Terrified

 

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Trey Dixon’s eyes pried open to witness the spectral visage of Thrash ripping him apart in Masked Destroyers

I hope everyone had a shocking Halloween. I’m also hoping to get another photo report from our favorite homoerotic wrestlers who delight in dressing up and showing us their costumes. In the mean time, I was mulling over a topic I’ve touched upon tangentially in the past, that seems particularly relevant this time of year: terror.

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Kirk Donahue may not get out of Demolition 18 alive

I should confess I’m a terror movie junkie. I tend toward the mind-fuck variety of horror flicks, particularly the sacrilegious, but the raw, mass body count movies are also on my list. I like the extra heavy heart pump they inspire. Even when I know the outcome, I can feel the blood pulse harder through my veins when I’m watching good, terror inducing entertainment

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Kip Sorell pleads with the audience to call the police, because he’s getting mugged in Demolition 20

So it’s a short hop to thinking about the element of terror in homoerotic wrestling entertainment. Just like in a good horror flick, terror is a delicate ingredient. You can’t throw in too much, too soon, or the escalating adrenaline drops from habituation. On the other hand, too infrequent, too improbable (hello, Paranormal franchise, I’m looking at you) and the heat doesn’t have time to reach a boil. And under or over sold, and the whole suspension of disbelief comes crashing down in a heap.

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Muscle Match goes dark with open, vicious, bare handed strangulation

But in homoerotic wrestling, when done right, it’s incredible value added for my tastes. When a brave, cocky, impenetrable stud throws himself into the fray, gets outmatched, gets convinced that he could very well get broken, broken into, or crippled for life, the unfolding drama is sensationally arousing to me. He’s got to believe he’s going to make a respectable showing to start with. And then, incrementally, he’s got to be dragged to the despairing, horrifying truth that he’s getting owned, and his opponent is just nasty enough to seriously jeopardize life and limb. And then, that juicy, potent psychodrama has to play out on his face, in his eyes, in the rising octaves of his screams and choking sobs.

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Austin Cooper is terrified by what’s Bobby Horton is about to do to him from behind in his Wrestler Spotlight 3

When done right, I get that same adrenaline pump I do when I’m watching fine horror. That, paired with hot, hard bodies and the inherent eroticism of grinding, crushing, dominating wrestling, and I’ll swing for the fences every time.

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Riddle Man (aka, Charlie Evans) monologues like a supervillain about what he wants to do with SuperStud (aka, Damien Rush) and his marvelous ass in Super Men 4.4.

Interestingly (for me, at least), I occasionally stumble across this ethical dilemma in seeking out terror-rich homoerotic wrestling fare, when I come across the implicit threat of rape. On the one hand, rape is not sexy. In real life, it’s vile and destroys lives. I don’t enjoy it, and don’t get aroused by it in gay porn. Frankly, it creeps me out. On the other hand, in addition to being terrorized by threats to life and limb, homoerotic wrestling terror at least occasionally drifts into the psychodrama of sexual violence. Threats that revolve around “what I’m going to do to you when I’ve beaten you to a pulp,” start down that path. Hell, every so often there’s the pretty explicit dialogue about how a victor will fuck his cowed conquest like the spoils of war. And, all that I just said on the first hand notwithstanding, I fucking get off on that.

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Trent Diesel sizes up the ass he just bought and paid for in his Naked Kombat bout with Gavin Waters

Of course Naked Kombat pretty much is all about sexual domination as the spoils of erotic wrestling. But there’s an implicit contract in the fighter’s opening introductions. They’re signing up for this. They know the stakes are win or be fucked, so it’s more like high stakes gambling than actual rape. The loser my not enjoy it, but the bitterness and brutality are mostly about the humiliation of the loss, not about being involuntarily fucked. And the more recent post-match testimonials almost always make explicit that the everyone involved had a grand old time.

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Rusty Stevens and David Taylor made me forget they were being held at gunpoint in Wrestle Bait.

Can-Am has come pretty close to explicitly centering a narrative on wrestling as pretense for sexual assault. Their Wrestle Bait release made me check my political correctness credentials a few times, for example. The plot, as I remember, is that a sadistic jail guard (Jobe Zander) gets his psychojollies off on forcing inmates to wrestle for fuckstakes and freedom. Jobe literally holds a gun to their heads and coerces them to strip, beat the shit out of each other, and then have the winner force fuck the loser. If they don’t fight hard enough, he threatens to shoot them. So, guns turn me off. The threat of watching someone get shot turns me way off. The implication that the losers in each Wrestle Bait match are getting fucked against their will tugs at my conscience. But despite myself, even as I question my moral compass, I’ve pounded out dozens of times to that shit. In my defense, it was the first time I ever saw Rusty Stevens or David Taylor.

