, powerful body gets as good as it gives. And in Masked Mayhem 7, once again, he turns me into a grunting, gasping, groaning mess. And for that, the Enforcer is my homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Bard in the Ring

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Sometimes, my wrestling kink is entirely voyeuristic. I’m fired up into a frenzy from the position at ringside. I’m stoked by watching two beautiful wrestlers entirely focused on dominating one another, pitting muscle and wit against one another in a brutal competition to determine who ends up on top. But there are some wrestlers who, I must admit, I simply can’t help but mentally transport myself into the ring. It’s not the sight of them hammering down on someone else that I’m thrilled by, but the imagination of me face-to-face, pec-to-pec, nose-to-nose.

I can watch the Enforcer lay down the law on anyone, and for me, I’m the one in the ring with this muscle stud. He’s coming up in a new BG East release, with the first preview pics hitting the Arena today. Masked Mayhem 7 looks incredible, and the opportunity to see Enforcer, or, more precisely, to be transported once again into the ring with him, is making me feel all tingly in anticipation.
Specifically, there are few situations that send me over the moon when the Enforcer if facing me (substitute any opponent’s name he’s faced). When I’ve got him cinched into a nice, tight full nelson, pulling his stunning back against my torso, taking a little liberties in grinding my crotch into his ass, when he grunts, growls, and muscles his way out of my control…. sweet mother of God….
The preview pics of the Enforcer’s upcoming battle with Marauder indicates I’ll soon be finding myself in another favorite Enforcer-on-Bard scenario. His thighs are works of art and, at the same time, works of fantastic pain delivery. Many a times have I (in the form any of his opponents) found myself on my knees in front of this muscled behemoth with my head caught helplessly squeezed between those tree trunks. My ears buzz. My face burns. My skull feels like it’s ready to explode. Yes. Yes. Yes.
It’s not all me pulling the job, my friends. What strokes my choke includes some knocks in on the big man. When I (you might remember it as Blueboy) had Enforcer reeling in the corner, weakened by some choice blows, I made the big man gasp and groan with a knee-weakening tongue lashing on his tasty, gorgeous nipples. Okay, so, true enough…. I got a little distracted by the sight, feel, taste, smell, and sound of the captured moment when he couldn’t help but show that I was getting to him. But it was worth it. Trust me.
After getting a beatdown from the Enforcer in his debut, once again in Masked Mayhem 1, I redisovered the wonders of suffering in this battleboy’s massive arms. Whenever he bearhugs me (and it happens in every match), I’m breathless even before he squeezes the air out of my lungs. As he’s pulling me tighter and tighter, our pecs squeezed together, my crotch bumping into his thick thighs and his awesome bulge, I make myself open my eyes just a little, even though the pain makes me wince. The glimpse of his face, inches from mine, glaring down with that look of ecstatic domination over me… well, I may not be able to stand up straight for a few hours, but it’s completely worth it.

Can’t wait for our upcoming rematch!
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Masculine Behaviors

