I was chatting with a friend about heels recently, and we were extolling the charms of a twink heel. Now, as soon as I broach this topic here, I brace myself for controversies over the definitions of heels (and twinks, for that matter). Just for context, let me say that I’m approaching heels in terms of wrestlers who are viciously sadistic, taking pleasure in the pain and humiliation of their opponents. A heel, to me, is a wrestler who doesn’t so much break the rules as makes his own rules that, coincidentally, typically contradict the commonly accepted standards of fair play and sportsmanship. In 2022, I feel like we’ve transcended the old characterizations of “villains,” because, let’s face it, sometimes we cheer louder for the sensational villains that the so-called heroes. The wrestlers I count as heels don’t have to always be heels. They don’t have to always win. In the transient world of homoerotic wrestling, hunks inhabit multiple characters and storylines all the time. But for at least one brief, shining moment, if they’ve been a heel, I’m counting them.
Then there’s the potential debate over what constitutes a twink. Since this is my blog, and I’m relating my conversation with my friend, let me share my take on the subject. I think of twinks as pretty, perhaps even of delicate features. They can range from downright skinny to “swimmer’s build”-fit, but aren’t heavily muscled. If a fight breaks out, you might not expect a twink to step up because they wouldn’t want to bruise their beautiful faces, and there’s probably a bigger, stronger stud nearby who’d get the job done more efficiently.
I love the idea of the combination of the two: the twink heel. Delicate, pretty, slight of build, and a viciously sadistic, fuck-the-rules, delightfully nasty son-of-a-bitch. After waxing poetic about the abstract allure of a twink heel, we were then struck with how difficult it was to come up with a robust list of them. We settled on John Wolfboy as a potential twink heel we like who’s currently wrestling. I suggested back in the day, I’d include Scott “Dark” Rogers, and even Brigham Bell (like when he fucked over Troy Baker sooooo sweetly). Who else, though? I’m sending up incense and a prayer to the homoerotic wrestling gods for some more sensational twink heels to come our way!
Not long ago someone mentioned the classic homoerotic wrestling pinup boy, Tommy Lopez. I immediately had a complex Pavlovian response that involved salivating, heart pumping, and crotch swelling, which inspired a breathy “Yum!” from deep inside me. As I thought about it, however, it occurred to me that I haven’t actually given any love to the curly-haired beauty here among these pages. Let me rectify that oversight right now and think a little more about why he may not have shown up much prior.
I have to confess that I haven’t seen Tommy in action. My appreciation for him has arisen entirely from admiring him in still frame. There’s a generational conversation to be had, I believe, about the relative salience of still frame vs video in igniting homoerotic wrestling lust. To start, let me just say that like a good book, homoerotic wrestling pics have always had the capacity to tweak my imagination just right, and I’ve fallen deeply in lust (and, truth be told, naively in love a few times, as well) over and over again with stop frame cues that I’m more than capable of splicing into my deeply satisfying homoerotic wrestling spool running through my mind. That said, this retrospective testimonial of my affection for Tommy is inspiring me to add his catalog to the south wing of my home known as my homoerotic wrestling library.
Tommy’s resume demonstrates that he did wrestle plenty outside of my imagination as well. He was an early Private Bouts battler at BG East, grappling with other iconic forefathers like Kid Leopard, Sailor Rob, Thom Katt, and Scott Rogers. There’s something graceful and captivating about his body in the shots from these vintage matches. Paired with a snarling, cocky game face, that’s pure gold as far as I’m concerned.
Believe me when I say I’ve combed through the still-frame galleries I can find of Tommy for evidence that at some point someone grabbed those cherubic, curly locks and dragged him around by them. That head of hair screams for dirty, no good pulling to make his beautiful face twist in insulted agony. So far I haven’t seen this maneuver captured on film, sadly.
I get the impression that Tommy was a delight to get your hands on because from a company notoriously reticent to tape rematches, aficionados like Kid Leopard and Dark Rogers faced beautiful Tommy more than once. On opposite sides of a tag team confrontation now available in KL’s Classic Spotlight, there’s a strong whiff of lambs to the slaughter. The much finer photography and delightful study in the erotic beauty of wrestling is the photo story of KL and Tommy doing one-on-one battle in some unfinished room. This match either wasn’t videographed or no longer available, but the stunning photos are breathtaking. Both wrestlers look like they got their licks in, but it’s the shots of KL working his heel magic and angelic Tommy contorted like a twist tie and inches from being broken in half that make my heart race fastest.
The same unfinished basement (?) is the setting for another photo story of Tommy in babyface white trunks getting manhandled hard (and I mean HARD) by hairy-chested italian hunk Gino Gentry.
