Tag: Troy Baker

Bard’s Pilgrim Way – Journey’s End (Part 1)

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As many of you anticipated, my pilgrimage to all things BG East in Boston would not have been complete without a visit to the temple mount itself, the center of my homoerotic wrestling universe, the BG East compound outside of Boston. When I made inquiries about the possibility of paying a visit to BG East, the response was generous and welcoming. I was invited to come by and meet “the boys” and see where the genius of BG East is conjured.


Stained glass homage to wrestling over the desk of BG East Boss, Kid Leopard

Pulling into the driveway of BG East central, I was bewildered a bit by the sense that I was seeing it, simultaneously, through two different lenses. I’d never been there before. If I hadn’t known better, I’d never have picked the compound out as anything unusual in the tidy lakeside neighborhood. But at the same time, it was as if I’d been here a thousand times before. Hell, just a couple months ago I was watching muscle punk Kieran Dunne drive up this very same driveway, park his car not 10 feet from where I parked mine, and strut with his characteristic overconfidence inside to face devastatingly pretty Chace LaChance in Jobberpalooza 11. It felt a little like a homecoming to a place I’d never been before.


Keiran Dunne flexes while Chace LaChance is all business in
BG East’s Jobberpalooza 11
Greeting me at the door was the Boss himself, extending a hearty handshake and a welcoming smile as he invited me inside. Again, the experience of double-vision was disorienting. Although I’ve exchanged emails with Kid Leopard, we’d never met in person. But he was so familiar! I knew his tone of voice, his wry sense of humor, and his commanding presence. Just a couple of days earlier, I was enjoying myself watching this man shock hunky Wade Cutler, beating the living shit out of muscle jobber Wade and leaving him soaked in cum in the middle of the ring in Hunkbash 2. And then there he stood, shaking my hand and welcoming me to BG East.

Kid Leopard before his Hunkbash 2 match against Wade Cutler
“So do you want to see the place?” he asked, as if reading my mind. Having come so far, I was desperate to soak in the site of so much homoerotic wrestling inspiration. He took me through to the back of the compound, overlooking the lake… you know, that lake. The lake that Brad Rochelle sunbathed next to after his epic heel turn in Contract 6. That lake in which Troy Baker viciously attacked his big brother, Brian, in search of vengeance for Brian’s betrayal at the end of their humiliating defeat in Tag Team Torture 3.

Troy Baker gets worked over by big brother Brian in BG East Grudge Match 2.
“Over here is the gazebo,” the Boss directed my attention to a shady spot in the woods. It was empty, seeming like a random, anonymous bit of architecture set beneath the towering trees surrounding it. But I couldn’t help but picture the sweat-soaked bodies of so many Gazebo Grapplers struggling underneath that roof: perennial favorite Mitch crushing babyface beauty Alexi, relentless Jonny wringing handsome Sandro’s sweetly suffering body between the railings, the whole bevy of testosterone-fueled hunks wrestling in a ferocious round-robin in Gazebo Grapplers 4.

Kid Leopard showing me the site of Gazebo Grappling fame
And then there was the backyard, lush and green beneath the trees. Yep, that backyard. There were no wrestling mats on the lawn that day, but I swear I could see wrestle stud Denny Cartier locked across ripped rookie Attila Dynasty’s back, applying that nasty abdominal stretch and pounding the ripped muscle stud’s vulnerable core in Backyard Brawls 7. The same backyard where fearless Alexi took on lottery winners TJ Tanner, Christian Taylor, and bubble-butted Sandro back-to-back in Who’s Next?!

Sweat-soaked Alexi in complete control of the backyard in
BG East’s Who’s Next!?
And down a path through the woods, the Boss pointed out the Wrestle Shack. “It’s full of yard equipment at the moment,” he explained, but he’s planning on having the boys clean it out to tape some new matches soon. Images flashed across my vision, of Gil Barrios dragging outmuscled Jerry Connors into the Wrestle Shack to strip naked and finish off the rookie humiliation, and of Lance Jeffers’ mammoth cock bludgeoning Shon Tracey’s awestruck face.

