It’s been a long time since I composed a post devoted solely to admiring a particular wrestling hold. I’ve been recently obsessing once again over my favorite wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker.
It’s such a massively dominating move. The pitcher often literally cradles the catcher like a child in his arms, clutching him across his chest, and then drops to one knee, pounding his opponent’s back across his thigh. I love the geography of this hold. The victim splayed out, his vulnerable core stretched wide, legs and upper body pressed backward such that he can’t assume the instinctive duck and cover defensive position to protect his internal organs.
I catch myself gasping in awe at high impact OTKs. There’s a raw, primal, intensely arousing aspect to watching a dominant hunk seriously pound his opponent down with authority, his knee driving viciously into the helpless stud’s spine. It’s magnificent drama when he scoops him directly back up across his chest, standing tall and hoisting the victim high to repeat the move again. And again. Total domination.
I also also love an OTK punisher with big, bulging pecs flexing powerfully, his face hovering so close to his opponent’s muscled torso and quivering crotch. Stretched out on his back, the victim of an OTK is flattened, the topography of his physique stretched out and impotent, in contrast to the flaring shoulders and pumped pecs of his tormentor.
Then there are the subtle variations and innovations that dial up the inherent eroticism of this hold in a homoerotic context. The stolen moments to take advantage of the victim’s helplessness, sadistically brutalizing muscled abs and pecs. Not content to just torture his spine, the man in charge pounds fists, drives in elbows, perhaps digs his finger tips into defenseless muscle and wear him out from every angle.
Ace Aarons handles Richie’s rocks
Richie’s balls demand Mason’s attention as well.
An OTK seems paradigmatically gay (or at least bicurious) when the dominant hunk pays serious attention to that tempting bulge at the apex of his opponent’s bridge. Frankly it doesn’t often go there even in homoerotic wrestling, but every OTK seems like a head nod to those sensational moments when a wrestler leans forward and sucks his opponent’s nipple, seductively slides the palm of his hand possessively across his lower abs, and appreciatively throttles and fondles his arching cock. That’s the heart of homoerotic wrestling for me, with the purpose of the battle to determine who gets to take possession of whose body.
Calvin’s muscle melt
Mitch stiff and in agony
I’m fascinated watching muscled hunks sell this hold. Clearly some wrestlers are built a lot more for strength than flexibility. A stiff, tabletop OTK actually works for me because it looks like it hurts just that much more. When a muscle laden stud doesn’t really have much of a lower back arch to bend across his opponent’s thigh, it also just seems that much more humiliating. But there’s nothing quite as arousing as watching a flexible hunk melt into the hold, bridging dramatically, as if his muscles are draped across a hanger. The submissiveness, the giving himself over blindly to man who’s claimed his body, is golden.
My gratitude to all of the homoerotic wrestlers who have recently fed my craving for OTK hotness. For those moments when you’ve reached through your opponents legs and cupped his beefy ass in the palm of your hand, I salute you. For your graceful bridge and packed, quivering bulge gasping in anticipation of whatever is to come at the mercy of your opponent, I applaud you. I realize this hold is not exactly intuitive to pull off, and for many of you it’s downright awkward as fuck to sell, so I appreciate the gorgeous erotic art of your human sculpture just that much more.
This summer I received the golden ticket I’ve been dreaming of for pretty much my entire adult life. BG East Boss Kid Leopard extended the invitation for me to be on site during a week of recording new matches. I was able to take a day for this latest pilgrimage to the BG East compound outside of Boston, and it was everything I’d hoped for and significantly more. Gorgeous, hot hunks were arriving throughout the day. The Boss was there (of course). Pretty much every formal member of Bard’s homoerotic wrestling boyband was on hand, as well as several honorary inductees. In other words, I was in heaven.
I have a lot of reflections I’ll share about my latest BG East pilgrimage in the coming weeks, about the business, about wrestlers, about fans, about me. But to kick off my debriefing of this epic experience, I want to jump right into the most enjoyable part of the visit: the interviews. I charmed several of these gorgeous men into agreeing to sit down with me at the lakeshore and answer some questions. They were generous, playful, flirtatious even. And several of them were open to letting me record our interviews and make the audio file available here on the blog.
The first interview I want to share was with stunningly sexy Kayden Keller. I tend to think of Kayden as relatively reticent in action, so it was a deeply pleasant surprise to discover that he is, in person, downright loquacious. Take a listen and learn a little bit about what pushes Kayden’s buttons, and how Kayden pushes mine. And just listen to his deep, sexy, ominous laughter throughout, as he muses about taking control, losing control, and his current record of how many men he’s had sex with at one time in the BG East ring. To start off, we talked about Kayden’s experience of these intense days of wrestling multiple matches on camera, his philosophy on the eroticism of being in control and, occasionally, being under the control of someone else, and how becoming a homoerotic wrestling heel has changed him.
