The Stash

My heart always pumps just a little harder when I get to see a newbie in action. All of that potential yet to be revealed, character yet to be discovered, story yet to be written… it’s super exciting. Of course, not all newbies turn out to be full of potential. They don’t all turn into a compelling character. Sometimes, they suck, frankly. I’m not naming any names here, but I suspect I’ve tipped my hand plenty of times over 14 years worth of posts. My mission isn’t to tear down around here, though, but to celebrate and lift up what I find delightful and sexy and sensational in homoerotic wrestling. What all that in mind, I’d like celebrate a hot newbie who just debuted with BG East in Demolition 36, Evan Sterling.

Fuck, he had me at the stash. It’s fierce and in your face. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind it being in my face. Or my crotch, for that matter. But more to the point, Evan’s got style and attitude that’s instantly apparent. He’s also got a rocking hot bod with a sensational ass and what has to be my early favorite for Best Bulge of the Year. Even before Gabe Steel shows up, while Evan is warming up and stretching out on the ropes, he has to pause several times and manhandle his crotch. I have to think it’s a sign that he’s excited, as he anticipates his BG East debut against rock hard rising heel Gabe. But it also has a little of that sense of Mr. Joshua, having to interrupt his thoughts and wrangle his elephant trunk every so often, because it’s got a mind of its own.

Gabe sees what I see. Once he’s arrived and the obligatory trash talk and bicep comparisons have played out, Gabe stares straight at Evan’s jiggling pouch and shakes his head. “That’s quite a target,” he says, not really explaining himself, but no explanation is really necessary. I instantly like Evan for all of the reasons mentioned above, but also because he’s done his homework. He asks if the rumors are true that Gabe possesses balls of steel. “It’s in the name,” the sneering veteran snarls back at him. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The first thing that’s apparent, is that Evan is a punishment sponge. Like, fuck, he soaks it up in the early moments of this match. When Gabe has him on his back, holding his ankles and spreading his legs wide, Evan takes a knee to the crotch that, I swear, looks like it bounces off. “Barely felt it,” Evan snarls. Like, fuck, Gabe may not be the only one in that ring with balls of steel! Furious, Gabe dives forward, pounding his forehead into the new guy’s balls. “Felt that, though, didn’t you,” Gabe asks rhetorically, as Evan is writhing and rolling across the mat, cradling his balls.

Gabe keeps applying finishers and demanding submissions, and holy fuck, Evan keeps telling him to go fuck off. Fuck, I love that ferocity. Gabe has him locked up in super sexy standing scissors, reaches around and grabs Evan by the balls, and lifts his legs in the air by them, holding him there in this gorgeously dominating reverse inverted bearhug, still clawing away at the balls. He’s fucked five different ways in that position, but still, when Gabe demands the submission, all he gets out of Evan is another snarling “Fuck you,” with just the barest whimper of agony at the edges.

“Now I know this is the game we’re playing,” Evan snarls after landing a breathtaking knee strike to Gabe’s (not so impervious after all) balls. “What happened to those balls of steel?” The hot rookie puts an exclamation point on it by pulling his singlet straps down, flexing his hot pecs, laughing and preening like he just sealed the deal. Fuck, like I said, he’s fierce, even when he’s digging his own grave.

Every second that he runs roughshod over Gabe, Evan is going deeper and deeper into debt. Once the seasoned muscle heel, now soaked in sweat (just one of Gabe’s superpowers), climbs back into the driver’s seat, he starts collecting. Evan’s pendulous package is in Gabe’s sights most of the time. At one point, the rookie is racked across Gabe’s huge shoulders, while the heel strategically positions him to let the top ring rope choke him. That super prominent rookie bulge is a sight to behold, quivering there so audaciously at the apex of the brutal arc Gabe is making out of his spine. Gabe does squats with his newbie barbell across his shoulder. He wrings out those big, bouncing balls relentlessly. And what does Evan say in reply? “Fuck… you!!!!”

