Have a Homoerotic Wrestling Halloween

Who are you dressing up as for Halloween?  I thought long and hard about it, and I decided to shave my head, put on a sneer, and wear ass-kicking boots, blue jeans, a black shirt.  That’s right, for Halloween, I’m going as…

Viciously scary!

…Kid Vicious.  Sure, nobody at the party will get it.  But in the spirit of Kid Vicious, what the fuck do I care?  I’ll just sneer and look threatening.  Good times guaranteed.  Here are some other homoerotic wrestler inspired Halloween characters you might consider.

Pin on some golden wings and go as a Flyboy.


Don the fatigues and get ready to get crushed as Corporal John Daniels.
Costume requiring least fabric: Tie on a loin cloth, look a little feral, and get ready to rumble as Tarzan Tyler Reese.
super men season 1 episode 1 _Snapshot (9)
Feeling like a Super Hero? Go as MDW’s Captain Twink. More a Super Villain? Go as MMK’s Super Heel.
Then again, if you’re feeling like a supe, you might dare to don the costume of the deadly Black Spider, or the prey he’s about to suck dry, Blue Lightning.
Then again, the superhero homoerotic wrestler field is huge! Try one of the Hard Heroes.
Can’t decide which Hard Hero? May I recommend Steven Shannon’s character Omega, spandex ripped off around the crotch and wrists and ankles tied?
You could dress as one of the Superstuds: The Capture boys, my favorite being, of course, bare chested Titanium (Lincoln Lode).
How about the collegiate superhero look? Like one of the (doomed) hotties in tights from The Academy: Super Studs School.
My vote for most inspired homoerotic wrestler-inspired Halloween costume would be the stud who dresses as Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), also known as “The Crotch Monster.”
Vying for most-inspired would be Son of Crotch Monster, aka, Pretty Pete Sharp

Let me know what you pick.  Send pictures!


Naked Kombat’s Phenix Saint explains his plans in his pre-match interview this week. “My strategy is to get him with the speed and the agility, and I have the experience. And I’m going to use everything against him, and let him think he’s in control. And just when he thinks so, I’m going to…” Phenix snaps his fingers, “…flip it on him. Bam-bam-bam!” he mimes spanking his opponent’s ass. “And bam-bam-bam!” he illustrates three quick punches.”

It’s the “bam-bam-bams” that spike my wrestling kink! Fight dialogue (before, during, after) exponentiates the erotic in homoerotic wrestling, for my tastes. You’ve heard this from me before, many times. Everything about homoerotic wrestling works on me, but what comes out of a wrestler’s mouth can be a turbo boost to the already fantastic formula of hot bodies, skimpy gear, sexy swagger and intimately dominating physical combat. The testimonial is a particularly entertaining vehicle for highly eroticized wrestling text. Naked Kombat plays this up in every match, requiring that wrestlers stand silently, with their backs to the camera, listening as their opponents trash talk and make their predictions about just how much humiliation that they’ve got in store for the poor loser behind them.

“Hi, I’m Rusty Stevens,” Rusty introduced himself before his oil match with Tommy Defendi. “Six foot. 190 pounds. I’m 3-and-0 here on Naked Kombat, soon to be 4-and-0. I’ve called that win out before each fight,” Rusty flexes his left tricep and examines it nonchalantly, “and I’m calling it again.” Rusty has got to be the premiere deliverer of the erotic delights of pre- and post-match trash talk. With his totally smokin’ body, he always bragged that he didn’t bother training for his matches because he knew that his opponent would be a piece of cake. “My strategy,” Rusty explained before his match with Tommy, “is to tire him out so bad that I throw him around like a little doll. When I beat my opponent, first I’ll ride him around like a pony, then I’m going to apply the usual fish hooks, but then I’ve got some new tricks that I’m going to try on him today,” Rusty rubs the palms of his hands together eagerly, “and he’s not going to like. That’s what the loser gets.”

