Tag: Kid Leopard

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.

Deserving It

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There’s a fascinating aspect to pro wrestling and, of more interest to me, the homoerotic wrestling genre, that focuses on the rules of engagement. Behavior that would be condemned outside the ring as anti-social, underhanded, or despicable can be transformed in a wrestling fantasy into it’s own brand of moral rightness. New rules apply inside the wrestling ring. As a result, we may (often) find ourselves rooting for the heel, cheering for the low blow, delighting in a battler taking sadistic advantage of a vulnerable and defeated opponent.
When Jeff Phoenix gets stood up by his tag partner, the golden boy with a crazy hot body cockily predicts that he can defeat both Jose and Cruze singlehandedly. Of course, Jose and Cruze are notorious cheaters. They’re bullies, sadists with credentials as long as their fight records, invariably happy to cut corners, pull trunks, torture opponents in the ropes, and revel in a completely unfair 2-on-1 mugging. And, frankly, from the moment handsome hardbody Jeff steps into the ring, I can’t wait to see him suffer.  He “deserves it” inside the ring in a way that doesn’t necessarily translate outside the ring. He’s too hot, too handsome, way too confident, and the only right thing to be done is for him to get beaten to a pulp, humiliated repeatedly, broken into a quivering mess in the middle of the ring, and left to pick up the pieces of his dignity. Outside the ring, a 2-on-1 cheating, humiliating beating of a hard working muscle man might seem “wrong,” but inside the ring, it’s ooooh-so-right.

If ever someone deserved it, Troy Baker did. I happily own his debut match for BG East, in which he teamed up with his brother. Troy’s character took a little while to develop, but even in that first match, we can see the seeds of his destruction. He’s beautiful. He’s stunningly built. He’s a little slow in piecing together some wrestling moves, but he’s supremely confident that his sheer strength and bright, white smile will earn him victory. In match after match, his self-love of his own beautiful body becomes his undoing, and there’s just nothing “righter” than watching him think that he’s got it in the bag, only to find himself suffering and destroyed at the hands of an “inferior” opponent.

Inside the ring, that’s the formula that demands brutal, humiliating destruction of the classic golden boy. Inside the ring, justice simply requires that a less stunningly developed, less beautiful, perhaps less “deserving” of victory heel beat the living shit out of Troy again, and again, and again. Outside the ring, good looks, blond hair, a hard, tight body, and a healthy dose of entitlement and confidence will generally be very well rewarded. Inside the ring, they require crushing defeat and prolonged humiliation.

I think the morality tales of straight-up pro probably work the same way, but I think homoerotically directed wrestling has an even more salient subtext. Someone like muscle-beautiful Zack Johnathan/Vazquez getting completely taken to school by “skinny” kid Brody Hancock, for example, lets me work out all sorts of long standing “issues” I have as a gay man. Outside the ring, the most beautiful, straight-laced, used-to-getting-their-way straight boys tend to prosper and receive more than a heaping helping of social approval. But inside the ring, at least for this gayboy, there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing the classic jock pummeled. It speaks to me powerfully to see the classic cards of strength, youth, and power stacked against an overmatched opponent, who with sheer audacity and ferocity, does whatever it takes to pull the rug out from under the muscled juggernaut. The morality tale, for me at least, has more than a hint of the skinny (or fat), disregarded and underestimated sissy who spits in the face of the bullying jock and exacts humiliating revenge for getting thrown into the lockers.

I think what’s so engaging for me about homoerotic wrestling is this notion of new rules that overturn the standard morality of polite society. Well, okay, there’s that, plus the gorgeous, hot hunks squeezing and dominating each other in (or out) of completely revealing gear that leads to or at least inspires me to imagine them fucking for days. But no, really, the chance to rewrite the rules, to turn conventional morality and wisdom on its head, makes so much of wrestling homo to me, even when no one literally gets fucked, just fucked up.

