There Oughta Be a Law

I was holding vigil all weekend in anticipation of the arrival of summer. It still hasn’t arrived, as evidenced by my pasty white skin and layers of clothes, but the hot morning weatherman on my local television news station promises me that I’ll be in short sleeves tomorrow, just in time for the solstice.

So there’s no quiz for you this week. Considering school’s out and the grads are still hung over, I figure you deserve a break from test-taking. I’ve also been abundantly distracted by my first taste of the juicy new releases from BG East. I’ve been trying to pace myself and drink plenty of fluids, but one moment in Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros keeps grabbing my attention. At one key point in the development of the match, Z-Man is appropriately taking a well-earned, nasty beating from Kid Karisma. They’ve both given and taken their fair share of pounding, but now Kid K has beaten the mocha-skinned muscle model into submission, and then added a gratuitous ball claw on the pretty boy just to seal the deal. Z-Man is finally writhing on his stomach on the canvas, clutching his balls in agony, when Kid K bends over (just linger on those last 4 words a while…. okay, now continue), grabs Z-Man’s pink trunks, and wedgies them high up his ass.

So a couple things speak to me here that probably don’t need mentioning (but that’s what I do around here, isn’t it? I mention everything I think). Z-Man’s bare ass is beautiful. A work of art. I’d go so far as to say his ass is even pretty, and I mean that with all due respect. I’d frame those golden glutes and hang them on a wall. Yanking the fabric away to give a less-obstructed view is nothing but an act of politeness from Kid K to you and me, as far as I’m concerned. Sure, it seems to dial up the agony in Z-Man, but seriously, that wedgie is a thoughtful gift from Kid K to us. “Take a look boys,” Kid K could have just as easily said out loud. As Kid K himself remarked earlier in the match, examining Z-Man’s vulnerable ass in a compromised moment, “Oh yeah, definitely very, very pretty!”

But then Z-Man does the unforgivable (as far as I’m concerned). As soon as he catches his breath, he quickly reaches behind him and digs the pink fabric out of his crack, re-covering those dessert-like cheeks. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you, I yelled at the screen the first time I saw this. That punk-ass bastard (said lovingly)!  When the trunks get wedgied, ripped, yanked or stripped, in homoerotic wrestling they need to stay that way. Screw your decency and sense of humility or dignity, Z-Man! Those went out the door well before you were screaming like a baby, trapped in the ropes, with Kid K’s claw crushing your testicles from behind. When your ass gets displayed by someone as generous and thoughtful as Kid K, you should just take it like the babyface muscle model rookie that you are (at least in these parts).

Before anyone gets the wrong idea (though I have no control over that, I’m reminded often), let me clarify that I love this match. I love Z-Man in this match. I LOVE Kid Karisma in this match. I can’t quite make it 10 minutes into this match before a dramatic cardiovascular event happens within me. It’s not that I actually don’t like Z-Man or his work here. I just feel like there should be some policy that says that homoerotic wrestlers that lose full coverage of their gear should have to just grin and bear it. There’s sort of a justice about it. Once the skin is exposed, it should have to stay that way. Any homoerotic wrestler who readjusts his gear to cover back up should merit a merciless and humiliating beating and the penalty of losing ALL his gear before all is said and done.

This brings to mind (in my constant stream of consciousness sort of way), Christopher Bruce’s “comeback” against Cole Cassidy in Demolition 10. Cole applies perhaps the nastiest wedgie I’ve ever seen as a defensive maneuver when he’s trapped in Christopher’s crushing bearhug. Unlike Z-Man, however, Christopher shows the instincts of a veteran. He and Cole deliver precisely what it is I’m tuning in to see here. He just keeps right on wrestling, his gorgeous bubble butt bouncing beautifully unencumbered by his trunks. I’m sure it wasn’t comfortable, but Christopher didn’t climb into that ring to be comfortable. He climbed in there to deliver what you and I pay for!

Naked Kombat’s recent match illustrated that Phenix Saint has the same veteran instincts. I’m pretty sure that NK instructs the wrestlers to leave the gear wherever the action takes it. But some can’t help themselves but tug the trunks back up, as if that was going to mean anything in round 3 and 4. But I enjoy watching Phenix completely un-selfconcious as he soldiers on after rookie farmboy Blake has yanked his red trunks three-quarters of the way down his ass. The trunks and the exposure clearly mean nothing to Phenix, and yet they mean so much to me. So his single-minded focus in ignoring his ass hanging out makes me root for Phenix that much harder.