Kayden Keller Interview – Part 1:
Next, we talked about what pushes Kayden’s buttons, the difference between a bully and a heel, and how completely distracted I was by Kayden’s gorgeous, long, muscled legs. What you can’t tell from the audio is that as soon as I disclosed to Kayden the effect his legs were having on me, he began flexing them and rubbing them, pulling up his shorts and quite intentionally pushing my buttons.
Kayden Keller Interview – Part 2:
As our interview came to its conclusion, we were briefly interrupted by Nino Leone looking for his lighter (and, I suspect, also drawn by the sight of Kayden showing off his flexed quads). We also hear about a particular unpublished opponent of Kayden’s who found exactly what buttons to push, and we learn the truth behind our fan fantasies about massive orgies breaking out with all of these gorgeous wrestlers being in the same place.
As I mentioned a while back, I had the biggest drop of BGE photo contraband left on my doorstep a couple of weeks ago. I’ve been strapped for time, so I’m just now sorting through these gems, doing a little latent class analysis to come up with implicit categories, and ready to share a few more. I identified today’s theme based on the 90 degree/90% humidity hell I’ve been surviving for the past couple of days. In other words, here are some OMI treasures that I file under both “hot” and “staying cool.”
The phrase “fun in the sun” doesn’t quite capture just how sexy and delightful these photos are of BGE boys at poolside in Florida. By the gear, these pics all appear to be shot around the time of the taping of Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament. If you haven’t seen that lovely competition, check it out for the hot bodies, the surprisingly intensely competitive round robin, and the post tourney groping and liplocks.
These post-taping pics of Jonny on clean up duty after the Pool Tournament raise a host of questions. 1) What put a headliner like Jonny in such a doghouse that he’s on janitorial duty? 2) Why the fuck didn’t we get to see the tournament competitors’ trunks come off, since clearly, they came off?! And, 3) what ever happened to those lime green briefs that Drake wore in the Pool Tournament, got fished out of the pool by Jonny, and then reappeared as the prize in the shockingly bitter Babyface Brawl X? After so much sweat and cum was spilled over that hot gear, one wonders just where that sexy swath of fabric ended up.
And finally, this latch batch of smoldering hotness I just file under “the future’s so bright, you gotta wear shades.” Baby Boy Leone is wearing me out with his shirtless, hairy hotness and retro, oversized lenses. And the posed, dockside hunkfest is now my desktop image, because it inspires about two dozen homoerotic wrestling fantasies on continuous loop in my imagination, about half of which feature Christian Taylor getting double-, triple-, or quadruple-teamed by this particular incarnation of the boyband.
As always, let’s all voice our gratitude and say a little prayer to the homoerotic wrestling gods for OMI’s safety, so that we may enjoy many, many more behind the scenes treasures like these in the future!
You only have until the end of the day Thursday to register your vote for the Best of BG East in 2016, so I’m going to power through the remaining categories for those waiting for the completion of this voter’s guide. As always, take it with a grain of salt. My opinions reflect nothing more than my opinions. Just vote. It’s supposed to be fun. All of these wrestlers are beautiful, and we’re lucky to get to enjoy their wrestling, so heap praises on all of them.
I’ve asked for clarification on this category before, but not really gotten any. The options are matches, but they aren’t all really submission matches, so the category isn’t best submission match so much. But we don’t get to vote on a particular submission within a match. I’m sure I’m over thinking it. In any case, I’ll keep my comments brief in the interest of getting through the remainder of the ballot before the polls close.
Two sensationally skilled indy pro wrestlers add up to incredible submissions. I was torn between including a photo of this Mexican Ceiling hold or Lucky’s gorgeous stretcher, hanging from the ropes and wrenching Dick every wrong way. Very top quality wrestling, with sensationally executed submissions.
The options for sensational submissions exponentiate when you throw three highly skilled indy pro veterans in the ring for a free for all. It’s hard to beat Guido’s simultaneous camel clutch on Brute and Boston Crab on Jonny for innovation and strength. This is my second favorite submission in the mix.
Submissions fly every which way between Drake and Ethan, so it’s hard to pick out just one to highlight. I’m partial to this gorgeous figure-4 face-smothering Ethan uses to put Drake out cold. Of course, two pony rides in this match sort of epitomize submission. Extremely hot back and forth in this battle.
Again, I’m not sure which one submission to highlight, but I’m pretty sure it’s one where Skip Vance is getting his skinny ass handed to him on a platter (because that’s pretty much every submission in this match). I do like everything about this particular submission hold featured here, with Paul applying scissors, a vicious hammerlock, and grinding Skip’s screaming face into the mat, all at the same time. Art, people. Art.
Again, so many options to choose from. I’ll call out Jonny’s leg choke, over the ropes, with a pec claw chaser, but I’m nearly as much a fan of the fish hook camel clutch. And the ball bashing. And the… wait. We’d better move on if I’m getting through this voter’s guide.
