Start Me Up

So I wanted to wrestle Mitch Colby. Badly. I wanted to see how we’d match up, how it would go, who would come out on top.

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That’s what wrestling is, and always has been: a competition between two men, the only weapon their bodies, to see whose strength, skill, agility, and ability is the better. As with any contest, some luck also comes into play; an accidental slip, a momentary loss of focus, or even temporary distraction for even just a split second can be the difference between victory and loss.

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Yet despite my eagerness for this match to happen, it didn’t. Delays, excuses, scheduling issues; it was always something. And you begin to wonder, what the fuck is the problem here? Am I not GOOD enough for Mr. Musclehead?

Well, fuck you too.

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So, I started calling him out on the BGEast message boards.

And the name Mitch kind of lends itself to Bitch, doesn’t it?

The Sin of Narcissus

In Greek mythology, Narcissus was a son of the river god Cephissus and the nymph Liriope; which I suppose would have made him a demi-god? Narcissus was beautiful; known far and wide for it, so beautiful that people often fell madly in love with him just by seeing him. Narcissus, however, never loved anyone back and in fact, held his admirers in contempt. Nemesis, seeing this pride and disdain in him, lured him to a reflecting pool; Narcissus caught sight of his own reflection and fell in love with his own image…to the point he refused to leave and eventually wasted away.

It’s easy to imagine Narcissus looking like Mitch Colby.

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This debut, against Alexi Adamov at arguably his most sexy, was most auspicious. As much as I lusted after Alexi, as much as I wanted him to face me in the ring, I kept having my eyes drawn back to the ripped, older muscle hunk packed into a tiny neon orange and yellow bikini that didn’t disguise the big bulge in the front and showed off the hard muscle ass in the back.

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And the sweat. My God, he was drenched in it, making every definition in his glistening muscles that much more obvious.

Alexi was also a big time sweat-monster. So it wasn’t long before both of them were soaking wet, slaking it off themselves as they fought nastily on the mats in the gazebo. Alexi, despite rarely winning a match, is intimidated by no one, doesn’t ever back down, and has crazy mad skills.

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Alexi is not, as I have said before, a small guy. Neither is Mitch. There’s some trash talking as they check each other out, see who’s bigger…and of course, Alexi points out that Mitch is older: “What are you man, in your forties?”

As someone who had just starting wrestling for BGEast at forty-five…that made me want to see the blue-eyed blond put a major hurt on Sexy Alexi…as well as put one on him myself.

Mitch and Sexy Alexi were pretty evenly matched, despite the size and age advantage going to Alexi. It’s a great battle, back and forth, lots of action and lots of brutality…and lots of beautiful bodies being put through the ringer.

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Look at those muscles, glistening with sweat.

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And never mistake Alexi for a jobber whose an easy beatdown. He fights dirty, too.

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And when I finished watching…I wanted to fight them both.

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The Centerpiece

Arrogance has always been a mainstay for professional wrestling. Almost every promotion has had some wrestler whose incredible arrogance made the viewers hate him, regardless of talent, skill level, or body–and despite their skill, almost always lost. Heels are always arrogant but there was also that heel who somehow always managed to lose to a face (someone the audience loved; a good guy hero who usually feuded with the main star heels over titles and ethics and ‘cheating’; while they weren’t jobbers per se, they didn’t win matches very often but were there to build up the resume of the hero). When I watched Georgia Championship Wrestling in the 1980’s, there was one whose name I can’t remember, but he had a great body and long hair bleached blond. I want to say it was Chip something, but I know that was wrong. Let me consult the Google.

Ah, Chic Donovan. I was close

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Jobe Zander is sort of that same type, at least when he first came to BGEast. Handsome and sexy–and that bulge! But the arrogance…oy.

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And dat ass.

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He also made his already hot body over, but that’s a subject for another time.

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Jobe and I had some fun back-and-forth on the BGEast list-serve for a while…he proudly displayed his arrogance and so I couldn’t resist.

The end result? The Boss scheduled us to wrestle in the ring in the spring after my trip to Las Vegas.

The Boss originally had me in this gear:

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While it was hot, it wasn’t exactly practical for fighting in the ring, especially with an arrogant ass with no respect for the rule like Jobe….

(to be continued)

Trunks, Part One: Bulges

In the world of wrestling, let’s face it–one of the appeals, at least to me, is tight fitting trunks that leave little to the imagination. When I was a kid, watching pro wrestling was my porn because it was one of the few times I could see male bodies with bare chests and bare legs. The bodies, of course, weren’t always the best; male body consciousness didn’t begin until much later and didn’t cross over into professional wrestling until even later than that.

One of my earliest crushes was Bruno Sammartino.

