Tag: Jobe Zander

Value Added

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Several recent comments here have sent me thinking more deeply about what it is that a wrestling kinkster gets in explicitly homoerotic wrestling that he doesn’t in basic cable pro. “The gay” has had a longstanding presence in straight-up pro wrestling for… well, forever, hasn’t it? The classic flaming pro-wrestler with his feather boa, dancing on the balls of his feet, have been a not-so latent element in the scene for at least as long as pro wrestling has been televised, it seems to me. I made a break with regularly following straight-up pro scenes about a decade ago, but when I’m flipping through the channels, I get the impression that “the gay” continues to creep more and more into that scene. Hasn’t there been and openly gay wrestler or two? Isn’t the erotic sub-text getting more and more main-text, as the modern audience is catching on to what so many of us have understood for a long time… that two hardbodied, barely clothed hunks grinding and squeezing their bodies together can’t help but be about sexual prowess, if not outright sex.


But I’m so far out of the straight-up pro loop, I’ll have to rely on those many of you who keep up with it to correct me. Feel free, in fact. I’m blindly wandering into a subject that I know, at most, only 50% about: what is it that we gay wrestling kinksters get in our homoerotic wrestling that we don’t get in straight-up basic cable pro? (Indie fanatics can tell me if this applies to that scene as well)…. In no particular order:
Tear-away crotch gear. And for that matter, full-on centering of the gorgeous male erection. If these elements were popping up in straight-up pro, it would seriously make me consider diving back into that scene. As it is, I’m thinking that, despite a diversity of gear and gear-related stories in straight-up pro, the tear-away crotch and the aroused cock are entirely in the domain of the homoerotic side of wrestling. Please, tell me I’m wrong.
Hand-to-bare-crotch ball abuse. Before I washed my hands of straight-up pro entirely, crotch abuse was on the rise. But as far as I know (and you will correct me), wrestlers actually stuffing their hands down each other’s trunks and clawing each other’s balls for all it’s worth (or even better, entirely naked, prolonged cock and ball bashing), marks a dividing line between wrestling packaged for us as opposed to wrestling packaged for them.
Passionate, full on, tongues-down-throats kissing. I can remember at least a couple of instances where a straight-up pro story used a man-on-man kiss as the excuse for violence (not hard to read the homosexual panic storyline here), but never as the mutual climax of the physical competition. Hard fought, sweaty, pounding, tooth-and-nail wrestling should lead to some intense respect and mutual gratification, I think. If the buff bigboys on basic cable occasionally lost themselves in passion at the end of a particularly close fought match, again, I’d absolutely have to tune back in.
Naked bearhugs. Well, naked everything, really. So we’ve been led to believe that the ancient Greeks battled it out this way, but as far as I know, other than the occasional bare-ass moment (treated as a moment of ego-crushing humiliation), the straight-up pros keep their gear on their bodies. A bearhug or a boston crab or a head scissors may be technically identical between the two genres, but the innovation of losing the gear first completely retranslates everything into a language I’m much more fluent in, and whose tones I find much more pleasing.
Oil wrestling. Especially naked oil wrestling, but seriously, any kind of oil wrestling seems like it’s this side of the neutral zone between straight-up pro and full-on homoerotic wrestling. Lubricating bodies can’t help but make everything more arousing, both in the action and on this side of my television screen. I suspect I could be on thin ice on this one, and I’ll be very pleased to be corrected to learn that the straight-up pros are breaking out the babyoil for one another… but I’m doubtful.
Toe-sucking. Okay, I can’t remember seeing this in a wrestling match before my current favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens, pulled it out as a defensive move against Mitch Colby this summer. So it isn’t exactly a staple of homoerotic wrestling. But somehow, I can’t see this innovation showing up in prime-time. Both genres have overlapping standard toolkits for distraction and diversion in a match, but I, for one, am really pleased when I see some erotic worship as a strategic move.
The naked pony ride. Or, really, the loser-gets-used scenario in general, involving any element of nakedness. The pony ride itself seems to be a signature primarily at Naked Kombat, though I’d love to see this gimmick show-up elsewhere. Somehow, I could imagine seeing it cross-pollinate through other homoerotic wrestling companies about a century before it would show up in straight-up pro… though Joe at Ringside at Skull Island continues to feature some fantastic indie boys I’d pay good money to see ride or get ridden… naked, of course.
The jack-off. Either post-match or, as Aryx Quinn illustrates here with Braden Charron (and KL on Chris from yesterday’s post), locked in a classic wrestling move, a forced to cum show of domination/voyeurism/humiliation. This falls under the same theme as the any-straight-up-pro hold that turns naked idea, but add to that some masturbation, and, well, this just isn’t going to show up on basic cable anytime soon… or a pay-per-view extravaganza… or, well, anywhere other than the homoerotic specialists.
Oral. The spoils of victory never tasted so sweet on any, any, any straight-up pro match as it does when a homoerotic wrestler lays his loser out and sucks his cock like there’s no tomorrow. Depending on the angle, the loser-gets-forced-to-suck story (see every Naked Kombat match, for example), also works only on this side of the line. Just as an aside, I’m more a fan of the taste of victory than I am of the loser-gets-face-fucked plot. Ironically, there’s something almost “straight” feeling about the latter to me…
Anal. Most of the same comments apply here. This just isn’t going to show up for the straight-up pro boys, though how sweet would that be to see some of those fine, muscle-asses on the line and plowed in the center of the ring when they lose? But that’s precisely what leads me (and many of us, I’m sure) to homoerotic wrestling products. Straight-up pro only takes us so far. Our imaginations can complete the scene, but there’s something awfully satisfying and, in some ways, validating about seeing the scenario play out exactly the way you and I would imagine. I don’t think that a match needs to end in a forced-fuck to be homoerotic, by any means. In fact, I get a little tired when it seems to be obligatory, and I get the impression that the creativity and competition of a wrestling match sometimes turn into clock-punching routine as the boys go through the familiar motions. But a victory fuck closes the circuit in my mind. From the anticipation, promise, and implications of straight-up pro, homoerotic wrestling fills in the silences and opens up the possibilities that turn me on like no baggy-shorts prime-timer has ever done.