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I’ve mentioned before that I consider superheroes kink-adjacent to wrestling. There’s a lot of overlap, including full-time attention from the fine folks at Rants, Roids, & Rasslin’ and Eye of the Cyclone. There are also sideline overlappers from the wrestling side of things, including the Superhero Heels series from BG East and the Hard Heroes line of videos from Can-Am. Of course, much of masked wrestling in general draws on the rules of superherodom, turning straight-up pros into icons in the battle of good versus evil, imbuing them with an aura of invincibility when in costume, and portraying their collapse into mortal vulnerability upon unmasking.
Some psychologists reportedly have recently done “research” into the impact of superheroes on children. I’m highly skeptical about the gendered and morality-laden ruler with which they seem to have measured their data. Regardless, though, their findings are that the classic superheroes of the first half of the 20th century had a positive influence on children because they were morally upright, unflinchingly sincere, restrained in their use of force and violence, and explicitly promoting the virtue of humanitarianism. On the other hand, the researchers suggest that more recent superheroes are overly aggressive, sarcastic, self-absorbed, and eagerly embracing of violence and domination as testimony to their masculinity.
I’m just going to set aside the child-rearing aspects of this topic for the moment, which is actually the point of the research study. Those of you rearing children can take from this what you will. But from an adult perspective (and many of the offending superheroes cited are really comics for adults) I’m fascinated with the notion that society should be invested in promoting superhero role-models that “promote kinder, less stereotypical male behaviors.” Some of us, present company certainly included, think that there’s something entirely entertaining and attractive about many of these very same “male behaviors.”
It seems to me that the division identified in this research is the divide between the classic face and the classic heel. Moral masculinity appears to be tied to the rule-abiding, humble, self-restrained humanitarian hero who the masses are sure to cheer as savior, protector, and defender of the weak. Immoral masculinity is characterized as the opportunistic, cocky, hedonistic bully who takes hold of victory with both hands, taking whatever short-cut is necessary, reveling in the exercise of power and domination as ends in-and-of themselves.
I’m not the most versed comic-head in the kink-corner of the internet, but it seems to me that the more recent superheroes reflect a postmodern bent that argues that, just like real life, the world of superheroes is comprised of complex and conflicted characters who sometimes do the right thing for the wrong reasons, or the wrong thing for the right reasons. Postmodern superheroes travel back and forth between turning heel and turning back to face, sometimes doing the humbling and sometimes getting humbled, and inevitably, as always, pitting strength against strength, muscle against muscle, will against will, until one man is proven the dominator and the other forced into submission. It seems to me to be precisely a story about masculinity, and a more complicated, realistic version of masculinity is not one that is unflinchingly moral, non-violent, selfless and humanitarian, but one that is conflicted, as is every exercise of power over another being.
I, for one, would much rather my role models and proxy protagonists be flawed, inconsistent, considerate of their own self-interests, and possessing well-deserved pride in their mastery of themselves, their bodies, and their foes (and their foes’ bodies). I couldn’t live up to a 1950’s rendition of Superman, but I could see some potential for self-improvement by identifying with a postmodern warrior who gets it right sometimes, gets it wrong sometimes, and struggles to sort out the right formula of self-confidence, self-interest, and self-restraint to craft for myself a life that I can feel good about. Again, I have no idea what goes into good child-rearing, but as for me, a vacillating superhero who blurs the line of hero and villain, who occasionally smacks down an opponent and occasionally gets smacked down in the constant struggle to determine whose idea of virtue will win the day seems a lot more… meaningful.
And, frankly, it’s a lot hotter. Which is what tends to turn my crank, and I just bet it will continue to turn the crank of generations of gay (and probably straight) boys to come.

Hold Still!

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I’m not the only one seeing this, right? Wrestling as a bondage fantasy is all over the place. Tying up a stunned hunk between the ropes and working them over with both hands (and knees, and boots, and your partner, if applicable…) is directly out a BDSM playbook.
Okay, so obviously I’m not the only one seeing this. Wrestling Arsenal has several galleries devoted to the wonders of a wrestler tied in the ropes. Using the ropes as tools of torture is true artistry. Turning the set into the subject of a battle is the sign of a creative mind. But the creativity is just starting there. Finding new, ingenious ways of capturing and torturing your helpless opponent in the ropes is a many splendored thing. Like the doomed hunk in pink tights suspended helplessly from the ropes and his inverted opponent’s clutches, there are always new ways being invented to suffer with the aid of the ring ropes.
BG East’s Nick Archer takes the direct approach on poor Jason Zamora. Just position your man prone and step on the bottom rope, choking the sucker. Nick uses the top rope for balance. Personally, I’d like to see the top rope taut in the opposite direction, with Nick using it for extra leverage to apply more force across the poor chump’s throat. But that’s just me.


Lot’s of guys can lace a man’s arms between the top two ropes and hang him helpless inside the ring, but Sting here flipped the scenario outside the ring, leaving the gorgeous body of Rick Rude on stunning display, literally suspended off the ground. That bastard official looks like he’s going to ruin this scenario well before some serious discipline could be applied to Rick’s helplessly hunky body.