Gil Barrios uses the Wrestle Shack rafters for leverage in punishing rookie
Jerry Connors in Backyard Brawls 7
I’m sure I said it about 3 dozen times that day, but I stumbled over my own words, thanking the Boss profusely for his hospitality. I’d thought about this pilgrimage for weeks, what I’d say, what I’d ask. I’d spent a lot of time preparing. I’d hoped to present myself as cool and savvy, worthy of initiation into the behind the scenes mysteries of an average day at BG East. But my mind was blank except for my lame, awestruck words of gratitude. The Boss briefly indulged my babbling good-naturedly, but when he suggested we continue the tour, I fell silent, and followed him back inside….

Gear Named

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It took Stay Puft mere minutes to correctly answer all 5 questions in yesterday’s Name That Gear quiz! Now that’s a good eye for homoerotic wrestling gear! There were other players who also correctly identified all 5 homoerotic wrestlers from their gear, but it was definitely Stay Puft doing it first. With Topher running the board last week, and SP sticking a fork in this one in record time, I may have to start making these quizzes a little harder again. That’s not to say that SP doesn’t deserve the laurel leaves for the week, so let’s take another look at what he saw so quickly.
Gear #1 belongs to…
Thunder’s Arena’s Big Sexy, of course!
 
Specifically, Big Sexy has his hands very, very full with the muscle stud juggernaut, Ace Hanson, in No Holds Barred 3. In his recent interview with Joe at Ringside at Skull Island, Big Sexy seems to indicate that he may have his own little fetish going on with those pink and lime green trunks of his. At least he seems infatuated with that particularly attractive gear. I think we all need to pitch in and buy Joe a plane ticket to south Florida to take Big Sexy up on the offer to wrestle him, with Joe getting dibs on wearing the pink-n-lime trunks!
Stay Puft correctly nailed gear #2 as belonging to…
…muscle jobber boy extraordinaire, BG East’s Troy Baker.
This is another example of an iconic homoerotic wrestler who, if you don’t know, you must instantly stop reading this blog, click over to BG East, and order a Troy Baker DVD – nay, a couple of them, with at least one of them being Troy’s Wrestler Spotlight. This mouthwatering shot of Troy’s golden trunks wedgied high between those unbelievably aesthetic mounds of muscle that are his ass cheeks comes from his Wrestler Spotlight DVD, where he faced off out of doors with Jarret Cole. The term “golden boy” seems somehow completely misplaced on anyone else, so those metallic gold posing trunks epitomize Troy in homoerotic wrestling.
Gear #3 belongs to…
…BG East’s Josh Avery.
There’s just something about homoerotic wrestler’s named Josh sporting egos the size of watermelons over at BG East. Josh pulling out the headgear and gloves (take note, Ace, it has been done… just sayin’…) was always nice storytelling. Meeting up with muscle jock Adam Killion for Mat Hunks 3 may have been more than Josh bargained for, but nothing keeps the babyface badboy from pulling out the gear and raising his game another notch.
Stay Puft instantly named gear #4 as belonging to…
BG East’s Muscle Mask.
I still find it astonishing that this masked musclehunk jobs. All that muscle looks like it’s hard earned and built out of something other than just hours at Gold’s Gym. That, and that big granite chin of his always make me intuitively expect him to open up a can of heel whoop-ass. So watching him felled by one opponent after another is fantastic storytelling, as I watch in wonder at the big, intimidating muscle hunk brought screaming to his knees.
Finally, gear #5, indeed, belongs to…
BG East’s “Tarzan” Tyler Reese.
I own this match in which Tyler faces Ricky Martinez in Ringwars 10. First, Ricky dominates the wild one commandingly, which, let’s face it, must have even surprised Ricky. All is said and done, really, until Ricky goes a little too far, humiliates a little too much, takes below-the-loin-cloth liberties in dishing out humiliating punishment over Tyler. As a result, Tarzan Tyler taps into his inner beast, making Ricky sorry he ever stepped foot in the ring. The priceless moment comes early on, though, when the boys are giving their all, and suddenly, Tyler’s eyes go wide as he looks up toward the camera in panic. The leather tie at the side of his loin cloth has come undone, and he’s holding it up, quite literally, by a string. The scene cuts awkwardly, panning back to Tyler suddenly geared up securely once again. When Tyler abandoned the loin cloth and cut his hair short, I lost my infatuation with glimpsing his bare ass cheeks. There just wasn’t the fun of watching in anticipation of another delightful wardrobe malfunction.