There are full throttle naked scenes in Tommy’s library. There’s plenty of evidence of the meat stick regularly struggling to wrestle its way free from Tommy’s trunks, so just believe me when I saw it’s as stirringly beautiful as every inch of the rest of him. Better yet, look it up yourself in BG East’s Arena and marvel more of what Tommy was bringing to the mat that inspires my Pavlovian responses.
He wrestled live in a match that was videographed in front of a live audience and now available from BG East as part of their Live at San Francisco vintage release. This was the rematch of Tommy taking on pre-Dark Scott Rogers, who I have well-documented for my deep, lustful infatuation with.
Another photo story that appears to not have a video mate is a dizzyingly hot living room battle between Sailor Rob and Tommy (again, you’ll need to check it out in BG East’s Arena). If you’re looking for two lean, luscious, fully aroused grapplers in full bloom, make sure you put this one on your itinerary. Sailor Rob is ripped and roaring and Tommy is quite clearly stoked hot and very bothered by Sailor Rob’s hands-on, unapologetically erotic offense. I was just remarking the other day that I’m missing more naked wrestling in my diet, and the shots of Sailor Rob and Tommy hard as granite and locked in combat is precisely what I’m talking about.
So while I am putting Tommy Lopez in my cue of videos to own, I’m also making a pitch here for something that video can’t always deliver. Tommy is on a pedestal in my homoerotic wrestling lusts because of the entirely satisfying wrestling he has starred in in still frame, translated expertly, directly into the moving pictures that only my mind’s eye can see, but is nevertheless perfectly erotic, pitched precisely to my tastes, and scratches an itch that more literal homoerotic wrestling action only occasionally hits so perfectly. Again, I will preempt the inevitable comments that will warn me against leaning too heavily on nostalgia, but I will also insist that there’s a pleasure to the still frame as well as the written word that can, and often does, satiate my homoerotic wrestling hunger more satisfyingly than the mountain of videos I delight in regularly. The respondent conditioning that makes me spring to life and break out into a sweat at the name of Tommy Lopez is deeply compelling, and its the alchemy of my active imagination and the visual stimulation of lovingly shot photography that puts Tommy at the head of the class before many of the hot hunks who I’ve fallen in lust with on video.
That handsome face, the lickably smooth skin, that rocking ass and surprisingly meaty legs on such a lean babyface don’t exactly hurt Tommy’s case either.
I’m huddled under a blanket and on the phone with my contractor to improve the insulation in my house before another polar vortex hits. So before my fingers freeze, let’s just admire the fine art that is the homoerotic wrestling trunk pull…
“And welcome once again to BG Wrestling at Campus in beautiful Cambridge, Massachusetts in the heart of brain country, I guess you would say, halfway between Harvard and MIT.” Announcer and color commentator Bob Wood fills in all the juicy details over the PA system that set the stage for “Live at Campus.” He lets us know who the heels are and why their babyface opponents are motivated to try to conquer them. This classic club footage from a BG East catalog release from 1990 is pro wrestling entertainment that makes impressive use of a dance floor, a mat, and some slack ropes. Five matches comprise this DVD, with some classic, classic athleticism from the likes of Matt Carlton, Tiger Chuck Collins, Kid Leopard, Scott Rogers (before he turned Dark), and the Brooklyn Bodywrecker.
Regular readers here know that I have a running fantasy of live action homoerotic wrestling. I know of no live action homoerotic wrestling venues within several thousand miles of me, so watching classic club wrestling in front of a curious, sometimes enthusiastic crowd of gay guys in Live at Campus revives that lust to watch up close and personal wrestling action.
The crowd that night is a mix of curious gawkers, guys chatting each other up without much interest in the wrestling, and a smattering of hardcore wrestling fans who start showing up later in the card. In the Fallen Angel v Tiger Chuck Collins match, the fans slowly warm up to their role in this scenario. One angry fan, fed up with Collins’ seeming inability to defend himself against his masked opponent, throws trash ontop of Collins while the the tiger-striped-one is getting the crap beat out of him at the start of round 3.
When Kid Leopard and Scott Rogers face off for a title match in the second half of the card, the crowd around the makeshift ring has grown thicker, rowdier, and more attentive. A hot, bearded hunk with big pecs and a sleeveless t-shirt shows up ringside just as the action starts. Like a growing number of the fans gathering ringside, he’s got a look about him that makes me think he’s got to be one of us who enjoys his wrestling kink. He pumps his fist, flexing an impressively thick bicep, and shouts in celebration when KL is introduced as the hometown boy with a bad attitude.
