Jake Jenkins – Page 4

Having All the Fun

November 27, 2013 wrestlebard3 Comments

jake30 — Jake Jenkins is supremely equipped to wreck rookies.

Personally, I’m entirely supportive of Jake Jenkins developing a specialty in rookie wrecking. Sure, it seems like only yesterday the gorgeous quadruple threat (dazzling beauty, devastating mat skills, dangerous ring skills, and demolishing MMA moves) was starring in his own Ripped Rookies sweat bath match against friendly rival golden boy Austin Cooper. But there’s always been something seasoned and grounded about Jake’s confidence. It’s not as if Jake can’t compete with (hell, dominate!) in the deep end of the pool, but he sure looks like he’s never having more fun than when breaking in, breaking down, and humiliating a baby faced rookie. Now that it seems like he’s developed a taste for humbling and hurting beautiful newbies, I think Jake is really coming into his own. Take, for example, his total mastery of beautiful muscleboy Kip Sorell in BG East’s new release, Backyard Brawls 8.

kip — Kip Sorell could well be the prettiest thing to come along since Rio Garza.

First, a word about said rookie, Kip. Actually, I have a strong feeling that this will just be the first of many, many words to be said about Kip, because this heavenly body has an instant and irresistible gravitational pull. Let me start with the face, because if I start elsewhere, I’m likely to get too distracted to remember to mention that this kid has made-for-tv-movies Hollywood handsomeness that makes me count my lucky stars that he showed up on the doorstep of BG East. The leading man jawline, the button nose, the full eyebrows to compliment the shaggy mane of hair… it all adds up to Kip being an intoxicating mix of boy-next-door meets Chippendale dancer. I’ve got $10 for the first BG East wrestler to tongue wrestle this virginal slut (metaphorically speaking… about the “virginal slut,” not the $10!).

jake32 — “You know, I feel like this just doesn’t hurt you enough,” Jake muses.

It’s Kip’s picture perfect physique that plays the starring role in the narrative of his Backyard Brawls 8 match. Even Jake gives the sculpted rookie credit as they approach the mats. “You look pretty big there,” the veteran acknowledges. “I have to admit, I’m a little scared to wrestle you.” There are two possible explanations for this stunningly self-deprecating maneuver from Jake. First, he’s genuinely scared. If I saw a specimen of muscle and conditioning like Kip coming at me aggressively, I’d probably be scared (oh, fuck that, I’d be full aroused and ready to grab hold with every appendage I’ve got). But the second possibility, the one I’m more inclined to believe, is that Jake is fucking with the kid’s head. If that’s the case, it works. Kip grins, a little embarrassed, struggling with a comeback, trying to gauge what an appropriate game face looks like when your opponent, who has the reputation for demolishing opponents, pays you an instant compliment. Not 20 seconds later, and Jake has the rookie pounded into the mat and screaming in agony. Yeah, right. Jake was really scared.

jake33 — “Oh, haven’t had enough yet?” Jake asks. “Of course I haven’t!” Kip spits back angrily. “You seem awfully confident for someone getting your ass kicked,” the veteran smirks back.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jake smile as much during a match as he does picking apart Kip’s mouthwatering carcass. “Yeah, you got all those muscles. Well, so do I. And mine look better!” Jake boasts. There are wrestling fans who would quibble with this proclamation. As for me, I’d worship Jake’s body morning, noon and night, but arguably, Kip Sorrel’s conditioning, size and raw strength are probably, objectively, superior. But when Kip is tied up like a pretzel, every joint getting ripped apart, screaming in agony, and his opponent is grinning from ear to ear, barely breathing hard, and flexing for the camera with his free arm (because it doesn’t even take him two hands), Kip is in no position to argue.

kip2 — “Hey, bro, why even work out? Just stay at home!”

Sweet mother of god, Jake tortures the rookie with a command and expertise that’s like crack cocaine to a wrestling fanatic like me. Every lickable inch of the physique-star rookie is displayed by his tormentor for our delight. Kip spends an eternity, multiple times, getting his crotch ripped open wide, his taut hamstrings quivering, his trunks threatening to either rip apart at the seams or simply stretch past the point of fully covering up what they’re designed to cover. I think there’s got to be a market for a voyeur’s choice match, where a randy fan/blogger gets to step in at a moment like this and get his hands and lips all over the captured, helpless body being owned (write your favorite wrestling producer and recommend this!).

jake34 — “Those legs are stronger than I thought,” Jake concedes. Kip crows right back, “I’ve been saving them up for you!”

Jake gets cocky. Hell, Jake is cocky and backing it up from 3 seconds out of the starting gate, but there’s a particular moment when he’s leaning in a little too close, pausing just a little too long as he licks his lips trying to decide what method of corporal punishment to deliver to Kip next, when like a bear trap, the rookie’s thighs snap shut around the veteran’s head. Holy shit, watching Kip’s handsome face grow a sideways smirk in self-congratulations as he makes Jake suffer extremely long, and extremely hard, is astonishingly arousing! “Now I’m having all the fun,” Kip coos, flexing, stretching, doing push ups, and being an all around taunting bully. Those legs of his, taut, ripped, flexed like a bundle of steel cables, are unbelievable. Can you imagine how dangerous this kid could be with some training and experience!?

However, Kip Sorell lacks training and experience. And after milking out a humiliating submission with those phenomenal thighs, he makes the mistake of trying to rub it in with a crotch-in-your-face schoolboy pin 3-count. Now, I’d pay this stunner a healthy day’s wages to sit right there on my chest for hours on end, but Jake is not me. Like the monkey boy Kid Karisma knows that he is, Jake hooks the rook’s underarms with his feet and absolutely launches the kid flying several feet into the air and off of Jake’s chest. Kip is laughing, still slapping himself on that perfect v-shaped back for the submission, and either not noticing or not taking seriously just how pissed Jake is at the gratuitous post-submission humiliation. Rookies… (smh).

jake31 — “Come on, scream just a little bit louder. I’ll make you, dude!”

The banter in this bout is top notch, best I’ve ever heard from Jake. “Come on, scream just a little bit louder,” he demands, grinning ear to ear as he instantly has the rookie compromised again. “I’ll make you, dude! Come on, just two words, and it’s all over. You know the words!” Kip is a tough son of a bitch, and all of those fantastic muscles soak up a truly incredible quantity of punishment before he submits again. But he submits again, don’t doubt it for a second. “This is a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Jake snarls with contempt. “Hey, bro, why do you even work out? Just stay home!” Um… shut up Jake. The rook is entirely, vulnerably, pristinely perfect, just the way he is (trapped there, screaming between your lightly hairy thighs).

jake36 — “That’s the last thing you’re going to see before you go to sleep!”

