Thanks to a couple of readers, we have some more cutting edge fashion decisions yet to make when it comes to homoerotic wrestling gear. Homoerotic wrestling “success” operates on so many levels, of course. There’s the ostensible “winner” who has either scored the most falls or, at the very least, is the last man standing. There’s the most accomplished wrestling sell, where regardless of who is has his hand raised in the end, either wrestler may have been most adept at telling the most convincing story of domination or submission, brutality dished out or suffering embodied. And of course there’s always the gay man’s fallback competition: who’s got the hottest body. But perhaps winner for the most superficial and secondary contest in any homoerotic wrestling competition is “who wore it best?”.
This week’s poll comes to us via the sharp eye for fashion from neverland’s most frequent guest blogger, Alex. Alex points out that three hot and popular wrestlers all wore the same white trunks with blue trim while wrestling for BG East. Dynamo Cameron Matthews worked this gear like the pro he is in Tag Team Torture 9. Vinny Trevino was a vision of muscled beauty in the same trunks in Demolition 6. And incredibly popular babyface hero Justin Pierce sported the same fashion in Demolition 9. I’ll presume to speak for the entire world of homoerotic wrestling fanatics when I say that each of them rocked these trunks. But I leave it up to you to determine who wore it best. Check out the options and then vote below.
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!).
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?
What is the relationship between a homoerotic wrestling kink and bondage? Is the wrestling kinkster a subset of S&M bondage kink? Are they kissing (punching) cousins? Is it all the same, just packaged differently?
Like Prometheus bound or St. Sebastian, the image of a muscled hunk suffering in restraints is essentially homo-provocative, I think. Power captured, virility claimed, challenger conquered… the bound hardbody certainly tells a story that rings true (and rings my bell) to what gets me so hot and bothered about wrestling. The virile, arrogant young hot shot with all the confidence in the world in his powerful muscles and determination to be victorious is highly eroticized for me at the point that he is restrained, made vulnerable, and suffering in the humiliating realization that he has been bested.
The bound hunk shows up regularly in homoerotic wrestling. Is Paul Perris, with his arms bound at his sides in a rope and suffering the sadistic whims of Bart Tyler, essentially the same provocation that makes me hard at seeing Paul Perris body scissored, writhing and immobilized in pain? The wrestling hold is, after all, simply another means of binding a hot hunk in sweet vulnerability.
Still, I’m not so sure it’s all the same thing, at least not to me. Some days I’m hot for a hunk tied up like a rack of lamb, but somedays I’m not. My tastes for bondage with ropes, chains, shoelaces (etc., etc., etc.) are inconsistent. Justin Pierce finding himself literally tied in knots with the boxing tape that was moments ago wrapped protectively around his wrist is not always the scene that I keep rewinding over and over again to see until I’m driven irresistibly to climax. Sometimes it is, but not all the time.
But Brad Rochelle sobbing in pain cracked backward across any opponent’s knee is always, always, always instantly gratifying to me. The humiliation of Brad taped into the corner of the ring, hanging in unconscious humiliation between beatings is a sweet sight, but seeing the Enforcer tie him up with nothing more than Brad’s own arms twisted around his own neck like a Christmas bow is, without fail, guaranteed to make me salivate.
Affectively, then, the hunk bound and the hunk wrestle-bashed is not necessarily the same (again, at least for me). The elements are almost identical: the battler suffering, paralyzed, captured, and claimed. But the means of achieving his vulnerability seems to make a difference. Mr. Perpetual Erection, Dino Serra, is always in need of a severe spanking. Admittedly, suspended from the ceiling certainly displays his most impressive muscle more vividly than almost any other means of his destruction. Frequently, watching him be bound, stripped, and have his cock and balls worked over with sadistic glee is entirely filling: check please! But it isn’t as invariable as watching Dino’s erection get slapped around as he’s squeezed between the thighs of his grinning opponent.
Of course, sometimes the bondage with other than human restraints and the wrestling domination is indistinguishable. When Brooklyn Bodwrecker and Shane McCall tape Brian Powers into the corner, and then proceed to drive Brian’s partner, Liam Ryan, inverted and crushed against him… well, where does the bondage begin and the wrestling humiliation end? For that matter, where does BBW begin and Shane McCall end? The scenario of immobilizing capture and sadistic humiliation is complex, creative, and frankly an impressive feat of physics and human ingenuity.
