I’m still combing through the results of the Best of BG East 2022 awards and marveling at this cream of the latest crop of hot wrestling. As I was sending up congratulations to the winners that I’m connected to on social media, I got an intriguing, possibly even provocative reply from Lon Dumont, asking, “When’s my Hall of Fame induction?” And I’ve been obsessed with this question ever since.
Not necessarily the question of when should Lon be inducted (five years ago is the correct answer). But I’m taken by the question of celebrating the mainstays, the sensational BG East wrestlers who put their blood, sweat, and tears into showing up, stripping down, and going at it for us homoerotic wrestling fans. There isn’t a Hall of Fame, is there? I mean, I believe that at the end of Wrestlefest 2, there was “technically” an awarding of a “Lifetime Achievement” award to Doug Warren. I say “technically,” because the Boss announced it, welcomed Doug to the ring, and then locked on a kiss of death, knocking hunky Doug out cold. Kid Leopard expressed his contempt for the notion of awarding anyone else a lifetime achievement award, before he, himself had been awarded one. So, yeah… I think there’s technically the start of a Hall of Fame, that rises above the yearly awards based on new releases! Unless I’m mistaken, I think Doug is the only member of that club so far, but… yeah, I think there IS a Hall of Fame, and perhaps it IS time to celebrate some more lifetime achievements of the hunks who live on in our fondest wrestling fantasies, even though they don’t appear in new releases any longer.
Like I told Lon, I am immediately and sincerely initiating my campaign to get this train rolling now! First up, I’d like to nominate Kid Leopard. I have to agree with his bitter, withering assessment of the idea he expressed moments after he knocked Doug Warren out cold: if ANYONE deserves to be lauded for monumental, even Herculean contributions to basically building what homoerotic wrestling is today from the ground up, it’s the Boss. I still keep his matches on repeat, because, honestly, no one has ever walked that line of legitimate pro wrestling sell and dazzling, sizzling, insanely hot homoeroticism as perfectly. And his contributions to the industry in terms of recruitment, production, distribution, and championing wrestling for a gay erotic eye is simply unmatched. And, let’s face it, he’ll kick the ass of anyone else we try to nominate, until his inaugural role in the Hall of Fame is certified.
But then who? Lon, of course. Don’t even try to argue with me on this, because I will swat you down so hard you’ll wake up just in time for the voting for the 2023 BG East Besties. But when we think of the wrestlers who stuck with BG East, who put in the sweat-equity to building this industry that fuels our fantasies, who never flinched from stripping down to next-to-nothing (or nothing) and entertaining an enthusiastic audience of guys who get off to wrestling… who should be the next class of inductees. After Kid Leopard. Let’s just all agree he’s in a class by himself.
Last week there was a reckoning in pro wrestling, as victims of sexual misconduct and sexual assault stepped forward on several platforms to name the crimes and creeps they have endured for years in the pro wrestling context. While I’ve generally ignored mainstream pro wrestling for a couple of decades, for a number of reasons, I follow a few wrestlers outside of the homoerotic wrestling context, and more than a few wrestlers that straddle both worlds. Based on what I’ve read, most of the recently disclosed creepiness was perpetrated by men against women, but I’ve seen more than a few indictments of same sex assault and harassment. I don’t believe that I’m qualified or informed sufficiently to comment directly, but it does draw my attention to my lane on the road, namely wrestling produced for gay eyes.
As I’ve documented extensively on this blog, I found wrestling inherently erotic from pretty much the first time I can remember seeing it. Clearly, I’m not alone. Vintage gay beefcake pin-up boys were often portrayed grappling, perhaps as cover for the explicit tension of seeing two nearly naked men all over each other. But for me, it’s not just cover. I have access to a world of homoerotic porn today, but what seriously turns me on is homoerotic wrestling (thus, this blog). I understand that there may be companies producing content with an explicit understanding that the wrestling is pretense, that the audience is understood to primarily include gay guys who only feel comfortable getting caught with their jack-off inspiration under the bed/in their downloads if they can attempt to argue that they’re just good ole straight boys into good old straight wrestling and it has nothing to do with their dicks. I’ll come back to that in a moment, but for now, let me say that I’m most interested in self-consciously, undeniably homoerotic wrestling.
I get off on wrestling. Early in my life, it was a secret that I felt ashamed of. Mostly through blogging about it over the past 10 years, I’ve “come out” about it here, and face-to-face with some of my close friends. I still watch “family friendly” pro wrestling sometimes for the nostalgia, for the implicit connection to my young, gay self staying up late on a Saturday night, turning the volume down way, way low, and pounding a few out over the course of watching the likes of Billy Jack Haynes, the Dynamite Kid, and Steve Doll work up a sweat and put their hot bodies to the test in the ring. I realize that the producers of independent pro wrestling probably didn’t envision a whole lot of their audience consuming the product quite the way I did (though I strongly suspect producers have always known and counted on our corner of the fan base). Most of what I enjoy for the carnal enjoyment of it these days is wrestling-for-gay eyes, though, because the erotic text isn’t just the one I bring to the viewing. And in explicitly homoerotic wrestling (explicit or not), the eroticism crosses some topical boundaries (like groping, mismatched erotic desire between the combatants, aggressive kisses, gear being forcibly ripped off of each other) that are, in many ways, the very content of damning stories raised by wrestlers in mainstream pro wrestling about sexual harassment and sexual assault. But in homoerotic wrestling, it’s happening for the homoerotically-oriented wrestling audience, and it’s built on a pretense of consent. The boundary crossing is an erotic fantasy, self-consciously enacted by consenting wrestlers willingly, sometimes eagerly, rather than real-life boundary crossing perpetrated as an unwanted violation of consent.
