Wipe That Smile Off Your Face

Clothing is sexy. One bad thing about total nakedness is that you don't have anything riding up or slithering down the firm, round parts of the anatomy. Take the top picture, where Joe Robbin's butt cheeks, thighs, and elasticized trunks form a squinty but compelling asterisk. The half-moon wedgie (briefs or wrestling togs shimmying up the glutes in moments of physical exertion) goes in my personal pillow book of things that make my heart beat faster.

I reviewed Pec Bash 2 a month ago, shortly after its release, but I want to come back to it today. In April I felt an obligation, given the video's title, to focus on the titty twisting and chest chastisement, not my favorite thing in pro wrestling, but I can appreciate its appeal for other fans. (Why doesn't it heat my stick? You have every right to ask. Short, honest answer: I don't know. Making-a-stab-at-it-anyway answer: I think it may have to do with partly its always looking like the wrestlers are "trying too hard" and partly the--for me--sacrosanctness of a well-formed male chest.) Today I turn my attention to what makes this match work for me.

First, there's Joe Robbins. His whole physique sends me conflicting messages: dark soulful eyes and pop-star ringlets of hair begging for babyface-ness, white orca-teeth and sweaty slabs of muscle screaming for heel status. He's big (6'2", 240#) and mean (he damn near broke Braden Charron in Grudge Match IV). He's one of the few wrestlers who can sell a bearhug submission, who can in fact make me believe he can knock opponents clean the fuck out with a bearhug. He hurts real good too when the other fellow pays him back. He's cocky, but not cocky in a way that looks premeditated or forced--his whole being exudes cockiness. Most of all, he likes to hurt guys. I can practically see his salivary glands secrete when his foe yelps in pain. I don't know the guy, but by every indicator in appearance and manner he is a genuine dick, which--admittedly, maybe the world ought not be this way--is a smoking hot look to have. 

Second, there's Trent Blayze, his less experienced young opponent. I have sung this guy's praises before. Except for size (big: 6'1", 195#), toughness, and ox-like strength, Trent is opposite Joe in every way, one of the reasons this match delights me--I love me some physically well-matched wrestlers--especially well-matched big guys--with dramatically opposing temperaments. There's nothing ambiguous about Trent--he looks like a roughneck with a short fuse, and that's what he is in the ring. While Joe's essence is speed and mouthiness, Trent is a quiet slow-burner, phlegmatic, yet with a saturnine scowl that promises trouble if that's what you're looking for. I think he still needs to polish his wrestling skills a bit, but he is, to my eye, one of the most strongly attractive wrestlers on the BG East roster. I suppose part of the attraction for me is his passing resemblance to a tall preacher's son I wrestled in college. Like my old playmate, Trent's meaty like a tight end and instinctively sadistic under a facade of wholesome rectitude.

Third, there's the fighting, the best part. Guys can have the good looks, attitude, and muscle, but it's the fighting that makes me a wrestling fan. Otherwise, I could be satisfied simply with bodybuilding competitions and beefcake shots of movie stars--which, fact is, I dearly enjoy, but mostly by imagining all that pretty muscle in a fight. On the other hand, take two guys (or even gals) I wouldn't ordinarily take a second look at and show me some pugnacity and fight skills, and I start rubbing my knees together. Can't help it, comes with the kink. This match focuses on pec torture, not my thing, as I said, though Joe and Trent sell it with gusto. The BGE catalog description gets the details right (I say in complete modesty). Trent starts out strong, raring to take home a piece of Robbins for a souvenir. Understandably, Joe has a different idea. Trent takes the initiative for the first ten minutes, but he can only look good so long as Joe's distracted by his own reflection in the mirror. After that, after he's finally captured Joe's full attention, Trent looks pretty miserable, and I only hope he's kept some good memories of the first ten minutes.

Joe's thighs can snap bones. (I direct your attention to the fourth photo, above.) Once he gets Trent in a bodyscissors hold, the show is over for Trent. That's not to say the show is over-over, because there's no end to Joe's resourcefulness in damaging men's bodies, but it's over in the sense that nobody's gonna bet a red cent on Trent after this point in the match. To cite the product description, "Joe's thighs bring tears to the eyes of even big men." For Trent, for roughly (and I mean roughly) the last eleven minutes of this video, it's like he accidentally took the exit for Hell. The look on his face couldn't be more pitiful if he had fallen into some razor wire. He can't find enough ways to scream "I quit!" and I stopped counting after twenty or so. But if one line of dialogue can sum up this fight, it's when Joe answers, "You'll submit when I tell you to, and not before."

Joe puts a stomp on Trent's shoulders. He busts the boy's ribs in a reverse bearhug. He stretches the kid taut. He slams him to the turnbuckle like he's beating out a dirty rug. He busts his spine over his shoulder. Then he chokes him off to slumberland. And he takes his sweet time doing it, making sure he and we savor every slobbery gasp and submissive squeak that issues out from Trent's full pouty lips. It's a hell of a show, all right.