Still More to Do

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I seem to have added a bit of mystery and suspense, if not downright confusion, by teasing, but not revealing, an exciting return to BG East of a favorite wrestler who was unmasked only in the final seconds of Masked Mayhem 23. I fielded quite a few sidebar requests for me to spill the beans about the identity of American Muscle, the ripped-to-fucking-shreds Adonis in red, white, and blue. Happily, Manny Mendez was on the scene even before the unmasked American Muscle could peel his magnificent (and Z-trashed) physique out of the ring at the end of Masked Mayhem 23, leading directly into the start of The Comeback 5. And even more fortunately, the cameras were still present to capture Manny’s excitement, which may rival mine, to discover that the gorgeous muscle man making his thrilling return to the BG East ring is none other than Kip Sorell.

Fuck, yes, the homoerotic wrestling world needs more Kip Sorell! That boy-next-door face mounted on top of that body by Michelangelo. Holy fuck, he’s so devastatingly pretty. I think of his impressive catalog as filled with him jobbing, but I also think his absolutely phenomenal physique always bring at least a hint of suspense. As he demonstrates in his scorching hot rematch with Z-Man, all of that superhuman conditioning makes him an absolute punishment sponge. And, credit where it’s due, when he locks all those mind blowing muscles onto an opponent just right, he can be seriously devastating. I still have intrusive and graphic thoughts about him mounting Z-Man, crushing the lucky fucker’s skull between his legs, and making Z-Man stare helplessly at his rock hard flexed glutes in his face. But there’s no question, Kip’s brand has been that of a devastatingly gorgeous muscle jobber ripped off of a stripper pole and put through the wringer again and again.

That’s what Manny fell in lust with, back in Kip’s early days at BG East. Like the rest of us, Manny was infatuated with the homoerotic art opponents made out of Kip’s gorgeous physique back in the day. “I’ve fantasized about meeting you and making you my jobber,” Manny gushes, as if he thinks Kip will be flattered. Kip peels his fine, fine carcass off the mat and waves Manny off, demanding a “rain check.” It should surprise no one who’s seen Manny wrestle that he refuses to take “no” for an answer. Like a true fan, Manny gushes about his favorite Kip match, the Science of Scissors 2, when Kip and Brad Barnes tested their jobber reps and stunning strength against each other. Bless his heart, Manny insists on living the fantasy by having Kip put Manny in those same scissors that Kip used against Brad.

I am normally a bitter critique of an undersell, but when Manny absolutely no-sells Kip’s bodyscissors, it’s a rich little nugget of pathos with just a taste of comic relief. “Harder! Harder,” Manny demands, waiting to feel the damage Kip’s gorgeously muscles legs can do. Mind you, Kip just finished an absolute barn-burner marathon grudge match against Z-Man. The Adonis has tapped into every ounce of reserves he’s got, and even then got beat at the finish line by Z-Man and milked long and hard after Kip had so clearly lost the battle. Perhaps he can be forgiven if his gorgeous legs aren’t packing the same power they might have 45 minutes earlier, but Manny is just plain disappointed. “You know what,” the superfan decides, popping Kip’s legs apart like it’s nothing and repositioning them. “Let’s do the headscissors!”

Fuck, how many of us wouldn’t line up for hours to take that ride? Kip’s lean, ripped quads clamped around our skulls, maybe just a little sweaty, pulsing with power as he bears down with all of that concentrated power he packs into that magnificent physique? Fuck. However, again, Manny no-sells. “Really? That’s it? This is not happening,” he announces, again effortlessly flinging Kip’s exhausted legs away and insisting on showing the veteran Adonis-jobber how do it. And thus really begins Kip’s nightmare of being ambushed by his number one fan.

I seriously love how much suffering Kip conveys while stubbornly refusing to give his submissions away for free. Manny snaps on a lock tight full nelson that shows off the star of the show, Kip’s phenomenal physique, beautifully. The muscle beast wrings Kip out like a rag doll, and fuck, I can feel Kip’s screams deep down in my testicles. “You can give up for me,” Manny explains, like maybe the seasoned veteran forgot what a submission was. “Never,” Kip snarls back through gritted teeth, clinging to stubborn pride while his magnificent muscles hang helplessly like laundry on the clothesline.

Manny has clearly been fantasizing about this opportunity for a long time. He’s got a boatload of ways he’s aching to punish Kip, and he starts checking them off his list, savoring each one. Everything demonstrates the pure magic it is watching Kip’s comic book hero body getting owned. There’s this big-bro-bully move where Manny transitions from a kneeling surfboard into twisting Kip’s arms across his own throat in a Japanese stranglehold. Kip’s meaty biceps are the garotte used to nearly to choke him out, as he twitches and writhes, legs spreadeagled and bouncing uselessly. The theme of using Kip’s pride-and-joy muscles against him offers this deeply satisfying take on exactly what makes watching an Adonis-jobber like this so incredibly compelling.

Of course, Manny is a fucking beast. The man’s got muscle on his muscles. He’s an avalanche crashing down on too-pretty Kip again and again in a way that muscle-heel fans will tune into hard. Honestly, Manny’s downright pretty and entirely coverboy material, except for the fact that he’s in the ring with the homoerotic wrestling version of a Disney prince. He doesn’t seem to mind being out-prettied, though. In fact, manhandling the homoerotic wrestling version of a Disney prince looks like it’s giving him nothing but feels.

Regular readers will know just how infatuated I have always been of Kevin Von Erich, so when Manny pulls out an iron claw on Kip, please know that I have high standards for that hold. Kip on his knees, helpessly getting his skull crushed between Manny’s massive mitts, though, is absolutely lush. It’s sold perfectly both both wrestlers, with Manny’s massive pecs, flexed like his about to cave Kip’s skull in, and Kip’s gorgeous body suffering, flailing, and then going limp as his brain short circuits under the inhuman pressure. These boys tell a layered story that long-time Kip fans, like me, will get sucked right into.

I know a thing or two about developing a disproportionate infatuation with a particular wrestler and riding wave after wave of adrenaline, after years of getting off on watching him, when I finally getting the chance to get my hands on him. I understand Manny from the inside out, as he lives out this fan-encounter he’s fantasized about for so long, astonished at the luck of it finally materializing. Kip has clearly got a portrait of himself aging in his attic, because he’s timeless, like the last decade never happened. If anything, he’s prettier, harder, and even more of a fantasyman-Adonis than he was to start with.