Early in Brad Rochelle’s BG East career, he won “Rookie of the Year” at the end of his systematic, sadistic dismantling of a young Patrick Donovan. Brad finished Patrick off with this truly inspired use of the ropes, immobilizing Patrick’s shoulders in the bottom two ropes and then lifting his body off the mat in a nicely suspended Boston crab variation. The cherry on top in this scenario was the standing ovation of the wrestlers watching outside the ring, who sealed Patrick’s humiliation by taking turns slapping him in the face as he remained trapped just this way in the ropes.
Karma is a bitch, though. Years later, after Brad’s suffering has propelled him to the heights of jobberhood, the Enforcer had him suffering miserably, his neck being pried painfully over the very same ropes with which he’s once humiliated young Patrick. The hunter quickly became the hunted, and our hopeless hero in white (specifically his trunks, though he’s awfully pale as well), is now the mounted trophy for Enforcer to examine and feel every inch of Brad’s tortured physique.
And speaking of tortured physique, did you catch the mega talent packed into a slender, tight package (aka Reese Wells) trapped in the ropes and having his balls crushed by Johnny Firestorm!? Johnny clearly is right there with me in recognizing the rope work as BDSM in the ring. Johnny actually uses the ropes from various angles to assault Reese’s balls and cock every which way. Our brave little scrapper with the literal target across his crotch screams and suffers valiantly, completing the cast of characters of the sadist and his hard working masochist.
The hunk who is twisted and tied, pummeled and pried in the ring ropes is nothing if not the object of homoerotic lust. His massive muscles immobilized outline the one-to-one connection between his suffering and our sexual fantasies. To be bound and disciplined on your way to humiliating defeat is absolutely the kink I’m talking about.

Words and Silences

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An online collaborator on a writing project recently mentioned to me that he doesn’t always “get” dialogue in wrestling. As for me, I’m always writing in taunting bravado, snarling verbal domination, or humiliating tirades. The dialogue makes it as much a head game as a battle of bodies, and both together are a bigger turn on for me than either one separately.

Similarly, I also recently replied to a reader’s comment by saying that the Enforcer’s epic beatdown on already beaten down Brad Rochelle in BG East’s Contract 4 left me desperately wanting to hear the big baddy say something. He’s creepily quiet as he tosses, slams, pries and pummels sweetly suffering Brad. Brad cries and whimpers, “why…?” as he’s twisted into astonishing angles, but the Enforcer’s silence is somehow even more dominating. He refuses to explain himself, to answer any question, to justify his devastating mugging. Still… if he just once whispered, “‘Cause I want to see you beg…” I’d have spontaneously exploded at the very instant.
Still again, I realize that the topic of dialogue came up in my review on Monday of Rock Hard Wrestling’s latest release. The first match between Cameron and Tommy is technically nice grappling. Two big, gorgeous bodies working up a sweat (perhaps enhanced, nevertheless), is art worth standing up and taking note of in my book. But they’re so eerily silent as they fight. It’s a little more like watching a chemistry experiment than the battle of two cocky studs both believing that they are fated to prevail. Words could tell me that this isn’t just about muscles and skill, but it’s also about balls (and cocks, for that matter), as two big boys play the game that boys have always played throughout time: whose is bigger; who’s badder; who will be the conqueror and who will be conquered.
The dialogue is one of the things that makes BG East’s new Fantasymen match debuting Lon Dumont such a turn on for me. Lon is barking at Eddy throughout the match, demanding that he flex for him. “I’ve seen that one!” he shouts when Eddy pumps out another double bicep in submission. Lon carries off cocky taunting convincingly, wrapping the physical action into a through-story based on Lon’s scene-opening challenge that he doesn’t give away poses of his hot body for free. Lon never accepts a whimpering submission from Eddy without snapping at him, “That’s not good enough!” and demanding a new, stunning flex of Eddy’s sweat-soaked, bulging body. Hell yes, that’s what I’m talking about!
One more example of what’s working for me: Can-Am is unfolding a new product called the Arena in their premium pay site, Can-Am Max,. It stars BG East bad boy, Aryx Quinn, new face Brian Bodine, and g—orgeous Rusty Stevens. After the first match up, Rusty has Brian beaten, fucked, and lying on his stomach in humiliation. Before Rusty can leave in undisputed victory, Aryx charges in, challenging Rusty to an East Coast vs. West Coast battle. They circle Brian’s beaten body, trading insults. Rusty is post-match naked and hard as a board, with that massive muscled bubblebutt bouncing with each stride. Aryx is in shiny gear and boots. Aryx says that if Rusty thinks Brian was competition, then perhaps he should walk across the street to the grade school to find more opponents he could beat up. Aryx is supposed to be the fast talking challenger, but Rusty has a very quick wit and sharp tongue that manages to best Aryx in the head-game of improv taunts, in my opinion. The constant circling of naked Brian, Rusty’s stunning, huge body aroused and on display, and the playground choreography of the taunt, the challenge, and the challenge accepted is by far the most erotic part of this match thus far (including the fuck scene).
I probably write too much dialogue in my wrestling fiction for some. The quotation marks probably serve as little more than a distraction to many fellow kinksters out there groaning to just get on with it, start the tussle, slam some bodies together. But for me, the taunts, tantrums, screams and submissions are absolutely delightful icing on the cake of hardbodies, sweat, and suffering. The talk tells the story of not just physical domination, but the domination of one man’s will over another. It’s about the ante up, the smack down, and the claim at the end of the day when one stud is helpless on his back and the other is reminding him, “I told you so.”

