Tag: Michael Vineland

Face Turn

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I thought often about the allure of the pro wrestling narrative of the heel turn: when an upstanding babyface beauty finally gets pushed too far, humiliated too much, cheated out of his just rewards once too often, and he snaps. Fuck, I love that drama. The dark side, constantly tempting and taunting, seducing and enticing, finally unmoors the boy scout from his moral compass, and all bets are off when beauty, brawn, and a disregard for the rules align into a terrifying synergy.  Think Brad Rochelle in Contract 6. Think Scott Rogers reborn as Dark Rogers.

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Turning Dark

Lately, however, I’ve been craving the opposite trajectory. I can work up a head of steam on the story of a vile, sadistic, juggernaut heel who is so out-heeled, so underhandedly brutalized, that he’s reduced to contemplating the vicissitudes of social justice even as he’s reduced to an impotent puddle of humiliation and tears. I’ve been warned by much more influential thought-leaders than I that such a story is verboten. The anti-morality tale inherent in pro wrestling narrative is loathe to witness the heel-turned-babyface. With perverse irony, the unwritten rules of pro wrestling are relatively inflexible around beatification of a formerly monstrous heel. Still, I can dream.

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Speaking of my dreams… Rusty Stevens

Rusty Stevens late career work with Can-Am scratches that itch of mine.  Rusty has been one of the sensationally sexy hunks I’ve obsessed about most on these pages. From his iconic work with Naked Kombat to his Can-Am appearances in the short-lived Arena series, Rusty owned the homoerotic wrestling heel character as persuasively and compellingly as anyone ever has, as far as I’m concerned. He was a completely graceless winner, absolutely reveling in totally humiliating opponent after opponent. He was fucking mean, unstoppable, and I still return to his magnificent heel work over and over again for chart topping satisfaction these years later.

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Rusty’s heel work for Naked Kombat was a work of art!

Even after announcing his retirement from porn, Rusty showed up back at Can-Am for a couple of appearances in their Pro Sex Fight series. While true, he’s a just little softer than at the height of his reign of terror, Rusty continues to be an insanely sexy muscle hunk with a gorgeous body, sensational cock, and sneering, snarling, supremely cocky attitude. But these years later, in the Pro Sex Fight ring, he’s far from invincible.

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Rusty stares down yet another pretty boy.

In Pro Sex Fight 5, Rusty came pec to pec with the franchise player, Michael Vineland. While I fucking love Vineland no end, climbing into the ring with Rusty highlights Michael’s weaknesses. For my tastes, he simply doesn’t sell, doesn’t own his own character, nearly as convincingly as someone like Rusty does. I think he has one of the hottest bodies wrestling today. But facing that shit-eating grin and cocky, curled lip of Rusty’s, I immediately think of Michael as seriously outclassed.

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Rusty knows he’s got this in the bag.

Of course, Rusty does, too. He’s eaten hot, sexy muscle boys with tons more wrestling experience than Michael. He has the entire canon of pro wrestling at his back, as the supreme heel who can take a younger, bigger, fitter opponent in hand and through superior experience and cunning, make him his bitch.

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Michael crushes the formerly invincible heel!

So when Michael works up a head of steam on the veteran heel, I’m absolutely gagging for it! He outfoxes and outwrestles Rusty, turning the dirty tricks and tools of diabolical humiliation back on his seasoned pro.

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Ball bashing is supposed to be Rusty’s move!

Rusty screams. He begs. He fucking cries, because a career in homoerotic wrestling has taught him that it isn’t supposed to turn out this way. His crushing humiliation isn’t fucking fair! He sold his soul to the emperor ages ago, and that was supposed to mean that he can dig deeper, be twice as vicious, and always come out in total control, than any ridiculously handsome opponent with superhero pecs and a chiseled jaw.

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It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way!

Rusty’s humiliation sends me places that I long to go to more often. If you could pick an invincible homoerotic wrestling heel to get turned, who would it be?

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Rusty Stevens is a brutalized babyface!?!

The Eyes Have It

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It’s all subjective, of course, which makes debating which homoerotic wrestlers are sexiest, most accomplished, most entertaining, etc. both a joy and a farce. Some pics of recently-released matches have been hypnotizing me with some truly gorgeous, come-hither, tantalizingly beautiful eyes. I’m sure you’d pick out a different line up to epitomize the sexiest eyes in the business, but boldly embracing the eye-of-the-beholder angle, my thoughts today are about the hunks who hold my gaze most powerfully with their piercing, provocative stares.

