Friday, November 27, 2009

Nasty Tampon Breath?

Florida independent wrestler Sedrick Strong, 6'2", 210#, faces David Mercury, 6'0", 225#, in a brutal main event match, intense and well photographed with a single camera, which manages even to heighten the fight's sweaty drama.

The action's the best part of the fight, and Strong, who has followed his "brother" Roderick in turning heel, has a terrific body for pro wrestling.

However, I wish shit talk and crowd heat could somehow maintain their fervor without stooping to boilerplate gay-bashing that bizarrely (at the end of the match) takes a turn towards middle-school misogyny too.

Frankly, the action speaks for itself in this relatively brief match, and all the yabbering adds nothing to it, except make everyone involved look a lot dumber and less confident in his masculinity than needed to sell the fight.

But despite my reservations over the call and response, I'd like to see more matches this fierce and well fought.

Via Kocosports

Prelude to Fighting

Here's just a small excerpt from a scene I'm writing with my pal Heath, who lives west of here.  The story's just beginning, as you can tell, and there's no telling where it'll go from here.  It's basically about two kids, former friends, whose competitiveness in MMA has driven a wedge between them that they plan to work on in a private match.  Or at least that's the starting premise.  Over the past months, we've done a few scenes similar to this one.

This is the part I just finished and mailed off to Heath.  No fighting yet, but the buildup is kind of fun on its own, I think:

Taylor pulled his shirt off as he descended the stairs.  By the time he got to the basement, lit by a bare yellow bulb in the ceiling, bright, even garish, Ryan was already stripped to his briefs and socks. 

The briefs were half-inch red and white horizontal stripes with a starred navy blue band round the waist—showy, like Ryan, who’d even been known to wear briefs with cartoon animals and floral prints, never giving a rat’s ass what anyone thought of it (a characteristic Taylor used to admire about him). 

Ryan tugged the white tube socks off and nonchalantly sniffed them before tossing them to the corner with his sneakers. 

Ryan was thicker than Taylor, most of it muscle, but a good bit of fat too, which Ryan wore confidently, never having felt the need to look Aberzombie and Fitchy.  Taylor, once just a slightly smaller version of Ryan, now looked like he’d just stepped off a Calvin Klein billboard. 

Taylor unbuttoned his cargo shorts and let them fall to his ankles.  Ryan, sitting with his knees wide apart on an old loveseat that used to belong to Taylor’s aunt, grinned appreciatively.  Taylor could almost feel Ryan’s eyes run up and down his new physique. 

“You sure got pretty.”  Ryan’s tone of voice was somewhere between awe and snarky.  “You’re not worried about me messing all that up, now, are you?  I can be pretty rough, you know, and my mom always complained that her pretty things were never safe with me around.  You won’t mind if I’m rough, will you, pretty thing?” 

Taylor blushed slightly, or at least he felt the skin temperature on his face rise about four or five degrees.  Ryan’s style of taunting had always been this way—sort of affectionately bullying … and funny.  Taylor caught himself almost cracking a smile. 

He said nothing as he rolled his socks down and off.  He folded one of them into the other and squeezed it into a tight hard ball in his fist; then he fast-pitched the ball at Ryan’s chest, which it hit with an audible thump. 

“Ow!”  Ryan mugged being more hurt than he was, though the impact had indeed stung a little. 

He chuckled as he stood to his feet and walked over to the mats, stretching the elastic of his briefs out to reach down and rearrange his cock and balls for comfort.  The match had not even started and he was already feeling a tingle up and down the bottom of his shaft—it was the feeling he had when something was about to go down.   It came to him before every fight, especially his old ones against Taylor.

Taylor stood and stretched his arms up over his head.  Ryan noticed that his armpit hair had gotten darker and thicker since their last match, months and months ago. 

A lot had changed since then, and Ryan and Taylor alike were anxious to see just how much it had changed.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Brawlerboy and Mike Martin

Exactly what I like.

via Bulldog Wrestling UK


Mike Martin

Lucas Tuijn

5'10" Dutch wrestler Lucas Tuijn wrestles as Johnny B-Wire, a "psycho" military stud-heel, with Pro Wrestling Showdown in the Netherlands.

