Throwback Thursday

Never one to fail to jump on a bandwagon, my thoughts this Thursday are turned backward for a “Throwback Thursday” life review. As I approach the 5th anniversary (!!!?) of neverland, it strikes me often how time can be warped in my memory as I reflect on what I’ve posted here over the years. Some things I swear that I’ve harped on over and over, but when I do a systematic search, I discover I’ve perhaps mentioned just once in passing. Some things I think I’ve never, ever said, I discover (not infrequently pointed out by a reader) I’ve most definitely put into print.  So today is a trip down memory lane, digging like a geologist into the strata of the years to consider what March 20 has meant in the life of neverland.

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RHW came along less than a year after neverland.

My first March 20th post was 4 years ago today, and I was remarking on the still nascent offerings of Rock Hard Wrestling.  Specifically, I reviewed RHW’s double match release of Brody Hancock v Cameron Davis as a double-header along with Brody & Shawn Lawson double-teaming (does that make it a quadruple-header?) imminently deserving Zack Johnathan. Back than I was full of critique and advice, probably a little too heavy handed with the wisdom. Time has taught me a little more humility, I think. I hope. In any case, I still say Brody’s double-layered trunks (does that make it an octuple-header?) was a buzz kill and wrestling for gay eyes should use at least 1/3 less fabric in constructing ring gear than straight-up mainstream pro.  I haven’t posted on RHW in a while, after covering their releases pretty extensively years ago.  Not sure why.

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I could stare at Tyrell Tomsen’s ass for weeks at a time!

A year leader, in 2011 I was playing Name That Ass, a game that I probably found a lot more fun that readers did. Then again, some of you played along, and even Queer Me Now covered the genre.  And seriously now, what’s not to love about studying in exquisite detail finely crafted homoerotic wrestling asses?  The asses teased in that March 20th post were, in order, Tyrell Tomsen, multiple best butt award winner Kid Karisma, Mark Wolff, John Magnum, and Coupe. No one posted a perfect score in that round.  Perhaps I need to pull Name That Ass out of mothballs to give you more practice.

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The metamorphosed Charlie Panther.

March 20, 2012 was a Bodies-Over-Time focus on the stunningly evolving body of BG East’s Charlie Panther. I’d just seen his newest release at the time, absolutely defining a squash against Tim Messina in Pros in Private 9 and earning the homoerotic wrestler of the month title around these parts. Homoerotic wrestlers of the month have continued to be a theme since I started handing them out, and Charlie was a most excellent entry into the HWOTM hall of fame. At some point, I should do some soul searching about what subsequent HWOTM say about me and my evolving/stagnating tastes.

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These could easily become the most trusted, not to mention gargantuan biceps in news!

Interestingly, last year on this date, I didn’t post at all. This was in the middle of a several-week drought, which happens not too infrequently around these parts.  The nearest post was the day before, when I was resurrecting a theme that has possessed these pages since THE VERY BEGINNING, namely, Chris Cuomo and the need for more hotly muscled skin in the news. Specifically, I was extremely excited by the prospect of massively muscled Latino pretty boy Gio Benitez joining the reporting pool at GMA. GMA has yet to truly capitalize on the sheer magnetism of Gio’s mammoth pecs, but I still get a little giddy when I see him on air.  I’m quite certain you will continue to read more about my ongoing obsession with new hunks.

It’s an interesting core sampling of what has made neverland hold my attention over the years, looking back at this date in history. Some things change. Some things stay the same (including periods of radio silence as life distracts me from what’s really important, homoerotic wrestling). And, as always, I just follow my fanaticism for the homoeroticism of wrestling where it takes me.

Short Cuts

I won’t name names, because that ALWAYS gets me in more trouble than it’s worth. I’ll just say that the same disappointing thought has occurred to me more than once recently as I’ve been sampling homoerotic wrestling new releases.  This recurring thought is, Grabbing crotch does not make wrestling homoerotic.

100% homoerotic wrestling featuring (among many other elements) Mitch Colby grabbing Derek da Silva’s crotch in Crotch Crushers 1.

