Producer’s Ring

Holy shit. It’s been about 14 years since I first started posting celebrity-themed homoerotic wrestling fiction, in what I came to call the Producer’s Ring. Suddenly, I feel old. Honestly, though, I feel sexy, too, so if this is growing old, I’m all for it.

Back to my original point, however. If you’ve read these pages recently, you’re aware that I resurrected the old Sideline Stories archive, and rescued it from Google purgatory, by beginning to transcribe the old stories there to a new site on the updated Google platform. I’m not sure how many more reinventions I’ve got in me, if/when Google decides to sunset this version of Google Sites in the infinite search for appearing innovative and relevant. However, I’ve been painstakingly reconstructing Sidelineland Stories (reborn) here, and having a good time of it (and happy to receive comments on the stories on the pages of this blog).

First republished Sidelineland Stories matches were in the Brothers in Arms Series.

I’ve been planning on doing the same for the Producer’s Ring archives, as well. Producer’s Ring actually predates the Sidelineland Stories archives by a couple of years. Producer’s Ring was an obliviously ambitious effort at world-building, setting dozens of homoerotic wrestling matches in an alternate universe where, more plausibly than in this universe, homoerotic wrestling contests break out all-the-fucking-time. The setting also allowed me some mental freedom to write my favorite celebrity crushes into the action, because if you haven’t cottoned on, I’m mentally composing homoerotic wrestling scenarios constantly IRL. I’m thrilled to report that I’ve begun the transfer from the old Producer’s Ring group site to a new site, available for your perusal without the annoying bit of me curating a membership list. I’m still sort of waiting on the other shoe to drop with pulling down the members-eyes-only wall, but so far, I’m willfully carefree and enjoying the rebirth of these old stories that I loved writing, and am surprised by how much I’m loving re-reading. I’m doing my best to keep my editing hands off of the old material, even when I find it cringy. I’m relieved that none of it has been all that cringy at all for me, but I’m sorely tempted to correct errors, reduce the repetitions, use more evocative metaphors. I’m doing pretty well at restraining myself, in the interest of letting the historical record stand on its own feet (not sure that absolutely anyone else in the world would ever give a flying fuck, but it’s meaningful to me). Check out the first re-mastered (with such a light hand) matches from the Producer’s Ring here, and you can find a portal in the Sidelineland Stories archives too, for your convenience.

The first Focus Group match I ever published (now re-published): Daniel Craig vs. Christian Bale

To really bury the lead, let me finally get around to explaining why I accelerated the Producer’s Ring reboot. An artist at Deviant Art approached me to collaborate on a project. Low, and behold, he’s an old Producer’s Ring reader, and it was his idea (I swear!) to collaborate on an illustrated version of a brand new Focus Group match. In honor of that, and to give the new illustrated version a place to land, I’ve started by posting some of the original Focus Group matches. I’m so stoked with the fun of working on this, my collaborator working up artwork as I generate text. It’s going to be sexy as fuck, and I’m going to be incredibly proud of it, once we get it put to bed. Hold your breath, because we’re both pretty fired up with getting this puppy finished up! Details to come…

Breaking Shane

The first two chapters of Shane’s Big Break got rave reviews from Bgklmangler, so I put a rush on re-posting the next two chapters to my new homoerotic wrestling fiction archive, Sidelineland Stories. I’m a sucker for praise (feel free to manipulate me, now), and truth be told, I’m really pleased to rediscover these stories that I wrote more than 10 years ago. And I’m really, really pleased/pleasured by how compelling I find them, even in hindsight (which often makes me cringe when looking back at old work).


While the first chapter was a fun thought-experiment between me and Bearhugs (Bearhugs writing chapter 1, and then seeing what I’d do with chapter 2), I grew seriously attached to the characters and the backstory of Shane and his old high school classmate, Neil. So, both of these next two chapters were all mine, and I set out to complicate Shane’s world in a way that might set up still more chapters to come. In chapter 3 (“Home Town Hero”), Shane returns to the ring before a roaring crowd wanting to see him do them proud and make up for the squash he suffered at Neil’s hands the week before. He’s lined up to wrestle a lightweight rookie, a former champ, who willingly puts Shane over and whips the home town crowd into a frenzy to see their old high school quarterback make good.

