Finally, Daddy’s Really Home

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Morgan Cruise is, as always, an Alpha Male

“Another day in this fabulous facility, and once again, I’m going to crush someone,” Morgan Cruise crows as usual as the scene opens on Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Daddy’s Home 7. “Dominate them, really.” He flexes, looking seriously fucking good with aesthetically cropped body hair and a magnificent cheetah print thong. “Make them understand what a true alpha male I am.”

Uuuggggghhhhh.  The infamous alpha male script. I’m just going to get something off my chest here and now. I fucking hate hearing homoerotic wrestlers utter the words “alpha male.” I have some ambivalence about whether there may be some inherent internalized homophobia behind the alpha male banter, but honestly, it isn’t that. It’s just too fucking overdone. And I’m just going to put it out there at the risk of offending someone: Muscle Domination Wrestling in particular has overdone the alpha male shtick. It’s typically a set up for a squash, with the self-declared alpha male crushing an opponent without the suspense or contest that really gets at the heart of my gay wrestling fetish. Morgan is probably the biggest offender of slipping too easily, too formulaically into the alpha male song and dance. I see his hot, hot body and hypnotically beautiful eyes (I mean, fuck, those babies literally glow!). Then he opens his mouth and utters the words, “alpha male,” and I want to slap him. Hard.

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Morgan thinks Matt may be too old to keep it up

In strolls Matt Thrasher. There’s a reason Matt is my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. Actually, there are a lot of reasons. Muscle daddy Matt is also instantly arousing to me. The grey hairs peppered into his beard make him stand out from the crowded field of young, juicy cuts of veal in homoerotic wrestling. His mammoth pecs drive me fucking nuts. I longly wait for the day an opponent uses the massive, sweaty crevice between those mountains of chest muscle to grind out an explosive pec frottage satisfaction. A hairy ass typically gets you docked points on my scorecard, yet somehow, muscle daddy Matt works the look to perfection. And there’s something “real” about his wrestling persona. His cockiness is tempered by maturity. His high appraisal of his strength and wrestling never stretch far too far away from the raw, bulging, beautiful facts. When younger opponents (they all are) chide him about his age, he never overreacts, as if his magnificent physique paired with wisdom and experience are somehow a bad thing. And I can’t remember him ever, ever using the phrase “alpha male.”

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“How long can you keep up before you have to get back to that rocking chair?”

“You’re pretty big,” Morgan smirks, stating what is plainly obvious as if we were all waiting for him to make it true by saying so. “But how long can you keep up before you have to get back to that rocking chair?” Another dig at the age differential. Morgan flexes his impressive guns in Matt’s face to intimidate him. Textbook Morgan Cruise. Cue the unstoppable squash scenario. Morgan’s about to tease his muscle worship YouTube fans with another domineering beat down.

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“Um, that’s a little surprising, yeah.”

Matt pulls off his t-shirt and flexes his huge biceps. He crunches his massive pecs (making my cock quiver). “Does that surprise you?” Matt asks, pumping his own gargantuan guns in the Mastodon’s face. Morgan seems unable to restrain himself. He reaches out and palms the mammoth peaks. “That’s a little surprising, yeah,” he admits to being impressed by Matt’s rocking muscle daddy bod.

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Matt has age, strength and experience on his side

“I’m undefeated,” Morgan points out, still working the psychological assault. “I’ve had hundreds of matches,” he explains. “I don’t know if you’ve seen them, but I kick a lot of ass.” Now, it probably should be pointed out that this match takes place in one particular homoerotic wrestling universe. If you follow the scene, you may have seen Morgan ultimately conquer and take possession of Matt in an ancient Rome period fantasy piece based on gladiator slave combat. This match does not take place in that universe. This match also does not take place in the homoerotic wrestling universe in which Morgan and Matt squared off on opposing tag teams in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 19. In that universe, Morgan has most definitely already seen Matt’s mouthwatering body, and not only was Morgan unimpressed, but he also completely had his way with Matt as a flat footed, completely green rookie.

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Morgan comes face to pec with Matt’s overwhelming daddy muscles

No, this is the homoerotic wrestling universe in which Morgan chews up and spits out opponents, big and little, endlessly monologuing and ultimately appeasing the fans who never get enough of watching him dominate. So you’ll forgive me when, in that universe, he and Matt lock hands for an opening test of strength, and my eyes almost pop out when Matt almost instantly and commandingly goes over the top, driving Morgan to his knees, and making the Mastodon whimper in pain. Holy fuck, did that just happen!?

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“I think you’re going to be my bitch today.”

“I think you’re going to be my bitch today,” Matt growls in that sexy, back of the throat baritone of his. He let’s Morgan get back up to his feet. Morgan takes a solid swing, jabbing at the most massive target within reach, that huge, huge chest on Matt.  The stunning strike often makes Morgan’s opponents shatter at his feet. But not this time. Matt literally catches the fist in one hand and stops it cold. “Nice try,” the muscle daddy smirks, cranking that arm into a hammerlock, driving Morgan to his knees, and mounting a gorgeous standing surfboard that looks like it could pry Morgan apart at the shoulders.

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“You are going to learn a lesson today, you little shit!”

“You are going to learn a lesson today, you little shit,” Matt snarls, stomping on Morgan’s muscled back. “You’re going to be daddy’s bitch.” Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Is Morgan Cruise about to slapped silly and humiliated by, let’s face it, a hot piece of ass with a seriously inconsistent match record?!

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“Mr. Undefeated? Is that what you said?”

He grabs him by that FUCKING pony tail and pries Morgan’s head backward. Oh my god, I hate that pony tail so much. When it shows up on “alpha male” Morgan, I typically scream at the screen the entire time for his opponent to drag his hot, muscle ass around the ring by it, but they never do. But fuck, yes, yes, yes, Matt does. “Mr. Undefeated?” Matt whispers in Morgan’s ear. “Is that what you said?!”

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Morgan’s got no answer to this

So the Daddy’s Home franchise has been an enticing genre at MDW. Inaugurated by Matt, it has often, but not always been a sweet mash up of one-sided wrestling, muscle worship, and bear daddy cub training. I’ve always thought there was a kernel of brilliance in the Daddy’s Home formula that has yet to be fully realized. I’m saying here and now, Daddy’s Home 7 has fully realized that wildly sexy, intense, terrifying, will-bending potential that the genre has been promising all along.

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Matt takes the cub training task in hand

While I can totally get off to a smaller guy upending a bigger dude, I’ve often felt a little cheated when Morgan has accomplished this without the barest acknowledgement that he was playing catch up to physically bigger, more massively muscled opponents. So when that formula starts to completely fall apart for him in this match, it’s like watching the end of an era. In the new MDW universe, Morgan Cruise is mortal. And I, for one, am turned on by him about 27 times harder than I ever have been before because of it.

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Morgan can’t move this mountain of muscle

The odds are stacked against him. Matt’s bigger, stronger, more experienced. So when he bodyslams the Mastodon like pounding down bread dough, there’s something so shockingly right about it. Big Matt stomps on the hairy beast viciously. He schoolboy pins Morgan, his big, jock strap pouch dangling in Morgan’s face as the muscle daddy flexes his quickly sweat covered chest and arms over top of Mr. Undefeated. Morgan strains, grunting, working to somehow magically toss his rising muscle daddy’s 225 pounds of glistening marble like he probably could have in every other single match he’s every wrestled (in this homoerotic wrestling universe). And Morgan can’t move daddy Matt an inch, mother fuckers!

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“Feel those legs?  I can stay here all day.”

Matt grabs Morgan’s throat in a one-handed choke and muscles the gasping hunk into sweaty, swallowing bodyscissors. “Feel those legs? I could stay here all day,” Matt smirks, leaning on one elbow, propping his head leisurely on his hand like a Play Girl centerfold. Morgan starts to squirm and squeal in panicked agony. “Fight it, fight it,” Matt coaches, letting Morgan suck on the pain until just before the kid looks like he’s going to cry.