The initial playful respect and give and take give way to Jake unveiling a seriously sadistic side. He pins the ripped rookie again. He forces another submission. He drags him to his feet by that mop of pretty hair and then slams him back down at will, beating the air out of his lungs and last ounce of strength from those lovely muscles. “And to top it off, I don’t really like you too much!” Jake spits, sliding his dangerous legs around the rookie’s throat and slowly sliding them into place for an intimate, crotch-pillowed figure-4 sleeper. The smiling rookie leans over and shoves his tattooed right bicep in front of Kip’s dazed face. “That’s right. Struggle,” Jake taunts. “See that? That’s the last thing you’re going to see before you go to sleep.”

jake35 — Jake Jenkins, C.R.W. (certified rookie wrecker)

Jake Jenkins is a certified rookie wrecker, and he loves his job with a passion. The delight he takes in force-feeding the bulging pretty boy rookie the turf is simply awesome. The contortions he puts Kip Sorell through do the double duty of making the newbie scream and submit AND forcing Kip’s magnificent, muscled ass to repeatedly struggle free from being entirely contained by his sexy trunks. Jake does not win the $10 I’m offering for the first wrestler to apply a lip lock to Kip Sorell, but short of that, this is a picture perfect match. And Kip may not have won Jake’s respect, but holy hell, no one else is going to mistake the obvious truth that this kid can swallow mass quantities of punishment and keep coming back for more.

“I’m ready, Daddy! I’m ready!”

November 26, 2013 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Jake Jenkins appears to me to be working on cornering the market when it comes to wrecking rookies. His most recent appearance at Rock Hard Wrestling, returning to that arena after a notable absence, pits him against Ryan Gosling’s little brother, teenage bodybuilder Matt Engel, in a match aptly named, Jake’s Surprise.

Jake is leaner, less bulging and pumped than we’ve seen him in the past, but that does nothing to dent just how damn sexy this stud is! “So you’re the new guy,” he grins, facing the ripped rookie across the ring. “I’ve been waiting to get my chance to take a shot at you. I’ve heard a little bit about you,” Jake grins.

What has Jake heard? We never hear that part of the backstory. My hunch, though, is that everyone who’s ever laid eyes on Matt Engel is talking about that baby, baby face, incredibly hot, meaty ass, and AMAZING legs. His calves are phenomenal. “Phenom” could easily be this kid’s moniker, if he manages to do more than just look pretty.

Early going, however, that looks unlikely. Jake fucking owns this kid outright. A side headlock makes the blond boy’s pretty face flush dark red. The follow up bulldog leaves the teen bodybuilder already wobbly, and not a minute and half have gone by yet. A suplex, shoulder blocks into his gut while trapped in the corner, stomped to high heaven… Matt Engel looks an awful lot like a Ken Doll training dummy for a while there.

There’s an intensely hot moment when Matt is obviously seeing stars. He’s flat on his back, with Jake pacing around, landing an occasional stomp, but mostly just enjoying the view in the mirror of himself, flexing over top of the battered muscleboy. I swear to God, there are at least 10 seconds of Matt just staring up, a little awed, hardly minding the gun show exploding above him. Jake drags the kid up by a handful of hair (over and over and over), and then slowly positions all of those beautiful, golden, muscled limbs, cinching him right up in preparation for a suplex. “Say, ‘I’m ready, daddy!'” Jake demands the slack jawed hunk. “Say, ‘I’m ready!'”

jake5

You get the impression that Jake could take this muscle kid any day of the week, twice on Sunday. He lands nothing short of a graceful swan dive head butt to the kid’s battered abs that make me gasp. He locks the kid’s knee up nice and tight, wrenching it the wrong way, and then leans back on one elbow, striking a classic Playboy centerfold pose and soaking in the sight of his showboating domination in the mirror on the wall. Letting the bodybuilder go, Jake slaps that damn fine hot ass of Matt’s, adding insult to injury.

“There’s this song I really like,” Jake mutters as he goes to work prying the kid up and slowly wrapping his sweaty muscles around the blond bombshell like a python. “You know what it’s called?” Jake asks. “It’s called,” Jake starts singing… singing, I fucking swear to you… “This is the end.” True enough, the bashed muscleboy is at the end of his rope, and he gives away the first fall submission in a luscious, indulgent abdominal stretch feast for the eyes. Nice work, Jake.

Jake’s got a taste for rookie wrecking, and it’s incredibly hot to watch him take a bite. “Let me hear you scream in pain!” he barks at the muscleboy in the very moment of spinning the stud into a spine snapping Boston crab. The dangerous veteran locks Ryan Gosling’s little brother up in a sweaty, tight head scissors and then does push-ups, humiliating Matt by smashing that pretty face into the mat with each pump of Jake’s shiny pecs.

Okay, Matt has some offense that makes Jake suffer. His wrestling repertoire looks to me to be significantly limited, but what he lacks in ring skill, he makes up for abundantly in delightfully provocative charisma and trash talk. When lovely Matt smiles real big and wide, thrilled by his dominating control of his smaller opponent, he’s got the raw material for a serious star there! Threatening to snap Jake apart at the knee, he slowly nudges the storied star closer and closer to the edge of despair. “I’d let you stand up,” the rookie smirks, landing vicious rabbit punches into the side of Jake’s captured knee, “but you probably can’t right now.”

But there’s one story here, and the promise of a bulging, teenage bodybuilder with limited experience is not it. The real story here is Jake Jenkins fucking loving every minute of torture he inflicts, every decibel of screaming agony he milks out of Matt, every inch of joint wrenching control he works all over those mouthwatering, bulging, beautiful bronzed muscles of Matt Engel. He relishes this match. He cannot get enough of watching the sight of his mastery of this rookie in the mirror. “Watch yourself,” he commands the kid, choking that ripped bod all twisted up in the ropes. “Watch yourself choke!” he barks, forcing Matt to stare at himself being dominated in the mirror.

“I got a special treat for you,” Jake promises, straddling the prone, devastated teen bodybuilder and flexing his sweaty, hunky bod over top of him. “No, it’s not my body,” Jake quips [yes, yes it is, Jake]. No, it’s shockingly decisive, sweetly suffering over-the-knee backbreaker, in which Jake lays muscled Matt out like the Thanksgiving turkey, ready for carving.

I’m a vegetarian, but damn it all if that’s not making my mouth water! But despite Jake crooning like a champ, this is so not the end of Jake’s new release rookie wrecking rampage…

Catalog of Wishes

November 24, 2013 wrestlebard3 Comments

The Sears Christmas catalog would arrive, and I’d spend countless hours combing through the pages of the toys (and underwear) advertisements, my imagination filled with anticipated delights. I’d make a list for Santa, then comb over the pages again and revise my priorities, guess at the optimal constellation of gifts to produce the maximum pleasure. There was something intoxicating about coveting toys and then coveting the underwear models, back and forth.

That’s the next closest thing to a new BG East catalog. Like Friday’s release of 101. Every page makes my blood pump harder, so much anticipated pleasure. Just the anticipation, the tease of a handful of words and accompanying provocative photos, is such a delight! After the mouthwatering taste, but before the full on consummation, there’s such a sweet spot right here, right now. I cannot wait to consume the promises, but then again, the wait is so, so sweet!

aryx — Hunky Muscle Mask gets the Aryx treatment in **Masked Mayhem 11**.

lon — My reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, Lon Dumont, catches my (and Donnie Drake’s) eye in **Last Man Standing**.

demian — Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe obediently worships the ripped body of Damien Rush in **Backyard Brawls 8**.

drake — My mind is blown, and I suspect my crotch is not far behind, by Jonny’s customizable demolition of Drake Marcos in **Custom Combat: Drake’s Drubbing**.

karisma — So many world class bulges between Kid Karisma and Pretty Pete Sharp in **Kid Karisma’s Wrestler Spotlight**.

lane — Lane Hartley makes me gasp just seeing his stills as he picks apart body beautiful Z-Man in **Pros in Private 10**.

kip — KIp Sorell and Jake Jenkins. That’s pretty much all that needed to be said to make me dizzy, much less just a glimpse of the preview pics from **Backyard Brawls 8.**

Dinner with Dumont

October 21, 2013 wrestlebard6 Comments

What’s the instant frontrunner in the competition for my favorite moment of 2013? My dinner last night with Lon Dumont.

