I am a vegetarian, but that doesn’t stop me from loving big, juicy, meaty thighs. For no other reason than a absolute adoration of alliteration, here are a sample of some of the juiciest homoerotic wrestler quads that come to my mind in order to celebrate Thursday Thighs.
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| One of the most gorgeous shots of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler: Lon Dumont in Tag Team Torture 15. |
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| Current top contender for the favorite title showing off his award winning backside: Kid Karisma in Matmen 23. |
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| Alexi Adamov’s beautiful back muscles and bulging butt in Ring Revenge 1. |
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| The stunningly pretty shelf of Pretty Pete Sharp from Gazebo Grapplers 14. |
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| Paul Perris’ vintage backside beauty. |
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| Multiple HWOTM winner Denny Cartier’s beautiful back in trouble in Ring Revenge 1. |
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| Chace LaChance’s stunningly built back displayed to perfection in Braden Charron’s bear hug in newly released bonus to Summer Sizzlers. |
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| Tyrell Tomsen’s physical perfection from trapezius muscles to calves in Strip Stakes 1. |
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| Another vintage babyface bodybuilder back belonging to Can-Am’s Jonny Olson |
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| Cameron Matthew’s sweaty back glistens in new release Mat Hunks 9. |
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| Brad Barnes bulges everywhere. Everywhere. As he surveys demolished Chace in Pec Bash 2. |
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| Incredibly broad wingspan on long, strong Paladin facing Stage 2 of Jonny. |
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| Rio Garza showing off his Can-Am credentials along with his professional physique model body. |
Joe’s post this morning was serendipitous. As is so often the case, right about the time something occurs to me regarding homoerotic wrestling, Joe has just posted on the topic. In this case, I was even thinking of the phrase “cross-pollination,” as I reflected on the tempting allure of playing the game “what-if” with the chess pieces of homoerotic wrestlers from different production companies. Regular readers will be quick to point out that I’ve bemoaned too much of a good thing in the past. I’ve been quick to complain about “over-exposure” of wrestlers appearing everywhere at once, showing up simultaneously featured in new releases by competing productions. But if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: I see no virtue in constancy, and like so many great men before me, I’m willing to allow that my opinions on important subjects “evolve.” Whether today’s post is evolution or merely me reveling in my own self-contraditions, only time will tell. However here’s my theme for today, picking up on Joe’s introduction of the topic of cross-pollination: which brand-loyal (for now) homoerotic wrestlers would I most like to see matched up against each other in cross-production matches? Considering only the boys who I’ve only seen (or remember) wrestling for one and only one homoerotic wrestling company, here are the dream matches that are making me reconsider the moral good of cross-pollinating wrestlers.
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| Austin Wolf (6’4″, 235 lbs) v Diego Diaz (6’3″, 185 lbs) |
For example, my first pairing for this mental exercise is the hypothetical match that really started me down this path. Thunder’s Arena has a new stunningly handsome muscle giant by the name of Austin Wolf who grabs me with both hands and turns my crank hard! Wow, just… wow. His dismantling of fellow Thunder’s rookie Hooper absolutely enthralls me. It’s a catchweight scenario. Little Hoop is just fucked from the moment he walks on the mat and looks up, up, up at the bottom of Wolf’s chin towering over him. Wolf’s look completely delights me. A big, long, giant of a man who can pack on aesthetically luscious muscle mass is just priceless. And that’s when it hits me. Austin Wolf will never be fully realized in my mind until he climbs into the ring against BG East Latino beauty Diego Diaz. I have no idea what would happen next. Although essentially eye-to-eye, Diego is giving up a reported (but I’m skeptical) 50 pounds, though his conditioning looks far superior to Wolf’s. I have a hunch that Austin Wolf would not be tossing around Diego like a sack of potatoes!