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“I… I can’t win!!?!!!!”

The pace is persistently catch and release, catch and release, which, frankly, is the way I prefer my squashes. Matt is almost compassionately teaching the cocky young punk a lesson he’s needed for far too long. He buttons him up with body slams, chokes, scissors, demonstrating that he can take Morgan’s muscled ass at will. Any fucking day. Any fucking hour. He spanks that ass ferociously. You can see the raised, bright red welting hand prints on Morgan’s cheeks. Matt explains again and again that he’s bigger, badder, and destined to make Morgan his bitch. Then he releases him again to prove the point all over. “I… I can’t win!!!” Morgan gasps, shocked at the sound of these words coming from his mouth for the first time in his life. Matt crushes him with total command in spinal adjustment bodyscissors, toying with Morgan’s nipples, playing him like a piano. “Wait, wait, I thought you were Mr. Undefeated,” Matt taunts, dialing him in like a ham radio. “Oh… oh, fuuuuuck!” Morgan groans in that particularly intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure.

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“That’s 225 pounds of daddy muscle.”

“Feel my weight on you?,” Matt asks, whispering in Morgan’s ear as he stretches out on top of his back, grinding him into the mat. “That’s 225 pounds of daddy muscle,” Matt explains, flexing his hairy ass, swiveling his hips forward, grinding his hungry cock between Morgan’s vulnerable cheeks. “You though you could take me?,” Matt asks, more like a statement, just letting the absurdity of it marinade as he humps the muscle kid’s ass. “You thought you would leave here undefeated?” Matt climbs to his feet, his gorgeous cock stretching a good 2 inches over the top of his jock. “And yet here I stand, you below me, and you’re my bitch.”

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Like a fucking muscle baby!

Morgan sells this match body and soul. I have never been so completely taken in by what Morgan is putting out there as when he’s fucking weeping, terrorized, and then suddenly, almost shyly, reaching up and stroking his muscle daddy’s superior muscles. I totally believe Morgan’s sincerity as he kneels at his master’s feet, hungrily sucking at Matt’s nipples. I believe he wants it so, fucking, much well before the eager head of Morgan’s cock pokes over the top of his thong almost shyly asking to come out play. Morgan has totally bought and sold me that he’s gagging for it well before Matt face fucks him furiously, sweat pouring off Matt’s chest, grunting with pleasure as he holds the back of Morgan’s head and pounds his hips forward, again and again.

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“I own you.”

This is by far the most sexually explicit work that I’ve seen at MDW, and it plays like a masterpiece. The “competition” is over well before both hunks are naked, but the suspense remains as to just how far daddy will go with the crushed, cocky phenom. He makes Morgan oil his already glistening muscles. He rolls him up and mounts his vulnerable, naked ass, pounding his daddy maker into the base of Morgan’s balls. Prying open Morgan’s knees, muscle daddy Matt kneels between his legs and grabs hold of both rods in his big hand and molds them together into one pulsing, hot, rock hard mass. “You want daddy’s load?” As if he needed to ask.  “Yes!” Morgan gasps, gagging for it.  “You get a nice big load from daddy, then you’ll really be my bitch, yeah? I own you!” Matt face fucks him until he cums, Morgan deep throating him like a champ.

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Morgan dives in face first

I was NOT expecting any of this.  From MDW. From Morgan. From Matt (well, maybe from Matt). This is epic level shit, taking one of the untouchables from the MDW shelf, one of the franchise players who built the brand by being unstoppable, by being irrepressible, by being an alpha male ad nauseum, and turning him into a hot pile of vulnerable muscle hunk getting owned, but good.

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Fuck and yes!

I feel the need to repeat myself. This is epic level shit.  MDW doesn’t just stretch their boundaries. They rip them to shreds. And they don’t just do something that I find completely unexpected. They do it really, really well.

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Daddy’s right at home

Personally, Morgan, Matt and MDW’s stocks are skyrocketing for me. If this is a one off and Morgan is slingshotted back into being Mr. Undefeated, pretending this never happened, bulldozing opponents twice his size like a super villain and monologuing about alpha males, I’ll be disappointed. But damn it all, let’s see more of what the Daddy’s Home franchise has been dabbling with all along. A big, mature, gorgeous muscle daddy bending, breaking, and molding a hot, hard, shocked muscle boy into his groveling, chastened bitch.

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Who’s your daddy!?

That’s What Ripped Gets You

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You can’t handle this much ginger

Clearly, this is the dawning of the Age of the Ginger.  A full one third of the wrestlers in BG East’s 114.3 were red-headed and/or Blaine Janus. I’ve lauded Charlie and Blaine and Steven Ponce, so it’s about time I dropped some fan appreciation on this blog’s current reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler and devastatingly sexy ginger muscle man, Kid Karisma.

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“You look cute!”

In the first match of Great Outdoors 2, Kid K steps into the BG East gazebo to find tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome Carter Alexander stretching out.”Who in the hell did they bring me today?” Kid K asks, apparently unfamiliar with Carter’s previous appearance, also in the gazebo, against Kid K’s favorite sexy monkey boy, Jake Jenkins.  “You look cute!” Kid K acknowledges, giving Carter’s handsome face a smiling appraisal.  The rest of Carter, however, Kid K finds lacking in comparison to the karismatic one’s estimation of his own sensational physique.

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“I never give!” claims Carter Alexander

Carter Alexander is a tough mother fucker. Like Kid K, I find him remarkably pretty. I want to pinch his cheeks and spank his ass, he’s got such boyish charm attached to that rocking hard muscle bod. He’s particularly proud of his ripped fitness, and when Kid K swarms all over his ass to start the action, he’s buttoned up almost instantly and at the mercy (yeah, good luck with that, buddy) of Kid Karisma. “Say you give!” Kid K demands, screwing down his bread and butter body scissors and making Carter’s summer tan flush dark, angry red. The young stud screams. He whimpers. He fucking weeps like a bitch, crying, “No more, no more!” But when pressed to submit, the oh so pretty slice of beefcake grunts, “I never give!”

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Carter exploits Kid Karisma’s cockiness

You know I adore… nay, worship Kid Karisma. So understand that extremely humble place from which this next comment comes from when I say that, as is so often the case, Kid Karisma gets too cocky. On the one hand, I suspect Kid K would say there is no such thing when it comes to his sensational physique and wrestling domination. On the other hand, as is so often the case when Kid K is riding rough shod on an outmatched opponent (as in, nearly every single one), he starts to preen. He winks at the camera. He flexes and struts and starts paying more attention to camera angles and the best lighting to show of his muscles than he does to the coiled mass of ripped muscle beneath him. And suddenly, Carter uses those luscious, long legs to hook Kid K mid double bicep pose and pry him backward, squeezing on scissors and pounding those world class abs.

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That’s ripped, baby!”

Carter likes being on top. He starts laughing louder the more Kid K groans. He sticks out his tongue and flexes his mouthwatering, aesthetically perfect biceps. “See that!?” he demands of the whimpering muscle veteran. “That’s ripped, baby!”

“Come on, man, you’re hurting me!”

Carter has about 18 times as much personality in this match as he did in his debut, and I have to think it’s further evidence that Kid K brings/rings out the very best in an opponent. And perhaps, this is exactly some of the fantastic formula that goes into Kid K’s match strategy, overextending, allowing himself to get upended here and there in order to pull out of his opponents something new. Or, in Carter’s case, letting the sultry, sexy stud have as much rope as he wants to hang himself with. And as much as Carter lip lickingly relishes being on top, he’s a sniveling, crying, simpering BITCH as catcher. When Kid K inevitably muscles his way back into contention, Carter withers under a barrage of pounding shots to his lush pecs and abs. “Come on, man!” Carter complains, pleadingly, “you’re hurting me!” There’s this tone in his voice to suggest that this surprises him, that somehow Kid K is doing something untoward. “Come on, I didn’t do nothing to you!” he keeps bitching as he’s stretched out seductively in a full nelson and body scissors. “Come on, can’t we work this out?” he begs. Kid K laughs at the whimpering stud. “I’ll let you buy me a drink later,” the infamous party boy replies. “I’ll buy you two drinks!” Carter ups the bid, pleading for his tormentor to take the bribe. “Come on, I didn’t ask for this, man!” Carter cries like a total spineless bully-turned-bitch. “Well, you’re gettin’ it!” Kid K laughs.