In real life, Lon looks exactly like he does on camera. He just went in for a haircut a few days ago, so picture his coif from Tag Team Torture 15. He’s right in the thick of bodybuilding competition prep, so incredibly lean, tiny waist, angular facial features, slightly hollow-cheeked from months of extreme dieting. This was his first “re-feed” day in a while, meaning that after enduring on significantly low calories to carve out those hot muscles of his, yesterday was an “anything goes” eat anything and everything in sight day. In fact, by the time we met for dinner, he was looking a little green at the prospect of a full dinner. So he limited himself to a massive hunk of chocolate cake instead.

Me, I was just trying not to quiver with excitement the entire time. Look cool. Don’t say something stupid. Wipe that bit of drool from the corner of your mouth! I had a boatload of questions prepared, alternative lines of conversation plotted in case of awkward silences. However, nearly all of my planning went out the window when he not only reached out and shook my hand, but gave me a generous, firm, smiling hug of a greeting. I was instantly reduced to a gaping, wide-eyed Lon-fanatic, mentally trying to sear into my long-term memory the sensation of his hot bod pressing tightly against mine. Fortunately, my instant amnesia regarding all of the witty conversation points I’d prepared was negligible, because Lon is just so fantastically personable!

Possibly my favorite **BG East cover ever**.

Our conversation ranged from wrestling and the people we know in common behind the cameras at BG East to politics to life goals to the minefield of negotiating romantic relationships. Happily, Lon and I appear socio-politically closely aligned, so commiserating about particular assholes in office kept us entertained a while. We discovered several unexpected things in common, like we were both history majors in college, and we’ve both had jobs working with older adults. Sure, there were occasional moments when the conversation dropped off and I found myself grinning like a dumbass, thinking to myself, “I’m sitting here chatting with Lon Dumont, for god’s sake!” But I think he took my star-struck fumbling in stride. Of course, I knew much more to expect about him than he did about me. He confessed that he’d had some moments of wondering what he’d find when he showed up for dinner. I’m happy to report that I was not what he expected, apparently in a good way, and that the potential creepiness of sitting down with your #1 homoerotic wrestling fan for the first time face-to-face was apparently a pleasantly enjoyable surprise for him as well.

Of course, I would have enjoyed milking this momentary brush-with-fame for hours on end, but soon enough the night was clearly starting to wrap up. I finally remembered my agenda, and a little sheepishly asked if he’d consent to give me an autograph. “Sure!” he said in that same big, booming, enthusiastic voice he has in the ring. “How about a few autographs?” I asked, with a hint of pleading in my voice as I pulled out my stack of BG East DVD covers and the choice half a dozen or so photos I was able to whittle down from my favorite hundred of mouthwatering Lon pics. He laughed, and said, “Of course!,” explaining that he hadn’t expected to be giving out autographs on his trip. I gave him my most incredulous look (you know, one eyebrow arched), and told him that he certainly should have expected it! We agreed that being plied for autographs ought to be something he faces everyday.

Having Lon lend his signature to my pics of him was this awesomely intimate moment for me. Showing the object of my infatuation the particular shots, angles, and looks of his that rise to the top of my cherished images felt so fantastically intense! He chuckled and agreed with my choice of a particular shot that’s also one of his favorite images from his BG East work. When he got to the g-g-g-g-g-gorgeous pic of him from behind in Rookie Wreckers, as he’s nearly cutting Morgan Cruise in half with his breath-stealing bodyscissors, Lon laughed out loud. Yep, there’s no disguising precisely why I love that shot: the bulging tricep, that stunningly sculpted back, those beautiful hamstrings flexed like a vice around his suffering opponent… and of course, perfectly centered in this shot, Lon’s hot, flexed glutes!

The night took a tragic turn right after Lon reminded me that we simply had to get a photo of the two of us with my iphone (as if I’d have to be convinced!). I grabbed my phone, turned the camera to selfie, leaned in for a close up of the two of our grinning faces, and pushed click. And my phone instantly ran out of batteries. Seriously, I was nearly brought to tears. If it hadn’t been too humiliating to weep in front of my #1 homoerotic wrestling infatuation, I’d have been reduced to bawling. Lon suggested that this was certainly proof that if there is a god or gods, they’re cruel bastards. His clear understanding of the magnitude of this tragedy consoled me.

lon125 — A pleasure to get up close and personal with Lon Dumont!

There’s a reason that Kid Leopard refers to Lon as “one of my favorite people in the world.” Lon is just a delightful guy, smart and thoughtful, kind and generous. Honestly, there’s something almost unsettling about getting to know a bit about the person who has been such a long-time object of lustful infatuation. Knowing what a complex and insightful human being he is almost makes me wonder if I may struggle when it comes to continuing to lustfully objectify him.

Trust me. I’ll cope.

lon126 — I’ll manage to continue to objectify my favorite homoerotic wrestler, Lon Dumont, as long as he keeps pumping out works of art like this!

My thanks to those of you that gave me some last minute advice yesterday before I headed to my dinner with Dumont. For those of you who offered suggestions regarding what I should ask him, let me give you the quick answers. He wore a hot, tight, beige, 3-button crew t-shirt that nicely stretched across his shoulders and pecs. I’m pretty sure he was on a carbohydrate-induced high from a day of sucking down food, so although he wasn’t actually drunk on alcohol, I suspect he was riding at least a little sugar-buzz. Like I said, I went with a modest stack of photos and DVD covers for his autograph, and fortunately he was game to sign them all. And Alex Miller, Lon had no words of wisdom about your household sponges, that itch of yours, or your water pressure. Sorry!

I’m hoping to convince Lon to forward some new photos of his rocking hot body as he approaches peak conditioning for his upcoming competitions. And I’ve made him promise that we’re doing this whole thing again next time he comes through this way, and I’m bringing 5 cameras and 2 dozen back-up batteries with me!

Old, New, Borrowed, Blue

October 1, 2013 wrestlebard3 Comments

I’m not going to apologize for a moment for taking an extra day or two to savor and study the new releases I’ve got in my hands now from BG East’s catalog 100, before I make my pick for homoerotic wrestler of the month. There are just too many instantly credible candidates to rush this decision. So I’ll make that call tomorrow. Maybe the next day. Depends on whether I need an IV drip to replenish fluids as I go.

But I will marvel briefly once again at the momentousness of BGE100. Celebrating 100 catalogs of the highest quality homoerotic wrestling, BG East has given more than a passing nod to both their past and future with their choice of wrestlers and matches to be featured for the anniversary edition. Marrying the best of homoeroticism and the best of professional wrestling takes a lot of heart, a lot of art, and maybe even a little good luck to be as successful as BG East has been. So here’s my nod to whatever it is that adds up to their formula for a long and healthy relationship with their avid fans, in this case: something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

bidd — Old School BG East Matmen: Robin Carter and Big D!