Welcome back, Kip. You’ve been missed. I’m certain there is a line queued up around the block of eager wrestlers who can’t wait to climb into the ring with their favorite fantasyman-Adonis, and I can’t wait to watch!

Nice Shot

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I just watched Lobo Gris and Matt Larsen wrestle in oil, and I’ve got words. Fuck, that’s intense and intimate and incredibly hot!

I’ve got a friend who teases me for saying that my primary turn-on is wrestling, as opposed to more straightforward gay porn. Whenever I describe myself that way, he’ll laugh and point out how (very) frequently our discussions about what is innately erotic about wrestling inevitably veer directly into anticipating wrestlers cumming as the payoff for a hot match. While it’s true that I have been very satisfied getting off to watching “just” wrestling, I have to admit that watching wrestlers get aroused and get off, at about the same pace I am as I’m watching them, is often serious value-added. In my defense, it’s also very true that I find just watching porn a little boring. Just watching wrestling is frequently all it takes to top me off. Watching wrestling that gets explicitly erotic is very often (though not always) guaranteed satisfaction for me. Matt and Lobo’s oil match is intensely satisfying in that way.

On the spectrum of “just wrestling” and “just porn,” Lobo and Matt’s oil match is closer to the softcore porn end of the spectrum. I think of both Matt and Lobo as top shelf, particularly when it comes to highly productive wrestling content creators who are equally ready for hard grappling as they are for sexual gratification. They both bring an emotional intensity that’s captivating. It certainly captivates me, and I’m happy to report that their emotional intensity repeatedly captures each other in this nearly 22 minute match. In fact, Matt’s intense, fixed eye contact as he starts slathering Lobo’s muscles with oil is fucking hypnotic. Lobo has this brief, almost self-conscious grin for a split second, but then he’s absolutely captured in Matt’s soul-seducing stare. The pre-match mutual oiling, with some taunting bearhugs from Matt playfully pumping gasps from Lobo, just about finishes me off within the first five minutes of this video. Fuck, these guys absolutely convince me that they are as deliriously turned on by each other’s gorgeously hairy bodies as I am. In fact, the pouch of Lobo’s thong can barely contain his erection, and you can literally watch Matt’s jock strap swell with excitement as their mutual muscle exploration careens into wrestling.

This is not competitive. Or, at least, it’s not competitive wrestling. I’ve seen both of these guys really unload some brutal grappling offense on other opponents, but that’s not what’s on offer here. Instead, it’s this intensely erotic exchange of oil-lubricated holds, as wave after wave of seduction crashes down on them. In a way, there absolutely is this competitive edge to it, in the sense that they’re both quite obviously battling with the threat of uncontrolled lust. I can’t tell from match description if this was a first-to-cum loses match from the start, but that’s the vibe, as they keep dragging themselves back from the edge of just making out and milking themselves dry in order to climb back on top and work a hold. I don’t suppose oil wrestling lends itself to any other form of competitiveness, does it? Regardless, these two ride that line between wrestling and pounding one out like it’s a bucking bronco. Sooner or later, someone’s getting thrown off and is going to get a load milked right out of him.

The sound track to this video should win a GayVN award. It starts with Lobo involuntarily whimpering with Matt on his back, lightly choking him, and grinding the wolf’s lightly furry ass. Fuck, that whimper! It’s so fucking spontaneous and real. Matt squeezes that erotically overwhelmed whimper of out Lobo again and again. He’s smothering Lobo with his hairy pecs, grinding their raging cocks against one another as Lobo kneads Matt’s meaty ass, and again, muffled under Matt’s hairy chest comes that overly-stimulated whimper. Honestly, I’m thinking Lobo has got to be the one to lose his load first, but then the scrappy stud starts turning tables. In the excessively lubricated writhing, Lobo suddenly takes a single leg cradle, grinding his cock against Matt’s ass, sucking the air from Matt’s lungs. When he comes up for air, Matt’s blinking, jaw hanging open, clearly trying to get his bearings and drag himself back from the edge of an orgasm.

The hottest moment for me is when Matt goes from mounting Lobo’s face in a schoolboy pin to rolling to this back, burying the wolf deep in face-to-crotch headscissors. It’s so fucking controlling and sadistic, the way Matt ever so slowly cranks up the pressure on Lobo’s skull, milking out more of those wolf pup whimpers. Then he relaxes, keeping the headscissors in place but letting Lobo breathe again. And then, Matt yanks his gorgeous cock out of his pouch, dick-whips Lobo in the face, and makes his trapped rival suck his balls. It’s rinse and repeat, with Matt dialing up the pressure on Lobo’s skull until the wolf is crying in pain, and then relaxing and beating Lobo in the forehead with his huge, rock hard cock again. Fuck, Matt needs to sell tickets to that ride!

It’s a dangerous game though, right? Like, clearly, Matt’s the aggressor. He’s setting the pace, orchestrating most of the erotic domination that’s playing over-stimulated Lobo like a piano. But Matt is getting more turned on at the same time. Driving Lobo to the edge is driving Matt to the edge. Tying Lobo up and pounding on the wolf’s cock is, in turn, making Matt’s pulsing shaft leak.

One of these erotic gladiators finally gives the game away, crying out with passion and letting his opponent cradle him and absolutely go to town on his throbbing cock unchecked. “Oh, fuck, I’m going to cum,” the lucky “loser” cries out, and sure enough, a couple of seconds later he’s covered in his own cum and sweat, his nipples being kneaded into rock hard pellets, and his rival sucking his cries straight out of his lungs.

Holy fuck, that’s hot! Honestly, I wouldn’t mind watching a harder scrap between these two. My hunch is that Matt may just have the skills to do serious damage to Lobo. But in a battle to rein in their libidos, this match is particularly even and suspenseful. I’m honestly not sure exactly how much the explicit eroticism, compared to the lightly competitive wrestling, contributes to just how immensely satisfying this match is for me. Fortunately, it really doesn’t matter.

Bellboy Upgrade

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I have mixed emotions about Damien Rush. Throughout his homoerotic wrestling career, he’s portrayed such an annoying character. His “daddy’s little rich boy” persona plays to precisely the sociopolitical tensions that keep me up worrying at night. But is that actually a little stroke of genius on his part, tapping into the zeitgeist and the collective unconscious roiling over the vulnerability of the human condition in the face of the crushing maw of unchecked capitalism? Is he just a contemporary incarnation of Nikolai Volkoff or the Iron Sheik from the 80’s, whipping fans into a snarling frenzy by embodying the worst of our socially constructed boogeymen that call into question the balance of good and evil in the world? Or… is he just a dick?