“I… I like it when you…pull on my hair.”

The wrestling is intense and convincing, so Carter’s rapid fire reversals from taunting bully to simpering victim are compelling drama. They speak to some deep seated character flaw to accompany Carter’s physical perfection. He doesn’t know who he is on his own. He relies on others to shape him. He needs to be either conquered or conquerer to get a reading on his own inner compass. It makes me sort of wonder what the fuck he’s thinking stepping into the world of BG East and agreeing to face down one of the baddest muscle heels in operation today. But when Kid K starts yanking on Carter’s hair domineeringly, prying his head backward as he crushes the stud’s throat with his gargantuan right bicep, Carter gasps, confessing, “I… I like it when you… pull on my hair.” And then, somehow, the two-sided coin of Carter’s bully/bitch reversals make sense. His defiant opening promise that he never, ever gives up, falls into place like the tumblers of a lock being pried open. He taunts and pushes his luck and showboats because he’s the one determined to bring out the best (read: baddest) in his infamously cruel opponent. Here, I thought he was getting force fed his Wheaties all this time, when it turns out, he likes it. Hey, Carter! He likes it!

Kid Karisma gets a mouthful of Carter Alexander

Probably the sexiest singular moment in this match is when the tide has turned back to the kid who likes his hair pulled. Kid K has been parading this simpering beefcake around the gazebo in a magnificent inverted bearhug. If only these two were totally naked, they’d both be sucking cock (my mouth. God’s ears.). Suddenly, Carter reaches out and grabs the gazebo railing, sliding upward and backward so he can lock his ankles together and squeeze a wad-blowing suspended headscissors. Kid K’s face is absolutely smothered so high up Carter’s ass that you can barely hear his muffled groans of shock and pain. Suddenly, Carter flings himself away from the railing and twists his body, and holy shit, uses all that momentum to flip Kid K off his feet and land, slamming down to the mat. Holy shit.  I repeat, holy shit. That was a variation on flying headscissors from a total rookie!

“Yeah! Give that ass a pounding!”

But the real money shot in this sequence comes when Carter sits that lovely, mouthwatering muscle ass of his on Kid K’s chin and folds the Kid up, hooking those gargantuan rugby thighs under his armpits. Kid K is stuck like a bug underneath 188 pounds of “ripped muscle, baby!” Carter flexes his massive guns, laughing, crowing. And then he plays Kid K’s multi-award winning ass cheeks like bongo drums.  Repeatedly.  Rolling his head back in laughter and slapping down a rhythm you can dance to. And if that doesn’t make you blow your wad, he suddenly starts punching those very same multi-award winning ass cheeks, brutally jabbing away, grinding his knuckles deep into the muscle tissue. “You like that, huh?” Carter asks the buttoned up muscle hunk beneath him. “Yeah, give that ass a pounding!” he laughs, coming perhaps as close as any opponent has come to fulfilling the fan fantasies that keep Karisma’s tasty glutes ranked number one, year after year.  Kid is fucking impotent right now. He’s getting used and humiliated. Carter pumps out another stunning, vascular, all-over-tanned double bicep and explains, “That’s what ripped gets you!”

Carter’s lips say, “No more, please!!!”

If you’re a little worried at this point that Carter may have overplayed his hand, that taunting and humiliating one of the most notorious heels in the stable is digging his own grave a little too deep, you’d be right. Holy shit (I say again), when Kid K comes roaring back into contention, he is pissed. He’s still trash talking and cracking jokes like he always does, of course. But he’s fucking bitter now. He starts using and abusing this masochistic pretty boy with total abandon. Punches, knee lifts, massively muscled rugby leg drops tenderize Carter’s abs and pecs until he’s screaming like that horrified, helpless bitch he is once again. “No more, please,” he begs (mind you, not submitting, just begging like a bitch). Kid K has had enough of believing the beefcake stud is truly contrite, only to get smacked around again. So the karismatic one just keeps clawing at those muscle fibers. He spanks that sensational purple ass in retribution. He owns every inch of the 6’1″ centerfold, and just keeps coming again and again.

Kid K rips this sniveling bitch pretty boy apart muscle by muscle

Carter is beaten (up) totally  and there’s still about 5 minutes left to go. Kid K repeatedly keeps dragging the hunk up by a fistful of hair. We have to think it’s because Kid K is determined to serve up exactly what Carter has said he wants. So Carter whimpers like a fucking baby as Kid K yet again pries his head off the mat by a hair handle, dragging his beaten-bright-red body up only to get pounded down again and again. Carter keeps screaming, keeps crying. Whereas he started the match promising that he “never gives,” he can’t fucking shut up and stop giving now. I lose count, but I’m sure Carter actually submits somewhere around 2 dozen times, interspersed between begging and pleading and crying and groveling and bargaining. A less experienced opponent might think the high pitched panic in Carter’s voice is a signal to lighten up a bit, but Kid K has got the read on this hot pretty boy. So he tightens the screw tighter, over and over.

“You’re going to break me!”

The most visually stunning moment is probably when Kid K drags Carter (of course, by his hair) up to his feet and slams his back into one of the gazebo columns. Like Tarzan, Kid K leaps up to the top of the railing, hangs on the outside of the gazebo, and scissors Carter’s torso into the column while choking him against the upright. Carter snivels and weeps more. “You’re going to break me!!!” Carter gasps at one point, merely inspiring Kid K to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.

Ride ’em, cowboy!

Having watched Carter Alexander’s first match, I had no idea to expect this much personality. He’s complex and compelling. There’s that initial mystery about what could possibly inspire him to keep going as he’s whimpering and groveling and pleading like a whiny bitch (without submitting), that comes into focus when he let’s slip in a moment of ecstasy that he likes it when Kid K pulls his hair. Kid K cottons on just like the rest of us do. Carter likes more than just getting his hair pulled. Those screams, those tears, that choking and gasping and wailing and begging for reprieve at the hands of a heartless, unhearing, uncaring expert tormentor like Kid Karisma are what Carter Alexander lives for.

Assume the position

I think someone should start a GoFundMe page to offer Carter’s next heel opponent a bounty for ripping the trunks off of this sniveling beefcake, because… fuck! That ass! A pretty boy with that mouthwatering of an ass who lives for picking a fight that he’s guaranteed to lose is going to be giving that ass up sooner or later, and I, for one, would put up cash to make sure that gets caught on tape.

“That’s what ripped gets you!”

Outstanding work to both of these incredibly gorgeous, sexy studs. I’m left breathlessly hoping to see where this deathwish takes Carter next. And I still say the rest of you gingers better clench up, because if there’s another Ginger Off anytime soon, Kid Karisma is going to rip you apart!

No, THAT’S what ripped gets you!

Spicy Ginger Surprise

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Rare breed ginger Latino pornboy hunk Steven Ponce

Picking up the theme of who was overlooked in the battle for top ginger at BG East when Charlie Evans and Blaine Janus faced off in Great Outdoors 2, I’m also aware that porn stud Steven Ponce probably also deserves a seat at the table. Guys who make the transition from full on gay porn to homoerotic wrestling can break one of two ways, I think. There are examples I’ll leave unnamed of pornboys who are simply out of their element, with little wrestling skill and an evident discomfort in selling a pro wrestling story. And then there are sensational examples of pornboys who fucking rock it like primetime, typically with some self-evident wrestling background and an enthusiasm for the particular melodrama that distinguishes homoerotic pro wrestling from boomchickaboom typical porn.  But then, on the third hand, there’s Steven Ponce.