And speaking of hard, and just to complete this stream of consciousness ranting, this makes me think of the truly remarkable rookie debut four months ago of seriously entertaining grappler, Adonis, running circles around Gianni Luca and tying the Italian up in knots. NK gives points for getting your opponent’s gear off of him. They get special points in round 2 when they can yank their opponent’s jockstraps over their heads, as opposed to just ripping them off. Adonis illustrates his tenacity and determination by working the “over-the-head” points in round 1, when Gianni is still in his speedo-style trunks. Cranking on Gianni’s skimpy red trunks like there’s no tomorrow, Adonis rips the crotch out of them and slowly manages to stretch them up and over the Italian jobber’s head and eventually entirely off his body. Not only is this a feat, in and of itself (buy a pair of speedos and just try this!), Adonis doesn’t skip even a beat as he performs this maneuver while simultaneously maintaining complete control of Gianni in one completely dominating, crushing, humiliating hold after another. We need to see Adonis and his gorgeous tool in action again!

I’m not entirely sure I’m finishing this post in the same spot where I started it, but let me just conclude by saying this is what gear is meant for in homoerotic wrestling: getting removed. Whether it’s in the form of a vicious wedgie that reveals the gorgeous glutes beneath, or if it’s in the form of ripping the extraneous garment off entirely, gear inevitably stands between me and the next level of homoerotic pleasure. While it’s certainly true that I can be entertained with hot wrestling involving all gear staying firmly in place from start to finish, if there are any wardrobe malfunctions (and especially the intentional ones), it ought-a be a law! Leave gear where ever the action takes it, especially if that’s stretched so high up Z-Man’s ass crack that it makes the muscleboy gag!

Simply Gorgeous

It was a labor of love, but yesterday’s study of the remarkable homoerotic wrestling career of Jonny Firestorm took a whole lot of time for me to compose. So today, I’m trying to keep things short and sweet.
Kid Karisma wrestling the Z-Man in BG East’s Summer Sizzler: Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros, is incredibly sexy muscle model pro wrestling!

Kid Karisma’s ass, encased in skin tight shiny silver trunks, is ranking as one of the most gorgeous asses I’ve ever seen in my life, under just about any circumstances.

Grinding that world class ass into Z-Man’s face, as Kid K gloats and revels in wrapping the fitness model hunk up so tightly and humiliatingly, is wearing out the “pause” and “rewind” buttons on my DVD player.

Z-Man is turning into a total team player for BG East, bringing attitude, athleticism, and that agonizingly attractive body of his in well-pitched proportion to the scope of this ring battle and the extremely high quality presentation of his opponent. I’m not too proud to admit that Z-Man is making me eat my highly critical words of the past over his prior wrestling resume. And Kid K has a direct line to my libido, with every inch of his bulging body and every smart-ass snarl and sneer turning me on and turning me into drooling fanatic for the red-headed muscle star bad boy.  Fantasy. Men. Muscle. Pros. Hell, yes!

Asses Named

Congratulations to Stay Puft, who posted the best score for this week’s edition of Name That Ass! All of these glutes this week should be on your list of homoerotic wrestlers to watch. I own matches with all of these hot hunks, and they’re all cherished possessions. Now pull out your quizzes and let’s review the answers…
Ass #1 belongs to…
…the Z-Man, Zack Vazquez/Zack Johnathan… whatever you’d like to call him, I get the impression he’ll answer you.
It’s Thunder’s Arena wrestler Sebastian showing off the Z-Man’s moneymaker in a feet-off-the-floor bearhug in Battlespace 10. The Z-Man hasn’t always jobbed, but let’s face it, he’s jobbed more than his fair share. I’m glad to see in his recent debut with BG East that he’s got a little more to offer than just having his ass beat up and down and shown off from every angle. It is, indeed, a nice ass, though.
Ass #2 belongs to…
…BG East muscle god himself, Wade Cutler.
I was just talking about this proportionally perfect muscle god! Those pecs come in a close second place for my favorite Wade Cutler body part, but hands down, it’s that gorgeous ass that’s at the top of my list. Again, I say, Rod Duart in X-Fights 19 was one damn lucky rookie.
Ass #3 belongs to…
…legendary pornboy, Scott Randsome (aka Kurtus Beefcake).
Specifically, here he’s grinding his balls into still another legendary pornboy, Tom Katt for BG Enterprise’s Fantasy Fight 2. Tom has his eye, and hands, on Scott’s ass from the get-go, but the battle to determine who’s ass is getting fucked is far from a given. Fans of full contact muscle on muscle wrestling simply must own this match.

