Tag: Jonny Firestorm

Never Knew What I Missed…

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Christmas came a little early for me this year, and I was treated to some presents directly off of my wish list of matches-to-own. Personally, I would’ve thought I’d have fallen into the “naughty” category. But I’m not asking any questions.

Thumbing through the catalog for things that might show up under my tree, I’ve lately been aching for Ball Bash 2. Truth be told, I’ve got a little crush on Reese Wells aka Brody Hancock. Well, more accurately, I fantasize about crushing him. He’d put up a good fight, mind you, and he’s got some sweet sell. But in the end he’d be screaming a submission wracked across my shoulders, before I rubbed salt in the wound by dropping his back across my knee. When all is said and done and his spirit is broken, I’d walk away with his boots to hang them up as a trophy of good times.

Fortunately for me, Jonny Firestorm has handed Reese precisely the type of treatment I think Reese desperately needs. I wasn’t expecting Ball Bash 2 to be quite so competitive. However, there’s plenty of pretty salesmanship going in all directions for most of this match before it turns into a full-on ball bash squash. Jonny always impresses, and this match is no different. He’s got instincts for delivering exactly the content, pacing, and humiliation that makes ring action my cup of tea.

I have to remind myself that this release came out before anything else that I’ve seen Reese in. This is significant for me because although I’ve seen him flirt with full-on homoeroticism, never since have I seen Reese wrestle naked. And that’s a shame, because he’s got a really beautiful cock, and there’s something about the optical illusion that is Reese’s body that somehow makes perfect sense when he’s in the ring in nothing but those boots (that’d I’d rip off of him and take home with me). I’ve seen the career trajectory that starts out with some stud just translating straight-up wrestling for a homoerotic company, and then eventually evolves into a balls out, naked, full-on homoerotic fantasy fighter. But someone who goes the other direction seems like a novelty (and a little bit of a waste, as far as I’m concerned).

The moment in this match that completely captures me, though, comes when Reese still has his speedos on. Things have been relatively traditional up to this point, with Jonny and Reese taking and giving in approximately equal measure. But when Jonny snaps his legs around Reese’s waist, presses wide the pretty boy’s legs, and grabs hold and squeezes Reese’s balls, this match instantly careens off the straight-up tracks and deep into homoerotic territory. But it’s this moment in particular, and specifically, it’s Reese’s sell of this moment, that captures my imagination. Reese has nowhere to go. Jonny is showing all his cards, including the fantastic revelation that he’s out for nothing short of blood curdling screams. And Reese is writhing in pain, stunningly vulnerable, and totally humiliated. And with his jaws open wide in agony, Reese kisses the mat.

Good god, that kiss just sends me. It’s such an excellent moment of helpless agony. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a BIG fan of Reese’s destruction without trunks, and I’m nearly as enthusiastic about the target-thong that Jonny makes him wear, which is delightfully inadequate to contain Reese’s impressive member that simply can’t be described as entirely flaccid throughout the remainder of the bull busting. All the moving parts to this match line up perfectly, I think. Jonny is impeccable. Reese is astonishing for a “rookie.” The bodies, the wrestling, the setting, the gear (and lack thereof), are all brilliant. But it’s Reese’s lips planted on the floor in agony that makes this match one of my favorites. Thanks, Santa.

Gratitude

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This is my second Thanksgiving Holiday since starting this blog a year and a half ago. I have so much to be thankful for these days. I have a home, a job, people who love me, animals who are excited to see me when I come home. More pertinent to this blog, I’m thankful for a lot of delicious, delightful, homoerotic wrestling inspiration, and for so many of you who share in that delight.
Joe is always at or very near the top of my list of most excellent things about the virtual wrestling kink community we share. If at any point you’re feeling bitter toward me for taking a day or two away from posting new material here, just remember to pop over to Ringside at Skull Island and get your dose of fine wrestling kink commentary there. I generally agree with Joe’s tastes 97.48 percent of the time (I’m a stats person), and his blog feeds my imagination and brings a smile to my face (and a pleasing pressure to my crotch) consistently.

I’ve had a wonderful time over this past year working some new collaborations. I’ve worked with several readers/writers, including two projects right now that the ball is in my court on (I promise, compatriots, I’m working on them!). In addition to co-authors, I’m grateful for the opportunity to chat sidebar with so many fine gentlemen with something to share, complain about, and recommend.