Something “old”: I’m calling out another epic revival to accompany the earthshaking return of both Brad Rochelle and Kid Leopard to the BG East ring. Almost/even more anticipated is BG East’s grab bag of mat matches “from the vaults,” highlighting out most notably for me a Matmen 24 match featuring classic matman Robin Carter and the living legend himself, “Big D” Ward. Big D was awarded a lifetime achievement award at the end of Wrestlefest 2 which was, what, 10 years ago at least!? Big D’s dominance on the mat was always AMAZING to watch, and his sudden and long absence from new releases was marked by many with grief and mourning. Bringing this “old” gem out from the vaults and dusting it off for catalog 100 is fulfilling the wishes of hundreds of Big D fans clamoring for more of the legendary master of the mats for years!

trey — Trey Dixon is just one of the rookies debuting in catalog 100

Something “new”: I think one of the things that BG East does simply better than just about anyone is constantly recruiting top quality new talent, and they did not spare new faces in putting together catalog 100. I’ve already noted the jaw dropping looks of new fantasymen Kip Sorrell and Lane Hartley from Fantasymen 35. Also eye-catching (to say the least) is g-g-gorgeous newcomer Trey Dixon getting every impressive inch of his mouthwatering body squeezed through the ringer of Jake Ryder’s erotically sadistic will in X-Fights 36.

Something “borrowed”: So Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe’s opponent in Undagear 20, Flavio” could be something new and something blue as well, but I’ve settled on celebrating the “something borrowed” in this match. LJL has his hands full of the bulging muscles all over incredibly built Flavio, but happily both of these boys get stripped to barely mentionable thongs. Owning a massively constructed hunk of beauty like Flavio is no small feet for “little” LJL, so it’s no wonder the hot BG East executive has sweat pouring off his body in streams before long. Fortunately, Flavio’s baby blue and incredibly sexy trunks serve as suitable towel to soak up LJL’s perspiration. Like the gentleman he is, though, LJL returns the garment… in the rookie’s face… where it lands with a splat.

marco — Marco Carlow’s blue trunks, like his groin, are nearly ripped apart by Jake Jenkins!

Something “blue”: It looks like Joe at Ringside at Skull Island is as captivated by the main event on Undagear 20 as I am: muscled babyface beauties “the original” Jake Jenkins and Marco Carlow. There’s so much right about this match, including but not limited to the change of wardrobe about halfway through. Before that, though, I could stare for days at the most amazing battle of all in this contest: the seams of Marco’s blue trunks nearly ripped apart time and time again as JJ ties the muscleboy up like a Stretch Armstrong doll. There’s so much goodness packed inside that blue fabric, and JJ displays it from every angle physically possible. And I’m the master of spoilers, so stop reading now if you don’t want to know too much…. because Marco’s blue trunks nearly could have counted toward “something borrowed,” except for the fact that JJ does not give them back!

So I need to get back to sucking down gatorade and staring at more of catalog 100 until my eyes burn. Catch you on the other side of ecstasy.

By the Numbers

September 24, 2013 wrestlebard2 Comments

I feel like I’m just about to lose my shit in anticipation of BG East’s release of catalog 100. 100 catalogs packed with some of the sexiest, most iconic moments in homoerotic wrestling history!? You’ve got to expect that reaching the centennial mark will mean something big. The Arena preview pics so far are dizzyingly hot. Just check out Joe’s assessment of just one of the matches from the upcoming Fantasymen 35. This match features perpetual top tier fantasyman Kid Karisma getting his hands all over unbelievably pretty newbie, Kip Sorrell,, and in Joe’s words, “Karisma does a genius job of showing off Sorell’s fine points while breaking the picture-perfect physique down for spare parts.” Prepare yourself to be dazzled before you click over to Joe’s, though. Sweet Gaia, the vascularity on Kip (who is, I predict, an immediate frontrunner for both babyface and rookie of the year awards) is blowing my mind! So far the boys at BG East have released preview shots for 4 new collections (Fantasymen 35, Matmen 24, Undagear 20, and Wrestlefest 3), but a typical catalog could have as many as 2 or 3 more products, so I’m holding my breath for what more mind/wad-blowing treasure they may still unveil for the 100th (what is that, like, the platinum-plated-gold anniversary?) Since I’m obsessing about this anyway, I thought I’d take time today to handicap one of the matches that’s previewed in the Arena and already haunting my dreams, Undagear 20’s yet-to-be-released match pitting Jake Jenkins against Marco Carlow.

The tale of the tape is already compelling. Jake consistently weighs in at 155 lbs on his 5’7″ frame. Marco is an inch shorter and weighed in 15 pounds heavier in his one released BG East match. In other words, beautiful little muscle stud Jake is faced with, potentially, his biggest (pound-per-inch) competitor so far in his BG East tenure. Taking a look at Marco’s pics, it’s hard to ignore that the boy has slabs of beef hanging off of his ridiculously conditioned frame. I’d be willing to make a side bet that his right upper arm is measurably thicker than Jake’s neck (but I won’t pay up unless I’m the one holding the measuring tape to them!). In a side-by-side, the lusciously beautiful, proven powerful Jake Jenkins is instantly giving away serious advantage to the unquestionably superior size and, almost certainly, strength of muscle man Marco. On a scale of 0 to 10, with 0 being “absolutely impossible” and 10 being “a complete certainty,” I give the likelihood that Marco will repeatedly outmuscle Jake (tests-of-strength, powering out of full nelsons, squeezing submissions out of rib crushing bearhugs) at an 8.

marco4 — Marco nearly tamed muscle beast Dev Michaels in Motel Madness 11.

Experience, on the other hand, is an entirely different story. Marco Carlow has exactly one prior appearance in a BG East release, in which he faced the muscle beast Dev Michaels in a New Orleans motel room for Motel Madness 11. Marco made a surprisingly good showing, as far as I was concerned, despite a good deal of flat-footedness, lack of speed, and limited repertoire. In this case, he was giving away 30 pounds to the mountain of muscle Michaels, and still Marco successfully put the hurt on the giant and quite nearly secured the final fall submission.

marco3 — Marco got buried beneath raging bull Dev!

However impressive was Marco’s rookie debut, however, being flat-footed, slow, and technically limited in wrestling skill does not bode well for facing Jake Jenkins. Jake has wrestled 9 times for BG East and 12 times for Rock Hard Wrestling. Match descriptions indicate that Jake is both a highly accomplished amateur wrestler as well as a novice MMA boy, and he’s certainly taken to the special demands of homoerotic wrestling like white on rice. At RHW, Jake tends to be more of a bad ass than he is at BG East, where he generally wrestles clean, at least starts out amiable, and has a healthy (but not overinflated) sense of his extensive assets, especially on the mats.

jake10 — Jake breaks Christian Taylor in half in Wet ‘n’ Wild 6

The heaviest opponent Jake has faced at BGE was Christian Taylor in Wet ‘n’ Wild 6, but that seems a poor comparison to judge his promise against the likes of Marco Carlow. Christian’s 175 lbs are stretched across 6’2″ of height, which averages out to about 2.36 pounds per inch of height. In other words, Christian is one stunningly beautiful, long, tall drink of water, but he’s no muscle man. Inch-for-pound, although over half a foot shorter, Jake was almost exactly the same proportionally (2.35 pounds per inch), and with a boatload more mat experience, it’s not surprisingly he tied the tallboy into knots and left him whimpering in a pile. Rating the likelihood that Jake will spin his nearly naked, sweat-lubricated body all over a stunned Marco and lock the muscle boy up tight repeatedly like a twist-tie, I give it another 8 out of 10. The likelihood that Marco will be knocked on his ass when he pushes amiable Jake one step too far: 9 out of 10. The likelihood that Marco will, like half of Jake’s opponents before him, comment on Jake’s ferocious intensity that makes pit bulls cower: 4 out of 10.The likelihood that Marco squashes Jake and gets out without suffering multiple, expertly administered, joint-snapping submission holds that Marco’s never even heard of, much less suffered in: 1 out of 10.

jake3 — Sweat-soaked buddy Austin Cooper proved too much for “little” Jake to handle!