Lightweight former champ, Mikey

But this is pro wrestling, so get ready for a healthy second helping of melodrama, when heel-turned bodybuilder and former “friend” Neil interrupts Shane’s virginal victory celebration to, quite literally, wipe the mat with him all over again.

Shane’s nemesis, Neil

Honestly, I love Neil (holy fuck, am I a heel-fan after all!?). I’m infatuated with the new character, Mikey (nope, nope, I’m still a sucker for a babyface). And for some reason, I love/hate, love hating, Shane, and I do not grow tired of watching him (in literary fashion), with the taste of victory just brushing his palate, have glory slapped out of his mouth, humiliated all over again. If you read chapter 4 (“Scores to Settle”), you may sense my ambivalence about poor, poor Shane. Let me know what you think. I’ve sworn off writing new fiction for a while, while I enjoy doing some graphic adaptations of my homoerotic wrestling fiction, but damn it all, if I don’t seriously want another couple of chapters in Shane’s Big Break. Where do you think the story could take us next?

Shane’s Big Break

One of my favorite unintended consequences of sharing my thoughts about homoerotic wrestling for just anyone to read about here, is the opportunity it’s given me to collaborate with other like-minded men. As soon as I started posting the products of my homoerotic wrestling imagination on this blog, and in the pages of my homoerotic wrestling fiction, I began getting contacted by gay wrestling fans with burgeoning imaginations of their own. I think it was a sexy Swede named Swito who was the first to co-write a piece of homoerotic wrestling fiction with me. We fell out of touch, but still to this day, I get a little extra hit of excitement when I see someone from Svenska logged on here (fuck, I love the Swedes).

Shane, who has no fucking clue

After I started writing my original homoerotic wrestling fiction, set in the Producer’s Ring universe (I swear, I’ll be reposting those stories in a new Google Site soon), and my first collab with Swito came about there, I started the companion site (Sidelineland Stories), expressly to encourage new writers and maximize the opportunities for more collaborations. I’ve completely lost track of the writer Bearhugs (yo, Bearhugs!), but he challenged me to “finish” a story he started, starring a washed-up, former star high school quarterback, who reconnects with an old classmate who gives him the opportunity to break into the local pro wrestling fed. Bearhugs wrote, and I posted, the first chapter, in which Shane finds out just how far old high school friendships can stretch in his first pro match.

Neil, who’s overdue for a heel turn

Then it was my turn. Bearhugs challenged me to write what comes next. I’m not sure that Bearhugs was picturing things going the direction that I took them, but fuck it, that’s the beauty of collaborating with other homoerotic wrestling fans, isn’t it? I decided to twist the straight up squash job into a homoerotic wrestling after-show. It’s populated by you, and me, and a handful of other serious homoerotic wrestling fans, with cash burning a whole in their pockets and a local wrestling company happy to recruit their wrestlers to do what it takes to earn that money.

Sometimes, I sort of dread re-reading things I’ve written in the past. My writing evolved and, frankly, improved over time, and some of the early stuff trips me up with obtuse descriptions and clumsy exposition. But I’m genuinely happy, and just a little proud, to report that I really enjoyed recently reacquainting myself with Shane and his colleagues. Like, seriously, I enjoyed it A LOT (and then rehydrated). Bearhugs picked the only two images I have for this story, so there are limited graphics to accompany your imagination. I have half a mind to put this in the cue to draw in comic format (let me know what you think).

So, now, the first couple of chapters (Bearhugs’ story 1, and my “what happens next“) are posted to the newly launched Sideline Stories reborn. Thanks, Google Sites, for making me re-discover the good, bad, and ugly of my homoerotic wrestling fiction history, as I migrate materials over to the new platform. There are two more chapters (another pro match, followed by the after-match drama) that I plan to post soon, because fuck it if they don’t make me seriously happy, as well! I hope they bring you at least a fraction of the pleasure that they’ve brought me. Take a read, and let me know what you think in the comments here.

