Always Wrestling

I’m still contemplating taking up fishing on the off chance I get to see Chris Cuomo shirtless.

I used to post a lot more around here about largely non-wrestling related things. Well, I posted about things that are not inherently wrestling-related, but that in that perverse way I have, I can’t help but overlay with homoerotic wrestling innuendo. Well, really, I posted about hot hunks who, as far as I know, don’t have any relationship to wrestling, that I fantasize about in raucous, rowdy, balls out, full throttle gay wrestling scenarios.

Alexander Skarsgård inspires so many fantasies

My posts have become more and more focused on the world of unapologetic homoerotic wrestling, in part because I have less time in the midst of a busy life. That said, my remarkable penchant for recasting beautiful men into homoerotic wrestling fantasies in my imagination has never skipped a beat. I’m just not writing about it so much.

Perfect combo: Speed skaters and headscissors

I was reminded of this when “Commenter” commented on my most recent post, asking if I was planning on authoring another Olympics-gone-wrestling series. I’ve done this a few times, basically documenting what I’m always doing when I’m watching the Olympics, namely, looking for arousing, hot hunks and, regardless of their actual sport, picturing them wrestling one another.

I’m imagining the USA bobsled team has inspired more than just me this month

As I replied to “Commenter,” my time is achingly short to invest as much as I have in pulling off some round robins like I have for past Olympiads. However, if someone else wants to do the preliminary work of identifying the fantasy-worthy athletes and drawing up some brackets, I would do my best to sketch out where my mind goes. If different readers submit competing brackets, I will be happy to have you wrestle one another naked to determine whose brackets I should use.

I have intrusive erotic fantasies that star Eliad Cohen

In the mean time, I thought I’d just offer a quick update on the hot men who have made recurring appearances in homoerotic wrestling matches in my mind’s eye in recent months. For example, and as always, Eliad Cohen. Fuck, I can’t even open Twitter in a public place anymore because the first glimpse I get of Eliad’s magnificent, hairy muscles make me instantly erect.  Eliad appeared in a New Year’s Eve wrestling fantasy I wrote last year, as he appears in fantasy after fantasy ever since. Hey, wait, New Year’s Eve wrestling fantasies! There’s another fond tradition I slacked off on this year.

Marry me, Pedro Andrade

Another Twitter-infatuation I have that persistently drives me into wrestling fantasy territory is Pedro Andrade. I love this Brazilian beauty’s politics, his eye for photography, and apparently he’s a poet. So, fuck, yeah, I’m ready to propose marriage… and then he shares a little skin. Damn, he is gorgeous in every way. Brains and brawn? What a total threat he’d be as a babyface in the ring!

I’ll fuck this “sleeve”

I almost nearly lost my shit as I started watching the Netflix series Altered Carbon. I am a ridiculous Sci-Fi junkie, so believe me when I swear I had no idea that this series was packed with so much mouthwatering beef. And then basically in the first scene, Swedish stunner Joel Kinnaman shows up naked and glistening, covered in lube. And moments later he’s naked in a communal shower. And in the next episode he’s naked and having sex. And then people show up to his hotel room, and he just stands there naked, the camera strategically positioned with a potted plant or some such nonsense obscuring his crotch. So much naked hotness! Kinnaman reminds me again how easily I’m turned into a slack-jawed fanboy for pretty much any 6’2″ blond, stunningly handsome Swedish man who takes off his shirt, which in my experience is pretty much any Swedish man.

Squeeze those shoulders into my newsboy infatuation ranks, Baruch Shemtov!

My newest newsboy crush is apparently openly gay and buddies with Gio Benitez and Tommy Didario, so of course he’s got a place at my table anytime. But it’s not like he needs any coattails. Just fucking LOOK at the size of Baruch Shemtov’s biceps!? I vacillate between picturing him as the smooth beefcake jobber to Eliad’s sadistic ring villainy, or seeing the two of them as contenders for the prettiest tag team in history.