“You’ve got a mouth on you, boy,” Gabe growls at one point, part irritation, with more than a little admiration mixed in. The heel’s attention turns to Evan’s ass eventually. Again, I get it. “Damn,” Gabe says what I’m thinking. “I might have to take that ass after this match is over!” And, fuck, Evan is in no shape to make a counter offer as Gabe grinds him down farther and farther, stripping him of his singlet and wedgying those designer trunks way up the rookie’s crack. Eventually, Evan burns through that ambition and stubborn ferocity, and he’s left crying and begging like a bitch, “No more! No more!”

But if the homoerotic wrestling gods are listening, I hope they hear this prayer directly from my lips. Please, let us see more of Evan Sterling!

“No One Likes a Quitter”

Jonny Firestorm has been clawing his way back into the hearts and fantasies of BG East fans recently, and I’m here for it. He’s got just a little salt and pepper in his full beard that’s fucking hot! Match by match, he’s honing his beefy body impressively. I’ve seen him on social media say that he’s roaring back into fighting trim after an injury, and, fuck, yeah, can someone forward me the name of his personal trainer? Because I’m still stepping up my own workouts in the hopes of getting a shot at making Scott Williams whimper this summer, and I could use even a tenth of whatever it is Jonny’s recent gains.

One of his newest releases is Jobberpaloozer 21, “breaking in” fresh faced new kid Leroy Blaze. When I say “kid,” I mean, fuck, dude looks young and still growing into himself. He’s 6’0 and 150 pounds, and frankly, sometimes, I strongly suspect numbers like those are exaggerations. But in Leroy’s case, I’m a believer. Super lean. When Jonny and Leroy do a little impromptu mini-pose off at the top of the match, no shit, Jonny’s upper arm is something like 3 times as thick as Leroy’s. Like, I’m seriously worried about this kid. Knowing Jonny’s repertoire like we all do, I’m genuinely concerned that he’s going literally break Leroy, probably in multiple places. Are you sure you know what you’re getting to, buddy?

“Hey, I think I know your name,” Leroy muses out loud once Jonny deigns to show up a few minutes late. “You’re that ‘legend,’ right?” Leroy puts air quotes around the word legend. Oh. Shit. “What was the name, oh… yeah,” he says with a smirk (like, fuck, literally a smirk!). “I think the name is Stormfire Jonny. You’ve kicked a lot of people’s asses.” It’s about 45 seconds into the match, and I’ve just done a complete 180. In that instant that Leroy pulls out the air quotes, I’m literally muttering at the screen, “Oh, fuck him up, Jonny!”

There’s something impressive about a jobber who can make me really, really, really want to see him get clobbered. And I really, really, really want to see Leroy take it hard. There’s something even more impressive about a jobber who makes sure that the legendary heel he’s facing knows just how much he deserves ever ounce of abuse that Jonny can serve up. I do give Leroy credit for doing his homework. He catches Jonny’s telegraphed attempt to sucker-clothesline him to start things and smoothly turns the tables. And by “turns the tables,” I mean he runs roughshod over Jonny for a good 6 minutes or so. Like, even I’m almost questioning if Leroy’s on to something when he implies that Jonny is over the hill, he’s stayed too long at the party, and he’s living off of former glory and diehard fans. At one point, as Jonny’s huffing like a steam engine, the ultra lightweight smirker tosses his ass through the ropes, and Jonny’s back hits the edge of the ring apron so hard it’s giving me a case of sciatica. When Leroy presses his advantage, leaping from the top turnbuckle to slam into the wounded legend on the floor below, Jonny gasps from underneath him, “Fuck you!” And holy fuck, 150 pound Leroy, making his BG East debut, snarls into Jonny’s face the prediction that he’s the one that’s going to do the fucking around here!