Seriously, Cleaning House

I’ve had a slow start to my day. It’s taken me a while to recover from an exhausting day yesterday. One of two scenarios played out for me yesterday. I’ll let you decide which is fact and which is fiction:

1) Moments after I posted my plan to clean house, Arthur Napiontek knocked at my front door. Adorable Art was dressed in khakis and a sleeveless t-shirt, and he carried a bucket of soaps and rags with him. I was once again struck by those gorgeous boulders for shoulders he has. He wore a sly grin as he asked, “Where would you like me to start?”
When there was another knock at the door, I was standing in the kitchen with a bourbon, watching Art as he scrubbed the floor on his hands and knees. Watching his khaki-clad ass swing back and forth as he scrubbed, I think it required a another, louder knock at the door to break me out of my reverie. “Keep scrubbing,” I told Art as I padded off.
You guessed it: upon opening the door I was greeted with the stunning form and ridiculously handsome face of Greg Plitt. Greg was in very low-rise jeans squeezed around those tree-trunk thighs and muscle butt. Like Art, he wore a sleeveless t-shirt, showing off his tremendously thick arms. He caught me staring, slack-jawed, at his bulging biceps. With a cocky grin that told me he knew the effect he had on mere mortals, he said, “I heard you could use some help with some heavily lifting.”
As I promised you, dear reader, once both of these cleaning hunks had arrived, my agenda for the day changed dramatically. I called Art over to join us in the living room, and we pulled all the furniture out. I told the boys I’d like to see some arm wrestling with those guns they were both packing. Greg rolled his eyes dismissively as he looked at Art’s model-perfect body. I had both hunks stretch out on their stomachs on the floor. Art was sincere as hell, but when I said, “Go,” Greg just played with him a few seconds. Art’s face turned almost as red as the hair on his head as he strained against Greg’s astonishing power. Greg chuckled, letting Art gain an advantage. Art had the back of the big man’s hand a half an inch from the floor when Greg finally stepped on the gas pedal and slammed Art’s hand hard to the floor as if Art was a child.
Art was embarrassed, but no less enthusiastic when I suggested a two-on-one. Greg looked up at me, sizing me up for several seconds, and then he took another assessment of Art. Finally he shrugged, smiled coyly and accepted the challenge. I stretched out on my stomach shoulder to boulder with Art. Greg planted his elbow on the floor and held open the palm of his hand. I grasped his hand in mine, though truth be told, his hand pretty much swallowed mine whole. Seriously, I had not appreciated how huge his hands are! As he squeezed my hand, I could feel the irresistible power coursing through his arm. Frankly, I’m no slouch, but I was quickly convinced that I’d do no better than Art in a head-to-head. But when Art placed the palm of his hand against the back of mine and wrapped his fingers around Greg and my grasped hands, I could also feel Art’s strength coming to a focus. I thought at that moment that Greg may have bitten off more than he could chew. Through gritted teeth, I grunted, “Go,” and Art and I slowly began to press Greg’s arm backward. The bemused smile on Greg’s face quickly faded, and he pursed his lips in concentration, finally halting the progress of our advantage. Every ounce of strength I had was pouring through my shoulder and arm. My hand felt like every bone was about to be crushed, but when I saw a bead of sweat pop out on Greg’s forehead, I knew we had him. I was sure Art saw it too, because I felt a renewed rush of strength pressing against the back of my hand.
All three of our arms were quivering with exhaustion after several seconds of our stalemate. I was past the point of exhaustion, really, but I was determined to see this muscle god in front of me suffer a humiliating defeat. His arm gave a fraction of an inch suddenly, and we held the back of his hand a mere three inches off the floor. One more burst of energy, and I was certain we had him.
But then, Greg began to growl. His face grew flushed with effort as he continued to clench his teeth. The growl was deep and fierce, and I simply could not believe that he was pressing both Art and my hands backward. It was slow going, but after a few seconds he’d wiped away our advantage completely, and our upper arms were perpendicular to the floor once more. Greg’s sustained growl continued as he forced our hands backward. My wrist was in excruciating pain, and I closed my eyes to concentrate everything I had left into resisting his power. We kept losing ground though. I opened my eyes and stared in awe at Greg’s gargantuan, flexed bicep, bigger than a grapefruit. The back of Art’s hand was finally pressed to the floor with me still staring at Greg’s awesome bicep.

