Tag: Jack Hammer

Throwback Thursday

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WordPress tells me that I this is my 1,295th blog post. No wonder I can’t remember what I’ve talked about over the past 6 years. Since I migrated the pages of this blog to a new server just over 2 years ago, over a quarter of a million visitors (statistically measured with replacement) have clicked more than 991,000 page views. For those curious about trivia, the most page views in a single day happened on September 3 of last year, when there were 2,845 views in 24 hours.  Interestingly, the most popular time for people to check out what’s happening here is 11:00 am on Sundays (US Central Time Zone). Fascinating.

What summary cross-sectional statistics can’t say, however, is something about the landscape of the distance we’ve traveled over 6 years.  So let’s do a longitudinal look and see what we may learn about how my attention has evolved.

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Sam Champion & Chris Cuomo. You could see the sexual tension pulsing off of them (Sam).

Exactly six years ago I was obsessing about an enduring topic here, hot newsmen. Specifically, I was bitching about some transparent PR work to make sure viewers knew that hot Italian of my dreams, Chris Cuomo, was straight. Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I was also raising questions about his bromance with weatherman Sam Champion, significantly before Sam came out publicly.  Not like the sexual tension between the two of them, both featured on Good Morning America at the time, was difficult to notice. These days my morning newsmen obsessions tend toward desperately hoping to see more shirtless, soaking wet features starring Gio Benitez and Matt Gutman, preferably together. Oh, who am I kidding, preferably in g-strings and coated in sweat pounding the fuck out of each other in a wrestling ring.  Maybe in 2016…

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Brenn Wyson asks Jack Hammer the eternal question: “Who’s Your Daddy!?”

On August 13, 2010 I was reflecting on how hot verbal banter can make so many near misses a bullseye. This was back when I was actively subscribing, and sincerely enjoying, Naked Kombat. Specifically, their then-recent release of Brenn Wyson squaring off against Jack Hammer was on my mind. I mentioned in the post that I was in a pretty-boy mood, and neither of these battlers were tickling my bone.  Yet it was Brenn’s aggressive, smart ass mat banter that was holding my attention and making me grab my crotch, demanding that Jack “call me fucking Daddy Wyson!” Yeah. Personality has been turning my crank for the duration of my blogging days. I miss those good old days when Naked Kombat had more personality.

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BG East Wrestlefest 1 Battle R’Oil descended into total chaos. The fabulous variety.

If you checked in here this date in 2011, I was deep in homoerotic wrestling metaphor to make sense of riots around the globe.  Sociological theory meets hardcore gay wrestling fetish.  There’s still something bewildering to me about mass violence and killing. Of course, these days we have sanctimonious ISIS nut jobs quelling dissent with beheadings and institutionalized terror. I think, as I did 4 years ago, that there’s something in the human condition that can be pushed only so far, though. Bullies and oppressors are notoriously shit at gauging it, but it’s there, inside each and all of us, ready to go ape shit and fuck conventions and rules and throw our lot in with desperate chaos, when pushed over the line. Revolutions seem to always take us by surprise. But clearly, they shouldn’t.

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Of course Roman Sebrle trashed the homoerotic wrestling decathlete competition. Look at that body!!!

On this date in 2012, my homoerotic wrestling imagination was still running wild from seeing so many Olympic athletes pumped and primed in competition. The summer Olympics were over, but my obsession with translating those stunningly world class bodies into homoerotic wrestling scenarios was still roaring full speed.  August 13 was for crushing hard and imagining the pleasures of watching the Olympic decathletes climb into the ring and work their phenomenal cross training bodies. Damn, I enjoyed writing those Olympic Spirit stories!  For the record, the singles homoerotic wrestling decathlete title went to hot daddy Czech Roman Sebrle, heeling his salt-n-pepper hotness all over golden boy American Trey Hardee.  However, Trey won a taste of retribution, pinning the hot naked Czech ass to the sky for team America. Damn, I can’t wait for Rio 2016!