Now That’s Entertainment

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Kid Leopard stands in the center of the ring, wearing trunks, a sleeveless t-shirt, and a towel wrapped around his neck. “All right, look,” he says, “I just want to make sure we’ve got the terms straight here, so there’s no confusion. The deal is that the loser does whatever the winner says. Am I right?” The voice behind the camera confirms it. “Okay,” Kid Leopard continues to clarify, “so that means that each time – I’m not talking about the whole match – we’re talking about each time that I make this pretty boy submit that he’s got to do whatever I tell him to do?”
The voice behind the camera agrees, “That’s correct. But on the other hand, he may make you submit.” Kid Leopard smiles broadly. “That’s what I like about you, BG,” he replies. “Hope springs eternal. You haven’t found a guy to do that yet, and it sure ain’t going to be this pretty boy.”
This is a fantastic start to the extremely hot second match on X-Fights 2. This is a classic wrestling kink clinic. Kid Leopard is cocky as hell, horny as hell, and hell-bent on getting off on dominating, destroying, and owning the gorgeous Latino hunk, Chris Stone. This match has the seeds of multiple genre sub-themes that have become classic in homoerotic wrestling. There’s a gear-fetish angle. There’s S&M. There’s hunkbashing. Seven excruciatingly hot submissions would be enough to make my head swim, but it’s what occurs after the submissions that makes this match gaspingly erotic.
After a figure-4 leglock variation makes Chris submit for fall #1, KL maintains the hold long enough to stroke Chris’ truly major league ass. “Now it’s your turn to entertain me,” KL explains. “Now take something out of that bag and put it on… and entertain me.” Chris pulls out classic period-piece shredded, acid washed jeans from his gym bag in the corner. KL insists that the young stud take off his posing trunks first, giving us our first of many shots of Chris’ stunning naked ass and gorgeous tan lines, which has to be acknowledged as the award-caliber supporting role in this drama (right behind leading man, KL).
Fall #2 is the culmination of an incredible wrestling clinic. Bearhug transitions to over-the-knee backbreaker to full nelson to headlock to hangman. The bronze Latino is bewildered and beaten, suffering sweetly until he can’t take it any longer and cries out his second submission. KL peels the jeans off of his opponent, leaving him naked, sweaty, and pouting on his back in the middle of the ring. “Show me something pretty,” KL insists as he instructs Chris to change gear again. A pink thong can barely contain the beautiful young muscleboy, who stretches it to its limit when he’s caught in a Boston Crab and submits a third time. KL doesn’t let go until he’s indulgently stroked his opponent’s ass crack and grabbed his balls. KL’s treat for himself for this fall is to squeeze out a 4th submission, after which he forcefully embraces the battered hunk, kissing him passionately. This is the point at which Chris is done with the match. He sighs in resignation like a puppy put on his back. He’s ready to obey the better man. He’s done. But KL is far from done.
A ball-clawing rack makes the hopeless hunk scream submission #5. Ripping off the pink thong, KL demands submission #6 in a naked figure-4 leglock. KL demands Chris stroke himself before he’ll release him from the torturous hold. “Let’s see you suffer, pretty boy…” KL mutters to himself. “Entertain me…” he says, watching the pain on his opponent’s face, examining Chris’ tense, rippled torso, fascinated to watch Chris stroke his thick cock in humiliating obedience. Another leglock forces lucky number 7 from Chris Stone, for which KL climbs on his opponent’s back and manages an impassioned hands free frot orgasm between Chris’ stunning ass cheeks.
This is pretty nearly my definition of homoerotic wrestling. I know many of you don’t care for a squash, but this match is never about the drama of competition (though Chris manages some respectable reversals very early on in this bout). This works as fine art, telling the fantastic tale of domination and ownership, with a master storyteller entertaining himself, and us, with the humiliating destruction of a stunning bronze hunk. It just about doesn’t get much better than this for me.