My last note of gratitude for the blog today is to Kid Leopard for his generosity and encouragement of my toils here. He’s been extremely generous with my frequent reposts of BG East material. He’s given me more than I deserve this year, including some thoughtful feedback when I’ve strayed into topics that I talk about much more than I really know about. He’s been understanding and tolerant of my not only writing BG East-based fiction, but even writing him in as a recurring character (my own version of him, of course). For KL, as well as for all of the creative minds keeping the homoerotic wrestling industry turning out new delights, I’m grateful for their ability to find the right formula to stay fresh and creative in the face of consumer criticism and, let’s face it, back seat driving (I fully admit to being a prime offender in that category).

My hope is for nothing but the best for all of you who read my words, for all of the hard workers in production in the homoerotic wrestling industry, and for the beautiful and inspired wrestlers and performers who give our little corner of gay kink a go. Play hard! Play safe.

Checking it Twice

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A comment by Joe made me start thinking about my wish-list. This is the time of year when kids start asking themselves what their fondest desires are, isn’t it? The promise of gifts to come, the magic of dreams appearing from out of nowhere underneath a Christmas tree made me start thinking of what Santa might send me. Most pertinent to this blog is my list of gay wrestling products that I don’t yet own but probably will, sooner or later. Note, this isn’t a plea for anyone to fill my wish-list. Rather, this is just a rhetorical device to do more of what I enjoy doing most around here: discussing what works for me in homoerotic wrestling.

Starting with a few newer items from the catalog, I’ve got my eye on Ball Bash 2. I’ve been delighted by the pics in BG East’s Arena for quite some time. I’ve also been tracking Reese Wells’ (aka Brody Hancock) career across promotions over the past year or so. Reese tells a sweet tale. He’s (sort of) a skinny kid with a respectable arsenal of pro moves and attitude to transform him in the ring into a bully-killer. And though I say he’s “sort of skinny,” truth is, his body is quite the meat market, packed with long, lean, clearly hard-worked muscles, including rock hard abs, solid round pecs, and surprisingly bulging biceps. What particularly attracts me to Ball Bash 2 is that it seems to stick out in Reese’s portfolio as the only thing (at least that I can find) featuring him naked with all attention centered explicitly on his impressive cock and balls. In case Reese never returns to the darker, naked, sadomasochistic side of homoerotic wrestling, I’d like to own this little piece of history and enjoy it at my leisure.

Mat Hunks 8 is another recent release that I haven’t snapped up yet, but probably will. Every mat hunk in this line up has starred in a satisfying wrestling fantasy for me (Chris Bruce, Alexi Adamov, Mikey Vee and Denny Cartier). Truth be told, it’s Denny that’s making me long for Mat Hunks 8 more than anything. Frankly, I think that Denny is still looking for who he “is” in homoerotic wrestling. He’s sometimes a little green, sometimes a little sadistic/savvy, sometimes walks in with a dose of humility, sometimes walks in with an “I can fuck up anybody” attitude. As he works on character development, in any case, I never fail to be intoxicated by his body, and even more, by his body in motion. He’s clearly an accomplished, veteran amateur wrestler with speed, balance, and body savvy to bring authentic wrestling cred to his work. I just love watching him work, and the promise of watching him work and get worked over by Mikey Vee is pure fantasy come to life.

Masked Mayhem 6 is my third recent release to show up on my wish list. It all looks good, of course. Muscle Mask jobbing, Jonny in fighting trim, Cage Thunder in the ring. But you know as well as I do that it’s Rafe (mmmmm… Rafe) that’s calling to me. Rafe in the ring against a veteran heel is just too delicious to pass up. Sooner or later, this will be mine.

I also maintain a laundry list of “classics” from farther back in the library. I frequently pick up something from way back to add onto an order for a new release, to try to catch up with all the fantastic stuff that happened before I was actively collecting. Hard Pros 2 is a case in point. The line-up looks like a barnburner from A-Z, including fantasymen Jay Austin, Wade Cutler and Steve Sherman, along with hard heels with astonishing attributes like Max Dare and Jose.

