Another Rose By Any Other Name

5’10”, 156 lbs, Thunder’s Arena’s resident bad ass twink: TAK

I haven’t yet sparked one of those slightly panicky messages from a young hunk who’d really, really prefer that I take down references to their more explicit porn career in response to yesterday’s post.  Cool!  Celebrate what you got, boys! Adam did contact me though to let me know that 1) Blogger wouldn’t permit him to post a comment, and 2) Thunder’s Arena’s TAK can also be seen doing his thang at SeanCody.

First of all, sorry for those who frequently let me know that Blogger isn’t allowing them to comment.  Our Google overlords have moved on to their next big innovative roll-out, I’m sure, so kinks and bugs like this seem to pop up with increasing frequency around here.  Second of all, as I’ve mentioned recently, I occasionally get a major twink-lust, and damn it all if “The All-American Kid” TAK doesn’t scratch it good!  There’s something visually vulnerable about him, particularly when juxtaposed with the seriously massive mountains of beef that Thunder’s has tended toward in recent years.  More than just sheer size, though, TAK’s blond, blue-eyed, long, lean beauty is almost “delicate,” I’d say.  He looks like he’d burn in the sun without SPF 5,000.  I’d guess he could’ve been a sickly kid.  So when he slaps down a sweetly intense mat offense and makes an opponent squeal a little, and then flexes his ectomorph muscles cockily, the drama is hot and compelling.

SeanCody’s Sheldon (and his power washer)

Eagle-eyed Adam put 2 and 2 together and passed along the conclusion that Thunder’s Arena’s “The All-American Kid” is also SeanCody’s Sheldon.  Nice, nice, nice!  Somehow TAK looks considerably less vulnerable to me with his semi-erect cock swinging free.  That’s a choice piece of meat to go with the boy-next-door beauty and deceptively shy grin.  SeanCody’s page mentions that Sheldon is a heavy artillery shooter, and Adam confirmed this when he contacted me to put me on this trail.  Our boy boasts that he can launch a load that will hit the ceiling, and Adam says “the guy shoots the biggest, farthest load you’ll ever see this side of Shane Erickson.”

All the right elements to a seriously, explicitly erotic chart topper!

Which makes his match against fellow SeanCody alum and bareback rodeo star Mogly seem like so much potential unrealized.  Can you just imagine the chart topper this would have been had Mogly used that free left hand of his when he had TAK at his mercy in this backbreaker, to yank down his trunks and work that hose until TAK doused a bonfire!?

5’9″, 212 lbs, Thunder’s Arena’s Xavier

My second sleuth today is again another find from my own foraging. And, again, it’s another Thunder’s Arena wrestler, namely Xavier.  Xavier’s a typical Thunder’s Arena powerhouse. Thunder’s says he’s 5’9″ and 212 pounds.  He wrestles with a dark coat of hair on those massive pecs, and he sports some aggressive ink that I really like the look of.

Xavier takes a good look at what his muscle domination does to studpuppy Hoop.

Xavier is sweetly satisfying as an overpowering bully who delights in exploiting an outmuscled opponent.  Like serious crushes of mine before him, he works his magic all over luscious bon bon Hooper who responds in the way that Hoop seems unable to resist when dominated by superior firepower.  Xavier-the-wrestler strikes me as a brute force bull, like the tat on his right arm, plowing through the china shop of lesser men.

Vegas boy and RentMen’s XavierMuscle

Following the trail of breadcrumbs he leaves on Twitter, Instagram, RentMen and Facebook, when he’s not crushing a turned-on little hunk like Hoop, Xavier is available by the hour via RentMen or for public consumption as a muscle dancer at a gay club in Las Vegas.  Here’s a prime example of how different contexts shed such a different light on a hot piece of meat like Xavier.  I’d never really noticed his gorgeous eyes, and in his case, I’m all over those massive, meaty pecs shaved over au naturel.  Far less a brute than a beauty, Xavier as muscle god is a work of art. Seeing how he can handle the jackhammer he’s equipped with, again I have to say I think it’s a crying shame he didn’t do more than just raise an eyebrow at Hoop’s swollen package propped up so perfectly in that OTK.

I could feast for days on those shaved pecs!

Again, as always, if this post suddenly becomes populated with pictures of puppies, you’ll know that someone prefers that his G-rated non-explicit homoerotic wrestling persona overlap with his X-rated porn star alter-ego.  Fair enough.  I’m always more than ready to fulfill a request from a wrestler to craft his wrestling presence in precisely the way he wants it.  But my point is really that there’s sometimes more homoerotic potential in our homoerotic wrestling fare, and I’m a booster for exploiting potential to its fullest.