Perhaps a more realistic comp would be to look at a couple other of Jake’s opponents who, although technically not as heavy as Christian, are closer to the weight/power ratio of Marco. First, Jake’s long-time tag partner Austin Cooper faced Jake in their simultaneous BGE debut in Ripped Rookie’s 1. Austin’s weight-height ratio is 2.39 pounds per inch of height, which makes for a pretty noticeable size advantage over little Jake (4/100ths in this case is not a negligible difference). Also, the two are pretty damn equally matched in mat experience, and they’ve wrestled each other and together as a tag team multiple times, essentially zeroing out any experience advantage. Against equal experience and a not-insignificant size disadvantage, how did Jake do? It was incredibly competitive (as in, please bottle those gallons of sweat, because I’m buying!), but slowly, but surely, goldenboy Austin absolutely owned Jake’s lovely ass! I believe Ripped Rookies was filmed in the very same mat room as Jake’s match with Marco Carlow, and in both matches, the boys start in singlets and end in jock straps. So if Jake’s performance against the dominating power of Coop is any measure, he could be in for a world of hurt against Marco whose weight-height ratio is a jaw-dropping 2.58 pounds per inch of height. I put the likelihood that Jake is hoisted off his feet and completely at Marco’s mercy at one point or another at around a 7 out of 10.

jake4 — Kid Karisma owned “monkey boy’s” smoking hot ass!

One other comp I think needs to be addressed, and that’s Jake’s ring match against 165 pound Kid Karisma in Hunkbash 12. Kid K’s weight-height ratio is, before now, the most dominating that Jake has faced, with a 2.42 pounds per inch of height measured. Again, Kid K has a boatload more experience than Marco Carlow, and for my tastes, Kid Karisma is never more dangerous than he is in the ring, which is arguably Jake’s weakest genre. So how did Jake, 2012’s top babyface, do against 2012’s best ass winner? Holy fuck, it was a massacre! Karisma trounced the babyface before Jake even left the locker room! JJ battled back to claim one submission, but that was his one bright spot in an unremitting train wreck of a match for poor Jake. Kid K destroys him, tying his spine in knots around the ring post, crushing his face into the apron, trampling, pounding, squeezing, and delectably dominating Jake into yet another quivering pool of sweat and humiliation. So again, although he’s been highly competitive and dominant even, against boys his size, including extremely pedigreed mat wrestlers and MMA fighters, when Jake’s been faced with serious muscle boys not even close to Marco’s concentrated muscle mass, he’s gone down brutally hard. The likelihood that still-green muscle man Marco will enjoy serious riding time on Jake’s ass, bullying the babyface and rendering Jake’s hot bod a limp rag at various points in this match: 6 out of 10. The likelihood he’ll make Jake cry: 4 out of 10. The likelihood he’ll make Jake beg like a bitch for mercy: 3 out of 10.

A few more numbers that I’m estimating based on nothing more than my personal tastes and adoring study of countless hours of homoerotic wrestling (remember, 0 means “absolutely impossible” and 10 means “a complete certainty”):

Likelihood that either of these boys loose their jockstraps: 2.

Likelihood that they both lose their jock straps: 1 (I’m an eternal optimist).

Likelihood that we catch a glimpse of either of their balls spilling out of their jockstraps: 4.

Likelihood that we catch a glimpse of either of their assholes: 6.

Likelihood that I decide before this match is over that I’d tap Jake’s ass over Marco’s: 3.

Likelihood that Marco’s mountainous pecs get clawed: 7 (though that doesn’t seem to be Jake’s style).

Likelihood that Jake gets stretched over Marco’s knee and spanked like a naughty boy: 3.

Likelihood that Marco shoves Jake’s face in his crotch and makes him smell his sweaty crotch: 3.

Likelihood that both boys give a bare-assed muscle posing session towering over top of their prone opponent: 10 (because the Arena documents both!).

Likelihood that Jake takes the final fall: 8.

Likelihood that one of these boys claims my homoerotic wrestler of the month title off this match: 3.

Likelihood that have to push pause and clean up a bit within the first 5 minutes: 6.

Likelihood I’ll be obsessing about catalog 100 all day long: 10.

Shrines

June 8, 2013July 1, 2013 wrestlebard12 Comments

“…a complete stranger’s secret masturbation shrine.”

A link to this post from Thought Catalog was forwarded to several of us with an overlapping interest in blogging and BG East. It’s a clever, well-written post from some straightboy in California who stumbled across a particularly indicting… well, let’s just say indicative… scene on a recent walk in the woods in SoCal. The author, I’m sure correctly, surmises that this is what is left of a remote jackoff session, with the remains of black-and-white computer printouts of “semi-nude male wrestlers.” Referring to this as “a masturbation shrine,” the author marvels at the untold story of these artifacts. Why, for example, did the owner of these images travel to such a remote spot in the woods to settle in for a moment of private ecstasy? With the obvious availability of these images from the internet, why leave the color computer screen behind and surreptitiously carry black and whites 4 miles up a hiking trail and into the bushes to possess them for gratification?

The stuff of fantasies: Kid Karisma wrings the sweat out of Jake Jenkins in Hunkbash 12.

The reason this perhaps tongue-in-cheek blog post was forwarded to several of us was not so much for the words, but the images attached. Take a look, and you’ll see that these are not simply printouts of “semi-nude male wrestlers.” These are shots of some of the finest, sexiest BG East boys (with copyright intact, no less) going at it in the ring! The close-up photo from the blog post is easiest to identify. It’s quite clearly my top contender for the status of my favorite homoerotic wrestler, Kid Karisma, bearhugging achingly pretty, barefoot beauty, Jake Jenkins and showing absolutely no mercy in Hunkbash 12.

Barefoot beauty Jake Jenkins looks achingly vulnerable under Kid Karisma’s control

Studying the more wide angle on the scene, I’ve managed to identify 2 of the other 3 images. Both also come from Kid K and JJ’s smokin’ hot match in Hunkbash 12. One shows Jake looking for the world like a reincarnation of barefoot gladiator babyface Kevin Von Erich from the 80’s, getting his arms stretched out behind him as Kid K takes advantage of JJ being flat on his fine, fine ass.