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He was one of the hottest wrestlers of the period. Thickly muscled, hairy, and there was always a tantalizing bit of a bulge in his trunks. He was the ultimate daddy, frankly, even though I didn’t know what a daddy was at the time.

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And then, of course, there was Kevin Von Erich. Those legs! That lean muscled body! He was not built like any other wrestler, and he remained an obsession for me for years. And in those yellow trunks, again, there was a bulge.

Most wrestlers of the period didn’t have bulges in their trunks. I think this had something to do with what they wore under their trunks; modesty in the 1960’s and 1970’s world of professional wrestling was still a thing. Their trunks were also high-waisted (see above) so you couldn’t see what are now called “cum gutters” and they also didn’t highlight asses. The cheeks were completely covered, and again, the waistline was so high they sometimes made the ass look flat (or maybe the ass was flat; you never know). Pro wrestling was “family entertainment” and not supposed to be masturbatory fantasy material for gay men.

BGEast, however, which has always billed itself as being for gay men, has had some amazing bulges throughout its history.

Cruze, of course, was one of my earlier favorites. He was also pretty hung; and wasn’t afraid to strip down completely for the cameras.cruze

Jose was another one–a nasty heel, one of the nastiest to ever grace the mats and ring at BGEast, he was also hung like a horse and loved to show it off.

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Josh Goodman and myself were no slouches, either.

And then there’s Jobe “The Centerpiece” Zander.

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The next time I went in front of the cameras, it was Mr. Centerpiece himself I saw across the ring from me.

(to be continued)

Tagging

Growing up, tag teams matches were always fun to watch. I loved the idea of double-teaming a helpless opponent, the way some teams seemed to work together seamlessly, and it was always a fantasy of mine to do a tag match. I never had the chance to do so privately; finding a single opponent is hard enough without trying to coordinate a match involving three other people. Hell, even coordinating a tag match for the cameras isn’t easy; I did at least one planned tag match that devolved because someone didn’t show up–pity the poor opponent who took on me and my partner alone.

But that’s a tale for another time.

I flew down to Fort Lauderdale for a taping at the BGEast Southern compound the day after Thanksgiving. I wasn’t sure it was wise getting in front of the cameras after spending the previous day stuffing myself on my mother’s cooking, but you don’t say no when the Boss summons you. I was also a bit excited because this would be my first taping wearing the mask.

In other words, becoming the heel I was meant to be.

In all honesty, I never saw myself as a heel; but the Boss saw me in a picture wearing a mask as a joke and reinvented me on the spot. It was this picture, I believe:

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The whole outfit was meant to be just funny, really; another wrestler had given me the trunks and when I showed them to one of my buddies, he pulled out the mask and gloves and we took a set of pictures. I sent one to the Boss as a joke…and thus the masked heel was born.

I wasn’t sure who was on the roster for me to tape with that weekend, but I met my buddy Maxx Thunder at the airport.

I was pretty thrilled to find out I was going to meet–and wrestle–Alexi that weekend.

When I met him I was surprised. He was a lot bigger than I’d thought. For some reason, I thought he was maybe my height and weight, if not smaller. I was WRONG, by a long shot. He was 6’4 and was in a bulking phase, so was weighing in around 220. I am 5’11, and at the time was maybe 185 on a heavy day.

And his tag partner, Drew Russell, was about the same size.

I was the runt in the ring.

This match was a lot of fun, and I had been right about Alexi–he had mad ring skills, was tough, and JFC, was he ever strong. Maxx and I were having a great time beating them down when Alexi pulled the rug out from under me–literally–slamming to the mat back-first…and then kept working over my back.

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Hey, I’m freakishly flexible, but even I have limits.

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And for someone who got his ass kicked a lot, he sure liked to taunt and humiliate me.

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I eventually submitted to the bastard. In the next go round, I had to go back and meet him in the ring again, and once again…it looked like I was a goner until my buddy Maxx, like a true partner, came to my rescue.

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And all was right with the world again.

I’ve always regretted not having a one-on-one fight with Sexy Alexi.

 

Head Lock

One of the first matches from BGEast that I ever owned was Ultra Fight 2: Brad Rochelle v. Scott Williams. I will admit that most of my initial tapes from BGEast were passed on to me from someone else who’d bought them and didn’t want to watch them anymore; this was one of the first I paid for. Another on-line friend in the early days of AOL had told me that if I liked scissors, this was a match I had to see. Money was scarce for me back in those days, but I treated myself to the tape when I got paid for writing a piece for a local magazine.

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Brad Rochelle was one of the biggest stars BGEast ever had; that body! That face! The flexibility! The suffering! He suffered a lot, too…he was always, it seemed, getting beaten up by someone with an equally impressive body. No one suffered quite the way Brad did…and no one filled out a speedo quite the way he did, either. In this match, as you can see, he wore purple squares.