I know I’ve missed a lot. I’m sure I’ve overstated my case… because that’s just what happens when I have a whole blog to myself to rant and ramble. But seriously… sincerely… I’ll be pleased no end to hear what I’ve managed to get completely wrong here.

15 Minutes

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I retitled this post several times before finally settling on “15 Minutes.” I also considered, “Burning Bright,” and “Here, There and Everywhere.” What to say to capture the moment of Rio Garza’s presence in the homoerotic wrestling world? From webcam boy to performer for every other wrestling company on the planet, Rio’s certainly come a long way.
I’m frequently chastised for overanalyzing the homoerotic wrestling industry. I don’t mind being chastised, though (throw in some bodyscissors and I quite enjoy it, in fact), so I’m going to arm-chair theorize with all due humility to those who actually produce homoerotic wrestling and perform as wrestlers (for whom I have nothing but respect). I think sweet, sexy, Latin heartthrob Rio Garza is presently significantly overexposed. After appearing in a head-to-head beatdown at the hands of Aryx Quinn last October for BG East, in April, he was the centerpiece of Can-Am’s Arena 3, getting double-teamed by a couple of Can-Am regulars before reprising his BGE 1-on-1 with Aryx.
July 2 of this year, Can-Am began releasing stills in their MAX forum of Rocking Rio, featuring Jobe Zander beating Rio this way and that on the mats. Not more than a day earlier, BGE began sales of The Breaking Point, with Jobe working over Rio’s crotch in the ring for their “sexier” chapter. It doesn’t appear you can pick up a DVD of Rocking Rio yet, but MAX subscribers can watch the first 3, 6-minute or so segments of the match in serial form.
Just 7 days ago, BGE posted a mid-summer between-catalog release of Rio in a forced to flex Undergear 16 tussle on the mats with the remarkable talents of Reese Wells. You may recall that these same two wrestlers met under different names just past January, battling in the ring as Ray Martinez and Brody Hancock for RockHardWrestling.


July 2, the same day that Rocking Rio pics were released on Can-Am Max, Can-Am also released preview pics of Hollywood Fight Club 3, again mixing up Rio with Jobe, Aryx, a handful of the usual Can-Am suspects, and a surprise Can-Am debut for BGE (and Thunder’s Arena) veteran Christopher Bruce.

In short, everywhere I turn I bump into another wrestling product with Rio, frequently pitted against the exact same wrestlers. From a complete outsider’s perspective, it appears to me that both Can-Am and BG East seem to hire their performers and film them in several matches in short order. BG East appears to then pace their releases, tantalizing fans with taste after taste over the period of months or a year. Can-Am’s strategy seems frequently to be to pump out multiple products with the same constellation of performers, saturating the market for the flavor of the month (see also Rusty Stevens, David Taylor, etc). I’m sure either strategy sells products. I don’t really think it’s a problem to see wrestlers working for competing operations (not at all, actually). What does seem to me to be a problem is when competing operations pump out the same wrestlers competing with the same opponents and releasing multiple products basically at the same time. Case in point: Rio Garza. For major Rio fans, this is probably hog heaven. Personally, I’m overdosing on Rio. There isn’t much opportunity for character or skill development when all his performances hit the market simultaneously. It’s just a Rio smorgasbord, well-suited to gluttons but perhaps not as pitched for wrestling kinksters more broadly. It’s like when Tommy Lee Jones was appearing in every third major movie to come out in 1993 and 1994 (stay with me on this analogy): sure, he’s an incredible actor, but when he’s everywhere in everything, what’s remarkable about his talent doesn’t seem so special.


