Fuck. Me. I just posted a new post here, and somewhere after I pressed publish, everything that I’d written disappeared. What. the. fuck. Now, I’m sort of pissed that I need to compose this entire post. Let’s see. What was I saying? I’m sure that I said that I’m deeply grateful to AR for inspiring me get back to composing words about homoerotic wrestling, both in terms of this blog, and in writing new homoerotic wrestling fiction.
I’m certain I waxed existential about the alchemy I’m enjoying in co-creating this text/graphic art combination. Knowing me, I’m sure I also mentioned that AR’s images of Baby Goose’s ass-in-jeopardy keeps turning me on like a light switch.
I probably mused about the way the total of our words and AR’s graphics make the final product so much more than the sum of its parts. But the real take home message is that you should jump over to the Producer’s Ring, settle in for some extended time in the Focus Group, and bring a towel to wipe off with as you read the illustrated homoerotic wrestling fiction in this newest addition to the archives. Oh, yeah, and I mentioned that I don’t have a way for you to comment on the stories directly, there in the archives, so you should let us know what you think in the comments here and/or on Twitter.
My work life kicks into high gear in a few days, so I’m trying to take advantage of the fleeting moments of summer to transfer some more matches from the old Producer’s Ring archives to their new location.
I continue to half-anticipate something more cringey about re-reading my old homoerotic wrestling fiction, but I keep surprising myself. I mean, it’s seriously dated. The first matches I wrote are about 12 years old now, so, it’s evident to see the march of time putting the Hollywood hunks I was obsessing over into context. Like, I was such a HUGE Heroes fan. HUGE. I still have a fast-twitch instant erection at Adrian Pasdar’s name, and that’s even after listening to The Chicks Gaslighter album a couple of hundred times in the past year and a half, where Adrian’s cheating ways get aired out with such excellent musical accompaniment. So, little wonder that I was so into picturing who would win a no-holds-barred homoerotic wrestling competition between Milo Ventimiglia and Sendhil Ramamurthy, also Heroes stars. The world has moved on, but it’s fascinating to get transported back to that moment when Milo and Sendhil seemed like the perfectly sexy, obvious pairing. And I did not remember what a seriously brutal match that was! Despite the way their careers took shape in the intervening decade, I still stand by my picture of who would obliterate whose ass.
It took me half a beat to even remember who the fuck Hunter Parrish was when I was transcribing a couple of his stores. Oh, right, I was up to my armpits in Weeds at the time, and feeling way, way frustrated at the cocktease that Hunter Parrish was, playing an emerging adult with mommy issues. However, I had no problem at all placing his opponent, Teddy Sears, who continues to strike a chord in my crotch every time I get a glimpse of him, almost always in some supporting role, looking so fucking fine! I don’t know if I even know any friends IRL who would even recognize the name Teddy Sears, and here I am, self-appointed president of his homoerotic wrestling fan club, instantly hard when I see him in a new role, preferably playing a gay character or someone in a throuple. The match between Hunter and Teddy was always going exactly one direction, and STILL, I was delightfully surprised and aroused re-reading where my mind was those years ago.
And then, it’s no wonder at all that I had to toss Hunter back into some action, because, let me explain again, he was such an epic, major league cocktease! I was seriously working some shit out in Hunter’s second match, facing off against Ben Godfre in the first Secretarial Pool match, which, now that I think about it, later evolved into an elimination tournament to select the newest member of Eli Brody’s elite executive team, with blog readers weighing in. Fuck, what a stroll down memory lane. Fuck, I loved those hunky executive assistants hard! Fuck… Ben Godfre! This, all before Ben hoisted his spectacular full monty freak flag for the average joe, like me, to see that he’s even kinkier and sexier than even my overactive imagination was picturing!
And finally, for this update, the first Major Domo match. As I remember it, the Major Domo stories emerged from my serious, certainly obvious crush I have ALWAYS had on the main character in the Producer’s Ring universe, West Coast Titan Eli Brody. Eli is in almost every story, but he’s pulling strings and typically fully clothed in business suits. Writing him so much, I quickly developed a crush, and I ached to see Eli do more than just sit back and watch, though, honestly, there’s something super sexy about a knock-dead gorgeous beefcake in a suit sitting back and watching two nearly naked/naked hunks ripping into each other. But I digress. The Major Domos took the action to Eli’s living room, and were built on the premise that, on rare occasions, Eli involves himself personally in providing… let’s say, “career advice,” to struggling hunks.
I hope that pulling these stories from the homoerotic wrestling fiction archives tickle at least some of you just right.
And just because I feel compelled to say “I told you so,” I just wanted to point out that low-key genius artist AR immediately sent me a humble disclaimer of all of the praise I heaped on him in my last pose. Seriously, that guy is freaking brilliant, and ridiculously humble. Send him some love at his DeviantArt profile, and tell him that I sent you. It’ll drive him nuts.
AR is genuinely low-key genius when it comes to his eye for homoerotic wrestling. One of the unexpectedly fun aspects of my recent collaboration with him, co-creating with me my first illustrated homoerotic wrestling fiction, was the particular give and take of the creative process. At times, I’d take the lead with some text, describing the scene, detailing a hold, scripting the dialogue. Then, like half a day later, AR would have created a 3D image in astonishing detail of that moment that had, just hours earlier, only existed in my mind’s eye. At other times, he would craft an image of a hold or a plot point, and then I’d write the text through the middle of the lane markers that he so skillfully generated for the story. It was a very cool creative process that we’re already investing in replicating.
One of the coolest moments in the creative process of putting together the Focus Group homoerotic wrestling match, featuring Ryan Gosling and Timothée Chalamet, was near the end of our work, when AR asked if we were missing a beat in the narrative. We built this moment in the plot when one hot, hard hunk is at the brink of despair, and AR asked the perfect question, of whether the action we’d constructed sufficiently and convincingly shoved the poor, gorgeous fucker over that edge. It was AR’s idea to add one more hold to fully justify the way the story unfolds, and he was the one who suggested that we use the Will Breaker.
I know this hold from Charming Chase Addams’ matches, and from having enjoyed the opportunity in the past to hear Chase talk about the development of the hold, and his creative process in coming up with the name for it. Chase is an innovator, and a passionately devoted student of the science and art of pro wrestling. The range of holds in his arsenal is pretty fucking incredible, particularly when I think about how ridiculously young and pretty he is. (Not that being pretty has anything to do with it. I just wanted to mention how pretty Chase is.)