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There’s nothing short of exquisitely beautiful about lovely Rio Garza, but his deep, brown eyes are simply riveting!
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Gazing into Pretty Pete Sharp’s eyes are like bathing in a glacier fed mountain lake – almost too thrilling to stand!
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Thus far Vic Madone has been a one-hit-wonder at BG East, but I’m hoping to see more of him. His eyes coo, “I’m going to fuck you sweetly,” while his hot bod and nasty wrestling promise, “I’m just going to fuck you up!”
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Michael Vineland has such a hot body unquestionably made for nothing better than fuck-stakes wrestling, but he’s got the blue steel and cheekbones of a fashion model.
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Sky blue irises!? What sort of genetic lottery winner do you have to be to have the body of a Norse god, dimpled chin of a Hollywood leading man, and sky blue irises!? You have to be my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler and homoerotic wrestler of the month, Kid Karisma.
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While we’re on the topic of genetic lottery winners, there’s the perpetually fit physique phenom, Z-Man, with dramatic eyes straight out of Lawrence of Arabia.
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I once described Chace LaChance as a gogo boy, but lately he looks more like he eats gogo boys for breakfast. The boy is huge, devastatingly powerful, and aesthetically about as picture perfect for my tastes as just about anyone. But whenever I linger for just a moment on those beautiful brown eyes, I can’t help but picture them on the pillow next to me, smiling back at me in the morning.

Thank Your Lucky Stars

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It’s the day designated for expressing thanks. I certainly have a boatload of things, people, and moments to be thankful for.  But as a departure from always talking about what I like, I think today I’ll just share some choice pics of homoerotic wrestlers who give every impression of being caught right at the moment of thanking their lucky stars. Happy day, y’all.

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Randy Stanton was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet when Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) gave him the chance to wrestle for the greatly coveted secret look at what Mr. J is packing in his trunks! BG East’s Matmen 21.
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Sebastian Rios worships at the feet, the cock, the ass… well, everything of oiled and insanely luscious Rafe Sanchez (mmmmm…. Rafe….). BG East’s X-Fights 32: Caribbean Oil.
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Peter Stallion similarly looks like he may be thanking a higher power for his all access pass to Rafe (mmmmm…. Rafe….). BG East’s Wrestle Worship 1.
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Two musclemen battle for the adoration of muscle worshipper Randy Dowell, who cannot believe his luck! Wrestle Worship 2: Triple Emission.
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When is Canadian Thanksgiving? I think it’s right around the moment that Ben Monaco gets his hands on the furry, massive pecs of newbie Alain LeClair. BG East’s Mat Scraps 2.
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Rookie Frank Daly is in for a marathon of brutality and viscousness, and you can tell from the look on his face that he wouldn’t have it any other way! BG East’s X-Fights 27.
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What’s LJL to do when he finds himself commanded to worship Damien Rush’s muscles? Thank his lucky stars! BG East’s Backyard Brawls 8.
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Paul Lasalle gets to freeze frame the ring action in real life, so he gets down on his knees, strips frozen Buck Wyld of his trunks, squeezes that incredible ass, and thanks the homoerotic wrestling gods! Can-Am’s Fantasy Pro Wrestling.
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Win? Lose? What the fuck ever! Landon Mycles drops to one knee and silently prays a word of thanks for the chance to get his hands all over Michael Vineland. Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 1.
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On his knees and worshiping the physique of Kevin Crowes, Rusty Stevens is one thankful homoerotic wrestler! Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4.Buck

A Taste of Things to Cum

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Reading back over my recent posts (like a year or more), I think it’s safe to say I’ve been orally fixated lately.  My descriptions of wrestlers and matches as “delicious,” “tasty,” or “mouthwatering” have been my regular, go-to metaphors for my subjective experience of being turned on by choice homoerotic wrestling fare (see, there I go again).  Homoerotic wrestling just tastes so damn good!  Of course I don’t literally want to eat anyone (other than perhaps a couple of politicians I can think of… on toast), but I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for a long, wet, lingering lick of a wrestling hunk’s body to stimulate the taste buds.  Do you know what I mean?
BG East’s Blueboy clearly knows what I’m talking about in Masked Mayhem 4, momentarily turning always dangerous masked muscle heel Enforcer into a quivering bowl of jelly in the corner of the ring with a tongue lashing of his tantalizing nipples.  Holy shit, this photo captures so much about homoerotic wrestling that defines me!

I think there’s a bit of a stroke of genius at work at NakedKombat for incentivizing face licking.  Not a lot of the kombatants I’ve seen take advantage of available points for slathering spit across the cheeks of a locked up opponent, but Gavin Waters was one hardbodied fuck machine who seemed to relish just that.  In his May 25, 2011 tag team match with partner Nikko Alexander, Gavin to advantage of his overwhelming muscle and weight advantage to lock down lean twink scrapper Matt Singer and drive him fucking nuts by dragging his tongue all over the babyface battler’s face.  Talk about a tasty little morsel!

Matt’s partner, however, was a little too much for Gavin to pull off the same maneuver… by himself, at least.  Long-time pornboy wrestling favorite of mine, Trent Diesel had Gavin’s number both in singles and tag-team competition, and the stunningly hot tattoed stunner was not as easily subdued.  However, another NakedKombat rule permits partners a few seconds of double-team advantage moments after a tag is made, during which Gavin would enjoy the chance to lick the sweat off of Trent’s brow while Nikko picked up the baton to take his place mounted on top of the muscled stud puppy.  Fuck, Trent hated his face licked!  He squirmed like craaaazy as Gavin lapped up his salty goodness.  Hell.  And yes.

Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight series has been seriously satisfying me since it debuted a couple of years ago.  The precise balance of pro ring wrestling and overt eroticism is awfully compelling.  Tongues have been regularly on the menu starting with Pro Sex Fight 1, when massive muscle star Michael Vineland slaps down a post-victory tongue lashing on the infinitely perky, hot pecs of g-g-g-gorgeous former HWOTM here at neverland, Landon Mycles.  Landon was more a kisser than a licker, which I totally respect, but fuck-fuck-fuck, Michael working over that highly responsive nip on the blond bombshell was sweet dessert after an intensely hot main course of highly erotic ring wrestling.

When another long-time favorite wrestling pornboy of mine, Rusty Stevens, got his shot at Michael in Pro Sex Fight 5, the competitive side of things was decidedly more pronounced.  However, post-match, Rusty delivered the move that I’ve been fantasizing about for years, absolutely worshipping Michael’s massive biceps with his tongue.  Rusty isn’t exactly what I’d call someone graceful in defeat… or victory… but a lustful moment of fully engaged muscle worship from the normally smart-assed, hardbodied hot head grabs me hard.

Rusty also slapped done a tongue lashing in Pro Sex Fight 4 against angelically beautiful muscle stud, Kevin Crowes.  If he hadn’t, I’d have written a letter in protest, because if there’s any word to describe Kevin, it’s “delicious.”  Rusty totally dominates the early moments of this match, stripping the rookie pornboy naked (in this case, not a moment too soon), terrorizing and torturing the bodybeautiful stunner in the ropes, on the mat, and when thrown into the corner, licks that chiseled chin slowly.

You can tell Kevin tastes delicious, because Rusty’s tongue travels slowly down the angelic pornboy’s neck and laps aggressively across the stunner’s sweaty chest, lingering long and hard on those aesthetically perfect nips.  As an aside, this also tweaks a little bit of kink I have for seeing a wrestler stripped and dominated while his opponent has managed to still hang onto his gear.  There’s just something about that inequity, that extra dose of humiliation and dominating ownership, that makes my engine rev harder.

Kevin is no shrinking violet here, though, and when the patient pornboy finally gets an opening, he makes Rusty pay back all that trash talking muscle domination with interest.  Swarming all over the stunned veteran, Kevin uses that work of art he calls a body to press Rusty to the canvas and hold him still for a taste of glory of his own.  I can feast for days on watching Rusty Stevens dominate in that soul-withering style he has of destroying an opponent psychologically as a prelude to crushing him physically.  However, watching heaven-sent pornboy Kevin work up a serious head of steam all over my long-time favorite emeritus is incredible entertainment for my dollar.

There is also another entire subgenre of muscle licking.  The forced worship submission (“Lick my bicep, bitch!”) has it’s own story, and I can read that story over and over again and never get tired of it.  Kid Vicious, looking even buffer and more beautiful than ever in Wet and Wild 4 (can I call KV beautiful and not get my ass kicked?), forces a battered Lobolito to pay homage to his gorgeous, bulging, veiny bicep.  Unlike in the stolen tastes of muscle I mentioned above, Lobolito looks like he’s been so bashed he doesn’t quite appreciate this plot twist nearly as much as I do.  Forced to lick, tongue-work in wrestling can communicate with crystal clarity that total domination by the object of oral adoration over the licker.  Forced to be licked, as described above, turns the tables and speaks perhaps even more directly to the orally fixated side of me.

I’m sure Freud would have plenty to say about all of this oral fascination.  Then again, Freud was a dumbshit when it came to sexuality and eroticism.  As another example of an element that clearly distinguishes the homoerotic from the straight-up wrestling worlds, a whole-hearted tongue lashing makes my mouth water.

Cross-Pollinating

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Joe’s post this morning was serendipitous.  As is so often the case, right about the time something occurs to me regarding homoerotic wrestling, Joe has just posted on the topic.  In this case, I was even thinking of the phrase “cross-pollination,” as I reflected on the tempting allure of playing the game “what-if” with the chess pieces of homoerotic wrestlers from different production companies.  Regular readers will be quick to point out that I’ve bemoaned too much of a good thing in the past.  I’ve been quick to complain about “over-exposure” of wrestlers appearing everywhere at once, showing up simultaneously featured in new releases by competing productions.  But if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: I see no virtue in constancy, and like so many great men before me, I’m willing to allow that my opinions on important subjects “evolve.”  Whether today’s post is evolution or merely me reveling in my own self-contraditions, only time will tell.  However here’s my theme for today, picking up on Joe’s introduction of the topic of cross-pollination: which brand-loyal (for now) homoerotic wrestlers would I most like to see matched up against each other in cross-production matches?  Considering only the boys who I’ve only seen (or remember) wrestling for one and only one homoerotic wrestling company, here are the dream matches that are making me reconsider the moral good of cross-pollinating wrestlers.

