Tag: Rafe Sanchez

Mmmmmm….

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Rafe Sanchez (mmmm… Rafe) entertains me. He’s beautifully proportioned. Every move, every look, every sound from him makes me think “sex.” He can’t peel his eyes away from his own image when a mirror is nearby. The sight of himself flexing overtop of his helpless opponent clearly gets Rafe off. And he’s not alone.


I’ve recently had the opportunity to watch Rafe’s very, very sexy match with Billy Lodi. At first glance, I wasn’t sure that Billy could sell this for me. He’s got the look of a skinny kid with a bad haircut, and that’s seldom a look I’ve got a particular taste for. Happily, Rafe is entirely capable of bringing all the sex needed to make a match entertaining. But even more happily, there’s a combustible chemistry between Rafe and Billy that’s fantastically arousing. At times, Rafe can rightly be accused of not paying his opponents their due. The same narcissistic self-lust in Rafe that hypnotizes me can also be a little irritating when things seem to devolve into being all about posing and preening and less about wrestling. However, this match is a finely balanced combination of the two, and I completely buy Rafe’s pleasure in dominating Billy. When the skinny kid gets some scrappy licks and kicks in on Rafe, Rafe sells the suffering more convincingly than I’ve noticed from him before.

When things turn from punishment to reward, and Billy strokes Rafe’s gorgeous ass, this whole delightful story turns to perfection for me. Billy earned some major, surprise points in my book in this match. And Rafe (mmmm… Rafe) made a powerful play to be considered as a serious contender for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy.

Can You Lend a Hand?

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My post yesterday omitted what is for many, perhaps, the most important sexual behavior of all: masturbating. I’ve heard rumor that there are guys out there that don’t even participate in this mode of orgasm, but no one has actually ever admitted it to me. When it comes to porn in general and in particular homoerotic wrestling kink (whether we want to characterize our favorite matches as “porn” is still entirely another conversation), I suppose the most common mode of consumption is isolated self-stimulating with just the recorded images, the viewer, and his imagination (and, of course, his hand). There’s an element of voyeuristic kink here. To watch, not to directly participate, as an end in and of itself, clearly relieves tension for (nearly?) all of us, and for some of us, it’s the exclusive means of carnal delights.

I’m a big fan of taking care of my own business on a routine basis. And 19 times out of 20, homoerotic wrestling is precisely the means for that private end. To watch two beautiful men wrestle hard is entirely arousing to me, even when I’m watching it remotely. I know my own body better than any one else does, so a private session with just me and a DVD can be profoundly satisfying. I know the right pace and pressure, the right amount of friction, to make the pleasure profoundly satisfying. I can anticipate the images, the sounds, the scenarios that will put me over the top, and with that knowledge I can stretch the duration of play much longer than any other partner has ever managed. 

Perhaps it’s the act of solitary masturbating, focused on images of male bodies, that is the quintessential “behavior” of gay sex, ironically. But I have to commend diversifying the portfolio for those of you who find yourself sticking to this formula exclusively. First, finding a partner who can enjoy the kink of watching homoerotic wrestling with you is such an intensely erotic joy. So many of us have spent so much time nurturing our kink with the curtains drawn, at least half-ashamed, drawn within ourselves. But clearly there are plenty of others out there, and sharing the joy of watching what gets you off with someone else who gets off that way too is powerful. Some of my most enthusiastic moments with a partner have a grunting, groaning, trash talking BGE soundtrack playing in the background, multiplying what’s going right for me in that moment many times over. Getting inspired by the action on screen can also segue into a fantastic translation in real time. Sliding a lover between your legs and squeezing him in a gasp-inspiring body scissors at the same time that your homoerotic wrestling hero does the same thing up on the wall is just all sorts of right. The intimacy is simply unmatched when you’ve got a partner to share everything that turns you both on.

Even if other items on the menu don’t seal the deal for you, I think there’s something more fulfilling and lasting about jerking off with (or in the hands of) a partner than by yourself. There’s just something centering and grounding in our own humanity about an orgasm witnessed and an orgasm shared. Now, you know what a major fan I am of the erotic imagination, but I’m a little skeptical of the completely inwardly drawn imagination that can end up entirely isolating us as sexual performers. I simply love that physical presence, the adoring stroke, that wonderful moment that never loses its novelty for me when I find myself feeling incredibly awed to be naked and vulnerable and powerful and intimately present with another man. And there’s just nothing as intimately personal as seeing another man’s cum-face.