For someone who I feel such strong ambivalence about, I have to admit he comes up in my conversations often. I’m sure it helps that he’s fucking gorgeous, but it’s more than that. He’s compelling, perhaps in the exact way I don’t want to be compelled. He provokes and incites in a way that makes me heap all sorts of angst and lust and anger onto him, and I sort of can’t look away. It’s entirely possible, in fact, that my creative partner, AR, and I have written a piece or two of homoerotic wrestling fiction starring Damien. But I’ve resisted writing about him here on the blog for a while because he’s got that one rabid superfan who can’t separate kayfabe from reality, who launches into increasingly unhinged insults and threats when I pick on Damien as a dastardly heel.

At the risk of triggering a fresh wave of superfan abuse, though, I’ve got to say that I love seeing Damien back in action in “Gold Rush” against KC Ryder. Damien isn’t in the peak muscle heel condition of, say, his Forced to Flex 3 appearance, and he’s definitely not in his early career twink go-go boy shape of Strip Stakes 3. His physique is in a whole new chapter, and like everything about Damien, it’s curiously compelling. He’s a beefy, extravagantly hairy muscle bear with a shaved head. Honestly, that much body hair is a bit much for me. But again, Damien being a bit much is just perfectly on brand!

He offers to pluck some of his excess of body hair off and share it with the smooth, blond beauty, KC. Fuck, KC is pretty. I’ve heard an opponent refer to him as Irish, but I keep mentally clocking him as a modern day urban viking. The first time I saw KC, he was getting spit in the face and absolutely fucked up by Sir Dark at Wrestlefest Live 2025. KC’s got this effortless earnestness about him that, I think, makes being a babyface his default. But Damien “Gold” Rush immediately heaping on aristocratic contempt by calling him the bellboy seems to ignite something hard and fierce in KC that I fucking love. He snarks back with a sneer at Damien’s hairy muscles, “Did they downgrade the pool boy?”

It’s just a little over 14 minutes, but fuck, it’s packed to the gills with sexy wrestling domination and drama. Damien literally can’t not mention his daddy’s fortune and the immense advantages that being a one-percenter affords him, as he continually derides KC. His Gold Rush purple trunks were hand stitched by artisans in Dubai, he points out. Maybe, just maybe, if KC entertains him enough, he’ll upgrade him from bellboy to personal valet (I know of at least one superfan who’d fucking sell a lung for that job).

Fuck, I love watching KC punish and dominate the beefy nepobaby hard! I don’t know how much wrestling Damien has gotten in since his hiatus from videos, but no shit, KC works that hot body of his with authority that just irritates the fuck out of Damien. KC milks a camel clutch beautifully, looking like he might just rip Damien’s skull of his neck with that nasty chin lock. Every snarling “fuck you, bellboy” from his opponent only seems to inspire KC to punish him harder, which is absolutely perfect for me.

I can’t deny that I get way turned on watching Damien on offense, though, too. KC bitches about Damien taking his sweaty foot off his back in a standing surfboard. Without skipping a beat, the nebobaby points out he’s been walking barefoot across his daddy’s acres of farms, cities, and entire countries. Damien snaps his quads around KC’s head in standing scissors like the blonde is some poor puritan caught in the pillory for having lustful thoughts. “Just a little bellboy between these tree trunks quads,” Damien monologues like he’s Henry F. Potter milking humiliation out of the poor masses. “After we’re done, I’m going to have you lick the sweat off my brow like the little helper you are!”

Fuck, I love both of these characters so much! I love the action. I fucking adore the suspense of the back and forth advantage. These boys both get mean and nasty in this 0-to-60-in-under-a-minute all out sprint. Without giving away too much, I’ll just say that the finish is equal parts surprising and satisfying, because KC and Damien have been telling this brutal story so well. I’m pretty sure Damien may still be looking to hire a new valet (so send him your resumes, fans). This match has a delicious hit of nostalgia, with a juicy feel of a comeback with a through-story that stitches this drama seamlessly onto Damien’s impressive body of work and brings tantalizing chemistry with don’t-call-me-bellboy KC. It looks like KC and Damien have squared off several times over the past couple of years, and now I need to see more!

Haven’t We Already Done This?!

New review posted of BG East’s Masked Mayhem 23: Muscle Bash, starring two legendary bodies and one super hot suspenseful reveal!

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Watching Z-Man wrestle at Wrestlefest NYC Live was such a dizzying hit of hot nostalgia. Just being in the same room with him, after watching him wrestle on my screen for so long, was an unexpected thrill. Impressively, BG East successfully kept the secret that the mystery man advertised to face Kirk Donahue that night was none other than the homoerotic wrestling institution that is Z-Man. So, when he came jogging out to the ring, there was a legitimate, collective gasp of surprise, and I am a huge, huge fan of dramatic suspense and the unexpected in my wrestling.

Which poses an interesting challenge to me, as I sit down to review Z-Man’s latest release, Masked Mayhem 23: Muscle Bash. I’ve watched the match all the way to the end (several times, if I’m being honest), so I know who was under that red, white, and blue mask, billed simply as “American Muscle.” There is a super dramatic reveal in the last 20 seconds of the video that blows my mind almost as much as when I found out that it was Z-Man who was going to climb into the ring at Wrestlefest Live. And, honestly, I really, really want to discuss this at length, because, holy fuck, I’ve got opinions (as always)! But on the other hand, I really, really don’t want to spoil it for any of you who haven’t seen it yet and want to go along for the ride. Fuck, I hate keeping a secret!

I will say that I thought I recognized American Muscle well before Z-Man ripped his mask off at the end of the match. I mean, I couldn’t place him, but I did think to myself, “Fuck, that gorgeously ripped body looks familiar!” You can hear the masked Adonis grunting, snarling, demanding Z-Man submit, and eventually crying out in submission himself, but that didn’t give it away for me. Like me, Z-Man’s curiosity grows over the course of the match, too. There’s something familiar about this 5’8, 165 pound sculpted work of art, with his honey-toned flawless complexion, bulging shoulders, washboard abs, and roadmap of visible veins fueling all of those magnificent muscles. I honestly entertained the thought that I’m sure I’ve masturbated to that body before, because apparently my dick recognized him way before my brain.