Austin Wolf (6’4″, 235 lbs) v Diego Diaz (6’3″, 185 lbs)

For example, my first pairing for this mental exercise is the hypothetical match that really started me down this path.  Thunder’s Arena has a new stunningly handsome muscle giant by the name of Austin Wolf who grabs me with both hands and turns my crank hard! Wow, just… wow.  His dismantling of fellow Thunder’s rookie Hooper absolutely enthralls me.  It’s a catchweight scenario. Little Hoop is just fucked from the moment he walks on the mat and looks up, up, up at the bottom of Wolf’s chin towering over him.  Wolf’s look completely delights me.  A big, long, giant of a man who can pack on aesthetically luscious muscle mass is just priceless.  And that’s when it hits me.  Austin Wolf will never be fully realized in my mind until he climbs into the ring against BG East Latino beauty Diego Diaz.  I have no idea what would happen next.  Although essentially eye-to-eye, Diego is giving up a reported (but I’m skeptical) 50 pounds, though his conditioning looks far superior to Wolf’s.  I have a hunch that Austin Wolf would not be tossing around Diego like a sack of potatoes!

Archer (5’9″, 150 lbs) v Michael Vineland (??)
Another Thunder’s exclusive who demands a double-take from me everytime I run across an image of him is tatted young muscle stud, Archer.  This boy can sweat, and I could spend days studying every carved, cut muscle on his gorgeous body… with my tongue.  I swear this kid does to me what Brad Rochelle did to me the first time I saw him on the splash page of BG East.  Fun and games and fratboy hijinks will surely keep me tuning in for more of Archer at Thunders, but holy hell in a hand basket, just imagine this mouthwatering kid climbing into the Pro Sex Fight ring with Can-Am exclusive, Michael Vineland. There’s some inevitability about that match-up.  For example, at some point devastatingly handsome Archer is going to be sniffing balls with his head trapped in a long, slow face-to-crotch headscissors between Michael’s incredibly huge quads.  And there’s no way Archer won’t, at some point, be tied in the ropes in the corner and getting his sweat soaked muscles alternately stroked and pummeled, most likely with his cock and balls hanging out the front of his trunks.  And sure, someone’s getting fucked, and most likely he’ll return the favor.  But still, the journey along the way with these two would absolutely demand me pull my wallet out.
Victor Paz (6’2″, 172 lbs) v Jimmy Clay (??)
Two more brand loyalists (as far as I know, please correct me if I’m wrong!) that I’d love, love, love to see “cross-pollinate” are BG East rookie Victor Paz and Can-Am sex fighter, Jimmy Clay.  Jimmy talks a good game and has a lovely body, but he’s more pornboy than homoerotic wrestler.  That fact is precisely what makes me absolutely ache to see him step onto the mat against laser-focused MMA hardbody, Victor.  Jimmy would be all about the camera angles (which I’m not knocking him, mind you… a boy who thinks about precisely how sexy this will look on camera is golden in my book).  He might get some early offense, locking up Victor in a sloppy headlock.  But the shitstorm that would rage all over Jimmy’s fratboy porn-body for the next 45 minutes would be absolutely epic! Victor nearly took down Eli Black with legitimate skill, stamina, and strength against a wrestler who epitomizes all three of those!  Poserboy Jimmy?  Holy hell.  But if anyone could grind his ass into Victor’s crotch and get a rise out of the stunning MMA stud, I’m betting Jimmy could make a mat loss turn into a win-win-win (that last win is for me and you) scenario with Victor.
Lon Dumont (5’7″, 150 lbs) v Coupe (6’1″, 215 lbs)
BG East fixture, Lon Dumont + Thunder’s Arena goofy boy: Coupe = Match made in heaven.  Both of these hardbodied hunks are competitive bodybuilders.  They both inspire infinite wrestling fantasies that keep me sated in between actually watching their respective matches.  Lon is not a man who suffers fools lightly, and Coupe, at least in the context of Thunder’s is the classic medieval fool: jokester, self-depracating, silly, out for a laugh.  Now put these two great tastes together, preferably in the ring, and you’ve got muscle bashing beauty with stamina to keep wrestling for days and days!  While Coupe is a half a foot taller and around 65 pounds heavier than Lon, there’s no way in hell that he’s coming out with any shred of dignity left.  The relentless destruction Lon would rain down would be infinitely varied and delivered with the precision and perfection of a consummate professional.  Exactly how it would go down, I’m not sure, but I strongly suspect 2 things: Coupe tied up in the ropes and Coupe balling like a baby.
Cratos (5’9″, 200 lbs) v Kid Karisma (5’8″, 170 lbs)
My reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Cratos, looks incredibly familiar to me, but for the life of me I can’t place where I may have seen this hot and handsome hunk before.  So as far as I know, he qualifies as a Thunder’s exclusive and eligible for this little game I’m playing today.  What brand-loyal wrestler from another company would be my ideal to meet Cratos and do some cross-pollinating?  I can’t think of a more perfect opponent for my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month than my reigning overall favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy, BG East’s exclusively, Kid Karisma.  I’m picturing Kid K welcoming Cratos to his first ring match.  I’m also picturing Cratos totally indignant at the raging ego and contemptuous disdain that oozes from Kid K’s every pore.  I’m also picturing this as a serious battle of muscle and determination.  Details? I have no idea, which is what makes this such a fantastically provocative pairing.  However, I have to believe, right near the end, we’d see the karismatic one’s crotch planted across Cratos lips.  Prove me wrong, Cratos.  Prove me wrong!
Tyrell Tomsen (5’11, 185 lbs) v Alexi Ivanov (6′, 170 lbs)

