Playing to the Audience

Kid Leopard v Matt Carlton – BGE  Live in San Francisco

Today’s BG East Arena update features several galleries from the vintage Live at San Francisco collection of matches. In addition to reminding me that I need to get a copy of these live audience matches featuring some of the early lions, it also reminds me that I really like homoerotic wrestling in front of an audience.

Brooklyn Bodywrecker v Scott Rogers & Matt Carlton – BGE Live in San Francisco

A reader recently chatted with me about the concept of gay wrestling in front of an audience. We both agreed that the concept really moves us. I’m not entirely certain what all the moving parts are that multiply the eroticism of homoerotic wrestling with a live audience, but I have to believe it has to do with the shared intimacy of watching arousing, hardbodied athletes playing to a mutual kink.

Reed/DJ v Rouge/Tucker – Naked Kombat – December 23, 2009

Naked Kombat taped three incredibly hot matches in front of an audience before calling that venue quits. Their boys always got hurt when they wrestled in front of a crowd of cheering fans. Did the kombatants experience an extra rush of adrenaline when the boys in the stand roared with delight at each homoerotic hold? Did they find themselves trying a little too hard, pumped a little too much, with a jeering, cheering, hungry audience egging them on like the crowd that inevitably forms around schoolyard scraps? Maybe that’s part of the equation of what turns me on, as well. There’s an extra dose of adrenaline with an audience watching. There’s not only the fantastically intimate relationship hammered out between the wrestlers, but also the relationship between the wrestlers and the audience. Like a threesome, it adds something exotic and extra intense to an already erotically charged moment.

Reed/DJ v Rouge/Tucker – Naked Kombat – December 23, 2009

My recent introduction to the illustrated storybooks Sexfights at the BG Arena captures this ménage à trois sentiment quite nicely. The story of one night in an explicitly gay, live audience, ring wrestling arena, suggests that the wrestling studs fighting to cum out on top experience a synergistic, orgasmic psychic connection with the audience, carried across the sound waves of the audience’s shouts of encouragement, instruction or derision. The wrestlers, financially rewarded on a sliding scale based on how hardcore the victory sex gets, find themselves nudged further in brutality and passion as a result of the boys in the chairs, aroused and enthralled at the live, homoerotic, 110% wrestling kink action occurring just a few feet in front of them.

Chuck Tiger Collins v Fallen Angel – BGE Live on Campus

So perhaps a Sexfights at BG Arena scenario might have trouble finding an insurance carrier (which I assume was the real nail in the coffin of Naked Kombat’s live audience matches). And perhaps as homoerotic wrestling has become more established, there’s less opportunity for the ragged spontaneity of a Wrestlefest, for example.