The “here’s-what-I’m-going-to-do” chat feels a whole lot like foreplay between me and the wrestler giving me his blueprint for destroying his opponent. On Top Wrestling had that format, at least for the few OTW matches I saw (almost entirely to obsess over celestial, golden musclegod, Steve Shannon). Each wrestler would take turns with a close-up testimonial, explaining why it is he expected to come out on top. Steve Shannon, as I remember it, was always selling an “aw, shucks” banter that made me putty in his hands. With my eyes hungrily sucking up every twitch and tremor of his incredible body, Steve would point out that his opponent looks big and awfully impressive, but hopefully he’ll manage to out-hustle him into a submission or two. I always feel a little guilty when I find myself sucked into pining for a prettyboy, knight-in-white victory of the good guy.

Of course, I never feel that guilt when enjoying a Rusty Stevens match. And I’m equally as aroused by the “that’s-what-I-just-did”chat, when a sweat soaked victor, his chest still heaving as his lungs suck in recuperative oxygen, snidely delivers the blow-by-blow retrospective on his dominating ways. Unlike many/most Naked Kombat wrestlers, Rusty never breaks character even when all is said and done. “Tell me I didn’t call that one. Tell me I didn’t call that one!” Rusty challenges the off-camera interviewer for the post-mortem of his match with Tommy. “He put up a fight, I’ll give him that. Uh, I think he’s got a little ‘boo-boo’ on his forehead, or something. Pretty much everything I tried worked for me. The only thing I couldn’t do was the grapevine hold in the oil match, because as soon as I’d get him in the hold, he’d slip right out…. My first oil match. It was hot, though. Cause, like, I remember when my stomach was sliding across his, and I was hard and my dick was bent down, it felt like I was fucking, the whole, like 3-feet that I slid across him. It was like, ‘Oh yes, I’m already topping, I’m already topping.” In response to the question of when Rusty realized that he had the match in the bag, Rusty skips no more than half a beat. “When I got on the airplane to come here this morning. Or maybe it was the cinnamon roll, cause that was my carbs for the day.” Advice for your opponent, Rusty? “A word of advice? Uh, yeah, try training with your little sister, cause training by yourself sure as hell ain’t working. And maybe she could teach you something like the nails or the kick to the balls or something you might actually be able to use. Cause all that sliding around shit, what was the score? 50-something to 5? Yeah, this isn’t even sweat, this is still oil from the oil match!” Rusty didn’t need to keep humiliating Tommy. He’d had his way with him in every humiliating possibility for the prior 50 minutes, so this post-match testimonial didn’t amount to anything more. But Rusty reaches right in and grabs hold of my wrestling kink with his relentless, dominating, humiliating trash talk absolutely crushing Tommy Defendi’s ego into dust on that mat.

Thunder’s Arena taps into this banter-angle just a bit in their members-only section, with testimonial mash-ups with some of their headliners. Before his match with BamBam, Cameron Mathews lounges on the couch at Thunder’s Arena wearing only the scant evidence of brief red trunks. “Hey guys, how ya doing?” he asks the camera, all friendly-like. “I’m just relaxing, waiting for my ‘big’ match with BamBam.” Cameron sighs. “Probably the typical Thunder’s Arena jobber.” He flexes his left bicep and admires himself. “Not like me,” he explains, “the champ. Just loungin’ around. I skipped going to the gym today. Figured I didn’t need it. So we’ll see how it goes. Maybe… maybe I’ll let him get a couple of moves in… probably not. Maybe I’ll even let him win. Unlikely. But at least watch it so you get to see me,” Cameron flexes his right bicep, “and me,” he flexes his left, “doing what I do best.”

Rock Hard Wrestling has done just a little of the wrestler testimonial to help set the scene, but not much. BG East and Can-Am don’t seem to work this much at all, as far as I can think of, though I think it’s perfectly pitched for BG East’s pro-style ring matches. I’d love to see some old-school professional wrestling interviews pre- and post-match with the likes of Lon Dumont, Jonny Firestorm, Denny Cartier and Kid Karisma, in order to blow out the confines of the wrestling fantasy moment even more. A little “here’s-what-I’m-going-to-do” strutting from both hopefuls, and the “that’s-what-I-just-did” sweat-soaked gloating victor, would go a long way to cranking my homoerotic wrestling kink with both hands.