I don’t think I really fully appreciated the complexity and beauty of the Will Breaker until it came time for me to try to describe, in words, one homoerotic wrestler applying the hold to another. Like, fuck, the words fail me! I watch him do it, mind you. It’s not like some mystery that happens behind a curtain somewhere. The spotlight over the ring allows no slight of hand or smoke and mirrors. I watch him do it, and even still, it’s fucking complex and nuanced and mysterious!
AR suggested something similar in his creative process of constructing a 3D render of the hold. He mentioned needing to painstakingly place each limb and joint, because there are no software shortcuts to create something like that. It’s not a position the human body was meant to easily slip into, or to endure for very long, so shaping a 3D rendering was, as I understand it, a significant challenge. And, thus, I repeat myself when I say that AR is a low-key genius. As soon as I publish this post, I’m going to get an email from him, humbly insisting on a disclaimer from my praise, but don’t believe him. He’s fucking brilliant.
Chase is, obviously, brilliant at what he does, as well. He’s not low-key about it, though. Chase knows his own genius, and he strips down to nearly nothing, climbs into a wrestling ring in front of a room full of cameras and microphones, and does magic like this that makes me gasp.
Anyway, I’m appreciating today these two young geniuses with such a passion for the science and art of homoerotic wrestling, of one fierce hunk taking possession of another, crushing one man’s hopes and dignity, and handing his body entirely over to his opponent. In their own ways, AR and Chase both get it, so deeply and fully!
Eli Brody sat atop the most powerful economic and political institution in history. The West Coast Titan possessed sweeping power as both political leader and entertainment industry producer. His empire was built on savvy choices of what entertainment talent to promote, in what vehicle, and for how long. The secret to his success was simple: he promoted the talent that made him hard. The entertainment-consuming public had never failed to follow where Eli’s cock led, and the public voted with their social media upvotes and subscription prices, to propel Eli to geopolitical dominance.
Titans like Eli held the power to shape public opinion, to launch tomorrow’s stars or to bury them. As a result, beautiful actors with big dreams and muscles were always lined up for the opportunity to make an impression on him. Eli had a knack for plucking someone from obscurity and creating a multimedia juggernaut. He also occasionally employed some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to the careers of established talent struggling for survival. The masterful producer understood that it was equally important and profitable to know when to break down overexposed talent, to choreograph their fall from grace in just such a way as to exploit those actors that the public had grown to love to hate, for rating gold.
Eli’s Vancouver corporate headquarters were situated in a dockside warehouse that looked more industrial than entertainment-industrial. He was considering his next two, back-to-back appointments. The barometer in his crotch told Eli these two actors were going to be valuable commodities. Both hot, hungry hunks were on the cusp of a major breakthrough, and they were both coming to Eli today to make their pitch to become the next big thing.
Jamie Bamber and Tahmoh Penikett both had their first big breaks on the same TV show. Both immediately generated a passionate fan following that only grew more intense as they appeared in less and less clothing as the series unfolded. When the show came to its natural conclusion, both Jamie and Tamoh had jobs lined up, but they wanted what neither had yet accrued the capital to secure: the breakthrough role that would catapult them into the heights of stardom.
Eli’s first appointment was with Jamie. The British beefcake pitched him an idea he had for a copy show, starring him, of course. “It’s guaranteed ratings gold,” Jamie explained. “I’m in top shape physically,” the hunk boasted, instinctively flexing his thick biceps, straining the seams of his tight dress shirt. “My fans will follow me, and I’m ripe for a vehicle that will make me, and you, a boatload.”
Eli smiled and nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. He had another idea for Jamie that would almost certainly make him a bigger star than this tired cop show format he was pitching today. But the talent seldom understood the nuances of timing and momentum that Eli had needed to master to build the type of success he was known for. Jamie was making a hard sell for a mediocre lateral move, and the producer could tell that the young hunk wasn’t going to be convinced easily that the smarter move was to wait.
“Mr. Brody,” his secretary called across the intercom, “your next appointment is here.”
“Jamie, I’m sorry that I’m so booked up this morning,” Eli said. “I think you may be on to something, but I’ve got to meet with my next appointment. Perhaps you’d like to stay, and we can talk further about this after my next meeting.”
“Definitely!” Jamie seemed pleased to get a second round for his pitch. As he stood up to exit the room, Eli waved him back to his seat.
“No, I’d like you to stay. I’d like your take on my next appointment, Jamie.” The British beauty sat up straight in his chair, his ego stroked semi-erect by the producer’s invitation to weigh in on a business decision.
Eli’s office door opened, and the Titan welcomed his next appointment with a smile. “Come in, Tahmoh. I think you and Jamie know one another.” The tall, handsome Canadian walked in and looked at his former co-star with a scowl. “I thought this would be just us, Mr. Brody.”
“My appointment with Jamie went long,” Eli apologized, waving him to take the seat next to Jamie. “However, I think perhaps the three of us may have some things we could talk about together.”
Wary anticipation hung heavily in the air as Tahmoh took his seat. “Gentlemen,” Eli began, “You’ve both caught the attention of the public, but the two of you split the audience. Your competing popularity has polarized your constituents,” Eli explained, pausing as the two hunks stabbed at each other with frustrated glances. “There are now Jamie-fans, and there are Tahmoh-fans, but not much crossover between the two camps. If I were to launch the both of you right now, there would be immediate comparisons and competition that, ultimately, would hamstring the both of you. In turn, I wouldn’t see the ratings or the profits that I think the two of you have the potential to generate. So I’ve got a can’t-miss serial in my pocket right now, and one of you can have it.” Both hunks sat up, still straighter, in anticipation. “It’s a sensational pilot, with lot’s of skin, perfect to make the most of all of the fans fantasizing about your hot, hard bodies. But, frankly, I can’t decide between the two of you who to give it to.” Both eager actors immediately began to plead their case loudly, talking over each other. Eli stopped them with an impatient raise of his hand. “I’m not going to decide which one of you gets the contract. You are.”
“We are?” they both said at the same time.
“Yes, you are,” Eli smiled. “You’re going to wrestle for it. It’ll be a private match for you to sort this out between the two of you. I’ll have the contract and a pen in hand, and I’ll just wait for the two of you to decide who gets to sign it.”
