Dangerously Graceful

Paul Perris: 5’10”, 175 lbs

Paul Perris cut a striking figure when he wrestled for Can-Am. It was more than just a pretty face and a hot bod, though of course he had those.  Especially the incredibly hot bod. Paul also pulled off this delicate balance between beautiful grace and dangerous power. The dangerous power is pretty obvious in even a cursory look at his resume and promotional pics. The guy was a martial artist, and 5’10” and 175 pounds doesn’t come close to describing the physicality that he brought. There was pretty much guaranteed to be totally legit a high kick to an opponent’s face at some point in nearly every match, because why not!? And those muscles were clearly not only beautiful, they were strong.  I always had the impression that he carried himself like someone who had, in his private life, gotten his ass kicked and kicked ass on several occasions.

Check out the toes.

But Paul Perris also pulled off something that’s hard to do, particularly in the modern pursuit of hyper masculinity these days: he moved with breathtaking grace. It’s not hard to miss the toe point when he would lower that stunning physique into an honest to god, full-on, balls to the floor split. The splits themselves are tough to pull off and still look like a full-contact fighter (excluding Jean-Claude van Damme), but Paul would invariably go the extra inch and point those toes like the dancer he clearly had to have been, stunningly conscious of every inch of his body and intentionally positioning absolutely everything about his body to reach for aesthetic perfection.

It was always about the art and grace.

That grace certainly wasn’t only to be found in the pre-match posing splits and toe points. On the mats, in the ring, he placed each footstep with a deliberate precision, seemingly calculating at every moment the exact position of his center of gravity and maintaining exquisite balance both because it would be harder to knock him off his feet AND because he looked superhumanly beautiful with each movement.

A man and a boy.

The first time I saw him wrestle was in Can-Am’s Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3. His opponent was incredibly lean, 5’9″, 160 pound John St. James. John was quite the bon bon. Handsome, cocky, ripped to shreds, if he walked into a bar my eyes would be riveted on him the entire night. But holy fuck, when he shares the screen with Paul, John St. James looks like a pimply faced adolescent! Ostensibly they were separated by one inch in height and about 15 pounds in weight, but whether or not that was technically true, it doesn’t capture the incredible contrast between them. Paul looks like a god. John looks like a mortal.

Even when Paul is on defense, he was completely in charge of the situation.

There’s a sweet intensity and sincerity about John St. James in this match that I enjoy. He absolutely throws himself at Paul with abandon, giving every appearance of a genuine faith in his capacity to conquer the peak physical specimen in front of him. He works a little offense. He tries to be cocky. But at the very height of his momentum, there’s no missing the plain truth: Paul Perris is in complete control. John keeps throwing himself at the gorgeous grappler. He locks on a hold and flexes, grimacing with the effort to apply every ounce of strength into keeping the bodybuilder captured.  And Paul grunts and groans with a rhythm that still haunts my dreams, keeping the metronome pace but growing louder when his lightweight opponent snaps on a full nelson or headlock. And the holds last a while, but there’s simply no way around it: Paul is getting off on letting the little kid clock a little riding time. Because as soon as Paul flexes, as soon as he makes even the slightest effort, John’s hold pops loose like perforated paper.

This was always heading in just one direction.

Paul is luxurious in a pit of oil. He writhes and slides with, again, such self-possession that there’s no mistaking that he knows just how superhumanly sexy he looks doing it. Whereas John is a little awkward in the medium (he accidentally squirts a little in his face before the match, making his pre-match oil down look distinctly uncomfortable as he sputters and grimaces), Paul looks like he could whip his cock out at any moment and unload all over his opponent’s face, because this is turning him on just that much.

Paul knows what you’re looking at.

This is squash. Not because John St. James is never on offense, but because even when he’s on offense, he’s nothing more than an accessory to Paul Perris’ one-man physique show. I’m trying to think of anyone wrestling these days that captures the same audacious combination of physical domination and exquisitely beautiful grace as Paul Perris. It made for such a potent delivery of wrestling eroticism, and was foundational in sending my homoerotic wrestling synapses firing in my more formative years.

Dangerously graceful.

Summer’s Back!