Greg’s face opened up in to a wide, confident smile again. He flashed his pearly whites, as all three of us gasped, our arms numb. “Nice try, boys,” Greg said. He moved to pull his hand away, but I grabbed our grasped hands with my free hand and held tight. Art dove on top of Greg, spinning around and hooking his forearm across the big man’s throat. Greg tried to reach for Art’s arm, but I pinned his forearm to the floor underneath my chest.

It was over quicker than I’d expected. Greg was unconscious in little over a minute. Art and I tied his wrists over his head to the banister of the stairs (reinforced for just such an occasion) a few minutes later, after working hard to hoist his massive hardbody off the ground. Art stripped out of his khakis, then proceeded to strip Greg’s jeans off of him. We waited a few minutes, catching our breath, until finally Greg roused again.
I couldn’t get the image of Prometheus Bound from my head, as I grabbed Greg’s t-shirt by the front of the collar and ripped it off of him. He initially struggled against his bindings, but once he was convinced he was trapped, he just looked into my face with that domineering grin. I took my time, feeling up and down the length of his muscled body, now dressed only in very brief bikini underwear. Typically I’m not really into underarms, but I was irresistibly drawn to lick both his lightly hairy, sweaty pits. His salty taste on my tongue, I stepped back and gave Greg a wink.
Art stepped forward at that point and stripped out of his t-shirt. Like Greg, he was now encumbered only by his white briefs. “Start slowly,” I told him. Art flexed his fists, as he tilted his head, examining Greg’s armored core. Realizing what was on its way, Greg lifted his chin and taunted, “Give it your best shot, kid.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent with Art and I trading turns on our Prometheus punching bag. Impressively, it took over an hour before Greg was really showing the effects of our blows. Another hour after that, his head was hanging low and the once powerful god was whimpering his submission.
Art and I untied Greg. You might imagine there would be hard feelings, but trust me, no one was left unsatisfied by this session. In fact, freshly showered, the three of us were on the couch finishing off a leftover bottle of champagne I had in the fridge from the celebration the night before.


2) I spent all afternoon cleaning the house, exterminating dust-bunnies, polishing off even the tops of cabinets and picture frames, until the whole place gleamed and smelled lemony fresh.

I’ll let you decide which is fact and which is fiction. I’ll just say that by the end of the day, I was seriously exhausted and thoroughly and totally satisfied with the day’s adventure.
Oh, and Art says to say “hello” to everyone.

Battle of the Gods, continued

I’m sure it’s just me, but once again I notice that just days after SteelMuscleGod posts a muscle worship video, Adam400m puts one up. They probably don’t realize it, but they’re engaged in some fierce body-on-body competition in my imagination, and the tide may be turning once more.
SteelMuscleGod has posted a bald-face appeal for worshippers to bid on a private show somewhere in Europe. Snarling his pitch, SMG strips off his body-hugging top and gives a brief preview of what could be yours (to lease) in person. With his stunning upper body, the last time I had pictured it, I imagined SMG barely enduring a long, tortuous body scissor from Adam400m, relying on those rippled abs to prevent him from suffering serious internal injuries. Then SMG clamped on a dizzying headlock, followed by a bearhug, before finally wearing Adam down to his knees and commanding the Brit to worship him.