Brad Rochelle v Patrick Donovan – BGE Wrestlefest 2

But I’ll keep a candle burning for the hope to someday buy my ticket for a ringside seat to watch the kink infused melodrama of homoerotic wrestling played out close enough for me to smell the sweat. Surely the seats would be packed for an opening bout with, say, my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division Lon Dumont swagger out and climb commandingly through the ropes to work his bodybeautiful, indypro-informed magic on – how about – BGE veteran delight, Patrick Donovan. Patrick would be rewarded by those of us in the seats for copping some gratuitous feels of LD’s gorgeous pecs, but LD would surely pound his amorous opponent into a sweaty, exhausted, defenseless pulp, earning even more awed adoration from us in the crowd. Match 2, I’m thinking, should be a little kinkier. Let’s say Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), eager to show up LD, climbs into the ring next, against Grapple 101 emcee, Ashley Ryder. Ashley lets us in the seats know that if he conquers my top contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division – he’ll give us all what we’ve been swooning for for more than a decade: an unobstructed view of Mr. Joshua’s stripped cock and balls. Hell, the crowd would turn on Mr. J in a flash, wouldn’t we!? Our blood would pump faster with each small advantage that Ashley managed to claim over Mr. J. When Ashley found himself bullied and slammed by his opponent, we’d roar in protest, desperate for our fresh-faced champion to deliver the goods he cockily promised. Knowing Ashley, sooner or later, boots would be stripped and the tension would rise over his fetish for claiming his opponent’s socks. And, let’s face it, Mr. J would likely capitalize on Ashley’s single-minded devotion to his gimmick, beating the Britboy’s face into the turnbuckle, tying him in the ropes and battering him with every appendage, before choking him out in the center of the ring as we catcalled, watching our hopes to see Mr. J’s goods fade with Ashley’s consciousness. But as full of himself as Mr. J is, he isn’t immune to the adrenaline rush of the roaring crowd. We’d chant, “take it off, take it off, take if off,” making the adonis pause as he’s stepping through the ropes to make his exit. “Take if off, take it off, take it off,” we’d chant like devotees of our druid god, weaving a spell so powerful that Mr. J, in his lust to be worshipped, couldn’t refuse. He’d tease us. He’d start to strip, and then wag his finger at us, plucking our pumping heartstrings like a harpist. Take it off, take it off, take it off… we’d keep whispering, breathlessly, desperately, until his eyes closed in rapture at the sound of our worship, and as if with a mind of their own, his hands peeled his skin tight trunks down his long, muscled legs. He’d grab his balls in his right hand and his cock in his left, giving them a habitual tug, before lacing his fingers behind his head and flexing his eight-pack directly over top of Ashley’s prone body, soaking in the impassioned shouts and grunts of our climactic adoration.

Dennis the Menace v Jay Austin – BGE – Paradise 2

Holy crap! I got completely lost there in my own fantasy of a BG live audience event, now didn’t I? Surely there’s got be at least another two or three more matches on the card, but I’ll save the rest of that fantasy for another day. For now, let me just say again that I think there’s an awesome chemistry to live audience wrestling, as evidenced by straight-up mainstream pro wrestling profits, that would only be that much more appealing in undisguised homoerotic fare. My candle is lit for a return of live audience action to gay wrestling, and me with my ticket to a front row seat.

Diesel Powered

Tattoos, hardbodies, balls out wrestling… what’s not to appreciate about the latest release from Naked Kombat? It’s an odd set-up this time around, because apparently Trent Diesel keeps figuratively fucking up his opponents.

The first-first round pits Trent against NK mainstay, Patrick Rouge. These two bodies side by side are a work of art. In action, they scramble and scrap ferociously up the point at which Trent drops Patrick hard on the back of his head. Poor Patrick keeps getting knocked out of his matches due to injuries. I’m not sure who he pissed off, but it sure seems like he’s got a target on him for all the NK boys to do some serious damage. If you’re going to get bounced off the mat on your neck, at least it’s at the hands of the gorgeously inked, zero bodyfat bodybeautiful, Trent.
So NK sends in Alex Slater to pick up the action against Trent. In many ways, Alex is the antithesis of Trent. Where Trent is blond and smooth, Alex is dark and hairy. Where Trent’s six-pack abs stand in sharp relief against his sweaty torso (particularly gorgeous at the the end of round 3), Alex is decidedly softer and clearly nowhere near as cardio superfit as his opponent. Moreover, where Trent seems generally unphased by every abuse thrown his way, Alex has a weak spot that quickly surfaces: Alex can’t handle ball and ass abuse. Twice in the trunks-on round with Alex, Trent pounds the hirsute contender’s balls into crying submission. When Trent shoves his fingers up Alex’ ass (with some fine artistic flair), Alex’ grunts and groans instantly rise an octave as panic creeps into his cries of protest. In his post-match debrief, Alex confesses that his strategy was entirely defensive, “just trying to make sure his hands weren’t going to the right place,” (he points at his crotch). Not sure what Alex was thinking NK would be like, but he’s no match for the tattooed, sliced to pieces energizer bunny battler, Trent.
Alex also fails to measure up on one last point. In the trunkless round, both men start hard. Alex is limp within seconds of the action starting, whereas Trent (the paradigmatic grower-not-shower extraordinaire), stays at least semi-hard throughout. My sympathies always lie with the hot and hard stud who finds sweaty, naked grappling sexually arousing. I hope we see more of Trent Diesel.