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Does he want to fuck or wrestle?

Steven isn’t the first freckled faced red-headed Latino hunk I’ve seen, but they’ve been a rare breed in my sampling of hot men. His sultry, sexy as fuck accent slaps my racial/ethnic biases and preconceptions in the face, sort of the way that Mike Yanagita does in Fargo. He’d be a long shot in the ginger-off between Charlie, Blaine, Kid Karisma and him, of course. Though I’d pay a premium to watch Kid K ride Ponce’s pornboy bubble butt while Charlie worships the karismatic one’s world class muscles. But I haven’t had high expectations for Steven’s wrestling prowess to date. He looks like he’s happy to climb in the ring, mind you. I think he enjoys the competition, and judging by his nail gun, he clearly has skin in the game when it comes to wrestling for stakes. But I typically think of Steven as marking time until he can get naked and throw himself into his first language, that being sexing up some lucky, lucky erotic partner.

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Sex boils over before they even reach the ring

So I’m happy to report that Steven yet again slaps my preconceptions in the face when he shows up in the ring with Ty Alexander in BG East’s recent release X-Fights 41. Ty’s cred as a serious wrestler has been on the rise in my book. Now, I know there are fans who hold Ty in contempt for his Trophy Boy shtick and persistent overestimation of his wrestling ability and universal sexual allure. As for me, I think that makes Ty a sensationally provocative character to toss into a pro wrestling ring. He makes you feel something. He demands you pass judgment on him. Whether you ache to see him ride his cocky confidence to victory, insisting on his own self-fulfilling prophecy, or whether you get some frictional satisfaction watching his big, big talk go down in flames while an opponent roughs him up and humiliates him mercilessly (which is more often the case), Ty provides the propulsion in the story, which is a thousand times more entertaining (and hot) than watching two very pretty guys clock in and clock out without much effort or panache.

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Knee to the groin and deep, ripping pec claws… and they still haven’t stepped foot inside the ring!

But Ty has the capacity to kick ass. Even when he goes down in flames, he almost always puts a hurt on his opponent. He clearly likes the ring. He’s comfortable with the geography and the mechanics of pro wrestling. He relishes the mind game, and he’s demonstrated multiple times that when it comes to our particular clan of gay men sexually aroused by wrestling, Ty is one of us. Honestly, I expected it to be a cake walk when I saw Ty climb into the ring with Steven, with Ty taking the bull by his fully erect horn and grinding the eager, if hapless pornboy into the mat. That is not what you get in X-Fights 41.

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“I’m going to abuse you.”

It is true that Ty sets the pace. “I’m going to abuse you,” the Trophy Boy whispers ominously, stroking the red-headed hunk’s muscles before the match and literally licking his lips. A little self-consciously, Steven chuckles. “I’m going to have fun being abused by you,” the Latino power hitter coos, locking lips with Trophy Boy and setting the thermostat to sweltering before the boys have even hinted at wrestling. So I think I can be forgiven if I was expecting this to be a pornboy squash. Ty can deliver. Steven seemed to cede the territory immediately.

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Steven came to wrestle!

But this is not a cake walk. While Ty takes matters into hand with an early and persistent shock and awe offense of cock teasing interspersed with savage ball claws to keep the pornboy unbalanced, Steven makes me stand up and cheer when he suddenly snaps out of jobberville and slaps on a gorgeous, red-headed bearhug and squeezes long and hard with those big, freckled, muscled arms. He pulls his opponent off his feet, hoisting Ty into the air and demonstrating how that hot, hot muscled body is for so much more than looking pretty while pounding ass.

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Hammerlock and ass spanking, Steven is intent on marrying his two careers.

 

And it’s not a one off. Steven stays on offense, throwing him down and quickly clamping his lovely thighs around Ty’s ribs and making the Trophy Boy scream a little in panic. Honestly, I’d have been happy with just two mojo-sucking moves from the pornboy turned pro wrestler. So imagine my pleasure when Steven releases the scissors only to instantly slip into place a standing surfboard, ripping Ty’s arms backward while the pornboy stands over top of him. Holy fuck, that’s a pornboy/novice wrestler demonstrating some convincing, domineering chain wrestling!

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And he steps on Ty’s balls, to boot!!!

And then, right there in that surfboard, Steven steps on Ty’s balls. I think the Trophy Boy screamed, but I’m not sure, because I was shouting ecstatic encouragement at the screen. I got just a briefest hint of Rusty Stevens there, who I count as the top pornboy turned homoerotic pro wrestler ever. Rusty still makes me swoon in reruns because he was so fucking vicious. So disdainful. So cripplingly vile. Steven’s not there, by any stretch, but just glimpses, like that gratuitous grinding of Ty’s balls in the surfboard, make me think there’s a lot more potential in the Latino ginger than I knew to expect.

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This wrestling match is careening in exactly one direction

Both x-fighters are battling with their raging lusts as much as each other as the match unfolds. There’s aggressive face sucking throughout, often successfully distracting one or the other from offensive momentum and pushing the reset button on the give and take of the wrestling contest. They both want to fuck. There’s just no denying that fact. The only question is, within this complicated formula weighting each stud’s will to win, factoring in their roaring lusts to fuck, who will be left victorious? And, does it matter, because, fuck, this is just all about fucking!

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OTK heaven/hell

Ty’s love-’em-‘n’-hate-’em offense finally turns the tide his way, but this isn’t a novice pornboy collapse. It’s hard fought, bitterly contested, and intensely sexy. Ty woos him with liplocks and nipple nibbling until the pornboy leaves himself totally open to get scooped up and slammed down into a sensationally nasty OTK backbreaker. Equal parts erection stroking and ball ripping clawing leaves the ginger hunk shedding tears of both pleasure and pain. When Ty throws him down and quickly slides Steven into place for damp, smothering face-to-crotch headscissors, there’s a pathetic sincerity to Steven’s voice when his muffled cries groan, “Holy… shit!!!”

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Ty’s got his eye on the prize from start to finish.

 

Now, when Ty is in the room, it’s typically all about Ty’s ass. Ty loves his ass. Ty fucking worships his own ass. If Ty could get a bronze statue of his own ass made, he’d have it at the front door of his house to greet visitors. So you know there’s something magical about Steven Ponce’s muscled bubble butt when Ty turns his full attention onto it.  There’s a moment where I think Ty’s lust for that pornboy ass could be his undoing, he becomes so fixated on grabbing it, pulling Steven’s tights down to expose it, squeezing, clawing, kissing it. Watching the Trophy Boy enraptured with someone else’s ass is delightful to watch, and in the end, rather than being his undoing, it seems to merely compel Ty to turn the burner on high and bring this explosive mix to a boil.

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Ty owns the pornboy

The offense soon enough veers into porn territory, with force fed cocks and ass worship for days traded back and forth. Steven is particularly frustrated at putting together the pro wrestling match of his career (to date) and yet being repeatedly defied in his quest to get the Trophy Boy to submit. Competitive frustration on top of sexual frustration are finally his undoing, and it’s Ty who drives his opponent to total defenselessness with dizzying pleasure and punishing pain. I’m particularly a fan of the rope work, as the Trophy Boy bends the pint-sized pornboy backward over the top rope with a chin lock, before slipping into a dragon sleeper. Steven is laid out like a Christmas goose, and Ty digs in, chomping on the pornboy’s meaty pecs, groping his lightly hairy torso, craddling, wooing, teasing the pornboy’s fully erect cock. Soon enough, Ty is strumming him like a guitar all over the ring, and Steven is, quite literally, weeping amid the wash of vicious pleasure. I mean, seriously, he’s weeping. I bet those tears taste like honey on feta, that weeping looks so delicious.

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Fucking delicious!

