Tan Lines

I got my first dose of serious springtime sunshine this weekend, and I soaked it up like a sponge. Having recently moved from a place where April showers are followed by more May showers, it’s quite a joy to see what spring can really do to people who’ve been literally snowed under for 4 or 5 months.

Aaron Tanner and Rik Jammer show their tans in Nasty Sex Fights

Of course, with sunshine and warmth comes hot boys who simply need to expose as much of their beautiful skin as possible. Temperatures on the rise in the atmosphere equate to my internal temperature stoked hot and heavy with a sudden wealth of eye candy everywhere I turn.

Dan Melino’s massive bod and luscious tan lines in Frisco Fights 2

Personally I avoid too much sun. After a few too many bad burns in my youth, my doctor advises me that pasty-white is the perfect shade of hot-bodiedness for me. That doesn’t, however, prevent me from happily spectating that rite of spring that is the public display of skin with the implicit, if not explicit, purpose of marketing oneself for warm-weathered sexual activity.

Eduardo rocked the erotic tan line hardest in All American Oiled Trio Bash

I’ve always had a special kink for tan lines in homoerotic wrestling as well. There’s something extra intimate about the pale pattern of a skimpy bikini to mark where a hardbodied hunk sunbathed in his speedo before getting his gear peeled off in the ring. The implication of modesty (he didn’t tan au natural) coupled with seeing a wrestler stripped naked in combat gives me value added arousal for the sexy reveal.

Jimmy Dean’s thong tan-lines in 

Is it me, or are their fewer tan lines in homoerotic wrestling? Perhaps it’s the public health campaign to keep us from tempting the cancer fates by staying in the shade (as my doc has done). Then again, there are the beautifully tanned hardbodies for which there’s no tan line because they slip into the privacy of the tanning booth with nothing to leave a line.

Kyle Bradford’s newsmaker-tanned ass in Make Me Submit

A hot, lickable tan line still gets my blood boiling a little faster, though, with a sweet scent of innocence defiled coupled with a strong whiff of nostalgia. So if you’re going to worship the sun with your pumped muscles bare and beautiful, I just hope that you apply the SPF liberally to blunt the worst of the effects, and wear your speedo, because the pale imprint of your gear left over once your opponent has ripped and stripped you naked is incredibly sexy!

J.T. Sloan’s picture perfect tan line in Fantasy Fight 10 vs. Dave Russell

Tats Named

So pull out your quiz and let’s review your answers:
Tat #1 belongs to…
…none other than BG East bread-n-butter himself, Brad Rochelle.
Brad Rochelle v Alexi Adamov & Bodie – BG Eat’s The Contract 7: Revenge of the Jobber

Specifically, Brad is shown here displaying that messed up psycho clown tattoo of his as he finishes off both Alexi Adamov and Bodie (both rookies here) at the same time for The Contract 7: Revenge of the Jobber. Brad is simply a classic homoerotic wrestling icon. If you don’t know him, click away from this site instantly and place your order for a Brad Rochelle feature at BG East. Seriously, if you don’t know Brad, you’re banned from finishing this post until you have ordered up some of what no one but Brad can deliver. Start with Brad’s epic introduction of Joshua Goodman (this was before you were required to address him as Mr. Joshua), when Josh was a green rookie. Or to fully understand the “revenge of the rookie” concept, check him out when he was writing the book on muscle jobbing, such as against Dom the Dominator in Demolition 3.

Don’t know this homoerotic wrestler? Stop here and go directly to BG East – Brad Rochelle.
Now on to tat #2
… which appears on on the rippled, hairy abs of Can-Am’s Jimmy Dean.

Jimmy Dean – Can-Am’s Border Thugz

Showing off his tummy tat, his smoking hot body with precisely the right amount of body hair, and classic Jimmy Dean ferocity, here he’s completely out wrestling Chris Cumberland (I believe) in Border Thugz. Jimmy started off his homoerotic wrestling career a lot smaller. Much more recently, he’s grown a whole lot bigger. But like Goldilocks, I’m partial to Jimmy right here in the middle, tatted up, thick and hairy, but still life-size and maneuverable. If you tell me that you have no recognition of Jimmy Dean, we need to enroll you in an intensive course of Homoerotic Wrestling 101: Icons of Homoerotic Wrestling. Your first assignment will be to sample the goods of Brad Rochelle and Jimmy Dean, and be able to identify every body part from any angle.

Then there’s tat #3, which belongs to…
…BG East’s Jonny Firestorm.
Specifically, in this case, it’s Jonny proudly flexing his tight, hard muscles as he squeezes the kidneys of Rico Rave in Demolition 12, a compilation which also stars the #1 contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division, Joshua Goodman. Jonny has a personality that fills the ring, which I credit with distracting me away from his fine tats. The back tat, the left shoulder, the left bicep all look like the fine and intricate work of an accomplished artist… like Jonny himself.