“So, I just beat him, and the contract is mine,” Jamie asked. Tahmoh bristled, but Eli silenced them both with another regal raise of his palm.
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Eli continued. “The two of you will have to agree as to who gets the contract. You’ll need to do whatever it takes to… convince your rival to give it to you. We’ll sign the contract once the both of you verbally confirm to me who deserves it. Do we have an understanding?”
Both Tahmoh and Jamie swallowed hard, then nodded.
“Excellent.” Eli stood. “No time like the present. Follow me.”
A little dumbstruck, Tahmoh and Jamie followed Eli out of his office and through the maze of hallways winding through the massive complex. Both men were nervous. Stopping at an unmarked door, Eli explained, “This is your locker room, gentlemen. Go on in and you’ll find your gear. Get suited up. You’ll see the door to the wrestling ring on the other side of the locker room. Join me at the ring when you’re both ready.”
Silent tension hung in the air as Tahmoh and Jamie walked into the locker room. The walls were lined with gray lockers. On the changing benches, the rivals found a box for each of them. While this turn of events was a complete surprise to the two of them, clearly the entire situation had been carefully and thoughtfully planned. Within the boxes, they discovered the gear that had been chosen for them. Tahmoh’s was a red singlet with a white Canadian maple leaf across the abdomen. Jamie’s singlet was blue, with the union jack printed across the front and back.
They turned their backs to one another and started to strip down. Jamie pulled off his polo shirt and undid his button fly jeans. Standing in his underwear, Jamie was, indeed, at the top of his physical form. On his 5’9″ frame, his shoulders were sculpted boulders, and his pecs were round and massive. His arm muscles were cut like crystal, each muscle group clearly striated through the taught skin. Jamie’s tiny waist was layered in abdominal and oblique muscles bulging over top one another. His round, muscled ass sat atop thick legs built for both sprint and distance speeds of an English footballer. As he pulled off his underwear to put on the jock strap tucked in the corner of his box, his thick cock and massive balls hung loose. He was shaved smooth all over, and sweat was already making his skin glisten as he tugged on the skintight union jack wrestling singlet.
At the same time, Tahmoh stripped off his tight, white t-shirt and jeans. The Canadian wasn’t as heavily muscled as his rival, but beautifully toned and proportioned, just the same. At 6’3″, he towered over the Brit. Tahmoh spent time in the gym building his broad back and strong frame, but he had clearly earned his strength doing more than just lifting gym weights. As he stripped out of his designer briefs and into his jock strap, his long thick cock swung like a pendulum. Pulling on his maple leaf singlet, he adjusted his jock.
They didn’t make eye contact as they strode to the far end of the locker room, toward the door marked “Ring.” On the other side of the door, they found a classic pro wrestling ring in a large, open, cargo warehouse. Bleachers lined the walls on all four sides, but the seats were empty. Eli sat on a wooden chair next to the ring, legs crossed, checking messages on his phone. As the men approached, the Titan stood with a smile.
“Since this is the first time either of you have been here, take some time to warm up and get a feel for the ring. When you’re ready to start, let me know.” Eli straddled his chair backward, resting his arms on the chair back to face the ring as he watched the men climb through the ropes. Jamie bounced from foot to foot, getting his heart pumping and his muscles warmed up. His thick, meaty pecs shimmied and bounced excitedly beneath his singlet. Tahmoh tugged on the ropes and stretched out his long, lean muscles for a couple of minutes, and then shadow boxed in a corner, preparing himself mentally for what was to happen next.
“Ready?” Jamie asked his opponent after a couple of minutes of silent, nervous warming up.
“Let’s do this,” Tahmoh answered. They both glanced at the producer outside the ring.
Eli pulled a pen and a folded piece of paper out of the breast pocket of his suit coat. “This belongs to whoever the two of you decide deserves it most. I’ll need to hear both of you verbally assent to your unanimous choice for who takes his next step in this business. There are no other rules. Pins, knockouts, and submissions are meaningless, unless the winner exacts the consent of his rival to hand over his claim to the contract. I’m just here to appreciate your negotiations. What happens next is up to the two of you.”
The two men eyed one another warily and began to circle the ring. Tahmoh’s reach advantage was abundantly apparent to the both of them. The Canadian hunk took a couple of testing jabs toward Jamie’s chiseled jaw, but the Brit kept himself out just out of reach. Abruptly, the Brit dropped to one knee, going in for a single leg, but Tahmoh hopped backward, successfully avoiding the attempt.
“You’ve done this before,” Jamie said with a smile, climbing quickly back to his feet.
“Hell, I’ve never done anything like this before,” Tahmoh smiled back. “But I’ve wrestled a little.”
Both men continued to circle one another, sizing each other up. Jamie lunged for another single leg and caught Tahmoh’s left ankle. The Canadian collapsed on top of him, grabbing him across the throat with his left forearm and squeezing, grasping his left wrist with his right hand and pressing upward against the Brit’s windpipe. Jamie began to choke and released Tahmoh’s ankle to try to pry his opponent’s arm away from his throat.
“You’re choking me,” Jamie coughed and sputtered.
“I’m beating you, you asshole,” Tahmoh responded fiercely.
Jamie twisted his head around within Tahmoh’s grip, sliding himself into a side headlock and releasing the pressure across his windpipe. Already sweating with the initial exertion and nerves, Jamie wedged his hands between Tahmoh’s forearm and chest, and pried them loose enough to slip out of the headlock. Both men rolled away from one another and stood, crouching, facing one another.
After two quick breaths, Jamie lunged again for a leg, but this time Tahmoh saw it coming. Clenching both hands together above his head, the Canadian brought his double fists crashing down into the middle of Jamie’s broad, muscled back, just as the Brit was stretched out reaching for his leg. Jamie crashed to the mat with a thud. Tahmoh immediately dropped his entire bodyweight down, driving a knee into the middle of Jamie’s back. The Brit yelled out in shocked pain and arched his back, scrambling to put distance between them. Tahmoh patiently stood up again, following his wriggling opponent across the mat. He aimed, and brought his knee again down with his full weight in the exact same spot in the center of Jamie’s muscle-armored back. The Brit screamed louder, arching backward in agony. A third time, Tahmoh stood, took deliberate aim, and pounded his knee into the weakened spot of Jamie’s back.
