Making Jake


Jake Jenkins has captured the hearts and stoked the crotches of countless homoerotic wrestling fans in the past few years. His charms are both obvious and subtle. He’s gorgeous to look at under any circumstance. But he’s also prolific and varied in his delivery of wrestling drama. So I’ve strolled through the many splendored thing that is JJ’s wrestling filmography and finally arrived at the really tough part of the alphabet. Some of these final entries in Making Jake are weak, I’m the first to admit. But cut me some slack. The options for descriptors that start with the letter X are x-tremely limited.  From U to Z, here’s my take on Making Jake…

jakeunconciousunconscious. Perennially dangerous and with inexhaustible tenacity, many opponents have been simply stunned by the energizer-bunny quality of Jake. Even when you’ve got him down, just try counting him out. With the muscle and the body awareness he’s got, he’ll slip out of your fingers 9 times out of 10. What’s an opponent to do to once and for all not just put, but keep him down? An elite few know you very well may have to make Jake unconscious!


vertical. Jake fans know that his athleticism is second to none. JJ flies. He does handstands. He flips and twists and slams and stomps. He’s perfectly balanced between grace and brutality. That goes for both pitching and catching. Opponent’s can do astonishing things with JJ’s incredibly fit, flexible, agile, compact muscle body because he’s in such incredible shape he can take astonishing beatings and live to tell the tale. For example, Jonny Firestorm managed to contort JJ’s body into positions and shapes I’ve never seen before, each one more breathtaking and beautiful than the last. There’s something just awe inspiring about watching that moment when an expert heel doesn’t just control Jake’s body, he doesn’t just hold JJ’s life in his hands, he makes Jake vertical.


wet. I’ve got a major thing for wrestlers that work up a heavy lather of sweat, and Jake can definitely get there. When droplets make his muscles twinkle and his bulges glisten, Jake is transported into another realm, joining a pantheon of immortal gladiators demanding to be worshipped as celestial beings. As Ethan Andrews proved, JJ also looks damn good with a bottle of water poured onto him in the middle of the ring, piling humiliation onto defeat. Thankfully it’s never come to this, but it just wouldn’t be a full on JJ match if his opponent didn’t make Jake wet.


x-rated. Okay, so here’s where you must cut me slack, because I know full well that Jake’s wrestling filmography is PG-13, at best, and that’s only if you have a fundamentalist Christian prude on your ratings board. True, JJ did dally briefly under another name in some full frontal solo work for a beefcake company, but formally speaking, that wasn’t “Jake.” But thank the wrestling gods JJ has been wrestled out of his singlets and trunks on just a few occasions, leaving him in nothing but a sweat soaked jock strap. The briefest glimpse, barely more than innuendo, of his exposed hole exponentiates JJ’s overall homoerotic sexiness across the board. There’s not an inch of him that doesn’t deserve awed worship, but there’s something just for gay wrestling fans when a match makes Jake x-rated.


yelp. I’ve said it before, but let’s review it again. Jake is a cool customer. He’s got a sharp wit and a razor tongue, but the quantity of what comes out of his mouth in a match is perpetually restrained. He sells pain most often silently, or at most, with anguish welling up behind a wall of ironclad self-control. So it’s a special treat when an opponent not only drives Jake to the edge of busting through that wall, but managed to squeeze just right and make Jake yelp.

jakezealouszealous. Jake embodies many different characters. At Rock Hard Wrestling he started as a brutal heel. At BG East, he’s been a beautiful babyface, a stern initiator and a stunned jobber in various combinations. There’s something achingly hot, though, about Jake as a valiant jock, as certain in the virtue of hard work as he is in the scales of justice tilting his way in bringing victory as reward for his earnestness. On just a couple of occasions, JJ has flashed that wide-eyed, broad smile, wrapped himself in patriotism, and flung himself face first into harm’s way trusting in the rightness of his convictions to weather the storms of dirty tricks and dastardly deviousness hurled back at him. That earnestness is misplaced, of course. This is professional wrestling we’re talking about. But there’s something deeply evocative when a certain gear choice, or a particular partner, or specific opponent manages to make Jake zealous.

Well there you have it. I struggled to select among many excellent option for most letters of the alphabet in attempting to capture the range and depth of Jake Jenkins, so I may very well go around the circuit all over again some day.  But first, there’s a certain 3-time homoerotic wrestler of the month who has his own parallel series that I need to pay attention to. Now that I’ve found Eli Black’s most recent work at UCW, I’m obsessed with exactly what it is that evokes the enthralling essence of Eli.