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| Archer (5’9″, 150 lbs) v Michael Vineland (??) |
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| Victor Paz (6’2″, 172 lbs) v Jimmy Clay (??) |
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| Lon Dumont (5’7″, 150 lbs) v Coupe (6’1″, 215 lbs) |
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| Cratos (5’9″, 200 lbs) v Kid Karisma (5’8″, 170 lbs) |
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| Tyrell Tomsen (5’11, 185 lbs) v Alexi Ivanov (6′, 170 lbs) |
The final pairing that occurred to me was BG East’s resident adonis, Tyrell Tomsen, facing the Russian battleboy, Rock Hard Wrestling’s exclusive, Alexi Ivanov. Again, both of these men rock me hard, although in different ways. Tyrell is just a fucking god, full stop. I think if I ever actually met this man in person, I’d melt away in a pool of mindless lust. Alexi, on the other hand, compels me from a different angle. He’s got a drive and personality that keep me tuning into watch him despite his lackluster performances thus far in the ring. There’s story in his eyes that begs for more definition and attention, and putting him in the ring with the chiseled muscle god Tyrell seems to me to be a beautiful intervention to aid Alexi’s full emergence into the world of homoerotic wrestling. Don’t even think this is anything but a rip ‘n’ strip match. And you know that lovely, rippled, lean Alexi is going to spend hours racked across Tyrell’s thigh in an OTK backbreaker (or 20). But possibly, just maybe, the divine beauty of Tyrell bashing him from corner to corner might just awaken within Alexi the Drago-within, because you and I also know that this kid is a genetically engineered erotic-wrestling-sleeper-cell left over from the cold war and surely and inevitably designed to go nuts all over some entirely naked muscle boy (aka, Tyrell) and own his ebony body tied up in the ropes and tortured to exquisite perfection. I swear, that’s all inside Alexi’s hot-yet-wooden wrestling body, just waiting to explode all over Tyrell’s bulging pecs.
Who are the brand loyal battle boys you’d like to see cross-pollinate all over each other?
For example, Can-Am’s recent rookie Tyler Saint James. From what I’ve seen of him so far, he can’t wrestle for shit. But I’d pay an added surcharge to watch him lean back against a corner turnbuckle with Z-Man’s head pretty much disappearing between those mountainous thighs of Tyler’s.
Underwear and swimwear models are populating my typical surf sites these days. Male models, even fitness boys, can tend to have relatively skinny legs. While there’s nothing wrong with lean, powerful, slender legs, I’ve got a hard spot for thick, powerful, beefy thighs. Happily, there are a few fitness models selling minuscule quantities of highly stretchable fabric who also show of gorgeous, bulging legs. Slide Z’s face between these quads and lets hear this Brazilian fitness boy muffle the playgirl model’s screams with his sweetly bulging crotch.
Finally, I don’t know who the hell this Greek god actually is, but this pretty much sums up my attitude about the arrival of warmth and sunshine these days. This is what Z-Man should be seeing, as he rouses from getting choked out cold with this superhuman’s cock stuffed down his throat and his thighs crushing Z’s temples. Fantasies ignited by late spring sunshine… carry on.
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| Thunder’s Arena’s newest rookie sensation (aptly named): Python |
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| Can-Am’s iconic muscle man: Steve Sterling |
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| Thunder’s Arena’s Muscle Phenom: Coupe |
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| Reese Wells and his Magic Biceps |
I’ve noted on many occasions the particular magic that Reese Wells (aka Brody Hancock) weaves over me. He’s a living paradox. That pubescent face of his is completely diverting from the fact that the boy sports incredibly mature, aesthetically gorgeous muscle! He seems like one of those genetic freaks who’s probably always complaining about how hard it is for him to put on weight (which, in and of itself, is a reason for a beating in my book). I swear, at the right angle, in the wrong light, Reese would be easily mistaken for a skinny kid. Then BOOM!!!!… the boy flashes a double bicep and out of nowhere he’s got astonishing muscle mass squeezed into his upper arms like surgically inserted softballs. Where the fuck does he hide those guns!?! There’s a skinny-kid-opens-a-can-of-whoop-ass-on-his-big-bad-bully fantasy just dying to be taped, culminating in Reese flashing one of his Houdini biceps in his former-tormentor’s face while cranking out a load of cum all over the humiliated bastard’s chest.