Jamie screamed and writhed in pain. He no longer tried to retreat, but simply scrambled to keep his injured back out of striking distance. Tahmoh stalked him coldly, watching the desperation rising across his rival’s pretty face. Decisively, the Canadian dropped to his knees, grabbed Jamie’s left arm with both hands, and pried it backward in a painful hammerlock. He knelt on one knee, wrenching up on his opponent’s wrist, as the Brit sat helplessly.
“Okay, I lied,” Tahmoh said quietly, kneeling behind the Brit and leaning in close to his ear. “I have done this before. And I’ve been wanting to do this to you for the last five fucking years.”
Standing up and straddling his opponent, Tahmoh gripped Jamie’s trapped arm with both hands and yanked upward, dragging Jamie’s body a foot off of the mat, dangling from his precariously twisted shoulder. As Jamie screamed like a wounded animal, Tahmoh slammed him to the mat face-first. He leaned hard into the hammerlock, making the Brit’s boulder shoulder quiver. Then Tahmoh placed both hands on Jamie’s hammerlocked arm and kicked his feet up in the air. He did a graceful handstand, balancing his full bodyweight down on Jamie’s nearly dislocated arm. Then he again dropped his right knee down into the weakened middle of Jamie’s back. “Fu-uu-uuck,” Jamie choke-screamed through silent sobs.
Cranking Jamie’s muscled right arm even higher up his back, Tahmoh knelt down on one knee and lowered his head to speak softly in Jamie’s ear. “You’ve been an arrogant prick your entire life, pretty boy.” The Canadian swung his leg over to straddle his opponent’s ass and lean into the hammerlock harder. “The way I see it, you’ve got three options right now. You give the contract to me now, and this is over. Or, I can break you down quickly and really injure you, and when you’re fucked up good, you give the contract to me and, this is over. Or, I can pick you apart, piece by piece, until you can’t move, and when you’re beaten senseless, you give me the contract, and this is over. Which option do you want?”
“Fuck you,” Jamie growled through clenched teeth.
“Hmmm,” Tahmoh snorted. “That’s definitely not option one. But I’m not sure if it’s option two or option three. I guess it’ll have to be dealer’s choice.”
Maintaining his hammerlock with one hand, Tahmoh grabbed Jamie’s hair with his other hand and pulled his opponent up off the mat. Just as Jamie pulled his knees underneath him into a kneeling position and balanced himself with his free hand, Tahmoh released the hammerlock and hair, pivoted on his left leg and brought a roundhouse kick solidly across the side of Jamie’s face. The Brit’s nose snapped, and blood flew through the air as Jamie landed on his side, motionless.
Grabbing his dazed opponent by the hair again, Tahmoh dragged him up to his feet. Jamie sagged groggily, but before his legs gave out, the Canadian shoved one arm through Jamie’s legs and grasped the Brit’s neck in the crook of his other arm. Scooping him up, Tahmoh hoisted the stunned man up to his chest effortlessly. Tahmoh looked down at Eli, watching intently from outside the ring, as he paraded Jamie’s battered and vulnerable body in a slow lap. Stopping in the center of the ring, he lifted Jamie high up on his chest. Then dropping to one knee, the Canadian drove his opponent’s already weakened back down across his outstretched knee. Jamie screamed and choked like a wounded animal, nearly split in half across Tahmoh’s knee. Tahmoh grabbed Jamie’s left ankle with one hand and his chin with his other hand and pulled each end of Jamie’s tortured body backward across his leg.
Sobbing in pain, Jamie flailed with his hands, smacking at Tahmoh’s grasp. The Canadian hunk chuckled, staring down and admiring his work. “Every day, you’d show up on set like the king of fucking Persia,” Tahmoh growled. “You’d flash your dimples and bounce your pecs underneath your tight t-shirts, and you’d just get everything you asked for.” He released Jamie’s ankle, and then pounded his elbow down into the tightly muscled abdomen stretched out across his knee. The air rushed out of the Brit’s lungs as the captured hunk gaped dumbly. “You’d wear those tight pants, showing off that hot little ass and big, juicy bulge, and and just knew we were all staring at you, didn’t you?” Leaning forward, driving the point of his elbow into Jamie’s midsection, Tahmoh worked the elbow in small circles, digging deep and breaking apart the star’s muscled torso. Jamie screamed out in pain, grasping Tahmoh’s arm and trying to pry him away from his damaged core.
“We’re past the point of my putting you out of your misery quickly, so you only have two options left now. Give me the contract now, or I’ll break you down in a new way, and you’ll give me the contract then.”
Blood pouring down his face, Jamie spat blood, then weakly replied, “Fuck you, I’ll never agree.”
Tahmoh chuckled. “I was sort of hoping that would be your answer.” Cradling Jamie in his arms, he lifted the broken star up in the air again. “Moving on, then.” Swinging Jamie’s legs high in the air, Tahmoh drove his opponent’s body into the mat in a devastating powerslam. Jamie reflexively arched his damaged back high in the air, as Tahmoh climbed off of him and knelt at his side. As the Brit writhed on the mat, his tormentor grabbed Jamie’s singlet straps and dragged them off his hugely muscled arms. “That’s it,” Tahmoh muttered, “let’s see those huge fucking shoulders, pretty boy.” Then he kicked him over onto his stomach and straddled his lower back. Reaching down and grasping Jamie’s chin from behind, Tahmoh leaned back, trapping the Brit’s muscled arms across his thighs. Using his height to its full advantage, Tahmoh leaned way back now, pressing with his thighs to bend Jamie backward in a camel clutch.
“I can sit here all day, you little fuck,” Tahmoh said calmly. Leaning backward still further, he strained the Brit’s quivering back to the limit. Jamie cried out in excruciating pain. “Are you ready to give me that contract yet?”
Jamie gasped and groaned, but finally choked out a whispered, “No!”
“You are a tough little fucker, I’ll give you that,” Tahmoh conceded, more than a little frustrated now. Maintaining the chinlock with his right hand, he slowly reached forward with his left hand, squeezing and massaging his opponent’s thick, sweat soaked chest.
Abruptly, Tahmoh released his hold on Jamie’s upper body. The Brit’s face slammed violently to mat. “Tough little fucker,” Tahmoh muttered again, as he climbed to his feet. “Those big fucking muscles of yours are good for something after all, I guess,” he sneered, shrugging his arms out of his own red singlet, exposing his glistening, gorgeous torso. His six-pack abs heaved as he pumped air in and out of his lungs.
