Tag: Mitch Colby

Narcissus

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According to Greek mythology, Narcissus was a devastatingly beautiful and proud mortal man who disdained those who loved him. When Narcissus glimpsed his own reflection in a pool, he was captured by the sight of his own beauty and slowly died unable to tear himself away from adoring his image.
It’s an ancient tale that survives today because it says something that’s timeless. Narcissus is a morality tale, most genuinely, warning against excessive pride and self-worship. On another level, it’s a story about the way things are at the heart of the human condition. We praise beauty. We idolize and idealize the beautiful. We worship beauty, and those in possession of an overabundance of socially reinforced standards of beauty fail to surprise us when they are clearly wrapped up in their worshiping within themselves that which others prize, praise, and worship in them.
Confession: I’m a sucker for a hardbodied narcissist who’s completely in love with himself. Sadly, that’s true in my personal life, but more to the point, it’s definitely true when it comes to the homoerotic wrestling that I dig. Self-worship is a succinct, well-trod tale in the wrestling ring. The opening scene of the narcissist soaking in the gorgeousness of his own reflection sets the table for countless battles. Sometimes the challenger arrives equally as self-adoring, and the match ensues as each adonis defends his claim to embody the pinnacle of beauty. The banter that centers around, “sure, you’re not so bad, but take a look at me!” works to establish the characters, define the terms of the contest, and begs the question of who the objective observer would select as the most beautiful of the beautiful. A delightful alternate ending to this tale is when both beauties are so evenly matched that slowly, eventually, the competition turns into mutual muscle worship.
Sometimes, the narcissist is met by a challenger less concerned with his own self-worship and more incited by contempt to attack and tear down the work of art before him. The battle is its own morality tale, determining the superiority of the aesthete or the athlete. When the phrase “pretty boy” pops up frequently in the ring, we see the psychological struggle to determine who is the superior man: the one with the stunning proportions and classic beauty, or the one built of rougher stuff filled with determination to mess up his opponent’s beautiful face. This story works swinging either direction, as far as I’m concerned. I’m no less a fan of the pretty boy beatdown than I am of the I-told-you-so narcissist victory.
The narcissist in the ring is a character that typically works for me. It’s probably a profound character flaw in me (which would explain a lot of my dating history), that I find a man deeply in love with the sight of his own beautiful body incredibly arousing. Now I’m completely engaged by a muscled stud who poses proudly to awe and intimidate his opponent (and you and me). But the hot side of beef who is stunningly beautiful, knows he’s stunningly beautiful, and just a little awed and aroused by his own stunning beauty, is a character I’m tragically drawn to.
I think it’s no coincidence that both Lon Dumont (my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy) and Mr. Joshua Goodman (top contender for Lon’s title) are fantastic self-worshipers. Lon’s compact, competition-ready musclebod is sufficient to give me whiplash, but Lon’s delight in looking at himself propels him to the heights of homoeroticism in my book. Mr. Joshua is probably even more the epitome of the narcissist enamored his own gorgeous, crafted muscles and overabundant endowments. Win or lose, Joshua’s role is the stunning muscle stud who genuinely, passionately adores his own fantastic body and is ready to deploy his painstakingly toned muscles to demand from any opponent their concession to his superior beauty. It’s not hard for me to imagine that when Joshua’s eyes are closed in that moment just before orgasm, the image that fills his imagination is his own classically proportioned naked body.

I believe my pathological arousal for a self-loving hardbody probably also explains why Rafe Sanchez manages to keep rising to the surface of the homoerotic wrestling matches in my cue. Any and every match that I’ve seen with Rafe prominently features a healthy dose of Rafe self-love. Even when his opponent’s engage in Rafe-worship, it seems to only fuel Rafe’s arousal even more as he marvels at every beautiful inch (and he has plenty of inches) of his hot, tight body. And the more Rafe adores his gorgeous proportions and flexed muscles, the more I’m entirely at his mercy.