I’ve never seen a wrestling contract from BG East or W4H or Can-Am or Naked Kombat. I’ve never sat in on labor negotiations or match planning. But as a consumer, I’m assuming a foundation of consent, that the fine, hot hunks that populate my screen have signed up for the sexy situations that they find themselves in. I’d feel like an accomplice to a crime if I actually thought that IRL Bryan Powers was put in restraints in the corner and forced to watch helplessly as his sexy little fuck buddy Liam Ryan was beaten senseless, groped relentlessly, and force-fed Shane McCall’s cock as Shane and BBW made out over top of him, turned on by their cruel domination. If all 4 of the wrestlers didn’t sign-up for, at the very least, the possibility of the erotic turns and double-teaming injustice that played out, then that match would be prosecutable. The pretense of being overpowered and forced into sexually compromised positions only works for my fantasy life if there was consent from the start.
The role of consent in my erotic fantasies has been explicitly on my mind for a long time. I remember rewriting, multiple times, one of my first homoerotic wrestling fiction stories, as I brought into focus the blurred lines of consent. The match was careening headlong into the winner fucking the unwilling loser. But as the words hit the page, I actually felt pity for the loser. Even the imaginary violation of consent was such a buzz kill, and it sent me backward into the narrative, to figure out whether the hottest telling of my fantasy would be established on clarifying the mutually agreed upon stakes, or if the match needed to head a different direction all together.
The idea of consent pops up in other ways in my blogging history. Along the way, I’ve requested, and received, permission from copyright owners to post images from homoerotic wrestling productions. Sometimes they have specific parameters within which they give me permission to post. One producer has specified that I not re-post their images that include nudity, for example. Also, in about 10 years of active blogging, there’s been about a dozen times when someone featured in an image I’ve posted has requested the image be removed. I always do, whether they are the copyright owners or not. I do my best to celebrate homoerotic wrestling and wrestlers, and the underlying consent of the hunks seems essential to demonstrating the relationship that I want to have with the genre, built on consent.
I once pressed Muscle Master Kevin at MDW on the topic of the use of gay slurs. MDW isn’t the only company that’s invoked the themes of humiliating “the sissies,” of course. MMK seemed quite honestly surprised to hear me say that I felt resentment about it. He explained that it comes from his private fans and MDW fans who specifically call for it, who demand it as a crucial component of what gets them off. I had to sit with that for a while, frankly. In the end, I decided that my job isn’t to police anyone else’s erotic fantasies. As long as everyone understands that it’s mutually negotiated, then what does it matter what my critique of internalized homophobia may be? Helpfully, MMK suggested they would do a better job of labeling their products, so that those willingly seeking out homoerotic material featuring anti-gay themes could find what they need, and the rest of us can steer clear. I’m not exactly thrilled that there’s a significant market for gay guys wanting to get off on being gay bashed (at least figuratively), but if everyone involved is consenting, what does it matter what I think?
Maybe #speakout will trickle down to homoerotic wrestling, and we’ll learn that there’s not always fully informed consent operating on camera, or that there’s harassment or assault off camera. I’ve heard rumors, but no first-hand accounts. For the record, I’m only interested in celebrating homoerotic wrestling in which what shows up on camera reflects willing consent (and hopefully eager enthusiasm) of the wrestlers involved. If there are aggressive liplocks, ripped off gear, muscle groping, cock stroking, sexual domination, erotic humiliation, humping, frottage, or full on fucking, then it should be willingly consented to by all parties involved. If it isn’t, I don’t want to watch it or promote it. If there are any hot, naive young hunks who show up on camera not knowing that the whole purpose of the product is for gay guys to jerk off to them, they should be informed. I think there’s a problem with fully informed consent, otherwise, and I don’t want to be crushing on some hot young muscle hunk who’s desperately ashamed and feeling duped to be associated with homoeroticism.
If I go to wrestling-for-gay-eyes sites and see guys feeling each other up, grabbing each other’s crotches, sucking on each other’s nipples, bumping and grinding, stripping naked, making out, getting hard, dick whipping, cock sucking, muscle worshiping, or, best of all, doing all of the above in a ring full of baby oil with a dozen other like minded, fully aroused beefcakes celebrating the homoeroticism of wrestling for kindred spirits to enjoy over and over again on an endless repeat recording, then I fully expect everyone to have willingly consented, and hopefully exuberantly endorsed the production of an erotic wrestling fantasy. If anyone in mainstream pro wrestling, underground wrestling, homoerotic wrestling, or anyone else, thinks that they’re entitled to coerce, manipulate, or physically force anyone else against their will to participate in your erotic fantasy, I think that’s creepy and should be shut down every time. If your fantasy includes coercion, enjoy the creative and inspired artists, athletes, and producers who can indulge that fantasy without anyone being harmed, dehumanized, or criminally assaulted. Otherwise, stay in your own lane, and keep the eroticism out of your wrestling lives.
I’ve been giving a lot in the give and take of balancing my wrestling infatuation with my day job. Not only has it taken a bite out of my opportunities to watch new wrestling, I’ve also not been keeping up with the other excellent bloggers covering the scene. So who’s covered Jonny Firestorm and Ty’s Wrestling with Pride match? I definitely defer to the judgment of eyes on the scene, but this is my take from this side of the screen.
Okay, this is fucking sexy. To start with, Ty is full on, well into beefcake territory at this point in his incredible physical transformation. It’s hard to connect the dots between his beefy, muscular, cover boy body in the Wrestling with Pride ring and his skinny, smooth, boyish vulnerability just a few years ago. Ty’s sell has always struck me as right at that line between compelling and camp, but when he struts to the ring at Wilton Manor, smirking, winking, inviting the gay crowd to appreciate his hotness, that thoroughly Ty character of his perfectly hits the sweet spot.