So these last two posts make me feel a little like I’m playing Dr. Ruth. It’s not my intention to sound like the sexpert or to cast another marginalizing net around what should be considered “normal.” I’m all for your sexual satisfaction, at least as far as it comes from an act of mutual, consenting pleasures. I just think it’s worth saying that what defines the crowd that tends to read this blog shouldn’t be something that removes us from pleasures shared. We don’t all have to live up to the physical standards or peak performances of our homoerotic wrestling heroes, by any means. But we can take a cue from them that there’s a whole world of erotic pleasures and beautiful men to share them with.

The Spice of Life

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Pyschology Today (via Towleroad, to me) has an interesting piece on the racial diversification of gay male porn over the past 3 to 5 years. Psychology Today is sort of like light beer… all packaging and marketing without much really satisfying inside. But I like the connections that the article draws between identifying what gay men find attractive and broader socio-demographic trends in racial politics.

As for me, I’m 100% in favor of more diversity. As a born-and-bred middle class suburban white boy, I was raised with deeply engrained, implicit lessons that chisel-chinned white boys are the physical ideal. Happily, just like other sexual tastes and attentions, I’ve since discovered that beautiful boys of all sorts of complexions offer treasures of objectified lusts.
I don’t really spend much of my time or money in the gay porn world, sans wrestling. It’s one long yawn for me. But even in the wrestling kink corner of homoerotica and porn, I think that we’re seeing more racial diversity and less a need to fetishize racial diversity, at the same time, which I think is a good combination.
Whereas it wasn’t long ago that products were prominently marketed that specifically catered to the tastes of those looking for cross-racial wrestling, these days when opponents reflect different racial-ethnic backgrounds, it most frequently goes uncommented on. In most cases, I think that’s progress. My homoerotic wrestler of the month, Bobby Horton, is a white guy who came into possession of that title on the merits of his smokin’ hot, edge-of-insanity dismantling of bodybeautiful muscle god, Tyrell Tomsen. I’m sure for many people still, a battle like that continues to be first and foremost a morality play in contemporary racial politics. And, true enough, the white boy delivers a beat down and humiliating defeat of the physically dominant black hunk, which stands in a long tradition of white fantasy about subduing and possessing the physical threat from men of color. But as far as I read the text (and I’ve been happy to read and reread that text over and over again to enjoy Bobby’s delightful performance) the story that’s primarily told is really about the battle between the beauty of brawn and the cunning of ring savvy. If anything, Tyrell plays the role of the refined, sculpted, entitled muscle god to Bobby’s crazy-ass, brutish, uncivilized short-cutter. I realize that this doesn’t eliminate the racial politics that play out in the homoerotic wrestling ring, but it screws with expectations and long-held prejudices enough to be at least resistant toward white privilege, if not entirely dismantling of it.
BG East has been promoting a lot of Latinos lately, and that’s 110% just fine with me. If white Eurocentric privilege managed to keep the likes of Rafe Sanchez (mmmm…. Rafe….), Rio Garza and Lobolito off of my shelf, my life would be much less entertaining.
Can-Am has been tossing the likes of Michael Vineland, Max Munoz, and yes, Rio Garza onto the mats, making their typically-happy-ending wrestling formula much more diverse than it may have been at one time.
Naked Kombat frequently puts up men of color, like recent battlers Jack Hammer, Derek Reynolds and Race Cooper. It’s not all one formula for fetishing the racial composition of the match, by any means. Depending on the fighters on any given day, Naked Kombat’s wrestlers of color end up battling each other or white guys, and they end up on top or on bottom with seemingly similar frequencies.
I’m intentionally taking a look at Thunder’s Arena with fresh eyes lately, particularly after reading the very enjoyable interview that Joe did with Mr. Mike and Ace Hanson at Ringside at Skull Island recently. Young stunner rookie AJ looks like another case in point of the expanding pool of skill and beauty to which homoerotically-inclined wrestling is turning.
More is better… variety is the spice of life… the pithy sayings go on and on to explain why it is that all of this is a very good thing. Still, I think we need to keep an eye on the way that racial politics play out even in (especially in) our erotic fantasies. I know, I know. It’s a buzz kill. But it also reveals something about what we believe down deep, how we live, and underneath any socialization or commitments to political correctness, how we picture ourselves in relation to racial difference. I like where things seem to be heading, and I think that we would all do well to remember where we’ve been, and the ways that racism have long played a major role in dominant homo-culture, much less hetero-culture, in the past forty years.