Warm up the winter Olympics with some sweaty wrestling, please

Those are the current roster of studs slapping on face-to-crotch headscissors and making each other scream. In a better world, I’d write down some of the matches in which they star in my imagination.  In the mean time, I’ll try to clear a little time in my calendar in case you come up with a Winter Olympics 2018 bracket of homoerotic wrestling contenders to work with.


Today I’m tossing together several little odds and ends that all smell so nice.  For example, a few weeks ago I was watching Good Morning America and caught this slice of hotness reporting across lines as ABC and Univision are mashing up their news for white people with their new news for Latinos who don’t speak Spanish so well (to be clear, I’m not making fun.  I think this makes perfect sense), Fusion.

Fusion reporter Pedro Andrade



Pedro Andrade was fully clothed and wearing a sports coat, but holy fuck there was something pristinely erotic and nakedly raw about this hunk’s beautiful brown eyes and those full, luscious lips seductively stretched in a lopsided grin. Thank the homoerotic wrestling gods I live in the age when I can instantly scratch my itch and look up this reporter to see if there are any shirtless shots.  Mind you, shirtless pics of mainstream news reporters can often be very rare nuggets of gold that require sifting through google images for days on end (been there. often.).  This was, however, not a problem when it comes to ridiculously attractive Pedro.


I believe as unadulterated fact anything this man has to tell me, as long as he’s shirtless.



Apparently his first career was as a model. Or still is.  I’m confident that there’s an extensive backstory to how this slice of gold showed up on a national network news team, and I’m fairly certain that someone who reads this blog will fill me in. Whatever “news” is today, it’s populated increasingly by overtly sexy, crotch warming hotties. And I know I speak for many when I say that the rise of the hardbodied Latino news hunk is long overdue and deeply, profoundly arousing. And knowing of my penchant for casting news personalities in homoerotic wrestling fiction, it should come as a surprise to absolutely no one that my mind instantly pictures infinitely fuckable Pedro first going pec to pec against, then tag teaming with, ABC’s resident Latino powerhouse muscle hunk, Gio Benitez.  Now that would be a match made in homoerotic wrestling heaven!




Pedro says, “Bring it!” (or however that’s translated into Portuguese).


Gio is fluent in Spanish, but I think wrapping those massive pythons around Pedro’s head should probably speak for itself.


Adding to the sweet aroma of hot wrestling hunks, let me pass along a hot little gem that showed up from one of the sexiest-assed wrestling fairies ever known to man (who shall remain nameless, but not unthanked).  Forwarded to me is the link to artist Ben McNutt‘s new installation over at VICE, entitled “Undying Homoeroticism in Wrestling.”  The VICE title “Wrestling is Gay” is such flamer bait, but then again, this is art, so begin provoked is almost certainly the point. However, for the likes of you and me, there’s a pace and power to Ben’s juxtaposition of words and images that reaches a hand deep inside my kink-soul and lets the eroticism of wrestling drizzle through his fingers like fine jewels.


Check out the VICE piece as well as the artist’s body of work that appears to have a  persistent wrestling them woven through it.

Inexplicably, Drake bristles at being called "a sweet jobber."
Inexplicably, Drake bristles at being called “a sweet jobber.”

Finally to add a little jobber musk to this potpourri, let me quickly respond to a few inquiries I’ve received asking if my account of getting my hands on BG East jobber extraordinaire, Drake Marcos, was a work of fiction or fact. I get it, of course, because I have transparently written wrestling fiction with me as protagonist on the pages of this blog, typically around the New Year each year.  And Drake has been entirely silent since sucking on his own sweat soaked trunks at the end of our match. To be clear and forthcoming, particularly in the absence of Drake stepping up and owning how he got owned, let me say unequivocally and declaratively that yes, my ring encounter with Drake Marcos did, indeed happen. My accounting of the highly enjoyable battle was unembellished. And really, after all his bluster and smirks over the past year, do you blame the handsome stud for slinking into a hole for a couple of weeks to nurse his battered ego after a blogger owned him, trussed him up, and left him in a pool of his own copious sweat?

Yeah, that never gets old.


So suck down the sweet aroma of random homoerotic wrestling thoughts and images and have a provocative, arousing day, my friends.