The hot boy with the beard fades into the crowd partway through KL’s successful title defense, but from the moment that the final match is announced, the battle for the “Bruiser Weight Championship Belt,” he’s back and furiously stakes out his claim to a front row, unobstructed view of the action. This action consists of Maine native Terry Mercen, in white trunks and boots and a white satin jacket (Bob Wood gives Terry’s hardworking, straight-up babyface credentials), facing down an astonishingly young, ripped, gorgeous Brooklyn Bodywrecker in red trunks and black boots. BBW is sporting his perennial “fuck ’em up” attitude that he dishes out with relish to his opponent, the announcer, the fans… pretty much anyone and everyone.
Before the match has technically started, BBW ambushes Terry from behind when the Maine grizzly tries to take his white satin jacket off. When BBW starts to choke Terry with it, some heel fans initially cheer, but things quickly quiet down as BBW’s mauling of the man in white is visually simply stunning. After an astonishingly relentless battering of his caught-off-guard opponent, BBW hops to his feet, sets his snarling sights on none other than the hot, bearded hunk in the front row, and points his finger at him. It looks like an aggressive move, but there’s no way to really tell what BBW is saying to the hunk in the crowd. A match dedication, perhaps? A promise to deal with those hot pecs next? Whatever BBW says, the pec boy seems to cheer that much more enthusiastically with every cruel stomp, kick, and slam that BBW delivers. A step-over toe hold looks like it’s about to snap poor Terry’s knee in two, to the rising “ooo’s” and “aaah’s” of the appreciative crowd. A double knee drop to Terry’s hamstrings clearly titillates more than one spectator. “I like that! Give him another one!” an excited voice rises an octave above the crowd.
The boy in the white sleeveless t-shirt, the one with the big pecs and bulging biceps, gets more and more animated as the match progresses. When Terry launches an impressive rally that has BBW reeling in fall 2, the hot stud in the front row gives the ref an earful, complaining about some clearly fictitious rule infraction that the fan believes Terry used to gain the upper hand. But when BBW bounces back from that unexpected 2nd fall pin to grab hold of this match with both hands in fall 3, his #1 fan is literally roaring. Actually roaring, yes. He gives BBW a “thumbs-up” of encouragement to start round 3. When BBW battles back to control the match momentum, pec boy pumps his fists and flexes those meaty biceps encouragingly. Every slam, every kick has the hunk outside the ring cheering and pumping his fists harder. When BBW bodyslams Terry onto the wooden bar tables at ringside, all the heel fans rejoice. His over-the-knee backbreaker on Terry has the muscled hunk in the front row pumping his fists again with a big, toothy smile stretching ear to ear. When BBW cranks out a humiliating final fall submission from Terry, his #1 fan celebrates furiously, reaching over the barrier to slap BBW’s hand in congratulations. When BBW, as is his way, goes back and muscles out a post-victory piledriver on a completely helpless Terry, muscleboy at ringside is laughing and applauding feverishly.
“The bodywrecker has developed quite a little following here this evening,” announcer Bob Wood can’t help but note. “And now he accepts the BG Bruiser Weight Championship belt… holds it high… and accepts the cheers of those in the crowd who seem to favor this sort of wrestling.”
Live action homoerotic wrestling has got to be the sexiest venue possible. When there’s chemistry like the chemistry BBW clearly has with his muscleboy fan in the front row, my arousal skyrockets. The adrenaline rush of the crowd egging on the combatants, the call-and-response between wrestlers and their fully engaged boosters, it all makes the story extend outside of the literal ring. There’s an extra pump from proxy champions fighting it out, carrying the standard, standing for the virility and savvy and will to dominate of everyone on “their side.” Like the hot, bearded boy with the meaty pecs, I’m certainly part of that crowd that “seems to favor this sort of wrestling!”
Kid Leopard v Matt Carlton – BGE Live in San Francisco
Today’s BG East Arena update features several galleries from the vintage Live at San Francisco collection of matches. In addition to reminding me that I need to get a copy of these live audience matches featuring some of the early lions, it also reminds me that I really like homoerotic wrestling in front of an audience.
Brooklyn Bodywrecker v Scott Rogers & Matt Carlton – BGE Live in San Francisco
A reader recently chatted with me about the concept of gay wrestling in front of an audience. We both agreed that the concept really moves us. I’m not entirely certain what all the moving parts are that multiply the eroticism of homoerotic wrestling with a live audience, but I have to believe it has to do with the shared intimacy of watching arousing, hardbodied athletes playing to a mutual kink.
Reed/DJ v Rouge/Tucker – Naked Kombat – December 23, 2009
Naked Kombat taped three incredibly hot matches in front of an audience before calling that venue quits. Their boys always got hurt when they wrestled in front of a crowd of cheering fans. Did the kombatants experience an extra rush of adrenaline when the boys in the stand roared with delight at each homoerotic hold? Did they find themselves trying a little too hard, pumped a little too much, with a jeering, cheering, hungry audience egging them on like the crowd that inevitably forms around schoolyard scraps? Maybe that’s part of the equation of what turns me on, as well. There’s an extra dose of adrenaline with an audience watching. There’s not only the fantastically intimate relationship hammered out between the wrestlers, but also the relationship between the wrestlers and the audience. Like a threesome, it adds something exotic and extra intense to an already erotically charged moment.
