Tag: Gino Liotta

Short Cuts

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I won’t name names, because that ALWAYS gets me in more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll just say that the same disappointing thought has occurred to me more than once recently as I’ve been sampling homoerotic wrestling new releases.  This recurring thought is, Grabbing crotch does not make wrestling homoerotic.

100% homoerotic wrestling featuring (among many other elements) Mitch Colby grabbing Derek da Silva’s crotch in Crotch Crushers 1.

Do you know what I mean? I’ve seen an anecdotal rise in the number of wrestling products marketed to you and me in which the most homo and/or erotic content is almost entirely limited to a crotch grab. Now, I love a nice crotch grab. That goes for all sorts of contexts and purposes, actually.  The feel of a pulsing, raging cock in my hand is absolutely intoxicating! Two raging cocks in my hand, and I’m guaranteed to have a hangover the next morning. I do not have anything at all against the homoeroticism of taking another man’s cock firmly in hand, per se.

Jobe Zander looks like he’s searching for his keys at the bottom of his purse in Can-Am’s DeCrotchery 3

But my beef, so to speak, is the over reliance on this device to sell wrestling as gay. I realize that there’s a sub-fetish contingent out there with a particular kink for watching and/or experiencing cock abuse. While I don’t count myself in that particular tribe, I can appreciate and get turned on by some cock control as a tool of soul crushing erotic domination. But if that’s really the only element in a match that might distinguish it from a TBS prime time mainstream episode of plasticized canned wrestling drama, then it’s just got one toe on our side of the fence, as far as I’m concerned.

Gino Liotta and Joshua Goodman engage in mutual crotch crushing as just one element of steamy action in Crotch Crushers 2.

Running across a bevy of barely homoerotic wrestling trying to take a short cut with crotch shots as credentials for checking in with you and me as gay-oriented has started to grate on my nerves.  So sure, you squeezed his balls… if you’ve got a disinterested look on your face, it sort of douses the heat. You grabbed a handful of whatever is stuffed down the front of his trunks, okay. But, if neither your hand nor his suffering seem to sell me that you’re about to rip him apart out of a primal lust to own his muscled body, then the stagecraft wears thin.

Friend of neverland, Ben Monaco, convinces me long before he goes for Alex Arias’ crotch that he’s all-in for homoerotic wrestling in Mat Rookies 1!

All this begs the question, of course, what it is that distinguishes some wrestling as homoerotic and others as something else. Of course, mainstream wrestling can turn me on (when it isn’t pissing me off with over-the-top homophobia). Just about any wrestling itself speaks to me as homoerotic almost by definition.  But I propose that there’s an ontologically different beast that is homoerotic wrestling. I’ve danced around this topic many times in the past. It’s a know-when-I-see-it sort of concept, in large part. It also overlaps with the cliche of “chemistry” between wrestlers, which is nearly impossible to quantify but, nevertheless, is unmistakable when its absent. I don’t know that I can put a finger on the baseline requirements (for me), but what makes something distinctively homoerotic wrestling always hits me on many levels.

Muscleboy Tyler St. James checks for a hernia in Pro Sex Fight 8.

Of course, explicit sexuality never hurts to sell wrestling as homoerotic. A suck, a fuck, a kiss even (especially), and I’m a long way to being sold that this wrestling is all about me and my kink. Hell, just having the boys talk openly about the eroticism hanging in the air between them is plenty to suck me in, and when it’s done right, eroticized banter will rev me up a hundred times hotter than an going-through-the-motions post-match fuck.

Reese Wells works 5 different angles at once in dishing out dominating abuse over  Jobe Zander’s package in Ball Busters 1.

It doesn’t require explicitness, though. It can be the fixed gaze of one wrestler and the self-conscious glance at the ground by the other that piques my homoerotic wrestling gaydar. It can be the intimacy of the setting, the gear, the lighting even, that contribute to making me recognize that this is homoerotic wrestling.  It can, and often is, one wrestler so narcissistic that he convinces me that, if humanly possible, he’d fuck himself into a stupor if that annoying opponent of his would just get the fuck out of his face.