Value Added

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Several recent comments here have sent me thinking more deeply about what it is that a wrestling kinkster gets in explicitly homoerotic wrestling that he doesn’t in basic cable pro. “The gay” has had a longstanding presence in straight-up pro wrestling for… well, forever, hasn’t it? The classic flaming pro-wrestler with his feather boa, dancing on the balls of his feet, have been a not-so latent element in the scene for at least as long as pro wrestling has been televised, it seems to me. I made a break with regularly following straight-up pro scenes about a decade ago, but when I’m flipping through the channels, I get the impression that “the gay” continues to creep more and more into that scene. Hasn’t there been and openly gay wrestler or two? Isn’t the erotic sub-text getting more and more main-text, as the modern audience is catching on to what so many of us have understood for a long time… that two hardbodied, barely clothed hunks grinding and squeezing their bodies together can’t help but be about sexual prowess, if not outright sex.


But I’m so far out of the straight-up pro loop, I’ll have to rely on those many of you who keep up with it to correct me. Feel free, in fact. I’m blindly wandering into a subject that I know, at most, only 50% about: what is it that we gay wrestling kinksters get in our homoerotic wrestling that we don’t get in straight-up basic cable pro? (Indie fanatics can tell me if this applies to that scene as well)…. In no particular order:
Tear-away crotch gear. And for that matter, full-on centering of the gorgeous male erection. If these elements were popping up in straight-up pro, it would seriously make me consider diving back into that scene. As it is, I’m thinking that, despite a diversity of gear and gear-related stories in straight-up pro, the tear-away crotch and the aroused cock are entirely in the domain of the homoerotic side of wrestling. Please, tell me I’m wrong.
Hand-to-bare-crotch ball abuse. Before I washed my hands of straight-up pro entirely, crotch abuse was on the rise. But as far as I know (and you will correct me), wrestlers actually stuffing their hands down each other’s trunks and clawing each other’s balls for all it’s worth (or even better, entirely naked, prolonged cock and ball bashing), marks a dividing line between wrestling packaged for us as opposed to wrestling packaged for them.
Passionate, full on, tongues-down-throats kissing. I can remember at least a couple of instances where a straight-up pro story used a man-on-man kiss as the excuse for violence (not hard to read the homosexual panic storyline here), but never as the mutual climax of the physical competition. Hard fought, sweaty, pounding, tooth-and-nail wrestling should lead to some intense respect and mutual gratification, I think. If the buff bigboys on basic cable occasionally lost themselves in passion at the end of a particularly close fought match, again, I’d absolutely have to tune back in.
Naked bearhugs. Well, naked everything, really. So we’ve been led to believe that the ancient Greeks battled it out this way, but as far as I know, other than the occasional bare-ass moment (treated as a moment of ego-crushing humiliation), the straight-up pros keep their gear on their bodies. A bearhug or a boston crab or a head scissors may be technically identical between the two genres, but the innovation of losing the gear first completely retranslates everything into a language I’m much more fluent in, and whose tones I find much more pleasing.
Oil wrestling. Especially naked oil wrestling, but seriously, any kind of oil wrestling seems like it’s this side of the neutral zone between straight-up pro and full-on homoerotic wrestling. Lubricating bodies can’t help but make everything more arousing, both in the action and on this side of my television screen. I suspect I could be on thin ice on this one, and I’ll be very pleased to be corrected to learn that the straight-up pros are breaking out the babyoil for one another… but I’m doubtful.