Do you know what I mean? I’ve seen an anecdotal rise in the number of wrestling products marketed to you and me in which the most homo and/or erotic content is almost entirely limited to a crotch grab. Now, I love a nice crotch grab. That goes for all sorts of contexts and purposes, actually.  The feel of a pulsing, raging cock in my hand is absolutely intoxicating! Two raging cocks in my hand, and I’m guaranteed to have a hangover the next morning. I do not have anything at all against the homoeroticism of taking another man’s cock firmly in hand, per se.

Jobe Zander looks like he’s searching for his keys at the bottom of his purse in Can-Am’s DeCrotchery 3

But my beef, so to speak, is the over reliance on this device to sell wrestling as gay. I realize that there’s a sub-fetish contingent out there with a particular kink for watching and/or experiencing cock abuse. While I don’t count myself in that particular tribe, I can appreciate and get turned on by some cock control as a tool of soul crushing erotic domination. But if that’s really the only element in a match that might distinguish it from a TBS prime time mainstream episode of plasticized canned wrestling drama, then it’s just got one toe on our side of the fence, as far as I’m concerned.

Gino Liotta and Joshua Goodman engage in mutual crotch crushing as just one element of steamy action in Crotch Crushers 2.

Running across a bevy of barely homoerotic wrestling trying to take a short cut with crotch shots as credentials for checking in with you and me as gay-oriented has started to grate on my nerves.  So sure, you squeezed his balls… if you’ve got a disinterested look on your face, it sort of douses the heat. You grabbed a handful of whatever is stuffed down the front of his trunks, okay. But, if neither your hand nor his suffering seem to sell me that you’re about to rip him apart out of a primal lust to own his muscled body, then the stagecraft wears thin.

Friend of neverland, Ben Monaco, convinces me long before he goes for Alex Arias’ crotch that he’s all-in for homoerotic wrestling in Mat Rookies 1!

All this begs the question, of course, what it is that distinguishes some wrestling as homoerotic and others as something else. Of course, mainstream wrestling can turn me on (when it isn’t pissing me off with over-the-top homophobia). Just about any wrestling itself speaks to me as homoerotic almost by definition.  But I propose that there’s an ontologically different beast that is homoerotic wrestling. I’ve danced around this topic many times in the past. It’s a know-when-I-see-it sort of concept, in large part. It also overlaps with the cliche of “chemistry” between wrestlers, which is nearly impossible to quantify but, nevertheless, is unmistakable when its absent. I don’t know that I can put a finger on the baseline requirements (for me), but what makes something distinctively homoerotic wrestling always hits me on many levels.

Muscleboy Tyler St. James checks for a hernia in Pro Sex Fight 8.

Of course, explicit sexuality never hurts to sell wrestling as homoerotic. A suck, a fuck, a kiss even (especially), and I’m a long way to being sold that this wrestling is all about me and my kink. Hell, just having the boys talk openly about the eroticism hanging in the air between them is plenty to suck me in, and when it’s done right, eroticized banter will rev me up a hundred times hotter than an going-through-the-motions post-match fuck.

Reese Wells works 5 different angles at once in dishing out dominating abuse over  Jobe Zander’s package in Ball Busters 1.

It doesn’t require explicitness, though. It can be the fixed gaze of one wrestler and the self-conscious glance at the ground by the other that piques my homoerotic wrestling gaydar. It can be the intimacy of the setting, the gear, the lighting even, that contribute to making me recognize that this is homoerotic wrestling.  It can, and often is, one wrestler so narcissistic that he convinces me that, if humanly possible, he’d fuck himself into a stupor if that annoying opponent of his would just get the fuck out of his face.

Michael Vineland works the joystick from behind in Pro Sex Fight 8.