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Logan Vaughn’s terror is evident once Lane Hartley plants him spread eagled in the ropes and gets into position to place kick his balls for a field goal in Hunkbash 15

But I don’t have to have boundaries crossed for the terror ingredient to spice up my favorite homoerotic wrestling fare. It’s the terror itself, rather than any questionable-consensual sex act, that’s the common thread. So when it dawns on one gasping hunk that he’s got no shot of winning, and in fact has a very good shot at spending a few nights in the hospital, and that recognition visibly washes across his face… fuck.  When a sniveling pretty boy literally tries to flee the scene, crawling on his hands and knees in a primal effort to distance himself from his natural predator, I’m so sold. When he chokes and quivers on the fear, when he weeps and begs, abandoning all pretense to dignity, when he out and out screams because he’s certain he’s about to break for real, that will top me off every time.

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Carter Alexander sells terror like a motherfucker in Great Outdoors 2, though I think he’s mostly just terrified Kid Karisma will stop pulling his hair (he likes that).

So today, I salute the homoerotic wrestling scream queens who toy with my moral compass and somehow shove their hands right down my pants by selling out and out terror as a device for propelling a wrestling match to a screaming, pleading, magnificent conclusion.

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Reigning scream queen, bar none, Drake “don’t call me jobber” Marcos realizes the Trophy Boy may very well castrate him in Three-Way Thrash 4.

Keep me cumming, boys.

A Taste of Things to Cum

Reading back over my recent posts (like a year or more), I think it’s safe to say I’ve been orally fixated lately.  My descriptions of wrestlers and matches as “delicious,” “tasty,” or “mouthwatering” have been my regular, go-to metaphors for my subjective experience of being turned on by choice homoerotic wrestling fare (see, there I go again).  Homoerotic wrestling just tastes so damn good!  Of course I don’t literally want to eat anyone (other than perhaps a couple of politicians I can think of… on toast), but I wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for a long, wet, lingering lick of a wrestling hunk’s body to stimulate the taste buds.  Do you know what I mean?
BG East’s Blueboy clearly knows what I’m talking about in Masked Mayhem 4, momentarily turning always dangerous masked muscle heel Enforcer into a quivering bowl of jelly in the corner of the ring with a tongue lashing of his tantalizing nipples.  Holy shit, this photo captures so much about homoerotic wrestling that defines me!

I think there’s a bit of a stroke of genius at work at NakedKombat for incentivizing face licking.  Not a lot of the kombatants I’ve seen take advantage of available points for slathering spit across the cheeks of a locked up opponent, but Gavin Waters was one hardbodied fuck machine who seemed to relish just that.  In his May 25, 2011 tag team match with partner Nikko Alexander, Gavin to advantage of his overwhelming muscle and weight advantage to lock down lean twink scrapper Matt Singer and drive him fucking nuts by dragging his tongue all over the babyface battler’s face.  Talk about a tasty little morsel!

Matt’s partner, however, was a little too much for Gavin to pull off the same maneuver… by himself, at least.  Long-time pornboy wrestling favorite of mine, Trent Diesel had Gavin’s number both in singles and tag-team competition, and the stunningly hot tattoed stunner was not as easily subdued.  However, another NakedKombat rule permits partners a few seconds of double-team advantage moments after a tag is made, during which Gavin would enjoy the chance to lick the sweat off of Trent’s brow while Nikko picked up the baton to take his place mounted on top of the muscled stud puppy.  Fuck, Trent hated his face licked!  He squirmed like craaaazy as Gavin lapped up his salty goodness.  Hell.  And yes.

Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight series has been seriously satisfying me since it debuted a couple of years ago.  The precise balance of pro ring wrestling and overt eroticism is awfully compelling.  Tongues have been regularly on the menu starting with Pro Sex Fight 1, when massive muscle star Michael Vineland slaps down a post-victory tongue lashing on the infinitely perky, hot pecs of g-g-g-gorgeous former HWOTM here at neverland, Landon Mycles.  Landon was more a kisser than a licker, which I totally respect, but fuck-fuck-fuck, Michael working over that highly responsive nip on the blond bombshell was sweet dessert after an intensely hot main course of highly erotic ring wrestling.