Taking a look at Adam400m’s post of a leg workout and posing session (complete with unabashed body worship by the cameraman), has made me reconsider if these two warriors are, in fact, done with their battle. I’m imagining that just as Adam is tracing his tongue across SMG’s washboard abs in seeming surrender, his eyes flicker open, finally catching his breath and coming back to his senses. Continuing to worship SMG into his own distracted reverie, Adam licks his way up to the crevice between SMG’s thunderous pecs. Just as SMG’s deep, husky voice fades into indistinct moans of pleasure, Adam knees him in the crotch, doubling his opponent forward.

With SMG clutching his assaulted balls, Adam shoves his opponent’s head between his gargantuan quads and squeezes. His legs flash hard and striated, the veins rising to the surface, as SMG’s screams of anguish are muffled between Adam’s upper legs, each one as thick as SMG’s waist. SMG’s body is shaking and convulsing in muffled sobs as he slowly drops to his knees, frantically trying to pull his opponent’s legs apart enough to pop free his head.
Adam slowly grinds his hips in tight rotations, his abdominals constricting in waves like a python. The irrepresible, cocky confidence of the SteelMuscleGod is reduced to sobs of pain as he tries punching his fists into the slabs of beef crushing his skull. The punches have no effect other than to bruise SMG’s knuckles. “When gods are brought to their knees, it’s time for them to do some worshipping,” Adam says, a light chuckle in his voice.
Again, I’m just saying…

Battle of the Gods

As you probably already realize, there are always beautiful muscleboys fighting it out in my imagination. Walking through my day, I see handsome hardbodies, and my first thought is, “I wonder which of those hunks would win in a submission battle.” I watch television and see hollywood gym bunnies, and my first question is, “Which hottie could make the other scream first?”
Two of my muscleworship crushes are fighting tooth and nail in the arena in my mind. SteelMuscleGod posted a new worship vid, primarily focusing on those astounding legs. Posing in his yellow briefs, SMG is growling and snarling at the camera throughout. “Big muscles are back, more shredded, and harder than ever.” He’s a handsome studpuppy, and his glasses make me smile. He’s looking bigger in each video he posts, and he demands, “Contribute and worship!”

Battling head-to-head with SteelMuscleGod is Adam400m, the English bodybuilder. As if in answer to SteelMuscleGod’s upload on Monday, Adam posted a legs-video on Tuesday. Adam similarly is growing in every upload, helpfully explaining that his legs are “definitely getting beefier from squats.” Adam yanks up the fronts of his shorts, showing off his sweet upper thighs and giving a nice glimpse of the heft of that shapely package. Adam isn’t as verbal as SteelMuscleGod, but he’s also inviting our contributions (via his website) and implicitly demanding to be worshipped.

I’m not made of money. I can’t whip out my… credit card for every hardbody YouTube god demanding to be worshipped. This competition for my heart/wallet must be translated into a muscle battle. These boys both love their quads, but I have to imagine Adam having the edge in a body scissor battle. Trading body scissors, SteelMuscleGod would be whimpering in pain.
When SteelMuscleGod snaps a headlock on Adam, though, I think the tide would turn. SMG is sporting thicker biceps that Adam would struggle against, but finally be unable to escape. When SMG suddenly captures Adam in a bearhug, he’d pull the Englishman off his feet. Adam would try to scissor his captor’s muscled torso with those shredded thighs, but SMG would squeeze the air out of his opponent’s lungs and leave him powerless.
There might eventually be some bondage involved, but regardless, SMG would psychologically overwhelm Adam with that husky, cocky, snarling voice. “Worship me!” he’d demand of his crushed and breathless opponent. Adam would resist, but when SMG licks his own massive peaks and then shoves them in Adam’s face, the end would be near. As my scene closes, Adam would be on his knees, his face being smashed into victor’s torso as SMG holds him by fistfuls of hair. A tongue flickering out of the defeated man’s mouth would signal the sweetest submission of all.
I’m just saying…