The best in the business push the homoerotic button from the instant the camera brings them into focus. Homoerotic wrestlers of the month Cage Thunder and (spoiler alert… keep reading at your own risk… oh, wait, too late!) Lightning Rod aka KV are beautiful examples. A half a second after I see their eyes lock onto the body of their opponents like sizing up a juicy filet, I understand without a doubt that the combat that’s about to unfold is first and foremost sexual. They communicate a hunger to grab hold of and consume their opponent that’s instantly arousing. The crotch grab is perfectly homoerotic when they latch on and threaten to rip an opponent out by the roots, because of everything else they’ve done to make it clear that they get off on this!

In Ball Bash 2, Reese Wells gets harder the more vicious Jonny Firestorm attacks his crotch! Now that’s homoerotic and hot!

There are plenty of wrestling products that push me way over the edge without ever veering into crotch grabs, fucking, or nudity even. They’re often completely homoerotic in my eyes for a dozen other elements that signal to me that this isn’t wrestling for 8 year-old boys with g-rated comic book fantasies of heroes and villains.  And equally as true, a gratuitous ball claw or tug at a cock is seldom the end-game for landing a wrestling match firmly within the circle of what I consider gay-themed, for gay eyes, wrestling kink, or homoerotic.

Unmasked and unsheathed, Stinger swells with excitement as Homoerotic Wrestlers of the Month Cage Thunder and Lightning Rod batter his stinger mercilessly.

As the photos I’ve attached to this post illustrate, the crotch grab is a delightfully hot tool in the tool belt of the accomplished homoerotic wrestler.  When it’s dished out in measured quantity, it’s fantastic! When placed as an integral component of an onslaught of unmistakably homoerotic content, the crotch grab is often precisely the point at which I lose all self-restraint. However, and I’m not naming names, but I just need to say it: solely based on a wrestler grabbing his opponent’s crotch, it doesn’t make it homoerotic wrestling. A one-trick pony gimmick in an otherwise lukewarm bath of run of the mill wrestling does not a homoerotic wrestling match make.

Pythons

Thunder’s Arena’s newest rookie sensation (aptly named): Python
Damn! Did you see the newest muscle stud at Thunder’s Arena? He wrestles as “Python,” which draws attention to the body part that certainly inspires hard-swallowing awe within me: his beautifully peaked biceps. There’s a lot on Python’s gorgeous physique to appreciate. He’s got a hot, broad upper back, beautiful pecs, very nice abs, and one damn adorably goofy grin. But again I say: damn! The peaks on those biceps are a—mazing! I haven’t seen his rookie debut with Angel yet, but I’ve got a deep down craving to see that right bicep of Python’s slowly wrapped around Angel’s neck from behind and then methodically flexed until the pointed peak of that monster crushes Angel’s throat in a name’s-sake rear choke. Follow that up with the rookie shoving that mountainous muscle in his dazed, battered opponent’s face and making him kiss it, and I’d be wasted (for at least a couple of minutes).

Can-Am’s iconic muscle man: Steve Sterling
Arms do not, as a rule, capture my attention first and foremost on most wrestlers. Not that I don’t appreciate hot, strong arms and especially Popeye-bulging forearms (Jonny Firestorm, I’m looking at you), but my eyes tend to instinctively lock onto other geography. Hot, meaty glutes, for example, or luscious, clawable pecs are frequently tops on my list. Armored abs, a hefty package (a-hem, Mr. Joshua), and thick, bear-trap thighs will tend to be higher on my list than arms. But on some wrestlers, and when I’m in the mood, arms light up my homoerotic imagination and make me feel all creative about the best uses for sculpted arm muscles. For example, I can’t help but picture Can-Am classic Steve Sterling cracking walnuts between his bodybuilder biceps and freakishly huge forearms. Then I tend to picture my cock trapped in the same spot, and with a little oil, working up a frot fantasy that only a musclebound arm like that can satisfy.
Thunder’s Arena’s Muscle Phenom: Coupe
Thunder’s resident muscle freak Coupe’s biceps aren’t as massive as Steve Sterling’s, but holy fuck that vascularity and shape makes me gasp every time I see them. Coupe is a phenomenon. I often throw around the hyperbole of wrestlers sporting 0% body fat, but it’s no exaggeration when it comes to muscle freak Coupe. He’s so cut and sculpted that I have to imagine if Coupe just faced the right opponent, he’d bring a man to his knees by just flashing those double biceps and that cocky I-dare-you-not-to-lick-them grin. This man needs to star in a wrestling match-turned full contact body worship feature like nobody’s business! Thunder’s may not be the company to produce it, but I’ll be the first in line to be that opponent!