Even short of full on, characterological narcissism, just a lingering gaze a muscled wrestler gives his body is a major plus in my book. A classic babyface hero who can’t help but pause and marvel at his own massive bicep (Mitch Colby, I’m looking at you) is astonishingly erotic. In fact, I’d say that what gets plenty of people in the world diagnosed with a personality disorder is the very same thing that puts at least 75% of the homoerotic into my favorite homoerotic wrestling. So bring on the self-worshiping body beautiful muscle hunks in awe and obviously aroused by the sight of their own stunning bodies… I just can’t help myself.

The Title Defense

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Rusty Stevens has been in possession of the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy for a little over three months. At 6′ and 200 pounds, Rusty is an astonishing hunk of grappling stardom. The tale of the tape shows Rusty’s undeniable strengths are his whip-like, on-your-feet-and-in-your-face dominating banter, his primal, ferocious growl when he kicks it into fifth gear, and his mouthwatering body that supports impressive speed and strength on the mats. Three months ago he ripped the title out of the hands of two-time champ, Mitch Colby, leaving Mitch stunned and hungry for a 3-peat claim on the title.
Enter the genius of Kid Leopard who specializes in making all of our wrestling fantasies come true. BG East arranged a head-to-head title defense of the champ and his #1 challenger. I don’t often get to enjoy my favorites in action with one another. I’m infatuated with stars from various production companies, of varying wrestling styles and genres, and the battle in my mind for who is my favorite is usually waged only in my own imagination. When I learned that Rusty would be defending his title in person against Mitch, I was giddy with anticipation.


I’ve watched the match repeatedly in the few days since it arrived. True enough, of the Breaking Point matches, it is, indeed, the sexiest. Rusty plays his strong suit like the defending champ he is as he walks into the room. He’s sneering and snarling his insults from go, working on beating down Mitch’s psyche by zeroing in on Mitch’s weaknesses. When he’s getting manhandled, true to form, Rusty taps into his inner neanderthal, his eyes glazing over with rage as primal, sexual ferocity roars from deep in his chest. And Rusty is in excellent shape. In fact, of the range of Rusty’s physical form over time (a little beefier in most of his Naked Kombat matches vs. a bit thinner and prettier in his earlier Can-Am bouts), I think he’s looking about as deliciously toned as I’ve ever seen him.

The most stunning factor as this match opens is Mitch. He’s not in the ripped-to-shreds shape of any of this prior matches. He’s even softer around the middle than his Naked Kombat appearance, which was the biggest I’d ever seen Mitch in action. With the extra weight on his 6’2″ frame, he’s moving a little slower (though speed has never really been his strength). Like a cruise missile, Rusty throws contempt at Mitch’s fitness, calling into question whether the challenger has it in him to go the distance.
I’m sure I’ll deconstruct this match-of-my dreams several times over on the pages of this blog, so let me just give you the most significant points that add up to the final decision in this title defense match. While I have a nostalgic preference for Mitch’s trimmer form, he’s still a sexy beast in this bout. Rusty is hardly a small man, but Mitch dwarfs him in a way that’s smokin’ hot. Nine times out of ten, when Mitch is serious about it, he muscles Rusty into nearly any position he wants to. When Mitch drops his ass down across Rusty’s chest as the champ lays flat on his back getting schoolboyed (he hates that), Mitch is one tasty main course of muscle domination. The series of very long-held bearhugs (front, back, side, everywhich way), are evidence that Mitch remains as strong as an ox and easily able to dish out crushing punishment as needed. Despite his fitness being a strike against him in my book, Mitch puts up one fantastic performance capped off with taking his competition commandingly in hand.
For the champ’s part, looking up at the hulking form in front of him, Rusty seems just a little thrown. He still delivers the snappy, domineering banter that propelled him to the top of the charts, but he doesn’t deliver with quite the biting cleverness he has in the past, which I credit to being seriously intimidated by how much space Mitch takes up in the small sun room. Still, Rusty delivers. Scrapping his way out of a tight spot with that primal roar, he makes me weak in the knees. He suffers better than I have ever seen him suffer before, which is a major advance for the champ in keeping his grip on the title. In the repeated crushing embrace of his challenger, Rusty sells with desperate choking and hacking, retreating to catch his breath with new found respect in his eyes for his competition. The camera work seriously plays into Rusty’s hands, as he works up a soaking sweat, making his spot-on competition form sparkle and highlight every gorgeous muscle.