A few days ago he defended his Toughest Motherfucker of Europe trophy against Thumbtack Jack, in a million-thumbtacks match, where supporters of the heel seem as numerous as supporters of the challenger.  (Via Showdownpromotions.  Also check out this video of the same match from some foxy female fans' point of view, with excellent shots of Tuijn's beautiful tortured bod, via Psychara0x)

Ring photos by Pascal Milhavet

Monday, November 23, 2009

What NRW Type Are You?

NRW is getting better and better, and the prices for their videos are reasonable:  $9.99 gets you a 15-minute match between the studs of your choice.

The fighters pull their punches, sure, but not quite as much as they used to.   And for whatever they lack in wrestling skills and showmanship, they make up for in muscle and beauty.  Plus the lighting is good and the camera pulls in tight for closeups of the sweat pouring, the muscles twitching, and the agony being sold.  There are times when I feel like I'm right there in the ring with these boys, and that can't be a bad thing!

Because NRW is newer than BG East and Can-Am, I don't quite have the passion for this enterprise as I do some of the others, but I am definitely developing strong feelings for it as it matures and ripens over the years.

I figure these lists I make tell more about me than I would ordinarily want to be known, sort of like Rorschach ink-blot tests.  So read my soul, if you can, in the following picks, and, as usual, challenge my choices all you like.  In this case, I'm likely to roll over and play dead, because, except for Flash in the Number One spot, there's nobody here I'd wrestle you over.  Frankly, I just don't know that much about NRW, but I'm willing to be educated.  What follows is the best I could pull together out of the matches I have seen so far.

Flash, 6'2", 185#, rocks my world.  I'd pay a month's rent just to get him against the ropes.  He is savage, and cocky, and lean, and hungry, and cruel ... and he had me at just "savage."  Nobody at NRW comes close to Flash, as far as I'm concerned, and hardly anyone in the whole cottage industry of erotic wrestling either.

Scott Monroe, 6'0", 180#, is one of the new bloods at NRW and sufficient proof that NRW is drawing the right kind of talent to prove it's close to the top of its game right now.  Monroe may lack the fury of Flash, but, damn, the guy looks great knocked out cold on the mat!

Jesse Hammer, 6'0", 180#, has got the lean, rawboned hungry look that I adore in a fighter.  From what I've seen of him, he's got ring smarts and a gift for giving wrestling fans the kind of drama, motion, and agony that we love.

Joe Wegner, 5'9", 160#, is blond and named Joe, and that's a good start.  He's also a master of the staged fight with a Hollywood stuntman's sense for a good fall.  It would be nice, though, if he won a few more fights, but, hey, blonds were made to be damaged, right?

Wade Brolin, 6'0, 180#, is another newby.  He looks like a classic muscle boy from the days of AMG Studios or an Abercrombie and Fitch model, but he fights fairly hard.  I will need to see more of the guy in action before I'm willing to make a firm commitment.

Logan, 5'11, 162#, has a certain something, a kind of guy-next-door quality, an authenticity that I find incredibly hot.  He reminds me a lot of this guy named Mike I knew in high school, who worked summers at the same youth camp I worked at.  In evenings, after the campers were snug in their beds, Mike and I skinny-dipped in the camp swimming pool and staged elaborate underwater wrestling matches.  Good times, good times!

Mr Destiny, 5'10, 160#, is everywhere.  Elsewhere known as Zack Vasquez, he delivers a lot of bounce and good-natured sass in a fight, but his moves look stagey and he's not convincing in his "selling" of individual bits of wrestling business.  Still, he looks fantastic, and that's 95% of NRW's appeal and a good 60% of what I ask for in a wrestler


One of the really cool things about NRW is that it maintains a "shit list" of past wrestlers who have been fired, deported, or last seen running off with the boss's boyfriend.  Maybe it's a wee bit petty, but I think it's cool to air your dirty laundry like this.  Curt Conroy, 5'10", 170#, is one of the bad boys, but even NRW has to admit that his 14 matches earned him a healthy following from the fans.

Viper, 5'7", 150#, has got the cool name and the hot little body.   I haven't seen him in any matches lately, but I like the way he wears those blue trunks.