Now consider the submission possibilities with 4 wrestlers in the ring, often simultaneously. This is my vote for Best Submission mostly based on how blown out of the water I was by this out-of-nowhere gravity defying torture hold from debuting newbie Chase Addams. Chase calls this hold the Will Breaker, and you should hear 6’2″ Christian crumble like shattered glass when the devastating newbie trusses him up as if he’s been doing this for decades. My second favorite submission from this match is Christian and his tag team partner Charlie teaming up to squeeze a submission out of Ty Alexander with simultaneous face-to-crotch headscissors and a Boston Crab. Tag team wrestling done so, so right in this match.
Talk about open to interpretation. Actually, I suspect most of us gauge this category based on how successfully a match got us off. So that means the criteria is extremely subjective, and guessing who may win seems incredibly difficult.
Fuck, this match is sexy. Ty is nobody’s jobber in walking this pornboy through his pro wrestling paces. The match is explicitly and directly about sexual conquest from well before these two even make it to the ring. Surprisingly deep when it comes to the wrestling drama, this is an outstanding entry into the X-Fight lexicon.
Total newbie Calvin Haynes likes the look of Christian Taylor, so he initiates the hottest foreplay on the planet: wrestling. This is another erotic-forward match packed with the drama of two gorgeous, hot studs so obviously turned on by each other. The pool wrestling is brutal. The towel off is tender. And the bedroom wrestling finale is a magnificent combination of both.
At the beginning of the match, I thought this “loser gets shaved” things was a little gimmicky. About halfway through, in the middle of gallons of sweat, I was stunned by the intensity and balls out seriousness of the wrestling. By the end, this has always been about hot, steamy, lush passion, with a little side serving of tender loving to give it that sweet finish. I think this is my second place choice for Sexiest Match this year, but buckle up, because this is not the last you’ll see of Drake in this category.
That’s right, sabotaging his own success as only Drake can, he’s competing against himself for Sexiest Match in Ring Releases 4. Incredibly compelling match with equal parts scream queens, Hitchcock, and Bel Ami. My only complaint is Drake’s gear, which mercifully gets ripped off him soon enough in the match.
Hands down, the sexiest match of the year for me was Matmen 26, between Drake and Skrapper. The match is so aggressive. It’s so intense and brutal and it careens like a runaway train into sweat soaked erotic passion so authentically. I don’t think we see nearly enough full naked wrestling in this homoerotic industry, so the portion of the match that keeps charging ahead well after they both lose their gear is so satisfying. Even though I’m a big fan of both of these boys, this match took me by surprise by how totally compelling it was, and the erotic tension from start to finish is superb.
Best Ring Match
This match is what happens when you put a big, bulging pro wannabe in a ring with a bigger, more bulging, sensationally seasoned pro. The story practically tells itself, though you have to watch it to get the bait and switch that Kelly sells so remarkably successfully. Biff suffers so sensationally that it brings a tear to my eye. This is my second favorite ring match of the year.
Again, if you want an outstanding ring match, toss two extremely experienced indy pros into the BG East ring and insist they battle until one of them wins with a 10 count. Guido and Dolph classed up the place when it comes to quality ring wrestling and pro brutality. I love the grit and egos and battle of wills. Endurance sport with thoroughbreds like this is rare and gorgeous to watch.
And then there’s that magic again that you get when you toss a beefcake wrestling wannabe in the ring with a seasoned pro heel. I always, always have a bias toward homoerotic wresting that’s more homoerotic, so this is my second favorite ring match on the ballot. Bigger than life. Beautiful as hell.
Again, my vote goes to the opening match of Tag Team Torture 19. From the opening sequence in which Charlie Evans introduces himself to BG East by perfectly executing a Ginger Snap, to the corner to corner melodrama between the teams, to the magnificent intramural contest between Team Vanity to get their opponents to name which of them hurts them worse, to Chase’s Will Breaker, to this Beauty and Beast double team combo (by the good guys, no less), this match is packed with classic pro tag team wrestling with just the right amount of homoerotic flair to make me recognize it as our own.
And then there’s what comes from throwing two pretty boys who we’ve watched grow into this business tear into each other. I don’t think of either JJ or Chace as naturals in the ring, which makes the pace and power of this ring match such a pleasant surprise. Not nearly as homo or erotic as TTT19, still there’s a big BGE stamp on this match that comes from the way these two have developed under the guiding hand of the Boss.
And now, for your consideration, the combo of an experienced indy pro jobbing for yet another pretty boy who we’ve watched grow into a magnificent BG East-style pro. I’d almost considered voting for this on the off chance that giving more praises to matches in which Kirk gets clobbered would inspire more of the same in the future. But you don’t have to carry my grudge against Howdy Doody to see a lot to like in this match, not least of which is hot muscle domination, buckets of sweat, and big vs.little boy bashing.