So thanks again to Topher for the most excellent suggestion of a new Name That genre. I expect we’ll see future editions of Name That Gear, but regardless what the future holds, this moment, this week, it’s Stay Puft who’s on top of the Name That heap. Nice work!

Deserving It

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There’s a fascinating aspect to pro wrestling and, of more interest to me, the homoerotic wrestling genre, that focuses on the rules of engagement. Behavior that would be condemned outside the ring as anti-social, underhanded, or despicable can be transformed in a wrestling fantasy into it’s own brand of moral rightness. New rules apply inside the wrestling ring. As a result, we may (often) find ourselves rooting for the heel, cheering for the low blow, delighting in a battler taking sadistic advantage of a vulnerable and defeated opponent.
When Jeff Phoenix gets stood up by his tag partner, the golden boy with a crazy hot body cockily predicts that he can defeat both Jose and Cruze singlehandedly. Of course, Jose and Cruze are notorious cheaters. They’re bullies, sadists with credentials as long as their fight records, invariably happy to cut corners, pull trunks, torture opponents in the ropes, and revel in a completely unfair 2-on-1 mugging. And, frankly, from the moment handsome hardbody Jeff steps into the ring, I can’t wait to see him suffer.  He “deserves it” inside the ring in a way that doesn’t necessarily translate outside the ring. He’s too hot, too handsome, way too confident, and the only right thing to be done is for him to get beaten to a pulp, humiliated repeatedly, broken into a quivering mess in the middle of the ring, and left to pick up the pieces of his dignity. Outside the ring, a 2-on-1 cheating, humiliating beating of a hard working muscle man might seem “wrong,” but inside the ring, it’s ooooh-so-right.

If ever someone deserved it, Troy Baker did. I happily own his debut match for BG East, in which he teamed up with his brother. Troy’s character took a little while to develop, but even in that first match, we can see the seeds of his destruction. He’s beautiful. He’s stunningly built. He’s a little slow in piecing together some wrestling moves, but he’s supremely confident that his sheer strength and bright, white smile will earn him victory. In match after match, his self-love of his own beautiful body becomes his undoing, and there’s just nothing “righter” than watching him think that he’s got it in the bag, only to find himself suffering and destroyed at the hands of an “inferior” opponent.

Inside the ring, that’s the formula that demands brutal, humiliating destruction of the classic golden boy. Inside the ring, justice simply requires that a less stunningly developed, less beautiful, perhaps less “deserving” of victory heel beat the living shit out of Troy again, and again, and again. Outside the ring, good looks, blond hair, a hard, tight body, and a healthy dose of entitlement and confidence will generally be very well rewarded. Inside the ring, they require crushing defeat and prolonged humiliation.

I think the morality tales of straight-up pro probably work the same way, but I think homoerotically directed wrestling has an even more salient subtext. Someone like muscle-beautiful Zack Johnathan/Vazquez getting completely taken to school by “skinny” kid Brody Hancock, for example, lets me work out all sorts of long standing “issues” I have as a gay man. Outside the ring, the most beautiful, straight-laced, used-to-getting-their-way straight boys tend to prosper and receive more than a heaping helping of social approval. But inside the ring, at least for this gayboy, there’s something deeply satisfying about seeing the classic jock pummeled. It speaks to me powerfully to see the classic cards of strength, youth, and power stacked against an overmatched opponent, who with sheer audacity and ferocity, does whatever it takes to pull the rug out from under the muscled juggernaut. The morality tale, for me at least, has more than a hint of the skinny (or fat), disregarded and underestimated sissy who spits in the face of the bullying jock and exacts humiliating revenge for getting thrown into the lockers.

