It's no exaggeration to say that I've shot more splooge watching BG East's Motel Madness 1 than any other video in the world. The VHS tape I bought years ago valiantly held out long enough to see, this year, the re-release of this classic on DVD.
You can probably guess that, egghead that I am, I have attempted to analyze why this particular set of fights triggers my libido. No doubt, it's partly the simplicity and genius of the setup: two men rendezvous in a motel room to wrestle, peeling away layer on layer of their gear as they peel away layer on layer of their reticence and reserve. The lack of pretense in the setup--the use of available light and sound--makes the steamy action more immediate and authentic. It is just lucky coincidence then that the action synchronizes at times with the blare of the radio, advertising stacks of juicy all-beef patties and piping in strains of Aretha Franklin's "Respect" and Lenny Kravitz's "It Ain't Over Till It's Over."
The first match is a heel versus heel showdown. Taciturn Bass Wallace faces down the all-but-frothing-at-the-mouth Flying Tiger Collins (in his only outing with BGE). At first Wallace plays it cool, but when Collins gets it in his head to pull hair and grab balls, Wallace rightly sees it all as deliberate provocation and evidence that Collins is just asking for it, and so Wallace gives it to him, putting the slightly smaller man through the wringer and showing no mercy. Or maybe, all along, Wallace was just giving Collins enough rope to hang himself, just waiting for a good excuse to pounce and pummel. Either way Tiger gets pounced and pummeled.
The second match is classic squash, with Kid Leopard taking on slave-boy-in-leather Justin Fiori. Fiori likes it rough, he says, and that's the way the Boss gives it to him, from beginning to end. Fiori doesn't have a chance, but he can't get enough of it, and the action heats up as these two men sweatily grind into each other and the Kid digs deep into Fiori's threshold for pain and humiliation. The second match takes us to places the first match only hints at, as the patent eroticism of the fight comes to the surface and Leopard reduces young Justin to just a small pale heap of quivering desire.
I respond to the no-frills, even rather seedy charms of the room itself, hardly the upscale suites you find in more recent numbers of the Motel Madness series. The guys break out into real sweat--sweat you can almost smell as it rolls off their shoulders and stomachs. The natural lighting makes each shot grainy and a bit murky, giving it a naturalistic edge and a bit of funky gloom that heighten the moodiness of the battles.
This may not be everybody's cup of tea, but it is mine. It touches a delicious raw nerve in me. These men's comfortableness with their rough edges and willingness to delve into their mean, predatory ids are the stuff of my fevered fantasies, and these images have indelibly colored my erotic imagination since I first saw them, years ago.