The Heat Is On

Having recently moved, I’m getting accustomed to a lot of new things. The weatherman keeps reporting on “thund-uh-stoams.” There are apparently 100 ticks for every human being in the region. And it’s fucking hot.

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Mitch Colby & Tyrell Tomsen in Wet & Wild 3

That last part makes me rethink my decision to ignore places with swimming pools in my housing search when I moved here a month and a half ago. I’ve always thought of pools as a pain in the ass. And, honestly, this climate calls for outdoor pools no more than about 25% of the year, so it seemed like a waste. But damn.  It’s fucking hot.

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Jersey & Frey in Water Wars 4

I’m sure I’ve posted here about my ambivalence about the swimming pool genre in homoerotic wrestling, but I’m too lazy right now to look it up for you (did I mention how hot it is?). So let me just reiterate. On the con side, pool wrestling too often submerges more than half of the available eye candy. Upper bodies are privileged as the only thing we can see most of the time (and neglecting attention to hot legs is another, more global complaint I make often). There’s probably about 80% of wrestling holds that just don’t translate to a pool. A Boston crab would likely lead to manslaughter charges.

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Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor in Wet & Wild 5

But on the other end of the ambivalent spectrum, I love wet muscles. On that point, sweat, shower scenes, and oil wrestling tweak the same kink in me that pool wrestling does. There’s also something inherently playful about pool wrestling. Watching homoerotic wrestlers do it, it certainly appears to take many of them back to the same days of juvenile, carefree summers getting yelled at for horsing around in and around the pool, playfully bullying chums by seeing who can dunk the other, games of chicken, perched on top of each others’ shoulders and seeing who can topple whom.

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Kid Vicious demonstrates how standing headscissors take on a whole new significance in the pool in Wet & Wild 4

While I couldn’t stand an exclusive diet of homoerotic wrestling in the pool, like fresh corn on the cob and the sweetest of watermelons, it’s a seasonal treat that can work for me. Though I have to say I prefer it to conclude with bronzed bodies baking in the sun, making out naked poolside.

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Bodybuilders Jeff Renshaw & Brad Sargeant show of their physiques in Canadian Built Wrestle Club 3
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Mason Brooks makes an OTK (and ball claw) work on Trey Dixon in Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament
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Cole Cassidy & Rob Berlin’s muscles glisten in Wet & Wild 1
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Soaking wet horseplay between Marco Guerra & Cole Cassidy in Wet & Wild 2
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Billy Lodi grabs hold of Rafe Sanchez (mmmm, Rafe!) with everything in Catch Weight 3
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Cam Hudson & Shane McCall check-in to post match muscle play in Motel Madness 3
Everyone’s a winner after Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament
Trey Dixon & Ty Alexander heat up the pool post Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament
Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor heat back up post pool match in Wet & Wild 5

 

In Catchweight 3, the brutal wrestling was heading just one direction: into the pool.

Happy Memorial Day

I don’t have much connection to the military.  My grandfather was in the occupation forces in Japan following WWII, but other than that, I don’t think I actually know anyone with first-hand experience in the military (which is sort of amazing, really).  Other than learning a lot of dumb ass racial stereotypes that I’ve had to deprogram from after listening to my grandfather’s non-combat exploits in Japan, everything I really know about the military comes from homoerotic wrestling.

Army vet and Guy Pearce look-alike Steve Sherman

For example, BG East’s Paradise 4 taught me that army boys look like way beefed up versions of Guy Pearce, with the roundest, hottest, muscled bubble butts in the world.

This I learned from Steve Sherman flexing and pumping his hips and letting his “manager-for-the-night” (hey, I still want that job!), coat him in baby oil everywhere.

Champion of the marines, muscleman Wade Cutler

Paradise 4 also taught me that marines are, arguably, a fraction hotter than Guy Pearce look-alike army boys, with gargantuan pecs and shoulders, though perhaps not quite as juice an ass.  Wade Cutler’s buzz cut, square jaw and insanely sexy strut-n-smirk made me entirely rethink my preconceptions about marines.

Army lifts Marines and takes a long gander at that ass.

Paradise 4 further taught me that there are inter-branch rivalries between branches of the American armed forces that must be tested and tried in the only reasonable fashion: a thong-bikini oil wrestling match in front of a live audience at a gay club.