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Kevin Crows naked back is a work of homoerotic wrestling art!

Two years ago today, I was fixated on hotly muscled backs as wordplay on celebrating being back from vacation and getting back to updating the blog. This reminds me of the way that continuing this blog has been about ebbs and flows, sometimes finding a ton to say and time to say it, sometimes not. Over the years I’ve often emphasized that this is truly just at the edges of what pays my bills. So life often keeps me from musing further. But I always miss it when that happens. And as much as I mull over whether I’ve said absolutely everything I have to say about the topic of homoerotic wrestling, I keep finding more to write.

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Three cheers for Jake’s bro Eli Black for putting Jake out cold!

If you tuned in exactly one year ago, you’d have found my grand finale of my Making Jake series.  It took over a year to work my way through the alphabet, marveling at how pleasurable it is to watch opponents bring out so much, such variety, and every bit of hotness from Jake Jenkins. Of course, the end of the alphabet sucks, but still, I was pretty pleased to call out the joys of seeing opponents make Jake unconscious, vertical, wet, x-rated, yelp, and zealous.

A lot has changed in 6 years.  A lot hasn’t. Looking forward to seeing what next year brings!

The Spice of Life

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Pyschology Today (via Towleroad, to me) has an interesting piece on the racial diversification of gay male porn over the past 3 to 5 years. Psychology Today is sort of like light beer… all packaging and marketing without much really satisfying inside. But I like the connections that the article draws between identifying what gay men find attractive and broader socio-demographic trends in racial politics.

As for me, I’m 100% in favor of more diversity. As a born-and-bred middle class suburban white boy, I was raised with deeply engrained, implicit lessons that chisel-chinned white boys are the physical ideal. Happily, just like other sexual tastes and attentions, I’ve since discovered that beautiful boys of all sorts of complexions offer treasures of objectified lusts.
I don’t really spend much of my time or money in the gay porn world, sans wrestling. It’s one long yawn for me. But even in the wrestling kink corner of homoerotica and porn, I think that we’re seeing more racial diversity and less a need to fetishize racial diversity, at the same time, which I think is a good combination.
Whereas it wasn’t long ago that products were prominently marketed that specifically catered to the tastes of those looking for cross-racial wrestling, these days when opponents reflect different racial-ethnic backgrounds, it most frequently goes uncommented on. In most cases, I think that’s progress. My homoerotic wrestler of the month, Bobby Horton, is a white guy who came into possession of that title on the merits of his smokin’ hot, edge-of-insanity dismantling of bodybeautiful muscle god, Tyrell Tomsen. I’m sure for many people still, a battle like that continues to be first and foremost a morality play in contemporary racial politics. And, true enough, the white boy delivers a beat down and humiliating defeat of the physically dominant black hunk, which stands in a long tradition of white fantasy about subduing and possessing the physical threat from men of color. But as far as I read the text (and I’ve been happy to read and reread that text over and over again to enjoy Bobby’s delightful performance) the story that’s primarily told is really about the battle between the beauty of brawn and the cunning of ring savvy. If anything, Tyrell plays the role of the refined, sculpted, entitled muscle god to Bobby’s crazy-ass, brutish, uncivilized short-cutter. I realize that this doesn’t eliminate the racial politics that play out in the homoerotic wrestling ring, but it screws with expectations and long-held prejudices enough to be at least resistant toward white privilege, if not entirely dismantling of it.
BG East has been promoting a lot of Latinos lately, and that’s 110% just fine with me. If white Eurocentric privilege managed to keep the likes of Rafe Sanchez (mmmm…. Rafe….), Rio Garza and Lobolito off of my shelf, my life would be much less entertaining.
Can-Am has been tossing the likes of Michael Vineland, Max Munoz, and yes, Rio Garza onto the mats, making their typically-happy-ending wrestling formula much more diverse than it may have been at one time.
Naked Kombat frequently puts up men of color, like recent battlers Jack Hammer, Derek Reynolds and Race Cooper. It’s not all one formula for fetishing the racial composition of the match, by any means. Depending on the fighters on any given day, Naked Kombat’s wrestlers of color end up battling each other or white guys, and they end up on top or on bottom with seemingly similar frequencies.
I’m intentionally taking a look at Thunder’s Arena with fresh eyes lately, particularly after reading the very enjoyable interview that Joe did with Mr. Mike and Ace Hanson at Ringside at Skull Island recently. Young stunner rookie AJ looks like another case in point of the expanding pool of skill and beauty to which homoerotically-inclined wrestling is turning.
More is better… variety is the spice of life… the pithy sayings go on and on to explain why it is that all of this is a very good thing. Still, I think we need to keep an eye on the way that racial politics play out even in (especially in) our erotic fantasies. I know, I know. It’s a buzz kill. But it also reveals something about what we believe down deep, how we live, and underneath any socialization or commitments to political correctness, how we picture ourselves in relation to racial difference. I like where things seem to be heading, and I think that we would all do well to remember where we’ve been, and the ways that racism have long played a major role in dominant homo-culture, much less hetero-culture, in the past forty years.