Toe-sucking. Okay, I can’t remember seeing this in a wrestling match before my current favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens, pulled it out as a defensive move against Mitch Colby this summer. So it isn’t exactly a staple of homoerotic wrestling. But somehow, I can’t see this innovation showing up in prime-time. Both genres have overlapping standard toolkits for distraction and diversion in a match, but I, for one, am really pleased when I see some erotic worship as a strategic move.
The naked pony ride. Or, really, the loser-gets-used scenario in general, involving any element of nakedness. The pony ride itself seems to be a signature primarily at Naked Kombat, though I’d love to see this gimmick show-up elsewhere. Somehow, I could imagine seeing it cross-pollinate through other homoerotic wrestling companies about a century before it would show up in straight-up pro… though Joe at Ringside at Skull Island continues to feature some fantastic indie boys I’d pay good money to see ride or get ridden… naked, of course.
The jack-off. Either post-match or, as Aryx Quinn illustrates here with Braden Charron (and KL on Chris from yesterday’s post), locked in a classic wrestling move, a forced to cum show of domination/voyeurism/humiliation. This falls under the same theme as the any-straight-up-pro hold that turns naked idea, but add to that some masturbation, and, well, this just isn’t going to show up on basic cable anytime soon… or a pay-per-view extravaganza… or, well, anywhere other than the homoerotic specialists.
Oral. The spoils of victory never tasted so sweet on any, any, any straight-up pro match as it does when a homoerotic wrestler lays his loser out and sucks his cock like there’s no tomorrow. Depending on the angle, the loser-gets-forced-to-suck story (see every Naked Kombat match, for example), also works only on this side of the line. Just as an aside, I’m more a fan of the taste of victory than I am of the loser-gets-face-fucked plot. Ironically, there’s something almost “straight” feeling about the latter to me…
Anal. Most of the same comments apply here. This just isn’t going to show up for the straight-up pro boys, though how sweet would that be to see some of those fine, muscle-asses on the line and plowed in the center of the ring when they lose? But that’s precisely what leads me (and many of us, I’m sure) to homoerotic wrestling products. Straight-up pro only takes us so far. Our imaginations can complete the scene, but there’s something awfully satisfying and, in some ways, validating about seeing the scenario play out exactly the way you and I would imagine. I don’t think that a match needs to end in a forced-fuck to be homoerotic, by any means. In fact, I get a little tired when it seems to be obligatory, and I get the impression that the creativity and competition of a wrestling match sometimes turn into clock-punching routine as the boys go through the familiar motions. But a victory fuck closes the circuit in my mind. From the anticipation, promise, and implications of straight-up pro, homoerotic wrestling fills in the silences and opens up the possibilities that turn me on like no baggy-shorts prime-timer has ever done.

I know I’ve missed a lot. I’m sure I’ve overstated my case… because that’s just what happens when I have a whole blog to myself to rant and ramble. But seriously… sincerely… I’ll be pleased no end to hear what I’ve managed to get completely wrong here.

Narcissus

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

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

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

Birthday Suits

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

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

…In My Hands

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Having returned to a fixation on asses, here’s yet another ode to the wonders of the wrestling muscle butt. I’ve mentioned before the particular joys and plot of the ass slap. A slightly different story captivating me lately is the ass grab.