I was pulling weeds in my front yard yesterday and caught my first sighting of the season of a truly stunning specimen of a hunk jogging in front of my house shirtless.  I mean, this boy was gasp-worthy. Amazingly broad shoulders, lightly hairy and powerful pecs, defined six-pack, lean & defined quads.  Handsome face with a square jaw, short-cropped near-buzz-cut.  But as he passed me and I stared openly, the view going was more incredible than the view coming.  Incredibly gorgeous, muscled back tapering down to a narrow waist, with those hot, thin nylon running shorts slit up the side encasing incredibly powerful glutes bulging so beautifully I could’ve set my Mai Tai on top of that shelf.  As I watched the specimen for two blocks before he turned up a street, I could help but smile to myself and mutter, “Summer’s back.”  Here are a few more backs that make me sit back, admire, and imagine….
One of the most gorgeous shots of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler: Lon Dumont in Tag Team Torture 15.
Current top contender for the favorite title showing off his award winning backside: Kid Karisma in Matmen 23.
Alexi Adamov’s beautiful back muscles and bulging butt in Ring Revenge 1.
The stunningly pretty shelf of Pretty Pete Sharp from Gazebo Grapplers 14.
Paul Perris’ vintage backside beauty.
Multiple HWOTM winner Denny Cartier’s beautiful back in trouble in  Ring Revenge 1.
Chace LaChance’s stunningly built back displayed to perfection in Braden Charron’s bear hug in newly released bonus to Summer Sizzlers.
Tyrell Tomsen’s physical perfection from trapezius muscles to calves in Strip Stakes 1.
Another vintage babyface bodybuilder back belonging to Can-Am’s Jonny Olson
Cameron Matthew’s sweaty back glistens in new release Mat Hunks 9.
Brad Barnes bulges everywhere. Everywhere. As he surveys demolished Chace in Pec Bash 2
Incredibly broad wingspan on long, strong Paladin facing Stage 2 of Jonny.
Rio Garza showing off his Can-Am credentials along with his professional physique model body.

My Odyssey

You would not believe the week I’ve had. I’ve slept in three different time zones, been snowed in twice, re-routed 3 times, and I’ve been working my ass off every step of the way. I feel a lot like Odysseus, tackling one epic obstacle after another thrown at me by the gods. And even as I type this, the same demonic snow storm that has trapped me once already has left me snowbound yet again, far from home.

I don’t know what I did to offend the gods, or what bad karma I accrued, or how unlucky I am to have defied probability on so many counts to come up on the short end of the stick. In any case, thank the gods that I at least have internet access now. The subzero wind chill and blinding snow outside are screaming my name, but I’m warm and sheltered for the time being. I’ve been away from the blog so long that I’m struggling to get my groove back. So I’m just going to ask for a little help from you all.

You know the story of Odysseus. Greek hero, thwarted by the ancient gods from his trek to return home to his family after fighting valiantly in the Trojan War. He battled a cyclops. He was briefly made an amnesiac by the Lotus Eaters. Half his men were turned to swine by the witch Circe.  He resisted the temptations of the ensnaring voices and vaginas of the Sirens. At every turn, the gods thwarted his journey home, threatening to take his life, battering him with the strength of all the elements of earth, sea and sky.

So my question for you, readers, is which homoerotic wrestler best embodies the spirit of Odysseus?  He’s got to be able to suffer overwhelming odds and profound injustice and keep battling back. He’s got to make women swoon, but prefer the company of his virile young men who follow him faithfully. He’s got to be athletic, strong, commanding and inspire both divine lust and ire. Which wrestler do you most readily picture in a loin cloth, tied to the mast of a ship, swelling with lust and driven nearly mad with desire? You can nominate your own by commenting below, but here are the nominees I’m placing before you for consideration…

Brad Rochelle

With the buzz over Brad Rochelle’s return after a long absence from BG East wrestling, I think he could have the look and the persona to be Odysseus. And perhaps he has his own heroic Odyssey to explain is long absence from the scene.

Cameron Mathews

Cameron Mathews has got to be one of the hardest working hunks in wrestling, which earns him a nomination for the role of Odysseus. Hot body, handsome face, astonishingly lush ass, and an all around good guy… the makings of an epic hero.

Thunder’s Arena’s Boxxy

 Boxxy is my wild card in this deck. I know he’s made a big splash at Thunder’s, and a helpful reader recently pointed me to his bare-all solo work at Randy Blue. He could have the making of a sincere, heroic face who gets pummeled and pounded by injustice but remains true to his belief that by virtue and hard work, he deserves to win in the end.