Kid Karisma feels Jake’s hot body melt in a sweat soaked Boston Crab

The other image I can make out (anyone else decipher the badly “soiled” image on the bottom?) is an exquisite shot of Jake sweaty and slapping the mat in agony as Kid K torques the living shit out of JJ’s gorgeous lower back in a spine-snapping, ass-bonanza Boston Crab. Readers of neverland may remember that this is the match that, at the time, Kid Karisma identified as easily his favorite. In my interview with Kid K, he marvels at the memory of “getting a hold of that body!… I mean, I truly got to work him over completely!,” Kid Karisma enthused. “But when I had him in the Boston or bent over my knee…God, you can just feel his body melting and weakening…pretty epic.”

Pretty epic.

Epic indeed! This is quite clearly the stuff of fantasies, clearly a fantasy match for Kid K, absolutely a fantasy match for me (it’s one I come back to again and again!), and obviously a fantasy match for the creator of this masturbation shrine in the woods. I don’t know if necessity is what drove this person to find such a remote site to let the fantasy take him, or if he has a particular thing about black and white homoerotic wrestling images enjoyed in the woods. Or perhaps, as the Thought Catalog author suggests, perhaps this is making an ironic artistic statement on the disposability of culture and passion.

Fueling fantasies near and far.

Whatever it is that explains or describes the person who left these images behind, I know one thing for sure: he’s a homoerotic wrestling fan like you and I are. And perhaps like the Gideons and like me, he’s just spreading the word about what he’s passionate about, leaving behind some provocative images that, while lost on a straightboy remembering sorting himself out as a kid to National Geographic boobies, may yet inspire another hiker to catch a glimpse of what turns him, and me, and you on: hot, hardbodied hunks wrestling for our enjoyment.

Worth a 4-mile hike.

If the kindred spirit who left these images in the woods happens to read neverland, let me know you’re out there, buddy. Let’s strategize a better way for you to access the beauty of Kid Karisma making Jake Jenkin’s muscles melt under his control in a Boston Crab. And I’ll personally do my best to get you an autographed, color photo from at least one of these fantasymen. A 4-mile hike to spend time with them? You deserve at least that!

A Case for a Face

May 23, 2013July 1, 2013 wrestlebard5 Comments

Red-white-and-blue junior Captain Americas as pretty, pumped, and competitive as babyfaces can be: Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper

All in the same day a couple of days ago, SP at Inner Jobber posted a by-the-numbers “how to be a fantasy wrestling jobber (like Curtis Thompson)” post, and Joe at Ringside at Skull Island posted a “you might be a heel if…” list of distinguishing characteristics of the heel set, and I briefly mentioned my guilty pleasure of watching a babyface hero defeat an evil doer in the ring. I think there’s less said than should be about professional wrestlers who fall neither into the doomed to be exploited category or the devious exploiters category. Since SP and Joe did such thoughtful treatments of jobbers and heels, I decided to try to do a little more justice on behalf of that oft-maligned class of homoerotic wrestlers: the face.

I’ve got a longstanding crush on handsome hero Mitch Colby.

I say oft-maligned because I think to be compelled to pull for the handsome hero is frequently portrayed as gullible. To boost for the “good guy,” the hard worker, the play-by-the rules, sincere competitor is frequently equated with naiveté. Guys into the conquering and suffering of a pretty boy may ache for their jobbers, and guys into domination and humiliation dished out by a villain will pull for their heels. I have a long, long record of working up a head of steam for plenty of jobbers and plenty of heels. But call me gullible and naive, because (not always, but definitely sometimes) nothing will crank on my chain as convincingly as an all-in babyface (or just “face”) beauty using brains and brawn to overcome treachery and deceit.

Gorgeous face Denny Cartier is all skill, stamina, and strength on the mat.

I venture into this territory with eyes open. I’ve seen the equivalent of doctoral dissertations written on parsing out opinions about what and who qualifies to be classified as a babyface wrestler. I’d bet money someone will let me know where I got it wrong by the time I finish this post. And I love that about us. We’re the aroused, gorgeous gay nerds of professional wrestling. We care way too much, leading us to quibble and at times even squabble about what is, let’s face it, minutiae and trivia. We openly defy orthodoxies on one hand (e.g., celebrating the fierce, butch, dangerously strong and masculine gay man), while on the other hand bitterly defend other orthodoxies (e.g., heaping contempt on the commenter who describes your favorite jobber as a face, or vice versa). Despite the apparent perception of others that I consider myself an expert, I offer this as nothing more than my personal system for classifying that distinctive breed of wrestler-for-pay who is not the villain, and he’s not the wrestler who seems eternally destined to lose beautifully. But rather, he’s the heroic athlete determined to defeat his opponents with skill, stamina, and strength, and sometimes, he even succeeds.

Fiercely pretty babyface tagteam Zack Coleman and Brian Barnes.

Like babies themselves, I can’t think of anyone ugly who I’d classify as a babyface wrestler. Granted, “ugly” is entirely subjective, but inclusion criteria for babyface wrestlers (as far as I’m concerned), include a strong, chiseled chin, gorgeous, piercing (often blue) eyes, and a gym-toned body with beautiful skin. The parameters are flexible to accommodate an assortment of tastes (eye of the beholder and all), but something obviously beautiful seems a prerequisite. A babyface seems to, by definition, be attractive in a conventional sense. It’s not like particularly homoerotic wrestling is well-populated with men who fail to meet basic standards of physical attractiveness, but those especially handsome Clark Kent-esque boys tend to get checks in my personal tally of elements that add up to the essential ingredients of a compelling face. Necessary but not sufficient criteria to be a babyface, it seems to me, is eye-catching beauty.

Alexi Adamov strives valiantly to honestly overcome notorious Aryx Quinn’s dirty tricks.

Further inclusion criteria for me include that babyface wrestlers tend to stick to the straight and narrow when faced with (as they frequently are) an underhanded, dirty, no-good heel. Here’s where it comes in handy to have powerful muscles and innate athleticism (again, necessary but not sufficient characteristics of faces – plenty of heels and jobbers have beautiful muscles and obvious athleticism). When faced with cheating and trickery, the Pearl Harbor before the bell rings, the hair pull, the crotch blow, the foreign object, the refusal to break a hold when the action hits the ropes, the babyface hero grimaces, shakes his head (“kids these days”) and reinvests his faith in his thousands of hours of gym time and, hopefully, substantive experience and wrestling skills. An occasional venture into a retributive low blow not-withstanding (particularly in homoerotic wrestling), the face places his confidence in the superiority of his physique, his mental preparation, his wrestling prowess, and the sincerity of his heart. In a post-modern world, faces can get away with a lot more rule bending and still be objects of heroic adoration, of course. They can most definitely lose their temper, open a can of unnecessarily rough whoop-ass, ravage an opponent momentarily in a rage. But in the morality tales of homoerotic wrestling, if I see a handsome stud tend toward the exercise of self-restraint and appear to intentionally decline to take shortcuts, I check off another box in the face checklist.

Who’s got whom? Babyface hearthrob Brad Rochelle battles babyface heartthrob Jeff Phoenix

That’s not to say a babyface can only be seen in matches against heels, of course. He can most definitely wrestle another babyface or a jobber, by all means. Sometimes, he may be less easily identified in those settings, but nevertheless he perseveres in the certainty that he is the “better man” which will lead to his victory (as opposed to the heel who sees his victory, by whatever means, as the evidence that he’s the better man). A babyface v babyface battle can be a particularly compelling thing of beauty. Two hard, hardworking studs who’ve been convinced by accolades and past victories that they are destined to succeed can generate intensely satisfying and homoerotically charged wrestling entertainment. The allure of the thrill of competition (which I argue is an essential element of what turns me on about the drama of homoerotic wrestling) can be most poignant and compelling for me when it’s face v face, beauty v beauty, power v power. These are matches in which tit-for-tat wrestling often makes me smile, as athletes play a game of HORSE, showing off their skills and strength in a one-upsmanship format. Like knights in armor of old, they charge upright into one another with a typically unspoken assumption that purity of heart will add weight to the scales of justice, and the outcome is less about the delectable doings inside the ropes as it is about who wanted it more as demonstrated by preparation, training, and hard work before they entered the ring.