When another long-time favorite wrestling pornboy of mine, Rusty Stevens, got his shot at Michael in Pro Sex Fight 5, the competitive side of things was decidedly more pronounced.  However, post-match, Rusty delivered the move that I’ve been fantasizing about for years, absolutely worshipping Michael’s massive biceps with his tongue.  Rusty isn’t exactly what I’d call someone graceful in defeat… or victory… but a lustful moment of fully engaged muscle worship from the normally smart-assed, hardbodied hot head grabs me hard.

Rusty also slapped done a tongue lashing in Pro Sex Fight 4 against angelically beautiful muscle stud, Kevin Crowes.  If he hadn’t, I’d have written a letter in protest, because if there’s any word to describe Kevin, it’s “delicious.”  Rusty totally dominates the early moments of this match, stripping the rookie pornboy naked (in this case, not a moment too soon), terrorizing and torturing the bodybeautiful stunner in the ropes, on the mat, and when thrown into the corner, licks that chiseled chin slowly.

You can tell Kevin tastes delicious, because Rusty’s tongue travels slowly down the angelic pornboy’s neck and laps aggressively across the stunner’s sweaty chest, lingering long and hard on those aesthetically perfect nips.  As an aside, this also tweaks a little bit of kink I have for seeing a wrestler stripped and dominated while his opponent has managed to still hang onto his gear.  There’s just something about that inequity, that extra dose of humiliation and dominating ownership, that makes my engine rev harder.

Kevin is no shrinking violet here, though, and when the patient pornboy finally gets an opening, he makes Rusty pay back all that trash talking muscle domination with interest.  Swarming all over the stunned veteran, Kevin uses that work of art he calls a body to press Rusty to the canvas and hold him still for a taste of glory of his own.  I can feast for days on watching Rusty Stevens dominate in that soul-withering style he has of destroying an opponent psychologically as a prelude to crushing him physically.  However, watching heaven-sent pornboy Kevin work up a serious head of steam all over my long-time favorite emeritus is incredible entertainment for my dollar.

There is also another entire subgenre of muscle licking.  The forced worship submission (“Lick my bicep, bitch!”) has it’s own story, and I can read that story over and over again and never get tired of it.  Kid Vicious, looking even buffer and more beautiful than ever in Wet and Wild 4 (can I call KV beautiful and not get my ass kicked?), forces a battered Lobolito to pay homage to his gorgeous, bulging, veiny bicep.  Unlike in the stolen tastes of muscle I mentioned above, Lobolito looks like he’s been so bashed he doesn’t quite appreciate this plot twist nearly as much as I do.  Forced to lick, tongue-work in wrestling can communicate with crystal clarity that total domination by the object of oral adoration over the licker.  Forced to be licked, as described above, turns the tables and speaks perhaps even more directly to the orally fixated side of me.

I’m sure Freud would have plenty to say about all of this oral fascination.  Then again, Freud was a dumbshit when it came to sexuality and eroticism.  As another example of an element that clearly distinguishes the homoerotic from the straight-up wrestling worlds, a whole-hearted tongue lashing makes my mouth water.

Down for the Count

I received this email last night:

Kink is sad to announce that we have stopped production of Naked Kombat for the time being. There will be no new updates to the site for the foreseeable future. This was a difficult decision and we would like to extend a warm “Thank You” to all of our members and fans.

Truth be told, I haven’t been enjoying Naked Kombat as much as I used to. I know I’m not alone among the wrestling kink crowd in my waning interest in the pornboy-does-erotic-combat format.  For me, it may have been the relentless structure of NK that quickly became formulaic (which is a major criticism I have of porn in general). After a while it felt like each release was the same product, just with different bodies cycling through. It could have been the wrestlers. The pornboy stars lately have not been giving me the instant arousal that NK boys in the past have. My waning attention for NK could certainly have had to do with the kombat itself. Occasionally there were seriously enthusiastic and skilled grapplers hitting the NK mat, but too often the kombatants came across more as pornboys tussling as foreplay for the way they really make their money: the sex round.

Rookie Gavin Waters thinks he’s got my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy’s number.
Calm, cool, collected Trent Diesel knows better.

The factors explaining my waning interest probably have absolutely nothing to do with Kink’s decision to terminate production of NK.  But I’m still feeling a little grief over the loss of the company that has brought me several of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. Trent Diesel, my reigning homoerotic wrestling pornboy, may be in serious danger of losing his grip on the title unless another company picks up his most entertaining talents (please!).

Ripped Trent Diesel teaches cocky Gavin Waters the price of losing at Naked Kombat.