I think what’s so engaging for me about homoerotic wrestling is this notion of new rules that overturn the standard morality of polite society. Well, okay, there’s that, plus the gorgeous, hot hunks squeezing and dominating each other in (or out) of completely revealing gear that leads to or at least inspires me to imagine them fucking for days. But no, really, the chance to rewrite the rules, to turn conventional morality and wisdom on its head, makes so much of wrestling homo to me, even when no one literally gets fucked, just fucked up.

More Leg Lust

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It’s still August, but where I am, summer is starting to sputter. One of the finest side-effects of hot summer weather is the excuse it offers hunks who’ve been working on their hard bodies all year to show some skin. In particular, I’m already feeling some anticipatory grief about losing sight of sweetly muscled legs once cooler weather lures those gorgeous thighs under wraps. There’s nothing about well-worked legs I don’t like. From the front, the back, the lead-in to hard, muscled asses… At this very moment, though, I’m feeling particularly randy for some low-slung, mounded, muscle thighs.
It’s been way, way too long since I took anatomy and physiology to really appreciate the technicalities of how muscles are attached so beautifully to joints. What I do recognize is that our bodies are wonderfully diverse, and even men who share precisely the same diet and workout routine develop muscle shape and size differently. When quads are huge, separated, and encasing the knee like plate armor (like classic muscle jobber Ed Harte) I’m breathless.
And speaking of fine muscle jobbers, huge legs, and me being breathless… Troy Baker was a work of art who absolutely adored his own massive, powerful thighs. It’s not like there was any inch to that blond bombshell that didn’t deserve complete worship, but he seriously got off on scissoring his opponent until they were gasping. His mat battle with Nick Archer in Undergear 9 remains a favorite go-to for me when I’m desperate for some freakish thighs put to good use in a match (and some blond muscleboy humiliation thrown in at the end).


With a catalog a mile deep, Mike Columbo at BG East is also exactly what the doctor ordered for a bad case of leg lust. Honestly, it’s hard for me to take my eyes away from his ass, even when I try…
But when I can manage it, I’m awed by his astonishingly massive thighs (not to mention his gorgeous upper body and sweet, sweet babyface). Derek D’Amore (no slouch himself) thinking he could stand side-by-side with Mike in a pre-match posedown for Fantasymen 21 is just a little sad. Mike is in a league of his own, and it isn’t the last time he humiliated Derek that day.
Aesthetics are as important as size for me. In fact, some beautiful muscle trumps a side of beef in my book. Fortunately, there are plenty of gorgeous wrestlers like Can-Am’s classic battler, Troy Lucas, who had both. As I’ve mentioned before, I think that Troy was one of the most handsome musclemen to dip his toe in the homoerotic wrestling pool, and I’d have paid money to feel those legs squeezing the breath of out me. Just watching him do it to someone else still makes me gasp.
When Tyrell Tomsen is in his competition-ready shape, he can give Troy Baker a run for his money when it comes to worship-ready muscle, inch for inch. Tyrell simply needs to put someone on their knees and mesmerize them with his sculpted physique. Then he needs to shove an awestruck face between those tree trunks and squeeze until the lucky bastard cries.
The hot hunks at the park will be putting their long pants back on soon enough, damn them. Fortunately, the finely crafted physiques of homoerotic wrestling are ever at the read to display the goods and put huge thighs to the very best possible use they could be: making one another suffer in a hot, hard fought, power vs. power wrestling match.

Masculine Behaviors

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

Message Received

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I got the message. I’ve been told in no uncertain terms lately that I should buckle down, get my work done, and finally finish the next match for the Secretarial Pool auditions.