Reese Wells and his Magic Biceps

I’ve noted on many occasions the particular magic that Reese Wells (aka Brody Hancock) weaves over me. He’s a living paradox. That pubescent face of his is completely diverting from the fact that the boy sports incredibly mature, aesthetically gorgeous muscle! He seems like one of those genetic freaks who’s probably always complaining about how hard it is for him to put on weight (which, in and of itself, is a reason for a beating in my book). I swear, at the right angle, in the wrong light, Reese would be easily mistaken for a skinny kid. Then BOOM!!!!… the boy flashes a double bicep and out of nowhere he’s got astonishing muscle mass squeezed into his upper arms like surgically inserted softballs. Where the fuck does he hide those guns!?!  There’s a skinny-kid-opens-a-can-of-whoop-ass-on-his-big-bad-bully fantasy just dying to be taped, culminating in Reese flashing one of his Houdini biceps in his former-tormentor’s face while cranking out a load of cum all over the humiliated bastard’s chest.

BG East Fantasy Man: Tyrell Tomsen
BG East’s Tyrell Tomsen’s arms let loose a flood of lustful fantasies for me frequently. So sure, Tyrell’s got the whole package (that should probably be Package with a capital “P!”). Tyrell’s ass, legs, pecs, tiny little waist, washboard abs… they’ve all been star players in climactic fantasies of mine. But when I watch Tyrell actually wrestling, it’s his gargantuan biceps that frequently have me muttering at the screen. He’s got the raw mass of Steve Sterling and the stunning shape and cut of Coupe. There’s something pristinely paradigmatic about Tyrell wrapping those monsters around his opponent’s back, lifting the lucky fucker off his feet, and squeezing the breath and the will to live out of him while shaking his prey like a rag doll.  This scenario has been approximated, mind you, but I’m hard pressed to see how a lucky opponent in that predicament doesn’t cum with his cock getting crushed and dragged up and down across Tyrell’s washboard, so I’m picturing him tossing the loser to the mat with a pint of cum strung between them, and Tyrell forcing the bastard to lick him clean with some special attention paid to his sweaty armpits.
Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz is built to crush!

Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz has 2 equally prominent objects of my lusts: his fireplace poker cock and his incredibly huge arms! Rip Steve Sterling in the prime of his conditioning out of the past and place him side by side with Thiago, and I’d put money on Thiago as having the bigger upper arms. Steve would have the Can-Am newbie beat for overall body proportions, mind you. Thiago’s lower body lags behind his upper body development pretty dramatically, but those shoulders and arms are like a cartoon drawing of a muscleman superhero. And since we’ve already transported Sterling into the present from the prime of his career, I can’t help but get wildly turned on by the image of Thiago nearly ripping Steve’s head off in a dragon sleeper with his veiny, massive bicep pressed perfectly across the classic bodybuilder’s carotid.

BG East’s Magnificent Mitch Colby

So, sure, I’ve spilled more ink on the pages of this blog over every inch of Mitch Colby’s body than just about anything else, but honestly, those biceps! Sweet Jesus-or-whomever-else-you-pray-to! Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! Strength, beauty, proportion… I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen it in a Mitch match, but in my mind, I’ve often pictured him with those mile-and-a-half-long limbs clamped around an opponent’s lower abdomen in a rear bearhug, lifting the luckyluckylucky loser off his feet and grinding his gorgeous cock into his opponent’s crack. Mitch-the-man squeezes a screaming submission out of him, then simultaneously takes the loser from behind while flexing his guns hypnotically as he generously jacks-off the overwhelmed plaything.
BG East One-Hit Wonder: Gary Myers’ biceps have biceps!