“But as much as I admire that hot body of yours,” he growled, “it’s standing in my way, you fucking prat.” He bent forward and violently ripped Jamie’s singlet down his legs. The Brit groaned and crawled forward on his elbows, going nowhere but away from the punishing hunk towering over him. Tahmoh arrested his progress by grabbing the back of his jock strap and prying Jamie’s hips off the mat. Circling to stand in front of him, the Canadian scooped him up in his arms, lifting the Brit upside down and hoisting him across his left shoulder. Tahmoh bounced the Brit up and down in the backbreaker. Jamie screamed as he was paraded around the ring, bent backward and hanging helplessly over his opponent’s shoulder. “I submit! I submit,” the Brit cried repeatedly. “Please, p—-please!”
Tahmoh let him slide off his shoulder and collapse on the mat in a heap. The Canadian breathed heavily, wiping the sweat from his brow. “By ‘submit,’ do you mean you’re ready to give that fucking contract to me, you piece of shit?!” He dropped to one knee and pried Jamie’s face up by a fist full of hair. “Are we in agreement that I deserve that contract?!”
Jamie swallowed hard, his eyes closed as his body screamed out in pain. Finally, he licked his lips, opened eyes to look at his tormentor, and whispered, “Fuck. You.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Tahmoh snarled furiously, spitting in anger. “You do not know when to give up, do you, pretty boy?” He dragged his opponent’s limp body off the mat by his hair, and then hoisted him off his feet in a growling bearhug. Jamie’s head lolled backward in a silent scream. His feet hung inches off the mat, suspended in his tall opponent’s crushing embrace. Tahmoh shook him like a rag doll. “Okay, okay,” Jamie gasped desparately, “I….” But his opponent abruptly shifted, covering the Brit’s mouth with his huge hand and holding him off the mat in a kiss of death.
“Oh, no, not yet, pretty boy,” Tahmoh muttered. “You made me work too hard to avoid what I’ve got in store for you now.” Jamie flailed, struggling for air beneath his opponent’s smothering hand. Smoothly, Tahmoh rotated the limp rag in his grasp, spinning the Brit upside down and holding him there in an inverted bearhug. Tahmoh shook him hard, stomping around the ring. Staring down between the Brit’s lightly hairy, thickly muscled legs, he licked his lips hungrily at the sight of Jamie’s sweat soaked pouch, quivering round ass, and vulnerable hole.
“It’s yours!” Jamie screamed finally. “The contract is yours! Please. PLEASE! Stop now, please,” he sobbed.
Maintaining the inverted bearhug, Tahmoh stomped to the nearest corner. He hung his rival’s knees across the top ropes and hooked his ankles under the cable between the turnbuckle and the ring post. The Canadian let the Brit’s head drop to the mat with a thud.
Kneeling on one knee, leaning low to put his face right up in Jamie’s, Tahmoh asked, “Say it again, you fucking prick.” Jamie’s rippled abs, soaked in sweat, heaved as he sucked down air and humiliation. When he didn’t answer quickly enough, Tahmoh straddled the Brit’s face and clawed viciously at the big, stuffed pouch hanging helplessly from the turnbuckle. Jamie’s screams were muffled, deep up his rival’s ass, and his body bucked and shook in desperate protest.
“I’m sorry,” Tahmoh said, lifting his ass an inch or so off of his opponent’s face, but still holding tight to the crotch claw. “I don’t think I heard you that time. Tell me again, pretty boy?”
Gasping for air, Jamie quickly replied, “The contract is yours!”
Tahmoh smiled, making eye contact with Eli just outside the ring. He stroked Jamie’s glistening torso with the palm of his left hand, as he held tight to the crotch claw with his right hand. “So, we’re in full agreement, then,” Tahmoh demanded.
“Yes, I agree. I AGREE,’ he screeched as his cock and balls were twisted violently.
“Who deserves this contract more,” Tahmoh asked, sliding his free hand around his rival’s hip and kneading the Brit’s bubble butt appreciatively.
“You. You! You deserve it more,” Jamie choked pleadingly.
“And, who’s the better actor,” Tahmoh demanded to know, now grabbing both of Jamie’s ass cheeks, pulling his hips forward as the Canadian lapped at the sweat soaked pouch with his tongue.
Jamie swallowed hard, overcoming a last vestige of pride, before gasping, “You are. You’re the better actor!”
“That’s fucking right, I am, you piece of shit,” Tahmoh snarled, slapping savagely at Jamie’s quivering crotch and making the Brit squeal.
Tahmoh climbed off and leaned across the top rope, sucking down recuperative, deep breaths and wiping the sweat from his face. “Well, Mr. Brody, I think we’ve come to an agreement.”
Eli smiled broadly up at him, and rose from the chair. He handed Tahmoh the contract and pen. “Very well deserved,” he said quietly. “I see great things in store for you, Tahmoh.”
Tahmoh winked at him and took the contract and pen. Again, he knelt beside Jamie, still hanging limply in the tree-of-woe. He held the contract against the Brit’s heaving abs and signed on the bottom line.
Readers may think that they know this world. Many of the names may seem familiar. You may think you’ve been to the places mentioned. But you haven’t. Because this world exists a half-blink to the left of the world you live in. In this world, mass media have outgrown the confines of national boundaries or legal regulations. Broadcast television has spun off multimillion dollar closed-circuit, membership-only channels that cater to the tastes of niche markets worldwide. The internet mobilized so quickly in the 1980’s that it quickly outpaced bricks-and-mortar political and economic institutions to reshape the world into a place where the virtual and the real blend and blur, where democracy elects regional leaders through virtual social networks, and where those leaders are replaced the moment their poll numbers fall below 50%. The political economy is one instantaneously responsive unit, with the Titans of the entertainment industry commanding power never seen before in history, based on their ability to give the people what they want, what they lust for, what they demand.
In this world, Eli Brody is a Titan among Titans. He cornered the gay entertainment market in the early 90’s with gay broadcast entertainment and membership channels devoted to the varied tastes, erotic and otherwise, of gay men. Generating an immense capital base from his gay entertainment empire, he subsequently emerged as one of the top five titans of the teen girl entertainment genre, benefiting from considerable crossover between the two markets. Riding this wave of market success, Eli rose to the political top of the culturally dominant West Coast North America region in 2004. He has remained the top industry and regional political leader for the longest consecutive tenure of any Titan in postmodern history.