Karma

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I continue to receive requests in Chinese characters to post comments to this blog with embedded links. My initial response to these requests is anger. People want to use my blog to lure others to go to nasty sites that likely infect computers with all sorts of crap that you and I don’t want. Hell, I can’t even figure out how to embed a link in a comment frame in Blogger, so someone must seriously want to create mischief to have figured it out. Disguise your mal-intent with non-Latin letters, and it’s all just irritating.

I hold out about a 2% possibility that there’s actually someone attempting to post sincere comments that are just getting all messed up by government censors, translation programs, or other technical glitches. If that 2% (at most) likelihood were the case, I’d feel sort of bad for deleting ALL your requests and thinking such malicious thoughts about you. So just to be clear, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your readership. It’s not that I have a problem with wrestling kinksters who happen to be Chinese (not AT ALL, in fact!). In case it’s all just a big misunderstanding, please accept my apologies.
In the 98% likely event that it’s malicious malware bait, I look forward to the day when karma takes a major bite out of your ass!

Classic

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I took advantage of some fire/flood sale prices at BG East recently to snag some VHS tapes way, way cheap, including a compilation tape of long, hard, hot scissors. It’s like the sampler plate at Red Lobster… a little of every headliner, tasty entree to make you salivate. What this compilation reminds me is that my kink is not satisfied by just one hold. Even the delights of a savage scissor can get old. Again, to return to food metaphors, it’s like a three course meal of all desserts. Sure, the first several bites are awesome, but the sheer lack of variety can make even chocolate cake seem boring.

Then I came upon some long scissors featured in Kid Leopard’s X-fight with ballet boy, Joey Smit. The description of this match from the website says that watching how KL “uses is feet to manipulate Smit’s big hard dick out of his bursting bulging pouch will leave you gasping.” This is truth in advertising, gentlemen. I was breathlessly awed.
KL cooks up the perfect recipe of erotic stimulation and punishing pain on poor Joey, blurring the lines between the two in just the right pacing and proportion. He has Joey’s arms nelsoned, and KL’s ankles are locked together across Joey’s lower abdomen. Joey is gasping, wincing in pain when KL hammers down on the pressure. Then, wordlessly, KL unlocks his ankles and uses the ball of his left foot to stroke Joey’s flaccid cock inside his grossly inadequate pouch. Joey groans, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Then in a flash, KL snaps his ankles together and squeezes until Joey cries out in pain.
Then again, wordlessly, KL unlocks his ankles and starts stroking Joey’s cock. Back and forth, he alternates the pain and the pleasure. Joey’s cock, God bless him, swells before our eyes. Joey clearly doesn’t require the services of an off camera fluffer to work up the obvious heat for this scenario. KL is playing the ballet boy like an accordion, pushing buttons and squeezing and making Joey irrepressibly hard. Back and forth, KL scissors and then strokes, scissors and strokes, as Joey’s cock swells and finally pops free from his pouch. As you could have guessed, he’s a big, happy boy, and his fully erect cock bobs from side to side as KL continues alternating between squeezing and stroking.

This may require me to purchase the entire match now (you sneaky marketing bastards!). This is just what I like when I’m in the mood for an X-fight. Hot, hard bodies leaving me entirely convinced of their arousal and their enthusiastic buy-in of the wrestling kink. Classic.

Never Had a Chance

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The Canadian women’s hockey team has been criticized for beating their first round opponents 18 – 0. It’s not in the spirit of the Olympics, so the story goes, to humiliate your opponents. Just beat them. What is it that goes into deciding to score those 5 goals in the 3rd period? It’s simply not about winning anymore. It’s about statement. Frankly, it’s not really about making a statement to your opponent, really. It’s about making a statement to potential opponents who might be considering taking you on. Show no mercy in utterly humiliating your outclassed opponent and tell the world you’ll fuck up anyone else who dares to go toe to toe with you, too.