Ass #4 belongs to…
Steve did just a few matches for Can-Am, including this appearance on the mats and then in the oil (ah, Can-Am), in Czech Tag Team 2. He wrestled alongside of Sonny Markham, another musceboy extraordinaire, and they faced off against the titular Czechs, Jirka Kalvoda and Jarda Kolar. I’m more familiar with Steve’s more competitive work for On Top Wrestling, and his much, much less competitive wrestling for Sharpshooters. Damn, that’s one gorgeous golden blond man.
Finally, ass #5 belongs to…
…BG East bad boy classic, Jose.
You know you’re a bad ass when you only need one name to inspire fear. Here, Jose wrestles in one of the Paradise oil wrestling matches, up against The Lineman. Jose kicked ass all the time. Always. Satisfyingly. And his cock had its own zip code. Look at the sneer on that face, and then scroll back up and enjoy the ass again.
No shame if you didn’t score a perfect 100. It’s just a signal that you need to watch a lot more homoerotic wrestling. Enjoy your studies!

Contending with Joe

Joe at Ringside at Skull Island is very, very keen on BG East’s new release, Ringwars 19. Since I possess a preferential regard for both ring wrestling and Joe’s opinions, Ringwars 19 is instantly on my to-own list. Joe’s description of an early-career Alexi Adamov hanging from a rafter with his long, gorgeous thighs clamped around the head of Naughty Nick Naughton is sufficient to convince me that Ringwars is my kind of wrestling kink.
But now that the new releases are available for the masses to order, I’m feeling the need to contradict Joe. Perhaps less a contradiction than a contention, I’m feeling that if you own no other new release to emerge in 2011, you’ll want it to be Sunshine Shooters 4. Joe argues that all-time need-to-own would be Ringwars 19. It’s not that I doubt Joe’s tastes in the least. But I jumped on the Sunshine Shooters 4 wagon at the earliest possible moment, and was blown away. This release includes three matches that hold my attention and turn me on, non-stop. Most newsworthy for most, though, will be the fact that cover boy, Playboy model, and internet softcore it-boy, Z-Man Zack Vasquez, has dipped his foot in the deep end of the pool that is BG East wrestling.
I’ve had a love/hate (or at least a lust/antipathy) relationship with Z-Man for some time. Ever since I first saw him ham it up against Alexander years ago for Thunder’s Arena, I was both captivated by the Z-Man’s incredible physique and aggravated by his salesmanship. Following his progress with Thunder’s and in the early crop of matches with Rock Hard Wrestling, I’ve been adamantly proscribing a stern, merciless lesson in being introduced to actual pain in order wipe that irrepressible, smarmy, “this-is-all-play-acting” smirk off his truly beautiful face. I’ll marvel more about the details in a future post, but for now, let me just bow down to the perfectly tuned stylings of veteran Patrick Donovan who delivers exactly what the doctor ordered. 
Frankly, I suspected that bringing along the Z-Man could be a bit of a gamble for BG East. In my estimation, BG East’s strength is in their high quality, all-in wrestling, so a half-assed, smirking performance by even a Playboy model could be an embarrassing ding on BG East’s fine reputation. But the Boss rolled the dice and damn, did it pay off! The pacing and action here make me gasp. The wrestling is completely engaging and astonishingly hot. Patrick seriously beats on Z-Man with his fists in a way that totally satisfies me. The audible thumps followed quickly by Z-Man’s reflexive grunts are just about as stellar as the sight of the Z-Man’s gorgeous pecs and eight-pack abs turning bright red from the relentless assault. Z-Man (and Patrick, for that matter) has never looked more tasty, more toned, or in skimpier wrestling gear. Z-Man-addicts, and I know there are many of you, will find this bout simply fantastic. 