In the end, though, the title defense is decided in my mind by the best line of dialogue I’ve heard delivered in a long, long time (perhaps ever). School-boying the challenger, his sweat soaked jock strap planted across Mitch’s forehead, Rusty buries Mitch’s face with self-congratulatory satisfaction: “I’m thinking you may want to say you give… but then again, my ass is in your face.”

And with that, despite a valiant, commanding challenge from the contender, even despite forcing several more submissions and sealing the deal with sexual domination… still… Rusty decisively retains the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy. I think the defeat leaves Mitch vulnerable to getting knocked out of the top rankings, marking a stunning plunge from the top spot he commanded for most of the past year. I have no idea who might be ready to unseat the former champ from his coveted #1 contender spot… perhaps Derek might make a another seat soaked, punishment-whore run. I’d love to see Rafe Sanchez command the respect that he has yet to be given. Perhaps even a dark horse rookie, such as Naked Kombat’s delightful powerlifter funnyman, John Magnum, might smack Mitch’s ass on his way to dislodging the former champ from his ranking. Two things are for sure, though. 1) Rusty and Mitch’s Breaking Point match is profoundly satisfying homoerotic wrestling kink entertainment. And 2) a lot of homoerotic wrestling pornboys will now be gunning for the disappointed former champ now.

A League of Their Own

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I think of myself as a booster of the industry that produces homoerotic wrestling products. I get caught up in brand loyalty wars more than I care to, but when it comes down to it, I think the more creative, kinky minds producing homoerotic wrestling, the better. I’m more a booster of explicitly homoerotic wrestling than otherwise. Not to say I’m only kinked up by explicit sex wrestling, but rather I prefer companies that explicitly identify themselves as homo and erotic. There are a lot of companies producing wrestling for you and me who pull their marketing punches. I get it, that there’s a market for relatively closeted homoerotic wrestling. Hell, I was there myself a long time ago. But I think of coded, closeted homoerotic wrestling as more a transition object than the heart of what revs my engine these days. So these days, I think of wrestling with merely implied homoeroticism as sort of second-tier fun.
But all of that is just lead up to my unveiling a new category of favorites that I’ll be tracking from now on. For many months, I’ve been charting the title defenses of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. Mitch, then Derek, then Mitch again, and now Rusty have been sitting pretty atop the rankings. I’ll be posting on the match-of-my dreams head-to-head match up of champion Rusty vs. #1 contender, Mitch next week. In the mean time, as of today I’m starting to track a new championship division. It isn’t just the pornboys I love (though, let me reiterate, I LOVE the wrestling pornboys). So starting today, I’m ranking my favorite homoerotic wrestlers in the non-pornboy division.
The distinction here is that gorgeous muscle studs who go the full monty and crank off some onscreen cum shots are in a league of their own in my affections. But the boys who typically keep their cocks in their trunks still merit some virtual lovin’. If at any point there’s a dispute about who should show up in which division, my line in the sand is the cum shot. Any hot hunk on film working off a load has to compete with the likes of Rusty Stevens, and Rusty appears ready to beat (and eat) wrestling pornboy ass anytime.