Matt Meadlock, 5'11, 160#, is one of NRW's favorites.  He's a great fighter and almost every video he's in is automatically a classic.  He's the sort of fighter who brings out the best in his opponents, and so everybody looks good in a match against him.


Damn, I forgot ultra-hot Dan Kennedy, maybe because for some reason NRW doesn't list him in their current roster.  But he'd be pretty high up on my list, too.

Sorry, Dan, I'd have a lot more to say about you in these notes, and I'd love to worship every little round muscle on your body, but I gotta work tomorrow and I'm getting sleepy.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Ashton Vuitton, Ay Ay Ay Ay Candy

Over the past two weeks, I've seen three Ashton Vuitton matches on video.  The nineteen-year-old wrestler's early matches are impressive.  I've got my five bucks ready for the fan club, in fact.

Despite a certain awkwardness in the ring, attributable perhaps to a disparity of physiques (the fights I've seen involved stockier, somewhat shorter opponents), Vuitton is able to take a lot of punishment.  Needless to say, given his persona, he's been on the receiving end of brutal beatings, not quite squash jobs, but almost.

The persona he has adopted is the vain male model, with pretensions of class superiority.  It's a winning heel formula, though Vuitton's Midwestern working-class accent, easy, genuine smile, and hungry good looks work against it.  As familiar as I am with the cliche, Vuitton does manage to push my buttons, and as much as I'd like to see him more evenly matched in height, weight, youth, and skill, I enjoy the comeuppance the pretty boy invites and inevitably receives.  Still, I hope to see him win a match soon and graduate from jobber to a more complex and dynamic role.

His strongest point right now, of course, is his youth and beauty.  He also has impressive talent in "selling" his opponents' attacks and holds.  He can fly off a turnbuckle with ease, too, as shown in these action shots.

Still, as this new photo attests, his ace in the hole is the way he wears those trunks.

Friday, November 20, 2009

Max Anderson

NHB-Battle has released five or six DVDs now without 5'11", 204# blondy Max Anderson, but for a few years running he's been the man to beat on the mats.  No doubt he still has followers (besides me, of course), and it would be great to see the dependable wrestle-stud, now in his mid-twenties, I reckon, face off against some of the leaner, younger newbies like 6'1" Connor Flynn and 6'1" Marco Talus at least one more time.

Here are some lickable likable shots of Max in action and posing:

Max vs Chet Masters

Max with Dillon Walsh

Max and Jax Holland

Marco putting Max out to pasture (?)

Max and Sandro Vinnari

Monday, November 16, 2009

He's BK Jordan and You're Not

All photos by Christine J. Coons

Can somebody help me dig up more info on Top Rope Promotions wrestler BK Jordan?  He's been around for a couple of years as a pro wrestler.  He was the 2007 Kowalski Cup champ for TRP, but he doesn't seem to have a web page or a profile on MySpace or Facebook that I can find.  Does he wrestle under any other names?  Even some stats would be nice.

According to the Top Rope web site, after winning the Kowalski Cup in 2007, Jordan won the TRP Insterstate Championship in August of 2008. 

In September 2009, however, Top Rope announced that the interstate championship had been vacated since Jordan had not defended the belt in a while.

Jordan’s last appearance with TRP was in a tag-team match with partner Mike Bennett, losing to Matt Taven and Jason Blade.  That was five months ago.

In fact, following his championship victory in 2008, Jordan had had a series of defeats, but managed to retain the belt on the basis of contract technicalities. 

Top Rope proclaimed Mike Bennett the new champion at the end of a ladder match on November 6th.

So where’s Jordan now?

Maybe the guy is an erratic performer.  But I like Jordan's brio and swagger, not to mention his buzzcut, thighs, and gut.  Too bad Top Rope doesn't have a deal with a video distributor.  I'd like to see more of him in action than I can find on YouTube (a humiliating cameo on RAW and a match against oiled-up cutie Matt Taven).  More than that, I would love to punch that gut and spank that ass.

I'll be honest with you, guys.  Jordan rings my chimes ... can't tell you exactly why except to say something about him makes me want to get my hands (at least!) all over him.