Perhaps it doesn’t really matter. If we just follow the lead of our cocks, I suppose like any form of art, we’ll know what tweaks our kink when we see it. Still, it all makes me wonder what is the essence of the wrestling kink that gives me (and so many of you) so much pleasure. Not all bondage does it for me, by any means. Even the bondage that does it for me a lot of the time doesn’t always do it for me. But wrestling hardbodies telling the story of cocky competition to decide who’s on top and who’s destined to suffer the humiliating defeat at the hands of the better man… these are always what gets my blood pumping in all the right directions.
The Canadian women’s hockey team has been criticized for beating their first round opponents 18 – 0. It’s not in the spirit of the Olympics, so the story goes, to humiliate your opponents. Just beat them. What is it that goes into deciding to score those 5 goals in the 3rd period? It’s simply not about winning anymore. It’s about statement. Frankly, it’s not really about making a statement to your opponent, really. It’s about making a statement to potential opponents who might be considering taking you on. Show no mercy in utterly humiliating your outclassed opponent and tell the world you’ll fuck up anyone else who dares to go toe to toe with you, too.
A recent conversation at Ringside at Skull Island made me think some more about the wrestling squash match. Some folks just aren’t into the squash. Seeing one man completely outclass his opponent on the way to devastating humiliation doesn’t turn everyone crank.
Most often, though, it turns mine. For me, it isn’t that there’s no competitive spirit in a squash. The competition just isn’t all happening in the ring. The humiliating squash is the message sent to the arrogant punks sizing you up back in the locker room later on. When Billyboy took a jab at Brad Rochelle’s balls, Brad completely demolished the doe-eyed hunk. Brad tortured the punk far past the point of necessity as a message to the next piece of shit that might think it was worth a stab to use Brad’s testicles like a speed bag. The testosterone laced kink is the sneering challenge to the hot shot who thinks they’re ready to take you on next. Just try me, and you’ll see me unleash the merciless destruction on your ass that I’m unleashing on this piece of shit.
It’s a fascinating, titillating sight to see an eager/dumbass young hopeful climb into the ring when the rest of us know that he’s got no chance. It doesn’t have to be a mystery to be hot in my book. When Jeff Phoenix showed up without his partner for his tag team match against Jose and Cruze, the hardbody hunk was all mouth. He boasted he could beat both heels by himself. You knew and I knew that Jeff was in for complete destruction. Jose knew it. Cruze knew it. Hell, for all his bluster, Jeff knew it. The heels took their time in systematically double teaming Jeff’s muscle ass like artists, illustrating that it’s not the science of the knowing that always matters, just like it isn’t strictly the competition that tells the story in the ring. Sometimes, it’s the artful execution and merciless thrill that makes it worth it.
The demolition as art can be a beautiful thing that revs my engine. Kid Leopard’s skills have always been awe inspiring. It’s not like we can’t tell when he steps into the ring with another eager/dumbass musclehead destined for humiliation. We watch because we want to see just how he’ll go about it this time. In what way will he twist and torture the stud? What gravity defying position will he force the unsuspecting blowhard into, and how long will he toy with his victim before forcing him to finally scream in submission? How will he make us gasp and his victim cry?
Kid Vicious is the same sort of battler. The smile on his face as he crushesJoe Driver’s hhhhhuge package under his boot makes me a little lightheaded. KV sells his sadism with such mastery. His inevitable dismantling of the fresh meat dangled in front of his face is never seriously in doubt. It’s his style, his savagery, and the systematic ownership of his opponents that keeps me coming back for more. Like several voices at the BG East listserv, I’m all for a long overdue KV spotlight. I just vote to throw him at least a couple bright-eyed, hardbodied rookies who actually think that they have a chance when they step in the ring. Their shock will be my happy ending.
Finally, Mitch’smotel match against Jeremy Burk comes to mind as one more squash done right, in my book. The reigning champion for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy title, Mitch is relentless. Jeremy is his plaything from the moment he steps into the room. Mitch overpowers him and completely owns him just about every step of the way. And I turn every page eagerly, not because the climax is somehow in doubt, not because the “what” of the plot keeps me guessing, but because the how is so delightful to see unfold. Spank that punk’s ass with his own shoe, Mitch! Suspend him upside down with his head squeezed between your knees. Do those push ups on top of him, grinding your crotch into his face over and over again. I knew you could do it. I just wanted to watch. It may not be the spirit of competition, but it gets me off.