Without further ado, allow me to unveil my top two rankings for homoerotic wrestlers in the non-pornboy division:
Sitting very, very pretty on top of the dais is the stunningly tight little package who made my jaw drop from the moment I first saw him last autumn: 5’7″, 150 lb, Lon Dumont.
I don’t pick up a lot of buzz about Lon, so I don’t know if I’m the only one whose buttons are so invariably pushed by him. The attraction for me exactly 50% body, 50% performance (and I rank them both a 10 out of 10… you do the math). He’s earned his way into claiming the inaugural championship title of non-pornboy extraordinaire. I’d donate the lower half of my liver for Lon to jump divisions and pound one out in a schoolboy pin on top of Rusty’s pecs, but in the meantime, Lon’s at the top of the new non-pornboy division for me.
His number one challenger is also no stranger to the pages of this blog. 5’10”, 180 lb, Joshua Goodman, (that’s Mr. Joshua to you), would likely be significantly offended to come in second place in anything. Considering Mr. Joshua’s behemoth package is often not quite entirely contained in his trunks, he’s a hairsbreadth away from jumping divisions. After aching for this to happen for years now, I’m finally conceding that Mr. Joshua is likely never to join the pornboy ranks. Still, he deserves major credit for his extremely entertaining performances and the hours upon hours of enjoyment he’s given me. Lon is a relative rookie on the homoerotic scene in comparison to Mr. Joshua. Mr. Joshua certainly outweighs the lightweight bodybuilder significantly. Mr. Joshua has earned his chops in victory after defeat after victory, whereas Lon remains a bit untested against the established headliners. All that suggests to me that Lon has one hungry, indignant, cocky hardbody on his tail (and that’s an image that lingers in my imagination).
As I’ve said, the more homoerotic wrestling in the world, the better. Both Lon and Mr. Joshua are BG East exclusives, as far as I know, but I’m happily scouring plenty of other wrestling operations for new challengers to toss their hats in the ring. There are plenty of deserving candidates. But for today, for now, let me place the crown of my favorite homoerotic wrestler, non-pornboy division, on the fantastically shaved head of Lon Dumont. And let me give a virtual slap on the ass to runner-up Mr. Joshua. I’m looking forward to seeing them both in plenty more matches to come, performing their hearts out even if keeping their trunks on.

Grab a Mop

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I just double-checked my calendar. It isn’t my birthday. I’ve never heard of exchanging gifts for the 4th of July. But for whatever reason, Kid Leopard and the boys at BG East have delivered up one of the best presents I’ve ever received.
When I opened up the BG East webpage, I was so thrilled to see my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy staring back at me. Rusty Stevens is looking shredded and sexy as hell in his gray jockstrap. This is Rusty’s first appearance with BGE (I’m begging for many more!), and I must say that this is just two great tastes that taste great together. Rusty’s superb skills in grappling and homoerotic domination are a perfect match with the wrestling chops demanded of the headliner talent at BGE. I know it’s Rusty’s debut with the company, but I just have to say that it feels like he’s merely coming home again.
When I followed the link to Rusty’s inaugural BGE match, I discovered that he’s in a sweaty mat match-up with my #1 contender to be my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, the former champ himself, Mitch Colby. Two things happened in quick succession. I picked my jaw up off the floor, wiping away the copious amounts of saliva that immediately began pouring from the corners of my mouth. And then, I kid you not, I heard the Hallelujah Chorus playing in the back of my head. Seriously, this was nearly a religious experience for me.
I’m dead serious. I feel like I owe Kid Leopard my first born child for his managing to pluck this scenario from my most coveted wrestling fantasies and make it come to life. Since I’ve already promised my first born child several times over, I’ll have to find someone else’s first born child for KL. Or absolutely anything else he wants from me. When I scanned the teaser pics ripped straight from my imagination of exactly what this match would look like, I had to wipe tears of joy from my cheeks. I was instantly fully aroused and breathless. Then when I read the description of the match, I was astonished to find a pretty overt reference to this very blog! The exchange of positions between Mitch and Rusty in the rankings for being my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy is noted right there as evidence of the inevitability of pitting these two class acts against one another. At that point, my head swelled up nearly as big as my cock. My friends have been getting sick of hearing me talk about this brush with fame. “Did I mention that I was referenced in the latest BG East catalogue?”
I’m desperately, achingly waiting for two things at this point. 1) I’m waiting for the DVD to arrive in the mail. I’m feeling a little bitter that the holiday weekend is upon us, likely slowing the delivery of my purchase. I hate waiting, generally speaking. I’m physically hurting to have to wait in this particular instance. 2) I’m also waiting for some more stills from the match in the Arena. I’m already sporting a 24-hour hard on at the thought of this battle. Once I see these two men of my homoerotic wrestling kink fantasies from every angle, I’ll likely explode into a million pieces.
You’ll know what’s happened if the photos appear in the Arena and I suddenly stop blogging. Just go ahead and send a cleaning crew here to mop up my remains.