The final pairing that occurred to me was BG East’s resident adonis, Tyrell Tomsen, facing the Russian battleboy, Rock Hard Wrestling’s exclusive, Alexi Ivanov.  Again, both of these men rock me hard, although in different ways.  Tyrell is just a fucking god, full stop.  I think if I ever actually met this man in person, I’d melt away in a pool of mindless lust.  Alexi, on the other hand, compels me from a different angle.  He’s got a drive and personality that keep me tuning into watch him despite his lackluster performances thus far in the ring.  There’s story in his eyes that begs for more definition and attention, and putting him in the ring with the chiseled muscle god Tyrell seems to me to be a beautiful intervention to aid Alexi’s full emergence into the world of homoerotic wrestling.  Don’t even think this is anything but a rip ‘n’ strip match.  And you know that lovely, rippled, lean Alexi is going to spend hours racked across Tyrell’s thigh in an OTK backbreaker (or 20).  But possibly, just maybe, the divine beauty of Tyrell bashing him from corner to corner might just awaken within Alexi the Drago-within, because you and I also know that this kid is a genetically engineered erotic-wrestling-sleeper-cell left over from the cold war and surely and inevitably designed to go nuts all over some entirely naked muscle boy (aka, Tyrell) and own his ebony body tied up in the ropes and tortured to exquisite perfection.  I swear, that’s all inside Alexi’s hot-yet-wooden wrestling body, just waiting to explode all over Tyrell’s bulging pecs.

Who are the brand loyal battle boys you’d like to see cross-pollinate all over each other?

Short Cuts

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I won’t name names, because that ALWAYS gets me in more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll just say that the same disappointing thought has occurred to me more than once recently as I’ve been sampling homoerotic wrestling new releases.  This recurring thought is, Grabbing crotch does not make wrestling homoerotic.

100% homoerotic wrestling featuring (among many other elements) Mitch Colby grabbing Derek da Silva’s crotch in Crotch Crushers 1.

Do you know what I mean? I’ve seen an anecdotal rise in the number of wrestling products marketed to you and me in which the most homo and/or erotic content is almost entirely limited to a crotch grab. Now, I love a nice crotch grab. That goes for all sorts of contexts and purposes, actually.  The feel of a pulsing, raging cock in my hand is absolutely intoxicating! Two raging cocks in my hand, and I’m guaranteed to have a hangover the next morning. I do not have anything at all against the homoeroticism of taking another man’s cock firmly in hand, per se.

Jobe Zander looks like he’s searching for his keys at the bottom of his purse in Can-Am’s DeCrotchery 3

But my beef, so to speak, is the over reliance on this device to sell wrestling as gay. I realize that there’s a sub-fetish contingent out there with a particular kink for watching and/or experiencing cock abuse. While I don’t count myself in that particular tribe, I can appreciate and get turned on by some cock control as a tool of soul crushing erotic domination. But if that’s really the only element in a match that might distinguish it from a TBS prime time mainstream episode of plasticized canned wrestling drama, then it’s just got one toe on our side of the fence, as far as I’m concerned.

Gino Liotta and Joshua Goodman engage in mutual crotch crushing as just one element of steamy action in Crotch Crushers 2.

Running across a bevy of barely homoerotic wrestling trying to take a short cut with crotch shots as credentials for checking in with you and me as gay-oriented has started to grate on my nerves.  So sure, you squeezed his balls… if you’ve got a disinterested look on your face, it sort of douses the heat. You grabbed a handful of whatever is stuffed down the front of his trunks, okay. But, if neither your hand nor his suffering seem to sell me that you’re about to rip him apart out of a primal lust to own his muscled body, then the stagecraft wears thin.

Friend of neverland, Ben Monaco, convinces me long before he goes for Alex Arias’ crotch that he’s all-in for homoerotic wrestling in Mat Rookies 1!

All this begs the question, of course, what it is that distinguishes some wrestling as homoerotic and others as something else. Of course, mainstream wrestling can turn me on (when it isn’t pissing me off with over-the-top homophobia). Just about any wrestling itself speaks to me as homoerotic almost by definition.  But I propose that there’s an ontologically different beast that is homoerotic wrestling. I’ve danced around this topic many times in the past. It’s a know-when-I-see-it sort of concept, in large part. It also overlaps with the cliche of “chemistry” between wrestlers, which is nearly impossible to quantify but, nevertheless, is unmistakable when its absent. I don’t know that I can put a finger on the baseline requirements (for me), but what makes something distinctively homoerotic wrestling always hits me on many levels.