Tat #4 stumped everyone I heard from, which surprises me, because it belongs to…
…Thunder’s Arena’s STL.
STL v Big Sexy – Thunder’s Arena’s Bodybuilder Battle 20
So I don’t toss STL in the category of homoerotic wrestling icon, though I’d pay money to have a go at tossing him somewhere. He is, however, delightful to watch work up a sweat, and he’s liberally covered in tats, including several in particularly painful places to get tats (I’m talking about his inner bicep and lower arms!). Specifically, this pic of STL comes from a brief breather in his Bodybuilder Battle 20 against asstastic (and beautifully tatted, as well), Big Sexy. All that muscle… all that sweat… and not a bare ass in sight… something so wrong, something so right (okay, you do get to see some of Big Sexy’s ass as he ridiculously/delightfully attempts to wear way to small of trunks).
Tat #5 belongs to…
…BG East brute and muscle daddy, Joe Mazetti.
Joe Mazetti v Ricky Martin – BG East’s Demolition 7
In particular, Joe is here pictured pummeling the living crap out of the sweet pecs of beautiful jobber Ricky Martinez for Demolition 7. The juxtaposition of massively, thickly muscled Joe, born to bully and absolutely thrilled to dominate, with doe-in-the-headlights Ricky, all relatively slender, aesthetic lines and movie star good looks, is stunning casting. Joe is more the muscle beast in this match than possibly any other, with biceps bigger that Ricky’s neck. I wasn’t not looking for Joe when I first stumbled across him in Fantasymen 18, but he rocked me hard in his match against Derek D’Amore and made me an instant fan.

No one scored a perfect score on the quiz, so a pic of one of my tats once again goes unclaimed. There are some prime examples here, however, of staple homoerotic wrestling fare, so if you don’t recognize the tats, I recommend you study up on more of the beautiful work of these gorgeous wrestlers.

Where It Hurts

When I was a kid, I’d typically scheme all the time to start
a wrestling match with a friend. Inevitably in the fumbling scramble, sooner or later, someone would get “racked,” by which we meant that they took a blow to the groin. It was always unintentional… or, at least, it was always unintentional on my part. Looking back on it, I sort of suspect that some of my wrestling buddies probably threw in a precisely placed knee every so often. I was always such a naive babyface.

The new Arena update at BG East has tickled my fancy once again with some preview pics of an upcoming release featuring the mouth-watering ass of Kid Karisma in action against Len Harder. This looks like it leans more the to homoerotic side than most of what I’ve seen Kid in, including some suck-face and ball claws. Good, good times…
The fact that this catches my eye and tweaks my kink so instantly is a relatively new thing. When I was a kid and would wrestle with my buddies, getting “racked” was an instant time out. The action stopped whenever someone took a blow to the groin. Every boy learns about the bundle of nerve endings in the groin, don’t we? At some point or another, we all experience that near-paralyzing pain of taking a shot to the balls. All the air rushes out of your lungs. Your head feels like it’s about to explode. You instinctively roll up into the fetal position with your hands cupped over your crotch to protect it from further abuse. It’s no fun, and as a kid it was typically a mood-killer for me.
Ball abuse as a mood-maker has been only a pretty recent development for me. I’ve always liked the concept of hands on genitals in my homoerotic wrestling. I just always cringe when I see some convincing bashing, twinges of some of my own greatest hits echoing through my body. I swear, it’s tissue memory more than anything cognitive. I see a blow to the balls, and I have a pre-cognitive cringe reflex. But lately, I find some hot, hard ball claws intensely erotic. I’m writing ball abuse into every fictional wrestling match I write.
I think I attribute my expanding my wrestling kink repertoire to Derek da Silva. He shows up frequently in homoerotic wrestling on the other end of the ball bashing stick. And he clearly LOVES it. I mean, seriously, he gets harder the more he gets bashed. Now, if Derek were naked and just hanging the laundry on the line, I’d be unable to stop myself from masturbating. But Derek grappling, getting ball bashed, and getting off on getting bashed has just turned a key in the back of my mind somewhere.
I still cringe. But the cringe and the pain and the primal domination of ball abuse are somehow doing it for me these days like never before. And it’s not like you can shake a stick and not smack up some ball torture everywhere you turn. Hell, in Naked Kombat you get points for it. It’s absolutely mandatory.
Can-Am has long sprinkled ball torture throughout their products. I remember one particular match that blew my mind when I saw Jimmy Dean shove his hand down the back of Mark Wolff’s trunks, reach between his legs, and claw at his testicles from behind. The boys, the gear, the ring, the bodies… everything about that makes me gasp a little.
BG East has ball claws featured prominently everywhere, in explicitly ball-torture themed products and otherwise. There’s just something stunning about the sight of a bodybeautiful, musclegod/ken doll like Jace Bradley pressed against the ropes and completely at Mr. Joshua’s mercy with his balls firmly in Mr. Joshu’s hand.
So I guess what this post is really about is the evolution of sexual appetite, the refinement of erotic tastes, and the observation that even when it comes to my wrestling kink, I’m not the same person I was even a couple of years ago. What strikes me as erotic, arousing, and captivating is growing and maturing as I march through life, scarfing down homoerotic wrestling every chance I get.