Army mounts and controls the muscle Marine.
I learned that although marine boys may look more intimidating, deliriously fuckable Guy Pearce look-alike army boys can frequently neutralize Wade Cutler’s massive muscles and put the gorgeous marine on his back…

Army in total control, publicly humiliating Marine muscles.

… and on his front, allowing Steve to humiliate the musclebound marine in front of an audience of delighted fans.

Army v Marines?  Army bumps, grinds and physically dominates!
Finally, Paradise 4 taught me that given 3 rounds of loosely refereed, excessively lubricated mat wrestling between an army boy and a musclebound marine, Steve Sherman will completely make Wade Cutler his bitch!  I would never have guessed it, but I’ve seen it for myself… many times over… such that my old VHS tape is getting worn out and threatening to break.  There’s a strip-ring rematch between these two on Hard Pros 3 that I haven’t seen, but the photos look like mouthwatering Wade Cutler’s attempt to redeem the Marines goes down in yet another humiliating, sleepered-out cold blaze of bare naked glory.
Proud Army vet Aryx Quinn
Many years later, former homoerotic wrestler of the month and interviewee here at neverland accepted the torch from fellow army vet Steve Sherman and showed up to test the fraternal rivalry once more against marine Marco Guerra in Military Muscle.  Aryx demonstrates that despite my earlier over-generalization, all army boys do not look like beefed up versions of Guy Pearce.  Some of them look like a much sexier and less religio-nutball version of Stephen Baldwin.  “Let me explain something to you, slowly, because you’re a marine,” Aryx explained to his muscled opponent.  “At BG East, the army runs the show!”
“At BG East, the army runs the show!” 
Honestly, Marco represents for the marines more competitively than Wade did.  Aryx has got a tiger by the tail as the two demonstrate what clearly is a rule: Army v Marines battles must involve strip wrestling.  The action is nastier than Steve Sherman’s 2-time beating up of Marine muscleman Wade, but again, it appears that a foundational truth is that when nuts and bare-asses are on the line, Army makes the Marines their bitches.
Boot Camp Drill Sergeant Travis teaches new recruit Tommy Cruze how it’s done.
Can-Am’s Boot Camp introduced me to exactly the tactics and techniques required to turn a blond, blue-eyed boy fresh off the farm into a lean, mean fighting machine for the red-white-and-blue.  Drill Sergeant T begins by teaching young Tommy Cruze military hand-to-hand combat. 
Military training covers all possible contingencies, including naked combat.
When your drill sergeant looks like Travis and your recruit like Tommy Cruze, perhaps it should come as no surprise that the extremely thorough fight education our soldiers undergo includes how to handle yourself when forcibly ripped and stripped out of your fatigues.  Again, obviously 1:1 military combat always gets naked.
Outranked.
I also learned why they call them “Drill Sargeants.”
Recruit Brodie handles recruit Derek Cruz in Military Locker Room

Can-Am’s Military Locker Room reinforced a few of the lessons I already learned.  For example, military training always involves rip ‘n’ strip wrestling between hardbodied hunks.

Brodie and Derek stay combat-ready.

Military Locker Room also taught me that the necessary finale to a hot and steamy soldierboy beatdown is a side-by-side jack-off session in the showers.

BG East’s Corporal John Daniels

BG East’s Corporal John Daniels’ Hunkbash 8 appearance taught me how soldier boys fare when faced with civilian thugs like notorious BG East heel, Dave Christian.  Apparently, when it’s not a military v military battle, the trunks stay on (damn it).

The people reject martial law.
And I was shocked to discover that when faced with overwhelming firepower, Corporal John crumbles like blue cheese, transforming from a commandingly barking superior into a writhing, wallowing, physically and psychologically crushed mass of gorgeous meat.  To summarize, when it’s army v marines, army wins.  When it’s army v army, rank wins.  When it’s military v civilian heel, civilian heel beats the living shit of the soldierboy.
John Magnum brings superior firepower pointed directly at civilian Philip Aubrey
But wait.  Then there’s the counter-evidence offered by Naked Kombat, pitting 6-years of military hand-to-hand combat training of aptly named John Magnum against astonishingly lean, granola munching competitive yoga pornboy Philip Aubrey.  Perhaps Magnum just outranked Corporal John Daniels, but whatever the reason, this is definitely not a hunkbash romp of crumbling military might.
John Magnum aims his artillery toward enemy lines.
It’s also not a runaway victory for marital law, either, as Magnum and Aubrey are surprisingly evenly matched throughout their NK mat match.  Magnum’s far superior fire power, however, may be the edge that Corporal Daniels just didn’t have in his civilian humiliation, because Magnum narrowly tames the hippy pornboy in the end.
Taming the civilian loser in the end.
And, it turns out, when the soldierboy comes out victorious over the civilian, all of that pent up boot camp hazing and humiliation comes pouring out all over the hippy loser.  Further lesson for me, when a soldier capitalizes on his military combat training to edge out a civilian pornboy, there will be a cock-tucked pony ride and lingering, groaning oral and anal.