Ty’s possession of the pretty boy role is only that much more locked into place when Jonny arrives with his hot and hairy bear daddy belly, wearing a leather harness. I don’t know how many of the fans in the live audience follow BG East quite like you and I do, so it’s hard to tell if they recognize the set-up of, historically, one of the company’s most prolific babyface jobbers squaring off against, historically, one of the most lauded badass heels in the business. If they did understand the historical context, they might have expected a squash. If they did expect a squash, they were sorely disappointed.
Fuck, I LOVE the give and take in this match! Ty’s infamous narcissism (he does, after all, have the words “Cocky: Suck It” printed across his ass) is sensationally tasty when paired with his quickly developing ring skills. He absolutely takes it to leather daddy Jonny. There are many moments when I actually feel just a little sorry for Jonny getting fucked up and humiliated, after such a dominant career as a sadistic heel, in front of this live audience. Ty is a mean mother fucker, asserting a classically heel mix of beautifully executed wrestling and vicious, underhanded rule breaking. I’ve told Ty that I’ve longed to see him become an unmistakably dangerous competitor after serving such a long sentence in prettyboy jobber purgatory. He’s been emerging into adulthood in several matches I’ve seen over the past 9 months or so, but never as commandingly and persuasively as in this match.
And I know that there are plenty of fans who completely disagree with me, but I find a badass heel with strong notes of vulnerability one of the sexiest things ever. I love seeing Jonny struggle. I love seeing him have to fight for it. Hard. I love seeing this irrepressible head of steam he’s generated over the course of his career, plowing into, over top of, and through countless opponents like a tidal wave, sputter and stumble. Don’t tell Jonny, but frankly, I’m turned on incredibly by the sight of him suffering hard. My vote for Top Heel a few months ago joined a majority of BGE fans in catapulting Kayden Keller over top of Jonny for the first time, and for me, it’s because Kayden has perfected the seductive allure of a vulnerable heel. Jonny’s performance at Wrestling with Pride, however, could make me rethink my vote come January of next year. There’s not a thing less “heel-like” for those moments when Ty is fucking him up. I don’t subscribe to the philosophy that being a heel and executing a squash are intrinsically linked. Jonny repeatedly and convincingly turns the tables on the babyface challenger, and in entirely Jonny-style, he does more than his share of fucking his opponent up as well. But honestly, the suspense of not knowing which badass beauty is going to pull it out for the adoring gay crowd in attendance makes this bout so succulent for me.
Ty’s ultimate downfall in this match is not due to any character flaw or inadequacy on his part (and thus I love this match so much more than many matches earlier in his career). He’s a completely legitimate contender who grabs his burly opponent by the balls (literally… and the ref’s balls, for that matter), and battles to the wire in a compelling bid for victory.
And he comes up just short. And the ghosts of Christmas past come to haunt his beefcake body laid bare (well, thonged) and wasted at Jonny’s feet. I love the cameo at the beginning of the match when Ty bitches about his ex-tag team partner turned tormentor, Chase Addams, who’s been invited to give color commentary over the PA. I pop my cork at the end of the match when silver fox fantasy-daddy Shane McCall climbs in to perform the post-mortem on Ty. If you don’t follow these two on FB, you may not know that Ty has continued to talk trash at Shane ever since Shane laid waste to Ty back in his twink days. There’s a lot of value added for me seeing Shane in street clothes, mount Ty’s ass, pry him into a camel clutch, and cinch on a dog collar and leash. Please revisit my comments earlier about the gaping hole in homoerotic wrestling that needs to get filled by the likes of hot daddies like Shane (preferably going pec to pec for the daddy championship title against man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams).
Collared and crushed, Ty is served up to the front row fans in the most generous moment of Wrestling with Pride. Jonny parades his trophy-boy in front of the fans, inviting them to spank Ty’s pride and joy bubble butt. A few of them seriously get into it, which makes me less bitter toward the ones who momentarily balk at the opportunity to put a hand on Ty’s vulnerable ass shoved in their laps. The public humiliation and fan-participation-spanking again harkens me back to my favorite live wrestling match (in which Shane also makes a post-match appearance!). It also almost makes up for no one (NO ONE!?) accepting Elite Eliot’s invitation to check his gorgeously packed pink trunks for weapons in that earlier match.
I feel like there was a tragically missed opportunity to have Chase join Shane in doling out some satisfying Ty humbling. For that matter, can we just consider the magnificence of a Chase & Shane (Shane & Chase?) tag team? I can’t think of a sexier daddy-boy wrestling partnership since BBW slapped the dog collar on Shane and they showed up in the same corner to pry apart and ball gag another daddy-boy tag team to victory.
Well done Ty and Jonny (and Shane, and Chase) for making this match multifaceted and engrossing. So many moving parts could, I’m sure, have sent this train flying off the tracks. Instead, this was the sensationally gayest, hottest, most homoerotic match of the night. And this was Wrestling with Pride, so that’s saying something!
A few years ago, I mentioned in a post that I have a particular fondness for candid glimpses of homoerotic wrestlers. I love seeing them when they aren’t “on,” when they’re obviously just being the beautiful men they are in those moments between climbing into the ring to rip each other apart. A few wrestlers have openly shared with me their private camera rolls from wrestling shoots, but BG East (the source of most of those), officially embargoed me before that could go on for long. My sources dried up, and rumor had it that some of the wrestlers involved were sorely and corporally punished for sharing the insider information with “the press.” And then, quietly and mysteriously, I received my first batch of smuggled contraband from an anonymous source who I have come to know only as OMI, Our Man Inside.
I always wonder if my latest batch of OMI treasure will be the last, and the Boss will sniff out the mole and squash him like a bug. I take it as testimony to the size of OMI’s balls and the apparent affection he must have for me that he tempts fate by feeding my adoring obsession with peaking behind the curtain.