One of the aspects of NK that I’ve definitely enjoyed is their particular blend of wrestling and homoeroticism. The grapplers were always explicitly rewarded for bringing the sexy into the confrontation. They received points for cock abuse, force-feeding, ass slapping, etc. And then in the sex round, the victor’s task was to take possession of the loser and heap humiliation in any way possible (though imaginations were often wanting in round 4, in my opinion). Spanking, the pony ride, the rat tail… a relatively narrow repertoire of humiliation was sprinkled in amid the otherwise straightforward sucking and fucking.

Rusty is master at exploiting all 4 rounds to their maximum wrestling kink potential.

Arguably, no one exploited the format more entertainingly than Rusty Stevens, which also contributed to his very long tenure as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy. His leg choke while controlling Tommy Defendi’s every self-stimulating move like a sadistic puppeteer, was probably the most arousing and innovative sex round device I ever saw in NK.

Tommy Defendi is defenseless against the crushing tide of Rusty’s offense.

I believe Rusty was undefeated in NK competition, which is the way it should be, in my opinion. Left to his own devices, Rusty was a force of nature, beating away his opponent’s defenses like the rising tide itself, until one by one they fell and Rusty climbed on top. Elsewhere, Rusty has been more scripted, less spontaneous, which has simply not exploited the raw, animal, aggressive sexuality of this gorgeous pornboy.

Nikko Alexander mistakenly thinks he’s got it all wrapped up against lean DJ and his monster cock.

NK also gave me considerable pleasure in watching the character (and physical) development of NK scrapper, DJ. Setting aside the relatively racist undertones of his opponent’s trash talking, referencing his tightly kinky hair, most of the time DJ worked his own magic and won retribution for any pre-match slights by conquering one hard, bigger man after another through sheer force of will and ever increasing proficiency on the mat.

DJ is single-handely unstoppable against Cameron Adams & Leo Forte (combined!)!

That truly stunning monster cock of DJ’s didn’t hurt any either (except when ever inch of it was slammed up a loser’s ass). DJ grew on me over time. With every new match he got stronger, faster, and more technically skilled. His victory rounds got hotter and hotter, and there’s just about nothing as awe-inspiring as his performance teaming up with partner Trent against Cameron Adams and Leo Forte.

DJ and Trent Diesel illustrate teamwork at it’s very, very best!

The twosome of Trent and DJ are a striking pair to gaze at, but even their opponents agree in the end that DJ is a fucking unstoppable beast in this match. He’s the smallest man on the mat, and frequently he successfully dominates both opponents single-handedly during the grace periods when Leo or Cameron tagged in and had an opportunity to double team him. Double team my ass! DJ is like a cornered badger, more vicious, tenacious, and dangerous against two opponents than he is against just one.

Epic clash between muscle hunk John Magnum and lithe scrapper, Phillip Aubrey

As the life of NK flashes before my eyes, it occurs to me that there have been plenty of moments of homoerotic wrestling epiphany. John Magnum and Phillip Aubrey’s nail biter comes to mind. Magnum’s only appearance on NK was epic. He’s made for full-on gay pro wrestling if ever a pornboy was. He’s magnum sized, and even sexier, he’s absolutely giddy with delight in every moment that he manages to subdue and humiliate Phillip. He laughs proudly at his own mastery. He flings himself across the mat and into every hold. He trash talks from start to finish.

Phillip Aubrey restrains momentarily restrains the beast.

And even then, Phillip Aubrey was equally satisfying, perhaps more so because I expected myself to be so enthralled with the big muscle boy Magnum. Phillip is astonishingly sexy on the mat. He bends like Gumby, and he seems to have a tolerance for pain that’s simply off the charts. He seriously, seriously dominated his much bigger and stronger opponent a whole lot, and indeed, I personally think he clearly ought to have been the decisive winner. Even that drama, the disputed call of the judges, makes the Magnum/Aubrey match fucking hot, hot, hot!

Spencer Reed obliterates John Stone in March 2009

There’ve been other NK matches and pornboy wrestlers of note, of course. Big, dominating Spencer Reed, sincere as hell Patrick Rouge, muscle ass babyface Dean Tucker, the terminator Tyler Saint…. the list is extensive. However, most of the names that I come up with as epitomizing my affection for NK come from deep, deep in the archives. Speaking of, I don’t know what happens to the NK archives. I’m not going to keep paying for a subscription to a site with nothing new, and I figure they’ll have to roll the archives into some other aspect of the kink.com universe, which other than NK simply hasn’t appealed to what it is that turns me on: wrestling.

Gavin Waters’ first introduction to Naked Kombat and Trent Diesel’s picture perfect cock.