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Scott Williams only taped four matches for BGEast; this one, one with Bryan Walsh, one with Bud Orton, and one with Doug Ward. It’s a pity. He was one of the few who didn’t get rid of all his body hair, which showed off his long, lean, chiseled muscular body perfectly. He also had a great attitude, and a deep, masculine voice. He also was a skilled wrestler, and this match–in the matroom at the BGEast North compound, was a sweaty, non-stop back-and-forth battle with lots of shit talking and some amazing action.

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Doesn’t that look like fun?

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BGEast also used to sell photo sets from their matches; in the days before the Arena and the Internet got really going. I bought this photoset–probably still have it somewhere.

I never got a chance to wrestle Brad during his long tenure with BGEast; but so many of his matches are classics, and the series The Contract, which was his last hurrah, is worth owning in its entirety.

I have wrestled Scott a few times privately…he was the first person I ever met from BGEast, and we always had a great time. Well, at least did.

 

 

Full Nelson

I always regretted not going into professional wrestling.

When I was a little boy, professional wrestling fascinated me. My parents never watched it, thought it was dumb, and would always change the channel when it was on. But sometimes, late at night after they and my sister had gone to bed, I would find a broadcast after the news, turn the sound down, and watch, completely fascinated. It–and boxing–were some of the few sports where male bodies weren’t completely clothed or padded up; so wrestling was one of the few places my nascent sexuality could satisfy its curiosity about the male body. Muscles, even when I was young, were an obsession; although body building wasn’t taken particularly seriously either and was seen as either ‘gay’ or the province of narcissists. It wasn’t until much later that male bodies were seen as things that could be sculpted into things of beauty in the gym, through diet and exercise; I joked the other day to one of my younger co-workers (oh, please, they’re all younger) that “nowadays with straight boys caring about their bodies and how they look, it’s made things so much more difficult. Back in the 1980’s and 90’s, you could tell someone was gay because they had a great body.”

Of course, part of the gay male body fetishizing was in part a reaction to HIV/AIDS and wasting syndrome; the idea that a worked out, muscular body meant you were healthy. Obviously, that wasn’t necessarily the case; but it was also a way to feel better about yourself, try to make yourself feel positive about yourself in a society and culture where being gay was still a taboo. (While we’ve made a great amount of progress since then, we haven’t come far enough.)

But professional wrestling was kind of like porn for me; when cable television began to get going in the 1980’s I always loved watching Georgia Championship Wrestling on Saturday and Sunday afternoons–Brad Armstrong was a particular favorite of mine, as were the Von Erich brothers–and I kind of wished, fantasized sometimes, that I could become a professional wrestler. I had no idea how one did that; and in those pre-Internet days, it wasn’t exactly easy to find out about training schools and so forth. I also wasn’t built big enough to be a professional wrestler, but it remained a fantasy of mine, and its homoeroticism became a fetish for me; it would be years before I realized that I was not the only gay men with a fetish for wrestling of all kinds, not just the professional kind.

I discovered gay wrestling videos in the early 1990’s, in the days when you had to send away for catalogues and the only way to hook up with other guys into wrestling was to join a list (the name of which I cannot remember) that was mailed out and updated periodically; you either called people or you wrote them letters and corresponded with them. How quaint, right? I met some guys who were into wrestling that way; but these were guys who’d actually wrestled collegiate/Olympic style in high school or college. I hadn’t–while I enjoyed going to wrestling meets as a teenager to see those great, hard-muscles bodies in those lycra, leave-nothing-to-the-imagination singlets, I was always terrified in high school that someone might figure out that I was actually gay and I didn’t trust myself to come in that close of contact with another boy and not get an erection. (Of course, I laugh at that fear now; with all the pictures of high school and collegiate wrestlers during matches with erections. But it was a definite fear when I was a teen…) So, without any actual training in collegiate-style wrestling I was never much of a match; and it really wasn’t any fun for either of us.

My first BGEast wrestling tape I ever owned was from the Fantasymen series; Fantasymen 5, to be exact: Jose v. Gino Ponti; Cruze v. Jake Tucker; Psycho Capone v. Jay Austin; and Psycho Capone v. Pete Reynolds. This was everything I’d been looking for for erotic stimulation–wrestling, and guys with amazing bodies. (My only complaint about professional wrestling back in the day was that the bodies weren’t all fantastic; I was a bit of a body fascist when it came to my fantasies, even though I wasn’t in my day-to-day life, when it came to hook-ups and so forth.) All of the matches were great, but for some reason the Cruze-Jake Tucker match hit all of my buttons. They both had great bodies, they both were wearing skimpy gear, and they were both incredibly handsome in the face. Tucker was playing up the cowboy angle, and his accented drawl and perfectly round ass…yeah, perfect: definitely fantasy men.