Classic Tales

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The double bicep pose: a prerequisite for homoerotic domination hotness. Deconstructing (as is my way), the double bicep is an interesting statement. The explicit point, of course, is to call attention to the size of a man’s biceps. Sweet muscleboy Gary Myers, for example, sported stunning, double-peaked biceps bigger around than his neck. There’s a simple, primal aesthetic to the double bicep. When a hard hunk has the guns and proportions, there’s an amazing, powerful symmetry that’s simply beautiful. These are muscles that have been crafted and carved with insane amounts of sweat and tears and self-worship. A classic double bicep can simply say: stand back and be awed.
Making a run to strip Rusty Stevens of the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Mitch Colby frequently illustrates that a double bicep can communicate much more than just aesthetics. Not that Mitch’s body shouldn’t be under glass, but with his cock planted across his opponent’s chin and his knees pinning his opponent’s arms to the ground, Mitch lifts his arms and crunches out a double bicep to make a statement: I’m your superior. Mitch’s softballs attached high on his upper arm drive home the point of his scrap with his young challengers. His gorgeously tanned, fantastically toned muscles will, without fail, put a lesser man on his back. The gloating look on Mitch’s face in this pic is priceless. You’re owned, kid, he’s saying. And these are the muscles that broke you and made you mine.

Unlike the victory double bi, the buddy double bi seems like it’s frequently the last moment of dignity for a couple of hardbody faces heading into a world of hurt. Freakishly stunning Tyrell Tomsen and his short-lived partnership with Jimmy Gee is a recent case in point. We don’t have to even know who their opponents are to take a look at this pre-match pose and predict that these boys are going to be humiliated. The double bis telegraph the approaching story line. Massive mountain of muscle, Tyrell, is demigod anchor to this tag team. Jimmy, who’s a bit softer and sporting decidedly less impressive guns than in prior outings, is destined to be the weakest link. The double biceps are ostensibly the display of power and confidence here, but the whole text tells a different story, including vulnerability and an inevitable date with humiliated destruction.
I’ve been enjoying the forced flex in more and more recent products out of BGE. Lon Dumont, who must be worshiped in more matches to come, made an over-the-top homoerotic masterpiece with his psychic humiliation of Eddy Rey, forcing the bigger man to flex on-command in submission. Brooklyn Bodywrecker had the same tool in his arsenal of destruction, when he broke cocky hardbody Mr. Joshua Goodman to pieces. The double bicep here is no longer about victory or confidence, but about humiliated defeat. Joshua stepped into the ring banking on his muscles to power down on BBW (the silly, silly fool), so in victory, BBW forces a decimated Joshua to flex. Behind the nearly unconscious loser (and I mean that lovingly, Mr. Joshua), BBW crunches out his own double bi, illustrating that despite not having quite as smooth, ripped, or classically pretty a muscle body, he has exactly what it takes to hammer down on a muscleboy, strip him naked, and heartlessly taunt us by refusing to let us see Mr. Joshua’s owned goods.

Ultimately, the double bicep is always a complicated story of strength and vulnerability. It’s a primal display of power to intimidate would-be challengers. At the same time, the class double bicep pose stretches out and exposes the rest of the muscled body. This isn’t a defensive position by any means. As repeated maneuvers in the homoerotic ring illustrate, a strutting double bicep leaves a cocky stud vulnerable to a strike to the crotch, a surprise full nelson from behind, or an attack on the exposed core. So in the end, the musclegod who pulls off the double bicep tells a fantastically woven tale of power and vulnerability, beauty and savagery, the promise of victory and the haunting foreshadowing of potentially being owned and displayed like a tantalizing piece of meat.

Too Much of a Fantastic Thing

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I’m in major holiday-weekend barbecue zone right now. I’m not sure that I’ll even be able to manage to maintain my once a day posting. I’ll do my best for those of you who need a break from the beers, backyards, and poppies this Memorial Day weekend.

My brief posting for today is mostly just an opportunity to drool over my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens. Some of you may have noted that yesterday’s post won’t allow comments. That’s because the persistent, vile phisher who keeps trying to post malware links in comments to this blog is at it again. When I went to delete the comment, I mistakenly hit “publish.” Now I don’t know how to delete a published comment. Rather than risk someone stumbling across it, I just closed down comments entirely for that post and hid what was mistakenly posted.
In case you’re dying to get in your 2 cents on the wonders that are Rusty Stevens, I thought I’d just post a few more tantalizing images and leave the comments open. I also wanted to pass along this bizarrely fantastic story (at least from my point of view) that Rusty had to be rushed to the hospital with priapism from the set of a production he was starring in outside of Miami earlier this year. I’m desperate to hear that this whole thing happened when he and Mitch Colby met on the mats in Florida, and Rusty found himself so aroused by his #1 contender that his erection raged on with a mind of its own.
Hell, that fictional backstory alone earns Mitch some momentum in dethroning Rusty. Rusty better watch his back, and apparently he might want to lay off the viagra next time he’s finding himself scissored between Mitch’s powerful thighs.