My least favorite category, so I’ll say the least about it. I do love a good squash on rare occasions. Not nearly as often as a lot of you, clearly, because the industry pumps out so many more squashes than I can consume. But sure, on occasion, a one-sided total mauling of one hunk by another hits some sweet notes to savor.
Kip squashed like a bug. Gorgeous. I still say that Flash LaCash is far prettier than he seems to get credit for. But it’s hard to focus on the pretty when he’s such a devastatingly effective muscle heel.
You had me at “Kid Karisma.” If anyone can carry a squash narrative and keep me engaged, it’s Kid K. He is a fucking BEAST in this match. I’d say more, but it would mostly be about Kid K’s body. This would be my second choice for this category, if pressed to have one.
My vote goes to Trey and Thrash for a few reasons. First, Trey Dixon is a god. Doomed, but a god. Thrash is outstandingly compelling. He’s another incredible debut that could easily have deserved a spot on the ballot there as well. And finally, Thrash destroys Trey in order to own him. A lack of motivation sinks most squashes for me, so when Thrash starts signaling where all this beauty bashing is heading, I’m hooked. Fuck, more Thrash. More Trey Dixon. Please.
Maybe this is my second choice. I don’t know. I will say this match turned me into a big Kelly King fan. Huge push to Biff’s consideration for Top Jobber.
I have no idea what motivates Cybertron. He’s a magnificent specimen of a man, but honestly, he won this match against Mister E about 45 seconds in. But he doesn’t stop. Why is that? Why don’t I “get” squashes more than I do?
Okay, maybe this is my second place. Whatever. I will say that it’s a little shocking that these two sensational physiques got completely shut out of the body part categories. Though I did put Viggo up for my personal “Best Legs” contest. In any case, massive, mega squash, pretty on pretty.
I love how the energy picks up when the ballots are made available for BG East’s annual year-end “Best Of” awards. They dropped yesterday, and there’s already a flurry of activity, back room dealing, out and out lobbying, and possible bribery on the table. There’s something so quintessentially pro wrestling about the depths these awards drag us into. The link to the ballot is available in the banner of the BG East homepage, however, it looks like at least some mobile device browsers may not be able to view it, so you can go there directly from this link. You’ve got until midnight of next Thursday, January 12, to register your opinions.
It’s a very robust field of nominees this year. Six candidates for almost every category, and the field is packed with a nice range. Last year I ran out of time to handicap the entire ballot, so I’m going to try to move more quickly this time to take a look at the range of bests at BG East in the service of informing voters not so familiar with all of the candidates. Even at first glance, I’m seeing some major surprises in who is, and who is not, on the ballot, so fasten your seat belts and let’s start this voter’s guide to the BG East Besties. For today, let’s take a look the first two categories.
The first category you’ll find on the ballot this year is for babyface. Jake Jenkins has OWNED this category for the past 4 years running. I think Jake’s possession of this title may be the longest streak in the history of the Besties. But he’s up against stiff, stiff competition this year, and I’m not just talking about Christian Taylor’s lovely erection in Wet & Wild 8. Let’s take a look at the field.
Jake wrestled in 3 matches released by BG East in 2016: Undagear 25, Chace LaChance’s Wrestler Spotlight, and Catch-weight 7. I’ve been a huge JJ fan from the very beginning. He’s dominant on the mats, dangerous in the ring, and totally convinced (often rightfully so) that his strength, speed, and skill will be more than a match for any and every opponent. He’s got to be the odds on favorite to win again, and I’m teetering on spending my vote on either JJ or one other particular candidate vying to unseat him this year.
My hunch is that Jake’s biggest competition, both literally and figuratively, is likely big, bulging, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell. Biff starred in 3-Way Thrash 3, Babyface Brawl 4, Hunkbash 18, and his 3 Wrestler Spotlight matches. The most productive candidate, Biff also commands an army of nearly rabid fans who savor every bulge and bounce, every muscle and move that Biff possesses. So many wrestlers have worn the stars and stripes, but Biff has nearly made them his signature gear, which makes a strong case for his upstanding, patriotic, Protestant work ethic credentials as a babyface. While I’ve always bought stock in big Biff, this year he isn’t on my short list for this category, but I know for a fact he’s on a whole lot of fans’ lists.
Christian Taylor is the babyface beauty who is tempting me to abandon my loyalties to Jake this year. Christian wrestled in Mat Hunks 10, Tag Team Torture 19, Undagear 26, and Wet & Wild 8. I agree with a recent comment I noticed online that called Christian out for possibly being the prettiest penny in BG East’s pocket… ever. He’s earnest without being uptight. His coverboy good looks disguise his seriously dangerous potential in the ring, on the mats, and in the pool. And if there’s anything that just might tip my vote Christian’s way this year, it very well may be the good natured, entirely enthusiastic way he seals off 90% of his matches, win or lose, with a kiss.