The Importance of Audio

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Scanning the promo pics for the latest match uploaded to NakedKombat, I thought to myself, “This isn’t going to do it for me.” I love it when I’m wrong. The match pits Brenn Wyson, 185 pounds, 6′ tall, with a record of 3-0 with NK, against 175 pound, 5’6″ beefy Marine, Jack Hammer (1-0). The unoriginal porn name “Jack Hammer” nearly puts me off this bout entirely before it ever starts. But I’m glad I stuck with it and discovered the secret element that makes this match incredibly, erotically entertaining.

Brenn mutters, whispers, and provides ongoing self-commentary on the match throughout. Despite Brenn having a bit of a stoner look about him (which tends to turn me off), his compunction to talk throughout the bout makes this match at least 20 times hotter than it would otherwise be. Not to give too much away, but this is a complete squash (okay, that pretty much gives it all away… you’d pick up on it 3 minutes into the match anyway). In NK points and in simple domination, Brenn owns this from start to finish. He explains his determination to dominate Jack relentlessly. He’s terrified of having to take Jack’s humungous cock in the the sex round. Before the match begins, Brenn states the facts: “My strategy is: he has a big fucking dick, and there’s no way I’m losing to that!”
Very early on Brenn puts Jack on his back, pressing his hips between Jack’s legs. Whispering into Jack’s ear, Brenn explains in his raspy, breathless voice, “I like that. That’s my favorite.” When jock straps are ripped off in round 2, Brenn again has Jack struggling vainly on his back. He asks, “Who’s your daddy?” When Jack gasps, “It’s not you!” Brenn persists. “I’m daddy. Call me daddy Wyson!” he demands. “Call me fucking daddy Wyson!” In the naked round, Brenn has Jack locked up (needless to say). Looking down at his own erection, he marvels, “Oh, yeah! I’m going to fuck you with that dick.”
Brenn is here to show off, no question, and something about that takes me by surprise and works for me. About eight and a half minutes in, Brenn has Jack at his mercy in a front chancery. Jack’s squirming and fighting it without getting anywhere (are you starting to get the picture?). Brenn looks into the close-up camera with a big grin, then wags his tongue at the audience in a show of cocky control and humiliation. He frequently looks up to the ref and grins, like a kid looking to his pappa for approval for each immobilizing, dominating hold he applies.
So despite a lot of things not adding up here for me, I’m just a bit taken with this match. Neither of these boys are classically “pretty,” (and I’ve been in a “pretty” mood lately). It’s a little boring to watch one man so constantly thwarted and owned at every turn. Brenn’s stoned-edge and tweaky laugh leaves me a little uninterested. But the self-commentary turns… me… on. I like that sort of surprise.