Birthday Suits

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Neverland is a year old! The anniversary of when I started this extended wrestling kink conversation sort of snuck up on me. At times, this past year has been challenging, particularly at the point that I committed to post something new each day. But all in all, this has been a lot of fun, and it’s been very rewarding making a lot of enjoyable connections with plenty of other kinksters across the globe.
As regular readers realize, I’m actually pretty demure. I tend to shy away from full frontal nudity on this blog. It’s not that I’m trying to spare those of you who are searching for your wrestling kink hit at work. Personally, I think you get what you deserve when you browse for porn at work (such as inopportune erections, pre-cum stains on your suit pants, etc.). But in keeping with the whole theme of promoting the homoerotic imagination, I tend to like to leave a little to the imagination with the graphics that accompany my ramblings. But in honor of the auspicious occasion of the 1 year anniversary of neverland, I’m treating myself (and you) to some of my favorite boys celebrating in their birthday suits.
At the head of the line has to be my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens. Rusty has “only” appeared 9 times over the past 12 months in this blog, but his snarling, humiliatingly domineering possession of the title as reigning champion is sure to boost his numbers quickly. Rusty tugging at his own handsome cock is fantastically hot. Rusty’s naked body gets credit for quite a lot of my homoerotic fantasies as of late, particularly since his capture of the championship in my own little imaginary competition.
Next in line, appropriately enough, is the top contender to unseat Rusty, Mitch Colby. Since Mitch had a commanding headlock on the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy for most of the past 12 months, it’s no wonder he appeared, by far, the most often in this blog (a total of 30 of my posts include Mitch!). Mitch’s entry into full on nude, hard action over the past couple of years has been an incredible treat. I’m seriously jonesin’ to see him back on the mats/in the ring, putting that stunningly gorgeous body on the line in muscle-on-muscle competition. And ANY match that ends in a passionate, soapy shower scene with Mitch and his opponent is guaranteed to be in my library (I promise!).
Derek da Silva and his gorgeous, round muscle butt have to make an appearance in the parade of birthday suit homoerotic wrestling pornboys, as I celebrate the anniversary of this blog. Derek has shown up in no fewer than 14 different posts over the past year. Derek looks ready to put that stunning body to good use, clawing his way back up the rankings.
The naked form of Tyrell Tomsen is the stuff of classical sculpture. Tyrell’s growing body of appearances in the BGE roster, extremely proudly displaying his incredible muscles, has definitely been a source of joy for me this past year, ending him up in 8 posts in neverland. His striated muscle butt and his massive, yet beautifully proportioned cock make Tyrell paydirt from any angle. This simply can’t just be considered “porn.” This is art on par with the masters of absolutely any medium.
My final favorite wrestler in his birthday suit is the underrated Rafe Sanchez. Rafe has only shown up in 3 posts over the past 12 months, which is a little misleading, considering he stars regularly in my personal erotic fantasies. Rafe is certainly not as massively constructed as, say, Tyrell, but Rafe absolutely loves every inch of his body not one iota less (which is saying a lot, if you’ve seen how much Tyrell appropriately worships his own muscles). When Rafe is rode hard and put away wet before losing his gear, he leaves me breathless. When he’s irrepressibly erect, his passionate pleasure for his work (and himself) makes me ache just a little to join in the fun with him.

I still get messages every so often from homoerotic wrestling kinksters who are just discovering, “I’m not the only one!” Good God, no! You aren’t. And fortunately there are enough of us to comprise a market for accomplished artists like these to be financially rewarded for the incredible, hard work that clearly goes into crafting every inch of their beautiful bodies and then displaying those precious treasures in body-on-body erotic competition. Not only is there a market, but there are also plenty of us with the time on our hands to ramble on, reflect, deconstruct and reconstruct the wrestling kink fantasies that turn us on and inspire a growing body of blogs. By no means are you the only one. By no stretch of the imagination are any of us alone. Thanks for your support, everyone!