Steven is toast long before the drama is over. Ty turns Steven’s hot body into his own personal erotic playground. Steven submits. Repeatedly. Hopelessly. But it’s only when Ty comes up for air, sucking on the pornboy cock with Steven backed into the ropes, that Ty explains how this is going to end. “This is the submission I want from you,” Ty growls, jerking his opponent’s fully erect cock, sucking face, finally stepping outside the ropes, grabbing Ponce by the hips, and diving in deep between those juicy ass cheeks, face first.

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Appetizer, main course, and dessert.

It’s a win-win for everyone, really. Ty was clearly famished for Steven’s ass, and Steven is driven catapulted over the edge by Ty’s tonguing. The pornboy screams his verbal submission at the same time that he shoots his steaming load across the mat. You know just how perfect this climax is when, in service of getting Ty off moments later, the Trophy Boy demands that Ponce sit that fine, fine ass back down across Ty’s face while he pounds out his victory emission.

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X-Fight done right

Ty is steady as a rock lately, putting together thoughtful mixes of pro wrestling skill and power and unblinkingly erotic content. I expect to see Ty produce a match this compelling, frankly. Steven, on the other hand, totally takes me by surprise. If he continues this trajectory when it comes to getting more skilled and meaner, BG East contenders had better watch themselves. With an ass that seductive, it may be only a matter of time before some hot, horny wrestler gets completely shocked and owned by a fully realized pornboy turned homoerotic pro wrestler named Steven Ponce.

Climbing Mt. Muscle

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Mark Muscle and his pocket opponents, Zach Reno and Matt Blakewood

I’ve written recently about the special, pleasurable tension in contrasts. Age differences, contrasting gear, size, attitude. There’s narrative tension and immediate erotic value for me in watching homoerotic wrestling with high contrast. So little wonder I am blown away by Wrestler4Hire’s incredibly sexy two-on-one battle between Mark Muscle and the Ravaging Savages, namely Zach Reno and Matt Blakewood.

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No one more aptly named that Mark Muscle

Mark is another wrestler I’ve been lusting after from a distance, and only now sampling in action. He’s a magnificent specimen of a muscleman. He’s listed at 6’4″ and 255 pounds, and even in a business in which big men’s stats are regularly exaggerated, no fuck, I believe every last inch and ounce of that. Tanned, smooth, dark blond, clean cut, and epic muscle on epic muscle hanging from his gigantic frame. When it comes to the objectification of the male body for gay viewers to key off on, Mark is the perfect object of muscle lusting male objectification. W4H seems not to title most of their matches, but if this had a title, Mark would be the title character.

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Ravaging Savages Matt Blakewood (l) and Zach Reno (r) are half the size but just as sexy!

Pitting him against 2 opponents a fraction his size is sensational casting. Zach Reno I’ve seen and commented on before. At 5’7″ and 145 pounds, he’s sexy as fuck with his hairy pecs and caveman beard. But the shocking standout star of this complex match is totally new to me. Matt Blakewood is listed in the roster at 5’4″ and 130 pounds, and again, I buy that. There’s something of a mental patient vibe from his insanely shaggy beard and primal instincts. About halfway through this match, I catch myself no longer soaking in the sight of Mark’s divine muscle perfection, and instead licking my lips and staring fanatically at the smallest man in the mix, pale, lean, loincloth wearing Matt.

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Too much man to handle?

This is more a concept match than a coherent narrative. I get the impression that no one, not the wrestlers nor the producer, quite knew where this thing would go, but they knew the visual of superhuman muscle beast Mark getting swarmed by pint sized pros like Matt and Zach would be total clickbait. And, clearly, true enough, at least as far as my punching on my clicker. But the actual back and forth of the match can’t quite decide whether Mark is invincible and unbreakable, or whether the sexiest angle here is the superhuman man of steel systematically picked apart and humiliated by a couple of guys about half his size.

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“Look at those big arms!” Matt screams from way overhead.

I do admire that the Ravaging Savages know what they’ve got in the ring with them. They immediately admire Mark’s fantasy body. “Oh my God, he’s strong!” Matt mutters in terror when Mark effortlessly hoists him up across his chest and does overhead presses like it ain’t a fucking thing. Because at 130 pounds, clearly, it ain’t. “Look at those big arms!?” Matt cries out to his partner, watching awestruck nearby. They don’t try to sell disdain for their opponent’s physical perfection. They don’t ignore that his biceps are significantly bigger around than their thighs. They size him up with wonder and awe in their eyes, and then go to town to determine if 2 ring savvy pros who, combined, barely weigh more than their opponent, can use their four limbs, two heads, and hunger for taking down the biggest beast of their careers to make this eighth wonder of the world their bitch.

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I’m not always sure who has whom, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Matt’s bulge.

 

Again, there’s some inconsistency in the narrative, because occasionally Mark is laughing off their best efforts and slapping them to the mat, and at other times, seemingly far less pointed attacks from the duo leave the mighty titan literally screaming in panicked agony. I think both angles are sensationally sexy, mind you. I’m turned on sensationally by the sheer panic in Matt and Zach’s voices when Mark muscles out of their best efforts and laughs in their faces, towering over them, superhuman,unstoppable, immortal. And frankly, I lose my shit multiple times when the dime and a nickel pack animals swarm all over him, nipping and ripping and tearing until the big man goes down to his knees screaming in frustrated terror. I just wish they’d paced this match with a bit more narrative tension, slowly turning the tables from one advantage to the other, rather than flipping the script multiple times with precious little rhyme or reason.

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Bringing the big man to his knees

But when it comes to constructive critiques, that’s all I’ve got, because this match blows my mind as consistently as I blow my wad. When the Ravaging Savages are all over their prey, bringing him to his knees and wrapping him up in tandem dragon sleepers, the palate is classical and epic. Mark’s face is smothered underneath both Matt and Zach’s hairy armpits, his neck bent backward viciously as the boys dig their finger tips in deep to start ripping apart that mountain of muscle. Zach digs in deep to the beast’s baby smooth lower left pec, because even extending his fingers, Zach’s hands aren’t big enough to latch on to more of the expansive pectoral than that. Matt digs his claws in past the first knuckle to both trapezius muscles, pulling backward to rip the meat from the bone. It’s lush and melodramatic and sexy as fuck!

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Don’t tug on Superman’s cape, bitches.

Like I said, I also love the moments when the bullets bounce right off of the superman. Suddenly grabbing hold of his mojo after being completely debilitated, Mark just laughs as the anklebiters each attempt a single leg take down simultaneously. Unmoved, the mountain of muscle just flexes, smiling broadly at the camera, displaying his magnificent dominance with sweet notes of cocky certainty. When he turns around and grabs each of his opponents by their throats, one in each massive hand, I lose it all over again watching the massive specimen of muscle pick them up off their feet, choking, sputtering, kicking futilely in mid-air. Wow, I buy it. I so, so buy it.

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Who’s the big man now, huh, bitch!?

I think the sexiest exchange for me is the Ravaging Savages’ corner work on the leviathan. They work him over mercilessly, climbing the ropes in order for their flexible legs to stretch up high enough to plant their feet on Mark’s throats and choke him over the top turnbuckle. Matt has his hand on my button regularly, and no more directly than when he suddenly climbs Mark’s 6’4″ frame, straddles the muscle hunk’s throat (letting his loin clothed crotch linger in the handsome stud’s face for a while), and then rolls backward, hanging from those scissors, doing stomach crunches. Yep, Mark is the obviously intended object of our homoerotic objectification, but damn it all if I’m not desperate to lick Matt’s hot, taut body like a popsicle the more that the “little guy” completely dominates and humiliates the powerhouse.

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Matt completely takes over the ring

Zach takes a back seat in the action as Matt really seems to savor calling the shots and being in the driver’s seat. Zach is still bouncing around like a caveman when Matt starts barking orders at him, telling his partner what holds to apply, what views to admire, what muscles to attack. No shit, the 5’4″ feral fox basically singlehandedly puts Mark Muscle away in the final 5 minutes or so, first totally owning the meat with sensationally sexy headscissors, and eventually mounting Mt. Everest and grinding his own lovely, bulging bicep mercilessly into the muscleman’s carotid artery.