I’ve posted precious little about the recent live wrestling show BG East produced for the Fort Lauderdale Pride event last month because, 1) I couldn’t get off work to go down and see it in person, and 2) I’m bitter about #1. Somehow, OMI knew how envious I am of all of the social media celebrations of that event, and like manna from heaven, again I’ve been fed some dizzyingly delightful snapshots from something other than the “official” camera.
Clearly, the event was a who’s who of BG East celebrities. I have no problem with acknowledging that even the pics of these gorgeous hunks fully clothed gets me hard. The fraternal camaraderie in their playful smiles and warm embraces highlights one thing I love about BG East: the “esprit de corps” as several wrestlers I’ve talked to have named it. Even when they do their best to rip each other’s balls off in competition, once egos and bodies have been tested and placed in their proper hierarchy, most of these wrestlers clearly enjoy the community formed by what unites them, namely, a passion for wrestling.
To be honest, I can sit on OMI caches way too long because I want to obsess about every single photo in detail. In order not to fall into that trap with this incredibly tasty OMI collection from the Pride event, I’ll post most of them without comment, but not without deep appreciation and arousal. But, of course, I will comment on a few that grab me by the balls just right.
First of all, look at the assembly of hotness! Fuck, so many names, so many muscles, so many immediate associations in my mind with wrestling matches that I’ve written about and gotten off on repeatedly. There are exactly 5 faces I don’t recognize. Identify everyone in this shot and you can be queen for a day here on the blog.
These assembled shots from the Pride event raise so many summary questions. Who is the guy in the front row snapping a photo of Ty’s sweaty ass as Jonny works him over outside the ring? What sadistic, sexy machinations is Kid Vicious working there in the shadows? Where can I get a leopard print suit!?
I have no doubt that OMI knows exactly what he’s doing to me by sending me shots like this of three of the sexiest wrestlers of all time who I have unapologetically fawned over repeatedly in the pages of this blog. Seeing Scott Williams, Shane McCall, and Brad Rochelle embracing and smiling brightly blows my mind. The time since these stunning wrestlers were last seen in the ring has done nothing but make them sexier. How is there not a Daddy Division at BGE, to scratch that itch, that I know for a fact I’m not the only one who has, to see classic wrestling stars like this back in action? Shane has been quite clear in his interview with me a couple of years back, as well as ongoing comments since then, that he’s still nursing an appreciative rivalry with hot daddy Scott. How is this not a thing!? Look at Scott’s bronzed, bulging deltoid muscle there and explain how the the fuck he isn’t starring in a Returning Classics Championship tournament or, at the very least, his own muscle daddy Wrestler Spotlight!?
Refraining from commenting at length on every one of these photos is killing me, but I know this post will never get published if I start. However, the questions that come to mind in this collection include how is there not an UltraFight 2.5 (The Rematch) in production right now? Exactly how did Brad and KL manage to bury the hatchet after Brad was last seen shoving the Boss’ head in a toilet!? And can someone please tell Shane that if he’s going to build pecs like that, he is morally obligated to get his hotness back into the ring, preferably starting by settling that score he has with Scott?
I sort of think that OMI may know me better than anyone I’ve never met. Not only does he satiate my lust for classic homoerotic wrestling stars, he knows how much I also adore catching those first glimpses of hot, young, aspiring beauties. This pic of assembled youthful hunks makes me desperately hopeful that the known wrestling stars there (Kayden, Ash, Noah, Tommy, Kieran) interspersed among ridiculously pretty young faces I’m not familiar with, hints at some fresh, meaty newbies on the horizon. The backward baseball cap duo have GOT to be the most mouthwatering tag team I’ve never seen in action. Blond Ambition there on the left, the one with the lips, looks ripe for a beating. And holy fuck, Kayden , with those arms, wearing those glasses, is making me swoon. I’d like to order up a 2-on-1 battle in which Tommy and Noah team up to take on Kayden, and, for the record, I’m putting all my money on Kayden.
Again, how NOT to comment for the next 3 months about each and everyone of these hot shots? I know from the poster that Elite Eliot was on the card for the Pride event, but fuck me, those lickable legs of his make me ready to beg to see him in the BG East ring for myself (please tell me this is true!). Is it possible that Ace Aarons got his crack at rubbing the shit-eating grin off of Kirk Donahue’s face? Who in the hell are the too achingly pretty young hotties that Kirk has his arm around, and how long did it take for them to get annoyed by Kirk and double-team his better-than-mediocre ass? Why am I NEVER around to be invited to join in the sexy pool parties!?
As always, OMI, I owe you more than I will ever be able to repay. Keep the smiles, and the dimples, and the beautiful men who make homoerotic wrestling what it is, coming!
Having recently moved, I’m getting accustomed to a lot of new things. The weatherman keeps reporting on “thund-uh-stoams.” There are apparently 100 ticks for every human being in the region. And it’s fucking hot.
That last part makes me rethink my decision to ignore places with swimming pools in my housing search when I moved here a month and a half ago. I’ve always thought of pools as a pain in the ass. And, honestly, this climate calls for outdoor pools no more than about 25% of the year, so it seemed like a waste. But damn. It’s fucking hot.
I’m sure I’ve posted here about my ambivalence about the swimming pool genre in homoerotic wrestling, but I’m too lazy right now to look it up for you (did I mention how hot it is?). So let me just reiterate. On the con side, pool wrestling too often submerges more than half of the available eye candy. Upper bodies are privileged as the only thing we can see most of the time (and neglecting attention to hot legs is another, more global complaint I make often). There’s probably about 80% of wrestling holds that just don’t translate to a pool. A Boston crab would likely lead to manslaughter charges.
But on the other end of the ambivalent spectrum, I love wet muscles. On that point, sweat, shower scenes, and oil wrestling tweak the same kink in me that pool wrestling does. There’s also something inherently playful about pool wrestling. Watching homoerotic wrestlers do it, it certainly appears to take many of them back to the same days of juvenile, carefree summers getting yelled at for horsing around in and around the pool, playfully bullying chums by seeing who can dunk the other, games of chicken, perched on top of each others’ shoulders and seeing who can topple whom.
