What is it that’s happening when a wrestler grinds his opponent’s face into his crotch?Okay, I mean, besides the obvious. What’s the story line there? I’m NOT complaining, mind you, I’m just taking a second look at something that I typically take for granted.
PWP has just posted a couple of new matches. Pretty dancer boys are tossing and squeezing one another predictably. A beautiful, long pale hottie, White Angel, takes his turn working over and getting worked on in “The Challenge Series“. This image of him schoolboy pinning Mario, with what looks like a big smile on Mario’s face, brings the topic to mind. Part of the story, at least, is humiliation. Dominating your opponent so completely that you can drop your most vulnerable parts across his face with impunity has got to send a message: You are owned.
Can-Am’s Tom Flex was constantly planting his abundant package across his opponents’ faces. This position is repeated multiply throughout Flex’s wrestling history, both clothed and naked. Here, Beau Hopkins turns his face away to avoid Flex’s testicles pressed against his lips. Clearly, part of the story is also the allusion to forced oral sex. The dominant muscle stud possesses such command over his helpless opponent that he can force feed his cock and transform his opponent into his sexual toy.
Like Tom Flex, BG East’s Mr. Joshua Goodman frequently smothers his opponents with his overstuffed package, and like Flex, Joshua frequently puts his own stunning body on gorgeous display while he does it. Joshua is a case in point of another aspect of this crotch-to-face story. Joshua’s massive, low hanging balls are ALWAYS a feature of his matches. He’s gorgeously muscled, handsome, and has a nice, cocky persona, but let’s face it, it’s hard to associate Mr. Joshua with much else other than his pendulous package. The crotch-to-face is the exclamation point at the end of the sentence: Mr. Joshua’s balls are huge! His figure-four crotch-to-face is the unspoken (often spoken) message that Mr. Joshua is hyper-masculine, unstoppable, and irrepressible.
Mitch Colby, current top contender to take back the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, reaches that moment in pretty much every match where he has his opponent’s head wedged high between his thighs. He takes both hands and grasps the down man’s head, and presses his opponent’s face into this crotch. Mitch tells the whole story explicitly that so many only imply. Invariably, Mitch’s head rolls backward, his eyes are shut in ecstasy, and his face is enraptured by this moment of sexual domination. I swear, I expect to see Mitch cum in his jock strap every time he does this. Mitch is getting off on this, and for that particular story he tells so well, he remains firmly ensconced in the pantheon of my absolute favorites. To have a muscle hunk’s face crushed against your cock and balls should absolutely be about sexual gratification.
Speaking of pale, skinny white boys, Brigham Bell always did it for me in a way that never ceased to catch me by surprise. With zero bodyfat, Brigham was a walking anatomy chart, with every muscle, tendon and bone in clear relief. He was so skilled at using that whipcord of a body to beat down, conquer, and humiliate his bigger opponents. Squeezing a hard boy’s head into his crotch was standard fare for Brigham, using the maneuver to hammer home the point that it’s not always how big the muscles are that determine the tale. This pale, skinny white boy that you completely underestimated is suddenly planted across your shoulders, driving your chin into his balls. Whatever you thought was going to happen in this match, however you thought you’d overpower and dominate the skinny kid, it was always fated that you’d be flat on your back with his cock slapped down across your lips.
As always, I love the muscled bodies, the erotic, dominating positions, the enthused salesmanship. But it’s the arc of the story that I find most erotic. It’s the plot of two men staring one another down, untested and cock-sure of themselves, and all the fantastic elements that go into one of them ending up lying flat on his back, defenseless, with his opponent’s crotch shoved into his face.
Emotionally crushed by Chris Cuomo’s announcement today that he’s abandoning me in the mornings, I’m thinking about how I’ll miss the display of his beauty each day. Hunks on display is a big part of what gets me going. For example, straight-up aggressive fighting often isn’t a pretty sight. The action is frequently up close, with a lot of clutches that obscure the action and the bodies, victory determined by subtle points of pressure rather than dramatic displays of dominance. But pro-wrestling and homoerotic wrestling know what the audience is looking for: beautiful bodies on display. So even when it isn’t particularly effective combat, the pros make the display of suffering bodies as much an art as a science. Victory may not be defined by some of these exhibitionist moves, but satisfying the fans is.
Wrestling Arsenal, which I’m thrilled is now blogging, has a huge catalogue of the wrestling art of displaying suffering hunks. The kneeboard that stretches out this captured stud is a classic example. As the sadist focuses his torture on the center of his victim’s back, the rest of us are treated to the stunning display of that massive chest, the sweaty abs, and the spread-eagle display centering his crotch. It’s about the struggle, the suffering, the pain… but it’s most certainly also about the stunning display of a hot, muscled body.