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Fuck, I want that body. Matt’s body!

Big Mark drops to his knees, starting to fade, and Matt stays with him, cinching the sleeper tighter and tighter. Zach is still bouncing around excitedly admiring his partner’s work, but the little man kicks both of the other stud’s in the ring with him to the fucking curb. “Flex now!” Matt growls dangerously, and no shit, the physique star obeys him. “How much does it hurt!?” Matt demands. “It… hurts!” Mark chokes, turning purple and going limp.

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“Flex now!”

So maybe there is such a thing as too many cooks in the kitchen, because this match hits its stride and literally goes for the jugular only when Matt Blakewood has had enough of seeing flashes of superman, starts barking orders at his partner (mostly telling him to admire his work), and then very effectively uses his 5’4″ and 130 pound (gorgeous, mind you) body to crush and dominate Mark Muscle’s 6’4″ and 255 pound muscle body.

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Mighty Mark Muscle cannot handle this!

Now, I’d love to dick slap hairy, hot-stuff Zach Reno in a schoolboy pin.  I’d sell a kidney to climb Mt. Muscle and follow Matt’s lead doing stomach crunches while scissoring Mark’s massive neck. But if it’s fuck, marry or kill, I’ll put a ring on Matt Blakewood so this gorgeous, sexy as fuck little stick of dynamite pro wrestler can humiliate the big men day in and day out and dedicate them all to me.

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Is that a landing strip up Matt Blakewood’s ass, or am I just happy to see him?

 

Ginger Uprising

The second match in BG East’s Great Outdoors 2 is a battle to determine who is red-headedest of them all. “You want to take me on and see who the top ginger is?” Charlie Evans asks his challenger, Blaine Janus. “I don’t think this is going to be much of a contest,” Charlie smirks, saying exactly what I’m thinking. “Because you’re not a ginger.”

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“You’re not a ginger.”

Although I’m technically a brunette, my Scottish forefathers gifted me with a pale complexion, a penchant for sunburns, excessive freckles, and copper red facial hair, so I feel like I have something to say on the subject of gingers. Like a Catherine Tate ginger liberation comedy sketch, there’s something simultaneously silly and serious about a proud identity statement as a red-head. So when Blaine Janus shows up claiming to be the epitome of ginger hotness, just like Charlie I’m thinking, “But Blaine isn’t ginger!” Dishwater blond, maybe. Strawberry blond if we really stretch things. But ginger? Please. That bitch tans.

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You had a Top Ginger wrestling match and didn’t invite Kid Karisma!!!???

The second thought that runs through my mind as this battle to determine who is the top ginger at BG East is equally incredulous. Namely, where the fuck is Kid Karisma!? I think both Blaine and Charlie are playing with fire by seemingly ignoring my running favorite homoerotic wrestler and all around fantasy hunk muscleman red-headed bad boy, Kid K. I mean, he’s just over in the Gazebo, which can’t be more than 50 feet away! Blaine experienced the dangers of locking horns with Kid K in Gazebo Grapplers 16, and long story short, learned the hard way that Kid K can kick his ass. Charlie, on the other hand, has yet to face the karismatic one, and if ever there were a battle of the gingers, I think there may be no two better specimens of fire red-headed hotness. And, oh fuck, Charlie would get served up like bloody steak tartar (I’ll take an order of that, please).

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Wrestling in jeans turns me on.

However audacious the explicit stakes of this match, the second match in Great Outdoors 2 is crazy sexy, punching so many of my buttons that I lose count. To start with, the boys wrestle in jeans. Ohhhhh, fuck that sexy. I’ve had a special nitro button for wrestling in jeans every since I first saw Chip Slater and Jeff Kenny tear into one another in denim (and tear each other out of denim) in Matmen 13. Charlie and Blaine do the genre proud with full throttle aggression and serious pro wrestling moves, straining the seams of their Levis. Charlie is a pale vision of white hot sexiness in his jeans as he’s pounded down hard in an OTK breakbreaker. For my tastes, the jeans come off way too early, frankly. I love the sense of impatience implied by the boys ripping into each other before they bother with stripping down to gear with better range of motion. It’s impulsive and rash and aching for the fight.

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All wrapped up with no place to go

While not a squash, Charlie takes the blunt end of the stick throughout about three quarters of the contest. There’s something achingly vulnerable about the super flyweight brawler that makes it look like fate when a bigger opponent like Blaine absolutely muscle bullies him all over the place. The sexiest hold for my tastes in this match is the repeated variations on bearhugs that Blaine locks Charlie up in over and over. Most notably is the incredibly delicious hammerlock bearhug, with Blaine just needing one hand to lock his opponent’s wrists behind his back (so fucking vulnerable!). With his free hand, Blaine aggressively grabs Charlie by the chin and locks lips. I swoon. Fuck, that is so sexy.

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Putting the hug and kisses in bearhugs

The lip locks fly free, which is another favorite element put to fantastic use in this match. The red-headed contenders are into each other early and often. I LOVE seeing Ever Ready bunny Charlie macking like a player and sucking face hard and enthusiastically. When Blaine takes the first submission, forcing Charlie to kiss his biceps, then his lips, Charlie throws himself into the task with abandon. He’s so damn eager. So hungry. There’s moment there when Blaine is grinning ear to ear getting so fiercely muscle worshipped and sexed up good by the randy flyweight that I think this wrestling match is about to fly way off the rails and the boys are just going to rip off their trunks and fuck. Frankly, I think Blaine thinks that too, by the look of total shock on his face when Charlie suddenly spins behind him and locks on sensationally vicious neck crank.

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Blaine’s erotic offense turned against him

While I think the element of Charlie Evans as a sly seducer is solid gold, Blaine is pissed. I mean, once he submits (because he left himself so completely compromised by the erotic offense of Mr. Gingersnap), he goes on a raging rampage. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Charlie hold up his hands pleadingly, “I feel like I took advantage of you.”  The devilish grin across his face sort of undermines the sincerity of the apology. “No one does that to me!” Blaine growls furiously. “No one seduces me! I do the seducing!”

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“No one seduces me! I do the seducing!!!”

It’s about time someone successfully turned those tables on the strawberry blond Canuck. Rafael Valmor nearly pulled off the seduction submission on Blaine way back in Undagear 18, but Charlie is apparently the first to pop Blaine’s cherry when it comes to wearing him down with a debilitating erotic offense. I think it’s the ginger factor. Who can withstand a hot, red-headed liplock?

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Bearhugged ever which way

The rest of the match is total hell for poor Charlie. Blaine throws his lovely ass all over the place, slamming him down, dragging him back up by pec claws, then slamming him back down again. It’s a little intoxicating watching the momentum an opponent can work up on little Charlie. More closely matched bodies just couldn’t pull off the incredible bullying and breathtaking power moves that Blaine works on Charlie, at least not with this pace and persistence. Those magnificent bearhugs just make me lightheaded. Traditional. Reverse. Inverted. Inverted reverse. With and without hammerlocks. With and without liplocks. I don’t think I’m reading into things when I say that it’s the reverse bearhugs that Blaine seems to like best, planting Charlie’s ass right on top of that swelling Canuck cock and jerking and shaking him mercilessly. “Just like Raggedy Ann!” Blaine laughs, invoking still another ginger icon.

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Pucker up, Gingersnap!

There’s a climax, namely Charlie obediently gasping out the reply “Blaine, Blaine, Blaine” when the Canuck has the rake handle pressed across his windpipe and demands to know, “Who’s the real ginger!?” But then there’s this tantric multiple climax, as Blaine delights in sleepering his flyweight play toy out cold, only to rouse him with increasingly erotic alarm clocks. Kisses wake Charlie up first. Fuck, what a way to wake up! When he’s put out again, it’s a schoolboy pin with Blaine’s bulging crotch slapping him in the face that startles Charlie to consciousness. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what a way to wake up!