Jake Jenkins

Jake Jenkins stars in all sorts of fantasies of mine, and it’s no stretch at all to picture him in a loin cloth, battling the giant cyclops, taking a beating and relentlessly bouncing back for more. And I suspect that like me, there are plenty of men and women who’d lie, cheat and steal for his affections, just like Odysseus!

Can-Am’s Paul Perris

Too literal? Whatever. We know that the classic bodybuilder/kickboxer/homoerotic wrestling icon Paul Perris looks mouthwatering when tied up. This man driven wild by the Siren’s song, willingly tied to the mast of his ship by his men, would be awfully picture perfect.

Rex/Rex Braddock

Finally, homoerotic wrestler of the month Rex Braddock has the facial hair and the gorgeous, hairy body of a Greek hero. There’s a raw edge to Rex that I love. He’s somehow gorgeous and yet not pretty. He’s a beast of a man, but neither quite fits my typology of a gym bunny or a bodybuilder. He could be an everyman hero, no doubt. The object of lust, ire and a never-say-die willingness to stare down whatever the gods might throw at him.

Let me know what wrestler you think fits the bill of the classic Greek hero Odysseus by voting in the margin at the right. And wish me luck defying the gods in my own journey home.

The Flex

Lately, I’ve been drawn to strength. What’s getting my engine running is the powerful squeeze that makes a captured man gasp, or the brutal slam that even makes my head rattle just watching it. That said, I’ve also been reminded lately that I’m not a fan of musclebound bodies that are so massively developed that a bodybuilder can’t scratch his own nose because his biceps keep getting in the way. That just seems maladaptive and, frankly, not so sexy.
Flexibility is a grosslyundervalued aspect of physical health in general, and in wrestling, it’s even more important. Tolerances for pain and prying, twisting and turning are calibrated precisely to the hard-achieved flexibility of a wrestler. The same guillotine that makes one man scream a frantic submission may be endured, at least for a time, by a more flexible body not so easily pressed to the breaking point.
When I think of flexibility and the homoerotic wrestler, Paul Perris inevitably pops into my brain first. Paul always managed to work the splits into his matches, and really, why not? It’s like a dog licking his own balls… if you or I could physically manage that feat, wouldn’t we be caught doing it ALL the time, wouldn’t we? Anyway, back to Paul… his splits provided a means of delivering punishment to Paul and receiving punishment from Paul. He frequently seemed to enjoy sliding down into splits, particularly in his oil matches, as he tortured his opponent in, say, a full nelson. I don’t see how the splits really added anything to the wrestling, but they were stunning, nonetheless, and they offered fascinating angles to view his muscleboy bubblebutt. Frequently, Paul would be ruthlessly captured by his opponents who would manage to spread his legs freakishly wide as Paul sold some sweet suffering. On those rare occasions he was matched with an equally flexible musclegod like Roman Stone (which he did 3 times), Paul seemed to relish throwing in some split-torture of his own.

Once I’ve managed to stop fixating on an oiled Paul Perris in the splits, my second fondest wrestling contortionist is Brad Rochelle.

Brad’s flexibility is probably easy to overlook. You aren’t alone in being completely intoxicated by the stunning beauty of his muscled physique. His proportions and power are what can sell a still of Brad any day. And speaking of selling, his salesmanship is second to no one’s as far as I’m concerned. But in appreciating Brad matches, it has to be acknowledged, he was one twist-tie of a man.

This is probably why Brad-as-jobber commands such a fanatical following full 2 years after the last match was released with Brad. His flexibility made his capture and torture astonishing to behold. He could be pried so far past the point of normal flexibility, that you couldn’t help but be amazed and fully on board with the notion that he was suffering well beyond the pale.

All this to say that flexibility has got to be the motor oil lubricating my wrestling kink engine. I like ’em big and powerful, no doubt. But I need to see them bend, too. Clearly, I need to get back into yoga.

Life Imitating Art Imitating Life…

It’s like the keen eyes at Towleroad were thinking of me (and you) when they posted this YouTube gem. I don’t speak Spanish, so one of you will have to correct any misconceptions I have about the clip, but from the title and the drama, it appears to me that a Mexican bodybuilder is majorly pissed off with is placing at the end of the day. It looks like he’s disgusted with his, what, second place prize? He rips it up, walks up to the end of the stage and calls out the judges. One hot piece of judge-beef in a polo shirt stands up and invites the sore loser to bring it on.