Next up, there’s Cole Cassidy and Tony Vencini working up a sheen of sweat that continually makes me press “pause.” Cole never disappoints me. This is my first Tony match, and he’s one big, solid brute of a battler. Their grappling is astonishingly high quality, with incredibly intense and relentless pacing that tires me out just watching it (for many reasons). But again, just like my assessment of Patrick and the Z-Man, I have to say that having adored Cole’s body many, many times before, he’s simply never looked more stunning, shiny, hard, and ripped to shreds, working incredibly hard against an accomplished and bigger boy. Another truly entertaining match.
Seriously, I’d pay money (but probably couldn’t afford) for Cole to slide my head between his devastating thighs and squeeze, and I’d tip him a whole lot extra to let me me reach up and squeeze those meaty pecs of his at the same time.
But as I mentioned a couple of days ago, I’m totally smitten with the amazing match-up of beefy bruiser Brook Stetson going muscle to muscle against my inaugural favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy and regular fixture in my fondest wrestling fantasies, Mitch Colby. Like all the shoots in this collection, these boys (okay, I like the term boys, but in this case, I simply have to call these studs men), these men are working their asses off. Just as importantly, they work their singlets off and are both quickly coated in each other’s sweat. Something happens inside me though, when Brook hog ties Mitch’s wrists behind his back using Mitch’s own jock strap as bindings. Mitch’s beautiful ass is wedgied high and hard, and for the first time in this entire match, Mitch’s endless tenacity simply can’t keep him fighting against the overpowering behemoth. Brook is understated, but unmistakably pleased with his handiwork as he slides Mitch face-first high between his oak-tree thighs for an astonishing face-to-crotch, hands literally tied behind Mitch’s back, head scissor submission. Holy fuck.
That “something” that happens to me, by the way, is the completely out-of-the-blue return of Mitch to the top rankings of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys. It was a brief tenure that DJ enjoyed as the top contender for the title, and I wouldn’t count DJ out of the running for long with the way he’s been tearing through the competition at Naked Kombat as of late, but Sunshine Shooters 4 unquestionably bears witness to a shocking assault from behind, in which Mitch manages to gorilla press DJ’s lightweight, ripped to shreds body over head, leave him hanging and gasping in shock and terror for an eternity, before tossing DJ right out of the ring, leaving Mitch the undisputed top contender staring down my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Trent Diesel.
Perhaps I might think differently once I get a chance to enjoy Ringwars 19. Perhaps you might think differently with both products in hand and well-scrutinized. But I’ve just got to say, I suspect for many of us, if there’s no other new release we buy in 2011, we’d simply have to own Sunshine Shooters 4.

Deserving It

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.

Fudging on the Promise

Rock Hard Wrestling is messing with the formula a bit, and I’m ambivalent about the results. RHW has promoted itself from day one (months before that, really) as promoting 100% Abercrombie caliber, rock hard wrestlers looking better than you’ve ever seen. A new addition to the stable, Ethan Andrews, is skinny as a rail, with buck teeth, hippy hair and shaggy sideburns. I’m not picturing Ethan in an Abercrombie ad. He’s also not exactly rock hard, unless you count bones and tendons.

Zack of course, is Zack. He’s as mouthwatering as always, and he epitomizes the seminal promise of RHW. He’s rock hard, more handsome than should be legal, and perhaps the only thing that would keep him off the pages of Abercrombie he’s just oozing too much overt sexuality.

I like the banter in this match. Pacing inside the ring, Ethan yells at Zack who’se pumping iron outside the ring, “Hey, douchebag! Hey, douchebag! Why don’t you drop the dumbells and show me what you got!’ Zack rises to the challenge instantly, incredulously asking if Ethan really thinks he can handle what Zack’s packing. Ethan smacks his flat-as-a-board chest with confidence. “Bring it on!”

