Hair pulls are one of those little, subtle pleasures that superboosts the erotic aspect of a wrestling match for me. It’s disrespectful. It’s often unnecessarily cruel. It’s frequently functional, permitting a pitcher to position his reluctant prey for new angles of punishment. It stokes the fires of domination, often as plot device to signal that a competitive match has turned into cruel playtime. It can be affectionate, but when it comes to wrestling, it’s value added for me when it’s mean, rough, and adding insult to abundant injury. Here are a few hot and sexy hair pulls to help drag you over the weekly hump.
Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) dragged outmatched Christian Taylor about by his leading man locks in Demolition 27. As I recently mentioned, I theorize that every act of Mr. J’s punishment and degradation transformed naive, innocent babyface Christian into the erotic wrestling institution Christian has become as BG East.
Royce Perry works to impress his new tag team partner, Jonny Firestorm, by adding insult to injury to total humiliation all over double-teamed Calvin Haynes in Tag Team Torture 20.
There’s something extra sexy about a dominant pro heel hunk who calmly demonstrates his mastery with a hair pull. Kelly King holding a sagging Lane Hartley up by his follicles in Pros in Private 13 give me that burst of adrenaline I could use to get over the hump.
Jonny Firestorm absolutely throws everything, including the kitchen sink, at Jake Jenkins in Jobberpaloozer 12: The Works. For my tastes, the hottest moves are paired with Jonny wrapping his fingers through the muscle cherub’s curly locks and prying him apart sadistically.
I’m sure I’ve featured this shot of Dom the Dominator nearly ripping Brad Rochelle’s head off of his neck in Demolition 3. But it’s worth a lingering, repeat look. Sure, a chin lock might have been fractionally more functional to accomplish the same purpose, but the savagery of using Brad’s hair as a handle here is delicious!
Hang in there, my friends! When it comes to surviving this week, it’s all down hill from here!
Of course, I like them blond, tanned, and pretty. I like a wrestler with massive, broad pecs and a muscled ass. I like them confident and earnest. But then comes along someone like Royce Perry and I just can’t help but take an instant disliking to him. He’s too blond. He’s a fraction too tanned and pretty. His pecs are too perfect. He’s tilted just over the edge of too much confidence, too much earnest attention on the overall arc of his wrestling career. A little like I have a raging desire to watch Kirk Donahue get broken in half, I’m developing a taste for watching Royce’s dazzling beauty and obvious pro wrestling skills take a humiliating kick up that glorious ass of his.
I was surprised by how much satisfaction I took watching Zip Zarella beat the living shit out of Royce in their debut. And showing up for his follow-up match in Ring Rookies 5 on the heels of that first outing, Royce just keeps rubbing me the wrong way. There’s a bully-quarterback vibe about him as he scoffs and smirks at his newbie opponent, handsome lightweight Cap Landon. I immediately translate this confrontation to the über-popular prom king jock cornering the skinny, adorkable president of the AV club out back behind the bleachers, intent on tormenting the nerd.
Maybe that’s what Royce had in mind stepping into the ring with whittled down, painfully pale, handsome Cap. They shake hands, and then instantly the pretty boy starts to muscle bully the lightweight. Cap doesn’t go down willingly, and so abruptly, dazzling Royce grabs the newbie by the hair and slams him face-first in the mat. “Give up, kid,” Royce advises half-heartedly, like he’s clocking in at the assembly line and already half-bored with the inevitability of his victory. So when Cap shimmies into position to snap those lean, pale legs around Royce’s head, I’m pulling hard for the revenge of the nerds. The headscissors are lush and lingering, grinding into Royce’s excessively pretty blond head. “Yeah,” Cap spits and sneers, “how’s that for a kid?”
For the record, Royce rides roughshod over Cap a lot of this match. The kid is reportedly giving away around 40 pounds of weight, which is surely mostly accounted for in Royce’s massive, meaty pecs and magnificently round ass cheeks. But what I particularly like about Cap is that he’s not the fresh meat that Royce clearly thinks he is. He’s astonishingly skilled, executing reversals and neutralizing counters like a seasoned pro. And he’s got and adamantium-coated core, because the more Royce bullies and dominates him, the more Cap gets smart-assed and determined not to give the quarterback the satisfaction. Royce snap suplexes him, and drags him up by a barehanded choke. “Now you’re done,” Royce announces. “No I’m not!!!” Cap growls past the choking hand around his throat. Royce flexes his bulging biceps seductively, hips twisted slightly to the side to show off his incredibly lean waist, washboard abs, and tapered V torso. It’s so douchey. “You look like shit!” Cap snarls, and it makes me crush on him that much more. “Your body sucks!” he insults what is obviously the quarterback narcissist’s most vulnerable attribute: that annoying ego. Royce shrugs and smirks. Again. That fucking smirk. “Your mom loves it!” Royce pulls out that old douchey yo-mamma angle to insult the kid he’s bullying.