Another Sideline

I get a kick out of the Fantasy BGE Wrestling group. I possess a predilection for gay wrestling fiction, and I like seeing BG East style wrestling fiction through the eyes of different authors. It’s fascinating to see what each of us focuses on in writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. Some of us clearly find our kink in the strut and swagger, the cocky attitudes and dominating trash talk as two studs ante up before laying their cards on the table. Some of us are into the wrestling holds, with simply naming a series of moves and holds as the beginning and end of a hot grappling session. Some of us are mostly about the bodies, with detailed descriptions of the muscles, the cocks, the stretch and the flex. Personally, it all gets me hot and bothered, and there’s an added kink-kick of reading a match through the eyes of someone else as they get hot and bothered. I feel like the voyeur’s voyeur. Sharing the author’s lens seems just as intimate as the sweaty, cum-soaked action in the ring.
I’ve submitted three contributions to that group. The first match pitted one of my classic favorites, Brad Rochelle, against the instant classic, Mitch Colby. Since we can never get enough of Brad, a second match puts him back in the ring against ring rookie Tyrell Tomsen. I submitted a third match last weekend, dangling man meat Rio Garza in front of the Dismantler, Cole Cassidy. Capitalizing on the “fantasy” side of things, that match offered me a chance to resurrect a BG East veteran we haven’t seen in quite a while for a special appearance.
The Garza vs. Cassidy match hasn’t been uploaded yet. But after I mentioned it a few days ago, I’ve had a few requests. So I’ve uploaded it to another site. I’ll add some stories over time (outside the Producer’s Ring storyline), and I hope others will contribute some of their works as well (any genre). Here’s a little teaser from early in Cole’s match with Rio:
In a flash, Cole wrapped his thickly muscled arms around Rio’s narrow waist. With a grunt, Cole lifted his opponent off his feet and drove Rio’s back hard to the mat, still maintaining his bearhug. Rio’s head bounced off the canvas, and his eyes blinked rapidly as his head swam. Cole disentangled his arms from his opponent and sat back on his heels, perched between Rio’s knees. “Intimidated yet?” he asked without a smile, glaring down at Rio, who clutched his hands to the back of his head.

Cole clenched his right fist, bit his lower lip in concentration, then jabbed his fist into Rio’s abdomen. Rio’s stunning six-pack flexed, and Cole’s fist bounced off. Again, Cole cocked his fist and pounded it hard into the rookie’s abs, but once again, Rio flexed and the blow bounced off with no effect. Again and again, Cole drilled his fists, back and forth into the rookie’s midsection, but the blows seemed to do nothing but clear Rio’s head. Rio looked up at the veteran and smiled. “Is that all you’ve got, old man?”

Gay Wrestling Fiction

I finally had time (and recovered enough from my cold) to do some more writing this weekend. I managed to crank out two wrestling matches, for those interested in gay wrestling fiction. The first match I posted to my celebrity wrestling fiction group, the
Producer’s Ring, pitting an ever more massive Christian Bale against an untested Chris Hemsworth. The match-up emerged from a reader recommendation, and I enjoyed the notion of the grappling veteran picking out promising talent to test both himself and the new crop of contenders. Here’s a quick moment from the action…

“Chris held the torture rack for a half a minute, but Christian continued to chuckle and taunt him. “Make me hurt, boy!” Christian said through gritted teeth. Chris slowly began walking in a tight circle in the middle of the mats, his knees wobbling with each step before locking out. With each stride, Christian grunted in pain, but he never stopped chuckling. Frustrated, Chris came to a halt in the center of the room. Releasing his grasp, he dropped Christian, who fell hard from the 6’3” frame upon which he’d been captured. Christian crashed to the mats directly behind Chris. Chris doubled forward, gasping, placing his hands on his knees, catching his breath. After a moment to recover, he turned around. Looking down at Christian, who lay on the mat on his back, Chris leaned down to scoop him up again. Before he laid a finger on him, Christian’s right fist shot between Chris’ legs and crunched upward into his balls.”