Sadly, some of the classics that look mindboggling fantastic don’t appear to be still on the market (yet?). For example, all of the Bratpack series look fantastic, but I can only find them in the Arena and on some previews from my “older” BGE products, not for sale from the BGE website. Bratpack 12 would be where I’d start, I think. The trailer for this one caught my eye, and the line up (including TNT, Animal Ayben, Jumpin Joe Jaksyn, both Romano twins and Syddo Riley) all look like fantastic characters I’d love to see in the basement/underground genre.

I’m still waiting/hoping for some of the classic Private Bouts series to be converted to DVD. From that treasure trove, I’d start with Private Bouts 32-36, primarily to see a painfully young DW in action against Chase and Brian Baxter against Scott “Dark” Rogers.


The anticipation is frequently almost as sweet as the consummation of the moment when what I’ve dreamed of is at last in hand. But I promise, Santa, I will not grow tired of these toys. I will not break them. And I will, most definitely, continue to play with them over and over and over again, for years to come.

Reduce, reuse…

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I’m not going to harp on this long, because you’ve heard it before, and I sort of suspect I may be the only one that really gives a damn. But I notice with Rock Hard Wrestling’s newest release that BG East’s Skip Vance has entered the ranks of the recycled homoerotic wrestlers, showing up for RHW as Jeff Hollister.
 

One promoter has suggested to me privately that there really is a relatively small pool of fit, hard hunks willing to strip to nothing (or next to nothing) and wrestle for a primarily gay wrestling fetish audience. Can this really be true? Of course, not everyone has what it takes to make a go of it in homoerotic wrestling, and I’m sure if you’re just looking to moonlight, being immortalized in digital recording in a scenario with at least a nod to eroticism could very well have implications for any other career.

But on the other hand, I have a hard time entirely believing that the pool of young, randy hard bodies itching to capitalize on their six pack abs is quite so tiny. I’m not trying to imply anything at all against the hardworking hunks who’re signing on the dotted line for multiple wrestling fetish operations. Cameron Mathews, Rio Garza, Zack Johnathan, and more recently Donnie Drake, Paul Hudson… the list goes on and on. Ride the horse as far as it’ll take you boys, and more power to you.

But personally, I definitely have a preference for two other personnel management strategies over the promotion of the same boys, often fighting the same boys, often released around the same time. First, I’m a fan of character development. The erotic potential of tracking a homoerotic wrestling character over time is what can transform a wrestling fetish product from a quick top off into actual entertainment. I like it when a homoerotic wrestler has a good working relationship with a given promotion such that he can stick around for multiple products over time, and his aptitudes can be understood, appreciated, evolved and built into a story. My dollar and cents will tend to get invested there.

Second, when I catch a hot, fresh face showing me something new, I’m often eager to jump on that train as well. I hope that I’m not alone when I invest in the end product of good, old fashioned talent recruitment and development. If I am alone, perhaps that explains the penchant these days to reduce, reuse and recycle a few boys from company to company.

Much farther down my list of what I’m looking for in new releases are familiar faces only slightly retooled and packaged with a new return address label. All this chatter from me, I realize, is probably overkill for a product I haven’t even seen yet. In fact, Jeff/Skip’s opponent for RHW, Max Powers, looks like he may be exactly the fresh, hot new element that I’m talking about. And I’m not even going to bother dissecting whether Skip/Jeff compromises the promise of exclusively handsome, rock hard Abercrombie boys populating the RHW world. I’m just feeling the need to grouse a little. That’s for cutting me a little slack.

Short and Sweet

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My nose remains to the grindstone this weekend, so I’m just coming up for air long enough to post another something short and sweet.

My very favorite example of short and sweet these days is Denny Cartier. The way that Denny wrestles, I don’t really think of him being as short as 5’5″. When he was paired up with Joe Robbins in Catch Weight 2 as the one climbing uphill, it actually sort of caught me by surprise. Of course nearly anyone would look small standing next to 6’2″, 240 pound bruiser Joe. Frankly, though, there’s just something about Denny’s presence that makes him seem on a level playing field even climbing into the ring with the likes of Joe. Denny moves like water, has a polished command of the mats, and has a beautiful authenticity that I find extremely sexy (and very tasty-sweet).