So Baby Blue leaps from the stage and tackles the hot piece of ass judge. The crowd scatters. Satellite fights break out. Another competitor shows up, pounding a metal chair on the announcer’s table. That’s where the clip ends, but damn… my imagination is just getting started!
The bodybuilding competition as the backdrop to a wrestling match was already dreamed up before Baby Blue ever oiled up those humungous pecs of his. Can-Am was playing up the bodybuilder angle explicitly early on, including Kick-Ass Bodybuilder Feud 1 (it’s a bitter tragedy that Roman Stone didn’t have a longer tenure in homoerotic wrestling). Kick-Ass Bodybuilder Fued 2 doesn’t count, because Billy Vochek can’t pull off the role of bodybuilder. Enough said.
But actually what I was thinking of was Zeus productions Punishment 4, which features the relevant storyline of musclegod extraordinaire, Steve Sterling, getting abducted the night before a bodybuilding competition by Ivan Malek and pro-salesman of the decade, Cliff Conlin. Ivan and Cliff are charged with beating the crap out of Steve in order to spoil him for the bodybeautiful competition the next day. 2-on-1… 1-on-2… in the pro-ring… lots of muscle getting tied up and humiliated in the ropes. Whew! I need turn a fan on…
So I’m all for someone producing the next chapter in the YouTube story, when Baby Blue takes his oiled pecs to the gym the next morning and finds Poloshirt Hunk waiting for him behind a corner. The action simply must find its way into the ring. Baby Blue’s nipples absolutely must be tortured as he squirms, all trussed up in the ropes. The tables must turn… at least twice… and one of these two boys’ muscle-asses needs to get ridden hard in order to determine once and for all which one of them knows quality muscle when he sees it.

Prometheus Bound

What is the relationship between a homoerotic wrestling kink and bondage? Is the wrestling kinkster a subset of S&M bondage kink? Are they kissing (punching) cousins? Is it all the same, just packaged differently?
Like Prometheus bound or St. Sebastian, the image of a muscled hunk suffering in restraints is essentially homo-provocative, I think. Power captured, virility claimed, challenger conquered… the bound hardbody certainly tells a story that rings true (and rings my bell) to what gets me so hot and bothered about wrestling. The virile, arrogant young hot shot with all the confidence in the world in his powerful muscles and determination to be victorious is highly eroticized for me at the point that he is restrained, made vulnerable, and suffering in the humiliating realization that he has been bested.
The bound hunk shows up regularly in homoerotic wrestling. Is Paul Perris, with his arms bound at his sides in a rope and suffering the sadistic whims of Bart Tyler, essentially the same provocation that makes me hard at seeing Paul Perris body scissored, writhing and immobilized in pain? The wrestling hold is, after all, simply another means of binding a hot hunk in sweet vulnerability.
Still, I’m not so sure it’s all the same thing, at least not to me. Some days I’m hot for a hunk tied up like a rack of lamb, but somedays I’m not. My tastes for bondage with ropes, chains, shoelaces (etc., etc., etc.) are inconsistent. Justin Pierce finding himself literally tied in knots with the boxing tape that was moments ago wrapped protectively around his wrist is not always the scene that I keep rewinding over and over again to see until I’m driven irresistibly to climax. Sometimes it is, but not all the time.
But Brad Rochelle sobbing in pain cracked backward across any opponent’s knee is always, always, always instantly gratifying to me. The humiliation of Brad taped into the corner of the ring, hanging in unconscious humiliation between beatings is a sweet sight, but seeing the Enforcer tie him up with nothing more than Brad’s own arms twisted around his own neck like a Christmas bow is, without fail, guaranteed to make me salivate.
Affectively, then, the hunk bound and the hunk wrestle-bashed is not necessarily the same (again, at least for me). The elements are almost identical: the battler suffering, paralyzed, captured, and claimed. But the means of achieving his vulnerability seems to make a difference. Mr. Perpetual Erection, Dino Serra, is always in need of a severe spanking. Admittedly, suspended from the ceiling certainly displays his most impressive muscle more vividly than almost any other means of his destruction. Frequently, watching him be bound, stripped, and have his cock and balls worked over with sadistic glee is entirely filling: check please! But it isn’t as invariable as watching Dino’s erection get slapped around as he’s squeezed between the thighs of his grinning opponent.