While I couldn’t stand an exclusive diet of homoerotic wrestling in the pool, like fresh corn on the cob and the sweetest of watermelons, it’s a seasonal treat that can work for me. Though I have to say I prefer it to conclude with bronzed bodies baking in the sun, making out naked poolside.
I frequently get questions from wrestling fans asking for updates about some of their favorite wrestlers who’ve been absent from the scene too long. Do they still wrestle off camera? Will we ever see them join the ranks of the comeback kids? I appreciate that I may seem like a likely source of such behind the scenes information, but typically I have no idea. When I’ve had the opportunity to talk with wrestlers, especially those who’ve been off the radar for a while, it’s always been sheer luck on my part. They’ve reached out to me.
Surprisingly, for me, the most commonly asked about vintage wrestler is lovely, lanky, deceptively dangerous classic mat scrapper, Jeff Kenney. Jeff wrestled in 15 matches released by BG East, starting as far back as catalog 6 (compared to BG East’s most recently released catalog 111). He wrestled exclusively on the mats, including 3 sensationally sexy X-fights. He was the bread and butter of the Matmen series for quite a while, often completely shocking and ripping apart bigger opponents.
He faced off with classics like TNT, Andy Bailey, Chip Slater, and friend of neverland, Shane McCall. He was far more innovative and cunning that polished. Not classically handsome, at least not by my standards, there was nevertheless something intensely erotic about the lightweight stud. He was about as sure to get peeled out of his trunks, and vice versa, as he was to get his curly locks and big ears pulled.
So, unfortunately, no, I have no leads on anything about sexy Jeff Kenney beyond his published work with BG East. I know of several homoerotic wrestling fans who would join me in feeling a special thrill to hear whether he kept busting balls and crushing spirits on the mats. If we don’t get any updates, just let it be known: Jeff Kenney is fondly remembered, frequently replayed, and passionately arousing wrestling fans still today!
Someone reminded me this weekend of my simmering wrestling crush on BG East classic hunk Scott Williams. Similar to how I recently mentioned that I have this distorted perception of Kayden Keller’s height (he always seems smaller in my mind), I think of Scott has having a much longer wrestling CV than he actually does. He stars in just 5 products between catalogs 14 and 25, including his ensemble appearance in the spotlight feature on Philly’s gay amateur wrestling club, Meet theSpartans.
When I had the titillating pleasure of interviewing and being provoked by classic hunk Shane McCall, I mentioned my slackjawed crush on Scott, knowing that the 2 of them horsed around together in the Spartans. My reference to “Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams” got quite a rise out of Shane, who couldn’t resist dishing out some trash talk for his former rival. But I stand by the statement of fact that I have held, for quite a long time, and continue to hold a fanatical infatuation with the beauty, power, and wrestling style of hotty Scotty.
Having been sent down memory lane, I’ve been browsing clips and pics of Scott and instantly getting that swelling feeling in my crotch. Aesthetically, physically speaking, there’s something both classically handsome and atypically tantalizing about his appearance. I say classically handsome because of his gorgeous proportions, his thick, ultra lean muscle mass, the jaw and chin of a Hollywood leading man and the nose of a toga clad Roman aristocrat. My tendency (certainly not 100%) to prefer smooth, lickable muscle men notwithstanding, there’s an effortless, masculine perfection about Scott’s thorougly coated, impeccably groomed hairy torso.
At the same time, I say Scott speaks to me as an atypical wrestlng fantasyman mostly because of his bare pate, which is a downright novelty in homoerotic wrestling circles. There’s something effortless and real about a sizzling hot wrestling hunk with a bald head. Scott’s calm, sneering, underspoken confidence translates into over the top hypermasculinity, not just because of his rocking hot muscled body, but also because of that unapologetically muscledaddy smooth scalp. My hunch is that Scott isn’t all that much older than I am, but premature baldness made him always, from my earliest introduction to his wrestling, a mature, wise, worldly fantasyman that has always and will continue to make me infatuated with any “seasoned coach” wrestling character (hello, Mitch Colby).
I’m sure I’ve mentioned Scott’s sell before, but fuck, I’m on a roll now, so I’m mentioning it again. I absolutely love the way he milks a hold. There are a lot of wrestlers (or at least guys wrestling) for whom I struggle to suspend disbelief. They apply an armbar or wristlock and we can all plainly see there’s no actual pressure on the joint. I never had to suspend anything other than my impulse to pull my hair trigger watching Scott Williams wrestle. He puts his opponents’ joints through their range of motion, so that when abruptly the lucky stud in his clutches goes from halfheartedly groaning to suddenly choking out a cry of pain an octave higher and 20 decibels louder, you can believe that shit just hurt. When any part of some fortunate fuck gets trapped between his wiry, crushing thighs, Scott works every inch of his body into screwing down those crushing scissors as tight as humanly possible. His hips twist to add pressure, he transitions his upper body from angle to angle to dig his legs as deep as possible into every available inch of flesh and muscle.
And then that face. Holy fuck, that face. When he purses his lips in concentration and effort, I’ve got a ravenous need to lock lips with the handsome hunk. He’s not the most demonstrative in his sell. There’s a slow simmer about him that doesn’t rely on a bullhorn to convey his emotional state. Rather, steering with such an even keel, every subtle smirk or gasp, every gutteral grunt speaks louder than most wrestlers’ screams and incessant monologues. You can see every fucking muscle fiber on his fabulous body because he’s just that amazingly lean, so Scott doesn’t need to growl like the Incredible Hulk to signal with complete clarity that he’s flexing, squeezing, pressing, or crushing.
