While my readers patiently wait for a new story, I thought I’d put together a list of my all-time favorite heels, the guys who frightened jobbers, destroyed them, and gave this young jobber a boner growing up and years of pleasure as an adult. And, thanks to the magic of youtube, I continue to dream and fantasize about these real men. In no particular order…
HERCULES. HERCULES HERNANDEZ. THE MIGHTY HERCULES.
Whatever you called him, this muscle-bound freak was master of the power moves. Herc loved grabbing trunks with these power moves and anyone who reads my work knows this moves him up in my book.
He loved doing a military press, the good kind, where he lifts the jobber up by the rear of the trunks and holds them up, giving the jobber boy a good wedgie. He was great at the suplex, yanking those trunks and lifting up. And when he put the guy in the torture rack to finish him off, he almost always pulled him up by the rear of the trunks, sometimes going out of his way to yank on the waistband, before sticking his claw under the jobber’s legs and lifting him to his shoulders. If Hercules was still alive, I think I’d email him and ask if he’d do these things to me for like 500 bucks.
When he joined with Paul Roma for Power and Glory, Hercules added the superplex to his arsenal, another chance to pull a jobber around by his trunks in front of his pretty boy partner.
Johnny, let’s go to the clips.
Three minutes, multiple trunk grabs. Hercules is really in the roid days here, he’s almost grotesquely bulky. Whatever. That beard, the chain, I picture him collaring and leashing a jobber in the backyard, bringing him in every once in awhile for some domination. Here he throws Joe in by the trunks, then a great suplex, and finally the yank up into the torture rack.
This is a weird match, but very hot. At the 5:40 mark, Hercules tosses the horrendous poet – sorry, it’s true – back into the ring, and Poffo crawls around, apparently trying to escape. But there’s no escape and Hercules practically depants’ the poet before pulling him up for the finisher, as Poffo flops around. He also shows off an amazing tan line, one of my big fantasies as a jobber.
As a kid, I seriously feared Tully Blanchard. When I watched him on Saturday nights on TBS, something indescribable inside of me felt nervous. Already I identified with a jobber and Tully seemed to take particular pleasure in embarrassing them. He was so arrogant, that played a role. Also the fact he almost always had a female valet by his side. Even then, being embarrassed in front of a girl seemed embarrassing.
His finishing maneuver always involved grabbing the trunks: the slingshot suplex. How the hell did that finish guys off, I never really understood. What, did it hurt their legs that much to be bounced off a rope that they were down for the 1,2,3? Ouch, my thighs! Whatever, he always did it, usually in front of his woman, and cockily covered them in that tiny studio in Atlanta, the site of so many jobber humiliations. Tully seemed like a bully. As a kid, bullies scared me. As an adult, I fantasize about them. You can see why Tully has been with me for a long time.
He was aggressive, stomping and kicking, and doing it all with a sneer that he probably wore at prep school as he beat the shit out of the scholarship kids.
Here Tully takes on the hapless and trunked Trent Knight, in front of a new slut – Dark Journey. Love when Tully goes outside the ring. The rednecks are right on top of the ring and he’s vicious to Knight, then fires him into the ring, giving the jobber a good wedgie, which Trent proceeds to pick out. He tries to be discrete. But I see you, Trent. So did Dark Journey. How embarrassing for you. I bet Tully talked about that when he fucked Dark Journey later that night in some hotel.
And did Dark Journey like watching her man embarrass a jobber? Not sure, but her obvious nipples give me some clue.
This Soviet son of a bitch (I know he’s not Soviet).
What a perfect villain in the 1980s. When he became a good guy, I was so mad. Who wants to cheer the commie? Also, by the time he became a face, he had stopped doing the greatest finishing maneuver in the history of wrestling – the military wedgie press he fucking perfected. You don’t know how many times I’ve jacked off into a pair of speedos while dreaming of being in Nikolai’s clutches. Literally hundreds. Hundreds. I’d even impersonate it by laying over my couch and lifting up on my panties or trunks, holding myself by the neck, “lifting” myself up into the rafters like Nikolai didd to so many jobbers. As I did it, I’d rub the front of my clit in the trunks until it squirted jobber juice. One time I recorded myself with a tape recorder, doing commentary. “Look at Nikolai holding this kid up by his trunks. Look at that Brain. How humiliating.” Squirt. Later I’d videotape it with same commentary. I had jobber issues.
He exposed asses and gave wedgies and spit on our flag. How fucking hot was that? He still wrestles occasionally and, again, I’d pay 500 bucks for him to do those moves to me. So strong.
A technician. Seemed to know every hold and executed them perfectly. His squashes could last 8 minutes, all the while the Cowboy put on move after move. And he liked grabbing trunks. He wasn’t a steroid freak or muscle-bound madman but he could lift a jobber into any position. He was great at military presses using the trunks. He suplexed. He had one of the two best superplexes around – Windham the other – and he could knee, punch, kick and stomp.
I love this match for the finishing piledriver. As Orton holds them, he gains leverage by yanking on the man’s yellow trunks. For no reason, seemingly, other than to humiliate the man in front of the crowd. So cruel.
How perfect is that superplex. That had to hurt, unlike a slingshot. I dream of being lifted and planted on that top turnbuckle. There’s no escape, no place to hide, you’re perched on it like a good little boy, just waiting for daddy’s punishment. To keep you pliant, the heel often delivered a punch or two, in case you had any ideas of getting up to trouble. Then tumbling from 10 feet down, all the while Orton holds onto your trunks.
Like his buddy Tully, another heel I feared as a kid. He just seemed so intent on beating people up. Working those arms over, slam after slam, arm bar after arm bar. He smirked and snarled. And he loved yanking guys around by their trunks, seemed to be have a bit of an obsession about it, actually. Not that I’m suggesting it was a fetish for Arn. No, no.
A young, handsome Tommy Angel especially suffered at the hands of Arn.
Christ, where to begin. I’ll just quote something I wrote once before about this match:
So that’s a few of my favorites. I’ll write some more in another post on some others: Barry Windham, Terry Funk, the Barbarian, Kevin Sullivan.
Please leave your favorite heels in the comments and if you remember some specific matches, please let us know and relive them!