It’s been a couple months now, but I’m just now finding some time to talk about a Rock Hard Wrestling match from this summer that got my engine revving.  Billed as “Picture Perfect Muscle Match,” the foursome squeezed into the RHW ring epitomize the founding charter of RHW, featuring “rock hard bodies, fitness model looks, and skilled athletic abilities.” The formula is pristine, the messaging crystal clear, and the execution perfectly on mark. But the little moments of added value are what make me take the most delight in this tag team melee.

Brian Baker goes for a ride in Brodie Fisher’s arms, as constant trash talker Josh Steel mouths off to Alex Waters in the opposite corner.

First, the explicit heel-team of this confrontation: Josh Steel and Brian Baker. They’re contemptuous, smirking, sneering muscleboys with badboy ink and dominating size. Josh’s ass is as mouthwatering as ever, suction-packed beautifully in his white trunks. Brian, the “jolly green giant” as their opponents call him, is stunningly beautiful at 6’4″ and 205 pounds. They perch in their corner making fun of their shorter opponents before the match begins, clearly not impressed with the show of muscle and strength the babyfaces across the ring demonstrate as they warm up. “It’s not just show!” Brodie shouts angrily. “We got a lot of go, too!”  Smart ass Josh puts his hand to his ear and looks confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you with all that Canada in your mouth,” he taunts, making fun of the Canuck’s accent.

Alex Waters takes a moment to savor his opponent’s suffering as Brodie Fisher eggs Alex on from the ring apron.

Their opponents are a vision of earnestness, muscles pumped, bodies bronzed, matching singlets with straps pulled down to show off the rippling torsos. Two classic babyface beauties so similar in size and build they could easily pass for a brother act. Brodie Fisher is the anchor, clearly in charge, calling the shots, and setting the pace. Alex Waters isn’t far behind, however. Not quite as profuse a trash talker as Brodie, he is nevertheless quite a nice bookend for this fratboy, babyface tag team pairing. They are full of mutual appreciation for each other, as evidenced by their insistence on using their iphones to snap shots of each other posing before the match, showing off their beautifully pumped muscles in preparation for victory. The fact that they snap each other’s photos with their own phones (Brodie capturing Alex’ flexing muscles in his photo gallery, and vice versa) tweaks my kink a bit, with the suggestion that they each want a souvenir shot of the other.

Heels do what heels do best.

Again, the formula is incredibly sweet. The bodies are simply stunning to watch, everyone getting his turn suffering a double team, beautiful bodies brutalized, muscles dominated. Sneering Josh and Brian prove early that they’re more than ready to take short cuts and exploit “the rules,” with giant Brian trapping Alex in the ropes for Josh to pound the shit out of his abs with fists, stomps, and a head butt. The babyface heroes call them “cheaters,” but we didn’t need the scripting there. They’re both bigger and more lowdown than the fratboys, meaning the babyface heroes are going to be faced with a moment of truth. Climb down in the muck with them, or get seriously fucked up.

Babyface fratboys aren’t afraid to cut corners to level the playing field.

The babyface beauties don’t really require a lot of coaxing really. They restrain themselves from double teaming very early on, but once the heels open the door, the fratboys rush into rule bending territory quickly. Consummate trashtalker Josh gets most of the double teaming, because that smart mouth (and luscious ass) demand the focused attention from the wonder twins. Gorgeous giant Brian, on the other hand, just gets brutalized straight up, little double-teaming required. He’s fucking slow on his feet, and both Brodie and Alex make mincemeat out of this side of beef. He’s slammed to his back about 3 dozens times, but it’s the scoop up in the arms that makes me gasp most. Seeing a 6’4″ hunk hoisted helplessly in the air and paraded about the ring by guys literally half a foot shorter is an incredible display of musclehunk domination. Flop-haired towering beauty Brian is fucking lucky to have vicious little viper Josh in his corner, because Brian gets singlehandedly (then a double team, just to rub it in) owned by the wonder twins.

Collecting trophies.

When Brodie buttons up big Brian in a kneeling surfboard for the first fall submission, here’s where the value added components start to add up quickly for me.  In their respective corners, Alex taunts notorious trashtalker Josh. “You like that shit!?” he asks Josh. “You like your partner getting his ass kicked?!”  Josh is incensed, barking back, “Why don’t you come over here and talk to me!?” Brodie clearly likes that shit, because he barks at his Alex to grab an iphone and capture Brian’s moment of humiliation on camera. Brian gives, but it won’t count until Alex has snapped the moment the words are spoken. All that mighty muscle is stretched out, locked up, and forced to suffer, and Brodie wants to capture forever his handiwork.  He clearly wants to come back to this moment later, and soak in the sight of what he’s done to the once smirking skyscraper. Brutalized and humiliated, Brian has no choice. He gives on command, with the camera snapping it up for Brodie to savor later.