Despite my ambivalence about the recent run of NK, I’m still sad to see them go down. For the years of homoerotic pornboy wrestling entertainment, the blood, sweat and tears (especially the sweat), and the many innovations in wrestling kink, I thank you, Naked Kombat. To the producers, technical staff, and especially the beautiful pornboys putting their bodies on the mat and their asses on the line week after week, you will be missed.

Trent Diesel oils up with Ryan Rockford

Now, I know of some stunning pornboys all oiled up with no place to wrestle. Surely, someone can help these boys out.

Lovin’ It

Pornboys rock. I really love porn, and I’m on the record as a staunch advocate of my right (and your right) to enjoy the arousing self-pleasures and mutual pleasures that are available in the celebration of beautiful bodies and erotic sensibilities that is porn. Still, I saw Boogie Nights (should have fast-forwarded to the final 30 seconds… live and learn). I know that the porn industry has quite the sordid history, and not because it’s associated with the cracks and crevices of its stars’ bodies. Porn has a reputation for not treating its people well. I’m far from a porn industry insider, so I have no idea whether gay porn today has the healthy respect and value for the lovely bodies and beautiful minds that it promotes (well, it promotes the bodies, but I honestly believe there are some beautiful minds out there as well). I hope so. I worry that the industry doesn’t treat the pornboys well, but I hope it does.

Despite my being a staunch proponent of self-righteous assholes keeping their opinions to themselves when it comes to the right that the rest of us should treasure to be provoked and aroused by… well, assholes (among other things), I get off much more often on non-porn wrestling than I do on literal, actual hardcore porn. My one regular overlap is Naked Kombat, which proudly features well-vetted pornboys (most often), wrestling for points, with the winner getting to delight in dominating the loser from stem to stern (I’m a big fan of both the stern and the stem). The sole non-BG East wrestler still in the top ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers is pornboy of my dreams, Naked Kombat veteran and damn adorable Twitterer: Trent Diesel.

I concede the real possibility that Trent could conceivably be a total egomaniacal dickhead who I’d be unable to stay in the same room with for more than 20 seconds. However, I don’t believe that’s the case (and I’m a big believer in the power of belief!). Following Trent’s Twits and reading his blog are a decidedly different experience than following any of the other pornboys I (not really) stalk. My impression is that Trent loves his body, loves sex, loves love, and is thoughtfully tackling life as a sincere, sweet young man who periodically finds himself adrift in profound existential questions that have made philosophers weep for centuries.

Trent Diesel and Ryan Rockford
work each others’ stems and sterns for Naked Kombat 9/10/10

Trent posts on his blog very irregularly. His last post before yesterday was from late August, in which he absolutely swooned about his passionate and adorably un-self-conscious love for his “favorite spunky lesbian and yes my best friend and wife Krystal Main.” Now I’ve often scratched my head at Trent’s boyish delight in reporting on his dates with men, while he clearly and passionately loved his wife, who apparently gave her blessings to his cock wanderings. I’m not saying that non-monogamy perplexes me, but committed bisexual non-monogamy amazes me. Once again, I think that bisexuals rock and I’m jealous not to be one. Sadly, however, Trent followed up that post just yesterday with the clearly dejected ramblings of a sad, sad man grieving his new status as single. He also reflects on facing major vocational decisions, feeling torn and unsettled in body and spirit, and anxious to be facing “big steps,” recognizing that he doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he’s certain he can’t just stay still in his life any longer.

Trent was a Raging Stallion starring in Brutal
So I’ve made it this far into this post and have yet to mention Trent’s p-e-r-f-e-c-t ass! Having gotten that out of the way now, let me just conclude by saying that I continue to have a fervid crush on my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, and I long to see more of him wrestling, preferably with that g-g-g-gorgoues ass of his naked and liberally lathered in babyoil. However, I recognize that Trent, like all the boys that I take such pleasure in objectifying, are real men with hopes and dreams and regrets and grief.  Despite my handling some homoerotic wrestlers a little roughly in my critiques, I genuinely wish them all prosperity and joy in life. I hope that whatever the porn industry is about from the inside, that hot little pieces of ass like Trent get their due, including to have love and friendship and comfort in times of sadness. I don’t know if his oblique references to vocational shifts might mean that Trent could no longer appear showing his divine beauty from stem to stern. But regardless of what it means, I hope his decisions bring him prosperity and joy, and I hope he is surrounded by love even when he’s sad.