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| BG East Fantasy Man: Tyrell Tomsen |
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| Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz is built to crush! |
Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz has 2 equally prominent objects of my lusts: his fireplace poker cock and his incredibly huge arms! Rip Steve Sterling in the prime of his conditioning out of the past and place him side by side with Thiago, and I’d put money on Thiago as having the bigger upper arms. Steve would have the Can-Am newbie beat for overall body proportions, mind you. Thiago’s lower body lags behind his upper body development pretty dramatically, but those shoulders and arms are like a cartoon drawing of a muscleman superhero. And since we’ve already transported Sterling into the present from the prime of his career, I can’t help but get wildly turned on by the image of Thiago nearly ripping Steve’s head off in a dragon sleeper with his veiny, massive bicep pressed perfectly across the classic bodybuilder’s carotid.
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| BG East’s Magnificent Mitch Colby |
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| BG East One-Hit Wonder: Gary Myers’ biceps have biceps! |
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| Tyrell’s handsome face smiles sinisterly as he drags Z-Man by his perfectly coiffed hair to the ring. |
I’ve just started to spend some quality time with Wrestle Revenge, the new release from BG East starring a truly astounding threesome of Z-Man, Tyrell Tomsen, and Dev Michaels. It’s one story that extends across two match-ups. I love a through-story, so I’m thrilled at the overall narrative. Z-Man is up to his old tricks, trying to ice off his next opponent, Tyrell, by making him wait for Z to complete his pre-match grooming ritual in the bathroom. Whatever effect Z-Man expected his mind games to have, they do nothing other than send Tyrell into a fiercely dangerous rage. Z doesn’t get two inches through the bathroom door before he’s been punched, trampled, face-to-crotch head scissored to submission, and then dragged to the ring by his oh-so pretty head of hair.
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| Tyrell nearly picks Z-Man off his feet by nothing but his balls! |
I count Tyrell among my guilty pleasures. “Guilty,” because he’s got more enthusiasm than he has actual skill in selling a homoerotic wrestling romp. It’s not his wrestling that I really find fault with. He hits his marks and looks nothing short of superheroic every step of the way. But his cocky banter sort of wanders, a little non-sensical and not quite always contributing to pushing the story forward. His dialogue often comes across a little forced to me. Like he knows he’s supposed to be snarling and verbally humiliating, but it’s a skill he hasn’t really mastered yet. However, he’s nothing short of a “pleasure” because when he’s in the shape he’s in for Wrestle Revenge, he’s just about the most beautiful thing on the planet! He repeatedly calls Z-Man “pretty boy,” which is completely on the mark. Z-Man’s mind-blowing fitness and silky smooth, rippled body makes my mouth and eyes water, he’s so over the top pretty. But for me (and I’m not trying to speak for anyone else), standing next to Tyrell, Z-Man fades into the background (I know, some Z fans are already furiously typing rebuttals). Tyrell reminds me of the bodies that I coveted as a teenager as I obsessed over every bulge and crevice of the bodybuilders in the magazines I secretly hoarded. His fluorescent yellow underwear/trunks accentuate his fantastic, hard, round ass and the outline of the head of his cock and huge balls dangle in his pouch hypnotically. His massive shoulders, his huge, veiny arms, his astonishingly separated pecs, his washboard abs, his smooth, powerful, lickable thighs… Good God this man is a stunning specimen of the very best of what turns me on and attracts me most in a hard bodied hunk. And his puppy dog eyes just make me melt.
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| Z-Man rises to the occasion to make muscle stud Tyrell suffer in a gorgeous piece of homoerotic wrestling sculpture. |
As Z-Man has proven every step of his journey through BG East, although ridiculously pretty and groomed within an inch of his life, he’s not a fucker to be underestimated! He makes big, gorgeous Tyrell pay with sweat and tears for turning his back on Z-Man. If anything can make me tear my eyes away from Tyrell’s magnetic ass, it’s the amazing pairing of both of these wrestler’s packages displayed so revealingly in their gear. Maybe we’ve seen the precise sketch of Z’s cock outlined so perfectly in these trunks before, but it’s a revelation to me. When his package isn’t getting clawed and bashed by Tyrell, it’s bouncing and swinging like a piñata (which explains Tyrell’s reaction to it). When Zack bridges high in an aesthetically perfect leg lock and double arm bar combo indicative of the best that BG East is bringing out of him, his perky cock looks like a flag pole planted at the summit of a truly stunningly muscled physique.