Smile for the camera, bitch!

This is not a squash, by any means. There’s just too much muscle and athleticism for this to lean just one way. Big Brian is still learning how to capitalize on this insanely long limbs, but he gets in a few hot moments of fratboy beatdown. Josh is the steam engine on the heel side of things, though, instantly grabbing momentum with both hands every time he’s tagged in. But the collegiate standouts from Wrestle U. have got the taste for short cuts on the way to muscle domination, and slowly but surely the tide turns their way. Josh takes a dump truck full of abuse for all that trash talk, all those sneers, all the insults and slights and laughter. Alex ties him up in a crucifix across his back, leaving Josh’s pornstar quality muscled torso stretched out like a turkey ready for carving. Brodie is clearly so turned on by the sight that he, once again, insists on capturing the moment on his iphone. The once smirking muscle stud badass wails out his submission, and all Brodie can think is to capture precisely that moment on camera to be able to come back again and again and roll around the taste of total victory in his mouth.


That’s right, heels crushed in two straight totally humiliating submissions with the handsome fratboys snagging trophies of their victory to take home with them. Holy fuck! Babyface retribution, heroes dabbling on the dark side, the insistence on claiming personal momentos to savor their muscle domination over smart ass bullies… damn, yes!  Wonder twin powers, activate!

Promises, Promises

The headline read, “Porn star rivals in pro wrestling grudge match until one of them is stripped and left crushed in the ring.” Okay, so the “headline” of Rock Hard Wrestling’s newest match between Josh Steel and Luke Harrison didn’t actually read that way. Pretty much all those words are in the online match description, however, so it should come as little surprise to anyone that I was instantly sucked in. RHW has excelled at extremely high production quality professional wrestling between hardbodied young hotties, which is admittedly an excellent foundation for a homoerotic wrestling audience. However, they’ve steered clear of too much overt acknowledgement of the homoerotic aspect of their appeal. They have definitely always described their wrestlers in lustful terms, and the matches hit some major marks for implicit erotic domination and submission themes. But to see them play up a “porn star rivals” storyline and title the production “Stripped” seems like a promising and provocative turn that most certainly grabbed my attention and wallet. I’m not expecting Naked Kombat, though I’d go ape shit for RHW to indulge in rip-n-strip wrestling between hard-in-all-the-right-places wrestlers with a loser-gets-humiliated-and-fucked final round of action. Honestly, though, I’m not expecting the RHW we’ve grown to know over the past few years to veer quite that explicit. But naming the boys as rival porn stars and promising one of them will get stripped is definitely a huge step in the right direction, I’m thinking.

This is Luke Harrison’s debut with RHW, and as far as I know, his debut in wrestling for pay (please someone, correct me if I’m wrong). He’s extremely lean, and yes, I’ll even say it, he’s downright skinny, particularly once seen side by side with the bulging pecs of muscleboy Josh Steel. Luke is, however, not without a strong appeal, not in small part from the fact that he’s a dead ringer for Topher Grace’s little brother (not that I know whether Topher has a little brother… but if he did, I’d bet money he looks just like young Luke). Put Topher Grace in a singlet, straps down around his waist, and toss his fine ass into a professional wrestling ring, and I’m feasting for days. Luke strokes some of the same notes that Topher does for me, and he tweaks a certain skinny-kid retribution fantasy in me (in which a handsome adolescent boy gets bullied in school and then opens up a can of whoop ass on his bully’s ass once they’re of the age of majority), so I’m quite pleased with the graceful, lean young stud. Supporting my skinny-nerd-retribution fantasy is the high-pitched, nasally Southern twang Luke communicates with. This porn star was called a sissy back in the day, I’d bet money. Yeah, I’d love to see Luke crush a big, bad bully’s balls and slap his porn star cock in the stunned stud’s face!