The match itself is sensational. It’s competitive, and mean, and intense. Z-Man 2.0 is just fine with ambushing his opponent from behind, perhaps feeling a little threatened by the masked man’s absolutely on point physique. And fuck, he goes off on American Muscle like the man’s physical perfection is a personal insult. Z-Man is more savvy now than he was 15 years ago. He’s aggressive and opportunistic. When he slams American Muscle’s back into a corner, he absolutely goes to town stomping and punching the masked stud’s abs. This isn’t rookie Z-Man who was always showboating, pulling punches, and sucking on his shit-eating grin. This is a tanned, phenomenally toned, perfectly seasoned athlete who doesn’t mind cutting corners or kicking an opponent when he’s down, just so long as he’s going to walk out of the ring the winner.

The thing is, though, American Muscle is barreling into this match with every ounce as much grit, determination, and lust for milking a whimpering submission out of his opponent as Z-Man. The masked man’s suspiciously smooth counters and reversals are just more clues to add to the mystery. When he ducks out of the way of another (illegal, mind you) closed-fisted punch, American Muscle is instantly using Z-Man’s six-pack like a speed bag. Once he’s winded his opponent, the masked man snaps on a front facelock and smashes Z-Man’s legendarily handsome face with a bulldog. There’s no hesitation, no considering his next move. American Muscle is immediately stretched out on top of Z-Man, trapping the legend’s skull between those magnificently muscled thighs, and cranking cries of agony out of Z.

It’s back and forth like this for almost 24 minutes of one gut check after another. Neither stunning stud is willing to submit, long past the point that they should. It’s got a Thor vs. Captain America vibe to it, as they dish out and scarf down absolute mountains of punishment. The visuals are just fucking stunning, with these two, quite different, and yet astonishingly perfectly matched muscle gladiators demonstrating the extremes of what superhuman conditioning can endure and deliver. Early on, American Muscle is eerily silent, enough so that it’s clearly unsettling Z-Man. “No way that back can take much more,” Z-Man insists when he’s cranking on a spine-snapping chin lock with a knee pinned against the middle of the masked man’s back. And I believe Z-Man. And still, holy fuck, American Muscle just won’t give it away!

If you want a start-to-finish squash, this isn’t the match for you. If you want to see one wrestler who just clearly wants it more than the other, again, this isn’t your match. This is a slow, bruising burn that builds the suspense with a patience and persistence that takes me back to watching the last match of a classic pro wrestling show on television as a kid. The boys suffer sensationally hard. Both of them are clinging to their dignity by their fingertips about halfway through. Z-Man is moaning and wailing like a wounded animal. But, holy fuck, when American Muscle finally starts vocalizing, his grunts and whimpers and gasps of on-the-edge horrified agony are absolutely pornographic.

So, yeah, this is an intensely satisfying muscle bash marathon that has me on the edge of my seat from start to finish. I swear, it’s like Z-Man has been sitting in a slow cooker for the past 15 years and he has, just this moment, reached the most succulent and mouthwatering homoerotic wrestling perfection. I’d love to put out a bounty on his nipples that future opponents can earn by sucking them hard, but honestly, I’ve never been more into Z-Man than I am right now. But fuck, the devastatingly sexy hunk behind the American Muscle mask leaves me dizzy with desire. I’ve got a list a mile long of things I want to see that body do and have done to it!

Fuck, I hate keeping a juicy secret…. but I love suspense. I can’t guarantee there won’t be a spoiler in the comments or online or in any dozen places where homoerotic wrestling fans delight in hashing over the titillating delights of new releases like this. But you didn’t hear it from me. If I were you, I’d get my own copy of this muscle on muscle iron man match to the finish, and you can savor the reveal for yourself. I, for one, certainly hope we’re going to see much, much more of both of these fantasy men in action, and then we can all talk freely about just what we think about this sleeper comeback match for a stunning hunk who’s been away far too long!

We All Won!

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I’m super excited to see another of the incredibly hot matches from Wrestlefest Live NYC is now available for streaming on Watchfighers. Being ring announcer that night was a fucking trip, but I’m so happy to get to see this on video (watch the trailer here), because there was just too much hotness to take in all at once. And talk about so much to see. Fuck! Ben Monaco and Beau Jordan putting it literally all on the line in their rip ‘n’ strip match delivered even more than promised. As your super handsome ring announcer explained at the start of the match, the first man to fully strip his opponent of all his gear would walk out the winner.

However, Ben got cold feet and tried to back out at the last moment. Literally, he interrupted my ring introduction to confess he’d chickened out. I think his first mistake was stepping on my lines, but his second mistake was coming to the ring to own up to it. That got him restrained by Beau and his street clothes ripped off by a fan at ringside who, on behalf of all of us, was determined to see a rip ‘n’ strip match, one way or another.

The recipe in this match is deceptively complex and delicious. Ben is a total beefcake, but he’s also always a ham, and there’s a tongue-in-cheek vibe from start to full-monty finish. At one point, Ben low blows Beau from behind, humps the big man’s magnificent ass, and sends Beau tumbling head over heels through the ropes and bouncing awkwardly off the ring apron (ouch). “I have a habit of breaking my toys, sorry,” Ben monologues like the most polite (Canadian) bond villain ever.

For his part, Beau is just fucking stunning. I see myself in the ring next to him when I’m doing the announcing at the start of the match, and he absolutely towers over me like a skyscraper. Beau always looks to me like he’s equal parts ready to fuck his opponent up and, at the same time, ready to just fuck his opponent. Honestly, I sort of get why Ben got cold feet, but along with every blurred out homoerotic wrestling fan in the place, I’m thrilled that Beau didn’t take “no” for an answer. Beau brings the erotic intensity (always), shoving Ben’s face in his crotch and slapping the fuck out of Ben’s balls.

He’s not the only one, either. This is a full audience participation match that I’m not sure anyone saw coming quite like this. Ben marches Beau in a front facelock around the ring for everyone in the front row to take a crack and slapping Beau’s gorgeous ass. Later, the sexy ref (who’s also gotten stripped out of his shirt) scolds Beau for slapping the living fuck out of Ben’s balls, so Beau calls a fan at ringside up to use the Canadian’s testicles as a speed bag for him. Beau raises his hands innocently when Jack demands an end to the low blows. “He’s doing it,” Beau points to the extremely enthusiastic fan pounding on Ben’s balls. “Yell at him!”