Muscleboy Tyler St. James checks for a hernia in Pro Sex Fight 8.

Of course, explicit sexuality never hurts to sell wrestling as homoerotic. A suck, a fuck, a kiss even (especially), and I’m a long way to being sold that this wrestling is all about me and my kink. Hell, just having the boys talk openly about the eroticism hanging in the air between them is plenty to suck me in, and when it’s done right, eroticized banter will rev me up a hundred times hotter than an going-through-the-motions post-match fuck.

Reese Wells works 5 different angles at once in dishing out dominating abuse over  Jobe Zander’s package in Ball Busters 1.

It doesn’t require explicitness, though. It can be the fixed gaze of one wrestler and the self-conscious glance at the ground by the other that piques my homoerotic wrestling gaydar. It can be the intimacy of the setting, the gear, the lighting even, that contribute to making me recognize that this is homoerotic wrestling.  It can, and often is, one wrestler so narcissistic that he convinces me that, if humanly possible, he’d fuck himself into a stupor if that annoying opponent of his would just get the fuck out of his face.

Michael Vineland works the joystick from behind in Pro Sex Fight 8.

The best in the business push the homoerotic button from the instant the camera brings them into focus. Homoerotic wrestlers of the month Cage Thunder and (spoiler alert… keep reading at your own risk… oh, wait, too late!) Lightning Rod aka KV are beautiful examples. A half a second after I see their eyes lock onto the body of their opponents like sizing up a juicy filet, I understand without a doubt that the combat that’s about to unfold is first and foremost sexual. They communicate a hunger to grab hold of and consume their opponent that’s instantly arousing. The crotch grab is perfectly homoerotic when they latch on and threaten to rip an opponent out by the roots, because of everything else they’ve done to make it clear that they get off on this!

In Ball Bash 2, Reese Wells gets harder the more vicious Jonny Firestorm attacks his crotch! Now that’s homoerotic and hot!

There are plenty of wrestling products that push me way over the edge without ever veering into crotch grabs, fucking, or nudity even. They’re often completely homoerotic in my eyes for a dozen other elements that signal to me that this isn’t wrestling for 8 year-old boys with g-rated comic book fantasies of heroes and villains.  And equally as true, a gratuitous ball claw or tug at a cock is seldom the end-game for landing a wrestling match firmly within the circle of what I consider gay-themed, for gay eyes, wrestling kink, or homoerotic.

Unmasked and unsheathed, Stinger swells with excitement as Homoerotic Wrestlers of the Month Cage Thunder and Lightning Rod batter his stinger mercilessly.

As the photos I’ve attached to this post illustrate, the crotch grab is a delightfully hot tool in the tool belt of the accomplished homoerotic wrestler.  When it’s dished out in measured quantity, it’s fantastic! When placed as an integral component of an onslaught of unmistakably homoerotic content, the crotch grab is often precisely the point at which I lose all self-restraint. However, and I’m not naming names, but I just need to say it: solely based on a wrestler grabbing his opponent’s crotch, it doesn’t make it homoerotic wrestling. A one-trick pony gimmick in an otherwise lukewarm bath of run of the mill wrestling does not a homoerotic wrestling match make.

A Feast for the Senses

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I’m coated in sweat at this moment. Normally, that might be a signal of something hot and thrilling going on for me. But at this moment, it’s just a symptom of my low tolerance for heat and humidity. However, it brings me back to the topic that I’ve expounded on many times before: my love of sweat-lubricated homoerotic wrestling.
Landon Mycles v Michael Vineland – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 1
Yes, please! There’s something that much more intimate about two hunks wrestling lathered in sweat. The lubrication is itself part of the association with value-added arousal, I’m sure. Less friction, harder and hotter action. Just an application of lubricant can bring me to full attention, so an entire body coated in lubricating sweat is profoundly arousing.
Sweat-Pig Extraordinaire Bud Orton v Kevin Shea –
BG East’s Wrestleshack 6

It’s not just the physiology of a penile reflex to lubrication, though. Just the sight of sweat dripping off a wrestler’s nose or chin makes me light headed. There’s a deep, homoerotic masculinity about a sweat-soaked body engaged in combat. When the hair is plastered to the scalp, wringing with sweat, when beads are dripping off the brow like a leaky faucet, the wrestler becomes even more an object of primal, sexualized strength and domination than he was before. The smell of fresh sweat, still clinging to the body, is like vintage wine, stimulating all the senses at once.

Rio Garza v sweat-soaked Chris Bruce – BG East’s Undagear 17

I’m a fan of sweat-soaked gear, as well. The gear that allows you to trace the path of moisture pouring from the pores is extra goodness. Peeling off sweaty gear is even more erotic. The hollow sound of heavy, soaked gear slapping against skin or smacking the mat is over the top arousing for me.