A little BK sass here.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Erratum, Mea Culpa, Addendum, Et Cetera

Kid Leopard over at BG East has pointed out an error in fact in my implied chronology. He tells me BG East came before Can-Am on the timeline of great eroto-wrestling promotions.  My recollection is that I encountered Can-Am first, which may still be the case, but I would not want to erroneously imply that Can-Am was therefore historically the earlier.  Besides, my memory is not what it used to be.

Kid says he enjoys this blog, and I definitely want to keep it that way.  I'm a huge fan.

He also says that Nick Amaral (aka Bloodstone) is set to make his BG East debut in the next catalog.  You heard it here first, boys--unless, that is, you heard it someplace else before I just told you.


Also, while I am developing a taste for crow, I would like to belatedly credit photographer Blake Arledge (another visitor to this blog) for some of the shots of Josh Magnum I have posted here.  Arledge also took great shots of Stoney Hooker, already credited.  His portraits of both fighters are classics, and but for him the name of "Stoney Hooker" might never have appeared on this blog--or in my dreams.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

What Can-Am Type Are You?

Before I adored UCW, NRW, or NHB-Battle and even before I pined for the strapping youths at BG East, there was Can-Am Productions.  Even Can-Am's catalogs and brochures were HOT, even though the pictures were tiny and black-and-white.

Can-Am excelled in beefy bully-next-door types who, in the early days anyway, sold the pain, agony, and drama of a match (not to mention the eroticism) as well as or better than the regular pro wrestlers I could see on TV.  Most of my picks here are from the "old" days of the 1990s, and I expect to receive some ribbing not only for my dusty choices but also for my penchant for the pretties, though, in my defense, I do tend to favor the pretties who can also fight.

As you know, making a list like this is, almost by definition, a trivial pursuit, but I have tried to take the task as seriously as I can.  The list I make today, however, is probably not the same list I would make a month from now ... or even later this evening ... so I may return to this project from time to time in the years ahead.

In the meantime, you guys can lash out at me all you want.  I'm big and I can take it ... and, as some of you know, I like it.  Cross me, though, boys, and I'm coming after you, fists flying.

Brad Michaels, 6'1", 192#, is on top for one reason only: the High Stakes Wrestling matches, one of which (Number 3) is my all-time favorite wrestling erotica and the first video that was sufficient to make me cum without additional flights of fantasy of my own (which I don't at all mind having, but it is nice from time to time if the porn can take a, um, larger hand in the process).

Roman Stone (aka, at first, Jamie Cutler), 6'1", 196#, is another easy choice and another Can-Am fighter who didn't do that many videos:  how many, three or four?  Like his cousin, Paul Perris (see below), Stone was from Poland and seemed to fetishize high-kicking Jean-Claude Van Damme the way I fetishized them.  Stone was jaw-droppingly gorgeous meat, plain and simple.  If he was somewhat slow and clumsy in the ring or the oil pit, the opportunity to savor those pecs and thigh muscles at leisure was always appreciated in my house.

Jimmy Dean, 5'10", 155#, is the choice of not just me but thousands of Can-Am fans.  If the rules of list making restricted me to only fighters who were lasting fixtures on the roster, obviously Dean would shoot to first place.  And speaking of shooting, I still remember the charge I felt in one match just hearing sadistic Dean call his overly perky opponent in, saying, "Payback time."  Now, regrettably, I can't remember in which match he made that cliche as memorable and immortal as "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn" and "I AM big; it's the pictures that got small!" because I'd really like to hear him say it again.

Doug Brandon, 5'11", 200#, is, like Dean above him, a sadist, but he could be a fun masochist too, when the time came for the tables to turn.  I preferred him younger and with hair and less pointy eyebrows, back when his pervy love-hate for pain was subtler and still capable of catching me off guard.

Paul Perris, 5'10", 175#, has had a long career with Can-Am.  He was gorgeous, muscular, and very European, as suggested by his misleadingly accurate ring name.  He was extraordinarily hot, and he preferred aggressive war games that let him display his speed, agility, and martial-arts training, though sometimes (rarely) at the risk of shortening those long, hard, hot, sweaty clinches that I love.  He usually found rather implausible opportunities for full leg splits, a trick he overplayed, I think, but one that was worth seeing at least once.