I continue to like Zack’s development in wrestling. He’s selling nicely. He continues to turn the corners of that shit-eating grin down, transforming it into a half-crazed, singularly focused glare like he’s about to take a mouthful out of a pastrami sandwich. The match is back and forth from start to finish. Rope and corner abuse are sweet. Zack’s reverse bearhug on Ethan is quite hot, using his clearly superior strength to shake the kid like a rag doll. Finally, an over-the-knee backbreaker (hooray!) catches Zack off guard, and he quickly gives up (too quickly… boooo).

Zack stays on script, getting caught more than once mugging for the camera, resulting in a surprise reversal or a rake to the eyes to trip up his momentum. Zack also pieces together some sweet combinations and chain moves that show a lot more confidence in the ring than I seem to remember of Zack from back in the day. Ethan takes nasty hold after nasty hold, finally screaming out his second fall submission racked in a backbreaker, flopping helplessly across Zack’s buff shoulders.

 
Zack looks strong and commanding moving into round 3. Both boys have a fresh coat of wet on them to start the round, which may be a little too much stage craft, but I appreciate it. Zack’s revenge over-the-knee backbreaker (hooray!) has Ethan screaming long and hard. When Ethan turns on the steam, he pounds Zack’s belly just about as convincingly as I’ve seen anyone do it, and Zack’s muscle belly is screaming out for pounding if you ask me. Abdominal stretch with punches and slaps to his abs for good measure makes Zack grunt out his final submission. Ethan flexes his biceps with his foot planted on Zack’s chest in victory.

And in than instant, I scratch my head. Ethan shouldn’t flex and preen like a bodybuilder or fitness model. It’s just not in the cards. This match works as a big v little scenario, David v Goliath, skin-and-bones overcomes too-pretty gym bunny. I like the salesmanship from both boys. I love the pace. I’d like to see some slowing down of the holds that are really supposed to be long-held, strength-sapping, dominating maneuvers. But it’s a little off script for what I’ve come to appreciate about RHW. A hunk bash by a skinny kid doesn’t quite fit the formula. I don’t hate it, by any means. It’s entertaining. The production quality remains high. But I’m just ambivalent about the tinkering with the rock hard signature.

Fascinating


StayPuft, a regular reader and commenter here, predicts that the likes of
Thunder’s Arena’s Johnny Bravo and Frank the Tank wouldn’t make the Neverland cut. Specifically in reference to my post on the beauty of a flexible wrestling body a few days ago, I complained about bodybuilders so developed that their muscles actually impede the natural motion of their joints, much less the delights of a particularly flexible body that can stretch beyond natural tolerances in a wrestling match. Frankly, StayPuft is on the money here (as usual). I’m fascinated by bodies like Johnny Bravo and Frank the Tank, but if I close my eyes and picture what will make my engine rev, these two don’t do it.

It’s not that I write them off entirely, though. I find them fascinating to watch. The sheer mass of muscle they pack around makes me scratch my head in wonder. The marvels they can perform in a wrestling bout with someone of mere mortal stature are also simply fascinating to me. Watching Johnny lift, twist, slam, and contort Z-Man like a pipe cleaner is quite entertaining. Hell, it’s even wrestling kink-provocative for me. But what’s drawing my wrestling kink eye is Z-Man’s sweet proportions being crushed. What’s fueling my fantasy isn’t Johnny’s muscles or size, per se, but his domination and humiliation of his plaything, ever-smirky sex kitten, Z-Man (my thanks to Mr. Mike for permission to repost Thunder’s Arena pics here).
Some of my early sexual fantasies were fueled by photographs in such magazines as Muscle & Fitness and MuscleMag. Guiltily purchasing those periodicals was the setting for a great deal of my sexual self-recognition. Superhumanly muscled competition bodybuilders were the objects of my lustful desires. But even then, the heavy weight Olympic class boys were not the pages most well-worn. Lee Haney, Dorian Yates… I would pass them up in a second for a sweet shot of Bob Paris, Francis Benefatto, or Berry Demey. There was some line that I had hardwired into my head that made the likes of the biggest of the big boys fascinating, but the likes of the massive-yet-aesthetically proportioned boys super-erotic.
More to the point, as StayPuft notes, “hooray for diversity!” I’m a fan of you embracing your kink and owning what it is that makes the blood pump faster. And, for the record, I could put my ankles behind my head not so long ago, and now that my commitment to my yoga is renewed, perhaps one day again, soon.