Injury Time-Out

No, I’m not calling an injury time-out for myself. I’m just musing on the injury time-out in homoerotic wrestling. The point really is physical domination, so it should come as no surprise that wrestling of all stripes should come with the occasional injury. Even the “kayfabe” element of wrestling, I have to imagine, has it’s fair share of real-life bumps, bruises and breaks. Then of course there’s the sadistic angle so relished in our homoerotic wrestling fare – the wrestler who doesn’t just want to win; he wants to make his opponent hurt. While that’s one hot scenario from where I sit as a consumer, again, I have to imagine it’s chock full of risks associated with actual injury that requires (or should) medical attention.
This topic pops up for me in particular after I watched Naked Kombat’s release yesterday, pitting Phenix Saint and Cameron Adams against (never-bet-against-him) DJ and Viking farmboy Blake Daniels. Halfway through round 1, Phenix has DJ in a bad way. DJ’s head his locked against Phenix’ ribcage like a vice, with Phenix cranking like a mother-fucker on DJ’s left shoulder. He pulls DJ forward, sort of bulldogging/pile-driving the curly head scrapper into the mat. It looked nasty, with big, brute Phenix muscling the skinny boy around like a plaything.

The thing is, however, that Phenix actually fucked up his own shoulder in that maneuver. A few seconds later, after DJ has tagged in his partner, Phenix calls an injury time-out, rubbing his left shoulder and wincing in genuine pain. He finishes off the round, but disappears from the scene between rounds due to damaging his shoulder. NK adeptly improvises a 1-on-1 for round 2, and pulls in an unfortunate understudy to take Phenix’ place for round 3 (but not round 4… seems sketchy to me). In the post-match interview, DJ smirks when asked about the injury-provoking move when Phenix dropped him on his head. “Yeah, he got hurt out of it. I’m fine,” he chuckles. Like I said, do NOT bet against DJ.
For quite a while, NK explicitly swore off live audience matches because, they found, there were just too many injuries that resulted from the extra adrenaline pump the wrestlers got from the fans. Perhaps they have a new insurance carrier now, because a couple of months ago they began releasing many more live audience matches, which thrills me no end. Of course, injuries still occur. Leo Forte delivered a sharp, defensive foot to Trent Diesel’s face in their tag-team tussle from April 13, 2011 (setting up their “grudge” match last week). You can almost literally see stars circling around Trent’s head for a moment. Like the champion he is, however, Trent shakes it off, roars like a beast, and comes back hungrier than ever. Reminds me of Trent’s 2nd match from over a year ago, when he beat up on 2 opponents in one outing because Patrick Rouge had to bail for an injury after just one round. You can tell that, for the most part, the pornboys really respect and even care for one another over at NK… and STILL they end up doing serious damage from time to time.
I don’t think of myself as bloodthirsty, and yet… there’s something about the injury time-out that multiplies an already erotic wrestling match. Take Brit grapplers Brad Flash and Torvik Tirva and their Motel Madness 11 match. Just like a live audience does it for Naked Kombat, a pre-existing grudge can pretty much always increase the odds of injury. Apparently Torvik and Brad have met on more than one occasion prior to Motel Madness 11, and it seems that each time Torvik schools his smaller opponent with relish. While Motel Madness is hardly one-sided, and Brad dishes out just a fraction less than he gets in return, Torvik turns on the afterburners at the end of this match and goes for nothing less than twisting Brad’s knee like I used to twist Stretch Armstrong as a kid (have I done a “What Turned Me Gay” for my Stretch Armstrong yet?). Torvik is relentless and not merely uncaring of the potential for causing his opponent injury; he’s hungry for it. He bares his teeth like a feral animal and works that leglock like Brad’s knee had personally insulted Torvik’s mother. The match only comes to an end when Brad can’t stand on his messed up knee any longer. Nursing his knee on the couch, he extends his hand, conceding like a gentleman to the opponent that has yet again bested him. Torvik smacks the hand away with contempt, turns his back on the loser, and flexes with pride, rubbing in his cocky superiority.

Perhaps the wrestling injury is like the car race crash. No one wants to admit it, but they thrill to watch it happen. The adrenaline in the stands pumps harder. The vicarious rush of endorphins washes over us. No, it’s not like I want to see anyone permanently fucked up or require medical attention. But dancing along the edge of danger and flirting with injury-provoking aggression has an erotic component that I simply can’t deny. And the injury time-out, the nursing and assessing and wincing and gauging the will to soldier-on in the face of danger, is itself sweet, hot wrestling text.

Tightening Bard’s Belt

My post on the cost of my wrestling kink generated a lot of feedback. One nice result from my nervous confession that I’ve never tracked down permission from Can-Am to repost their pics is that I got an email from Can-Am giving me permission to repost their pics (thanks!).