In hunting for which homoerotic wrestling arms send me shooting the farthest, I came across this image of BG East muscleboy, Gary Myers. I haven’t seen this match yet, but this should be the image next to the dictionary entry for “fantasy man.” So much to soak in, I know, but take a close look at those mind-blowing biceps.  The peaks on those monsters have peaks of their own!  It looks like this muscleboy only wrestled once, but fortunately, it was against the vicious sadist and bodybeautiful heel Jose. I can’t tell from the stills from the match whether Jose captured Gary from behind and locked up all those bulging muscles in a full nelson, but I can hope. And if Jose happened to do a little licking of Gary’s peaked peaks, then all is right with the world. If not, then this fantasy will have to live only in my imagination, though I can always hope to see it born out with one of the bicep-beauties still in the business today.
As I wrap up this small package, I’d just like to make the observation that several of the homoerotic wrestlers who I think of as having massive, gorgeous arms, on closer inspection really don’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with merely mortal muscle arms, of course. It’s the whole package with a sweet dose of attitude and kinetic eroticism that makes homoerotic wrestling my favorite kink and passion.  But when I’m in the mood that Thunder’s rookie Python puts me in, there’s something awfully arousing about the top shelf quality beef of musclebound arms in homoerotic wrestling competition.

Never Knew What I Missed…

Christmas came a little early for me this year, and I was treated to some presents directly off of my wish list of matches-to-own. Personally, I would’ve thought I’d have fallen into the “naughty” category. But I’m not asking any questions.

Thumbing through the catalog for things that might show up under my tree, I’ve lately been aching for Ball Bash 2. Truth be told, I’ve got a little crush on Reese Wells aka Brody Hancock. Well, more accurately, I fantasize about crushing him. He’d put up a good fight, mind you, and he’s got some sweet sell. But in the end he’d be screaming a submission wracked across my shoulders, before I rubbed salt in the wound by dropping his back across my knee. When all is said and done and his spirit is broken, I’d walk away with his boots to hang them up as a trophy of good times.

Fortunately for me, Jonny Firestorm has handed Reese precisely the type of treatment I think Reese desperately needs. I wasn’t expecting Ball Bash 2 to be quite so competitive. However, there’s plenty of pretty salesmanship going in all directions for most of this match before it turns into a full-on ball bash squash. Jonny always impresses, and this match is no different. He’s got instincts for delivering exactly the content, pacing, and humiliation that makes ring action my cup of tea.

I have to remind myself that this release came out before anything else that I’ve seen Reese in. This is significant for me because although I’ve seen him flirt with full-on homoeroticism, never since have I seen Reese wrestle naked. And that’s a shame, because he’s got a really beautiful cock, and there’s something about the optical illusion that is Reese’s body that somehow makes perfect sense when he’s in the ring in nothing but those boots (that’d I’d rip off of him and take home with me). I’ve seen the career trajectory that starts out with some stud just translating straight-up wrestling for a homoerotic company, and then eventually evolves into a balls out, naked, full-on homoerotic fantasy fighter. But someone who goes the other direction seems like a novelty (and a little bit of a waste, as far as I’m concerned).

The moment in this match that completely captures me, though, comes when Reese still has his speedos on. Things have been relatively traditional up to this point, with Jonny and Reese taking and giving in approximately equal measure. But when Jonny snaps his legs around Reese’s waist, presses wide the pretty boy’s legs, and grabs hold and squeezes Reese’s balls, this match instantly careens off the straight-up tracks and deep into homoerotic territory. But it’s this moment in particular, and specifically, it’s Reese’s sell of this moment, that captures my imagination. Reese has nowhere to go. Jonny is showing all his cards, including the fantastic revelation that he’s out for nothing short of blood curdling screams. And Reese is writhing in pain, stunningly vulnerable, and totally humiliated. And with his jaws open wide in agony, Reese kisses the mat.