There’s an undisputed winner of this match. One of these hot hunks absolutely is the first to strip his opponent naked. But there’s also a seriously sore loser who rips the victor’s thong off mid-celebration and tries to make a case that he was legitimate winner. The bell is ringing. The victory music is playing. But bless these gorgeous, naked grapplers, they just keep tearing into one another for another 4 minutes.

There’s so much going on, I feel like I need to assure homoerotic wrestling fans that there’s hot, hot, hot pro wrestling advancing the hilarious and intimately sexy drama. In fact, some of the most iconic and memorable beats have got to be the completely naked torture rack, and magnificently brutal ball busting tree of woe. This totally reads like what my fondest fantasies of watching pro wrestling as a kid was… the drama of a brutal battle for domination gone right over the edge into primal, naked eroticism.

The loser has to get literally rolled out of the ring in a daze. “Did I win?,” he asks Jack-the-sexy-ref. Jack lays down the truth in reply. “We all won.”

There’s just so fucking much to see, literally and figuratively! Every beautiful inch of these boys is laid bare, and the crowd there that night absolutely adored them for not holding back. Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything quite like watching homoerotic wrestling live, but you’ll get an intensely satisfying second best option by watching this video.

Liking It Rough

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Naked Kombat

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the overlap between violence and the erotic. Of course, I’ve been primarily thinking about wrestling and the erotic, but panning back even wider than that, violence more broadly. On the one hand, of course, there’s a fuzzy taboo around even acknowledging the possibility of a connection between violence and the erotic. The discussion immediately bumps into concerns about non-consensual sex and exploitation. Just to be clear, my thoughts here aren’t an attempt to present an apology for rape culture or abuse. However, I do believe healthy eroticism isn’t restricted to the gentle, soft-focus, self-restrained, non-hierarchical variety. Throughout nature, there are examples of species for which combat is an essential precursor to sex, as potential suitors vie with one another in front of a mate to demonstrate their physical (and, by implication, genetic) superiority and earn the right to reproduce. Giraffes threaten to break each others’ necks to demonstrate their dominance and get themselves and their potential mate in the mood. Rams headbutt the fuck out of each other to see who gets to be the one to pound one out with their object of lust. And it’s not just rivals vying for a prize mate. I’m pretty familiar with chickens, and I’ve observed how roosters pursue, pounce on, and pin a hen underneath them in order to get down to business. There’s nothing subtle or seductive about it. It’s not exactly homoerotic wrestling, but it’s definitely a major dose of violence paired with getting off.

Bobby Carter and Mickey Knoxx in BG East’s Motel Madness 25: Revenge

Part of what prompts these musings is getting kicked off of Patreon late last year because our homoerotic wrestling art and fiction site, Heels and Heroes, was tagged as sexual violence. Interestingly, the specific content flagged wasn’t the most explicitly erotic. Now, apparently, we were also flagged because, despite repeatedly describing the characters as over 18, anytime a veteran wrestling character referred to a rookie as “kid,” Patreon’s algorithm and/or AI classified it as child abuse. Mind you, anytime a younger wrestler referred to an older wrestler as “old man” during a rough match, there were never any flags for elder abuse. But it seems like it was the pairing of the violence of professional wrestling with characters being erotically aroused that ultimately tripped the censors. Initially, I was angry and embarrassed and second-guessing myself. Honestly, it was a little like getting transported back to being a closeted gay kid with this ferocious internal debate going on about if there was something wrong with me about being aroused by wrestling. I’m over it now, though, in large part because any premise that violence and the erotic are inherently in contradiction to one another just patently has zero face validity. It’s certainly not just me who’s turned on by wrestling, combat, competition and all the ways in which the element of violence is part of them. It’s not even just those of us who openly explore and celebrate homoerotic wrestling. Getting turned on by conquering and being conquered, dominating and submitting, overpowering or being overpowered, even being attracted to a partner who stands up for you, is willing to fight for you… the overlap between violence and the erotic is mainstream, and I suspect lives deep in our DNA, and there’s just too much evidence to honestly deny it.

Rock n Roll Wrestling Australia’s The One Moses humiliates Ben the Ref

Like I said, I’m not advocating for rape or abuse. I’m not even arguing for (or against) some biological imperative that valorizes aggression as virtue. I do believe, however, that there’s quite a lot of overlap between violence and the erotic in a way that doesn’t have to equate with non-consensual sex. When I’m watching a hot wrestling match that turns explicitly erotic, groin grabs and groping and open sexual gratification work for me because it’s performative. At least for me, the idea of watching someone being raped or molested makes me cringe. But that’s not what I’m signing up for when I’m buying even a full stakes wrestling video. I’m buying into performance of violence-as-erotic within agreed upon terms. Just like when anyone enjoys watching a wrestling match (or MMA fight, or boxing match), the aggression and violence have a line drawn around them. Combat sports and “sports entertainment” are always about the performance of violence. There are rules. There’s a context in which a piledriver or a punch or a pec smother make sense, and outside of that context, of course that violence is antisocial and out of bounds. I saw a video recently of an amateur wrestler getting frustrated in a match and punching his opponent, and holy shit, that got shut down fast, and there was a torrent of scathing backlash for the offender. Because an amateur wrestling match isn’t about an uncritical endorsement of violence as if all might makes anything right. It was sport because the battle only makes sense within a specific context, on that wrestling mat, within that circle, according to recognized rules and conventions. The same premise is what makes sense of homoerotic wrestling for me. It’s performative and circumscribed and in no way implies and endorsement of rape or abuse. Quite the opposite, really. Within the homoerotic wrestling context, the performance of aggression and domination and submission are all part of the agreed upon terms that makes it such and incredible turn on for everyone involved. At least, I always hope that the wrestlers are genuinely enjoying themselves, but regardless, they’ve willingly signed up to perform in this context.