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| Tyrell shoves every inch of his beautiful body in Z-Man’s humiliated face. |
But there’s just nothing quite so climactic for me as seeing Z-Man at Tyrell’s mercy, his face stuck humiliatingly between his opponent’s luscious legs and the head of Tyrell’s cock pointing like an arrow at Z’s lips. Yes, yes, yes, yes… YES!
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| Dev defends Z-Man’s honor and decides he needs a bite of that dish called revenge! |
When I can gather myself to push play on the second match, I’m thrilled (THRILLED) to discover that Dev Michaels is seriously pissed off at the nasty bashing Tyrell dished out all over Z-Man’s playgirl body. I’d heard the rumor that it was Z that brought Dev with him to BG East, and it certainly seems like big, bruiser, hairy chested Dev takes Z-Man’s pounding personally. The back story that beardaddy Dev feels compelled to take it upon himself to exact revenge for smooth, devastatingly prettypretty Z is a fantastically hot, erotic backstory! Fresh off his bagging and tagging poor Z-Man, however, Tyrell is unrepentant and feeling invincible. He talks every inch as big a game as he did when he was smothering Z-Man’s face between his thighs. Big, nasty Dev, however, is not Z-Man.
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| Dev ties muscle stud Tyrell up in exquisite knots. |
Here’s the “revenge” in this two act play. There’s almost no one I’d rather watch pick apart and exploit Tyrell’s perfectly muscled physique than Dev. Dev inspires big beardaddy fantasies I, quite honestly, didn’t even know I had. But no doubt about it: I have them, and they star Dev’s monster quads, unbelievably huge hairy pecs, and the buckets of sweat that Dev wrings out of his own body when he’s working really really hard (which as far as I can tell is ALWAYS)!
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| Tyrell tastes humiliation. |
Dev manages to dish out the most humiliating punishment that comes straight out of Tyrell’s playbook in his victory over Dev’s boytoy buddy Z. While personally I think having my face smashed into Dev’s sweaty crotch and my head squeezed until I scream would be a ride I’d pay double for, Tyrell doesn’t seem to enjoy the experience nearly as much.
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| Dev works every inch of Tyrell’s sculpted body. |
As I’ve mentioned when commenting (often) on Joshua Goodman’s package (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), when you’ve got the heft that Tyrell has swinging between his thighs, you might want to be careful about taking a wrestling match to the level of cock abuse. For the repeated, nasty, often completely unnecessary fixation Tyrell had on punishing Z’s dangling baubles, beardaddy Dev uses those massive paws of his to dig in deep and claw the fuck out of Tyrell in a truly gorgeous work of art that technically would be called a single leg crab, but trust me, that does not begin to describe the exquisite sculpture that this is. Sweat streams off of Dev’s brow. The veins in his arms flair to the surface as he flexes. His hairy body is glistening as he sits mercilessly down across Tyrell’s impossibly narrow lower back. And the black adonis has nowhere to go but down!
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| Dev OWNS muscle stud Tyrell! |
Again, I feel the need to say that this DVD does not contain the height of consistently and technically thrilling pro wrestling. It’s not bad, mind you, but when I’ve got a serious case of wrestle lust that only hot slamming, beautifully told pro/fantasy homoerotic wrestling can deliver, this may or may not satisfy that itch every time. But for three perfectly cast fantasy bodies telling a hot, homoerotic through-story and hitting some sweet marks and showing off each other’s world class bodies and sending my imagination exploding like fireworks as I marvel at the true wonders that are their beautifully, perfectly, uniquely sculpted fantasy physiques, I’ll but delighted to indulge in my guilty pleasures over and over again.