Fantasy Olympics

Beautiful Whistler, BC will be the venue for several of the upcoming winter Olympic events based in Vancouver, starting tomorrow(!). Alpine skiing, nordic ski events, bobsleds… they’ll all take place with the backdrop of Whistler setting a beautiful stage.
A few years ago, Can-Am shot a snowboarder tag-team scenario with some exteriors in Whistler as background. Spearheaded by Jimmy Dean who was at that very moment in the process of metamorphosing into a thick and beefy muscle-bound badboy, these four boys posed with snowboards on the slopes of Whistler before showing up in the ring to further work out their competitive juices.
This is the way the winter Olympics should play out as well, if you ask me. Let the boarders and skiiers and bobsledders and speed skaters (especially the speed skaters) hammer down in the explicit spirit of the Olympics, but then, later, throw them into a ring to sort out the real story: the injured pride, the trash talk gone awry, the snarling, body on body throw down that decides who can genuinely put up and who just needs to shut up. Let’s see some world class athletic asses on display and faces ground into the mat.

All the better when the ring work turns to betrayal such as when Chris Cumberland becomes the object of three-on-one abuse. When Chris’ partner joins forces with Jimmy and his partner, beautifully tattooed Chris is yanked and pounded and hammered and kicked every which way. I know that not everyone is into a total squash, but as for me, I definitely enjoy the occasional humiliating abject suffering of one man overwhelmed and conquered helplessly.

So let the Olympic drama play itself out as always, but why not get some extra mileage out of the whole scenario by tossing
Bode and Mats and Denny and Alexei in the ring and headlining some balls out boy bashing. You know it’s going to be that much more satisfying once Bode’s getting his ass handed to him by all three at the same time!

If You Just Smile

I’m in a mood. There’s too much bad news and too many scowling faces right now. I’m feeling sour and cynical and ready to snap at someone who probably doesn’t deserve it. I need a mood-lightener.
Gorgeous hunks who snarl and scowl while pounding on other gorgeous hunks invariably make me hard. When those same hunks, like beautifully beasty Mikey Vee, are captured in a moment of spontaneous happiness, it gives me a special kind of joy. Mikey is much more typically on camera in a perpetual state of being pissed off. So a full on near-laughter smile across his face is quite a treasure.
It’s probably urban legend, but I’ve heard it said that smiling actually has a physiological effect that alters our mood. To smile, regardless of how you feel, makes you happier (so I’ve heard). Jimmy Dean with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye on the shoot of his double team match with two poundable beauties makes me smile and, true enough, I feel my mood lighten (that’s just anecdotal evidence, though… results may vary).
Three of the Von Erichs side-by-side (well, if you count Lance), can always make my mouth water. But the juxtaposition of their overcompensatingly massive championship belts, their sweaty, sexy bodies, and the “can I take a photo?”-nearly- genuine smiles leave me breathing a little deeper and feeling a little more at peace.

Tyrell Tomsen invariably makes me breathe a little faster and my heart start to pound. The heft of that package he’s toting around is a little dizzying. But he has such a sweet smile that I can almost manage to tear my eyes away from his stunning musculature to get a little lost in his face.

A smile is more than the contortion of the lips. The cocky smile is a good example of what I mean. Josh Goodman here is smiling with his mouth. The corners of his lips are upturned and he’s flashing some teeth. But he isn’t smiling with the rest of his face. He’s displaying his truly incredible body, probably concentrating a little on maintaining that beautiful flex, and communicating cocky self-confidence, not happiness.
But catch Mr. Joshua’s cheerful smile on set in his battle with Troy Baker. Both Troy and Joshua are captured here in a moment of genuine light-heartedness. Not just their mouths are smiling, but also their eyes. The fact that moments later the match was likely rejoined and they were taunting and punishing each other makes this stolen moment of genuine happiness that much more of a mood-lifter for me today.

So perhaps it’s urban legend, but I’m already feeling a little lighter for having reflected on some smiling, gorgeous faces this morning. I realize that light-heartedness isn’t always necessarily socially appropriate, but I think I’ve established pretty conclusively that I am often outside the bounds of social appropriateness. When things are seeming particularly heavy, I’m a little happier thanks to the sight of beautiful men with hard bodies cracking a delighted, unguarded smile.