And then that smile knocks my knees out from underneath me. Completely disarming. The kind of face that young, ambitious bucks would bust a nut to get the chance to see deliver an approving look, a nod of respect, a seriously appraising eye.
I’ve heard from the grapevine that Scott continues to wrestle in private, or in front of custom cameras in command performances only these days. Which is a crying shame, as far as I’m concerned. Because I’ve so many Scott Williams wrestling fantasies, and he’s got such an abridged catalog. So, yeah, I’m a big, big fan (getting bigger by the second just thinking about him). In a 2nd golden age of homoerotic wrestling, with classic comebacks like that of Christopher Bruce and Shane McCall, and the long-rumored return of the likes of Liam Ryan to competition, this fanatic will always carry a torch for one of my first, longest lasting, and instantly provocative classic wrestling infatuations, Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams.
I’m venturing into highly contested waters today, so put your life vests on and buckle in. Age. I’ve chatted with homoerotic wrestling fans who consider hunks old enough to legally drink alcohol as getting too old for their tastes. Mind you, the fans in question are more than twice that age, but for the time being, let me just focus on the wrestlers. By the same token, I’ve talked with homoerotic wrestling fans who are a tad creeped out by wrestlers that look too young. Hell, I had an extended exchange with a fan who was gagging for a silver fox bracket of homoerotic wrestling for mature muscle only. I’ve also heard rumor of homoerotic wrestling companies who turn away handsome, magnificently muscled, high quality man meat with impeccable wrestling credentials and a sensational sell because they only work with guys younger than 30 years old. Age is clearly something that factors into the homoerotic wrestling scene in complex ways.
You know me, of course. I can pump out a teary eyed infatuation for hunks across a wide range of demographics. I’ve been known to get off on one of those barely legal babyface kids who, although he’s old enough to vote, has the look of a high school sophomore. Now, I fully endorse limiting the subjects of erotic products to those of legal age to comptently give their consent. I don’t want to see (let me repeat for the morality police: I DON’T want to see) an actual 14 year old, no matter how sweet his ass, step into a wrestling ring to be an object of erotic lust for grown men, much less for him to be groped or ground by an amorous wrestling opponent. If a 21 year old could pass for a 14 year old, and he has that sweet ass I just mentioned, fuck yes, get his legal signature on a contract, throw him into a ring to get slammed, stripped, and sucked, and then pay him handsomely. My line isn’t whether the audience could imagine the hunks to be underage. It’s just a question of whether they are, in the eyes of the law, legally capable of consenting to adult decisions like starring in media targeted toward erotically interested consumers. There’s got to be a line with regard to age, maturity, and capacity to give consent, and I’m just fine with the legal standards that operate in the homoerotic wrestling industry.
So there’s that threshold of age on the bottom end of the scale. But what about the top end of the scale? Do (should) wrestlers age out of being suitable stars of homoerotic wrestling? Of course, I continue to advocate for legal capacity as a requirement. Guys with impaired capacity due to intellectual disabilities or mental health issues, no matter their age, no matter how rocking hot their six-pack abs and sculpted, tree trunk thighs are, shouldn’t be professional homoerotic wrestlers. But other than that small minority of adults, I see nothing wrong with, and in fact see many things very, very right with, wrestlers having no inherent expiration date for steaming up screens.
My thoughts are distinct from, but related to, the occasional wrestling narrative of a younger stud taunting his older opponent. I actually love seeing younger and older wrestlers go to town on each other, though I confess I typically ache to see the more mature guy own the young buck’s ass (and any other body part he wants). When Mitch Colby showed up for his debut match with BG East, wrestling against hottie Alexi Adamov, Alexi was already disparaging Mitch as ready to be put out to pasture. Mitch smirks in response to the “old man” banter, and then lets his gorgeous pecs and bulging biceps give the only answer necessary, laying Alexi the fuck OUT when all was said and done.
Now I’m terrible at guessing ages. But I’m thinking Mitch couldn’t have been over 40 years old when he wrestled Alexi. Possibly early 40’s, but that absolutely requires that he have the genes of a comic book superhero. Look at that fucking rocking muscle bod!? So sure, he’s older than Alexi, and Alexi wants to unsettle this physical phenom of a newbie muscle stud, so the young Russian gets all snarky about the only thing he can imagine sensational Mitch could be, in any way, insecure about. About the time Alexi is doing the backstroke in a pool of their combined sweat, unable to pry is wasted, hot, gorgeous young body off the mat, the “old guy” drama comes to what I think of as a sensationally satisfying end.
Physical maturity, pitched well, makes me weak in the knees. Take Brooklyn Bodywrecker with salt-and-pepper goatee and chest hair bringing us as close as we’ve come to seeing Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) stripped naked and showing off the ballast he carries in his pouch. Joshua tries to get underneath the classic heel’s skin with the “o” word. Bodywrecker tags him, bags him, and takes out the prettiest trash on the planet. How old was BBW? I have no idea. I’m guessing over 40, but like I said, I suck at guessing ages. But one thing I do know for certain: he wasn’t “too old.”
Take Christopher Bruce’s big comeback a few years ago, returning in mindblowing condition after last appearing a decade earlier as a doe eyed, shapely, lean go-go boy, now older, marginally wiser, and stealing the spotlight from every frustrated opponent with that insanely sexy, infinitely fuckable, massively muscled bubble butt. Cole Cassidy, Jonny Firestorm, they keep calling Chris out as some sort of doddering elder statesman, but that’s just the narrative tension in the story. The obvious truth is that he’s a fucking muscle god who, as far as I’m concerned, is about 30 times overtly sexier than he was a decade ago. Proving that it isn’t just the story of the mature hunk schooling a cocky young upstart that gets me off, he’s still getting his ass handed to him most of the time, but the years are absolutely nothing but value added in my book.