Have you voted for this month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month yet? If not, pick your wrestler of choice at the top right of this page. The poll closes tomorrow, and as of my writing of this post, it’s a barnburner battle between the Can-Am boys so far. I’m fascinated to see how the final numbers play out!
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| Tyrell Tomsen large and in charge against Patrick Donovan |
In the mean time, I’ve been enjoying (and I do mean enjoying!) some wrestling that earned nominations for homoerotic wrestler of the month two months ago. BG East’s Wrestler Spotlight on Patrick Donovan is profoundly pleasing to me. Patrick and Tyrell Tomsen’s sun room mat match is hot as hell, and I do believe Patrick brings out the sexiest wrestling performance from muscle hunk Tyrell that I’ve seen so far (and I’ve loved Tyrell in everything that I’ve seen!). Their bodies present a stunning contrast, with Tyrell’s thick, bodybuilder muscles and dark brown skin in as tight an embrace as physically possible with Patrick’s pale, long and lean (but muscled) physique. Patrick has become the king of pec punching, as far as I can tell, and big, meaty pecs like Tyrell’s are an incredible target for Patrick’s solid, concentrated, sadistically thrilling, drilling poundings.
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| Mr. Joshua and his grapefruit |
It should come as no surprise, however, that my greatest infatuation is with Patrick’s ring bout against former favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). Sweet mother of God, Mr. Joshua is driving me insane with lust! The attitude, the ass, those fucking amazing legs, the ripped abs, gorgeous pecs, and sculpted arms, combined with that coverboy handsome face works me with an intensity that makes me seriously consider whether Kid K should get demoted back out of the standings of my top ranked homoerotic wrestlers – nonpornboy division.
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| Mr. Joshua pins Patrick with his #1 asset |
While not as stunning a visual contrast as Patrick’s pairing with Tyrell, Mr. Joshua and Patrick are well-formed, distinct wrestling characters that so many of us have come to know and lust after. The latest incarnation of Patrick is that of a serious, dangerous heel who has learned from years in the business the finer arts of physical punishment. Patrick is a viper. His lip curls in concentration and practiced focus as he dominates Mr. Joshua’s incredible body. He clearly enjoys his work, but he’s not at all light-hearted. He’s deadly serious, even as he slaps down thick sarcasm and taunting. Everything from Patrick is in the service of conquering his opponent. An early flurry of offense catches Mr. Joshua flat-footed, and Patrick puts him on his back folds his legs up to his ears and slides his crotch forward to shove his balls into Mr. Joshua’s face humiliatingly.
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| Patrick introduces Mr. J to teabagging |
“Mr. Donovan!” Joshua gasps and sputters. “You know I don’t like being teabagged!” And there, you can see that Mr. Joshua has an entirely different ring demeanor. Even on his back with his sweet, sweet ass splayed vulnerably in his opponent’s control, Mr. Joshua is a smart ass. I mean that with complete love and respect, mind you. Mr. Joshua is through-and-through a smart ass. He loves the one-liners. He clearly, intensely loves to dominate. I’m captured in this match by his laughter. He laughs domineeringly, of course, but there are more than a couple of moments when he’s got Patrick in a really, really bad way, completely in his control and squirming in agony, and Mr. Joshua chuckles long and sincerely. Mr. Donovan may be all about getting down to business, but Mr. Joshua wants to stop and smell the roses (and the humiliation) along the way. He wants to have some fun (in the nastiest, meanest, most dominating and humiliating way possible) as he does what he does best: turn me on!
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| Patrick, channeling Bard, with more than a handful of Mr. J’s pride and joy |
Mr. J’s cocky clowning seems to get under Patrick’s skin, and the lean veteran appears to work fixedly on the task of pounding the shit-eating grin off his opponent’s gorgeous face. A nasty slap to Mr. J’s hot pecs seems to do the trick. Mr. J clearly takes offense, and his smile fades in a mix of anger and pain. He retaliates with a sweet, loud crack across Patrick’s ass that even hurts just watching it. Patrick doesn’t manage to beat the smart ass out of him, but he effectively puts Mr. J on notice that any lapse, any loss of focus in order to showboat and monologue will earn him swift and painful punishment.