“This is Rusty Stevens, and I’m still 4-and-0 on Naked Kombat!”

Asses Named

Congratulations to Stay Puft, who posted the best score for this week’s edition of Name That Ass! All of these glutes this week should be on your list of homoerotic wrestlers to watch. I own matches with all of these hot hunks, and they’re all cherished possessions. Now pull out your quizzes and let’s review the answers…
Ass #1 belongs to…
…the Z-Man, Zack Vazquez/Zack Johnathan… whatever you’d like to call him, I get the impression he’ll answer you.
It’s Thunder’s Arena wrestler Sebastian showing off the Z-Man’s moneymaker in a feet-off-the-floor bearhug in Battlespace 10. The Z-Man hasn’t always jobbed, but let’s face it, he’s jobbed more than his fair share. I’m glad to see in his recent debut with BG East that he’s got a little more to offer than just having his ass beat up and down and shown off from every angle. It is, indeed, a nice ass, though.
Ass #2 belongs to…
…BG East muscle god himself, Wade Cutler.
I was just talking about this proportionally perfect muscle god! Those pecs come in a close second place for my favorite Wade Cutler body part, but hands down, it’s that gorgeous ass that’s at the top of my list. Again, I say, Rod Duart in X-Fights 19 was one damn lucky rookie.
Ass #3 belongs to…
…legendary pornboy, Scott Randsome (aka Kurtus Beefcake).
Specifically, here he’s grinding his balls into still another legendary pornboy, Tom Katt for BG Enterprise’s Fantasy Fight 2. Tom has his eye, and hands, on Scott’s ass from the get-go, but the battle to determine who’s ass is getting fucked is far from a given. Fans of full contact muscle on muscle wrestling simply must own this match.

Ass #4 belongs to…
Steve did just a few matches for Can-Am, including this appearance on the mats and then in the oil (ah, Can-Am), in Czech Tag Team 2. He wrestled alongside of Sonny Markham, another musceboy extraordinaire, and they faced off against the titular Czechs, Jirka Kalvoda and Jarda Kolar. I’m more familiar with Steve’s more competitive work for On Top Wrestling, and his much, much less competitive wrestling for Sharpshooters. Damn, that’s one gorgeous golden blond man.
Finally, ass #5 belongs to…
…BG East bad boy classic, Jose.
You know you’re a bad ass when you only need one name to inspire fear. Here, Jose wrestles in one of the Paradise oil wrestling matches, up against The Lineman. Jose kicked ass all the time. Always. Satisfyingly. And his cock had its own zip code. Look at the sneer on that face, and then scroll back up and enjoy the ass again.
No shame if you didn’t score a perfect 100. It’s just a signal that you need to watch a lot more homoerotic wrestling. Enjoy your studies!

Shaken, Not Stirred

I’m fully aware that homoerotic wrestlers are not born… they’re made. Indeed, it’s hardly a stretch to realize that the name “Brooklyn Bodywrecker” doesn’t appear on anyone’s birth certificate. And, for that matter, if there is a birth certificate with the name “Steve Shannon” on it (which there probably is), the probability that such a birth certificate belongs to this guy is infinitesimal.
No, homoerotic wrestlers are crafted, shaped, branded and packaged to optimize the full-on fantasy that we sign up for. Sometimes the construction of the name is a little more obvious. Beau Nasty, for example, simply can’t have emerged from the womb with that surname. The name is clearly meant to communicate something more than just a handle. It’s a nod to a persona. It’s the poured concrete foundation upon which a successful homoerotic wrestler can build a character, embody a new person, and live in a world in which camel clutches and over the knee backbreakers are everyday currency.
Cody Nelson from Rock Hard Wrestling would be hard not to notice in any setting. Cody’s body speaks volumes before he ever needs to open his mouth. Personally, I’m enthralled with Cody’s ass and his nipples (in that order), but honestly he’s a smorgasbord of muscle worship fantasies for nearly every niche and corner of the wrestling kink market (if muscleboys are you’re thing). I’m not entirely sure yet what the name Cody Nelson communicates… it has a whiteboy next door ring to it, and that may be the point. There’s a “just folks” hit from the name Cody Nelson that makes him seem to me to be a little less celestial and unreachable than if I just saw him in a tight shirt standing at the bar. Cody gives me a mountain west feel, like a Wyoming farm kid who grew up bench pressing livestock until he woke up one day and realized that he had a body to die for that could translate into cash in hand in the big city… let’s say, Miami. Cody Nelson is someone who got tired of beating the crap out of every upstart punk in a thousand mile radius and moved on to prove that he can beat the crap out of every upstart punk in a ten thousand mile radius. As a straight-up homoerotic wrestling name, Cody Nelson carries some water, I think. I don’t know that Cody’s entirely lived into his name, nor has he yet entirely embodied a wrestling character for me to hate/love/lust for/all the above. He’s still mostly a stunningly muscled, massive, ass of granite, dollar coin nippled, rippled-abbed, wet dream in a still shot, hot bundle of homoerotic wrestling potential.
Over at Vista Video and also at All American Guys, the same face, the same smirk, the same nipples, ass, abs and perhaps just a little bit bigger of biceps… it’s all squeezed into a different wrapper known simply as Ray.