Anyway, my very humble opinion is that Rio Garza is overexposed and in danger of burning out his market power. More troubling is the sense that competing wrestling companies are intentionally diluting the market by pumping out identical pairings at the same time. Suddenly, it’s as if there are only a half a dozen talented, beautiful homoerotic wrestlers to choose from. I vote for a multitude of wrestling operations to produce a variety of products featuring a diversity of beautiful and talented men. I also vote (with my dollars) for pacing, character and skill development, and more ring action… but that’s just my taste.

How Does That Feel!?

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It’s cliche’, I know. But I can’t help myself but be sucked in when one wrestler snarls at his opponent, “How does that feel!?“

It’s not as if it’s a real question. It’s typically asked when one man is clearly suffering. The obvious answer is, “It hurts!” The question is rhetorical. It’s not asked in an effort to gather information, but to domineer. It’s a question intended to humiliate, to drive home the point that the suffering man is paid for and owned outright by his opponent. Asking the question, “how does that feel,” is about pointing out all that’s obvious here: I control you. Where your pain starts and stops is completely in my hands. I own your body, and once you acknowledge the foregone conclusion that you have no choice but submit to me, you’re entirely mine.
Let me just put it out there. When I’m watching a favorite homoerotic beat down and I hear the rhetorical question, “How does that feel,” I frequently answer. Out loud. Emphatically. As usual, even as I type this I wonder, “Am I just disclosing way too much?” Ah, what the hell. When I hear Cole or Mitch or Rusty or Derek snarl down at some muscled boy that they’ve just broken in body and spirit, asking him how it feels, I often answer, saying something like, “That feels fucking awesome!” I realize that they aren’t actually asking me, but that question can collapse the distance between entertainer and entertained for me, transporting me ringside where my muscle champion inflicts pain explicitly for my pleasure. Sure, he’s looking down into his opponent’s face as he crushes the suffering man’s balls beneath his feet, but his question is for me, “How does that feel, Bard?”
He’s digging his claws into the fantastically meaty pecs of his jobber boy, whose face is contorted with pain and near-sobs are wracking his body. And when he asks, “How does that feel?” he’s asking me, “Is this what you want to see? If I claw my fingers in deeper, how does that make you feel, Bard?”
It’s a contemptuous, domineering, humiliating throw away line that’s just meant to tell the story of one man’s complete domination. But when the fighter on top asks, “How does that feel,” the words frequently transport me ringside, where this muscle on muscle battle is being waged for my pleasure. The ars erotica of the beautiful body beatdown becomes more than just implicitly for my pleasure. The dispenser of punishment is considerately checking in with his patron. “How about if I twist his rippled body a few inches farther? What if I crank his neck until he cries. How does that feel, Bard?”
Feels fucking awesome, Mitch. Keep it up.

Still a Mighty Pain to Love It Is

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They’re doing it to me again, those bastards. They’re taunting me. Teasing me. Rubbing my face in withholding what I’d like to have my face rubbed in. First of all, I return to my previous discussion of Michael C. Hall’s ass:

Yes, it’ s Dexter time. How many ways can they almost show some serious Dexter skin? The shower scene with the strategically placed shower head. The sex scene in which Dexter mysteriously keeps his pants on. It’s inhumane, I tell you! At least in this week’s episode we saw some shirtlessness… from across the room… slightly out of focus. Yet even with those obstacles, Michael C. Hall makes my mouth water. Take that shirt off, Michael. Slower…

Still no sight of that beautiful badonkadonk. Thank God for paparazzi and Michael’s need for cat litter. Even in jeans, that’s a beautiful butt! Quick, someone, find something else that Michael needs to load into the trunk! Come on Michael’s-wife, throw us a bone! Tell him to drop trou!
And speaking of bones, there’s Joshua Goodman’s cock (is that a butt-tease?). As if in answer to my diatribe about how Mr. Joshua’s package is both the center of attention and fastidiously kept under wraps at the same time, just days later BG East releases a match between package kings, Mr. Joshua and Jobe Zander.
Despite Jobe’s tats, he isn’t my favorite if he’s going head to head (if only) with Mr. Joshua. Both of these dudes have made considerable hay from straining the seams of their thongs with their equine genitalia. I haven’t seen the product yet, but all signs appear to be that this match is all about whose is bigger. Billed as “The Battle of the Bulge,” this match is conspicuously absent the little asterisk next to all the BG East products featuring nudity.
I repeat: You bastards. You cock-teasing (and/or butt-teasing), sadistic bastards. I should wipe my hands of Dexter and all Mr. Joshua products in disgust. Yet, there I go paying my cable bill for Showtime and pulling out my wallet for a fresh dose of gazebo grappling. You bastards…