Another hot little morsel is Jonny Firestorm. Unlike Denny, somehow I’m always aware that Jonny is a modest 5’5″ and 145 pounds (when he’s shredded). And that’s precisely what makes the quality of his wrestling so enjoyable. Stand him up next to 6′, 175 pound TJ Tanner, and from a distance, this looks like it could get ugly. With a weight and reach advantage like that, knowing nothing else, smart money has to be on TJ to manhandle his little opponent.

But Jonny is all business, with an attitude that dwarfs TJ.  The story of the underestimated giant killer, particularly when he’s tight, shredded, and loaded for bear, is a major turn on for me.

Myke Mars in another one that I’ve seen in action, and somehow didn’t quite register the notable fact that he’s just 5’5″ and 150 pounds. My strong suspicion is that I’m not likely to notice anything other than that extremely aesthetically pleasing, round ass of his, particularly once he gets stripped to a thong. 
Gabriel Ross measures in at perhaps the shortest recurring character in the homoerotic wrestling biz, standing a reportedly 5’4″ and 135 pounds. Gabriel has the face of a perpetually juvenile angel to match his modest stature. That’s where the angelic comparison ends, though. He’s tenacious and perpetually looking to sexually dominate. I’ve only seen one of his matches, which devolves too quickly from wrestling into pillow play for my tastes, but it’s hard to argue that Gabriel is a prime example of short-and-sweet.
Finally, I think Rob Chandler will definitely qualify for my short and sweet rankings, though I haven’t seen him in action to know just how sweet. I love his look, including the tats and the shredded physique built for destruction. At 5’5″ and 143 pounds, he packs a whole lot of domination story into a compact container. Once I save my pennies and own him in motion, I suspect Rob will be sweet indeed.

The Flex

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Lately, I’ve been drawn to strength. What’s getting my engine running is the powerful squeeze that makes a captured man gasp, or the brutal slam that even makes my head rattle just watching it. That said, I’ve also been reminded lately that I’m not a fan of musclebound bodies that are so massively developed that a bodybuilder can’t scratch his own nose because his biceps keep getting in the way. That just seems maladaptive and, frankly, not so sexy.
Flexibility is a grosslyundervalued aspect of physical health in general, and in wrestling, it’s even more important. Tolerances for pain and prying, twisting and turning are calibrated precisely to the hard-achieved flexibility of a wrestler. The same guillotine that makes one man scream a frantic submission may be endured, at least for a time, by a more flexible body not so easily pressed to the breaking point.
When I think of flexibility and the homoerotic wrestler, Paul Perris inevitably pops into my brain first. Paul always managed to work the splits into his matches, and really, why not? It’s like a dog licking his own balls… if you or I could physically manage that feat, wouldn’t we be caught doing it ALL the time, wouldn’t we? Anyway, back to Paul… his splits provided a means of delivering punishment to Paul and receiving punishment from Paul. He frequently seemed to enjoy sliding down into splits, particularly in his oil matches, as he tortured his opponent in, say, a full nelson. I don’t see how the splits really added anything to the wrestling, but they were stunning, nonetheless, and they offered fascinating angles to view his muscleboy bubblebutt. Frequently, Paul would be ruthlessly captured by his opponents who would manage to spread his legs freakishly wide as Paul sold some sweet suffering. On those rare occasions he was matched with an equally flexible musclegod like Roman Stone (which he did 3 times), Paul seemed to relish throwing in some split-torture of his own.

Once I’ve managed to stop fixating on an oiled Paul Perris in the splits, my second fondest wrestling contortionist is Brad Rochelle.

Brad’s flexibility is probably easy to overlook. You aren’t alone in being completely intoxicated by the stunning beauty of his muscled physique. His proportions and power are what can sell a still of Brad any day. And speaking of selling, his salesmanship is second to no one’s as far as I’m concerned. But in appreciating Brad matches, it has to be acknowledged, he was one twist-tie of a man.

This is probably why Brad-as-jobber commands such a fanatical following full 2 years after the last match was released with Brad. His flexibility made his capture and torture astonishing to behold. He could be pried so far past the point of normal flexibility, that you couldn’t help but be amazed and fully on board with the notion that he was suffering well beyond the pale.