Everyone has been genuinely respectful, not to mention patient, but there’s a little bit of a “tone” in the messages I’m getting lately.
A little less time on the blog, someone has suggested, in order to make time to finish my work and get back to the fiction. Time management… buckle down… nose to the grindstone, Bard.
My take away is that it’s great that people are anxious to see the next chapter in the auditions. When I started sharing my fiction about a year ago, I wasn’t sure anyone would be all that interested. So having people smack me around a little and remind me that they’ve been patiently waiting for the next match is a good news/bad news sort of scenario.

The good news is that you’re getting a kick out of my writing. The bad news is that when I’m swamped at work, you’re left waiting. But do understand: I get the message. I’m working my ass off, and looking forward to the much more enjoyable work of exercising my homoerotic wrestling kink imagination (and looking forward to more of your contributions to Sidelineland!).

Breaking Down the Unbreakable

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When I was about 7 years old, my older brother offered to let me punch him in the stomach. “Sure!” I said, since he was always bullying me. I swung for the rafters, not really knowing how to put much behind a punch, but fueled with a desire to make him hurt. He winced, but his flexed abdomen was none the worse for wear. “Now it’s my turn,” he said ominously, beginning a gut punching session that I had never agreed to. He was often a dick that way.
So gut punching tends to take me back. These days, I more often identify with the puncher. Perhaps I’m living out my fantasy of what I should have done to my brother when given the free shot. Frankly, though, I don’t really have my brother in mind when I see Ricky Martinez’s tasty ass planted on Troy Baker’s babyface as he humiliates the goldenboy while rapidly pounding Troy’s stunning abs.
Vinny Trevino’s double fisted pounding on Patrick Donovan is an awesome example of the erotic testing of a muscle stud’s core. Patrick was destined for this moment of agony painted across his face from the moment he stepped into the ring with this badass bodybuilder. He should have known that outweighed and outmuscled, there was nothing but humiliating pain in his immediate future. But cocky overconfidence is a jobber’s bread and butter, and so Patrick squeezed into his pink and white trunks banking on his ring-veteran savvy to overcome Vinnie’s power and youthful invincibility. Fifteen minutes later, Patrick is on his back, clutching desperately at Vinnie’s wrist, screaming in pain with his ankles in the air. Very nice story.
In babyblue and white trunks, Justin Pierce was similarly suited up for a devastating pounding from the fists of sadist musclepunk, Joe Mazetti. The systematic picking apart of the muscle stud who has complete faith in his own invincibly shredded abs is absolutely awesome. I want to see the muscled babyface on his back, writhing in pain, with his pride-and-joy six pack quivering and defenseless. I want to see Justin owned. Joe does not disappoint.
Sadist extraordinaire and aptly named, Kid Vicious never fails to deliver. His relentless attention to Steven Thomas’ wall of muscle is a work of art. With Steven’s wrists bound overhead and his lower abs bright, bright red from being used as a punching bag, Kid drives home the point that some beautiful bodies are simply made for suffering, and when it’s done right (KV always does it right), it’s a win-win-win situation.

Not that KV needed it, but he does take advantage of a 2-on-1 scenario at times to break down Steven. The 2-on-1 gut pounding is a particular delight for me. I know, I know. Not everyone is into a double-team beatdown. I’m a big booster of the 2-on-1 most of the time. When two gorgeous muscle sadists, Daz and Big John (where the hell did those two priceless gems disappear to!?) capture and immobilize infinitely arrogant Mr. Joshua Goodman, Joshua’s truly marvelous, ripped abs are primed for punishment. It’s not like Daz or Big John needed to double team Mr. Joshua. They’re both powerful and nasty enough to have broken him and his lamb-to-the-slaughter partner, Kieran Dunne, singlehandedly. But the double-team, like the gut punching session itself, is about the story of breaking down the hunk who believes he’s unbreakable. Much more than just about a decisive victory, it’s about proving the arrogant face wrong, destroying his ego, transforming him into a humiliated piece of property who will never again be able to strut and preen without one eye looking over his shoulder.