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| Patrick & Mr. Joshua make me a believer in spandex |
I’m generally not a fan of spandex leggings on my wrestlers, but both of these boys do absolute wonders squeezed so tightly into their mid-level gear. The shiny fabric sculpted to Mr. J’s glutes like a layer of paint is completely hypnotizing. After a couple of minutes, I’ve decided that Patrick and Mr. J are already making me fire on all cylinders even with so much of their beautiful legs covered. That does not, however, make me any less exultant at the rip and strip angle of this match. When Patrick pulls off Mr. J’s training pants, my heart skips a beat. “Fine,” Mr. J. concedes without appearing too concerned or surprised by Patrick’s determination to strip him. “Take them off. I know thats what you’ve beeen wanting to do anyways.” And for that, Patrick is nothing short of my own personal avatar in his bout.
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| Mr. J is more than eager to do some stripping of his own |
Mr. J’s smart mouth and all of those other components of his alchemy over me are in full force in this match. Every time he shoves his hand down the front of his trunks and adjusts the ballast therein, my familiar lust/hate relationship with Mr. J comes to the foreground. Either he’s smuggling a porterhouse steak down there, or he’s got mammoth balls that I’m desperate to get a gander at. When he bodysplashes on top of Patrick, followed up by repeatedly pounding himself, cock-to-cock into his agonized opponent, yet again my identification with Patrick is almost desperate.
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| Nowhere else in the world I’d rather be! |
The tables turn repeatedly in this match in such a way that I genuinely didn’t know which way the wind would finally blow, which is a plot that I appreciate A LOT in wrestling. I like a little suspense. I enjoy being surprised. I appreciate it when I find my loyalties, loves and lusts toyed with by the ebb and flow of a match back and forth, as I find myself torn between wanting more of both sides of the battle. But when Mr. J turns on the afterburner and eventually begins to pick Patrick apart with glee in his voice and an extra bounce in his chuckle, he has me as completely at his mercy as he eventually has Patrick. The figure-4, face-to-crotch head scissors that Mr. J treats Patrick to goes on for days and transports me body and soul into Patrick in that moment.
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| Since trunks can’t quite contain him, why, oh why, does he continue to wear them?! |
Once Patrick can’t peel himself off the mat, Mr. J does his customary shoving his hand down the front of his trunks. This time, however, he takes some time to gently massage his testicles, recovering from some particularly vicious assaults by his opponent. Mr. J marvels that, “When you’ve got balls as big as grapefruits, that hurts!” As Mr. J stands in the center of the ring, staring at the defeated body of his unconscious opponent, he once again digs around in his trunks. And in what I believe might be the first real glance we’ve ever had, his right testicle slides out of his trunks and hangs there for a while before he realizes it and manages to shove it back into its pouch. While possibly not literally of grapefruit proportions (or bowling ball proportions that I’ve suggested in the past), it’s obvious that Mr. J has no need to stuff his trunks with a porterhouse. He’s got major league beef all his own down there.
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| Mr. J enjoys bondage play and humiliating spitting on poor, pretty Patrick |
The end of this match continues to push the fantasy that Mr. J has inspired in me for his entire career. His decision to tie Patrick’s wrists to the middle ropes and his ankles to the top ropes in the corner nearly makes me lose consciousness from the violent redirection of blood flow in my circulatory system. Then, Mr. J’s choice to grab a bottle of water to spit on his opponent’s helpless, hunky, conquered and splayed body is over the top erotic. But then, when Mr. J turns out the lights and angrily demands that the camera crew get the hell out as he climbs back into the ring to continue the story with Patrick off camera… well, I’ll just say that I’ve got at least three bodily fluids escaping simultaneously and spontaneously.
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| No…… where….. else!!! |
Most of Mr. J’s matches leave me powerfully satisfied (and completely exhausted), and this one is no exception. The pairing of two pros with such extensive resumes is genius. More to the point, it’s a beautiful example of allowing homoerotic wrestling genius to tell its own story, to prod and provoke, to erotically inspire with literalism and fantasy, to know its fans, respect them, and tell a story ripped from our (or at least my) fondest imaginings.