Classic babyface Christopher Bruce shocks and awes perennially supine Rio Garza

I also like the drama of a babyface v jobber match, though again, I think this can confuse folks who equate a serious mauling as the exclusive domain of a heel. By my way of thinking, a babyface is generally convinced in the superiority of his training, conditioning, and strength, so there’s most definitely still a story to tell when he encounters a pretty slice of heaven with a track record for getting crushed and humiliated. He wrestles because he has faith in the premise that if he is the better man, he will win. Dangling a jobber in front of his face, particularly a tasty, pretty, unknowingly vulnerable jobber, merely offers him the opportunity to collect evidence to confirm what he already knew: all of his hard work destines him to conquer an unworthy opponent. A jobber’s job is that much more crucial in a babyface v jobber match, because his suffering must rise from being outmatched and outwitted above board. There’s not likely a low blow or a nipple-twist to explain what threw the jobber off his game, so the two must dance the intricate dance of decisive, convincing combat. A jobber must beat like a wave upon the sand against the superior strength of body and spirit, only slowly to ebb in will and perseverance in the face of the innate dominance of the finely tuned babyface offense. Not an ounce less agony, not a smidge less suffering is required than if the jobber took a fist to the scrotum and had his face forced into a heel’s swelling crotch. This tale is just a tad more subtle but no less tantalizing and tempting for my tastes, for the drama of a jobber slowly crumbling beneath a face.

Heel rising Morgan Cruise drops gorgeous giant Diego Diaz with a shocking low blow

Finally, I’d like to make a case for holding these archetypes in pro wrestling lightly when it comes to homoerotic fare. While I’m sure I’ll get crap for getting it wrong (won’t be the first time… to get crap or to get it wrong), I’ll also suggest that so far, there isn’t a homoerotic wrestling company producing a through-story with quite the consistency of a weekly mainstream pro wrestling serial in which these archetypes were birthed in live wrestling and televised wrestling entertainment decades ago (probably centuries, really). Character development takes time and consistency that I think is particularly challenging in the catch-as-catch-can world of the homoerotic wrestling industry. While there are notable exceptions, such as the highly entertaining through-story that Alex recently posted about regarding the crushing humiliation of fan-favorite face Brad Rochelle until Brad pulled off a sweetly satisfying heel turn in the middle of the Contract series, a chaptered story building motivation and a story arc is a rare element in homoerotic wrestling. And therefore a face, jobber, or heel may be built or broken within the confines of a given match. I find this type of story telling more intense, though inherently more difficult to latch onto favorite characters over time (because characters may play multiple roles in seemingly out-of-order sequences). In other words, my favorite industry highlights that a face (or a jobber or a heel) is not who a wrestler is, but what a wrestler does. The sum total of a storied career in pro wrestling for gay eyes likely demonstrates that “one man in his time plays many parts.”

Gorgeous babyface Justin Pierce puts the hurt on gorgeous babyface Tommy Tara

In his last post, Alex proposed a new Contract (or Contract-like-series) to chart another rare chaptered story of homoerotic wrestling drama. I love that idea. I’d also add my dream of an honest-to-god serial homoerotic pro wrestling story, released as a “season,” witnessing the rise and fall of wrestling hopefuls, the tensions and betrayals, the shocking humiliations and victories-against-the-well-established-odds… alliances made, loyalties tested, egos crushed, losers showing up again owned and operated by the man who bested them… roaring testimonials, sweat-soaked post-match interviews, an explicitly named grudge, a quest for vengeance. There are some nice tropes and devices of classic mainstream pro wrestling that I think have yet to be fully translated into an explicitly homoerotic context. I’m sure it would require an entirely different production, likely including prohibitive amounts of scheduling, investment, and choreography. But seriously, I’d pay a premium for that, particularly with an explicitly homoerotic angle. Some more suspense, a story arc, a chance to tune in repeatedly to be compelled by a favorite face, heel or jobber… surely there’s a significant market for that.

Babyface beauty Cameron Matthews heeled by Kid Vicious

So I started by making a case for a face, which I still stand by enthusiastically. Heroes battling for good, winning valiantly, losing in soul-crushing, despair-inducing humiliation… fuck, I love that guy. But I’d love him even more in a context in which I could watch his character grow and change, in which his motivation is more explicit, contrasts drawn more starkly, perhaps his heel turn that much more shocking because he’d convinced me of his utter trust that right will ultimately overcome might. I’m sure it’s a pipe dream, but it’s still a dream that makes my blood pulse harder.

That Look

May 6, 2013July 1, 2013 wrestlebard1 Comment

In Friday’s post, Alex posed some provocative questions about what’s said in a homoerotic wrestling match. Specifically, whether hearing a wrestler taunt his opponent by asking if he’s “gay” (by implication meaning weak, wimpy, less than a real man, et.) is a turn-off or perhaps ought to be out of bounds for wrestling for a gay audience. The post generated some fantastic conversation, which is exactly what I expect every time Alex puts pen to paper. His thoughts, coupled with some images I’ve recently been obsessing over, reminded me of the flip side of the equation, as well: when without so much as a word, a wrestler turns me on full force in an instant with just a look.

Kevin Crowes looks pleased.

The recent photo releases from Can-Am of my long-time favorite wrestler emeritus, Rusty Stevens, in Pro Sex Fight 4 against Kevin Crowes, has been making me sweat buckets. But this particular shot of angelic beauty Kevin sweaty, pumped, and swinging pipe caught my attention. Specifically, look at the look on his face! Fuck that’s hot. He’s been taking a mauling at the expert hands of Rusty for eons at this point in the match. It’s looked like Rusty’s got this adonis crushed and sprinkled over an intensely tasty dish of sex served hot, until deceptively pretty Kevin catches the veteran sex wrestling champ getting a tad too cocky, a smidge too over-confident, and just as Rusty is sizing up the slice of beef he’s about to eat whole, Keven lays him down, strips him naked, and starts pounding the hell out of Rusty’s balls. In an oh-how-the-mighty-have-fallen moment, Kevin takes a strutting victory lap around his opponent’s vulnerably body. All that viciousness, all the bile, all that contempt and scorn pouring out of Rusty earlier is doused, and the look of pleasure on Kevin’s face sells a whole novel’s worth of story to me. The abs, quads, and simply gorgeous cock don’t hurt his case either!

Gabriel Ross looks hungry

Honestly, I’ve been trying my best to watch BG East’s Wrestle Shack 16 all the way through, but fuck me if I can manage to get more than about 5 minutes at a time watched before I’m stoked into delirium and exhaust myself entirely. Holy fuck, Lorenzo Lowe (I don’t give a damn what his frat brother’s call him, he’ll always be bespectacled Lorenzo to me) is an insanely sexy little scrapper. But damn, damn, DAMN when he’s getting his crotch ripped apart with muscle bunny fallen archangel Gabriel Ross leaning over top of him, I’m helpless. The look of calm, chill, confident, hungry pleasure on Gabriel’s face contrasted with Lorenzo’s agony-twisted visage, is worth about 10 orgasms (and that’s not counting the one Lorenzo’s about to pop).