Living anatomy chart Kip Sorell is always in the thick of things when it comes to fan favorite babyfaces. Kip got demolished in Demolition 20, Demolition 21, and Bearhug Beatings 2. I do think he may have the babiest of baby faces in contention this year. There’s something sort of intoxicating about possessing the face of an 18 year old (at most) and the body of a 25 year old go-go boy. He’s been cannon fodder pretty much from start to finish in his career, this year in particular. I think of him more as a practice dummy than an earnest young babyface hero, but I know full well that there’s plenty of support to push him into contention as top babyface in 2016.
Trey Dixon was one of my hottest stock picks of 2015. He was nearly MIA in 2016, however, wrestling only in Masked Destroyers 1. The living model of the Oscars statue is sex on two legs, as far as I’m concerned, and if the category was which wrestler I’d like to give an all over tongue bath to, Trey would most likely win walking away. But he was devastatingly thrashed in his one and only match of 2016, and it’s hard to see him pulling this one out against so many much more productive, hard working, nose to the grindstone babyfaces. I’m sending up a prayer to the homoerotic wrestling gods that we get to see much, much more of Trey in 2017.
Kirk Donahue is back, this time making a case for being Top Babyface in the company. Kirk wrestled in Babyface Brawl 4, Demolition 20, and Gazebo Grappler 18. I’ve made no bones about my antipathy toward Kirk. It was his shocking, nay, scandalous entry into these very Bestie nominations just two years ago that started me wanting to see this smirking Howdy Doody get his ass beat again and again. Truthfully, he probably does fall into the babyface category nicely, and he’s a phenomenal wrestler with an awesome capacity for soaking up punishment. I honestly don’t know the depth of his fan following, probably because I start bitching loudly about those shenanigans two years ago, shouting down any other opinions, anytime anyone brings him up in conversation. He’s hot shit, no doubt, but I think he’s a long shot for the title of Top Babyface, and that’s not just my longstanding grudge talking.
The Best Abs award has been changing hands in the last few years. Last year, it was Kip Sorell sending shock waves through the industry by ripping the title away from juggernaut and general of an army of fans, Z-Man. Well prepare for another shocker, because NO ONE who has every won this title in the past even broke into the top 6 contenders this year. Kip, Z-Man, Eli, sit the fuck down. There’s going to be a new sheriff in town before this is all over.
I am shocked shitless that newbie Beauxregard made it onto this extremely competitive ballot! Beauxregard debuted in X-Fight 40 and also appeared in Dark Knights 13. There was a collective gasp heard round the internet when this muscle freak started flexing his insanely built body in the BG East ring. Spines started tingling when that gravelly base voice started making opponents’ knees quiver. And I know I’m not the only one who got lightheaded at the first look of his monster cock. Based on past performance, my sense is that voters tend toward ripped and pretty when they vote for this category. Beaux’s abs are unquestionably granite hard, and he’s taken several dozen punches to the gut in just two matches, amounting to fuck all for his opponents, other than bruised knuckles. Still, I think the newbie is a long shot for this title, this year, based on a relative nascent fan base.
Regular readers know how I feel about Lon Dumont, namely, profoundly aroused and perpetually at the ready with a bottle of baby oil to worship him. Lon only wrestled in Demolition 19 in 2016, but his conditioning in that match was spectacular. Every year, I lobby hard for this pro wrestler turned competitive bodybuilder turned pro wrestler turned competitive bodybuilder to get the praise his magnificent physique and outstanding wrestling deserves. My vote is definitely leaning Lon’s way once again, and with past winners shut out of nominations, maybe this is Lon’s year to take the title.
If this is the year that pretty wins the day, then it very well could be Van Skyler dazzling his way into the title. Van’s one and only appearance in 2016 was in Undagear 26. I don’t think of Van’s abs when I think of which parts of his show-stopping physique I most desperately need to worship, but no one can argue that his incredibly lean, taut, tight abs are perfectly suited to his lean, taught, tight everything else. My sense is that Van is quickly growing a very strong fan caucus that would vote for him for absolutely anything, so he very well might pull out an upset aided by those lush, pouty lips and that jaw dropping ass. I named him first runner up for possessing the best back of 2016, but there’s no Bestie for that.
Kid Karisma’s abs, like the rest of his physique, are persistently and perpetually impeccable. Kid K wrestled in Demolition 21,The Great Outdoors 2, Fan Fantasy 4, and Gazebo Grapplers 18, and his level of fitness is both phenomenal and a constant. There’s a reason I’ve kept my title of favorite homoerotic wrestler dialed into Kid K for so long now. Well, there are several, but one of them is his spectacular body. I’m jumping the gun when I say that he continues to be my hands down, no other possible choice for Best Body, head to toe. He also may, possibly, sway my wavering hand to vote his way instead of Lon’s, but it’s incredibly close.