How Does That Feel!?

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It’s cliche’, I know. But I can’t help myself but be sucked in when one wrestler snarls at his opponent, “How does that feel!?“

It’s not as if it’s a real question. It’s typically asked when one man is clearly suffering. The obvious answer is, “It hurts!” The question is rhetorical. It’s not asked in an effort to gather information, but to domineer. It’s a question intended to humiliate, to drive home the point that the suffering man is paid for and owned outright by his opponent. Asking the question, “how does that feel,” is about pointing out all that’s obvious here: I control you. Where your pain starts and stops is completely in my hands. I own your body, and once you acknowledge the foregone conclusion that you have no choice but submit to me, you’re entirely mine.
Let me just put it out there. When I’m watching a favorite homoerotic beat down and I hear the rhetorical question, “How does that feel,” I frequently answer. Out loud. Emphatically. As usual, even as I type this I wonder, “Am I just disclosing way too much?” Ah, what the hell. When I hear Cole or Mitch or Rusty or Derek snarl down at some muscled boy that they’ve just broken in body and spirit, asking him how it feels, I often answer, saying something like, “That feels fucking awesome!” I realize that they aren’t actually asking me, but that question can collapse the distance between entertainer and entertained for me, transporting me ringside where my muscle champion inflicts pain explicitly for my pleasure. Sure, he’s looking down into his opponent’s face as he crushes the suffering man’s balls beneath his feet, but his question is for me, “How does that feel, Bard?”
He’s digging his claws into the fantastically meaty pecs of his jobber boy, whose face is contorted with pain and near-sobs are wracking his body. And when he asks, “How does that feel?” he’s asking me, “Is this what you want to see? If I claw my fingers in deeper, how does that make you feel, Bard?”
It’s a contemptuous, domineering, humiliating throw away line that’s just meant to tell the story of one man’s complete domination. But when the fighter on top asks, “How does that feel,” the words frequently transport me ringside, where this muscle on muscle battle is being waged for my pleasure. The ars erotica of the beautiful body beatdown becomes more than just implicitly for my pleasure. The dispenser of punishment is considerately checking in with his patron. “How about if I twist his rippled body a few inches farther? What if I crank his neck until he cries. How does that feel, Bard?”
Feels fucking awesome, Mitch. Keep it up.

In Your Face

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What is it that’s happening when a wrestler grinds his opponent’s face into his crotch?Okay, I mean, besides the obvious. What’s the story line there? I’m NOT complaining, mind you, I’m just taking a second look at something that I typically take for granted.

PWP has just posted a couple of new matches. Pretty dancer boys are tossing and squeezing one another predictably. A beautiful, long pale hottie, White Angel, takes his turn working over and getting worked on in “The Challenge Series“. This image of him schoolboy pinning Mario, with what looks like a big smile on Mario’s face, brings the topic to mind. Part of the story, at least, is humiliation. Dominating your opponent so completely that you can drop your most vulnerable parts across his face with impunity has got to send a message: You are owned.
Can-Am’s Tom Flex was constantly planting his abundant package across his opponents’ faces. This position is repeated multiply throughout Flex’s wrestling history, both clothed and naked. Here, Beau Hopkins turns his face away to avoid Flex’s testicles pressed against his lips. Clearly, part of the story is also the allusion to forced oral sex. The dominant muscle stud possesses such command over his helpless opponent that he can force feed his cock and transform his opponent into his sexual toy.
Like Tom Flex, BG East’s Mr. Joshua Goodman frequently smothers his opponents with his overstuffed package, and like Flex, Joshua frequently puts his own stunning body on gorgeous display while he does it. Joshua is a case in point of another aspect of this crotch-to-face story. Joshua’s massive, low hanging balls are ALWAYS a feature of his matches. He’s gorgeously muscled, handsome, and has a nice, cocky persona, but let’s face it, it’s hard to associate Mr. Joshua with much else other than his pendulous package. The crotch-to-face is the exclamation point at the end of the sentence: Mr. Joshua’s balls are huge! His figure-four crotch-to-face is the unspoken (often spoken) message that Mr. Joshua is hyper-masculine, unstoppable, and irrepressible.