So, yeah, when Leroy presses is advantage once too often, attempting a flashy body splash off the top turnbuckle again, and Jonny impales him on his fist as he’s careening through the air, I think I speak for absolutely everyone in the homoerotic wrestling universe when I say that Leroy deserves everything he’s about to get. This is Jonny, after all. He can’t have stayed too long at the party because, let’s face it, it’s his fucking party! And holy shit, he pulverizes the new kid like a bug on a windshield. I mean, it takes about 20 minutes of unrelenting merciless punishment, almost entirely targeting those seriously impressive washboard abs on Leroy, but slowly ever so gradually, I come back around full circle to finally feel bad for the newbie all over again.

The punishment is 90% high impact and vintage Jonny nastiness. At one point, he suspends the skinny little fucker upside down from a ladder and proceeds to beat the living shit out of his wasted abs with fists, claws, a shoe, and a medicine ball. He rubs the smartassness right out of Leroy (and, let me just reiterate, there’s a lot of smartassness in this rookie!), until he finally forces Leroy to call him by name. “You’re Jonny Firestorm! You’re Jonny Firestorm!” Let’s face it, he deserved everything up to that point. But, again, let me just repeat the harsh truth that Leroy just pointed out to us: this is Jonny-fucking-Firestorm, so there’s an added gratuity of another 10-15 minutes of unhinged brutality. I feel confident Leroy’s still got a bald spot where Jonny kept peeling him up by off the mat by a handful of hair (and Leroy, let me just assure you that bald is beautiful). He slingshots the kid back and forth by the elastic in his trunks so much that I’m feeling strongly compelled to bring back my Trunk Pull Tuesday tradition.

Somehow, my journey from worry for Leroy, to aching to seem him get pulverized, to a return to sympathy for him, finally reaches perfect harmony around the time that Jonny hoists the unconconcious rookie across one shoulder and marches him out of the ring room, in order to help Jonny “clean up.” Like, fuck. Win-win-win, right? Will we see armor-cored Leroy again? If so, will he dare be even half as much a smartass next time? I have to disagree with Jonny’s announcement that “No one likes a quitter,” when he’s spitting in disgust as Leroy begs him to let him go. But I totally agree with Jonny’s prediction, “Jobbers never learn.”

“I Want More!”

I continue to get instantly turned on when I see Dio Characi has a new release. The newest has him appearing opposite Kayden Keller in the double-header X-Fights 58. I feel like the Brazilian bombshell must have had a rider stipulating that we don’t get to see his full frontal, because once again, even in an x-fight, the Brazilian’s power tool remains holstered. It’s a little cruel, to be honest, and I actually think that’s completely in character for Dio, despite his persistent casting as a babyface borderline-jobber in his (hopefully first of many) forays into competing for BG East. Catching his Instagram reels is like eating M&Ms, because he melts in the mouth so seductively, while coming across as a sensationally sexy purveyor of snarling, dominating raunch. Which, FUCK, works like magic coming from someone with an insanely hot bod and cherubic baby face. But in his incarnation as an award-winning BG East it-boy, Dio puts up a good fight, but gets plowed under a lot (Rocky Sparks notwithstanding).

X-Fights 58 features the fan-selected Top Babyface of 2023 squaring off on the mats against the six-time award winning Top Heel, Kayden Keller. Fuck, the sexual tension and drama just write themselves, right? During the opening match at Wrestlefest 4, while Kayden was absolutely eviscerating bleach blond bon-bon Nathan FX, Dio was right up front of the babyface bench in the audience, leading the taunts and jeers taking Kayden to task for being such a nasty, cheating, merciless heel. At one point, as Kayden is bouncing off the ropes, about to kick Nathan in the face for the 645th time, Dio stands up and grabs him by the ankle, tripping the dangerous heel. You can see the steam rise off of Kayden, he’s so fucking angry. He starts hurling threats and insults at the Brazilian over the ropes, daring him to put his hot bod on the line and face him once he’s done with Nathan. Dio sneers back defiantly, telling Kayden to fuck off, holding his gaze unflinchingly. Which gives Nathan time to peel himself off the mat, clear his head, and nearly decapitate Kayden with with a clothesline when the distracted heel finally remembers he’s got an opponent still to finish off in the ring behind him.