I’m guessing that the odds on favorite to take the title this year is likely last year’s Best Body winner, Chace LaChance. Chace wrestled in Gazebo Grapplers 18,Catch Weight 7, and in 3 matches for his Wrestler Spotlight feature. Chace has a ton of quickdraw fans who enjoy studying his incredibly sexy body probably even a tad more than they like watching his wrestling. My only ding against Chace is that there are 3 different versions of his abs that showed up in 2016 products. I’m certain that it’s more an artifact of the way that BG East releases matches out of chronological order, so I’m sure it’s entirely unfair of me to knock Chace for it, but unlike, for example, Kid K, Chace’s conditioning and the particular presentation of his abs vary from match to match (even within his Wrestler Spotlight matches). His abs are never unsexy. I’d like to saddle up to that torso and pound one out on his go-go boy body, his bruiserweight belly, and his fitness model six-pack. Maybe there’s something foreshadowing about the fact that he ended the year by beating the living fuck out of the inaugural title holder. I won’t be surprised at all if Chace wins, regardless of where my vote goes.
The last shocker in this category is my latest crush, newbie sex bomb Payton Meadows. Like Beauxregard, Payton debuted in 2016, wrestling first in Undagear 25 and then closing out the year with his highly combustible performance in Undagear 26, for which I just yesterday awarded him myHomoerotic Wrestler of the Month title. I say Payton’s appearance on the ballot is a shocker not because his abs aren’t out of this world, but because my sense has been his debut didn’t put him on a lot of radars, and the buzz about his late year match has only just really started. All of that said, going back to my earlier supposition that this title is typically based on equal parts ripped and pretty, Payton could very well be a strong contender. I still say the timing is off for him to take the title this year, but if his performance in Undagear 26 moves you even 1/10 as much as it moved me, I could easily understand how this French Canadian exhibitionist could talk you into voting “oui!” for his abs.
Like I said, I’m wavering here and there about where my votes will go, so comment below to let me know who you think deserves to win.
We’re at an even 150 votes cast after 5 days of open polls, so I’m calling it. The reader’s choice for BG East’s best legs in 2016 is none other than Logan Vaughn.
To be fair, this was incredibly close. Logan pumped out a victory of only 3 votes over big, beautiful, buff, bulging, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell. Further fine print has to acknowledge that this is neverland readers’ choice, and there’s no telling who might have reigned victorious if BG East included a Best Legs category in their end-of-year Bestie Awards. It’s also true that the slate of candidates was entirely based on my own tastes and preferences, and in actual Bestie polling, there could have been someone entirely unrepresented in my poll who could have clamped their massive quads around the category and crushed out a victory. Even with all of those qualifications noted, however, I have to say I heartily approve. Logan Vaughn’s massive legs have been featured in my fondest wrestling fantasies before I ever actually saw him wrestle.
When I first learned that Logan was going to wrestle for BG East, I screamed like a girl. He was grossly underused in JetSet Men’s Ultimate Top. His appearance in Naked Kombat was disappointing for me, because we never real saw those legs dominate the way they should. I have enjoyed seeing a couple of his Thunder’s Arena appearances, as they play more to the fantasyman that Logan so clearly is. But this beast and his monster quads were built for exactly one thing, as far as I’m concerned: fantasy pro.
I have Logan’s most recent new release, Catch Weight 7, in my cue, but what I always, always long to see is Logan in the pro wrestling ring crushing an opponent every which way with those tree trunks before bending and breaking his foe into an openly awed, slack jawed, zealous convert to the absolutely devoted worship of Logan’s quads. In other words, I cue up Florida Fights 5.
In addition to Biff Farrell having an insanely passionate fan base, I also know for a fact that Kid Karisma is particularly proud of his legs and more than willing to put them up against anyone in the ring. And, of course, Chace LaChance was the Best Body winner last year, so it’s got to smart getting slapped down to third place for legs. And fuck, have you SEEN newbie Ramy Khoury’s huge, hairy thighs? That magnificent specimen deserves a much more competitive sophomore match up at BG East than his debut, and I would pay good money to see what he could do in this tournament of champions.
But even still, as much as I am passionately devoted in my following of Kid Karisma, as much as I adore Chace and swoon for big Biff, line them up side by side and give me just one pair of legs to get on my knees and worship, just one set of monster quads to oil down and frot fuck, one muscle god with twin towers to bury my face in and beg to get scissored, and I have to confess, I’m with the plurality on this one.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Taking a brief break from the heavy diet of reviews I’ve been dishing out, today I’m lingering a bit on that supremely homoerotic wrestling hold, face-to-crotch headscissors.
I’m sure I’ve mused about this hold before, but I’m too lazy to look it up. So I’ll probably repeat myself when I say that my heart pumps harder in my chest when a straight forward pro wrestling story suddenly introduces face-to-crotch scissors. If you buy that all of pro wrestling can easily be read as an extended homoerotic innuendo, face-to-crotch sort of slaps down the implied erotic subtext and steps at least one toe over the line into straight up homoerotic text.