The Endless Jobber

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Yesterday’s post sparked some interesting conversation. It also got me to thinking about all the jobbers that have caught my eye as I’ve fed my wrestling kink. Despite my proposition yesterday that every jobber should have his day, it did occur to me that there are, perhaps, a very select few jobbers that I never tire of seeing crushed. It may irk some of you to hear me now say that even I have a pantheon of jobber gods who, perhaps, I might never get bored with. If reconsideration of my argument yesterday irritates you, please refer to my standing opinion on consistency.

Wrestling Arsenal describes Kenny Kendall as “everyone’s favorite jobber.” Somehow I feel less special now. I always came to attention when Kenny climbed into the ring. He possessed a sweet (sweet, sweet, sweet) body, and every time there was the introductory close-up, I was captured by Kenny’s handsome face. I can’t remember ever seeing a match that Kenny won. He wasn’t always squashed, but as far as I remember, he was always beaten nearly unconscious.
Kenny’s trunks were always a distraction to me. He inevitably wore them a size too small and riding up his ass crack. As if his meaty glutes weren’t eye-catching enough, Kenny inevitably ended up on his hands and knees with his ass lifted high off the mat.
As far as I can remember, I never got tired of seeing Kenny get the shit kicked out of him. He suffered sweetly, and frankly I always thought he could probably do a job for days. Sadly, he was often in the ring with significantly out of shape heels who, I have to imagine, get the blame for so manny Kenny jobs being tragically short. As long as Kenny wore those crevice-cradling trunks with the double “K” stitched like grandma’s sampler on his left cheek, then sure… I’m okay with seeing Kenny endlessly job.
Wracking my twisted brain, I can’t say that there are many more jobber gods who could make it into my pantheon of endless jobberhood. Perhap the BG East’s Muscle Mask might qualify, if he had a longer career to consider. As JoshH commented yesterday, there’s something simply mouth-watering about the image of a stunningly muscled man like Muscle Mask being manhandled. The mask may be blurring my objectivity here, though. I’m a sucker for a hardbody in a wrestling mask, any day of the week.
So Kenny Kendall is definitely drinking ambrosia on Mt. Jobber-Olympus. Muscle Mask has yet to fight some more Titans before he can definitely join Kenny in the pantheon of eternal jobber delights. I’ll continue to consider who else might be worthy of jobber-deity status (feel free to help me out).