A recent conversation at Ringside at Skull Island made me think some more about the wrestling squash match. Some folks just aren’t into the squash. Seeing one man completely outclass his opponent on the way to devastating humiliation doesn’t turn everyone crank.
Most often, though, it turns mine. For me, it isn’t that there’s no competitive spirit in a squash. The competition just isn’t all happening in the ring. The humiliating squash is the message sent to the arrogant punks sizing you up back in the locker room later on. When Billyboy took a jab at Brad Rochelle’s balls, Brad completely demolished the doe-eyed hunk. Brad tortured the punk far past the point of necessity as a message to the next piece of shit that might think it was worth a stab to use Brad’s testicles like a speed bag. The testosterone laced kink is the sneering challenge to the hot shot who thinks they’re ready to take you on next. Just try me, and you’ll see me unleash the merciless destruction on your ass that I’m unleashing on this piece of shit.
It’s a fascinating, titillating sight to see an eager/dumbass young hopeful climb into the ring when the rest of us know that he’s got no chance. It doesn’t have to be a mystery to be hot in my book. When Jeff Phoenix showed up without his partner for his tag team match against Jose and Cruze, the hardbody hunk was all mouth. He boasted he could beat both heels by himself. You knew and I knew that Jeff was in for complete destruction. Jose knew it. Cruze knew it. Hell, for all his bluster, Jeff knew it. The heels took their time in systematically double teaming Jeff’s muscle ass like artists, illustrating that it’s not the science of the knowing that always matters, just like it isn’t strictly the competition that tells the story in the ring. Sometimes, it’s the artful execution and merciless thrill that makes it worth it.
The demolition as art can be a beautiful thing that revs my engine. Kid Leopard’s skills have always been awe inspiring. It’s not like we can’t tell when he steps into the ring with another eager/dumbass musclehead destined for humiliation. We watch because we want to see just how he’ll go about it this time. In what way will he twist and torture the stud? What gravity defying position will he force the unsuspecting blowhard into, and how long will he toy with his victim before forcing him to finally scream in submission? How will he make us gasp and his victim cry?
Kid Vicious is the same sort of battler. The smile on his face as he crushes Joe Driver’s hhhhhuge package under his boot makes me a little lightheaded. KV sells his sadism with such mastery. His inevitable dismantling of the fresh meat dangled in front of his face is never seriously in doubt. It’s his style, his savagery, and the systematic ownership of his opponents that keeps me coming back for more. Like several voices at the BG East listserv, I’m all for a long overdue KV spotlight. I just vote to throw him at least a couple bright-eyed, hardbodied rookies who actually think that they have a chance when they step in the ring. Their shock will be my happy ending.
Finally, Mitch’s motel match against Jeremy Burk comes to mind as one more squash done right, in my book. The reigning champion for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy title, Mitch is relentless. Jeremy is his plaything from the moment he steps into the room. Mitch overpowers him and completely owns him just about every step of the way. And I turn every page eagerly, not because the climax is somehow in doubt, not because the “what” of the plot keeps me guessing, but because the how is so delightful to see unfold. Spank that punk’s ass with his own shoe, Mitch! Suspend him upside down with his head squeezed between your knees. Do those push ups on top of him, grinding your crotch into his face over and over again. I knew you could do it. I just wanted to watch. It may not be the spirit of competition, but it gets me off.

False Modesty

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Purportedly, the ancient Greeks wrestled naked. Somewhere between then and now, modesty set in and wrestlers found the need for gear. So the point of gear is modesty, covering up the “private parts,” keeping the swinging ball and chain in check. So when a wrestler finds his gear yanked, there’s something delightfully transgressive about it.
It’s generally the hard hunks like Marcus Bagwell getting some serious exposure with a trunk pull. Anyone might find a handful of nylon helpful in the ring, but somehow it’s the gorgeous muscle studs with fantastic bubble butts who seem to find themselves on the receiving end of trunk pull overexposure. I’m not complaining.