All this to say that flexibility has got to be the motor oil lubricating my wrestling kink engine. I like ’em big and powerful, no doubt. But I need to see them bend, too. Clearly, I need to get back into yoga.

The Agony and the Ecstasy

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I don’t mind watching hot guys who can’t wrestle… sometimes. Every so often it can just be about gorgeous guys, minimal gear, and going through the motions of what wrestling sort of looks like. I don’t have to believe it. I’ve got an active imagination, and I can suspend disbelief as necessary for the sake of entertainment. But it’s a treasure when I come across a match that meets me more than halfway. When the boys sell me without me having to squint my eyes and pretend I didn’t see all those pulled punches, I’m a very happy camper indeed.
At face value, Submission 8 makes me skeptical. The boys involved aren’t in the upper echelons of my favorite homoerotic wrestling rankings. Jonny Firestorm is in his beefy, hairy incarnation, and though I’m not nearly as fanatical about it as some of the commentators at the BGE discussion group, I tend to get more of a kick out of Jonny tighter and trimmer. This is my first chance to see Skip Vance in action. He possesses such a boyish look about him that it almost puts me off. His level of fitness is astonishing and speaks to more maturity than shows on his face. And there’s something about his tanlineless ass that’s a bit captivating. But frankly, I tend to objectify wrestlers with more size and a little more mature look about them.
Thirty seconds into the match, I don’t care about any of that crap at all. Skip fesses up that he’s “all about the looks,” and it’s all down hill for him from that point forward. Jonny has fantastic skills. He focuses on the task at hand, and he takes the opportunity to illustrate, using Skip as his helpless sparring dummy, a catalog of holds and maneuvers he’s mastered.

Frankly, even all that sort of fades into the background as this match progresses. What’s absolutely fascinating about this match is that I totally believe that Skip is on the receiving end of a boatload of hurtin’. This works for many reasons, of course. Jonny has the skill and self-confidence to twist, toss, pry and pummel Skip to the very edge of physical tolerances. Jonny obviously understands how far joints can be pulled before they pop… how much tension bones can carry before they snap… how far he can push an über-flexible dancerboy like Skip before he’s done actual, acute damage.
This also works because Skip suffers so sweetly. He’s getting bullied and beaten senseless, and he shows it. Early on, when he still has some shred of dignity left (he’s only submitted three of four times at this point), he gets mad when Jonny refuses to release the hold in which Skip has just gasped out his most recent submission. “All right, all right, all right! I give! Fuck! I said I give!!” he snaps angrily.
Skip’s bruised ego gives way to a tone of fear in his voice as he’s forced to submit over and over again. Jonny keeps toying with him, sometimes letting him breathe a few seconds before renewing the assault, sometimes not. Skip’s last gasp of indignation comes when Jonny makes him count out his own three-count pin. After that, Skip’s voice starts to sound a little desperate as he begins to get the picture that Jonny is playing by his own rules. Stretched out in a backbreaker with Jonny clawing at his balls, Skip sputters and coughs, his voice rising an octave. “Oh, fuck!” he pleads. “I give! I GIVE!!!”
Pleading turns to sobs and screams. Sometimes Skip frantically tries to bat Jonny away, squirming desperately to stay free for a precious few more seconds of relief. At one point, Skip has his head in his hands, desperately gasping, “I want a break. I need a break. Just give me a couple of minutes. Fuck, I’m hurtin’…” Jonny’s definition of “a break” is clearly different than Skip’s, though.
Sometimes, Skip looks like he’s trying to play possum, just desperately hoping that Jonny will let the torture session come to a close. But Jonny is relentless. Skip’s entire body is shaking with sobs as he cries, “Just stop. Just stop….” Like a true sadist, Jonny only stops when the pretty boy physically can’t cry any longer.
I genuinely feel a little anxious for Young Skip in this match. He’s suffering so convincingly, it manages to tweak both my empathy and my wrestling kink at the same time. I’m torn, wanting Jonny to keep teaching that lesson and wanting him to give the completely outmatched kid a break. In the end, I’m happy to say that I got sucked into the moment. Skip and Jonny meet me more than halfway. I’m provoked at multiple levels, and that’s a whole lot deeper than I typically expect from homoerotic wrestling. Nice work, boys.