BG Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4: Talvin Demachio vs Rocky

I’m probably belaboring a point that anyone who reads this blog has already come to terms with. But, like I said, it’s been on my mind lately. I think the real problem with erotic violence is in the way polite society represses the reality of it. The construction of the healthy eroticism as exclusively tentative and gentle and non-hierarchical (not to mention heterosexual and binary) leads to mass repression of what almost certainly is a powerful and evocative connection between violence and the erotic, likely defined in evolutionary terms and embodied by all sorts of phenomena that are variously socially endorsed or marginalized, like chauvinism, every combat sport under the sun, bar fights, bullying, and yes, even the multifaceted thing that is homoerotic wrestling. Being turned on and being socially required to pretend you’re not, to even condemn the object of your lust that much more ferociously, is seriously bad for your health… as all queer folks understand so well.

BG East’s X-Fights 20: Bud Orton vs Casey Cutler

Return of a Classic

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In the early days of writing this blog, I was more prone to be critical of a wrestler or a particular match than I am these days. For example, I was a bit bitchy about Z-Man, way back when he’d only appeared on Thunder’s Arena, because I thought he was too campy, too self-conscious and oversold. He always looked like he was on the brink of busting out laughing in a way that was a buzz kill. He’s always had that gorgeous bod in perpetually magnificent condition, but it really was only when he migrated to BG East that I fully got on board the Z-Train. Wrestling for BGE managed to wipe that shit-eating grin off his face and let us seriously enjoy that that pretty boy with the body of an Adonis seriously suffering. I eventually even crowned Z-Man as one of my homoerotic wrestlers-of-the-month back in the day when I was doing that. So when I learned, moments before stepping into the ring to announce at Wrestlefest Live in NYC this past February, that Kirk Donahue’s mystery opponent was none other than Z-Man, I was as shocked and excited as everyone else.

Well, everyone except Kirk. Kirk was instantly upstaged, and he was immediately bitter about it. Speaking of me having a history of giving wrestlers a hard time, I also have a bit of a history here at Sidelineland with Kirk. He debuted for BG East late in 2014, ironically against Z-Man in Babyface Brawl 3, and with just one match under his belt, he received what I thought was a suspicious nomination for best butt that year. I mean, he has a nice ass, but it sure seemed to me like he jumped in line in front of a lot of impeccable, fan favorite, tried-and-true wrestling asses. Sharing that opinion here on the blog actually got me an email from the BGE back office not quite, but almost, ordering me to cease and desist. I’ve continue to razz Kirk over the years, mostly because it seems to me like he asks for it. He’s too fucking cute. Those freckled cheeks are just too fucking pinchable, and he knows it, and somehow that makes me ache to see him get that suspiciously nominated ass of his beat bad.

I don’t know if Kirk has ever read my reviews, so I can’t say for sure if him ripping the microphone out of my hand and monologuing like a Gotham villain was at all personal. Quietly, I sort of hope so. But BG East’s sponsored match at Wrestlefest Live this year in NYC was most definitely not about me. It was about two seasoned veterans returning for a rare rematch, both of them now in full possession of an army of fans and devotees, about to put on a rafter-rattling match that had everyone on their feet. And as it played out, it was a gorgeous example of classic pro wrestling drama, with a dazzling and popular babyface hero (who, last I heard, was recovering from a serious accident that knocked off him off the scene a few years back), and a petulant, dirty-dealing heel, and a suspiciously notorious even-more-dirty-dealing heel referee.

I don’t know if anyone else other than me was wondering if Z-Man would be recuperated and back in shape enough for a serious beatdown, but both Kirk and Z-Man put any such speculation to rest almost immediately. Kirk jumps him from behind while Z-Man is still acknowledging the roaring crowd, and within seconds he’s slammed Z down and is stomping the living fuck out of him relentlessly. “What do you think of that jobber bitch now, huh?,” Kirk taunts the crowd for lining up behind Z-Man so instantly and unapologetically. “What do you have to say for your boy now!?”

In fact, the action is fucking intense! Their mutual contempt for one another is palpable in Kirk’s savage chest chops and disrespectful slaps to Z-Man’s handsome-as-fuck face. Z-Man pounds Kirk’s suspiciously lauded ass hard in a suplex and goes for Kirk’s ridiculously freckled face with nasty elbow strikes. The momentum stays with Kirk most of the time, though, and it’s looking like Z may just not have what it takes to go toe-to-toe the cocky heel at this point in their careers. Kirk kicks him in the balls when referee Jonny Firestorm isn’t looking, and there’s a feel of inevitability as Kirk’s dirty tricks and snarling contempt crash down on Z-Man again and again, making Z-Man’s stubborn kick-outs and rallies seem increasingly futile.

But don’t you fucking dare count Z-Man out, in general, or in this match! It’s like he’s got a direct picc line from the roaring crowd, pumping gallons of adrenaline and tenacity directly into his veins. When I’m pretty sure diabolical Kirk has rung Z-Man’s bell too many times, from somewhere deep inside, on sheer nerve and reckless stubbornness, Z-Man keeps teetering on the brink of what looks like just might be the epic upset that every fan watching was screaming for.

As with all of the WF Live NYC matches, I was a bit too distracted to really appreciate the drama and athleticism and storytelling of this match in the moment, but watching it on video now, I’m absolutely in awe of what these guys pulled off. It was punchy and suspenseful every second of the way to, and then somehow even after, the climactic end. It felt a bit like history in the making when I was there, and it seems even more so watching the match again on video.

For the record, Z-Man sells like a fucking champion, taking some blows that even made me cringe with sympathy pains. And, yeah, yeah, Kirk Donahue has a well-above average ass. That freckle-faced fucker needs to respect his ring announcer better, but there’s no question, he’s one super talented and super hot wrestler.

Picking Favorites

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Leaving aside (for a moment) that I was in the room when Leon Cyrus faced down the twin twunk terrors, Mickey Knoxx and Nick Lean, One Man Wrecking Crew is a fucking hot match! Two-on-one matches can be tricky. The chemistry, the drama, the technical challenges of wrestling holds… there are a lot of moving pieces and potential pitfalls, to be honest. Individually, Leon, Mickey, and Nick are sexy as fuck, of course. The Venn diagram of what they share in common and what separates them is fascinating. Leon is an institution, a fucking beast of a man who towers over Mickey and Nick and is packing an overwhelming size advantage that would steam roll over either of his lightweight opponents, and in prior encounters, already has. Nick and Mickey are both fit and experienced and gorgeous as fuck, though, and at the outset, I’m thinking that with just a little cooperation and a lot of luck, they seriously might have a chance of humbling the Swiss Menace. When this throw down started, I honestly had no idea what to expect. And that, right there, is my absolute favorite type of homoerotic wrestling match!