Lickable Denny Cartier v Mikey Vee – BG East’s Mat Hunks 8

And, as I’ve mentioned before, in addition to a visual, tactile, olfactory and auditory arousal associated with sweat, there are some prize homoerotic wrestlers bodies that, when coated in a sheen of sweat, I find myself desperately fantasizing about licking. I’d like to see more licking in my homoerotic wrestling. The primal sensuality of tasting your opponent’s body, the pairing of domination and caressing as your tongue slides across the salty surface of a hunk’s muscles, is powerfully thrilling.

Tats Named

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Topher worked his ass off to track down the answers to this week’s episode of Name that Tat. If he wasn’t such a smart ass, he’d definitely be teacher’s pet. Oh, what the hell. He’s both a smart ass and teacher’s pet. Nicely done, Topher! Let’s review the research that Topher had to do to pull together 5 correct answers.
Tat #1 indeed belongs to…
… co-reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Brook Stetson.
Here, Brook’s about to plant his fantastic ass down onto the face of Skrapper in BG East’s Catch Weight 2. The fact that Skrapper didn’t pee his blue trunks the moment he faced-off with this beast makes me seriously respect the skrappy one.

Holy hell, what a catch weight match! Brook’s choice to completely unnecessarily yank on Skrapper’s hair as he squashes him like a bug is just further evidence of why the brute is co-holder of the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month!
Topher had to get a little help from teacher to identify tat #2…
 …which indeed belongs to Can-Am “exclusive” Michael Vineland.
In this pic, Michael is both dominating Landon Mycles and stroking the rookie’s crotch. I made a lot out of Landon’s debut, facing off against Michael in Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 1, earning the blue-eyed smirker his own homoerotic wrestler of the month title. Landon also showed up as a prior answer to Name That Ass. But this time around, I’m admiring Michael, his big, hard muscles, and his sweet ink.

That’s right, Landon. Breathe deep and enjoy the view.

Tat #3 gave Topher his toughest challenge, but it clearly belongs to…
Thunder’s Arena’s Jackson.
Despite Topher not seeming to appreciate my additional clues, I indeed have no interest in living in Jackson, Mississippi (though I might enjoy a vacation camping out in Jackson, the wrestler), or in St. Louis, aka STL. 

You know how there are some intuitive responses we have to wrestlers that we don’t really know where they come from? That’s my take on Jackson.  I was completely fixated on him when he debuted against STL in Thunder’s Arena’s Mat Wars 22, yet Jackson’s double-team partner in that match, Scooter, left me merely luke warm. As for the fratboy with Topher’s “lord and master Jesus inked on his side,” however, I’m a fan.
Tat #4 appears to have posed Topher little challenge.
It belongs to BG East’s stunningly handsome Angelo Damato.
Here, Angelo is in a position that makes me green with envy: trapped between Joshua Goodman’s (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) thighs in Backyard Brawls 3. Angelo’s ass pressed against Joshua’s crotch is the most inspired pairing since  Ang Lee called up Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger and said, “I’ve got a movie for you boys.” 

Of course, Mr. Joshua squirming like a worm trapped between the vice that is Angelo’s tree trunk thighs is awfully entertaining as well.

And finally, Topher appears to have had no problem identifying tat #5 as belonging to…
Can-Am’s Andrew Lane.
Andrew’s brief tenure wrestling for Can-Am seems to have always paired him off with muscle hunk Lincoln Lode. Here, Andrew pins the dark and handsome one with his crotch, displaying Lincoln’s #1 asset to perfection (except for the trunks) in Hotel Hell: Toronto.

Despite a few moments of gloating glory, Andrew almost always played the jobber (and played it well). The bulging muscles and up-for-anything attitude makes me wish that Andrew was still in the biz, so that he could meet my other favorite red-headed homoerotic wrestler, Kid Karisma. After Kid K beat Andrew senseless, they’d surely have made sweet, sweet music together as a fire-cracker tag team.
So there you go. Technically, Topher did require a little extra help, and he didn’t explicitly name all of the opponents. But I’m tempted to offer him the prize for a perfect paper, anyway. What do you think? Does he deserve full credit for his standout performance?

A True Romantic

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I’m not into Valentines Day, really. Too much compulsory heterosexuality in the air. It’s NOT that I’m not a romantic. It’s just that I can’t take red heart chocolate boxes and red roses seriously (well, I’m always a sucker for receiving flowers… just something other than red roses, please).

The Enforcer v Blueboy – BG East – Masked Mayhem 4
Even more than the compulsive heterosexuality, there’s something intentionally fictive about Valentines Day that irks me. No one’s relationship, even the most melba toast straight couple, looks like the gooey, saccharine, “you complete me” idea promoted in commercials and greeting cards. There’s something passionless and sterile about the whole production that swings the whole constructed reality of romance toward enmeshment and abstraction and away from physicality. Sure, the morning news shows mentioned men giving lingerie to women as evidence of the link between sex and Valentines Day. But if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say that there’s likely a decrease in the amount of sex happening today, directly attributable to the chocolates-and-roses sentimentality of it all.