How wrestlers carry it off, of course, can significantly add to eroticism. I suppose it’s possible to snap your thighs around another man’s head with that up close look at your balls in his face and it be solely about punishment and wrestling victory. But I love watching a wrestler snap shut that bear trap and then enjoy it, openly, luxuriantly, expansively. When someone on the delivery side of this hold pumps his glutes and shoves his hips forward with a little enthusiasm, when he milks the moment with pulsing flexed muscles beating out a morse code of agony from the gasping grunts of his opponent, when he stares down his own hot body and smiles at the sight of his opponent owned and getting primed for sucking cock, when he closes his eyes and leans his head way, way back and that look of an impending orgasm washes across his face, there’s nothing coded about this. This is hot, homoerotic wrestling gold.
The catcher can certainly connect the dots as well. Regardless of who ends up on top after all is said and done, I love it when a captured hunk’s eyes roam hungrily up and down his captors body above him. He doesn’t need to, but if he stretches his hands up and strokes those crushing thighs, the rippling abs, stretching so far as to palm the bulging pecs of his tormentor, it conveys what I’m silently thinking deep inside at that moment. A smothered grappler doesn’t have to, but if he’s man enough to nuzzle the balls bearing down on his face, fuck, maybe even open wide and give the trickster’s treats a hearty lick, it just puts the exclamation point on what this hold conveys from the start: wrestling persistently implies homoerotic intimacy.
When the camera angles and storytelling are just right, face-to-crotch headscissors shine a spotlight on one man’s bulging package, bringing his entire, tasty physique into the mix, making even that swelling muscle of passion a part of the corporal domination of another man. For me, it isn’t even so much about the oral sexual implications, as much as it signals that every magnificent inch of a wrestler’s hot body is engaged in dominating his opponent. Hell, when wrestling companies choose to transition from explicit wrestling to explicit sex, I typically push rewind. Because what’s getting me off is the homoeroticism of the wrestling, not the wrestling as foreplay for sex.
I suppose it isn’t such a far distance between why I’m such a fan of face-to-crotch headscissors as I am a fanatic for my favorite pro wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker. Both draw my eye to one wrestler’s bulging package. Both center the frame on the outline of a bulging cock and the ballast of balls. Both seem ripe with the erotic potential marrying gay sensibilities and a pro wrestling kink. Both make my pulse pound in anticipation of what happens next to, or with, or on behalf of one wrestler’s swollen pipe.
I sometimes find it ironic that this blog attracts so many visitors thanks to the still frames I include, because it’s the story in and around any one captured slice of time in a wrestling match that tantalizes and titillates me. It’s not any one frozen image that becomes the perfect muse to my erotic imagination, but the drama played out in motion, the slow contraction of muscles, the arching agony in a lower back, the quivering pouch, the writhing feet futilely kicking the mat. I’ve lately talked in terms of “the moneyshot,” meaning that moment in a match at which point I’m likely to climax, but that moment is about the 1,600 seconds before that led up to that moment, the deepening jeopardy of one man, the swelling confidence of another, the bodies growing wet with sweat over time, the veins swelling and pumping harder with blood from the effort and the adrenaline of competition. I get off plenty to face-to-crotch headscissors, but I’m never just getting off to face-to-crotch headscissors.
If there is one valuable analog of face-to-crotch headscissors, I think its the comfort a wrestling company has with the homoerotic eye of their gay audience. In scanning for face-to-crotch headscissors images across several platforms for this post, I found them concentrated in just a couple producers’ catalogs. And I think they play a part in direct proportion to how explicitly companies market to those of us in the audience tuning in and ponying up because we are sexually turned on by wrestling. Of course, face-to-crotch headscissors aren’t the only way of crossing the line from homoerotic subtext to homoerotic text. Hell, they probably aren’t even the best way. But from a strictly correlational perspective, I think they show up in proportion to how much I (at least) perceive of a producer as appreciative of and comfortable with me, as a gay man, watching their wrestling products as a means of sexual gratification.
So probably a close second as my favorite wrestling hold is face-to-crotch headscissors, because when they’re done wrong, they can reveal a whole host of troubled self-hatred bubbling beneath a veneer of nohomo bravado, but when they’re done right, I feel respected as a gay wrestling fan, drawn into the intimacy of homoerotic combat, and turned on hard.
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.
It’s atypical for Drake to be prompt in his writing, so I take it as a good sign that he’s already sent me part 2 of his sequel to my New Year’s fiction. It’s oddly provocative to read the same narrative I wrote just a couple of months ago told through the perspective of a different character in the scene. The Cheshire Cat sure seems to me to be building up a sweaty head of steam in his writing thus far, which, again, makes me suspect yours truly is going to take quite a pounding before this saga is over. Nevertheless, I’m thrilled to read Drake’s eloquent prose and committed to posting the product of his vengeful homoerotic wrestling imagination to the bitter end.
They say that the more time you spend with a person, the more you begin to understand them. It’s also believed that the more time you spend with a person, the more you begin to take on similar character traits.