So age, age differences, “oldness,” “youngness,” sure all of these things are moving parts, contested, manipulated, foregrounded strategically. But in and of itself, the actual notion that someone is too old, as a function of a particular number, just seems ludicrous to me. Sure, maybe over the course of his years a wrestler has fucked up his knees or lost his strength or gone on blood thinners, in which case high impact, highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling competition may not be for him anymore. But’s that’s about injury, disease, and fitness, not a number.
As with any professional athlete, I’m sure there’s a time when they may choose to do other things than exercise, diet, and train with the intensity it requires to be safe and healthy and successful in a pro wrestling ring. But I’m also sure there are plenty of hunks who are talented and enthusiastic enough to keep climbing through those ropes past their 30’s (for god’s sake), definitely past their 40’s, many, I’m sure past their 50’s and maybe even 60’s. While I know there are those fans who want nothing but barely legals, I’m in the camp (and I know there are many of us) who are happily entertained and fully aroused by homoerotic wrestling hunks of a variety of ages, in a broad array of scenarios, pitching, catching conquering and being conquered by peers and young punks alike. Bald spots and grey hair can grab me by the short hairs, when paired with a sexy body, an engaging attitude, and a skillful sell.
Before I finish what has turned into a very long post, let me just add a word of encouragement and another word of caution to those who are inspired to comment here. First, I always enjoy hearing from readers, comparing notes, seeing where our tastes overlap and where they diverge. Please do let me know what you think about homoerotic wrestler expiration dates. And, as has been my policy for quite a while, note that I won’t approve posts that attack particular wrestlers or that disparage anyone with the balls to climb into a ring and wrestle for a bunch of horny gay men. You don’t have to like the same wrestlers I do. You don’t have to agree with my opinions. But comments are welcome here that are respectful of me and the homoerotic wrestlers who populate the pages of this blog and who deserve courtesy, even if you or I aren’t fans.
Congratulations to all of the homoerotic wrestling fans who are gay married or have plans to be soon. I’ve got a tight leash on my cynicism so that everyone can get drunk and party without Debbie Downer here ruining it for everyone. However, this whole moment in history does remind me of my long standing infatuation with the notion of tag team partner lovers.
I’ve heard sad news that Christian Taylor and Skip Vance have split in real life, which is particularly tragic for fans like me who absolutely swooned over their 2-on-1 ring match in Tag Team Torture 16: Boyfriend Beatdown against Morgan Cruise not that long ago. I sincerely hope that both Skip and Christian are in a good emotional space, that they’ve stayed friends, and that they’ve moved on in a healthy way [pssst, Christian: call me].
But ever since I watched Tag Team Torture 2, in which bear daddy Brian Powers and his adorable cub Liam Ryan wrestle Brooklyn Bodywrecker and Shane McCall, I’ve been smitten with the concept of tag team lovers. Brian and Liam are into each other as they climb into the ring. They’re foolishly confident, stealing some intimate strokes and kisses when they should be paying attention to the sensational heels about to crush them. Big Brian is supposed to be the anchor of the loverboys, so BBW and Shane isolate him, incapacitate him, and tie him into the corner, forced to watch as his boyfriend is needlessly double-teamed, decimated, and forced to suck Shane’s cock in the middle of the ring while BBW and Shane make out, kneeling over top of him.
So, with marriage the law of the land, I’m left to fantasize about other devoted couples who, if the wrestle gods were just and true, would climb into a wrestling ring as a high stakes, homoerotic wrestling team. Here are the couples that I know of who should be competing.
First, let me briefly handicap Matt Bomer and his husband Simon Halls. For raw sex appeal, I give them an 8 out of 10. I’d donate a kidney to ride threesome with these two hot studs. Bomer loves his silver fox daddy passionately, holding the ropes for him when they climb into the ring, rubbing Halls’ shoulders, grabbing a gratuitous grope of his cock before the bell rings. When it comes to ring skills, I’d score them 7 out of 10, with Bomer being a high flyer, including his favorite finisher, a top turnbuckle drop kick that makes opponents’ hearts skip a beat. I picture Halls as more grounded, laser focused, no showboating, just long, punishing, mojo-sucking holds like headscissors and a knee-busting Indian death lock. He enjoys throttling opponent’s cocks for ages in lusciously long OTK backbreakers. For strength, I score them a 7 out of 10, with Halls’ maturity and Bomer’s dazzling beauty and athleticism making them a team to beat. If there’s a weakness, I’m picturing Bomer as impulsive, perhaps a little too distractible, possibly a bit too quick to want to do a victory stripper dance over top of a battered opponent.
Neil Patrick Harris and David Burtka are a pair of twink daddies who need a hardcore sex-tape leak. For sex appeal, I give them a 6 out of 10. Harris has that incredibly sexy humor paired with such pretty pecs, but Burtka needs a shot of charisma. Mind you, I’d blow a gasket to get lubed up from head to toe with the both of them. Ring skills: 9 out of 10. I see these twink daddies as one of those teams that tags out devastatingly fast and furious, leaving opponents bewildered and bashed. There’s tons of teamwork, like Harris Irish whipping Burtka across the ring to pummel the fuck out of a momentarily dazed opponent hanging in the corner. Burtka scoops up opponents as Harris drops to one knee, letting his hubby pound their prey viciously across Harris’ thigh in a power OTK backbreaker. For strength, the skinny boys are surprisingly power-packed, but still, they’re skinny, so I give them 5 out of 10. They’re a total twink heel team, double-teaming opponents in the corner, not waiting for tags, interfering whenever the partner in the ring is looking vulnerable. Burtka gets off on ball clawing, and Harris can’t keep his hands off his rod when he’s got a wasted opponent nice and snug in headscissors. For weaknesses, it’s got to be size. They’re dangerous as fuck, but susceptible to getting shoved around.