Was I alone in loving Cliff Conlin?  At 6'2", 196#, he was beefy, without being ripped.  He had all-American bland good looks, and he seemed like the perfect "hero" type, a bit simple and naive, in appearance, but virtuous and an efficient beater-upper of bullies.  His build, hard muscle swathed in three-quarter of an inch of baby fat, seemed perfect for wrassling, which, according to my theory, requires not only hardness but fleshiness as well.  I also liked the dark triangle of hair on his chest.  He would have been a great neighbor to have, dropping by on Saturday mornings to grapple on mattresses in the garage, trying again and again to wriggle out of my headscissors.

Dillon Reed, 5'11, 165#, was Jimmy Dean's best opponent, especially in oil wrestling.  He was all-business in the ring, too, preferring to trade slugs rather than talk shit.  He had basically one expression, but it worked amazingly well in conveying a variety of attitudes: grim determination, disapproval, distrust, anger, confidence, concentration, aloofness.

I have a feeling I'm going to be all alone on this one.  Wyld Child, 6'0", 170#, didn't fight in a lot of matches, and he was frankly more an exotic dancer than a skilled wrestler.  But his oil-wrestling match with trash-talking John St James (who deserves an honorable mention here, not only for this match, but for a ring fight against Jimmy Dean, for which he should have won a Grammy for vocalizing agony) is a classic, an underlit classic unfortunately, but still a classic.  The cheesy moniker was great in that it suggested Oscar Wilde, the Troggs, Axl Rose, and, especially, Tarzan.  Tarzan as conceived by Veronica Lake's hairdresser.  How many times did my fantasies tweak that match by dressing Wyld Child in a skimpy lion-hide loincloth!

Chris Divito, 5'9", 186#, looked a lot like a professional wrestler I might see on TV, to be specific, Bret "Hitman" Hart.  Like Hart, he acted a bit like an assassin, at least the movies' romanticized picture of assassins:  lone, cool, opportunistic, proud.

Troy Lucas, 5'8", 165#, was one of the finest wrestlers at Can-Am.  His smooth Latin machismo, shredded torso, and hairy forearms were plusses, but it was his ability to handle an opponent in the ring or on the mat that most impressed me.  What he lacked, however, was style.  He exuded no personality whatever on camera.  So Lucas gets the highest marks for athleticism, but no marks for showmanship.  He never really sold any of his moves.  Unlike all the other guys on this list, he was ineffective in conveying even a modicum of rage or sadism or heroism, and when another fighter did manage to dominate him, he did little to convey the suffering, humiliation, and panic needed for pathos.  Still he looked magnificent, and he definitely did know how to wrestle, and that really counts for something.

Friday, November 13, 2009

Hot Hillbillies Hit Hard

Matt versus Jacob, via maddman99.  They had me at "Tha's grounds for an ass-whippin!"

Joker Meets Klown

UCW provides more gut-punching action featuring its most colorful heel, Joker, against one of its most talented and dependable faces, Klown, Joker's tag-team partner in another life.  Putting Joker in pink again is an inspired touch, and I only hope that the curse of pink holds out this time because nothing would satisfy me more, deep down, than to see Klown hand Joker his ass at the end of all this.  

UCW is the place to go for gut-punching fans.  What's remarkable is that the punching is not only for real (you can hear each satisfying smack of knuckles on muscle) but also almost seamlessly  mixed  into the wrestling action.

Klown is neck and neck with current champ Axel as my favorite UCW wrestler.  Klown's ahead for now until Axel shows back up to prove he's still got his stuff ... and a showdown between the two has got to come soon or I'll explode ... Come to think of it, I'll explode even when it comes.

Klown promised me a championship shot was in the works a month ago, so come on, fellas, let's put that belt on the line.  Two wiry fighters who give each match 100%, the intense, ball-breakin', bully-bustin' Axel versus the kool-as-a-kukumber, street-kredible Klown, what could be nicer?

