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.
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.
A little while back a reader interrogated me offline about my deprecating straight-up wrestling and fixating, instead, on more explicitly homoerotic fare. If it’s just about “grab-ass,” as he put it, doesn’t it lose the aggro, the potential ferocity? In short, he wondered, in my fixation on the homoerotic, don’t I lose some of what’s essential to an authentic wrestling kink?
First, I want to say that the occasional, seemingly inadvertant (yet literal) grab-ass in a match has quite an allure, even in the context of a match that’s light on the homo or the explicitly erotic. Dom the Dominator and the seventh wonder of the world known as his physique are profoundly arousing for me in most any context. But when he scoops up a young, eager Brad Rochelle to drop him across his knee, digging his fingertips into the gorgeous, round, hard ass of boy wonder… well, I know I’m not alone in wearing out the VCR tape at that precise moment to catch that delightful moment of grab-ass in freeze frame (and later, slow motion). I like to think even the more straight-up performers throw in some gratuitous moments like this. And I adore them for it.
But back to my original point… there are plenty of moments when watching two beautiful men pound the hell out of each other and sell some convincing aggression will be all I need to completely exhaust myself. But there are some periods, such as the one I’m in now, where I absolutely crave the homoerotic component of my homoerotic wrestling. A literal, lingering grab of the ass can catapult me into a deeply satisfying, body-affirming, gay-affirming, passionate place that without it, can leave me feeling a little desperate. The BGE classic, Tommy Lopez, in a mutual, tender ass grab in the midst of a sweaty, snarling smack down is the value-added that I’ve got a major lust for these days.
It’s not just the literal grab-ass I’m talking about, of course. Grab most anything and hold on appreciatively, and it can definitely count in my book. Of course, a cock-grab or a ball-grab (or for those with large enough hands, a cock-and-ball-grab) connects all the dots for the elements that I’m talking about. But frankly, a commanding, appraising hold on your opponent’s chin can leap-frog well you beyond a play-it-straight tussle. An appreciative squeeze of a meaty pec (I’m not talking a claw here, but a grab), sends my brain firing on all cylinders in moods like I’m in right now.
But I love a collapsed metaphor, and a commanding, solid handful of glute seals the deal for me whenever I’m treated to the sight. Another BGE classic, Brian Baxter, had an ass for days himself, so his thumping of Tim Anderson’s juicy melons is just asking for it, begging for it, making me start talking at the screen pleading for a return of that awesome, satisfying favor on Brian. Grab that ass! I’m looking for the element of grab-ass in my wrestling right at the moment.
You know me. You know I can go on and on about the role of imagination, and you know I can fill in the gaps in just about any story to make it suit my particular kinky tastes. But even I, sometimes, find myself feeling like a literalist. So to the reader who complained that I’m too much into the “grab-ass” scene, I do, truly, get your point. And sometimes, nothing else but some grab-ass will do.
Having returned to a fixation on asses, here’s yet another ode to the wonders of the wrestling muscle butt. I’ve mentioned before the particular joys and plot of the ass slap. A slightly different story captivating me lately is the ass grab.
Fine distinction, perhaps, but we’d hardly say a forearm to the side of the head is the same as a excruciatingly long side-headlock, would we? No, (to answer my own question), we would not. The slap is a humiliating strike, the playful sting that delivers the message of pain on command. The grab, on the other hand, is the more sexualized sign of ownership.
My favorite wrestling pornboys are most sympathetic to me when squeezing their opponent’s cheeks. Hands down, that’s the moment through which I’m most intimately living vicariously in the homoerotic wrestling scenario. When Sebastian Riosfinds himself on his knees in front of a thonged, oiled Rafe Sanchez, he does precisely what I would do… what simply has to be done in that moment (well, at least one of the things that must be done). He slides the palms of his hands up Rafe’s gorgeous cheeks and underneath his thong. Any opponent that fails to take an adoring squeeze at Rafe’s ass is a little unbelievable to me.
I surprise myself just a little at how much I get into Bruno Sinclair and Ricardo Dias’ cub training session. Ricardo’s lingering squeeze on Bruno’s muscled glute just looks so right. That’s an authentic moment that sucks me right into the scene. Whatever else I may not quite believe about homoerotic wrestling products, I’m utterly convinced by the slow, solid squeeze of a hard ass cheek.
When it happens in the heat of battle, all the better. I totally get it when Michael Wood finds his head captured in Ross Davidson’s arm, squeezed against Davidson’s ribs and inches away from his muscled ass, and Michael grabs two, open-fingered handfuls of muscle. Sure, it doesn’t do anything to counter Davidson’s advantage. Okay, so perhaps Michael will suffer that much more for his distraction. But that’s so very much, precisely, absolutely what I’d have to do, were I in his position.
The victory squeeze isn’t bad, either. After the story is told and one man has been owned, the appreciative cup of the cheek, once again, makes complete sense to me. I believe that my libido and Kid Vicious’ hands are, in fact, psychically linked, considering he always grabs, pounds, and squeezes exactly what I’m thinking. After delightfully owningNiku Samir in every humiliating position possible, Kid takes a feel of Niku’s ass appreciatively. The drive to dominate and humiliate, paired with the lustful adoration of a loser’s physique, is just genuine in my mind.
Truth be told, I’m a softy at heart. The mutual ass squeeze, naked and sweaty, at the end of a balls out battle is just about the most satisfying denouement for my money. I don’t care for watching a lot of pulled punches, or at least not a lot of poorly sold punches, but I completely buy it when ferocity to dominate turns into mutual worship. Cock pressed to cock, hands squeezing each other’s glutes, the wet heat shared as hearts pound, chest to chest… that’s what it’s all about for me.