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Fuck, what a way to wake up!

Sweet heat throughout this match. Charlie is a revelation, bringing the seduction and attitude that make me believe boys are going to line up to beat his lovely, lean rookie ass. Blaine is his typical intense self, which is always sexy. There’s something about his look that seems different to me, though. Honestly, I don’t think I would have recognized him if his name wasn’t on the DVD cover, but I can’t put my finger on what it is. He’s about the same build. We’ve seen him leaner and harder, but he’s a sexy, sultry handful (as evidenced by Charlie’s enthusiastic body worship moments). But. What? I’m just not sure what it is that doesn’t come across as Blaine’s typical hot, deceptively pretty self.

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Charlie weaves ginger magic worshipping Blaine’s body

In any case, jeans, liplocks, erotic offense, and sensationally hot, climactic mat wrestling make this a hit for me. And please, please someone get me an invitation to the next erotic ginger Wrestlefest in which Charlie, Blaine and Kid Karisma go all out in a three-way ring battle. The Scot in me is already fully erect in anticipation.

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Look at the marks on Charlie’s back? Now THERE’S a real ginger!

 

“It’s all about exposing the body”

It says something that my review of Wrestler4Hire’s KARN vs. Flash LaCash match has taken me three days to write. Specifically what it says is that I keep getting interrupted by orgasms.

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KARN Alexander: “Dark, Sexy, Bad Boy.”

Flash, I’ve seen half a dozen times, and I find him sexier every time I see him. I’ve admired KARN in still frame for quite some time, but this is somehow my first chance to see him in action. Some of W4H’s roster profiles are extensive, almost existential in contemplation of the character, strengths, and flaws of a wrestler. KARN’s profile just says, “Dark, Sexy, Bad Boy.” What more do you need to say, really?

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KARN gives sensational face.

There’s a lot of provocative mystery about KARN Alexander. For example, why are all the letters in his first name capitalized? How tall is he?  By inference and cross reference, I’m guessing he’s around 6’1″ or 6’2″ since he looks a shade taller than Flash in this match, and at BGE Flash is listed at 5’11”. But that’s mostly guesswork. The hot, hard facts are that he looks luxuriously long, sensationally muscled, and built for punishment.

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KARN’s got the body and the moves.

Having watched this match from start to finish, I think KARN is essentially what we’d get if Michael Phelps took up homoerotic pro wrestling (yes. please.). He has a deep, bass voice and a ruggedly handsome face that very well could be the most expressive face in pro wrestling. He has lean legs and a long, ripped lower torso that makes his huge pecs and mountainous shoulders look somehow disproportionately massive, which is sort of how I read Michael Phelps, as well. And the most provocative reveal of this W4H match against Flash LaCash is the fact that KARN is, apparently, a highly accomplished erotic dancer.

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“Why don’t you try one of these right here?”

I buy it. Fuck, I’d buy season tickets for the club where KARN takes off his clothes while swiveling his narrow hips. The tone of the opening scene is a little over the top, sort of comic book comical, with the dark, sexy bad boy in a vest, tie, wrestling trunks and boots, practicing his striptease dance moves.  The tone throughout the match is similarly just over the top, as Flash asks for dance lessons and gets a whole lot more than he bargained for.

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“No, no, no, get it ALL the way out there!”

I’m familiar with Flash as an unstoppable pro heel machine from his work at BGE, so seeing him get manhandled and pounded like an impotent bitch against a bigger, more confident, more cocky ring master gives me a special buzz all its own. I’m sort of expecting heel Flash to come screaming out, even as he admiringly asks KARN to join him in the ring and show him some dance moves. But no, Flash seems to sincerely want to break into the erotic dance biz. And, for the record, I’d buy season tickets for that, as well.

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“You think you’re going to just come in here and take my spotlight away?!”

“It’s all about exposing the body,” KARN explains as he slowly, seductively unbuttons his vest. “Why don’t you try one of these right here,” he offers, lacing his fingers behind his head and slowly swiveling his narrow hips. Flash gives it a self-conscious try, but his teacher is quick to point out his shortcomings. “No, no, no, you’ve got to have better form. Get it all the way out there,” he demonstrates again, exaggerating the forward thrust of his bulging crotch.

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“It’s all about exposing the body.”

When Flash tries to tackle the second lesson (finger snapping pelvic thrusts), KARN abruptly drops him with a sucker knee lift to the gut. “You think you’re going to just come in here and take my spotlight away!?” KARN snaps. “I don’t think so!”

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“How am I supposed to dance with a broken fucking leg!?”

What follows dances metaphorically along the straight edge of pro wrestling combat and slightly humorous performance art. The boys never break character, but they also never quite shake the sense of a junior high skit when it comes to following through on the erotic dancer lesson shtick. “You’re not going to be a great dancer without any legs!” KARN snarls, using those fabulously long, strong legs of his to lock down a fantastic figure-4 leglock. “You’re going to break my leg!” Flash protests. “How am I supposed to dance with a broken fucking leg?!” With that devilish smile, KARN replies, “You’re going to have to figure that one out.”

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A pelvic thrust to the back.

The marriage of homoerotic pro wrestling and male erotic dancing is time honored, and KARN brings some sweet innovation to connect those dots. “I just wanted to see some moves,” Flash whimpers, struggling for air with KARN kneeling behind him tightening up a choke hold. “Some moves, huh?” KARN considers. Suddenly he throws another one of those delicious pelvic thrusts, pounding his crotch solidly into the middle of Flash’s muscled back. A cock hammer to the back might not be the most debilitating pro wrestling move, but the look of shocked agony on Flash’s face sells me that KARN’s hammer swings just fine. “How about that move!?” KARN asks.

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“Ahhhhh, there we go!”

There’s a lot of dialogue. I know some fans find that annoying, but I’ve got a long record of finding cocky, clever trash talk very much value added. “You still want to dance?” KARN asks, jerking Flash back and forth in a bearhug like a rag doll. “Dance for me!” he orders, and the personal note to that command makes swoon.  When he suddenly swings his protege around and squeezes into place a reverse bearhug, another one of those crowd pleasing pelvic thrusts to Flash’s rock hard ass makes me cry out louder than Flash. “Ahhhh,” KARN groans with pleasure, “there we go!”

 

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KARN is ready for his close up, Mr. Matthews.

 

Production wise, there is some off camera conversation in the background, like a low buzz the last half of the match, which is a little distracting, but not loud enough to actually hear whatever is being said. I believe there’s just one camera cut in the entire 29 minute match, which is pretty fucking incredible when you think about it. The one camera cut is in service to getting the camera in position for some sensational close ups of the muscle crunching action, so I’m all on board for that. When KARN suddenly scoops Flash up and twists him into place, cradled in his arms, holding him there, I feel like I’m close enough to stretch out my tongue and lick the sweat from the crevice between KARN’s lush pecs. Then he pounds Flash’s lower back down onto his knee, and both magnificent physiques fill the frame beautifully.

 

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“I put a little spin on that.”

 

“How did you like that move?” KARN asks even as he’s prying his opponent backward across his thigh. “I put a little spin on that.” Still clinging precariously to the erotic dance lesson narrative, Flash gasps (still racked backward in that OTK, mind you), “Do you think I’ll be able to spin like that one day?” KARN thinks about it a second, still shoving downward on Flash’s chin and knee, “Possibly, but not likely. Nobody can spin like I can.”

 

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KARN’s log, hot body is all OVER Flash!

 

This is a lot of nearly non-stop pro wrestling packed into 29 minutes. W4H members can watch it in the Member Videos section for now, and if you enjoy handsome, tall, sensationally fit muscle boys going at it, even half as much as I do, this is one to watch. It’s a squash, mind you, which I’m in the mood for relatively rarely. But there’s something about the boys commitment to narrative, the male erotic dancer run amok scenario, that grabs me and holds me just right.