Michael Vineland works the joystick from behind in Pro Sex Fight 8.

The best in the business push the homoerotic button from the instant the camera brings them into focus. Homoerotic wrestlers of the month Cage Thunder and (spoiler alert… keep reading at your own risk… oh, wait, too late!) Lightning Rod aka KV are beautiful examples. A half a second after I see their eyes lock onto the body of their opponents like sizing up a juicy filet, I understand without a doubt that the combat that’s about to unfold is first and foremost sexual. They communicate a hunger to grab hold of and consume their opponent that’s instantly arousing. The crotch grab is perfectly homoerotic when they latch on and threaten to rip an opponent out by the roots, because of everything else they’ve done to make it clear that they get off on this!

In Ball Bash 2, Reese Wells gets harder the more vicious Jonny Firestorm attacks his crotch! Now that’s homoerotic and hot!

There are plenty of wrestling products that push me way over the edge without ever veering into crotch grabs, fucking, or nudity even. They’re often completely homoerotic in my eyes for a dozen other elements that signal to me that this isn’t wrestling for 8 year-old boys with g-rated comic book fantasies of heroes and villains.  And equally as true, a gratuitous ball claw or tug at a cock is seldom the end-game for landing a wrestling match firmly within the circle of what I consider gay-themed, for gay eyes, wrestling kink, or homoerotic.

Unmasked and unsheathed, Stinger swells with excitement as Homoerotic Wrestlers of the Month Cage Thunder and Lightning Rod batter his stinger mercilessly.

As the photos I’ve attached to this post illustrate, the crotch grab is a delightfully hot tool in the tool belt of the accomplished homoerotic wrestler.  When it’s dished out in measured quantity, it’s fantastic! When placed as an integral component of an onslaught of unmistakably homoerotic content, the crotch grab is often precisely the point at which I lose all self-restraint. However, and I’m not naming names, but I just need to say it: solely based on a wrestler grabbing his opponent’s crotch, it doesn’t make it homoerotic wrestling. A one-trick pony gimmick in an otherwise lukewarm bath of run of the mill wrestling does not a homoerotic wrestling match make.

A Handful or Two

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Gino Liota kicks off his match with Joshua Goodman
I’m just now starting to have time to reflect on parts of the amazing Catalog 91 from BG East. These new releases demonstrate that BGE’s bench is astonishingly deep and thick with talent! Having seen some of the matches now, I feel like I have to pace myself. Too much hotness is overloading and dehydrating me! Even trying to decide where to begin created a nearly paralyzing dilemma for me. But I decided when in doubt, go with a sure bet to turn me on: Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!!!).

Gino is like a pit bull latched onto Mr. J’s dangling participles
Mr. Joshua is back on the mats against a lightweight personal trainer and humorless ex-military bundle of equal portions bark and bite who goes by the name of Gino Liotta. Gino is a powerful little package of domineering, snarling, condescending macho attitude that belies his relatively petite frame. One might be left wondering within the first few minutes of this match how, outweighed 30 pounds and staring up at least 4 inches of height difference at Mr. Joshua’s chiseled chin, Gino can be so completely dismissive of Mr. J and so entirely self-confident in his own destiny to dominate. That question was answered for me once Gino strips down to his underwear. I’m not surprised in the least that a man packing that much meat between his legs thinks of himself as nothing less than the most virile top before which otherwise bigger men should quake.