I recently rented the match again on the BGEast Arena; I hadn’t seen it in years–the videotape having since gone the way of the LP and the 45 record. It still holds up; there is chemistry between the two of a sort, and it’s still stimulating.

Standards of male beauty, at least for gay men, have remained static for some time; with slight variations–hairy vs not hairy, twink vs lean vs more thickly muscled–and the relationship to my own body has also varied. I am naturally very hairy, and always have been. My chest and abdomen are covered in hair, as are my legs and my butt, and as I’ve gotten older it’s started sprouting on my back and shoulders. Back in the day I used to shave it all off; again, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve stopped. Every once in a while I’ll trim my torso hair down, to get an idea of my level of fitness; thick pelts tend to hide the muscles, so I will trim so I can see if my abs are still there or if I need to focus on diet/cardio some more.

Trimmed:

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Not so trimmed:

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Right now, I’m in need of trimming, which I will do later today to assess where I am at physically.

As I became more familiar with BGEast and its wrestlers, and as the Internet made it more possible and easier to connect with other guys into wrestling, I began to slowly dip into the world of private pro wrestling. I wasn’t in a position to travel much, and so it wasn’t easy to actually meet up with guys I’d talk to on-line…there are still guys on-line I’ve been talking to for years that I’ve never met and wrestled. But I also assumed that I had aged out of any chance to wrestle for BGEast. As my books began to get published and I started doing book tours–on a small scale–I was able to meet guys who were also into wrestling and have some matches. But I was still a novice, not only to wrestling but to connecting with guys on-line. My personals ads on wrestling websites never seemed to get me many matches–but I also didn’t have a space to wrestle in New Orleans at home, either.

And when I started chatting with Kid Leopard on-line after Hurricane Katrina–which was one of those life-altering events; when you lose almost everything you realize how tenuous and short life is, and why not try for things you want to do? One thing led to another, and in the spring of 2006 I flew to Fort Lauderdale to tape my first match for BGEast.

So my dream of being a professional wrestler, which had combined with the fantasy of taping for BGEast, was about to come true.

 

Welcome Back to the Thunderdome

Been awhile, has it not?

It’s not that I’ve lost interest in wrestling; I’ve just been incredibly busy over the last couple of years. There’s also been issues with my physical health; injuries that have kept me out of the gym and out of the ring. I am not nearly in the kind of shape I need to be in to ever put on the trunks, lace up my boots, and pull a mask on, climb through the ropes and beat some people’s asses…but I am getting there. It’s harder this time than it was before–I am older, and my bad habits have become that much more entrenched, but I am confident I can get back into shape. Maybe not this shape:

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but certainly better than what I’ve been in. I’ve always had a complicated relationship with weight and my body; one thing I’ve always envied straight dudes is that swaggering self-confidence they all seem to have–particularly when I look at them and think, really?

And really, I probably won’t ever get back to that kind of shape. That was probably peak body for me–my body has always been peaks and valleys. I’ve managed to continue working out over the last few years, around injury time-outs and so forth, and I’ve gained size. So getting back down to a 31 waist and 180 pounds like I was in the match with Pink Puma is probably not very likely; it’s possible, but I just don’t have the time, desire, or energy to do all the work it would require. I’m also not in a huge rush to get there, the way I used to be; without a taping to motivate me that urgency just isn’t there. But I’m pretty proud of the fact I was 45 when I went before the cameras at BGEast for the first time, and 49 the last time. Right now I’ve gotten down to around 210 (from a high of 227); and I can fit back into a 33 waist jeans. Not bad for 56, I’d say. I’d like to get to around 200 by New Year’s, and I think that’s probably a good, lean weight for me to get to and then maintain.

Part of the reason I am reactivating this blog is to help document my journey back to optimal fitness; I’ve also missed writing about wrestling. There aren’t many markets out there any more for erotic short stories about wrestling; and there was a time, shortly after Going Down for the Count was released that I thought I was done with writing about wrestling for good; I’ve written all I had to say. But I find that not to be true anymore…I’ve missed watching matches, staying on top of the gay wrestling video world, making friends and having matches. There are a lot of video companies out there now; a lot of new wrestlers to look at–it’s a whole new world.

My goal is to blog here at least two or three times a week; my other writing and my life blog are always going to have to come first. And the draw of wrestling for gay men, its innate homoeroticism, is a subject that continues to fascinate and draw me in.

So, welcome back. I hope you’ll come along for the ride. Stop in, kick back, and check things out around here…maybe you’ll like it; maybe you won’t.

But I’m betting it will never be dull around here.