Eli Brody stays behind the camera, but he’s nothing if not camera-ready. At a modest 5’8″, Eli crafts his body daily through swimming, weight training, and private grappling sessions. He keeps his dark hair just long enough to show his natural curls. His piercing brown eyes peer from an angular face with a square jaw and strong chin. The public never sees Eli without a West Coast casual business suit, but his tailored suits frame a strong, slender torso with a broad chest and shoulders. His trousers are amply filled with his thick thighs. Eli is an object of lust not only because of his carefully crafted physique and good looks, though. Eli exudes the power he possesses. Men and women are drawn to him because he commands and controls; he is a postmodern Titan managing the personalities that people tune into, deploying the faces and the bodies that the world consumes. “The talent” maintain a popular following and political economic power of their own, but it is Eli that makes the talent, breaks the talent, and gives the people whatever they, and he, want.
The Focus Group – Daniel Craig vs. Christian Bale
The last movie theater in North America closed in 1995. Streaming internet and home theater technology put sticky floored theaters with skyrocketing ticket prices out of business. The “film” industry had become a high-rollers’ club for entertainment industry Titans like Eli Brody. TV series and low-budget made-for-TV movies vied for marketshare with lower-salaried talent, lower-tech effects, and writers that tended to recycle through one body of plot lines every thirteen years. On the other hand, the “film” industry deployed stars that commanded a mass audience of devoted fans, tech-intensive sets and effects, and cream-of-the-crop writers who recycled plot lines with slightly more originality. Big budget films streamed across the same bandwidth as TV, but sponsorships and audiences could make or break a Titan with one film.
Eli Brody had seen fellow Titans destroyed by poorly chosen money-pit films. Eli had a knack for picking winners, though. Specializing in the gay male and adolescent female demographics, Eli produced a handful of films each year that invariably made money and built the fortunes and careers of elite talent that could deliver what the viewing public demanded.
Daniel Craig was an English actor who Eli discovered toiling in the European Region TV circuit. Eli immediately saw Daniel’s potential and offered him a project contract for more money than Daniel had ever seen. Daniel learned quickly to trust Eli’s guidance. Their partnership transformed Daniel into a “box office” champion who had his audiences eating out of his hand. Under Eli’s tutelage, Daniel’s body was toned, he was effortlessly confident, and he could make his audiences orgasm with a flash of his bright blue eyes.
Although Christian Bale was six years younger than Daniel, his film career was longer. Once a child star, Eli saw Christian as a young adult and began throwing him some projects. Christian first made it big with the adolescent female demographic, but with Eli’s urging, Christian put on muscle, took off his clothes, and hardened the cocks of a loyal gay male audience. With each new hit, Christian listened less and challenged Eli’s career advice more and more.
Daniel was slated for a pet project that he had negotiated when he filmed his last cocktease blockbuster. Eli humored Daniel’s insistence on taking some “high art” roles now and then, just so long as Daniel maintained his market power with major revenue projects. Christian had grown interested in the art-film, though, and he had given Eli the ultimatum to give the part to him, or else Christian would shop his talents elsewhere.
Eli resisted. “Daniel can draw his audience along with him on this project. I’m not sure you can pull that off,” Eli countered.
“What the fuck are you talking about, E?!” Christian raged, his Welsh inflection apparent only when he was angry. “I could be wearing a dress and still make the boys cum!”
Eli filed that idea away, then offered Christian a shot at the project. “I can pull together a focus group to test the audience response to the two of you. I’ll give this to you Christian, if you can win over the focus group. If not, I pick your next project for you with no input, no right of refusal. You do it my way. Do we have a deal?”
Christian smirked and shook Eli’s hand. “I’ll destroy that old man,” he said cockily.
Christian arrived at an unmarked alley entrance to an anonymous brick building in Seattle. A hugely muscled blond man in a t-shirt and cut-off jeans opened the door when Christian knocked. He waved Christian in, instructing him to follow the hallway to the right all the way to the end and enter the last door on the left. “Change out of your clothes and to get ready for the fight. Someone will come for you,” the doorman said.
Christian had no idea what sort of fight he was in for. Coming into the business as a child star, Christian had managed to pick up productions without screen tests or focus groups as a young adult. Despite being new to the need to really compete for a role, he was beginning to get a picture of the focus group he had to win over. As he walked down the hallway, naked men with towels wrapped around their waists were milling about, going in and out of rooms, looking Christian up and down. Christian found his dressing room and entered, noting that there was no door. The room was empty except for a towel lying on a bed. Christian pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, stripping down to his jeans. Christian looked at himself in a mirror on the wall. He was in top form. His aggressive weight training and cardio schedule had left him shredded, practically zero body fat, with tightly layered muscles. Christian peeled off his jeans and wrapped the white towel around his white Calvin Klein briefs.
A knock at the door frame startled Christian. He jumped and turned, to find Eli standing dressed only in a towel, leaning against the wall. Eli had a carpet of short, dark hair across his chest and in a fine line down the center of his rippled abs. Eli crooked his finger, beckoning Christian out of the room. Christian walked into the hallway, and Eli placed his hand across Christian’s shoulder, directing him down the hallway as Eli explained what was about to happen. “You’ll be fighting Daniel in a small arena. Your focus group will watch, and I advise you to take note of the feedback that they give you. I’m no longer the one you need to win over, Christian. They are. Secure a submission from Daniel any way that you can. Once the match is over, we’ll poll the focus group to see how they felt the two of you did.”
Eli brought him to a halt at a closed, unmarked door. Eli opened the door, and firmly pushed Christian through. Christian found himself in a dark, narrow hallway. About 10 feet in front of him, he saw light and an opening into another room. Christian walked out of the dark hallway and found himself in a small room, about 15 feet square. The walls were painted black and the floor was covered in wall-to-wall black gym mats. About 10 feet up the walls, Christian could see a balcony surrounding all four walls, filled with men in towels. As they caught sight of Christian, a low cheer arose, as some of the men applauded over a rumble of conversations. The room felt damp and hot, a musky smell of sweat and sex hanging in the air.
The crowd on the balcony erupted into raucous shouts and applause suddenly, all eyes seeming to fix all at once on Christian. Confused, Christian waved at the men and smiled. He jumped with a start when a warm hand touched his shoulder. Turning suddenly, he found that Daniel Craig had just walked up behind him from the same hallway by which Christian had entered.