Mitch Colby, current top contender to take back the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, reaches that moment in pretty much every match where he has his opponent’s head wedged high between his thighs. He takes both hands and grasps the down man’s head, and presses his opponent’s face into this crotch. Mitch tells the whole story explicitly that so many only imply. Invariably, Mitch’s head rolls backward, his eyes are shut in ecstasy, and his face is enraptured by this moment of sexual domination. I swear, I expect to see Mitch cum in his jock strap every time he does this. Mitch is getting off on this, and for that particular story he tells so well, he remains firmly ensconced in the pantheon of my absolute favorites. To have a muscle hunk’s face crushed against your cock and balls should absolutely be about sexual gratification.

Speaking of pale, skinny white boys, Brigham Bell always did it for me in a way that never ceased to catch me by surprise. With zero bodyfat, Brigham was a walking anatomy chart, with every muscle, tendon and bone in clear relief. He was so skilled at using that whipcord of a body to beat down, conquer, and humiliate his bigger opponents. Squeezing a hard boy’s head into his crotch was standard fare for Brigham, using the maneuver to hammer home the point that it’s not always how big the muscles are that determine the tale. This pale, skinny white boy that you completely underestimated is suddenly planted across your shoulders, driving your chin into his balls. Whatever you thought was going to happen in this match, however you thought you’d overpower and dominate the skinny kid, it was always fated that you’d be flat on your back with his cock slapped down across your lips.

As always, I love the muscled bodies, the erotic, dominating positions, the enthused salesmanship. But it’s the arc of the story that I find most erotic. It’s the plot of two men staring one another down, untested and cock-sure of themselves, and all the fantastic elements that go into one of them ending up lying flat on his back, defenseless, with his opponent’s crotch shoved into his face.

Crowning a New Champion

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Rusty Stevens capped off his meteoric rise in my wrestling fantasy rankings with the final segment of his battle with Aryx Quinn in Can-Am’s Arena 2. The plot of the match is described explicitly enough on the website, so I don’t think I’m giving too much away. Aryx finishes off Rusty with his “Kiss of Death,” knocking out the bigger man cold. He wakes Rusty up with his erect cock sliding between Rusty’s magnificent ass cheeks, and proceeds to force feed him orally and then plow him from behind.

No offense meant to Aryx, but he’s furniture to me as I watch this. My eyes are for Rusty alone. He’s simply gorgeous, with a body I just want to reach out and grab from every angle. The scene fades to Aryx on his back with Rusty sitting on his cock and power bottoming, facing Aryx’ feet. Rusty is fierce even with his opponent’s cock up his ass. The magic happens, though, when he skillfully spins around on Aryx’ cock to face his head. Still planted on top of him, Rusty leans forward, kisses Aryx’ neck, and then slaps on the same “Kiss of Death,” knocking Aryx out cold.
Rusty drives home the point that he didn’t take kindly to Aryx’ beginning the screw him while he was still unconscious by returning the favor. Rusty’s stunning ass is hypnotic as he pumps his helpless opponent into submission. Somehow, they finish everything off with respectful, mutual appreciation, eagerly suggesting that they’re both ready to face off and do it all over again.

It was the moment that Rusty spun around on his opponent’s cock in order to take charge from “the bottom,”… that’s the precise moment when Rusty ripped the crown from Mitch Colby’s head and claimed the title as my new favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy. Rusty’s fierceness in transforming his humiliating defeat into a final reversal, all the while owning Aryx even with Aryx’ cock up his ass, earns him the undisputed title.
Mitch’s MySpace page recently suggested that he was hitting the gym for his next wrestling match. So while Mitch is now the #1 contender (step aside, Derek), I’m hoping that the competition will be heating up soon. Mitch managed a pretty rapid reversal of fortunes when Derek da Silva spanked his ass and claimed the crown for a couple of months last Autumn. I’m eager to see if Mitch kicks it into overdrive in order to kick Rusty’s ass to the curb, and back into second place.
The king is dead. Long live the king.