That is not the case with Kid Leopard. Well, for me anyways…
I’ve known the man for years and even after spending this long working for the man I still haven’t been able to glimpse a chink in the armor. He’s completely inscrutable. I haven’t been granted a peek inside the cogs of the machinery of the massive intellect of the Big Man Upstairs of homoerotic wrestling. So when he told me about this private custom bout, part of me wanted to believe this was a test from him. A shot at redemption.
He told me that the person had commissioned a no-holds-barred match between me and Trey…what I heard was “take on Trey and wear the wiry, muscled hunk out and your prize is a nice piece of med rare blogger-jobber steak.”
I salivated at the thought.
I threw myself into the gym with everything I had in the weeks leading up to the bout guaranteeing that I would not be caught with my pants down this time. I would be ready for the fellow BG alum as well as the fawning fanboy of Yawn Dumont and the High Priestess of the Church of Kid Karisma.
The day came, I was hyped at the chance to be back in the ring and in front of the cameras for a private fan. I was boned at the thought of showing the Boss just how much I had learned from him and the other deities of BG in my downtime. I was also boned at the thought of having so much luscious muscle to sink my teeth (and hands) into.
I was ready for a rebirth. A rebranding. A Drake 2.0 (Drake Machina, if you will).
I stood in the lobby of the facility, my mind swimming with thoughts of what I would do to Trey (and then Bard…mostly Bard), stoking the fire of my hard-on. It was throbbing uncomfortably hard in my jock. I had to stop myself from nursing and teasing it too much. As much as I yearned for release, I also knew this was not the time. Nor the place (like all over Bard’s face.)
A knock dragged me rudely from my reverie as I jogged across the lobby to open the door. Who is that rapping at my chamber door?
I stopped cold… my throat went dry as I eyed the blogger that had sunk my net worth in the eyes of homoerotic fans. And then the thoughts of me doing the same thing to his stock pushed their way to the forefront. My cock throbbed as I looked him over. After a moment, I lifted my chin, rolled my eyes, and then waved him in dismissively and headed to the ring, leaving him to follow in my wake…as he should.
Not now, Drake…not yet… I cautioned myself as my nails bit into my palms from the white-knuckled clenching of my fists as I heard him chuckling behind me.
I entered the ring room and forced a smile at the Boss who greeted me with an order. My pride took a direct hit. C4 aka Clean the ring. You sunk my battleship, I thought, my shoulders slumping a bit as I filled the ring bucket with the pungent green disinfectant and climbed into the ring, scrubbing the mats to pristine, camera-ready perfection. Like I’ve done oh-so-many times before. Relax, Cinderella, I chided myself as the two jabbered like old biddies outside the ring, it’s almost time for the ball.
I finished the mats, swearing to myself that this would be someone else’s bitch job after today, and spent a while fiddling with my iPhone as we awaited the arrival of my very overrated co-star Trey Dixon. We waited.
The mats were long dry when he finally showed up. And if I know the Boss as much as I like to think that I do, I was grinning ear-to-ear, anticipating a classic Kid Leopard tongue-lashing about professionalism and wasting people’s time.
That’s it?! I thought five-seconds later when a smiling Trey escaped unscathed and entirely unbothered by the Boss’ quick scold. I seethed as I stared at Trey’s tight muscular ass and followed him to the locker room.
I stripped down and pulled my gear selection from the locker, the singlet I wore against Ray Naylor. Despite the damage that this little number took from being used as a weapon against me in my match with him, the fabric was resilient and held up quite well. I remember all too well just what transpired in that match, but I looked fucking fantastic in it.
I pulled the straps up over my shoulders and stared at the little mirror on the inside of the locker and flashed my signature smile as I fluffed my chest hair before closing the door and turning to face my opponent du juor.
Trey isn’t known for being very talkative. He is however, known for being just a little too infatuated with himself. And when I say that, I mean this is Narcissus level infatuation. (Or if mythology isn’t your thing, think Ty Alexander’s facebook wall). I found him gazing at himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, flashing his pearly whites and pursing his lips duck-style, the singlet straps dangling as he flexed his cut pecs and shredded abs and snapped selfies of himself that would no doubt end up on Instatwitter or some shit for his mentally unstable fans’ consumption.
I couldn’t help but admit to myself that he looked pretty damn good. The bright yellow of his selected singlet complemented his Socal goldenboy tan quite well. But still…I don’t see what they see in him. I patted my throbbing cock as Trey pulled his singlet straps up and threw me a wink as he bounded out the door as we heard the Boss emceeing our announcements despite not knowing (or more likely, caring) if we were even close to being ready.
I think Rachel Maddow was on that night…
I stood in the silent locker room for a moment, steeling myself for what I knew was going to be a battle for something more than just this private collector’s enjoyment.
This was a battle for the name, and dignity, of Drake fucking Marcos.