So when SteelMuscleGod offers to let his sidekick use his abs for a punching bag on YouTube, I’m seeing so much potential opening up for SMG. I’ve suggested that Lon Dumont do the honors of welcoming SMG to America (admittedly, in order to see more of Lon as much as to see SMG in the ring). BGE has a whole stable of hungry studs who could do the honors nicely, though. Who would you suggest to roll out the red carpet for SMG’s debut in the arena in which his godlike status was clearly born to be tested?

If You Just Smile

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I’m in a mood. There’s too much bad news and too many scowling faces right now. I’m feeling sour and cynical and ready to snap at someone who probably doesn’t deserve it. I need a mood-lightener.
Gorgeous hunks who snarl and scowl while pounding on other gorgeous hunks invariably make me hard. When those same hunks, like beautifully beasty Mikey Vee, are captured in a moment of spontaneous happiness, it gives me a special kind of joy. Mikey is much more typically on camera in a perpetual state of being pissed off. So a full on near-laughter smile across his face is quite a treasure.
It’s probably urban legend, but I’ve heard it said that smiling actually has a physiological effect that alters our mood. To smile, regardless of how you feel, makes you happier (so I’ve heard). Jimmy Dean with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye on the shoot of his double team match with two poundable beauties makes me smile and, true enough, I feel my mood lighten (that’s just anecdotal evidence, though… results may vary).
Three of the Von Erichs side-by-side (well, if you count Lance), can always make my mouth water. But the juxtaposition of their overcompensatingly massive championship belts, their sweaty, sexy bodies, and the “can I take a photo?”-nearly- genuine smiles leave me breathing a little deeper and feeling a little more at peace.

Tyrell Tomsen invariably makes me breathe a little faster and my heart start to pound. The heft of that package he’s toting around is a little dizzying. But he has such a sweet smile that I can almost manage to tear my eyes away from his stunning musculature to get a little lost in his face.

A smile is more than the contortion of the lips. The cocky smile is a good example of what I mean. Josh Goodman here is smiling with his mouth. The corners of his lips are upturned and he’s flashing some teeth. But he isn’t smiling with the rest of his face. He’s displaying his truly incredible body, probably concentrating a little on maintaining that beautiful flex, and communicating cocky self-confidence, not happiness.
But catch Mr. Joshua’s cheerful smile on set in his battle with Troy Baker. Both Troy and Joshua are captured here in a moment of genuine light-heartedness. Not just their mouths are smiling, but also their eyes. The fact that moments later the match was likely rejoined and they were taunting and punishing each other makes this stolen moment of genuine happiness that much more of a mood-lifter for me today.

So perhaps it’s urban legend, but I’m already feeling a little lighter for having reflected on some smiling, gorgeous faces this morning. I realize that light-heartedness isn’t always necessarily socially appropriate, but I think I’ve established pretty conclusively that I am often outside the bounds of social appropriateness. When things are seeming particularly heavy, I’m a little happier thanks to the sight of beautiful men with hard bodies cracking a delighted, unguarded smile.

Ode to Legs

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Legs are fantastic tools of control and humiliation in wrestling. The alignment of gorgeous legs and homoerotic domination is hot, hot, hot. While my current obsession with sexy legs is at the forefront of my own thinking about the subject, clearly I’m not the only one appreciating the many excellent uses to which legs can be put in hot wrestling action.