I even speculated in my review of that match that the exquisite tension between Dio and Kayden in that moment simply HAD to result in the two of them facing each other one-on-one. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one with that opinion. “There you are,” Kayden says, as if mildly surprised to find the Brazilian bombshell stretching out his award winning body on the mat. “I was a little worried you might not show up, that you weren’t ready to take me on.” Dio looks up with those big brown eyes, looking through his long lashes, like a Raphael painting come to life, and grins. “Me? I’m always ready.”

Dio possesses a can of whoop ass as yet unopened at BG East, I’m sure of it. I keep thinking he’s going to finally crack it open and let loose the vile, raunchy, ravenous erotic wrestler that I’m 110% certain he’s got chained inside of him, but Kayden is just too much. It plays like brutal strength and experience chipping away relentlessly at stubborn, raw ambition. They’re evenly matched in terms of size, but Kayden strikes at will, persistently putting Dio on his back. “I heard a rumor you like legs,” Kayden confesses casually, as he wraps his long, strong tree trunks and starts crushing Dio’s rock hard core. I LOVE the passing allusion to the behind-the-scenes locker room culture. These guys aren’t just punching the clock. They’re thinking about each other off the mats. They’re comparing notes with other wrestlers, talking with former opponents to catch some juicy insights into weaknesses and what to watch out for.

Dio suffers gorgeously. Kayden tags the Brazilian’s abs for demolition, pounding, grinding, clawing and squeezing that sexy-as-fuck washboard. When seriously pushed, Dio sounds like he’s practicing Lamaze, with quick, shallow, audible exhalations, struggling to breathe through the corporal punishment. With Kayden’s huge quads scissoring his body, the sexy cherub’s neck arches in agony. His hands rest on his opponent’s rock hard leg bearing down on his gut. “Go ahead, you can feel those strong legs wrapped around you,” Kayden instructs. The intense intimacy, watching Dio immediately start to hungrily stroke his open palms over the bulging, brutal muscle, turns me on so fucking much.

Dio gets some offense, because he’s fucking fierce and strong. Assisted by Kayden repeatedly becoming almost completely distracted by the seductive allure of sucking on his opponent’s mouthwatering lips, Dio displays his sexy, raw power, turning the tables and climbing into the saddle of a schoolboy pin. It takes some seriously sexy strength for an opponent to grapevine Kayden’s infamous legs and rip them open wide, and gorgeous Dio absolutely possesses that sexy strength. And it’s entrancing watching Dio enjoy his riding time. He flexes his meaty, bubble butt hypnotically, grinding his hungry cock into Kayden’s gut. While Dio, indeed, keeps his cock holstered, it’s awfully inspiring to see it grow with excitement, straining the tight confines of his green trunks.

Among the super sexy moments in this match, there are a couple that keep intruding on my thoughts as I go through my day. One of those moments is the quirky, sexy script-flipping of Kayden repeatedly smothering Dio with his pecs. I’ve enjoyed (“enjoyed”) watching Dio pec-smother several lucky sons of bitches in his Instagram reels, and it’s compelling as fuck. So watching him panting like he’s going in labor, his breath muffled as his face his crushed helplessly against Kayden’s chest, is a super sexy twist. But I think the sexiest gem in this entire match is after Dio has had a few super resentful submissions wrung out of him, and Kayden is perched on top of a schoolboy, his fingers laced through the cherub’s curly locks, smothering him in his crotch. The Top Heel asks, “Do you like the smell and the taste of it, Dio?” As if in response, Dio reaches up and starts to stroke his opponent’s muscles. He squeezes Kayden’s juicy ass and palms the heel’s bulging biceps. When Kayden shoves them in his face, Dio obediently worships those biceps and licks his opponent’s sweaty armpit. Kayden is absolutely seduced, unable to resist swooping in and making out with the deliriously handsome babyface beneath him. “There you go,” Kayden coos. “Now you know your place.” And then, Dio absolutely pushes me over the edge when he stares up at Kayden with that fierce, unquenchable heat of his, and absolutely demands, “I want more.”