Fine distinction, perhaps, but we’d hardly say a forearm to the side of the head is the same as a excruciatingly long side-headlock, would we? No, (to answer my own question), we would not. The slap is a humiliating strike, the playful sting that delivers the message of pain on command. The grab, on the other hand, is the more sexualized sign of ownership.
My favorite wrestling pornboys are most sympathetic to me when squeezing their opponent’s cheeks. Hands down, that’s the moment through which I’m most intimately living vicariously in the homoerotic wrestling scenario. When Sebastian Rios finds himself on his knees in front of a thonged, oiled Rafe Sanchez, he does precisely what I would do… what simply has to be done in that moment (well, at least one of the things that must be done). He slides the palms of his hands up Rafe’s gorgeous cheeks and underneath his thong. Any opponent that fails to take an adoring squeeze at Rafe’s ass is a little unbelievable to me.
I surprise myself just a little at how much I get into Bruno Sinclair and Ricardo Dias’ cub training session. Ricardo’s lingering squeeze on Bruno’s muscled glute just looks so right. That’s an authentic moment that sucks me right into the scene. Whatever else I may not quite believe about homoerotic wrestling products, I’m utterly convinced by the slow, solid squeeze of a hard ass cheek.
When it happens in the heat of battle, all the better. I totally get it when Michael Wood finds his head captured in Ross Davidson’s arm, squeezed against Davidson’s ribs and inches away from his muscled ass, and Michael grabs two, open-fingered handfuls of muscle. Sure, it doesn’t do anything to counter Davidson’s advantage. Okay, so perhaps Michael will suffer that much more for his distraction. But that’s so very much, precisely, absolutely what I’d have to do, were I in his position.
The victory squeeze isn’t bad, either. After the story is told and one man has been owned, the appreciative cup of the cheek, once again, makes complete sense to me. I believe that my libido and Kid Vicious’ hands are, in fact, psychically linked, considering he always grabs, pounds, and squeezes exactly what I’m thinking. After delightfully owning Niku Samir in every humiliating position possible, Kid takes a feel of Niku’s ass appreciatively. The drive to dominate and humiliate, paired with the lustful adoration of a loser’s physique, is just genuine in my mind.
Truth be told, I’m a softy at heart. The mutual ass squeeze, naked and sweaty, at the end of a balls out battle is just about the most satisfying denouement for my money. I don’t care for watching a lot of pulled punches, or at least not a lot of poorly sold punches, but I completely buy it when ferocity to dominate turns into mutual worship. Cock pressed to cock, hands squeezing each other’s glutes, the wet heat shared as hearts pound, chest to chest… that’s what it’s all about for me.

In the Eye of the Beholder

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A couple of weeks ago, someone was talking about the diversity of bodies and talents in the BG East stable at the BGE yahoo group. It seems every so often, we fans can get catty and hypercritical in our assessment of the homoerotic wrestling boys. Someone made a generous counterpoint, saying that even the boys that don’t have “the best bodies” offer something tasty to wrestling. Among the list of classic twinks with perhaps less than perfect bodies, Rafe Sanchez was mentioned.
Huh? I had to re-read the sentence several times. The proposition was that Rafe Sanchez is someone who doesn’t have the best of bodies, but we love him for his other talents. What the….?
The conversation reminded me how subjective beauty is. I, for one, find Rafe’s body simply stunning. Rafe, for another, is also clearly enraptured by the sight of his own physique. He routinely requires his opponents to worship him, which, in turn, makes me adore him even more.
I get it, that Rafe’s not exactly a bodybuilder. He’s not as thickly muscled as, say, Rio Garza. He’s not as sincere as, say, Mitch Colby (the champion homoerotic wrestling pornboy of my heart). He doesn’t have the wrestling chops of Kid Vicious, or the pendulous balls of Josh Goodman.
But I would certainly not meet this fine, fine body at a bar and think to myself, “Well, he doesn’t exactly have the best body.” Rafe is a tasty, tasty treat. He oozes sex. I can smell his intoxicating pheromones emanating off the screen. His ass is imminently squeezable. His pecs are clawable. His abs are evidence of some healthy workouts and a seriously high metabolism. When he sneers arrogantly, it drives me nuts with an impulse to grab him roughly by his shaved head and clamp my mouth onto his. And he’s in love (love, love, love) with his beautiful, long cock that stands at perfect attention; and loving yourself is an aphrodisiac if you ask me.

Not to ruin the suspense for anyone, but I for one am more than happy to see a familiar whipcord-tight, fantastically stubbly chested hardbody in the newest update on BG East, in Masked Mayhem 6. That body in a masked, erotic, competitive battle in the ring is golden.
Thankfully, diversity is the spice of life. Perhaps the hardbodies that turn your crank might leave me limp. I don’t begrudge anyone who would take a pass on pounding Rafe. But as for me, he’s an instant erection, never disappointing, and someone I wouldn’t be able to tear my eyes away from in any setting.

Welcoming the Surprise Guest

wrestlebard3 Comments


I’m still a little flush from the muscle competition at Bodybuilding.com yesterday. The image in my mind of James bent over Eightpak’s knee, his trunks wedged high up his crack, and Eightpak spanking his athlete’s cheeks is still seared into my brain. What an image like that does to me brings me to today’s musings: uses for a wrestling hard-on.