Bodies Over Time

I’m fascinated by the concept of bodies over time. There are plenty of flashes in the pan who wrestle once or twice then disappear from the scene. Those guys are forever captured in my homoerotic memory in a static state. But much more fascinating to me are the workhorses who perform for years, permitting a study of their aging bodies as evolving objects of lust.
There are a lot of cases in point, especially in the pros, but today my thoughts are lingering on the Can-Am star who is nothing if not a homoerotic wrestling ring veteran: Jimmy Dean. Jimmy was featured in 46 Can-Am products over the course of about 14 years, clearly proving himself to be a profitable commodity well past his late-adolescent early days. Early on, Jimmy seemed most notable as a skinny kid with a bad attitude and a simply astoundingly round ass.
He quickly earned his own feature tape taking on all-comers. The mutual manhandling of Jimmy and one of my fave-classic hunks, Troy Lucas, is a cherished image. The story was all about the skinny, bad-ass, bubble-butt punk who defies appearances in holding his own against a thickly muscled (man of my dreams) hardbody.
At 5’10”, some of his early matches put him at 155 pounds (counting the coat of baby oil, I’m sure). The description to Hard, Young & Hung 2 gives a little of Jimmy’s exotic dancer roots. Jimmy’s “bubble butt” is also frequently the point of reference for many of his early bouts. Sometimes smooth from head to toe, sometimes with some groomed body hair (love me some hairy legs!), it seemed to always be that round, round (did I mention round?) ass that garnered the most comments.
Somewhere along the way, Jimmy started filling out. In my mind, his match with pornboy turned dabbler-wrestler, Brian Maxon seemed to feature noticeably more heavily muscled Jimmy. This was a serious mis-match on many counts, which in many ways makes for a very hot exhibition, but it’s Jimmy’s freshly toned body getting used and abused that sells this match. He was always a sexy little punk, but with an emerging six pack and seriously bulging shoulders, this was clearly not some lately adolescent kid any longer.
With more meat, Jimmy’s wrestling persona took on more dimension. When he got the tummy tat of “the artist formerly known as Prince,” I think he went from skinny, bad-ass punk to seriously sadistic heel. His sneering, savage dismantling of two gym bunnies at once in Supermatch 18 was an early telling of a recurring story Jimmy would be part of from then on: the crafty, irrepressible ring veteran teaching a lesson and delivering a beat down on the ring rookies.
Todd Mane’s Intense Initiation was another example of this theme early in Jimmy’s tummy tat days. He was dabbling with fiendish facial hair and getting astonishingly shredded (actually looking a little smaller than in his Maxon match due to an impressive lack of a single ounce of body fat). Jimmy’s “initiations” got more and more savage, seemingly in direct proportion to the development of his hunky body.
Betrayal featured a developed storyline, with character development (!?!) and stunning bodies in back and forth beatdowns turned wince-worthy ball torture. By this time, Jimmy was, by all means, a full grown beast. I can’t find his stats listed anywhere at this point in his career, but I’m feeling confident that he was most certainly not 155 pounds (I’m thinking we need to add at least 30-40 to that number). He was thick from head to toe (including the muscle between his legs), and he had the physically dominating body to go with the bad-ass attitude that was always his trademark. I don’t know if Jimmy’s stunning muscle development was owed in any part to substances that might get him banned from the Olympics, but regardless, he was seriously working hard and his muscles were swelling before our very eyes.
Jimmy did several Superhero motif flicks for Can-Am, which I won’t go into too much, other than to say “bad-ass beast” is obviously a short step from “dominating supervillain.” But my favorite Jimmy moments have to be in his 3 Way Rubber Revenge with the stunning bodies of Lincoln Lode and Andrew Lane. Personally, I wouldn’t pay a surcharge for rubber outfits in my homoerotic wrestling, but I’m ready to pay top dollar for these three boys (well, two boys and one man) fighting mean, stripped naked, and playing for fucks. When Jimmy was the age of Lode and Lane, he would’ve looked like a stick figure in this 3-way. But with seriously thick, mature muscles, the hip and tummy tats, and a bubble butt accentuated by basketball glutes, Jimmy is a perfect match (and teacher in the ways of sadistic homoerotic wrestling) for the young muscle studs. Lincoln and Jimmy in belly-to-belly, naked bearhugs is an image that ought to be framed and on the walls of the Met.

Youth and beauty are sweet commodities that Jimmy Dean possessed in abundance in his early Can-Am days. But Jimmy teaches us the lesson that aging bodies are an infinite source of delights. In any particular match up, Jimmy always told a sweet and convincing story. But I’m even more impressed with the through-story of Jimmy’s transition to adulthood in the homoerotic wrestling biz, proudly displaying a maturing body, a fierce attitude, and always and forever, a rockin’ ass.