Thiago Diaz and Jobe Zander – Can-Am’s Decrotchery

Speaking of which, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor when I saw the preview pics of Jobe Zander’s new match for Can-Am against one of the hottest new muscle bodies I’ve seen in a long time, who goes by the name Thiago Diaz. Thiago is absolutely phenomenal to look at in still frame.  My head is about to explode in anticipation of seeing if he’s just as kinetically hot and whether he can sell some sweet homoerotic wrestling. The sustained ball torture he appears to endure in his rookie debut entitled Decrotchery looks like seriously nasty shit of the variety that Jobe specializes in. If Thiago shows up in Can-Am’s series Pro Sex Fights, I may need CPR (preferably delivered by Thiago).

Rusty Stevens and Kevin Crowes – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4

And speaking of my jaw dropping (and hot muscle bodies and Pro Sex Fights), Can-Am has also posted in their store their newest Pro Sex Fight starring former long-time holder of the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens! I don’t know what this means for Rusty’s announcement that he was retiring from porn last autumn. But knowing nothing other than that Rusty has climbed into the pro wrestling ring, I can already say with absolutely certainty that he’s back in contention to slam, squeeze, pound and fuck his way through the ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers. And this rookie that he’s squaring off against is making my head spin with almost as much velocity as Thiago Diaz! Kevin Crowes is devastatingly handsome, constructed like a go-go boy addicted to his workout endorphins, and sporting what looks to an epic cock and major league, aesthetically gorgeous ink. Smart money might be on Rusty totally owning the rookie hunk, but then again, Rusty’s long resume of wrestling domination doesn’t feature much ring action at all, and this very well may be the first time that I’ve ever seen Rusty out-prettied by an opponent (possibly with the exception of David Taylor).

Jake Jenkins and Austin Cooper – BG East’s Ripped Rookies 1: A Score to Settle

In addition to the happy bonus of getting word that Can-Am is okay with me reposting, joining the ranks of the generous folks at BG East, Thunder’s Arena, and Rock Hard Wrestling, my post on the cost of wrestling kink also generated some sincere efforts from several folks giving me advice about what subscription I ought to choose to be the one to drop. Jon gave me more of a psychological assessment of my core beliefs and motivations, concluding that his read on my equivocation is that I should drop Can-Am and Thunder’s. Off line, I had one adamant reader insist that once you’ve seen one Naked Kombat, you’ve seen them all, so I shouldn’t expect anything too new or novel to need to keep investing in them. Someone also made the most fair point that the real cost-benefit ratio should be measured at the top end of the discounts that all 4 of my subscriptions offer (even if I’m too undisciplined to budget the big bucks for one time per year cost savings).

Leo Forte & Trent Diesel – Naked Kombat – The Bondage Match June 22, 2011

With that in mind, let me point out that I could get 365 days of BG East Arena delights for $125. A year of Can-Am Max and the opportunity to pine over the likes of Thiago Diaz would set me back $179.95. The most cost-efficient means of enjoying Thunder’s Arena’s Thunder TV is 90 days for $59.99 on a recurring bill (not sure why a non-recurring 90 days should suddenly jump up to $100… should that be a year?), which would equate to $240 for a full 360 days. And finally, for Naked Kombat’s exclusive content, I could be maximizing the fuck for the buck with their 1-year subscription at $169.99.

Z-Man and Dallas – Thunder’s Arena’s Custom Match

Since I’m not made of money, and since I anticipate some big bills coming up related to a barrage of travel obligations in the next 6 months, I feel like the cost-benefit analysis brings me to an unmistakable conclusion. Thunder TV, I’m afraid, is the weakest link. I’m going to sign back off of them, regretfully, but I’ll check with Joe at Ringside at Skull Island for any can’t miss new releases that he reviews from Thunder’s. Thanks to everyone who gave me your thoughtful advice. Now, if anyone has any other wrestling kink websites out there that I’m not tracking, let me know if you think I’m missing out on some major kink gold. And of course, should Rock Hard Wrestling come out with an exclusive content membership option, I’ll have to reconsider everything. It would require a whole new cost analysis of my overall wrestling kink budget, of course…

Kink Costs

I just filled out an online survey as a BG East Arena member, giving them my impressions of the Arena content and subscription cost. It reminded me that I need to buckle down and do something that I’ve been telling myself that I need to do for some time. I need to dump a subscription. But which one? I’ve signed up for more than I really ought to, convincing myself that it’s in service of having more to review here on the blog (weak pretense, I know). But truth be told, I really shouldn’t be carrying quite this many recurring subscriptions. So let’s look at this by the numbers, and you tell me what I should do.