I am one of the last people you’ll see draping myself in an American flag.  I spend more time shaking my head at the squandering of our beautiful combat-trained hotties in blatantly unnecessary deployments around the world than I do pledging allegiance to the flag.  But even I will admit that there is a necessary and proper role of a well-maintained military in establishing peace and security.  For those who’ve done just that, I offer my respect this Memorial Day.  And for those who’ve turned that military conditioning and training into over the top homoerotic wrestling art, I offer my enthusiastic and wholehearted gratitude.

Bard in Chaps

Brook Stetson charged his way into my first ever tie for homoerotic wrestler of the month this month, for his stunning work with co-title holder, Mitch Colby, in BG East’s Sunshine Shooters 4. I don’t think of myself as someone on the lookout for a bear daddy, but damn it all, Brook’s raw, rough, hairy sexiness is impossible to miss and seriously difficult to resist.

Sunshine Shooters 4 was my first introduction to Brook, despite his prior appearances with BG East. Of course, his tats speak to me, not to mention his thick, gorgeous muscles. But his incredible strength and fierce, irrepressible will crush and dominate Mitch is fantastic homoeroticism. He sprinkles in an expertly measured amount of cocky, humiliating banter and quarts of sweat making his skin glisten underneath his thick, sexy body hair. Often, I watch an arousing homoerotic wrestling match and can’t help but transport myself in place of one wrestler or the other, but in this case, I can’t decide who I’d rather be: Brook taking such commanding possession of Mitch’s toned, beautiful body, or Mitch, throwing everything he’s got at the behemoth in front of him and getting smacked down, and pinned underneath Brook’s hot body over and over.
Now that I’ve got a taste for Brook, I’ll need to sample his delightful resume. His mat beating of Tony Vencini looks remarkably sexy. Knowing what a sweat-pig (said lovingly) that Tony is, I have to guess that my taste for sweaty homoerotic wrestling muscles will be satiated by Mat Brats 2.
While I know that there are many of us that don’t get off on a squash, I’m always nursing a knee-jerk lust for a big v little wrestling session. Therefore, Catchweight 2, in which 145 pound Skrapper steps bravely onto the mat with 240 pound Brook, looks like a match-up made-to-order. For that matter, Skrapper’s stock has been seriously on the rise in my estimation lately (dare I say a potential lightweight contender to the favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy ranks?), but this post is about Brook, so let me just say that the Brook’s look of self-satisfied glee as he sits on Skrapper’s face and twists his tasty body like a twist-tie is deeply provocative.
Marco Guerra appears to have gotten some good licks in (metaphorically) on the big, big Brook in Sunshine Shooters 2. A big, brutally handsome, hairy hunk getting worked over is quite an impressive sight. The sight of Brook with his ego bruised, roaring back to reassert his physical dominance is also seriously arousing.
Commenting on Brook’s earning homoerotic-wrestler-of-the-month, Steve Paris helpfully pointed to some golden oldies in which Brook starred in early BG matches, wrestling as Brad Michaels. Tatless and significantly less brutish, Brook/Brad still had that unmistakably superhero/supervillain, square jaw and Marlboro Man handsomeness. And speaking of licks (literally) Steve and Joe commend High Stakes Wrestling 3 for some full-contact, no inch left unexposed homoerotic wrestling from a young Brook/Brad.
You can also snag some early Brook/Brad in BG’s Fantasy Fight 11, squaring off and unmistakably outweighed and outmuscled by his opponent, Chace Caldwell.