In the Can-Am classic match up of Vic Silver vs. Johnny Lightning, musclegod Vic transitions a double hammerlock into this fantastic variation, lifting Johnny entirely off his feet and suspending the suffering hunk’s body. Truthfully, a position like this requires some serious cooperation between these two competitors. This doesn’t just happen in the beat down of one man on another. But this isn’t just about the beat down. It’s about the exploration of Johnny’s gorgeous body, all his muscles and power laid out vulnerably and helplessly for our appraisal and, let’s face it, worship. Vic owns Johnny here, and generously, he shares his stunning prize with those of us watching on in awe.
Steve Arnold and Doug Brandon square off in another Can-Am oldie. Again, the double hammer lock ostensibly tells the story of Doug’s dominance over oil-soaked bodybuilder Steve. Doug’s gloating smile looking down on the anguish contorting Steve’s face tells the story of the sadist feeding his lust for humiliating a muscle jobber. But the other story, the implied story, is that we, through the lens of the camera, are being treated to the awesome display of Steve’s rippled torso immobilized and presented for our lustful gaze. Steve is Doug’s victim here, but he’s our trophy, thoughtfully oiled up, trussed up, and humiliated for our appreciation.
No one understands this better than BG East’s Kid Leopard. Kid has always been the master of not only dominating and humiliating his studly opponents, but positioning them in such a way as to lay them open in astonishingly intimate and vulnerable ways that invite us to examine every crack and crevice of their beautiful form. It’s no wonder Kid is a successful promoter, because he obviously knows what the audience wants to see, and he’s happy to oblige us. Kid twists and ties them, squeezes and pries them into such bizarre, exposed, suspended positions of vulnerability that we can’t help be marvel at the beauty of the captured male body. In his dismantling of Dick the Prick in Submissions 4, from his feet he manages to spread his opponent’s legs wide, crush the jobbers chin to his chest, and display Dick’s ass, package, taut legs, and muscled abs and chest all in one pretty picture. This surely wasn’t the most direct route to defeating the stud, but it was undoubtedly one of the hottest thanks to Kid’s generous, thoughtful, artistry in displaying the helpless hunk for our benefit.
Have you ever instantly fallen in lust with the hot stud leaning against the wall across the bar, only to discover on closer inspection that he’s not really all that? Back in the day before video streaming (I feel like Grandpa talking about serials on the radio), all we had to decide what gay wrestling videos we wanted to purchase were stills. I’d see some pics of exactly “my type,” (whatever the hell that is), and like Pavlov’s dog I’d pull out my… credit card and send off for a tape in order to possess the handsome stud. Of course, they typically package these tapes as collections, and usually I’d be in lust with only two or three of the wrestlers. Then when the desperately anticipated moment arrived, I’d rip open the envelope, sprint to the TV, and pop in the tape.
Not infrequently, though, those objects of my lust turned out to not turn my crank so much. In my first BG East purchase, Troy Milan, who I was ready to swoon over, was actually a little annoying when you added audio and saw him actually move on the mats. He was way too much go-go and not enough throw down.
Then out of no where, Joe Mazetti blew my mind. I never would have picked Joe out of a crowd of hunky men as the one who would make me sweat. But seeing his sadistic sneer, particularly with the audio on, and I was surprised by lust!
Chip Slater did the same thing to me. The profoundly cleft chin is, I admit, a turn on for me. But otherwise I was not expecting Chip to send me over the moon. But he’s a freaking god on the mats! He twists his opponents into pretzels and laughs at them. He absolutely can’t help himself from torturing his opponents’ balls, and he himself appears to have balls of steel.
Soon after discovering Can-Am online, I thought I was entranced by bodybuilder Paul Perris. Oddly, when I actually brought him home, his doing the splits didn’t send me over the moon the way I thought it would. On the other hand, Troy Lucas completely took me by surprise. In motion, in the grasp of sadistic Johnny Lightening (who missed a spot shaving his ass), Troy rushed to the front of the line of my favorites on Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.
One final example: I thought I was purchasing Fantasy Pro Wrestling primarily to ogle the mysteriously, concisely named “Matthews” (sort of like Cher: he’s so hot he only needs one name).
But popping it in, I quickly discovered that Matthews was not the apple of my eye (and he may only need one name because that’s as much as he can remember). I was glad that Hector Alvarez beat his ass for disappointing me like that. On the other hand, Buck Wyld turned out to be worth every penny. It’s not that Matthews doesn’t have all the right parts in the right proportion. He just doesn’t move as sexy as a hot man can move (and he’s creepily quiet). Buck, on the other hand…
Anyway, like falling in love with the B-Side, I appreciate the unexpected gems that catch me by surprise in the collection tapes. It’s a nice lesson to remember to be open to having your assumptions challenged. Sometimes the hot guys posing across the bar aren’t the sexiest ones in the room, even if they might catch your eye first. When it comes to homoerotic wrestling products, between the boys who disappoint and the boys who pleasantly surprise, all in all I generally come out on top. And on those rare occasions when I’m left with a hollow, unsatiated feeling, if it’s a BG East product I’ll at least get to enjoy the trailers (I’m a BIG fan of the trailers).