Wrestling Arsenal points out that some pros particularly proud of their posteriors clearly work in getting bare assed as part of the routine. Eddie Atlas here is captured in a moment of overacting, but it’s not like we’re critiquing him for an Oscar, now is it? We’re focused with a tunnel vision thrill on Eddie’s naked, very round ass. Dude on his back could almost certainly have found a more effective way to power-bottom, but again, I’m not complaining.

There’s undoubtedly utility in a trunk grab in many cases. In what is theoretically a pure man-vs-man competition where your only weapons are your bodies and your brains, gear can be an effective illicit addition to the arsenal. But even more satisfying in my book is the trunk pull for no purpose other than humiliation. Stoney Hooker draped across his opponent’s knee finds his trunks wedged up to his kidneys, all the better to slap his sweet white ass like the man-child his is. This hardly moves the match any closer to a pinfall… not complaining…

Sprinkle some homoeroticism into your wrestling kink, and the gear grab moves from the implicit sexuality of wrestling to explicit sexuality. Kid Leopard models complete ownership of his opponent with one hand yanking him up by his hair and the other hand lifting him by his jobber-white trunks. By the look on his face, this jobber is ready to cry out his submission. Knowing KL, the jobber’s humiliating defeat will not come one second sooner than it absolutely needs to.

In the over the top homoerotic scenario, playing with the modesty of the wrestling gear is like foreplay. It’s the glimpse of what’s hidden, the hint of things to come. BG East classic brawler, Jose, packed a cock that defied belief. When he (frequently) battled naked, his flailing python was jaw dropping (which is the appropriate position). In TagTeam Torture 1, with one my favorite finishers of all time, Jose and Cruze are thrilled sadists relishing every second of their humiliation of earnest babyface skinny boys, Patrick and Sean. When Jose backs Sean into the ropes and yanks his trunks to get better leverage on some ab pounding, Sean’s modesty is momentarily defied. It’s all foreplay, though. Just wait a few minutes, and the teasing trunk pull will be revealed as downright demure compared to what await Patrick and Sean. Again I say, one of my favorite finishers…

I really resent the muscleboy cockteasers. I’ve mentioned before how my unrequited lust for Joshua Goodman’s opened package irritates me. At least the powers that be give us glimpses of all that we’re missing with the talent that clearly doesn’t want to share (selfish bastards). Despite some nice, hard nudes of Justin Pierce available on the net, he never shares his full glory with us in the ring. Bulldog Barzini thoughtfully treats us to a glimpse of the goods, though, yanking so hard on Justin’s trunks they look like they’re about to snap (if only). It’s hardly as if Bulldog needs to resort to dirty tricks. He’s on his way to decimating the prettyboy hardbody without really needing to break a sweat. But Bulldog is a true, thoughtful gentleman who keeps us in mind as he not only beats the crap out of Justin, but humiliates him and ridicules the false modesty of his wrestling trunks.
One of the worst muscleboy cockteasers has got to be Brad Rochelle. Again, there are nudes of Brad to be had, but in the ring he guards his bits and baubles fiercely. That doesn’t stop his brutalizers from reminding us all that despite remaining covered up, there are wonders just under the covers. Sid takes a play out of KL’s book, dragging suffering Brad up by a handful of hair and a fistful of trunks, giving us the unsatisfying hint of Brad’s beautiful bare butt. So now I’m complaining… but I’ll take what I can get (particularly if it’s more Brad, please).

Gear is about modesty. It’s a concession to the repressed, body-hating culture that’s constantly trying to convince us that very specific geography of exposed skin is distasteful. Certain square footage of the human anatomy must be disguised and covered in order to make the rest of the human anatomy socially acceptable, we’re taught. So the tug at the trunks, the yank of the tights, the fistful of gear that exposes the naughty bits is a sweet moment of transgression, when particularly those of us who love the male body can flip the bird at every attempt to take the erotic out of the gorgeous male form.

The Display

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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.