Friday, March 22, 2013

Hearts and Balls

I love raunch wrestling. That's two fighters' going beyond poses or even the pretense of hostility to put their hearts and balls into a contest. The men have to either have no inhibitions to begin with or else set their inhibitions to the side. Nakedness is an essential, eventually, but raunch is more about attitude, fearlessness, and the drive to push through limits in order to achieve total domination of another man. It's really all about the thrill of the twitch and yelp of the loser. Only certain wrestlers feel that thrill or manifest it in the midst of a bout. Even mainstream wrestling has cherished moments of raunch, however fleeting and ultimately unconsummated, mostly in off-the-beaten-track regional shows. Many gay underground sites provide raunch, without necessarily calling it that; others consciously avoid it, to attract customers who might find blatant homoeroticism and sadism offensive or troubling and wrestlers who disapprove of the pornification of their sport. BG East has a series devoted to raunch, but there the raunch often swells outside the limits of the brand into gazebo matches, pro matches, and, of course, the motel room matches.

The pictures in this post depict fourteen of my favorite rauncheros at BG East. These guys go balls to the wall in every match they fight but especially in those matches when they're permitted to go balls to the bone. Heavy sweat-ers, everyone of them. Heels, sadists (and masochists), cold-hearted bastards, yes, but also passionate and visceral. No blow is too low for them. This is gay wrestling that probably puts off fans of m4m combat who are either in the closet, seeking plausible deniability of the nature of their desires, or fans whose delight in wrestling is largely confined to picturesque physiques, lust at times being discomposed, even unphotogenic.

I have deliberately selected photos that do not involve cock or cum, not because Blogspot won't allow them, not because I want to consider the sensitivities of visitors to this blog, most definitely not because I'm squeamish, but rather to make a point: erotic heat in wrestling is felt and demonstrated even when the fighters wear no less than we see several times a week on WWE. It's not just about gear (or lack of gear); it's more about the gaze--who gets to look and what gets to be looked at. Wrestling Arsenal recently made the point that mainstream wrestling seems consciously to avoid the specter of homoeroticism by directing the wrestlers to avoid eye contact. Crotches can rub crotches, crotch and ass can meet, tights can be pulled to provide glimpses of crack and pubes, but in these moments the wrestlers' eyes must be directed elsewhere ... anywhere but at each other. In raunch wrestling, looking is part of the act of owning, as are feeling, sniffing, and tasting. It's not just the audience that's invited to gaze and soak in whatever unnamed pleasures they derive from wrestling spectatorship, but the wrestlers too.

Kid Karisma versus Rocco

Jarret Cole versus Jake Omega

Kid Vicious versus Billy Lodi

Dane Tarsen versus Mickey Rollins

Len Harder versus Kid Karisma

Kid Vicious versus Skrapper

Rob Chandler versus Ashley Ryder

Sean Patrick versus Dick the Prick

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