He also appeared in a barn-burner rip-n-strip against the classic Ren Adams in BG’s Rip ‘n Strip Wrestling 1.
My final find of Brook-as-Brad is from Zeus studios, in which he stars in Sex Wrestling 3. Here he appears to work up a fantastic sweat in a nasty give and take against BG East veteran, Dane Tarsen. I’m not sure about the timeline, but it looks to me like Sex Wrestling documents the metamorphosis of Brad into hairy, bear daddy Brook, when it comes to character, at least. 
To be honest, I felt like perhaps I was copping out when it came to naming my homoerotic wrestler of the month title as a tie this time around. I mean, Mitch is not only the top contender to re-take the title of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, but he’s always perfectly tuned to my wrestling kink tastes in both form and function. But with an entirely different form and a distinctly unique function, Brook absolutely earns his fair share of the title this month. Not only does Brook ignite my lust, he also incites a barely acknowledged bear cub fantasy within me that tempts me to leather up for Pride this summer. Indeed, he’s entirely worthy, and his body of work (not to mention his body) is world class.



This morning I watched the live broadcast of the presidential signing of the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” the U.S. military policy that has insisted that military personnel remain closeted about their sexual orientation (if they’re gay, of course). The ceremony this morning gave me chills and brought a tear to my eye. Integrating the military was a major precursor to mainstreaming civil rights discourse and laying the foundation for civil rights legislation with regard to race in this country more than 60 years ago. It was hard to argue that our citizens should fight and die  in the trenches of war, side by side regardless of race, but then return home to legalized discrimination and inequality. Perhaps, hopefully, the same mechanisms will operate with the dismantling of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”



As is my way, I feel like pushing the rock uphill just a little on this historic moment. I bought it, of course: the argument that the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is a seminal and necessary achievement in the unfolding of full citizenship for gays. But I’m not exactly thrilled with what we’re left with now that “the battle” is basically over. Because what we’re left with isn’t a metaphorical battle for votes in Washington, but a literal battle, or more precisely, a raging war in one country and an ongoing occupation in another.



I find myself on the radical fringe of gay debates frequently. I’m entirely unconvinced that obtaining “equal marriage rights,” for example, is a step forward for gays or for society. Personally, I advocate for the government to get out of the marriage business entirely.  Consistently, I think that we, “the gays,” too easily buy into the arguments that things will be better when we get what the straights now have. If what the straights now have is broken and carcinogenic, why should we be so desperate to worm our way into a share of that legacy?



In this day and age, it’s even more politically incorrect to bash the military than I’m willing to be (and that’s saying a lot!). I honestly do have deep respect for the military and the function is serves in stabilizing civilian law and order and international peace. But I find it cold comfort that gays and lesbians will soon transition from dying in Iraq and Afghanistan while closeted, to dying in Afghanistan (and still, potentially, Iraq) while openly gay. I’m glad that so many servicemen and women feel that serving openly in the military permits them dignity and wholeness. From my perspective, though, I think we would show much more dignity toward all our military if we used them only as a last resort, and if we didn’t rely on them to achieve with bullets and bombs what only the elimination of abject poverty and disenfranchisement could ever legitimately achieve.

I’m eager for the day when we critique our arrogant, bullying approach to the use of military force all together. I think the queerest thing we could do would be to demand that any war worth invading another country (or two) over should be a war that demands a draft of the populace and a full mobilization of our wartime economy. Anything less, anything more palatable and politically expedient, just cheapens the lives of the soldiers and airmen and seamen who face down the guns and bombs that we act so astonished to discover when we’ve invaded another nation. If it’s not worth mobilizing our whole nation over, then it shouldn’t be worth the lives of our standing military force, gay or straight, either.

I’m eager for the day when the gay and straight soldiers in our standing military have nothing to do but sit at home and guard the borders, clean their weapons, and remain at the ready for a day that will never come because we’ve gone truly revolutionary and waged peace with the ferocity and determination with which we wage war today.

I’m eager for the day when the only combat our boys in uniform see is wrestling with their buddies. If fatigues should be forcibly stripped in the process, so be it. If underwear should be ripped to shreds as they continue to battle naked, the pseudo-pacifist that I am, I could still live with that amount of violence in the world. If losers should be required to suck cock, I could probably cope, and frankly, truth be told, the world would be a better place for absolutely everyone if that’s the amount of mischief required of our military might.

So, thanks, elected officials, for repealing “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” You are truly brave and prophetic leaders to tackle this thorny, politically volatile subject. Now, how about doing something about alleviating misery, squalor, famine, oppression, racism, and the many other sources of suffering in the world that continue to feed the fires of extremism and bloodshed and “justify” the presence of our military around the globe? Bring our boys (especially the gay boys) home, give them absolutely nothing to fight about, and let them work out their aggression with some hot and sweaty homoerotic wrestling. Trust me. We’ll all be better off.