At this point, it should come as no surprise to learn that I’m hard as granite and ready to pop a load right around the time that Cap suddenly leaps on Royce’s broad, muscular back, and wraps his lean right arm across the quarterback’s throat. His lean, stark white legs wrapped around Royce’s Coppertone torso dig in tight, latching on and locking down the stumbling jock good. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” Cap taunts, his lips hovering near Royce’s ear, “just tell me you give.” Of course, there is something for Royce to be embarrassed about. He’s getting owned by the president of the AV club. He’s got a two and half stone weight advantage, and he’s been told by everyone, his entire life that he deserves everything, that slapping around the plebes are just part of the privilege of being the top jock on campus, that his ascendency is foreordained. Honestly, I’m already cumming when Royce half sags under the weight of Cap and chokes out the first fall, totally shocked submission. I’m still shooting when Cap doesn’t let go for a few more seconds, dragging Royce right to the edge of getting choked out cold not 5 minutes into the match. But he lets him go finally, and walks away slowly, hands on hips, cocky as fuck. Nice work, Cap.
Lest I leave you with the mistaken impression that Cap does to Royce what Zip did, let me be clear: Royce wears the ghostly pale lightweight down to a nub in the end. But I love it that losing that first fall is so clearly, irritatingly way up underneath Royce’s skin the entire time. “You got lucky!” he bitches and whines like a spoiled rotten daddy’s boy. He keeps pounding him, keeps flexing, keeps taunting. Cap splayed out and completely vulnerable in an OTK backbreaker deserves a sculpture in the Louvre. Even a bitter case of “fuck-you” stubbornness and shockingly compelling ring skills can’t keep a rockin’ sexy nerd with a plan like Cap in the mix for long.
If I’m being completely honest here, I have to admit that the second hottest moment of this match is right around the time Cap is actually dragging his battered body as quickly as possible to the ropes to try to flee the scene of the mugging that this has become. Despite myself, my cock aches as Royce drags the skinny nerd back by a fist full of hair, flinging him into a turnbuckle and flexes in his face. “You…” Cap gasps for air, eyes half-lidded, knees wobbly, hanging from the ropes, “you… flex like a bitch!”
Fuck, I feel a little guilty for how much satisfaction I take at Cap remaining a smart ass to the bitter end. It earns him a brutal ass whooping. Royce crushes him and then rubs salt in the wound with a slow 3 count final pin. Probably just for that last burst of smart-assness, Royce circles back and heel stomps Cap in the balls before exiting the building.
So Royce is supposed to be the pretty one, the body beautiful. He’s supposed to be the looker, the headliner. But honestly, all I can think as this brutality comes to an end is how much I just want to rub down Cap’s bruised muscles with baby oil. Don’t get discouraged, Cap. In 10 years, Royce is going to have a bear belly and will still be living off adolescent glory of beating up the AV nerds behind the bleachers. And if my prayers to the homoerotic gods are answered, you, Cap, will have been eating right, lifting weights, and expanding your arsenal to drag Royce’s hot ass kicking and screaming back into the ring for an epic revenge of the nerds, homoerotic wrestling style.
You know how my heart beats harder in my chest when I get my first glance at a newbie. It’s all promise and potential at that point. In the opening moments of a debut, there’s as much my imagination of what could be at play as what is. For a little while, I can (and do, I guarantee you) overlay any homoerotic wrestling fantasy character over top of the initial impressions laid down by muscles and proportions and skin tone and hair and eyes and gear and vocal inflection. Not being cocky or anything, but I’d estimate 7 times out of 10 the fantasy I imagine for a brand-spanking newbie is more titillating than the reality. Newbies are typically a little rawer, more awkward, with less ring presence and focus on the combat narrative than they will be if they get promoted to sophomore status. But those 3 times out of 10, newbies wow me. They sell me. Occasionally, they even surprise me, surpassing my expectations and even hopes. So you can just imagine what a unique thrill it is to experience a double debut in which both newbies own it. The sensational final match on BG East’s recently released Ringwars 26 is just that, tossing the most rare combination of two newbies with the looks, the character development, and the ring skills to far surpass my hopes.
Alex already reviewed this match, and he pretty transparently signals that between Zip Zarella and Royce Perry, blond, blue eyed, mocha tanned Royce is his rookie crush. I can totally see it. Fuck, this boy is so ridiculously pretty. Royce’s ass could very well be an early front runner for top contender spot with Kid Karisma by year’s end. And right out of the gate, he’s cocky, with astonishingly deep ring skills to back it up. He instantly crawls under his bro’s skin with a contemptuous smirk at Zip’s purple trunks. I’m not entirely sure what Royce’s hang up is with the purple trunks. Maybe there’s a “purple is for sissies” implication, but it’s blessedly left unspoken. More likely, it’s just one young, ring-savvy pro wrestler getting under the skin of his competition with a bit of random hypercritical capriciousness.
It seems to work for Royce, at least early days. Zip is initially, verbally on the defensive about his choice of trunks. Having been psychologically knocked back on his heels, Royce opens up a magnificently brutal beat down. Damn, this kid looks like a Top Gun fighter pilot, he’s so insanely poised and steady. He latches hold on the advantage with speed and certainty, grinding gorgeous Zip to his knees with a wristlock before smoothly transitioning to a temple grinding side headlock. He yanks Zip around by his hair unselfconsciously and cinches tight a rear naked choke. “I… I can barely breathe!” Zip gasps. “Your arms are so big!” Royce doesn’t skip a beat. “Don’t I know it,” he replies. “The ladies love them.” After this match is over, I guarantee you the gentlemen do as well, Royce.