Wrestling Arsenal has page after page of fantastic head scissors from every angle. He has one entire page marveling at the joys of Mr. Joshua’s crushing legs. As Wrestling Arsenal points out, Joshua Goodman likes to deploy his massively muscled legs not only to wear down his man, but to torture and humiliate him. In this shot, Joshua is looking down the length of his beautiful body to watch his opponent’s pained face squeezed beet red, just inches from Joshua’s notorious package.
Wrestling pornboy extraordainare Mark Wolff always had the thickness to make men squirm when trapped between his bodybuilder thighs. In Muscle Match 3, muscleboy Ken Daniels enjoyed turning those tables and eliciting a grunt of pain with Mark’s muscle-armored waist trapped between his knees.
It’s not just the homoerotic boys squeezing the breath out of their opponents in humiliating fashion. Paul Roma (well, okay, he’s got to be considered homoerotic!) frequently used those shiny, steel-trap legs to squeeze his opponent’s bodyparts tight and up close. This remarkable shot of Roma with Animal’s head trapped between his legs while hanging horizontally, propped up on the turnbuckle, is pure artistry.
Speaking of art, Kevin Von Erich was always the master of torturing his opponents with his legs… and what beautiful, beautiful devices of torture he had!
Still, I think the explicitly homoerotic boys get the most mileage from their legs-as-means-of-torture, better than the pros. Troy Baker could squeeze out a whimpering submission from sheer brute force, making it that much sweeter when the tables were turned on the doe-eyed muscleboy.
Standing scissors seem to me to be the most humiliating and dominating use of a wrestler’s legs. The complete, abject vulnerability of the victim in contrast with the upright, almost unconcerned affect of the squeezer tells the story I love to hear: bodies dominating bodies, possessing and taming them, controlling and claiming them.

It’s Clobberin’ Time!

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It should come as no surprise that gay boys frequently gravitate to superhero comics. The hypermasculinity, the unnotable nerds with fabulous alter egos, the skin-tight costumes clearly drawn with a loving hand… I’m sure you don’t have to be gay to like supes, but it certainly can’t hurt.


I only dabble in the superhero/homoerotic wrestling crossover. I’m sure someone with real acting chops could both pull off the awesome melodrama and commit to a convincing wrestling performance. But let’s be honest, extensively trained actor/athletes are not the staple of homoerotic wrestling productions.

Still, sincerity can forgive a multitude of sins. The only full-time live-action super-homo-hero outfit that I know of is Eye of the Cyclone. They’re generous with their teasers on YouTube, and they very generously gave me permission to post some of their delicious pics. At times they may be a little too into their own gear, but they’ve got sincerity coming out of their mask-covered ears. They also put up a nice variety of bodies, including a handful with lovely ink. Their product warning says it all: “Warning! Contains scenes with bad acting, camp overtones, and ultra tight spandex… everything you would expect!!!” DynoLad here looks like he’s about to break his villain, Cobra, in half (for the moment).
And this masked-beast is headed for some superstrength ball torture!
I’ve extolled the artistry of John Savage’s Rants, Roids N Rasslin before, but he has to be mentioned in this conversation. His art is a send up to pro-wrestling, homoerotic wrestling, and the stylistic graphics of the comic books we grew up with. He seems to love the evil heels, and in the end, everyone’s a sadistic, hardbody, incredibly hung hunk (that’s a world I’d like to visit!).

Like me, others seem to also enjoy dabbling. BG East (who also rocks for giving me permission to post some of their pics!) has put out a handful of products in the subgenre. Superhero Heels 3: Blue Lightning Strikes displays the totally poundable “Golden Boy” Troy Baker maskless (but how/why would you ever want to disguise that boy?) suffering nicely in the clutches of our superheel in blue spandex. Personally, I’d like to see EOTC’s Cobra and BGE’s Blue Lightening sync up for some humiliating blue-spandexed tag team torture on blondboys DynoLad and Golden Boy at the same time!
Can-Am has done a ton of superhero bits. Sometimes, the gimmick is a little gratuitous, especially when they release a straight-up homoerotic wrestling vid and a superhero wrestling vid at basically the same time… with the exact same cast. If I were more invested in this particular subgenre, I think I’d feel a little used. Then again, any excuse to put David Taylor’s stunning ink and lovely poker on display can’t be so bad.
Personally, I don’t live in Gotham, but if the supes get into a little randy wrestling now and then, I’m happy to visit!