Josh Steel on the other hand is a freak of nature! Damn, damn, damn the boy’s got insane proportions. The long, stunningly lean torso tapered into a wasp-thin waist, sitting so, so pretty atop a meaty, muscle-bubble butt and powerful legs is along the realm of fantasy-man wrestling. But those g-g-g-gorgeous pecs of his are clearly ripped straight off of a comic book superhero! The incredibly hot, bold, beautiful indigo tat on his right upper arm is so entirely up my alley, and the fact that he’s wearing lickably snug trunks that match his tat make me deeply intrigued with the picture perfect aesthetics he presents. In still frame, I fucking love this kid! Then he opens his mouth, wipes the shaggy mop of bangs off his brow, and slaps down some Southern-twangy narcissistic high-school-bully-turned-internet-wrestling-bully baritone trash talk, and I fucking HATE this kid! I mean, he’s a fantastic package, made that much more fantastic by the fact that he instantly raises within me hardcore contempt. Josh is instantly a most excellent pro wrestling character, grabbing my cock at the same time he grabs my infatuation with a compelling story. And what’s the compelling story he ignites with me the instant he curls his lip and rolls his eyes at little Luke? Good God, I want Josh’s glorious ass beat, spanked, and let’s put that Naked Kombat sex round in the mix to show him ridden like a donkey and fucked 9 ways to Sunday!

Check the RHW web description of this match for more of the steamy banter that these two hormone buckets dish out, because I’m happy to see their match descriptions focusing extensively on the dialogue you know I love so much. There’s plenty of withering assessments of each other’s wrestling and bodies. “You call this a bow and arrow?” Josh snarls at one point as Luke does an admirable job of displaying the cocky muscleboy in precisely that hold. “Bitch and arrow!” Josh snarls in contempt of the minimal damage Luke inflicts. And true enough, despite Luke owning the momentum through the majority of the first fall, he’s clearly not doing much damage. Putting on a clinic of pro wrestling holds, Luke then suddenly finds the powerpacked musclebody he’s been pounding on turning to offense on a dime (okay, a little too quickly for the sake of suspending disbelief, which is a frequent criticism of RHW I have). “You think you’re a wrestler!?” Josh laughs in precisely the rumbling tone of voice of a high school bully. “That’s so fucking funny!” And just like the high school bully, Josh delights in locking on a shoulder-wrenching hammerlock and tossing his skinny opponent around, force-feeding Luke the mat (to be fair, Luke did this first on his mop-top opponent, setting up the moment of sweet revenge). But it’s Luke’s “skinny” legs that Josh targets with most of his fury, pounding, stomping, twisting, grinding them. He’s set up his “porn star rival” quite adeptly by the time he delicately laces his sculpted, muscular legs around Luke’s in a figure-4 leglock, so it’s no wonder that the skinny kid taps out quickly, clearly in a panic. Fuck. That fucking muscle stud bully won the first fall. I HATE that kid (in a good way)!

Watching Josh’s smooth bulges turn red with effort and grow slick with sweat is undeniably arousing. I can forget for a while how much I have an instant lustful desire to watch his beautiful body get fucked up, because watching that body flex and stretch as he grunts and groans in the driver’s seat is just plain hot. “Like that!?” he laughs, grinding Luke’s skull between his sculpted arm and ribcage in a humiliating headlock. “Gonna walk with me like my dog!? Gonna heel?!” When he wraps his legs around Topher’s little brother’s midsection and starts pounding the crap out of the kid’s lean chest, I have to admit that I’m suddenly forgetting about my bully-revenge fantasy for a moment and wondering how I can sign up for that ride snuggled up so nice and tight against Josh’s crotch. “You can’t move that!” Josh crows as Luke tries to pry his legs off of him. “You can’t move steel!” So sure, I had an instant lustful fantasy to see narcissist muscleboy Josh get a dose of humbling domination from Luke, but despite myself, I’m getting totally turned on watching him own his rival, particularly as his mop-top grows heavier with sweat. “Come on, cry for me. Scream!” he says, and then laughs when he makes the skinny kid do just that.

But then when Luke rallies to scoop the flat-footed muscle boy up and parade him around the ring helplessly again, my bully-revenge fantasy kicks into overdrive once more. Luke’s a little raw, not able to finish executing a Boston crab attempt, looking a little at a loss for offense. I feel for the kid. A big, muscled beauty momentarily at your mercy… where to start!? Tenderizing all that beef with repeated stomps is a good place. Grinding Josh’s face into the mat with fistfuls of his shaggy, dishwater blond hair is an excellent development as well. “Did you ever wrestle?” high-pitched Southern skinny boy Luke asks, owning his bulging opponent. “Yeah,” smart ass Josh replies, “I wrestled your mom last night!” Note to self: don’t insult Luke Harrison’s mom. The kid goes ape shit all over Josh’s body until pretty much every one of his aesthetically perfected muscles is quivering and helpless. Then when he pounds the sculpted muscleboy’s lower back down across his knee in an OTK backbreaker, with Josh’s blue bulge quivering, his soaked mop top shaking, his carved pecs now bright red from the fists pounding into them, my bully-slayer gets the equalizer submission and drops the mountain of meat to the mat in disgust. “Are you okay?” Luke feigns concern. “Is you’re back okay?” he asks, a half a second before stomping his boot into the muscleboy’s lower back again. Hell. Yes.