Now, let’s see Mr. J drop the trunks entirely… and keep the camera rolling for the post-victory celebration!
And finally, Mr. Joshua, Patrick, barefoot, in the ring, with Patrick’s testicles getting crushed in Mr. J’s fist… You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to rehydrate after writing those words. I’m sure you’ll be hearing much, much more from me about all of this in the future.
Wicked Gay Blog posted last week a new topic in their “Hot or Not?” series: wrestling.
There are four votes so far in the comments of the post. Three votes for “yes,” and one voter argues that the sweat and aggression and public nature of competitive wrestling are decidedly not hot. I figure that there are a lot of neverland readers who would have very decisive votes to cast.
I’ve often thought about the relationship between being gay and being fanatical about the eroticism of wrestling. For many of us in this little corner of the internet, it would be a bizarrely obvious question, whether wrestling is hot or not. I’ve heard from many of you who think of your sexual orientation primarily defined by wrestling more than being gay, in fact. So where do wrestling fetishists stand in relation to other gay guys who could even conceive of asking a question like “is wrestling hot or not?”
Boy Culture, which is not all about wrestling by any means, responds to the Wicked Gay question with an answer that many of us can get behind: “Are any wrestlers – real wrestlers – unsexy? I haven’t seen any yet.” The fact that there are obviously plenty of gay men who aren’t primarily oriented toward wrestling eroticism but who do, nevertheless, enthusiastically get turned on by wrestling, makes me suspect that we’re more mainstreamed than even we realize. You and I, who find homoerotic wrestling as a/the primary turn-on, may simply represent one end of the spectrum. While there are clearly those for whom it is a legitimate debate as to whether wrestling is hot, there are also clearly a whole lot of gay guys who recognize that wrestling is sexy as hell, even if they don’t turn to wrestling as their primary source of arousal to the extent that many of us do.
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| Patrick Donovan and Tyrell Tomsen illustrate beyond a shadow of a doubt just how hot wrestling can be in BG East’s upcoming Wrestler Spotlight: Patrick Donovan |
And then there are the typical readers of this blog, whose erotic fantasies revolve around wrestling almost entirely. I think what may be called for is less debate regarding what is or isn’t hot, in some definitive way that seems to presuppose that there is a singular answer to the question. The question itself appears to me to be a form of social control, contriving and reifying the bounds of normative gay sexuality and tastes. Perhaps a better approach is to ask, what turns you on about wrestling? Sure, there will still be the voices who answer, “nothing,” but I think we can become much more sex-positive, gay-positive, body-positive people if we spend more time appreciating the infinitely complex distribution of erotic tastes and turn-ons, rather than try to carve the world into two pieces: the yes votes and the no votes. It may be entirely true that you and I reside in one of the tails of the so-called normal curve when it comes to our affinity for the eroticism of wrestling. We may be relatively rare in the degree or enthusiasm of our erotic focus on wrestling. But then again, there’s nothing impressive about being average. There’s nothing morally superior about hovering around the mean.
New topic. Being in the majority: Hot or Not?
Giving it “a shot” has continued with some frequency since that first match I wrote. With each new copy I generate, I feel a profound humility. I’m not just being modest. While I’ve received affirmation of my writing skills from many different corners of my life, I grapple with deep down feelings of inadequacy each and every time I write marketing materials. Happily, BG East edits my text to smooth out the rough edges, accentuate the particular appeal of each match, and correct my grammar and spelling. Despite my moments of anxiety, I’ve never had text returned to me as unworthy. When it’s polished and published, I inevitably assess the final product better than I thought it was when it was fresh on the page. As of very recently, I’ve continued to be invited to participate in generating copy for BG East new releases. And each time, I think carefully, gauging the distance between my investment as a homoerotic wrestling consumer and the blood, sweat and tears (I like the tears… more tears in homoerotic wrestling, please!) that go into the painstaking work of producing hot, hard, high quality wrestling.
Sidelineland 