Ethan Andrews looks delighted.

Rock Hard Wrestling was the first to make me an Ethan Andrews believer. Like the catty bitch I can often be, I once questioned whether Ethan was rock hard enough to qualify to be in their stable of pretty pretty muscle boys. Ethan made me eat my words and lose load after load climbing into the RHW ring and wringing symphony after symphony out of his bulging, pumped opponents like a maestro. Ethan tends to give better than he gets at RHW, and the look of serene delight that inevitably plays across his handsome face as he makes another gym bunny scream like a tantruming two-year old makes my heart skip a beat. He flashes that smile at so many pitifully wailing opponents, but possibly never as entertainingly as the moments in which he catches handsome powerhouse Jake Jenkins by surprise.

Tak looks ready for his close up.

I keep coming back to Thunder’s for the humor and the subtext, despite lapses in good taste and common sense like Alex mentioned on Friday. One of the TA wrestlers who completely catches me by surprise by how compelling a character I find him is lean, blond, doe-eyed twink Tak. He plays twink among the muscle gods beautifully, and perhaps precisely because he stands out in the TA crowd, his lovely, lean bod sorts me out extra hard. But when Tak has both hands wrapped around the throttle and another gym bunny muscleman is at least momentarily getting humiliated by a blond, blue-eyed, babyface lightweight twink, Tak gives some sexy sexy face! His look is somewhere between a champion bronco rider eight seconds into his ride and a seasoned pornboy a split second before his money shot.

Like Alex suggested, it doesn’t take a lot to suck the air right out of a homoerotic wrestling match. Just a word, an implication of genuine contempt for the audience that slapped down plastic to watch, and at least some of us find our buzz killed. And at least for me, the opposite can also be true. As much of a fan of trash talk as I am, some of the sexiest moments that sends fireworks exploding in my head are entirely about one compelling, silent look that tells the most homoerotic wrestling story of all.

Heat

April 26, 2013July 1, 2013 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy: 5’10”, 145 lbs Skrapper

My pornboy favorite rankings have been stagnant for a while. When Naked Kombat went down, the need for a separate pornboy category from the non-pornboy homoerotic wrestling favorites seemed less important to me. Now that NK is back and I’m back paying attention to them, I’m guessing there will be new pornboys capturing my fancy and shaking up the ranks. Mr. Intense, aka BG East’s Skrapper, has held the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy forever, though I’m hoping the likes of someone like babyface sadist Vance Crawford might give Skrapper a run for his title. The heat that dude-meister Skrapper generates, however, is incredible, and even when no on (on camera) is losing a load or two by the end of a match, Skrapper’s mastery of a homoerotic wrestling opponent is nothing short of scorching.

Scorching Jake Jenkins: 5’7″, 155 lbs.

Did someone say scorching? Holy Mary Mother of God, have you seen that “little fucking monkey” (lovingly dubbed so by Kid Karisma) Jake Jenkins in mouthwateringly low rise Calvin Klein briefs!? His mat match in Sunshine Shooters 6 against Skrapper presents Jake as insanely sexy as we’ve ever seen him, somehow stoking my fires a tad more for eventually wrestling in nothing but his tighty-whities soaked through with buckets and buckets of sweat.

A little “training”

Jake has a notoriously steady hand on the rudder when he wrestles. He looks like a chess master through most of his matches, as much as a seriously dangerous powerhouse muscleman who, as Skrapper learns, can wrestle, punch, and kick with equally devastating results. Skrapper spends the first half of this match chipping away at the cool as ice exterior on lovely Jake. Having lured him to the mats for some “training,” he instantly and literally knocks Jake on his heels with the surprise that he wants to box. It takes approximately a blink of an eye for Jake to recalibrate and start unloading a semi full of bell ringing strikes with fists, feet, knees and elbows.

Skrapper may not have gotten the memo that Jake is also an MMA fighter!

Bit by bit, Skrapper keeps chipping away, not giving Jake a moment to breathe, not a second to recover when he gets the wind knocked out of him. Slowly it dawns on Jake that this isn’t about “training” at all. As Skrapper starts both dominating and humiliating the “little fucking monkey,” Jake starts to lose his patience. “What’s your problem, dude!” he snaps angrily when Skrapper stays on the offense well past the point of “practicing” a hold. Between Skrapper and Jake, I suspect there may be more utterances of the word “dude” in this match than any other in the history of homoerotic wrestling. I could find that grating, but I don’t. Not for a second. Because like Jake, I just don’t have time to catch a breath or be bothered by anything. Skrapper sucker punches and pounds and squeezes his way inside Jake’s guard and underneath Jake’s flawless skin, and right around the time sweat is pouring off of both of these boys’ bodies in streams, Jake is seriously pissed off and I’m completely turned on.

I’d pay good money to trade places with Skrapper at this very moment!

The baggy shorts come off pretty quickly, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods. More than 5 minutes with Jake Jenkins in anything more than very low-rise briefs is a crime against all that’s right and good in this world, as far as I’m concerned. And fuck, Skrapper! Damn! He’s no muscleboy, mind you, but he’s seriously fit, toned, and does a mighty fine job of making his own pair of athletic-fit Calvins stretch at all the right seams. Their two well-lubricated bodies sliding and squeezing all over each other is somewhere between a religious experience and insanely masterful art. Skrapper’s face and hands go places I’d give a kidney to go, and the more moisture their bodies generate, the more I swoon at the sound of hard, muscled bodies slapping wetly into each other… and the mat… and the walls.

I don’t know what you call this, but I call it sexy as hell!

Skrapper’s got a tiger by the tail when he’s finally succeeded in provoking Jake, but damn it all if the skrappy one doesn’t hold onto that hot, hot piece of tail with precisely the fearlessness and tenacity that propelled me to lustfully anoint him my top of the pack pornboy wrestler. I don’t know what the technical term is for this combo acrobatic/yoga/little-fucking-monkey move that Skrapper manages on the muscleboy, but he plants Jake’s handsome face into the mat, folds his legs at the knees, and pries the rest of Jake’s shiny body upward, slowly cranking Jake’s back arching backward. Damn, that needs to be mounted and framed and hanging on my wall!

Skrapper messes with the bull…

I never, ever count Skrapper out until he’s been unconscious for at least a minute, and Jake figures that lesson out for himself eventually. The skrappy one’s tenacity and endless reservoir of momentum and sheer nerve sincerely appear to stun his gorgeous opponent. But tenacity and nerve, in the end, aren’t nearly as stunning as Jake Jenkins provoked, unleashed, and just plain fucking fed up! The can of whoop ass he opens up as Skrapper keeps peeling himself off the mat and charging headlong into the buzzsaw is breathtaking. Just ask Skrapper right about the time that sweat-soaked Jake Jenkins plants his luscious ass down on Skrapper’s sternum, his hefty package lodged sweetly in Skrapper’s cleavage, and Jake breathes deep and pumps out a double bicep in victory.