The BG East Arena membership is still stroking and stoking my kink quite nicely. I like the new weekly updates, even if they are proportionally smaller than their semi-monthly old updates used to be. I think I’m on the 90 day recurring billing scheme, for which I pay $34.95 for three months of access to the Arena. I’m under the impression that I get more quantity of content per penny with the Arena than I do with any of my other subscriptions (though a number cruncher may have more to say about that). I enjoy the preview pics of yet-to-be-released products, as well as the extensive galleries of new releases and “classics.” And I really enjoy the “action clips,” those little tasty morsels of a few minutes of BG East matches. BG East has also been very generous with permitting me to repost occasional Arena content here at neverland, which is extremely cool of them. I’m not inclined to put the Arena on the chopping block as I scale down my kink budget, but perhaps you have arguments for or against it?

I’m also subscribing to Can-AmMax. I believe I’m on the month-to-month recurring billing cycle, which gives me each month’s content for $19.95 (I could get 90 days recurring for $49.95). Can-AmMax is more hit-and-miss for me with regard to how into it I am at any one moment. When I’m particularly into Max releases (e.g., the first 2 Arena matches & Pro Sex Fight), I was scarfing it up and checking daily for when the next morsel would be offered. I like that I can watch entire matches, piece-by-piece, for the subscription price itself (unlike the extra charge over at the Arena). The photo galleries often aren’t always action-oriented (lot’s of posed Blue Steel stuff that leaves me bored), and the galleries don’t always correspond to new releases in a 1-to-1 relationship the way that the BG East Arena does.  I also repost Can-Am content holding my breath just a little, because though I’ve tried to figure out how to formally ask their permission to repost their content here, I haven’t been successful in receiving specific permission (if someday all Can-Am content has been removed from this blog, it’s because they must have finally asked me to stop treading on their copyrighted material). The wrestling action itself is running about 50/50 for me these days, with my sincere interest in their new releases rising only about half the time. I’d miss it if I dropped it, but I don’t know how much I’d miss it.

And yet again, I’m subscribing to Thunder’s Arena’s Thunder TV. I think I’m on the month-to-month plan with them as well, investing $29.99 recurring (I could get 90 days for $59.99). Thunders is striking a chord about as frequently as Can-Am Max (though very different chords). The wrestling, video, and photo quality are the weakest of the three, and the website itself is the lease intuitive or well-organized of anything I’m paying for. I like the personality and the personableness of Thunders. I like the humor and the big, big muscle boys. Mr. Mike has been sincerely generous in giving me permission to repost any Thunder’s content here, so they rock for that as well. It’s the coyest of all my subscriptions, with no nudity and only implied gay-themed content, which is frustrating. They do have some wrestlers that I enjoy that I just don’t see elsewhere (Big Sexy and Ace Hanson, I’ve got my eyes on you as I say that!). I’d miss the subscription from time to time, I’m sure. And this is the second time I’ve had a Thunder TV subscription, returning to the fold after a long hiatus. But it could be the low fruit ripe for picking in this bunch.

Finally, I’ve got a NakedKombat subscription for a whopping $34.95 per month, though if I was smart, I’d sign up for the 90 days recurring plan for $59.99. NK puts out exactly one new match every Wednesday that I can watch or download in its entirety, as I can any other NK match, at any time. I can also download photos of NK action from any match they’ve released, though the galleries sometimes aren’t as entertaining as in other subscriptions, nor do they have the bells and whistles and theme galleries that I enjoy elsewhere. NK doesn’t appear too worried about copyrighting their photos, so I don’t know how they feel about my reposts and reviews, but I suspect they don’t mind (wouldn’t be the first time I’m proven wrong, though). I’m into about every 2 out of 3 NK new releases, with my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys often showing up exclusively in this all-pornboy production (sweet Jesus I can’t get enough Trent Diesel!).  Round 4 and the victory sex interest me only rarely, frankly, since it’s the wrestling itself that really tweaks my kink the most. But rounds 1, 2 & 3 are highly entertaining and arousing for me for those matches that particularly speak to me. I’d miss it particularly for specific wrestlers that I go to for my hardcore pornboy wrestling moods.

So, surely someone out there is an CPA, MBA, financial advisor… someone with more money sense than I have. Crunch the numbers, wave a wrestling kink wand over top of them, and tell me what I should do to balance my checkbook and feel a bit better about my abundant outlay of cash in pursuit of wrestling kink.