Gabriel Ross, co-winner (with Drake Marcos) of BG East's best liplock of 2012 award, shacks up with Lorenzo "Jake" Lowe in Wrestle Shack 16. Theirs is the only match on the disk, and, as far as I'm concerned, they could monopolize all of 17 and 18, too. It's hard to say what the competition in liplocks will be between now and January, but I'm fairly certain Gabe and Jake are shoo-ins for at least nominations as this year's best.
Aikido meets libido in the Wrestle Shack. Ross and Lowe were made for this. Gabriel's smolder-quotient has sky-rocketed since his debut in X-Fights UK 4, when eroto-grappler Mike Martin made him his private punk. For pre-match staredowns it would be hard to match his and Jake's: backlit against the doorway, Gabe wordlessly pulls Jake in for a grope before the two get down to business, giving each other hell. I was unprepared for the impact the new and improved Gabriel would have on me. His body knocked me for a loop: those shoulders! that chest! those hairy forearms! those thighs! that bulge! Likewise, Jake's previous two matches, against Eli Black and Ethan Axel Andrews, demonstrated mostly his roughneck side. In Gloved Gladiators 5 he got to show off a little of the erotic heat he's capable of, but here we get a full blast of just how far this tiger can go.
Wrestle Shack 16 gives us aggressive sex play at its best, with no component--aggression, sex, or play--neglected in favor of the other two. Gabriel murmurs provocations, and Jake makes sexual demands, panting like Lassie. Always smiling and thrusting his chest and abs towards Jake, even while stretching the man's groin out, Ross speaks in hoarse whispers: "Touch me," he pleads, trying to pull Jake's hand up to his chest, to which Lowe replies,"Fuck you": trash talk, plea, and tease in just four syllables.
There are several more key moments in this match (more than I intend to summarize here), all underscored by the play of natural sunlight streaming down upon the two wrestlers' bodies. At one point, Jake forces Gabe to lick his ass and suck on his balls through his gray Calvin Klein's. Then, somewhat later, after Jake cranks two painful submissions in a row out of Gabe, he attempts to put his mouth on Gabe's for a deep probing kiss. Gabe roughly pushes him away, genuinely pissed off at Jake's reluctance to break a hold immediately after Gabe's concession. Immediately, though, Gabe throws himself on top of Jake, seizing the kiss he had denied him earlier, and Jake's face beams with surprised delight. And I would be lying, of course, to say I was anything less than delighted by the girth of these two wrestlers' hard cocks when, after the long preliminaries, the briefs get yanked off and we see the men buck naked.
For me, it's nice to see the direction homoerotic wrestling is taking in the twenty-first century. In the twentieth, wrestling was a proxy for what could not yet be directly depicted: sex between men. Often, even in products targeting a gay male audience, homophobic slurs abounded, almost as if to camouflage the homoeroticism of the holds and gear. Somewhat later a more forthright gay porn industry sometimes showed us wrestling as foreplay to "real" sex, but always wrestling and fucking were clearly demarcated, vaguely related but pointedly separate activities. Nowadays, though, Gabe and Jake can wrestle in an old sun-streaked tool shed, in equal parts lewd, rough, jesting, macho, and romantically gay.