Jason Landau and Cheyenne Jackson make one dazzlingly beautiful pair, and would be one sensational homoerotic wrestling tag team. For sex appeal, I give the power couple a 9 out of 10. If Jackson wears a thong to the ring, I could easily be negotiated up to a 9.5. The two always look so fucking intensely into each other, which would instantly exponentiate the erotic factor in any match. They’d be sucking face and groping each other aggressively until the bell rings. For ring skills, I’m giving the them a 6 out of 10. I picture them coasting a bit on Jackson’s size and strength, with Jason mostly a support player who’s lucky to hold his own when his muscle hubby tags him in with momentum already on their side. As a team, I give them an 8 out 10 for strength, with Jackson carrying more than his fair share. Have you seen his thighs?! He would totally be the muscle brute who would rack his opponents across his huge shoulders and do squats in the middle of the ring to humiliate them. Fuck, I’m picturing beautiful Jason letting Cheyenne use his own lean bod for barbell curls, just because both of them get off on that sort of thing. They’re mostly a babyface team, with fucking on their minds more than winning (thus, the weak link). When they win, it’s because of Jackson’s dominating power. When they lose, it’s because they’re outwrestled and lost in lust for one another and/or their opponents.
Nate Berkus and his beefy hot husband Jeremiah Brent would make a way hot tag team. I find it hard to rank their team sex appeal because my assessment of Berkus varies so widely, day to day. One day, I’d totally tap that. The next, meh. I do think he’s significantly sexier with his man candy hubby on his arm, though, so let’s just score them a 6 out of 10 and move on. When it comes to ring skills, I’d give the duo a 6 out of 10. I picture Berkus as more of a poser, leaving Brent to do the heavy lifting. Brent would be all about leverage and joint manipulation in the ring, plenty of figure-4 leg locks, headlock suplexes, and hammerlocks. As for strength, the babyfaces are thickly muscled, so let’s score them an 8 out of 10. Berkus likes to flex his biceps in the faces of opponents being owned by Brent. They like to muscle smaller opponents around the ring when they can, lording it over them, trash talking about what weak pussies they are. They’re nominal heels, though it’s Berkus’ narcissism that mostly defines the character of this tag team. He takes all the credit, does less than half the work, and works up a load of celebration across the chests of the opponents that Brent puts out cold with figure-4 chokes. Biggest weakness has to be the potential for Brent to reach the end of his patience and go ape shit all over his own partner.
My final tag team lovers handicapping is for boybander Lance Bass and his hubby, crazy sexy Michael Turchin. For sex appeal, I’d score the an 8 out of 10, though there are some modeling shots of Turchin online that may merit the boys a higher score on any given day, depending on Turchin’s conditioning. For ring skills, I give them 7 out of 10, with evenly matched technical wrestling aptitude and speed. I picture them both as barefoot high flyers, with a flair for side-by-side mirrored standing drop kicks. Bass loves to schoolboy pin, trash talk in the face of a flat out opponent, dick whipping opponents’ faces with a laugh. Turchin loves to use the ropes, frequently trapping opponents arms there and exploiting their predicament to mix knees to the gut with lustful gropes of muscles and bulges. When it comes to strength, these two are solid, but not powerhouses. 7 out of 10 for strength, though again, if Turchin is in top condition, you can dial that up. I see this lover tag team as homoerotic specialists, which I think can look like heels anywhere else, but is just middle of the road sex-wrestling in homoerotic circles. They’re hot for one another, hot for sexy opponents, and hot for the feel of controlling and dominating opponents into total submission until they’ve lost their loads all over their losers’ faces.
So that’s my take on gay marriage. Only thing left is to wonder who beats who, how, and what holds and moves get me to rewind and replay over and over again? Any other tag team lovers you’d like to toss into competition, and who do you think would be reigning tag team lover champs?
I had a birthday a couple of days ago. One more year older, one more year closer to perfection. Someone who knows of my infatuation with BG East classics and glimpses behind the scenes gifted me with a few pics I’ve never seen before featuring homoerotic wrestling hunks who have populated my erotic fantasies for nearly 2 decades. Now that’s a birthday present! Knowing the perfect surprise gift to give is surely the sign of a true friend. So climb into your way-back machine and vicariously enjoy my thrill when I received these hot, mostly candid pics of sizzlingly sexy wrestling titans of yesterday (and a couple, still of today!).
This shot of Ian, Sean, KV and KL sunning in the sand is instantly one of my most treasured possessions. Each of these hunks surely owns his own corner in the homoerotic wrestling hall of fame. I’m still torn as to whether Sean “the Kisser” Patrick or Christian Taylor deserves the lifetime achievement award for sexiest liplock. And gorgeous heel master Kid Vicious can pull my trigger absolutely any time. What’s with the Boss being the only one fully clothed here?
I need help identifying the bright-eyed babyface flexing his bicep under Brian Baxter’s chin. Seeing these classic hunks so obviously having fun together is so awesome. Brian Baxter’s marathon ring match with Kid Leopard, with fellow wrestlers off camera flinging taunts and catcalls, is one of the rawest, sexiest, personality-forward homoerotic wrestling matches ever.
Holy crap look at this reunion of pioneers of homoerotic wrestling hotness! The two silver foxes on the left in the back defy me, though I feel like I ought to be able to identify them. Shane McCall and an unmasked Cage Thunder are both classics and ongoing forces to be wrestled with in BG East new releases. Tommy Lopez! Tommy Lopez!!! Just a few months ago I was waxing nostalgic about this babyface wrestling rock star. And if you want to be brought to your knees hard, check out Tommy and Sailor Rob’s photo collection from their full frontal, pedal to the metal homoerotic wrestling match in BGE’s Arena Vintage section. And it’s great to see KL and Sailor Rob are still close after their cut throat, brutally humiliating title match documented in the Arena’s Vintage Photo Story.