Joshua’s body is built for 2 things: dominating and being adored.
Mr. Joshua rates himself as bigger and thicker than he’s ever been before, which are two adjectives that never fail to pop into my head when Joshua comes to mind. As a crotch-crushing themed match, there’s more than abundant attention paid to both wrestler’s packages, and Mr. J’s package is nothing if not the stuff of legend (Ken Canada will back me up on that assessment). But I want to give credit to everything else about Mr. Joshua, because it too often gets overshadowed by that riveting bulge in his trunks. Mr. J is incredibly fit, incredibly toned, and proportioned like a Greek god.  Whether bigger than ever or not, he maintains an astonishing level of fitness that suggests that he most certainly does not count on his pendulous package to do all the impressing. He’s a muscle stud, and his gorgeously sculpted legs, perpetual six-pack abs, broad powerful chest and bulging shoulders and arms are nothing short of phenomenal. He’s also a handsome, cocky bastard as well, with a beautiful, expressive face and gorgeous, dark brown eyes and a mouth someone, SOMEONE has got to plant a kiss on someday once Mr. J and his python are conquered.
Gino is determined to conquer Mr. J’s legendary python.
The wrestling (which is, after all, what really drives my erotic tastes) is deeply satisfying, in no small part because Gino zeroes in on precisely what I can’t take my eyes off of whenever Mr. J is in front of me: his massive pride and joy. Even in matches where Mr. J’s crotch takes a beating, there’s often some excruciating foreplay as opponents only belatedly go for the gold when Mr. J’s strength, fitness, and (let’s face it) fuzzy grasp of good sportsmanship drive them to it. Gino is not a foreplay sort of guy (which can be a problem, but in this case, it’s fucking hot!). Mr. J doesn’t even know he’s about to get dragged by his hair into the mat room when Gino is already crushing his balls underfoot as Joshua sits at the chest press. The newbie personal trainer is clearly not a man for subtlety. And I, for one, seriously appreciate his initiative when coming face to face with Mr. Joshua and his bulging, oversized, swollen… ego.

Two astonishingly massive handfuls!
Let it not be said that Joshua Goodman cannot rise to the challenge when an opponent takes his biggest strength and, arguably, most tempting vulnerability in hand. He’s nothing short of shocked by the seemingly unprovoked assault by the drill sergeant, which costs him precious, exquisitely suffered agony for quite a while once he’s been tossed unceremoniously on his face into the mat room. But Mr. J is unquestionably stronger than Gino. He’s got a height advantage, a reach advantage, and although Gino is clearly coming with some no-holds-barred hand-to-hand combat experience under his belt, Mr. J knows the BG East mat room and the lengths that it requires of a wrestler, with what has to be one of the longest, if not the longest, wrestling resumes in the business. Even while showing his own crushed balls the loving attention they’re accustomed to, Mr. J grabs a second handful of Gino’s super sized handle and makes his forearms flex beautifully as he tortures the personal trainers testicles in sweet revenge.
Mr. J isn’t shy about taking his fate into his own hands

Frankly, I think of Joshua as someone who’s warmed up to really milking cock and ball torture only lately in his long career. Sure, some nasty low blows have long been in his repertoire. He’s not been shy about grinding his elbow into a vulnerable crotch when he’s got an opponent draped across his thigh in a completely exposing over the knee backbreaker (which he treats petite Gino to in this match as well). But with so many opponents lately targeting his mountainous package with such complete disrespect and brutality, Mr. J is now giving ever bit as cruelly as he gets. There are moments in this match when I swear I think he’s about to rip Gino’s balls off, after which I fully expect him to shove them down Gino’s throat for the vicious indignities which the rookie has inflicted upon him. With a match record as long as Mr. J’s, fans might expect to see less and less new from the battle hardened veteran. But Mr. Joshua is nothing if not more dangerous, more vicious, more willing to dig down deep into the depths of his bag of dirty tricks (not to mention digging into his overstuffed trunks), and that’s paired with awesome feats of strength and a constantly growing talent for executing holds that maximize the humiliation and treat us all to the delights of fantsyman homoerotic wrestling beauty.

Mr. J is always packing heat!

Some things, of course, never change. Mr. Joshua is entranced by his own image in the mirror. His estimation of his strength and beauty lack any humility or self-deprecation, to say the least. He is a stunning sight to see, maintaining his physique with what must be obsessive devotion. And always, always, always, his pride and joy and most prominent feature enters a room several seconds before the rest of him.  Crotch Crushers 2 dishes up everything I depend on Mr. Joshua to do to keep me aroused and entertained, and more than a handful more!