Of course, sometimes the bondage with other than human restraints and the wrestling domination is indistinguishable. When
Brooklyn Bodwrecker and Shane McCall tape Brian Powers into the corner, and then proceed to drive Brian’s partner, Liam Ryan, inverted and crushed against him… well, where does the bondage begin and the wrestling humiliation end? For that matter, where does BBW begin and Shane McCall end? The scenario of immobilizing capture and sadistic humiliation is complex, creative, and frankly an impressive feat of physics and human ingenuity.

Perhaps it doesn’t really matter. If we just follow the lead of our cocks, I suppose like any form of art, we’ll know what tweaks our kink when we see it. Still, it all makes me wonder what is the essence of the wrestling kink that gives me (and so many of you) so much pleasure. Not all bondage does it for me, by any means. Even the bondage that does it for me a lot of the time doesn’t always do it for me. But wrestling hardbodies telling the story of cocky competition to decide who’s on top and who’s destined to suffer the humiliating defeat at the hands of the better man… these are always what gets my blood pumping in all the right directions.

A Second Glance

Have you ever instantly fallen in lust with the hot stud leaning against the wall across the bar, only to discover on closer inspection that he’s not really all that? Back in the day before video streaming (I feel like Grandpa talking about serials on the radio), all we had to decide what gay wrestling videos we wanted to purchase were stills. I’d see some pics of exactly “my type,” (whatever the hell that is), and like Pavlov’s dog I’d pull out my… credit card and send off for a tape in order to possess the handsome stud. Of course, they typically package these tapes as collections, and usually I’d be in lust with only two or three of the wrestlers. Then when the desperately anticipated moment arrived, I’d rip open the envelope, sprint to the TV, and pop in the tape.

Not infrequently, though, those objects of my lust turned out to not turn my crank so much. In my first BG East purchase, Troy Milan, who I was ready to swoon over, was actually a little annoying when you added audio and saw him actually move on the mats. He was way too much go-go and not enough throw down.
Then out of no where, Joe Mazetti blew my mind. I never would have picked Joe out of a crowd of hunky men as the one who would make me sweat. But seeing his sadistic sneer, particularly with the audio on, and I was surprised by lust!
Chip Slater did the same thing to me. The profoundly cleft chin is, I admit, a turn on for me. But otherwise I was not expecting Chip to send me over the moon. But he’s a freaking god on the mats! He twists his opponents into pretzels and laughs at them. He absolutely can’t help himself from torturing his opponents’ balls, and he himself appears to have balls of steel.
Soon after discovering Can-Am online, I thought I was entranced by bodybuilder Paul Perris. Oddly, when I actually brought him home, his doing the splits didn’t send me over the moon the way I thought it would. On the other hand, Troy Lucas completely took me by surprise. In motion, in the grasp of sadistic Johnny Lightening (who missed a spot shaving his ass), Troy rushed to the front of the line of my favorites on Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3.
One final example: I thought I was purchasing Fantasy Pro Wrestling primarily to ogle the mysteriously, concisely named “Matthews” (sort of like Cher: he’s so hot he only needs one name).
But popping it in, I quickly discovered that Matthews was not the apple of my eye (and he may only need one name because that’s as much as he can remember). I was glad that Hector Alvarez beat his ass for disappointing me like that. On the other hand, Buck Wyld turned out to be worth every penny. It’s not that Matthews doesn’t have all the right parts in the right proportion. He just doesn’t move as sexy as a hot man can move (and he’s creepily quiet). Buck, on the other hand…
Anyway, like falling in love with the B-Side, I appreciate the unexpected gems that catch me by surprise in the collection tapes. It’s a nice lesson to remember to be open to having your assumptions challenged. Sometimes the hot guys posing across the bar aren’t the sexiest ones in the room, even if they might catch your eye first. When it comes to homoerotic wrestling products, between the boys who disappoint and the boys who pleasantly surprise, all in all I generally come out on top. And on those rare occasions when I’m left with a hollow, unsatiated feeling, if it’s a BG East product I’ll at least get to enjoy the trailers (I’m a BIG fan of the trailers).