Kid Karisma v Len Harder – BG East – Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun

Now, if there were a Valentines Day card that said something like, “Show me that you really care: Wrestle me to the ground, pound me into submission, and then shove your tongue down my throat,” well, then perhaps I’d think that this contrived “holiday” has something for me.

Dean Tucker v Drake Jaden – Naked Kombat – 7/22/09

If there were an FTD card that I could send with the orchids that said something like, “First to cum gets ridden like a pony,” that might enhance the romance of the day for me.

Landon Mycles v Michael Vineland – Can-Am – Pro Sex Fight 1

If a date promised me that, for dessert, he’d treat me to an over-the-knee backbreaker, then just maybe I might associate Valentines Day with some sexual passion.

Mitch Colby v Patrick Donovan – BG East – Wrestler Spotlight – Mitch Colby

A jock strap, buckets of sweat, and a schoolboy pin lip lock are a so much more to the point than chocolates and lace and plastic-wrapped shrubbery. I hope today has something truly romantic and passionate in store for all of us, which will have absolutely nothing to do with Hallmark, FTD, or Godiva. It’s not that I’m not looking for romance. I just don’t think it comes to any of us tied up with a bow with the sales receipt in our pockets.

In the Ropes

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These days, I’m getting worked over pretty hard. I’m working my ass off, just managing to stay on my feet. And, wouldn’t you know it, just when I find myself backed into the ropes, some nasty heel villain uses those very same ropes to work me over that much harder.
KV v Ken Mason (assisted by KL) – Tag Team Torture 1
Metaphorically, this makes my day-to-day life these days suck. On the other hand, literally, when someone uses the ring ropes to take advantage of an already battered hunk, that does not suck (at least not for the heel or for me, watching). Turning the set into an integral prop to tell the story is, in fact, a major turn on for me, further explaining my particular preference for ring action.
Brigham Bell v Patrick Donovan – Hunkbash 5
Sliced to hell and mean as a king cobra, Brigham Bell pretty much always used the ropes, and most of the time he took full advantage by not only capturing his hunks in the ropes, but then head scissoring them at the same time. Illustrated so delightfully in his ring action with Patrick Donovan, ultra-lean, muscled bodies put on artistic display is the icing on the cake. The cake itself, of course, is the completely gratuitous humiliation of an already suffering hunk. To capture 6’1″ pec-tacular Patrick so defenselessly, so vulnerably, and then to squeeze Patrick’s handsome face humiliatingly between Brigham’s tightly corded thighs… talk about the climax of a story!
Brad Rochelle v Patrick Donovan – Wrestlefest 2
Patrick, Patrick, Patrick… early in his BG East career, Patrick frequently occupied the restraints of the ring ropes. He just suffered so sweetly! It’s no wonder that opponent after opponent reveled in beating him down and then tying him up to not only soak up more punishment, to also have his ego crushed as decisively as his hot, long, gorgeous body. On his way to being awarded Rookie of the Year in Wrestlefest 2 (I vote for more Wrestlefests!), Brad Rochelle slapped Patrick into what I think, objectively speaking, is the hottest bit of ring rope torture ever captured on camera. Hunk-on-hunk, stunning body on stunning body, handsome face squaring off against handsome face, and Brad taking a foreshadowing turn to the dark side to lock Patrick’s throat between the bottom to ropes and then boston crag his legs, sitting his fine (fine, fine, fine, fine) ass down across Patrick’s shoulders to choke him that much more. 

Brad Rochelle v Dom the Dominator – Demolition 3

Brad, Brad, Brad… of course, any regular reader of this blog is already fully immersed in the drama of Brad Rochelle’s BGE career, as his fratboy face and go-go boy muscles went through years of jobbing, suffering like perhaps none other, not infrequently himself trapped in the very same ropes with which he’d humiliated Patrick and won rookie of the year. Dom’s boot in his ass and his back cranked backward over the top rope, Brad’s rope-suffering illustrates what is the tastiest pay off of all with rope work: the stunning body of a hunk displayed so fully and vulnerably.

Rio Garza v Donnie Drake v “Trevor” Mathews – Pro Bashed Triple Threat
I noticed in recent pics from Can-Am’s new (upcoming?) release, Pro Bashed Triple Threat, that Rio Garza is on the receiving end of some tasty hunk rope punishment at the hands of Donnie Drake. This is, perhaps, the best representation of my own subjective experience at the moment. Clearly outmuscled and at the mercy of a nasty, big, brick house bastard, like Rio under the control of Donnie Drake, I’m getting pried backward and pounded on with nothing to do but take it and look pretty (I can pull that off, too).
As I whine, just a bit, about my own woes (I can sell suffering when it’s my turn), I find some comfort in the sight of some beautiful hunks getting tied up and beat down with the assistance of the ropes. Well, okay, so perhaps “comfort” isn’t the word. But it does, somehow, make the nasty heels in my own life a little more tolerable when I spend a little time admiring the aesthetics and erotics of homoerotic wrestling heels taking the picture frame itself and choking the daylights out of the stunning portrait of a musclehunk in the middle.