“The both of you couldn’t beat me separately, so let’s try the two of you together,” Leon declares, flexing his guns in their faces. Nick and Mickey both scoff at the challenge, though you can’t miss the slight widening of the eyes as they stare up at the mountain threatening to come crashing down on them. It starts out as a gentlemanly tag team set-up, with Nick eagerly (foolishly?) stepping up to take on Leon. And 4.6 seconds later, Nick is hoisted off his feet and getting the life squeezed out of him in a gargantuan bearhug. Leon insists that Mickey tag in to “rescue” Nick, and almost as fast, Mickey is hanging upside down in a bearhug, with Leon indulging in a face full of Mickey’s award winning glutes.

I cannot get enough of Mickey Knoxx. This should come as no surprise to anyone who reads this blog. He’s absolutely beautiful and absolutely nobody’s clone at the same time. He and Leon have opted to wear assless gear to start this match, and if it were up to me, Mickey would always wrestle that way. Mickey’s fucking fierce in this way that’s completely disproportionate to his chances. He comes in like a house on fire, slapping Leon in the chest and, for just a split second, I swear Mickey looks every bit as big and intimidating as the cocky beast who, objectively speaking, has got to have at least 100 pounds over him.

“Who is sexier, I’m not sure,” Leon asks, quite literally saying out loud what I’m thinking as was recording this match. This trip to Wrestlefest NYC was my first time seeing Nick, and sweet fuck, the boy is tasty. When Leon rips Nick’s trunks off, Nick has tantalizing tan lines that make me swoon. His cock is just so fucking happy in that baby blue thong, and I think being forced to choose between him and Mickey might legitimately be one of the rings of hell.

Leon makes one erotic sculpture after another out of them. The energy is so incredibly erotic-forward. Throwing them into a heap on top of each other on the mat, Leon strokes and gropes the suffering pretty boys. “Oh my god, such a pile of sexy meat!” He’s not wrong. Absolutely everyone is crushing on everyone in this sweaty threesome. Stacked like firewood on top of each other, Nick and Mickey start making out and grinding into each other. Left to their own devices, I’m pretty sure they’d just start fucking each other with abandon. But, of course, they aren’t left to their own devices. They’re completely controlled like marionettes in Leon’s hands, dominating one at a time, and both together, continuing his villainous monologue about trying to decide which of them will be his favorite tasty treat.

The Spider Man kiss at around 11 minutes into the match is the moment that has stuck with me hardest ever since I saw it happen live in front of me. Leon has Nick suspended, belly-to-back and upside down, and he’s going to town on Nick’s very happy cock. Mickey’s on his back, flat out on the mat, having gotten his bell rung a few times too many. At Leon’s command, Mickey stretches his head upward, and he and Nick make out with Nick dangling helplessly from Leon’s clutches. And then Micky makes out with Leon. Nick makes out with Mickey’s ass. Leon makes out with Nick. Fuck, so many gorgeous bodies, cocky egos, and absolutely everyone wanting a piece of everyone else.

By the end of this 18 minute match, Leon picks his favorite twunk toy for the day. He’s a better man than I am, clearly, because my ambivalence about who I’m more infatuated with was tearing me in half. After the match was over and my filming job was done, I walked out of the room in an absolute daze, this intoxicating cloud of musk and pheromones and homoerotic wrestling drama seeping into my pores. And watching the match again, it takes me right back. Check it out if an erotic-forward three-way hotel scrap showcasing some of the sexiest wrestling sculpture on the planet is something you’d like to see.

More than He Can Chew

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Mickey Knoxx and NonoZ are both super hot wrestlers who can do no wrong these days. At least as far as I’m concerned, I haven’t see a miss from either of this gorgeous men. So the promise of the combination of the two of them is a guaranteed bullseye. In Heel Heat, now available on WatchFighters, we see them square off on the mats at Wrestlefest NYC this past February. They had a professional photographer on hand, and I was seeing pro promotional images before I had a chance to savor the match. I reached out to the photographer, who generously gave me permission to share some of his incredibly hot photographs below, and, holy fuck, there is something to be said for working with a professional! It does not surprise me that these stills are available for purchase as prints. Check out all of PeachyNoir’s work on Instagram and BlueSky!

Photo Credit: http://www.peachynoirphoto.com

So I was already hot and bothered (in a good way) by the time I got the chance to settle in and enjoy Heel Heat. Having watched both of these wrestlers quite often, I was giving long odds on Mickey having a serious chance at taking NonoZ. I mean, fuck, just look at the two of them! NonoZ towers over Mickey, and there’s this unmistakable predator/prey vibe between them. The opening drama is NonoZ just flexing his biceps and Mickey being unable to resist diving in and worshiping them. NonoZ is just too big and dominant for Mickey to avoid being put on the mat and mounted within seconds.

Mickey is put through the wringer like dirty laundry, and every second of it is so fucking seductive. NonoZ exploits his height advantage, ripping Mickey’s legs apart in a grapevine, and then just swallows the lucky Canadian’s face in a pec smother. The absolute physical domination is so intense, but it’s much more than just the visuals. Mickey suffers hard, with these wounded whimpers that make my cock twitch involuntarily. And in reply, NonoZ chuckles light but deep, in this way that sounds genuinely delighted by what he can wring out of Mickey moment to moment. The call-and-response is hypnotic, with this subverbal, primal back and forth of taunting and questioning grunts from NonoZ followed by gasps of overwhelmed pain and pleasure from Mickey, and then more delighted chuckles from the masked heel enjoying the power he wields.

Mickey’s feisty, of course. Mickey never gives it away for free, even when he’s got this masked muscle gladiator crashing down on him like an avalanche. He just earns absolutely no traction because he’s totally getting bullied by this sadistic, massive heel on top of him. Mickey spends the majority of the 17 minutes of this match smothered by any one of several tools at NonoZ’s disposal… his ass, his cock, his pecs… his cock again. And again.

NonoZ looks so fucking proud of himself! Mickey’s pretty amazed by NonoZ too. “You’ve got such a nice chest,” Mickey can’t help himself from saying, his voice muffled with NonoZ’s crotch stuffed in his mouth. NonoZ goes back and forth between seducing Mickey by giving him what Mickey’s gasps and gropes telegraph that he wants, and punishing and denying him. It’s savage and erotic as fuck, with Mickey’s body used, abused, and humiliated, and both of them getting turned on nearly as much as I am.