Royce’s cockiness and viciousness are really, really expertly developed. Brutal bodyscissors. Insulting slaps to the face. He ties Zip’s muscled arms into the ring ropes and reigns down chops and kicks to his tattooed pecs. “You’re a monster!” Zip snarls bitterly, clearly rethinking if what started as a good natured bro-down about the color of his trunks was a fucking seriously wrong turn in his life choices. Royce drives down vicious, pelting elbow drops, one after another drilling into Zip’s sternum. Pausing to flex his dangerously pretty biceps, Royce smirks, “All day. Every day.”
I so get it. Royce dishes up about 5 times the personality and 20 times the expertly sold pro offense of any newbie I can recall at this particular moment. His cornfed Midwestern boy heads to Cali to become a surfer stud look is insanely hot. He’s a headliner with a destiny for greatness, clearly. And yet, if forced to choose which of these delightful newbies I’d want to be cornerman for more, I’ve just got to say, I’m team Zip Zarella.
I’m sure the tats play into the complex formula of why it is I’d kick Royce to the curb for a chance to give Zip a baby oil soaked muscle rub down. Pretty much every time I mention tats, I get comments from guys who categorically hate them. Which I respect the hell out of. And completely disagree with. Zip’s pec tats are ballsy and beautiful. They signal that this kid can fully commit. As dazzlingly pretty as Royce is, he’s white bread next to Zip’s gorgeous, illustrated muscles. It’s most definitely not only the ink that holds my attention on Zip’s body, despite the pretty pin-up boy strutting and smirking his way around the ring next to him. But for me, the tats are definitely value added.
And when Zip finally has enough of getting his sensationally hot ass bullied around the ring by this pretty boy sadist, I discover a couple dozen more reasons to be instantly infatuated with him. All of that pent up frustration from getting owned and humiliated the first five minutes or so power Zip up to absolutely ring Royce out in an exquisitely long bearhug. Royce collapses to the mat, and Zip smoothly goes down with him, maintaining every last ounce of pressure. Sure, he probably wants to even the score. Zip surely wants to defend those purple trunks that got this whole thing started. But suddenly Zip reveals what he really wants most of all. “Scream!” he demands, rearranging Royce’s internal organs. “Fucking SCREAM!”
Just like Royce, Zip is Top Gun cocky and steady on the joystick. He slides seamlessly into a full nelson, mounting Royce’s back, pulling him up off the mat, and then slamming him face first into the canvas. “Right where I want you, you little monkey bitch!” Royce is bitter and furious on the receiving end, but Zip starts to sort of transcend the brawl. This hunk is an artist, people. “I’m going to tear you limb from limb…” he growls, “and look good doing it.” Holy shit. This “newbie” gets the very heart of homoerotic pro wrestling.
Like Alex, I was a little surprised that the obvious talents of these two phenomenal rookies turns on basically just that one plot twist. Royce rides roughshod for the first five minutes, and then Zip fucks him up relentlessly for the rest of the time. These two could easily have told a much more suspenseful tale. Personally, I choose to interpret the simplistic narrative as indication that Zip just fucking would not be denied after sucking on that mouthful of humiliation shoved down his throat for the first 5 minutes of his introduction to BG East fans. I know, I know. I’m sure it’s much less transparent, but as for me, I like to believe that Zip really is just that much meaner, stronger, and more vicious. He just fucking wanted it more, so when he was supposed to pass the baton back, the sensationally handsome devil just left Royce hanging there.
Those repeated face plants into the top turnbuckle drive me nuts. Both hunks sell them like seasoned pros. They hurt just watching them, but at the same time, trying to pound the pretty right off of Royce’s mug is just so sensationally right. Zip has his way with the blond beauty, long after he’s evened the score. He drops his knee repeatedly across Royce’s throat until the smart ass surfer can’t respond when Zip tauntingly asks, “Got anything else to say?” He doesn’t even stop when he’s sleepered the bronzed beefcake out cold. He just slaps him around until Royce rouses again (barely) and then torments and taunts him, pretend arm wrestling, fucking owning his dazed and confused hot self just for kicks.
Honestly, choosing favorites between two instant rock stars like Zip and Royce is next level shit. My recommendation is just to leave these things to the professional bloggers like me and Alex who have nothing better to do with our time than obsess over homoerotic wrestling new releases and catalog and evaluate every last inch of detail. Because the real winner here at the end of Ringwars 26 is BG East fans. These guys are high class, dazzlingly hot, and you can’t really go wrong popping one (or twenty) with your eyes fixed on either one of them. The distinctions between them are superficial and practically (if not statistically) insignificant.
Though BG East did opt to make my favorite, Zip, their Catalog 117.1 coverboy, relegating Royce’s flowing blond locks, perfect skin, square jaw and button nose to get buried under submenus. Team Zip clearly got the best of this magnificent double debut.