For me, the hard-on opens up a whole smorgasbord of opportunities. A sweet, hard fought battle is arousing enough to witness, but the appearance of hard-ons indicates that observer and observed are on the same page in recognizing that wrestling is about sexual domination. Competing companies handle the hard-on differently (so to speak) it seems to me, so for today I want to just consider BG East’s treatment of the wrestler’s erection.
What to do with the hard-on once it graces us with its presence… Jarrett Cole and Jake Omega take time to simply welcome each other’s hard-ons with gentle, appreciative awe. They take turns stroking each other’s hard-ons from outside their trunks. Jarrett’s index finger tracing the heft of Jake’s hard-on suggests a literal, comparative measuring of one another’s manhood. I also have to imagine Jarrett’s mind is already ticking off the things he’s planning on doing with Jake’s impressive tool.
I’m not sure who this cheerful stud is from BG East’s roster, but he shows another approach to the appearance of his opponent’s sizeable erection. He simply grabs the thick shaft and gives it a tug. Frankly, clawing his balls would probably inflict considerably more pain, but when hard-ons arrive on the scene, wrestling isn’t entirely just about strategic advantage. The hard-on begs for being touched, grabbed, held and squeezed, letting your opponent know that his arousal is noted and will be dealt with directly.
Here we see Gabriel’s defensive grab of Mike Martin’s cock. Stripped, hammerlocked and choked, Gabriel feels Mike’s hard-on knocking at the door of Gabriel’s naked ass. With remarkable presence of mind, Gabriel uses his free hand to squeeze inside Mike’s trunks and grab hold of his knocker. Knowing Gabriel’s work, we must wonder whether this is actually defensive, though. He very well may have in mind enhancing Mike’s pleasure in order to better facilitate showing him the hospitality of welcoming him across the threshold.
Jarret Cole’s approach here deserves a second look. He has his opponent beaten down on his stomach in the center of the ring. This pleases Jarret, obviously. Unpacking his own hard-on, Jarret slides it inside the back of his opponent’s trunks, capitalizing on both the friction of the fabric and the frottage to feed his hungry python.
And speaking of feeding, for those of us orally fixated, the erection demands special attention. Here, Dark Rogers, one of the princes of the aroused altercation, cracks his light-headed opponent backward across his knee. Seeing the kid’s pleasure inches away from Dark’s mouth, Dark applies some mutually gratifying mouth and teeth action. Now this is the proper way to capitalize on an over the knee backbreaker!
Perhaps the most common scenario is illustrated here by one of the men of my dreams, Rafe Sanchez. Rafe’s own hard-on is screaming out at him for servicing. His command of Sebastian Rios has engorged Rafe’s insatiable member. Conveniently enough, he finds Sebastian’s face trapped, inches away from his throbbing cock. Grabbing a handful of hair in his right hand and cupping the back of Sebastian’s head in his left, Rafe rubs his opponent’s head humiliatingly into his erection. The force feed, both inside and outside of trunks, epitomizes the rewards of victory.
What’s still missing? In the interest of modesty, I’ve left out the pics of hard-ons put to good use in pec frottage. Most of the rest are variations on the theme: hand to cock, cock to face, cock to ass… One technique that I wasn’t able to put my hands on was the bodyscissors transition to capturing the suffering man’s erection between your feet. Christian Taylor is in prime position for this move here, if he just unlaced his ankles, bent his knees up further, and captured Jonah’s cock in the arches of his feet. I’m not entirely sure why that makes me see stars, but I’m a huge fan of this move on tape and in real life, both giving and receiving the joy. Of course there’s the dick slap, the figure-four force feed, the anal probe standing, seated, spooning, etc., etc., etc.
This is what makes mainstream pro inevitably inadequate, at least on its own. Straight grapplers who can’t manage to get themselves worked up are always at least a little disappointing to me. The generous welcome of the raging erection is a joy of infinite variety, to be welcomed like an esteemed guest, honored with lavish attention, and satisfied with relentless hospitality.