Thursday, November 12, 2009

The Idea of It Being That

Here are a few scenarios that really light up my bulbs:

Punk newcomer oversteps his bounds with a slightly older pro and throws a few punches early in a match.  The pro controls the newcomer, locking up his arms, incapacitating him, and then proceeds, for the sheer hell of it, to give the newcomer a taste of his own medicine.

Two best friends decide to bar no holds and see just how far they can take things by kicking the ever-loving shit out of each other and in the process create a deeper, kinkier bond with one another.

Quiet, unassuming newcomer takes on the local bully.  At first the bully has his way with the newcomer, but then it turns out that the newcomer is just holding back, waiting for the bully to show his hand, revealing his true colors.  Right when the bully thinks he’s invincible, though, the newcomer teaches him a lesson he will not forget.

Ref clearly favors one fighter (red corner) over another (blue corner).  After a long, wearying match in which blue corner guy has clearly pinned red corner guy three or four times already, but ref has counted too slowly each time—and maybe even once pushed red’s foot onto the ring rope to call for a break and separate the fighters—blue loses his cool, tosses red clear out of the ring, and starts wailing the tar on ref.

Villain turns against villain.  No blow is too low.  Let the baddest badass win.

After gym class, chubby kid starts flicking his towel at skinny kid’s ass in the shower room.  Skinny gives chubby a warning, but when chubby can’t resist one more snap, skinny goes nuts and starts punching.  The two go at it, naked as jaybirds, in the spray of a dozen showerheads as their classmates clear out.  The fight escalates and stops only when chubby is a blubbering, bloody-nosed mess, cowering over the burbling drain.

Lovers wrestle for top in the bedroom.

[With thanks—and apologies*—to Bard at Neverland] Boyfriends versus boyfriends tag-team action in the wrestling arena tonight!  A and B, lovers, face off against C and D, lovers, and, coincidentally exes of A and B.  Sure, the level of coincidence staggers the imagination, but, oh, what a fight is at hand!  At first, A squares off against his ex, C, and then B squares off against his ex, D.  Various permutations ensue, with C and D double-teaming on A, leading to all four fighters slugging it out.  In the end, A beats up B’s ex, and B beats up A’s ex, and the climax occurs as A and B embrace and kiss, while kneeling on the heads of the vanquished C and D.  [“Apologies” because Bard’s scenario was a simpler and purer version of this travesty, whereas I’ve pressed it past the edge of tenability.]

Can He Be Stopped?

The economy being what it is and all, I've been feeling the need to invest in some Gold Bullion, by which I mean the evil villain with superhuman strength, wreaking havoc throughout the planet.  A generous 12-minute peek into his nefarious ways is available here (the complete first episode of the SuperHeroFights series, which first crossed swords just this past spring).  I hope he "plans his next attack" at my place.

Superheroes rock, but they'd be nothing without their evil nemeses.  Agreed?  As a kid, I wanted to grow up to be a supervillain; some of my freshmen composition students right now are no doubt convinced I've reached that goal.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Hook Up

Slamfest Wrestling Photography features some new shots of Stoney, alone (as seen below) and action shots of  Saturday's CWF Mid-Atlantic show in Burlington, NC (7 November 2009).  All shots taken by "Slamfest Bob" (Wayne Culler).

Monday, November 9, 2009

More of Hades

Jason Hades is a new fixation of mine.  Sorry, you'll just have to deal with it for now.  He has the blond punk appeal of Stoney Hooker, with the added seasoning of three years or so and a bit more ring experience.  Like Stoney, he strides the division between babyface and heel with considerable bravura.  (By the way, I still seriously jones for Stoney, too; I'm fickle, but I tend not to toss away my fixations easily, preferring to let the pantheon grow and grow.)

I love Hades' definition, the smooth, well-sculpted (but not ripped) pecs and the slight outward curve of his belly, which makes me ache for long sweaty clinches and hugs.  His face is a bit blunter than Stoney's; he resembles Scott Caan in that respect.  I liked the goatish chin strip he sported at one time, but I think he's better looking clean shaven.  Even the underarm tattoo strikes the right balance between survivor and philosopher ("It Can't Rain All the Time") that I find touching and winsome.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Catch of the Day


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