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Like Michael Phelps climbed into a pro wrestling ring

And I just need to say it again. Fuck. Me. Karn Alexander is insanely sexy. I know not everyone is into tats like I am, but as for me, his ink sleeve is gorgeous and the tats on both arms show off his bulging biceps to perfection. I’d love to see him in trunks with about 2 inches lower rise across his lower abdomen, but otherwise, he is a pro wrestling fantasy man dream for me.  I don’t know if Flash will ever get his groove on to strip for tips, but the next time KARN swings on a pole at a gay club in the Northeast, I’m draining my bank account for cash to stuff down his pouch!karn24.png

Honey-Dipped Returns

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I have a fan crush on Ronnie Pearl.

The third match in Austin Cooper’s unprecedented third Wrestler Spotlight release from BG East pits the golden boy against Ronnie Pearl. This is only Ronnie’s second BGE match, and I, for one, have been anxiously awaiting his return to the ring. His debut against Cybertron in Ringwars 21 a couple of years ago was a massacre. It was one of those pro matches where I catch myself thinking, “Oh fuck, that’s got to be a trip to the emergency room!” To call it a mismatch would be like calling a 2×4 a mismatch for the buzzsaw that sliced it in two. Ronnie was a full half a foot shorter and a mind-boggling 65 pounds lighter than his muscle monster opponent, and the newbie’s fancy footwork and eager earnestness amounted to a steaming pile of shit in the face of Cyberton’s devastating power, maniacal mercilessness, and surprisingly high quality pro wrestling skill.

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Cybertron ripped Ronnie apart!!!

But, fuck, I had a total fan crush on Ronnie before it was time to scrape his hot, muscled bod off the mat. Damn, he’s beautiful! He’s sensationally fit, muscled up just enough to combine serious power with fantastic fitness and flexibility. He’s crazy handsome, with lush, thick lips that scream for kissing. And yes, I saved the best for last, Ronnie’s luxurious mane of long, curly hair calls to mind an 80’s glam rocker, just as it demands to get pulled and yanked and stepped on in the low down trenches of a muscle monster heel beat down. And he had flair. He had timing. He had an excellent ring presence, and without muttering more than about 3 syllables the entire match (other than his incoherent screams of panicked agony), Ronnie presented a full, three dimensional character profile with nuance and panache.

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Dangerously Beautiful, meet Dangerously Beautiful

My review of that match concluded where this one starts off: wanting to see much, much more of Ronnie Pearl. Unlike his ill-fated outing against Cybertron, this match up against Austin, going full-on babyface, is, on the surface, pretty even. They’re almost exactly the same height and weight. At first glance, they’re about equally as fit, tastefully muscled, and pretty. When they approach the ring from opposite directions, they play up the precisely matched pair they make, climbing into the ring in synchronized, mirror image mode, checking each other out with equal coolness and calculation. For Austin, Ronnie is another in a long line of hot, hardbodied hunks vying for the expansive piece of real estate that Austin has claimed as his own as resident hard-hitting, prettyboy heart throb. For Ronnie, Austin must look like lunch meat compared to the massive, terminator style cyborg who pounded Ronnie into jelly the last time he climbed into this ring.

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Ronnie quickly takes Austin for a ride.

The promise of experienced, confident pro wrestlers who can wrestle skillfully and both look like babyface superheroes while doing it is aptly met in this match. The BGE website explains Ronnie’s obvious experience and mature ring presence, despite his rookie status at BG East, as evidence of Ronnie’s valedictorian performance at a regional wrestling school a couple of years back. Wherever it comes from, his decisive speed and crippling offense is a work of art. Particularly after having just moments earlier seen Austin run circles all over, around, under and on top of his mat opponent in the previous match, it’s incredible to see Ronnie strike like lightning on the goldenboy. Seconds after the bell rings (very pro), Ronnie ducks behind and gut wrenches his opponent off his feet, slamming Coop like a sack of flour. In a flash, Ronnie is on his back, spinning around almost faster than the eye can track, and significantly faster than Austin can defend.  Again, if you watch this DVD straight through (allowing for significant opportunities to jerk off several times along the way), you will have just seen Austin do this same swarming, dominating display spinning like a top on Jake Ryder’s sweaty backside.

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Ronnie is out to cripple the reigning golden boy.

So Austin isn’t going to have a leg up in speed. And despite the face value differential in documented ring experience, he also does not have any sizable advantage in technical skill. Ronnie is methodical in executing a vicious, masterfully executed offense. His wristlock drops Austin, gasping, to one knee. The wristlock advances up the arm into an armbar, twisting savagely on the goldboy’s elbow joint. The wild haired hottie works it viciously, twisting and bearing down with is bodyweight until Coop is flat on the mat and wailing like a wounded animal. Then with shocking deliberateness, Ronnie hops up on his fingertips and then rains down a series of nasty knee drops into Coop’s bicep. A completely gratuitous slap to the face shocks Coop out of the moment, but then Ronnie’s crank into a hammerlock shoves the goldboy right back into the cold, hard truth that Ronnie Pearl very well may be about to, fair and square, beat the living fuck out of him.

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Ronnie might want to think twice about initiating a hair pulling match.

Happily, Austin has an answer or two for Ronnie’s savage romp. When the wild haired hunk starts to drive Coop’s gorgeous face for a pounding into the turnbuckle, Austin muscle blocks him and effectively counters with a momentum sucking elbow strike to the gut. In the spirit of “anything you can do,” Austin grabs a huge fistful of Ronnie’s gorgeous long locks and crushes that sensational kisser I was just talking about into the same turnbuckle that Ronnie had tried to mess up Coop with.

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Ronnie uses the ropes to devastating effect.

The match spins quickly into seriously nasty shit. So fast, Ronnie celebrates dropping Coop to the mat with a sucker knee-lift to the lower gut by promptly standing ON Austin’s throat and pulling on the nearby rope to crush Coop that much more savagely underfoot.

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Two can play the game of using the ropes to devastating effect.

Not to be outdone in viciousness, Coop starts with a standard knee lock that makes his opponent scream. Austin’s sensational upper body bulges and strains as he leverages all of that mouthwatering muscle to hyperextend Ronnie’s knee. Seamlessly, Coop rolls him to his stomach and transitions into a single leg crab on that same knee. Ronnie is already screaming like bitch, but Coop has one more plot point to drive home. He drags Ronnie to the edge of the ring and ducks outside, draping that same, assaulted leg over the middle rope. Suddenly, Coop hangs there, his whole 180 pounds ripping Ronnie’s tendons and ligaments apart while the wild child SCREAMS!

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Austin puts Ronnie’s gorgeous ass in jeopardy.

If you’re like me, and you enjoy a suspenseful match, tuck in. Either Ronnie or Austin could pull this off convincingly, and the meaner they get, the more I can believe that they both want it just as much as the other. In the end, they both work off the same playbook, each of them targeting exactly one particular knee of the other to fuck up until only one of them can stand, much less continue to fight, much less walk away from the ring with his dignity intact.

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Ronnie is determined to break that leg off completely at the knee!

The final submission is screaming and desperate. I genuinely think this may be another one of those emergency room matches by the sound of anguish. But the hot, muscled, magnificently handsome mugger does not give a shit by this point in the raging boil of egos. “Winner!” he points to his own pretty face and sweat soaked, worship-worthy muscle body, before strolling victoriously out of the ring and leaving his opponent severely damaged in his wake.

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Someone very well may need knee surgery before the day is out.

God, this match is intense and riveting! The drama is compelling. The competition is raw and believable. The bodies are absolutely gorgeous. And, like I said last time I fell in lust with Ronnie Pearl, the only thing that might make this hotter would be a bottle of honey and my tongue licking every bulge and crevice.

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Oh, fuck, I want to be this glam rocker’s top groupie!