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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?