Since posting a fictional match pitting my long time obsessions, Brad Rochelle and Mitch Colby, against one another, I fielded a few requests for another match set in the BG East universe. With the writing bug upon me, I also polished off a new match, giving Brad a shot at another one of the new cocky body-beautifuls who’ve been hot in BG East (and in my imagination) in recent months: Tyrell Tomsen. After enjoying Tyrell’s pounding on Braden Charron, I was inspired by the notion that Tyrell is collecting his opponents’ clothing. So in this match, Tyrell shows up already wearing Brad’s boots, and the battle is waged over who’ll walk out of the ring in possession of the boots.

“I said…” Tyrell began, driving the heel of his right boot into the side of Brad’s head. Brad dropped to his side, his hands instinctively rising to protect his head. “I said…” Tyrell continued, “that these boots don’t have your name on them, mother fucker!” Again, Tyrell stomped the heel of his right boot, this time driving into Brad’s hip. Brad’s back arched away from the blow, and he rolled over to his stomach. Tyrell positioned himself next to his opponent once again, then hopped into the air before driving the heel of his boot into the small of Brad’s back. “So keep your fucking hands off!”

Check out the BG East match at the FantasyBGEwrestling Yahoo group (not my group, just where I’ve posted a couple matches), or read more of my celebrity wrestling fiction in the Producer’s Ring (my google group… don’t be afraid of the sign-up. I’m just trying to screen out the haters). If you’re interested in sharing some original short stories, let me know. I’m always interested in getting feedback, and I’m happy to offer it to others as well.

The Price of Wrestling Porn

I haven’t taken a poll, or anything, but I imagine that I support the gay porn industry just as much as the next man. I have friends whose video and DVD collections require whole rooms to house, so by comparison I don’t think that I qualify as a “fanatic” really. But I have my own little treasure in my closet, and I pitch in for a couple recurring subscriptions here and there. My porn fix is managed, and I don’t intend on increasing my tithe to the industry, particularly in these tough times.

Then along comes a nicely packaged new site that completely grabs my attention. YouTube teasers for Naked Kombat look promising. The website is attractive, the teasers are sexy, and the backstories (complete with transparent “rules“) add a nice touch to the homoeroticism. The wrestlers appear to be, on average, perhaps a little hotter than other wrestling video products. But the subscription price is premium, significantly higher than other gay wrestling companies. Also some of their links to other “kink” sites that they produce take me to shots of women, which I find immediately… deflating. What to do. What to do.
As I take shopping for porn way too seriously, it makes me think of the harsh backdrop that I paint when I write my wrestling fiction. When I started writing the Producer’s Ring, I conceived of the setting for my homoerotic celebrity wrestling fiction as an alternate world where the entertainment industry has become the basis for political and economic order, where everything and everyone is a commodity, where capitalism has run amok and marketing and profits are the first and last word in political dominance. This alternate reality seems ripe with possibilities for gay wrestling fiction, but I really don’t want the reality that I live in to actually drift that direction. Where more and more of our lives are given a price tag, I hope that we continue to work into the calculus the pricelessness of imagination, romanticism, justice and humanity.

Reading is Hot

In a world where video is accessible from your mobile phone and millions of photos and graphics are clickable everywhere, it makes one wonder what will be the future of text. The moment between desire and gratification seems to be collapsing exponentially. Text requires a little patience, at least a little investment of time. Will there be a place for text, literature, erotica, poetry in the unfolding future?

I hope so. My own gay wrestling fiction, Producer’s Ring, is fun to write, and my hope is that it might be fun to read for others as well. The celebrity wrestling fiction by Savage, Arena Island Celebrity Wrestling, is also great, sexy fun (take note that new material has migrated to Yahoo… check out the public portal Rants, Roids & Wrestling for directions). And speaking of ranting and roiding, Rants and Roids blogger Erik writes a couple fiction blogs, of which I’m getting a kick out of The Snow Boy (have I mentioned I love the Scandinavians?). I hope that there will always be people like me that find some of the most erotic experiences are found in the texts that spark the imagination, transport us into new possibilities, and draw us into the erotic act of reading.