Dio is voicing exactly what I’m thinking, in that moment, and more philosophically as I think about his incredibly sexy journey through BG East thus far. I love the sight of Kayden forgetting himself momentarily under the Brazilian’s insanely sexy spell. I’m turned on so fucking hard by the raging furnace that is constantly burning just beneath Dio’s surface, whether giving or taking, demanding more, so completely turned on and sucking down the pleasure that comes with his gorgeous body locked in competition with a worthy opponent. And despite my disappointment at not getting to enjoy seeing what Dio’s packing in those bulging trunks, when Kayden peels out of his trunks and pounds out a quart of cum across Dio’s thick pecs and rippling abs, I get it. I really, really get it.

“We’re Just Wrasslin’!”

I regularly get a taste for long, lean, limber bodies tearing up a homoerotic wrestling match. Christian Taylor always scratches that itch for me. Kid Vicious gets me there as well. Over at UCW, 6’3″ Harvey Dale just grabbed my attention for the same reasons. Somehow, he looks taller than 6’3. It may be the contrast as he stares way, way down his nose at 5’6″ Zack Reno in the opening pec-to-pec stare off for their oil match. Zack has a choice to look straight ahead and study Harvey’s sternum, or crane his neck at a painful angle to make eye contact with the smirking taltos.

It’s a 30-minute match, but be aware that the first 12 minutes are a curious study of the two of them bro-ing it up as they slather each other with coconut oil. The pre-match relational dynamics are fascinating. When Zack demands Harvey massage the aching arch of his left foot, Harvey obeys immediately. When he’s tugs Zack’s yellow trunks down, the better to oil those remarkably perky glutes, Zack leaves them there, not bothered. In fact, they stay there well beyond when the wrestling starts. But back to Harvey obediently following Zack’s instructions as he massages him down. I’m thinking, just for a moment, that the long, tall drink of water is here to job for the hunky homoerotic wrestling veteran. But, then again, Harvey’s got a not-a-jobber attitude when he finishes applying oil to EVERY inch of Zack, and he lies on his back, hands behind his head, and orders the beefcake boy to return the favor. And, fuck, Zack does! With some enthusiasm, actually. Where Harvey was a little coy about sliding his hands inside Zack’s trunks, Zack dives in head first and absolutely throttles the tall kid’s cock relentlessly, making Harvey both writhe and grin ear-to-ear.

It’s SUCH a curious vibe as they banter and joke back and forth, getting their hands all over each other unselfconsciously. I was actually wondering for a little while if this was a bait-and-switch, and it was just some friendly muscle worship sans wrestling. But holy hell, when the bell rings, both boys suddenly see red and go the fuck at it! As I mentioned, Zack leaves his trunks hanging well underneath the prominent shelf of his ass, barely covering his crotch. And the serious-as-fuck competition on Harvey’s youthful face instantly dials the heat way, way up.

Both boys have a tough time with the oil. Zack, bless his heart, keeps trying to stand up, only to slip and slide and crash back down again (once, face-first into Harvey’s crotch). Harvey, on the other hand, seems to handle the context better, capitalizing on his Mr. Fantastic long and flexible limbs to tie the beefcake up and wring him out relentlessly. Again, the heat jumps up several degrees when Zack manages to suck his opponent’s head in between his legs and give Harvey a long, close-up look at his bared ass. To free himself, Harvey rabbit punches the heartthrob repeatedly in the kidneys. “Stop hurting me,” Zack bitches in his bro-y baritone. “We’re just wrasslin’!”

Best hold of the match goes to Zack. There’s a tug-of-war back and forth for quite a while as both wrestlers work on stripping each other out of their trunks. Buyer beware: neither quite succeeds. Buyer rejoice: Zack’s thick, happy cock keeps spilling out, before getting stuffed back into this trunks, and then spilling out again seconds later, over and over. But the hottest move of the match for me doesn’t involve seeing Zack’s cock (shockingly). No, it’s when Zack smothers lucky Harvey in face-to-crotch headscissors, combined with hooking the tall boy’s briefs with Zack’s toes, in order to wedge them way, way, WAY up his crack. And right there, with Harvey’s sugary sweet, oil soaked, lovely, lean, sculpted ass cheeks on display, my itch for the long and lean homoerotic wrestler gets scratched just right.