Man Enough

Our Google overlords bless us with a fickle blogger interface that frequently leaves me cursing.  Typically, I think, the frustration is almost entirely on my side of the computer screen. Occasionally, however, it seems to impact neverland readers.  One reader has repeatedly pointed out that the automatic program for verifying that people who attempt to comment are, indeed, human beings, can sometimes present such blurry and obscure text to try to decipher that it’s nearly impossible.  Sorry for that. I wish I had some control over those things.  I also recently discovered that someone attempted twice to post a comment on a recent session of gushing of mine over reigning (for one more day) homoerotic wrestler of the month, Austin Wolf.

Austin Wolf not masculine?

I approved the comment, after some pause, however I don’t see it anywhere on the blog itself.  It’s in my “approved comments” list, but doesn’t show up in any post I can find.  The pause came because I’ve been rejecting comments lately that seem to me to be bitchy criticisms of wrestlers’ bodies or personalities.  Too fat.  Too skinny.  Not butch enough.  I know that a lot of the homoerotic wrestlers I write about also read this blog, and I don’t want them reading that crap.  But I went ahead and approved this comment that referred to Austin as “sexy enough, if only he weren’t so femme in person…. He is not nearly as masculine as the image he is trying to portray,” the commenter reported.  There’s just so much there to think about.  Setting aside my first question, “when have you seen him in person?” and my second question, “isn’t every expression of masculinity (or femininity) an image, a mere portrayal, or as Judith Butler has called it, a “performance?”  Whatever.  So Austin isn’t as masculine in person as he seems to appear on camera.  I guess my real question is, so what?

Rusty Stevens: masculine enough for you?

Now I’m not trying to take this commenter to task.  At all, really.  I approved the post because it provoked me to think deeper about masculinity in homoerotic wrestling.  I mean, sure, hypermasculinity is a pretty well-worn trope on our scene, so I would be entirely unsurprised to discover that any number of the meanest, baddest, most dominatingly butch heels in homoerotic wrestling history are, in their personal lives, light in the loafers and sassy as blown glass.  I don’t care what they may get up to on their own time, I might say.  Just tell me that powerful story of domination and submission, power and suffering, agony and arousal that I love so much, and what do I care how far from the mark that wrestling persona is to how they act when their sipping apple martinis at the piano bar?

Xavier: Does body hair make the man?  Big muscles?  Facial hair?

But even that isn’t really where I settled with this comment about the purported incongruity between Austin’s presentation of masculinity on and off camera.  No, I found myself challenged by the idea of masculinity itself.  We’re clearly not in a post-gender age, of course, but as for me (and I’ll speak solely for myself here), I’m not sure I’ve got the clearest hold on what comprises the polar opposites of masculinity and femininity as far as homoerotic wrestling goes.  I know of big, burly muscle bear-looking bruisers who snarl and spit and I think, hot damn, that’s one hot bit of masculine hunkiness!  But if the same burly bear wears a pink cardi and giggles like a girl when Glee comes on, I’m still fully prepared to objectify him as a no-holds-barred object of my lust.

Lon Dumont: Smooth as a baby’s bottom and over-the-top masculine in the ring.

And there are relatively petite, smooth, boyishly beautiful wrestlers who wink and grin, and when slam an opponent into the turnbuckle or bash him across his knee in an over the knee backbreaker, I think, hot damn, that’s one hot bit of masculine hunkiness!  Deep bass Boston voices.  High pitched Southern accents.   Pretty in pink.  Dangerous in black.  Go-go-boy.  Construction worker.  Limp wrist.  Football fan.  Facial hair.  Man-scaped.  Do they have a cock and tell me a hot, hot wrestling story?  I’m in.

Damien Rush was quoted recently as saying, “Let me smother you with all my masculine hair!”

So if Austin Wolf cracks an opponent’s spine over his knee, claws his crotch mercilessly, then schoolboy pins the punk with his big, gorgeous cock slapping the loser’s cheeks back and forth, and then gets up, showers off with 5 different skin care products and quotes Bette Davis movies over cosmos with all the rest of the girls… well, fuck.  It just occurred to me that I think that’s even HOTTER!

Tell me again how I’m not masculine enough for you, bitch!

Homoerotic wrestling likely reifies stereotypes of masculinity (and, by default, femininity) in many, many ways.  But I think, and I hope, that it blurs some of the old standby stereotypes as well.  I like the idea that the same mass of 6’4″ sculpted muscle can threaten to rip an opponent’s head off in a camel clutch and the next day sing along with show tunes in the car as he goes antiquing with his gurl-friends. I harbor a deep seated and not at all sublimated sexual fantasy of the rise of the muscle sculpted sissies who may be as pretty as a prima donna, but will fuck you up in a heartbeat in the ring.  Maybe I’m too old.  Or too young.  Or just don’t have the good taste to want to cling to the sharp, clean lines of gender stereotypes any longer.  But even if Austin Wolf were a flaming queen, he’d drain me dry time and time again as long as he racks another wasted loser across those mile wide shoulders of his.  Hell, I’d pay a premium, in fact!

Ask Hoop right about  now if Austin is masculine enough for him.