I haven’t dropped coin in Vista Video or All American Guys, so I only know these companies from the front stoop. But by definition, a company called “All American Guys” is promoting the boy next door dreamboat, right? These guys look like the whitebread version of the football player kid around the corner who keeps pumping iron long after the season is over. Over there, “Cody Nelson” is just “Ray…” (you fill in the last name of whatever neighborhood kid you grew up lusting after).

Over there, Raymond always has a little bit of
a sheepish grin when he peels off his skin tight shirt to flex for the camera. He’s in some “real” context, outside or in the gym, as if he was just walking through his day and some persuasive person with a video camera convinced him to start talking, flexing, showing off a little in public. He’s asking you what you think of his body, making an appeal for your praise, as if he needs you to validate him. Whereas Cody, in the ring, is cocked and loaded, supremely confident in his opponent’s inevitable destruction, Raymond, on the other hand, is almost shy, embarrassed of the attention and, at the same time, proud of the hard work that went into shaping his body.

The up close, “real,” boy next door with chiseled pecs just chattin’ me up in the gym, giving me a little self-conscious show, smiling slyly because he knows what I’m thinking and he doesn’t mind… that’s hot. I see ads for Vista EVERYWHERE, so I assume this is a strategy that sells.
What I realize, though, is that what’s much, much hotter for me is that other guy, the side-of-beef bench pressing farmboy who migrated to deeper waters when he found he could kick the ass of everyone he knew, so now he climbs into the wrestling ring to stand pec to glorious pec with some other invincible local boy cocksure that he’s the shit and no Wyoming farmboy could stand a chance against him. That’s the backstory that sucks me in. That’s the chemistry that makes my blood pump harder. That’s the foundational eroticism that claims me and my wallet like no solo shot, boy next door muscle showcase ever could.

But that’s just me.