Honestly, I buy Harvey’s earnestness and intensity more than Zack’s. Though, there is this moment where Harvey has the beefcake folded over backward, his hand slid down inside Zack’s pouch, jerking on his power tool for days, when Zack absolutely goes perfectly still and silent. Like, fuck, fuck, fuck, I think he was just about ready to let Harvey get him off, but, sadly, he came back to his senses and fought his way back on top. But no, Harvey brings the heat, the fury, and the intensity. And damn it all, as turned on I was by Zack leaving his trunks hanging off his ass for so long, it’s Harvey’s sweet cheeks in that wedgied face-to-crotch that’s haunting me now that the match is over.

Fun match. Fascinating, FASCINATING personalities playing off of one another. And gorgeous use of contrasting bodies, glistening in oil and delighting in the tactile pleasure of rolling all over each other. It takes me back to very fond memories of titillating oil wrestling in halcyon days gone by!

Wrestling for Top

I’ve been delighted to get turn onto (and turned on by) new homoerotic wrestling fiction lately. One of the awesome consequences of sharing my hobby-writing in the genre, neverland readers have been sharing offline their recommendations for hot fiction. And a few authors have even reached out to call my attention to their published work. Jack Stevens is one of those authors who agreed to let me post a sensationally hot excerpt from his novel Wrestling for Top, published by Ninestar Press, available there as well as on Amazon. I immediately ordered my copy, and I’m super impressed with the writing, the character development, and the intense overly of classic Brit Pro wrestling with an homoeroticism. If you’re into hot fiction with a deep respect for pro wrestling and a sexy, insider love of homoeroticism, check it out!

“Wrestling for Top”


Jack Stevens

Published by Ninestar Press

Handsome wrestler Terry ‘Kid Bacchus’ Ryan is popular with the fans in the ring and with the men in the bedroom. But faced with dwindling audiences and fierce competition in Britain, Terry gambles on a tour of Europe with ‘uncle’ Doug, three wrestling buddies, and an unexpected sponsor, Mark who wrestles as the masked  ‘Johnny Deuce’.

Abroad, Terry and his team score on the mats and between the sheets, catching the eye of influential wrestler/promoter Yves Montaigne, who is eager to make Terry a star and lover.

But even as success beckons, Terry is drawn into a world of dark and dangerous sexual fantasies, and to save himself and his wrestling family, Terry must find out who his real enemies are. Are they linked to the death of his father years ago? What part did Uncle Doug play in that? And above all, who really is the man behind the Johnny Deuce mask?

In this extract, Terry and Mark (wrestling in his mask as ‘Johnny Deuce’) meet the German father and son tag team of Bernard and Stefan Shoenfeld.

“Father and son!” Mark scoffed, as he and Terry stood in their corner watching the Germans enter the ring and take up their position in their corner. “Yeah. Right!”

Terry studied their two opponents. Apart from their ring gear there was little family resemblance. Bernard was obviously a wrestling veteran: the hair on his chest grizzled, the hair on his head thick but iron grey, his face well lined, and the single tattoo on his forearm a patch of lines and colours blurred by time. Terry took in the wiry physique and the assurance of his moves as he ducked under the ropes to enter the ring and began limbering up. 

Terry turned his attention to Stefan Shoenfeld. Late teens, possibly very early twenties, his hairless chest and pale blond curls making it hard to judge his age. A good two or three stones heavier than his ‘father’, stocky but in a puppy fat kind of way, he moved around the ring with an adolescent gawkiness that contrasted with his partner, his warm ups confined to grabbing the top rope and leaning back to stretch out arms and back muscles. There was strength there, Terry didn’t doubt, but he already had the feeling that the real threat from this team was going to come from its senior member. 