The final fall (or “round” in RHW terms) has a bit of sweet drama about it. “I must’ve underestimated you,” Josh grudgingly admits as they start the final and decisive fall. When he gets the upperhand and unleashes a flurry of boot strikes on an already down Luke, the skinny kid sneers up at him having already achieved a minor victory. “Somebody’s mad!” he chuckles, celebrating on behalf of all of us who’ve been bullied by bigger, meaner, stronger, supremely condescending bad asses who would hate to admit that their prey managed to get under their skin. When he’s worked up a head of steam, Josh’s mouthwatering pecs heave and swell hypnotically. His body, particularly his back, shines with sweat. He watches Luke grovel, struggling to peel his face off the mat where he’s been slammed brutally. “I like it when you wheeze when you hit the mat!” Josh laughs like the fantastically gorgeous sadistic bastard he is. The final fall teeters back and forth as the young ‘uns do their best to sell us on classic pro wrestling suspense. My muscle-bully-retribution fantasy evaporates when Luke finally can’t peel himself back up off the mat. He’s crushed, wasted. He’s rung some satisfying concessions out of steel-cored Josh, but between Josh’s deeper reservoir of ring experience and his significant advantage in size and strength, Luke cannot pull it off. Far from some behind the dumpsters in the back of the high school squash, though, he’s done my bully-bashing fantasy proud. He’s not just earned respect, he’s rung it with both hands out of the tantalizingly tasty fantasy body of his rival. Josh “wins,” but the skinny, Southern sissy boy forced a different story out of him than the old throw-the-helpless-skinny-nerd-in-the-dumpster nightmare.

I have to quibble about a few things, as is my self-appointed prerogative as consumer and critic. First of all, and most obviously, if you’re planning on purchasing this in order to see either “porn star” wrestler stripped naked, stop right there. The stripping that happens is when exhausted Luke gets his singlet (and according to Josh, his “dignity”) stripped off of his legs, leaving Luke sprawled out in the middle of the ring IN HIS CALVIN KLEIN BRIEFS. Now, the act of stripping is, itself, hot, even when not down to bare skin, but I would caution anyone who buys what I think is arguably an oversell that by the end of this match you’ll see a porn star naked in the ring. Doesn’t happen, and I feel just a little toyed with, I have to say.

My second knock against this match is the wrestling itself. The trade off for an RHW match between painfully young pretty boys can often be some woodenness, telegraphed action, weak sell, and lack of wrestling creativity. In this case, in particular I find fault with the pacing (both boys sell suffering nicely, but then instantly stand up straight when it’s their “turn” on offense and suddenly are fresh as daisies), and with several moments of Luke’s newbie paralysis. Played a little differently, his blown Boston crab and anxious struggle to figure out what to do next when he’s got Josh on his heels could be a sweet little point in the drama. But it comes across here as mostly a rook who forgets his lines. My most vehement criticism is the fact that despite schoolboy pinning his comic book character opponent and owning him for considerable riding time, not once does he sink his claws into those bouncing baby pecs of Josh. Not once does he trap the sculpted stud in the ropes and wail on all those muscles. Finally, while I love the tempting tidbit that these guys could be porn star rivals, other than an initial “don’t I know you” banter when Josh first arrives at ringside, there’s nothing in the drama itself to play up the erotic content that these two do porn. Josh pulls a “I had your momma” insult, but if RHW is interested in talking directly to their homoerotic wrestling fans, let’s see the porn stars acknowledge “You didn’t squirm this much when my monster cock was up that bubble butt last month!”

Just increasing the erotic content of the drama would make me feel a little less used as a result of my knee jerk reaction to seeing the phrase “porn star rivals” in the match description. Of course, if RHW ever decides to tape an actual strip stakes match, if they ever present us with a naked pony ride around the RHW ring and one porn star force fed the jack hammer of the stud who bested him, then I’m buying a lifetime subscription!