Good god, that kiss just sends me. It’s such an excellent moment of helpless agony. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a BIG fan of Reese’s destruction without trunks, and I’m nearly as enthusiastic about the target-thong that Jonny makes him wear, which is delightfully inadequate to contain Reese’s impressive member that simply can’t be described as entirely flaccid throughout the remainder of the bull busting. All the moving parts to this match line up perfectly, I think. Jonny is impeccable. Reese is astonishing for a “rookie.” The bodies, the wrestling, the setting, the gear (and lack thereof), are all brilliant. But it’s Reese’s lips planted on the floor in agony that makes this match one of my favorites. Thanks, Santa.

Checking it Twice

A comment by Joe made me start thinking about my wish-list. This is the time of year when kids start asking themselves what their fondest desires are, isn’t it? The promise of gifts to come, the magic of dreams appearing from out of nowhere underneath a Christmas tree made me start thinking of what Santa might send me. Most pertinent to this blog is my list of gay wrestling products that I don’t yet own but probably will, sooner or later. Note, this isn’t a plea for anyone to fill my wish-list. Rather, this is just a rhetorical device to do more of what I enjoy doing most around here: discussing what works for me in homoerotic wrestling.

Starting with a few newer items from the catalog, I’ve got my eye on Ball Bash 2. I’ve been delighted by the pics in BG East’s Arena for quite some time. I’ve also been tracking Reese Wells’ (aka Brody Hancock) career across promotions over the past year or so. Reese tells a sweet tale. He’s (sort of) a skinny kid with a respectable arsenal of pro moves and attitude to transform him in the ring into a bully-killer. And though I say he’s “sort of skinny,” truth is, his body is quite the meat market, packed with long, lean, clearly hard-worked muscles, including rock hard abs, solid round pecs, and surprisingly bulging biceps. What particularly attracts me to Ball Bash 2 is that it seems to stick out in Reese’s portfolio as the only thing (at least that I can find) featuring him naked with all attention centered explicitly on his impressive cock and balls. In case Reese never returns to the darker, naked, sadomasochistic side of homoerotic wrestling, I’d like to own this little piece of history and enjoy it at my leisure.

Mat Hunks 8 is another recent release that I haven’t snapped up yet, but probably will. Every mat hunk in this line up has starred in a satisfying wrestling fantasy for me (Chris Bruce, Alexi Adamov, Mikey Vee and Denny Cartier). Truth be told, it’s Denny that’s making me long for Mat Hunks 8 more than anything. Frankly, I think that Denny is still looking for who he “is” in homoerotic wrestling. He’s sometimes a little green, sometimes a little sadistic/savvy, sometimes walks in with a dose of humility, sometimes walks in with an “I can fuck up anybody” attitude. As he works on character development, in any case, I never fail to be intoxicated by his body, and even more, by his body in motion. He’s clearly an accomplished, veteran amateur wrestler with speed, balance, and body savvy to bring authentic wrestling cred to his work. I just love watching him work, and the promise of watching him work and get worked over by Mikey Vee is pure fantasy come to life.

Masked Mayhem 6 is my third recent release to show up on my wish list. It all looks good, of course. Muscle Mask jobbing, Jonny in fighting trim, Cage Thunder in the ring. But you know as well as I do that it’s Rafe (mmmmm… Rafe) that’s calling to me. Rafe in the ring against a veteran heel is just too delicious to pass up. Sooner or later, this will be mine.

I also maintain a laundry list of “classics” from farther back in the library. I frequently pick up something from way back to add onto an order for a new release, to try to catch up with all the fantastic stuff that happened before I was actively collecting. Hard Pros 2 is a case in point. The line-up looks like a barnburner from A-Z, including fantasymen Jay Austin, Wade Cutler and Steve Sherman, along with hard heels with astonishing attributes like Max Dare and Jose.

Sadly, some of the classics that look mindboggling fantastic don’t appear to be still on the market (yet?). For example, all of the Bratpack series look fantastic, but I can only find them in the Arena and on some previews from my “older” BGE products, not for sale from the BGE website. Bratpack 12 would be where I’d start, I think. The trailer for this one caught my eye, and the line up (including TNT, Animal Ayben, Jumpin Joe Jaksyn, both Romano twins and Syddo Riley) all look like fantastic characters I’d love to see in the basement/underground genre.