Masculine Behaviors

I’ve mentioned before that I consider superheroes kink-adjacent to wrestling. There’s a lot of overlap, including full-time attention from the fine folks at Rants, Roids, & Rasslin’ and Eye of the Cyclone. There are also sideline overlappers from the wrestling side of things, including the Superhero Heels series from BG East and the Hard Heroes line of videos from Can-Am. Of course, much of masked wrestling in general draws on the rules of superherodom, turning straight-up pros into icons in the battle of good versus evil, imbuing them with an aura of invincibility when in costume, and portraying their collapse into mortal vulnerability upon unmasking.
Some psychologists reportedly have recently done “research” into the impact of superheroes on children. I’m highly skeptical about the gendered and morality-laden ruler with which they seem to have measured their data. Regardless, though, their findings are that the classic superheroes of the first half of the 20th century had a positive influence on children because they were morally upright, unflinchingly sincere, restrained in their use of force and violence, and explicitly promoting the virtue of humanitarianism. On the other hand, the researchers suggest that more recent superheroes are overly aggressive, sarcastic, self-absorbed, and eagerly embracing of violence and domination as testimony to their masculinity.
I’m just going to set aside the child-rearing aspects of this topic for the moment, which is actually the point of the research study. Those of you rearing children can take from this what you will. But from an adult perspective (and many of the offending superheroes cited are really comics for adults) I’m fascinated with the notion that society should be invested in promoting superhero role-models that “promote kinder, less stereotypical male behaviors.” Some of us, present company certainly included, think that there’s something entirely entertaining and attractive about many of these very same “male behaviors.”
It seems to me that the division identified in this research is the divide between the classic face and the classic heel. Moral masculinity appears to be tied to the rule-abiding, humble, self-restrained humanitarian hero who the masses are sure to cheer as savior, protector, and defender of the weak. Immoral masculinity is characterized as the opportunistic, cocky, hedonistic bully who takes hold of victory with both hands, taking whatever short-cut is necessary, reveling in the exercise of power and domination as ends in-and-of themselves.
I’m not the most versed comic-head in the kink-corner of the internet, but it seems to me that the more recent superheroes reflect a postmodern bent that argues that, just like real life, the world of superheroes is comprised of complex and conflicted characters who sometimes do the right thing for the wrong reasons, or the wrong thing for the right reasons. Postmodern superheroes travel back and forth between turning heel and turning back to face, sometimes doing the humbling and sometimes getting humbled, and inevitably, as always, pitting strength against strength, muscle against muscle, will against will, until one man is proven the dominator and the other forced into submission. It seems to me to be precisely a story about masculinity, and a more complicated, realistic version of masculinity is not one that is unflinchingly moral, non-violent, selfless and humanitarian, but one that is conflicted, as is every exercise of power over another being.
I, for one, would much rather my role models and proxy protagonists be flawed, inconsistent, considerate of their own self-interests, and possessing well-deserved pride in their mastery of themselves, their bodies, and their foes (and their foes’ bodies). I couldn’t live up to a 1950’s rendition of Superman, but I could see some potential for self-improvement by identifying with a postmodern warrior who gets it right sometimes, gets it wrong sometimes, and struggles to sort out the right formula of self-confidence, self-interest, and self-restraint to craft for myself a life that I can feel good about. Again, I have no idea what goes into good child-rearing, but as for me, a vacillating superhero who blurs the line of hero and villain, who occasionally smacks down an opponent and occasionally gets smacked down in the constant struggle to determine whose idea of virtue will win the day seems a lot more… meaningful.
And, frankly, it’s a lot hotter. Which is what tends to turn my crank, and I just bet it will continue to turn the crank of generations of gay (and probably straight) boys to come.

Golden Boy

I’m not sure how this could have happened. How could I blog for nearly a year on all things homoerotic and wrestling, and not have mentioned
Steve Shannon?

It was obsessing about asses that made me think of Steve. He’s a blond muscleboy with a devastating musclebutt that was always surefire entertainment for me.
Can-Am worked him into a few productions around 2002 and 2005, including the fantastic line-up of Czech Tag Team 2. Jarda Kolar’s hand planted on Steve’s oiled, naked ass is a cherished image burned into my favorite stills of all time.
Steve’s work with On Top Productions was more satisfying wrestling, though. I think On Top was a little ahead of their time. Their format was more than a little like what Naked Kombat has turned into a profitable franchise more recently, with less reliance on a script and more genuinely hard working bodies slamming and tossing one another around. Where Naked Kombat’s pre-fight interviews are always snarling and contemptuous, On Top’s pre-fight confessionals were usually more gentlemanly. It had more of a feel of an amateur wrestler coming out of the locker room on his way to the mats, than that of an over the top pro ticking off his polished banter.
I’m sticking to my commitment to not overthink posts for the next couple of days, so you’ll forgive me if I don’t have a citation when I say that Steve’s non-wrestling porn has earned more than a little of my cash as well. I cannot stay enthused when a naked woman enters the shot, so I never sampled his bisexual-themed porn. Personally, I think it’s a crying shame that studly Steve wasn’t more prolific in the industry. I’d pay money to see him make a comeback on the mats or in the ring (if he’s still around). As long as he still works up a sweat and he’s in shape enough to go the distance, he’d still be pure gold.