Hard and Fast

Even the rules and regulations at Naked Kombat give me wood.  The rules may be the sexiest part of it.

Round One lasts for eight minutes.  Not a second more, not a second less, thanks to a no-nonsense ref who barks commands like a drill sergeant.

The fighters (in lycra briefs of contrasting colors) introduce themselves and tersely state what's on their minds about the guy they're about to fight, how they have prepared for this moment, and what they ultimately plan to do to him  ... "Ride him like a pony" being a popular choice.

Then they wrestle, closely observed by the ref, who calls the start and finish of the round and announces each wrestler's point-making moves, the common ones being for control and standard wrestling holds, but a NK fighter also gets points for kicking, gut punching, and pushing his opponent's face to the mat.

Round Two lasts for eight minutes.  Again, precisely.  The fighters wrestle in jockstraps now.  They notch up points for grabbing or stroking their opponent's cock and balls, for slapping the guy's butt, for ripping the strap off and putting it over the guy's head, and for exposing an opponent's anus to the fresh air and the camera lens.

Round Three lasts for eight more minutes.  The fighters wrestle naked, sometimes in oil or mud.  Points accrue for fingering or licking an opponent's butt crack (3-second minimum), for sitting on the guy's face (cock and balls must directly align with the down guy's nose and mouth ... yes, even the fine points give me a chubby), and for having the most awe-inspiring erection.

At the end of Round Three the ref announces the points earned by each wrestler.  He turns to the winner and says something like "He's all yours now," a sentence which in this context fills me with inexpressible excitement every single time.  During the ten-minute sex round, the winner pushes the loser around some more, makes the loser submit to the glory of his engorged cock, and finally thrusts his lava-hot meat into the loser's quivering hole.

My main man on the NK roster is Rusty Stevens, 6'0", 190#, with four wins, zero losses, since his debut last spring.  Stevens has tattooed shoulders and a hairy chest that look lifted right off the cover of Stag Magazine, circa 1960.

Rusty is all swagger before a match.  Not an ounce of humility in him.  Recently, he bragged that his only fight preparation had been to laze around for a week and eat junk food, knowing the chump he was set to wrestle would be a pushover.

Between rounds he glowers at his opponent, as if the one thing he wants most in all the world is to cut him down to size.  You gotta like a man like that.

In my own fantasy tangle with Stevens, he would take me down and make me his bitch.  Repeatedly.  Sure, in many of my fantasies I'm the man on top, but with Stevens, what would be the point?  Who would I be kidding anyway?  You?  I don't think so.

That the matches at Naked Kombat are conducted with such high style and Olympic ceremony is part of their appeal.  It's almost as if everyone involved senses that the fight is some kind of ritual to the gods of hyper-masculinity.  Watching one of these fights, I almost come to believe that our kinks have the power to bestow on us some measure of dignity and heroic sense of honor, if only we conduct ourselves with some decorum, however makeshift, and let our male egos soar to heights that make ordinary guys titter self-consciously.

In the sex round, after the points are tallied, the winner makes all the rules for himself, and the loser gets to be the focus of his ire and appetite and to lose himself for a few minutes in the erotic drama of aggression and abjection.  My egalitarian principles to one side, for ten minutes anyway, there's something immensely satisfying and just, even glorious, in that arrangement.


  1. Joe, when I read your top 10 in 2009, the omission of anyone from Naked Kombat led me to believe you did not have a subscription, however, with today’s post it would appear that matter has been rectified. (Resolution to decreasing spending on internet wrestling be damned) I had been reluctant to subscribe myself, waiting for them to post more content, eventually buying a membership about a month ago and its been the focus of my erotic satisfaction ever since, favorite for me is Shane Erickson, he wins as much as he loses and looks great no matter which end he is on. As with you Rusty Steven’s is another favorite. Based on your prior recommendation I purchased Wrestle Bait from Can-Am which has Rusty on the losing end of a David Taylor beat down, sweet.

    Your insight on the structure of the matches and its relationship to rituals of masculinity is particularly insightful. I tend to focus on the more mundane aspects like Van/refs english as a second language grammatical errors, though I do appreciate his efforts at moving the action by barking orders at the fighters, I am simultaneously amused every time he W’s an “R”…such as “finger fucking wed”

    I will intently watch Round 1 but generally skip round 2, and will watch portions of round 3 if they are sweating or using oil. Generally, fighting in oil can be unappealing to me. Though it does make the muscles pop, the oil inhibits the fighters ability to deliver any punishing holds and as a result the fighters simply roll around with each other (see Can-AM’s oil matches), but with NK the fighters are truly competitors and will continue the struggle to force submissions or gain points. Round 4 employs something in wrestling that has always been lacking for me, fucking, BG’s High Stakes had this element, but I don’t know if the guys were to muscular or the sex was to vanilla, but the fucking in those fights left me lacking, whereas with NK the fucking is indeed another round with the victor aggressively humiliating his opponent, sometimes verbally, but always physically into defeat. The roughness and aggressiveness of the fucking makes me everhard. If I am watching a fight for the second, of fiftieth time, I always linger on the round 4 action, then they finish with something I have seen in pro wrestling, the Jap feds are big on this, but never seen in porno, a post fight interview where each fighter relates their impressions of the match.

    I hope they chose to build on this formula, and perhaps introduce some element of pro wrestling. I suspect that they may lack the vision to move this forward to the next level, they have already announced that they will no longer do live shoots cause the fighters are to aggressive in front of an audience, and this aggression leads to carelessness and injury, and though the live action shoots have no particular appeal to me, what is bothersome is that Kink and Co think they are getting to violent, it’s the violence …stupid….that keeps us watching. What they should be focusing on is the selling of wrestling and spend a little time training the talent in how to avoid injury all the while convincing the audience that if your opponent puts even one more ounce of pressure on that hold your arm is going to snap. And spend some money on better equipment, they can surely afford a modified ring that looks like a mat but allows the fighters some give when they take a bump. It doesn’t take much brilliance to conclude that if you throw your opponent with some force on a ½” mat, someone’s gonna get hurt (sounds like a competitors catch phrase). That sort of focus will result in a more satisfying product.

    For any of your readers that have not checked out NK, or are wavering on the purchase of a 1 month subscription, go for it, it allows you to download what you want at no extra charge, so at the end of the month you can cancel and continue to enjoy your favorites from your hard drive. I look forward to what will certainly be frequent postings regarding NK content as you whack through their catalog.

  2. Thanks for playing welcome wagon for me, Topher. I just joined NK over the weekend and, like you, am now addicted. It's pretty much everything I wanted it to be--no-punches-pulled aggression mixed with hot guys willing to take (or give) the ultimate prize. And as I said in the posting, it's the rigorously imposed order that seems to make the difference, making it all too clear, by contrast, how much high-stakes matches elsewhere seem to rely just on either striking poses or flailing about in a mad frot frenzy. And, yes, had I made this discovery last year, Stevens and Erickson (who first caught my eye) would have probably made my year-end list.


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