NonoZ strips Mickey to his thong almost exactly halfway through the match. It’s like he’s unwrapping a birthday present, the way he immediately drapes himself on top of Mickey’s body like a blanket. He devours Mickey’s nipples hard enough to make the Canadian scream, but we can’t really hear it with Mickey’s trunks stuffed down his throat.

Photo Credit: http://www.peachynoirphoto.com

The face fucking catches me by surprise, to be honest. Not that I’m surprised that a super hot match like this features face fucking, but that it hits me the same as every other moment of the wrestling domination. I’ve marveled at the absolute work of art NonoZ’s cock at full mast is, of course. And I’ve documented often how completely infatuated I am with Mickey’s ass. So it’s not a shocker to me that I’m swooning around the time NonoZ is on Mickey’s back with the Canadian’s arms tied behind him and riding that award winning ass like it’s a rodeo. But honestly, I’m often not as interested in the erotic stakes as I am the intense wrestling. Magically, in this match, it’s all one incredibly provocative and erotically magnificent thing. NonoZ cranking on his cock, and then Mickey cranking on NonoZ’s cock in submission, push my wrestling buttons just right.

Photo Credit: http://www.peachynoirphoto.com

It’s not competitive, and it’s a total squash, so check it out if that’s what you’re looking for. It is most definitely hot, the chemistry is explosive, and the pairing of these two gorgeous gladiators is nothing short of a masterpiece. No wonder a professional photographer needed to be on hand to sell prints!

It’s Mutual

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Everybody is somebody’s crush, right? The longer I live and the longer I write about homoerotic wrestling, the more I’m convinced of this. Whoever you are, whatever you’re into, whatever insecurities you carry around about yourself, someone thinks your fucking hot. Sometimes, the attraction might be unilateral. Like, maybe, somebody is way into you, but you aren’t into them. Which is nobody’s fault, and doesn’t have to be a a thing as long as no one needs to make it a thing. Ideally, the attraction is mutual, of course. I think I was raised to think that there are two types: attractive people and unattractive people. But I honestly just don’t believe that at all now. Attraction is subjective and serendipitous. It’s firing all the time, and, while true, sometimes we’re so fixated on one object of lust that we don’t notice who’s fixated on us, there’s an inexplicable alchemy perpetually brewing about who’s into whom.

For example, on the one hand, Dio Characi was openly in lust with Ricky Clayton’s gorgeous muscles in Muscle Worship 1. The attraction was, apparently, not mutual. Ricky was totally infatuated solely with himself, which, honestly, I sort of get. I met this guy at Wrestlefest NYC this year, and holy fuck, the guy is a fucking specimen! But Dio was way into Ricky’s smoking hot bod, and bless him, Dio didn’t bother playing coy about it. And that imbalance, the contrast between Dio’s open lust and Ricky’s oblivious self-obsession is super rich and sexy drama.

In Wrestleshack 36, Dio is in the shack working out, working up a sexy sheen of sweat by himself, when Sean Chen strolls in, instantly eye fucking Dio like a starving man sighting steak (or, in my case, sauteed seitan). “I heard from the guys that you know jiu-jitsu,” Sean says. “You want to show me what you can do?” That, right there, is Sean shooting his shot. It’s a fucking adorably clumsy pick-up line that Dio sees through pretty much immediately. The Brazilian It-Boy sizes sexy Sean up like trying to decide whether to try a tasty appetizer. “You’re not strong, though your body looks like it’s well-built,” Dio announces, a couple of seconds after he’s scored an immediate take down and is riding his admirer in a grapevine. Dio strokes Sean appraisingly, that sexy as fuck, impish smile on his making me swoon. And speaking of swoon, Dio gropes Sean’s meaty pecs and sizes up his admirer’s swelling pouch and announces, “Nice bulge.”

Fuck yes, the attraction is mutual! The chemistry here is just totally different than the vibe when Dio was lusting after Ricky’s muscles. Dio and Sean are into each other, and I fucking love this conquer-and-possess dynamic! It’s a lopsided battle, to be sure. Dio is just bigger, stronger, and demonstrates a lot more in terms of grappling skill. But this is Dio hungry. So, while he’s choking Sean out, he’s also sucking on the boy’s nipples. He makes Sean lick his sweaty pits and biceps, though, honestly, it doesn’t take a ton of coercion. In the past, BGE has gotten a ton of mileage out of Dio jobbing, but I’m officially on the record as saying Dio hungry, dominating, and mean is the sexiest Dio of all, as far as I’m concerned.

This isn’t exactly a squash, though. Sean is a scrappy wrestler who, despite Dio’s earlier taunt, is fucking strong and determined. He takes advantage of the lust that Dio has been telegraphing for Sean’s massive, meaty pecs and makes the Brazilian dizzy with a super-intimate side-headlock cradle. Honestly, I think Dio forgets to fight back, which gives Sean the opening to rip Dio’s trunks off. And talk about swoon, Dio getting dominated in a white thong might be the second sexiest Dio of all.

But turnabout is fair play… or is “all is fair in love and war” a better idiom? Because Dio starts flexing his biceps, putting on a show for Sean, and it’s Sean’s turn to forget that this is a wrestling match. Sweet fuck, Sean dives into sucking Dio’s gorgeous face like Greg Louganis nailing a reverse two-and-a-half somersault pike. Dio feeds the hungry beast by massaging Sean’s ass, shoving his tongue down the boy’s throat, absolutely going for broke seducing the adorable little spitfire muscle boy. And suddenly, Sean’s got a Brazilian hunk on his back, completely at Dio’s mercy in a rear naked choke.

“Flex for me,” Dio demands. He doesn’t have to tell Sean twice. Fuck, just the voice control Dio has over his slack jawed admirer is a fucking kick. He sits on Sean’s face sliding forward and backward, grinding on Sean’s gasping mouth, and it’s not exactly like Sean’s hating every moment of it. He demands that Sean worship him, and he manhandles the hungry boy from one submission hold to the next to demand obedience.

Just by themselves, these two pairs of gorgeous pecs make both of these boys absolute fantasymen. And the grind for domination is about as intoxicating for me as it looks like it is for both Dio and Sean. Dio absolutely does it for Sean, and, as it turns out, conquering and possessing stubborn Sean does it for Dio. And I, in turn, am completely seduced by the both of them mixing this combustible chemistry set for our pleasure.