I’m still waiting/hoping for some of the classic Private Bouts series to be converted to DVD. From that treasure trove, I’d start with Private Bouts 32-36, primarily to see a painfully young DW in action against Chase and Brian Baxter against Scott “Dark” Rogers.


The anticipation is frequently almost as sweet as the consummation of the moment when what I’ve dreamed of is at last in hand. But I promise, Santa, I will not grow tired of these toys. I will not break them. And I will, most definitely, continue to play with them over and over and over again, for years to come.

It’s the Pits

I have friends who are as fanatical about armpits as I am about a screaming body scissors (I’m a little fixated lately, I know). Personally, I find armpits about as erotic as the rest of the body, which means I find them very erotic. But they don’t typically stand out for me. On the other hand, the fashion model pose with hands behind head, camera’s gaze centered on the armpit, is absolutely everywhere, so clearly male beauty and armpits are closely linked for a lot of folks.
I know some guys who are into nothing but hairy pits. They scoff and roll their eyes at the sight of shaved pits and make derogatory comments about the man’s gender and masculinity. As for me, sure, I’m all for hairy armpits. Take newest member of my wrestling fiction pantheon, Jared Prudoff.
On second thought, you can’t take him. He’s mine. Instead, take fitness model Hendrik Snyman and his hairy-if-coiffed pits. There’s just nothing wrong with either of these sets armpits, as far as I’m concerned.
I do pose the caveat that I’m not a fan of deodorant caked into hairy armpits. I’m just fine to do some armpit worship as long as everything is tidy and clean, or during and after a wrestling match, as long as there’s nothing but the musky sweet of hard earned sweat. Portuguese bodybeautiful Rodriogo Guilherme, for example, who I posted unattributed a few days ago (shame on me) may be water-soaked or sweat-soaked, but his pits are primed and ready for some worship.
I do have a couple of friends who are exclusively fans of shaved armpits. They turn their nose up at anything more than a 5 o’clock shadow under the arms. As for me, I’m entirely a fan of shaved pits, particularly on well-muscled physiques adorned only in wrestling gear. Take one-named Russian model Anatoli (who I also posted uncited a couple of days ago). With muscles like that, a nice shave does nothing but accentuate the shape and size of those gorgeous pecs and arms.

And speaking of wrestling armpits, wrestlers, like the fashion model boys, frequently appear in stills proudly displaying their pits. Whatever is most comfortable for the battleboys in question is exactly what I’m a fan of. When cleft-chin fratboy extrordinaire Brad Rochelle wrestled with some carefully coiffed pit hair, I was ecstatic. I’d schoolboy that hunk, pin his arm over his head, and lick every inch of him within reach of my tongue morning, noon and night.

Same hunk a few years later wrestling entirely shaved, and nothing at all has changed as far as I’m concerned. Schoolboy…arm pinned overhead… severe tongue lashing… absolute gratification.

I’m a major fan of the post-victory flex-pose of Reese Wells, in no small part because of the remarkable display he offers of his physique, including the pits. I swear he’s a magician. He gives every impression of being a barely-legal, skinny white boy. But when he’s posing with his arms over his head, his shaved armpits stretching up into remarkably defined and solidly massive biceps and triceps are just astounding. There’s just something about Reese that just screams out for him to get dropped gut first across my knee for a severe spanking, followed up immediately by getting dropped back-first across my knee for a screaming OTK backbreaker with a ball-claw chaser. Not sure what it is that makes him seem to me to demand such treatment, but there it is.

So for beautiful model boys and wrestlers alike, and especially for beautiful model boys who wrestle (in real life, or in my imagination) I may not always mention it, but I’m entirely a fan of the pits. The eroticized, objectified male physique seems to be unable to be examined without a close up, centered gaze on the armpits. I’m all for it, whatever grooming regimen you ascribe to (as long as you ascribe to one).

Value Added


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.