I’m sure I was probably too harsh a couple of days ago when I took poor twink Hunter James to task for not enjoying his muscle worship session with Braden Charron nearly enough in Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Oil Hunks 2. Muscle Master Kevin himself had to comment that I probably got the wrong end of the stick, mistaking Hunter’s deer-in-the-headlights-nervousness with a lack of enthusiasm. Fair enough. It got me thinking about point-of-view. POV in a well-told story typically takes the reader into the scenario in some relatable way. The character from who’s POV the story unfolds is identifiable and comprehensible to the reader. We may not exactly embrace them, but sometimes the truly masterful story is the one that sucks us into the POV of someone we might otherwise think is incomprehensibly other to us (hello, Dexter). Like Hunter James in OH2, there’s a play on POV in many homoerotic wrestling products that pit a man of pure fantasy, ripped from the cover of a physique mag, unattainable like a star in the heavens, and pits him against an opponent who is relatable to the average Joe wrestling fan. The drama unfolds with the majority of viewers squarely in the back pocket of the average Joe, the Everyman. He may win or lose, compete or cave, but the story unfolds with us securely experiencing the scene from the POV of the boy who’s got to be thanking his lucky stars to get thrown into the deep end of the pool to swim with the gods for a brief moment in time.
Hunter James being dominated and “forced” to oil up and admire a naked Braden Charron is a case in point. Hunter is not a physique star. I’m not saying he’s not a handsome little piece of meat, but the contrast between his lean, undefined, attainable body and the bulging, tanned, impeccably groomed beauty of Braden is a contrast that seems to almost inevitably shove most of us into the POV of Hunter. That’s probably why I’m so harsh on him. I think of myself, briefly, vicariously, as him. I’d dig my fingers deep into those glutes when Braden demands that I spread baby oil across his ass, so when Hunter demurely paints on a paper thin coat by barely making contact with that ass, I want to slap the twink around. That’s NOT my POV, damn it. Enjoy it! Play with it. Thank your lucky stars and then dive in with both feet and celebrate the phenomenal physique standing there naked in front of you demanding your adoration.
I’m overemphasizing the attainability aspect of the Everyman, I’m sure. I’m not saying that a wrestler can’t look hot and still carry off the role of selling the average Joe thanking his lucky stars. Take Randy Dowell, for example, who in Wrestle Worship 2 had the stunning good luck to not only worship both Mark Merino and Stan Greer, but to watch, in awe, as Mark and Stan battled with one another over who’s hunky body Randy should worship last. The plain, cold truth is that Randy Dowell is a hot, handsome hunk in his own right. He’s not nearly as massive as Mark or Stan, but he’s fit, hard, and handsome as hell. But its context and sell that make him work as our eyes and ears (and mouth and nose and especially hands) in the ring, with the DVD promo letting us know that Randy is a fanboy who pelted BG East with a flood of pleas to get to meet gorgeous Mark in person. And Randy is thanking his lucky stars over and over, enthralled, enraptured, turned on like a light switch and hitting every mark that a muscle fan would insist on hitting when faced with the smorgasbord of beef set in front him.
Another Randy, Randy Stanton, similarly is in possession of a hot, fit, lean bod all his own, but the handsome hunk is absolutely salivating when he strolls into the BG East mat room behind none other than Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). Again, context builds this narrative every bit as effectively as Randy’s awestruck and truly awesome sell. The match description explains that Mr. J is playing with fire, letting himself get picked up by star-struck Randy and offering up full possession of Mr. J’s phenomenal physique should Randy have what it takes to own it. Holy hell, what a concept! What a cocky sell both of Mr. J’s gargantuan, mammoth, oversized, mouthwatering massive ego (you thought I was going to say something else), as well as transforming hottie Randy S. into, well, you and me, another guy dizzied by Mr. J’s gorgeousness and slack jawed at the wide open opportunity to get his adoring hands all over that body, heart pumping with the possibility of tagging Mr. J’s ass and, more importantly, unleashing the beast that Mr. J infamously smuggles down the front of his drawers.
Can-Am pulled off a similar motif in their recent release of Pro Sex Fight 10. In this case, it’s much less about the context and the narrative off camera, and built almost entirely on the stunning, striking contrast between the two sex fighters, Drake Wild and Tyler St. James. Tyler is a fantasyman like few others. Tanned, impeccably toned, beautifully blue-eyed Tyler is posted at 6’2″ and around 247 pounds, while lithe, lean, pale Drake is reported to be somewhere in the vicinity of 5’4″ and a buck and a quarter or so. That alone sucks me into that ring irresistibly entranced by the David v Goliath implications, but even more so by the fantasyman v lean, brooding mini-twink. Visually, I’ve seen Drake’s sort out at the bars on plenty of occasions, including the attitude and the Napolean-complex-will-fuck-you-up-for-real stance. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a heavenly vision quite like Tyler in real life, much less had the opportunity to climb into the ring, call him on his shit, and both figuratively and quite literally fuck him up.
My final example of a thank-your-lucky-stars boy who pulls this motif off persuasively is Mark Nelson’s fanboy meets his worst nightmare/fondest fantasy Brooklyn Bodywrecker in Demolition 3. Another fanboy granted his fondest fantasy, Mark is sucking down the humiliation and punishment of BBW like a parched bedouin in the desert. The tension of physical domination, of terror, of the battle of bodies and wills is no less present, and Mark is another hunky hottie, but the sell is all about the point of view of the average Joe who comes face to face with a real, life, towering homoerotic wrestling god.
Who’s your favorite Everyman wrestler and in what match?
Sidelineland 