Daniel was a couple of inches shorter than Christian, but more thickly muscled and a little heavier. Where Christian was all shredded muscle, Daniel looked more like a longshoreman, or perhaps a pornstar playing the part of a longshoreman. Daniel’s arms, shoulders and chest were huge. His waist was not as narrow as Christian’s, but his abs were a rock hard wall of tight muscle. A dark blond trail of hair extended downward from his bellybutton, disappearing beneath the towel wrapped around his waist. Daniel’s ample butt stretched the terry cloth, and the bulge at his crotch suggested Daniel was packing something impressive from the front as well.
Laughter and cheers mixed from the balcony, as Christian flinched away from Daniel in surprise. Christian walked backward to the to the center of the room, Daniel following him, holding his gaze. Daniel spoke calmly to Christian, “Don’t worry kid,” he said in his English accent. “I won’t embarrass you… unless that’s what they demand.” Daniel nodded at the men on the balcony, who cheered wildly.
Christian lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Daniel’s powerful waist. Daniel lifted his arms as Christian approached, allowing himself to be captured in his opponent’s embrace. Christian squeezed tightly and lifted Daniel up off the mat, taking advantage of his extra height and pressing his face against Daniel’s mounded pecs. Daniel allowed himself to be held for several seconds, clearly unaffected by Christian’s bearhug. Daniel smiled up at the balcony, giving them two thumbs up. The men howled in laughter.
Daniel stretched his arms out straight to the sides, then with a snap, he brought his fists together, boxing Christian’s ears sharply. Christian yelped in pain, dropping Daniel to the floor and backing away, holding his ears and wincing in pain. Daniel lifted his arms victoriously and waved at the crowd above. Turning his back on Christian, Daniel blew kisses at a group of men cheering particularly loudly behind him.
Christian rushed forward and ripped the towel away from Daniel’s waist to humiliate him. The balcony erupted even louder in applause and cheers, as Daniel turned slowly to face Christian, smiling slyly, completely naked. Daniel rubbed his chest with his left hand while rubbing his right hand down his abdomen and grabbing his thick cock and balls. Daniel’s crotched was shaved except for a small crescent of hair, framing the base of his cock in short, dark blond curls. Christian stood watching, stunned, as some of the men above dropped their own towels and started rubbing themselves.
Nervous sweat trickled down Christian’s ribs as he sized Daniel up. Daniel was almost certainly stronger, and he seemed to know what these men liked. For the first time, Christian began to doubt that he could win this thing. Angrily, Christian darted low to Daniel’s side, wrapping his arms around Daniel’s neck as he came upright to stand behind him. Christian pulled Daniel’s towel, still in his hands, across his neck, drawing it taught, choking Daniel savagely. Daniel clawed at the towel, his face quickly growing dark red. Daniel fell to his knees as Christian towered above and behind him. Christian placed his right knee in the center of Daniel’s back, leveraging his weight backward to choke Daniel harder. The balcony grew quiet, watching intently, listening to Daniel’s choked grunts .
As Daniel’s left hand continued to claw at the towel around his neck, his right hand flicked behind his back. He latched a hold of Christian’s towel, still wrapped around his waist, and tugged it loose. Christian’s towel fell to the floor, and a chorus of “boos” erupted from the balcony. Catcalls rained down on Christian, telling him to “drop the under-roos, kid!” Christian realized that his decision to retain his underwear was costing him with the crowd.
Christian released his choke on Daniel and awkwardly pulled down his underwear. The balcony was filled with competing jeers and cheers, as Christian bared his ass, doubled over to draw his underwear off his feet. By this time, still red in the face, Daniel had spun around on his knees in front of Christian. With a savage look in his eyes, Daniel grabbed Christian’s ankles before he could get his Calvin’s off. Daniel pulled Christian’s feet out from under him, dropping him on his now bare ass. Daniel ripped Christian’s underwear to shreds, then used the strips of cloth to bound Christian’s feet. The crowd hooted and hollered their approval.
Trussed up by the ankles, Christian tried to squirm away from Daniel. Both men had broken out into a full sweat in the heat and musk of the arena. Daniel pursued his opponent, grabbing Christian’s ankles firmly and standing up, pulling Christian’s legs up off the mat. Daniel lifted Christian and spun him around in circles by his ankles, helpless. As the room spun, Christian’s eyes rolled upward into his head, a wave of nausea washing over him. Finally, Daniel slammed Christian on his back in the middle of the room, breathless and dizzy.
Christian kicked to try to free his ankles from their bonds. Daniel reached down, squeezing his left hand between Christian’s sweaty thighs and cradling Christian’s neck in his right arm. Scooping him up in his arms to rest horizontally across his chest, Daniel paraded Christian around the mat, kneading his round ass with his left hand. Daniel came to a standstill in the center of the room, and a hush fell upon the crowd in anticipation of what Daniel might do next. With a loud grunt, Daniel hoisted Christian high up on his upper chest, then dropped him powerfully, driving Christian’s back down across his outstretched knee. Christian screamed out in pain, and the crowd erupted into cheers.
Daniel used his right hand to pin Christian’s chest in a savage over-the-knee backbreaker. Then Daniel grabbed Christian’s cock in his left fist, massaging. Christian’s dick responded immediately, swelling, growing thicker and longer under Daniel’s manipulation. Christian groaned as Daniel jerked him semi-erect. Then savagely, Daniel gripped Christian’s cock and balls tightly. Christian screamed, his hands darting forward to try to pry Daniel’s left hand away. Daniel squeezed harder, “tut-tut”-ing at Christian. Grunting fiercely, Daniel pulled upward on Christian’s trapped cock and balls, lifting him off his knee a fraction, and then driving him downward to the mat. Christian’s back arched away from the mat in pain, Daniel’s left hand still maintaining his brutal cock claw.
Both men were covered in sheets of sweat now. Still maintaining his control over Christian’s crotch, Daniel leaned over Christian’s face and shook his blond hair, showering him with sweat. The balcony hooted in approval. Then Daniel swung his right leg over Christian’s prone body, straddling his chest, facing Christian’s crotch. Daniel’s right hand joined his left hand in squeezing Christian’s cock and balls. Christian screamed in desperate pain, arching his lower back. Christian’s arms were pinned beneath Daniel’s thick legs, and Daniel’s ass was directly in front of Christian’s face.
