Sunday, December 13, 2015
My wrestling kinks are nothing if not eclectic (though a long way from all-encompassing). I favor certain things--black trunks, evenly matched opponents, mat work--, detest very little--WWE, safe-for-the-whole-family shows (on principle), staple guns--and generally accept, in rare cases only "tolerate," the rest of wrestling styles and practices on their own individual terms. I even have a space in my libido for women's wrestling, weirdly enough since I'm a Kinsey 5, if not a 6.
I open new territory today, though the fixation dates back decades and I have already addressed it in passing in my postings about the male catfight. I expect nobody to go with me on this, so relax. The idea came to me first through a misunderstanding of the lyrics of "Killer Queen," a Queen hit from 1974. I heard the lyrics "She's a killer queen, gunpowder gelantine / Dynamite with a laser beam, guaranteed to blow your mind--anytime" and imagined a tarted-up man, like Colonel Jacques Bouvar in Thunderball or any number of attractive though effeminate male characters in Fellini-Satyricon. A high-priced call girl was the last thing on my mind. The song's official interpretation strikes me as distastefully pedestrian.
Underground Championship Wrestling has feinted in this direction with boys in kilts or in a couple of Damien Flawless's other bouts (before she butched up). Some of BG East's "twink" contests have come close, as well. There's of course Gorgeous George and Adrian Street in the golden days of wrestling--the gimmick itself is not new, though in practice it has not been nearly as hot or even passably attractive as I would hope, and it usually involves the effeminate wrestler dominating and shaming the more traditionally masculine wrestlers (in short, the opposite of high school).
But what I envision is a contest between equally adept, equally beautiful "violent femmes." I'm not talking about drag queen versus drag queen, exactly. I am not interested in the match being camped up to the rafters. I'm talking about pretty boys with good bodies, in minimal makeup, even more minimal gear, with two or three accessories (a feather boa, say, or black stockings and garters, or powdered wigs) facing off to mess each other the fuck up. I'm not a fan of bleeding in pro wrestling, especially since smeared lipstick and melting mascara can be just as effective.
Remember: I don't ask any of you to buy into this. I'm just thinking out loud. A part of me would like a hiatus from the hyper-masculinity of gay porn and gay wrestling. And this is coming from someone who is crazy about masculinity.
Personally I would love to see Ashton Vuitton take on not a regular-guy roughneck or a woman wrestler (both of which he's already done) but an opponent equally as pretty and flamboyant as he: Nick Teeth (aka Sidewinder) or ROH's Dalton Castle. Perhaps a match-up like this has already happened, and someone reading this blog can perhaps recommend an already existing video. (Please.)
The GIF up above, found on the très chic blog An Objectification, is what turned my imagination in this direction. This smooth, curly-haired kid's attitude alone is smoldering. Then there's also the black Venetian eye mask and added flourish of black fishnet gloves reaching up to the biceps. Immediately I concocted a three-fall fantasy match of my own, pitting the louche masked boy in the photo against another masked wrestler I invented out of a fusion of myself at age 20, Cameron Matthews of a few years ago, Josh Steel (in his less buff days), and BG East's Jonah Richards and Rocco. It was, I assure you, a catfight to end all catfights. Glitter everywhere, a triumphant femme hero, and a humiliating debasement of a flaming heel who had gotten too big for his panties.