Reed/DJ v Rouge/Tucker – Naked Kombat – December 23, 2009
My recent introduction to the illustrated storybooks Sexfights at the BG Arena captures this ménage à trois sentiment quite nicely. The story of one night in an explicitly gay, live audience, ring wrestling arena, suggests that the wrestling studs fighting to cum out on top experience a synergistic, orgasmic psychic connection with the audience, carried across the sound waves of the audience’s shouts of encouragement, instruction or derision. The wrestlers, financially rewarded on a sliding scale based on how hardcore the victory sex gets, find themselves nudged further in brutality and passion as a result of the boys in the chairs, aroused and enthralled at the live, homoerotic, 110% wrestling kink action occurring just a few feet in front of them.
Chuck Tiger Collins v Fallen Angel – BGE Live on Campus
So perhaps a Sexfights at BG Arena scenario might have trouble finding an insurance carrier (which I assume was the real nail in the coffin of Naked Kombat’s live audience matches). And perhaps as homoerotic wrestling has become more established, there’s less opportunity for the ragged spontaneity of a Wrestlefest, for example.
Brad Rochelle v Patrick Donovan – BGE Wrestlefest 2
But I’ll keep a candle burning for the hope to someday buy my ticket for a ringside seat to watch the kink infused melodrama of homoerotic wrestling played out close enough for me to smell the sweat. Surely the seats would be packed for an opening bout with, say, my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division – Lon Dumont swagger out and climb commandingly through the ropes to work his bodybeautiful, indypro-informed magic on – how about – BGE veteran delight, Patrick Donovan. Patrick would be rewarded by those of us in the seats for copping some gratuitous feels of LD’s gorgeous pecs, but LD would surely pound his amorous opponent into a sweaty, exhausted, defenseless pulp, earning even more awed adoration from us in the crowd. Match 2, I’m thinking, should be a little kinkier. Let’s say Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), eager to show up LD, climbs into the ring next, against Grapple 101 emcee, Ashley Ryder. Ashley lets us in the seats know that if he conquers my top contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division – he’ll give us all what we’ve been swooning for for more than a decade: an unobstructed view of Mr. Joshua’s stripped cock and balls. Hell, the crowd would turn on Mr. J in a flash, wouldn’t we!? Our blood would pump faster with each small advantage that Ashley managed to claim over Mr. J. When Ashley found himself bullied and slammed by his opponent, we’d roar in protest, desperate for our fresh-faced champion to deliver the goods he cockily promised. Knowing Ashley, sooner or later, boots would be stripped and the tension would rise over his fetish for claiming his opponent’s socks. And, let’s face it, Mr. J would likely capitalize on Ashley’s single-minded devotion to his gimmick, beating the Britboy’s face into the turnbuckle, tying him in the ropes and battering him with every appendage, before choking him out in the center of the ring as we catcalled, watching our hopes to see Mr. J’s goods fade with Ashley’s consciousness. But as full of himself as Mr. J is, he isn’t immune to the adrenaline rush of the roaring crowd. We’d chant, “take it off, take it off, take if off,” making the adonis pause as he’s stepping through the ropes to make his exit. “Take if off, take it off, take it off,” we’d chant like devotees of our druid god, weaving a spell so powerful that Mr. J, in his lust to be worshipped, couldn’t refuse. He’d tease us. He’d start to strip, and then wag his finger at us, plucking our pumping heartstrings like a harpist. Take it off, take it off, take it off… we’d keep whispering, breathlessly, desperately, until his eyes closed in rapture at the sound of our worship, and as if with a mind of their own, his hands peeled his skin tight trunks down his long, muscled legs. He’d grab his balls in his right hand and his cock in his left, giving them a habitual tug, before lacing his fingers behind his head and flexing his eight-pack directly over top of Ashley’s prone body, soaking in the impassioned shouts and grunts of our climactic adoration.
Dennis the Menace v Jay Austin – BGE – Paradise 2
Holy crap! I got completely lost there in my own fantasy of a BG live audience event, now didn’t I? Surely there’s got be at least another two or three more matches on the card, but I’ll save the rest of that fantasy for another day. For now, let me just say again that I think there’s an awesome chemistry to live audience wrestling, as evidenced by straight-up mainstream pro wrestling profits, that would only be that much more appealing in undisguised homoerotic fare. My candle is lit for a return of live audience action to gay wrestling, and me with my ticket to a front row seat.