Daniel leaned forward onto his hands, still locked on Christian’s crotch. Daniel extended his legs straight backward, his body planked above Christian’s head. Daniel began doing push-ups over his opponent, his triceps and chest straining. As Daniel dropped low, he rubbed his cock around Christian’s face . Then he pressed his body up, leveraging his full upper body weight onto Christian’s trapped crotch. Again, Daniel dipped low, pressing his swelling cock, across Christian’s face, then up again. Up and down, Daniel pressed. The crowd counted the push ups eagerly, “…eight! …nine! …ten!”
Daniel pulled his knees forward again to straddle Christian’s chest, releasing Christian’s bruised, swollen cock. With both hands, he dug into Christian’s vulnerable abdominal muscles with savage claws. Digging his fingers in and pulling the muscles apart, Daniel elicited a pained scream from Christian.
After a torturous minute, Daniel released the abdominal claw and spun around to straddle his opponent’s midsection, now facing Christian’s head. Daniel massaged Christian’s sweaty, tight pecs for a moment, as Christian gasped trying to catch his breath. Then savagely Daniel clawed at his opponent’s pecs, the fingers of each hand digging into the sides were the muscle met the rib cage. Pressing his thumbs into the meat of each pec, Daniel pulling upward. Christian screamed, frantically trying to pry Daniel’s fingers away from his chest. Christian arched his body, trying to buck his opponent off of him. Daniel simply dug his fingers deeper and pulled harder. Daniel leaned forward, maintaining his pec claws, placing his mouth a fraction of an inch away from Christian’s trembling mouth. “Submit!” Daniel said commandingly. Christian closed his eyes and shook his head no.
Daniel pulled his feet underneath him, then pulled Christian off the mat by his trapped pecs. Christian’s face was contorted in pain, tears flowing down his cheeks, as Daniel dragged him to his feet. Daniel pushed Christian backward into the wall, pressing his body into his claws digging into Christian’s chest. Then Daniel grunted loudly as he lifted his arms upward, sliding Christian’s sweaty back up the wall by his trapped pecs. Daniel’s arms locked, fully extended, suspending Christian’s body more than half a foot off the floor. Christian winced silently, his mouth hanging open and his eyes squinting shut. “How does that feel?” Daniel asked, almost sounding like he sincerely wanted to know. “It looks really painful. Submit now and I’ll put you out of your misery.” Christian’s eyes remained closed, tears squeezing out the corners, but he shook his head no.
Daniel shifted his center of gravity, pressing his full body weight onto his right hand. Releasing his left claw, Daniel watched Christian’s right pec spasm and twitch involuntarily. Then Daniel thrust his left hand against Christian’s balls, squeezing tightly. Christian screamed in pain, then cried, “I submit!” Applause broke out from the balcony, as a chant of “Dan-iel! Dan-iel!” erupted spontaneously.
Instead of releasing his grip, Daniel dipped his left shoulder low. Peeling Christian away from the wall, Daniel lifted him over his head by his clawholds on Christian’s left pec and balls. Daniel locked his arms straight over his head, and walked slowly to the center of the room, balancing his victim carefully overhead. Christian was sobbing in pain, sweat pouring off his body in streams onto Daniel’s powerful body below him. Daniel held his opponent overhead until his own body began to fatigue, his muscles jumping and wobbling with the strain. The crowd continued chanting, “Dan-iel! Dan-iel!”
Finally, Daniel dropped his decimated opponent downward. Christian fell helplessly, then crashed violently, his weakened stomach folding across Daniel’s outstretched knee. Christian bounced upward, and Daniel shoved him forward. Christian slammed to the mat and rolled over twice, then lay motionless, groaning deliriously. The crowd was howling, near hysterics.
Daniel kneeled on one knee next to Christian’s head lying on the mat. He stared down silently for half a minute, then leaned his head low, his lips again a fraction away from Christian’s mouth. “The next time you try to steal my role,” Daniel growled lowly, “I’ll fuck you until you split in half.”
Daniel jumped to his feet, stomping his foot onto Christian’s startled midsection. Daniel flexed his right bicep for the adoring crowd, while his left hand massaged his semi-erect cock.
After Daniel and the crowds exited the arena, Eli had to carry Christian cradled in his arms back to the dressing room. Eli waited with him for 30 minutes before Christian was able to sit up on the bed, his head clearing and every inch of his torso throbbing in pain. As Christian pulled his jeans and shirt over his still wet body, Eli reported “You definitely have a following. Although your performance was significantly harmed by your showing up in your underwear, there was nearly universal approval of the way you endured your suffering for a nice, long time. As I expected, though, 95% of the focus group identified Daniel as both the winner and their favorite. So he’ll keep his project. And about your claim that you could draw an audience even if you were wearing a dress…”
On the one hand, I’ve been noticeably absent from posting here because I’ve been busier than ever with the work that pays the bills. On the other hand, I’m making more money than I ever had in my life, so on the balance, you probably shouldn’t pity me too much for my busyness. I’m not getting to watch as much wrestling these days, however, which is pitiable. I have a few reviews of recent releases in the hopper, but in the meantime, as a compromise, I thought I’d trot out some old pieces that I’ve published elsewhere (and thus, require less time for me to post here now).
A friend who knows this blog well recently asked me about text-based wrestling erotica. It became evident that he was entirely unaware of the homoerotic wrestling fiction I’ve written in the past. I have a couple of collections of stories in private sites for a couple of hundred interested readers. One of those collections became a collaborative site for other writers to post as well (and thus the first time I got to be wildly turned on by the writing of Alex). I pulled down some of the old stories for this friend of mine who was completely unaware of my fiction catalog, and found myself turned on all over again reading these little blasts from the past.
So pulling these out of the private archives and into the light of day feels like something I can carve out some time to do here and there, to supplement my sparse posting on more current topics. I’ve also been inspired by Alex successfully transitioning his ongoing catalog to his blog, so I know it can be done and there may be an interested audience.
So I’ll post another post momentarily with the introduction to the “Producer’s Ring” world, along with one of the first matches I wrote for that universe. Digging into these stories has already given me the bug to write more, but then that takes me right back to my first point in this post. In any case, thanks for checking in on me in my absence recently, and I hope you enjoy these matches dating back more than 8 years.