Once they’d removed their ring jackets – in Bernard’s case, an old school dressing gown – al four wrestlers were given the once over by the referee who ran his hands over their upper bodies and checked the soles of their wrestling boots, a procedure that was more ritual than practical. Mark, of course, was in his Johnny Deuce kit. Terry had gone with white speedos and boots with a single black stripe down the side of each to complement him. The Germans were in matching purple, Bernard in tights, the boy in a leotard cut low over his stomach, their boots polished black leather with purple highlights. Terry let his eyes linger appreciatively on the young lad’s leotard. Cut very low over the stomach and high at the sides over the thighs, showing just a hint of butt cheek round the back. Tight enough to make the arse crack very visible, very tempting. Terry found himself wondering, if he was to hoist the boy up in a suplex or piledriver, pulling at that leotard as he would perfectly legitimately have to, would the sheer lycra be pulled deep into the lad’s tight crack in a classic wedgie, giving the ringsiders an eyeful of more of their local lad’s beefy arse cheeks than they’d ever have dreamed possible?

The wrestlers moved to the centre of the ring, all four with their heads down, frowning as if concentrating on the instructions and warnings the referee was barking at them and nodding as if to show acceptance. By now, Terry at least was well used to pantomiming agreement to a stream of foreign words none of which he understood. The four men shook hands, the bell rang, and Terry slapped Mark on the back as his partner left the ring to take his position on the apron outside the ropes, then turned, crouched and prepared himself to lock up with whichever of the Schoenfelds was staying in the ring to wrestle him first. It was Bernard.  

They circled, Terry grinning as per usual, the German poker-faced. They closed in and locked up, each throwing his arms around the shoulders of the other and leaning in, in an initial test of strength.

Their first session against each other lasted well over five minutes, longer than most rounds in a singles match and rare for a tag – and Terry loved every minute. Bernard was a wrestling genius. Not a movement was wasted, not a fraction of effort misplaced. He flowed from hold to escape to counter hold, over and over. He was what wrestlers called ‘light’, selling his holds as if he was pouring all of his weight and strength into all of them, but actually bringing little real pressure to bear on his opponent.

Terry, after allowing himself to be displayed in the holds, was able to ‘escape’ then respond in kind, showing his own repertoire of moves and routines which Bernard also generously sold, grunting in a way that just managed to suggest to Terry a man in the first stages of working himself to an orgasm.

Terry knew though that this concession to showmanship would probably only last for the first half of the bout, if that. Sooner or later, the veteran was bound to go for a fall or submission.

Even as he realised this, Terry couldn’t help wondering if Bernard would handle his body as skilfully and ruthlessly in bed. He wouldn’t have objected to having that wiry grey chest and belly hair rubbed in his face. He’d bet the German had a thickly hairy ball sac too. He could picture it rasping over his face, his lips, imagine taking the furry balls into his mouth….

It was a loss of focus, just for a second, and the next thing Terry knew he was caught up in a tight headscissors that had come like lightning out of nowhere. Belly down to canvass, Terry’s head was trapped between the German’s thighs, his face pressed tight into that crotch. His daydream of nuzzling Bernard’s balls had come true but too soon, and not at all in the way he’d pictured it. The older man squeezed his legs and pushed his hips upward, the text book way of increasing the pressure on the opponent’s head. It also happened to press Terry’s face still harder into his crotch. Terry slapped frantically at his tormentor’s arse, selling the pain, but also letting his hands linger on the sheer lycra, rubbing them over the knotted glute muscles before slapping them again. With no trunks-line it felt like Bernard was naked. Bernard responded by increasing the pressure still more, pushing his hips up higher so that Terry’s handsome young face was buried still deeper in him, only the thinnest layer of the sheerest lycra between his cock and balls and Terry’s nose and mouth. He wasn’t holding back and Terry felt like his skull was being squeezed to the point where his brains would shoot out of his ears if he didn’t escape or submit. But just for one moment he didn’t care. From his suddenly acquired intimate vantage point Terry now knew for certain that Bernard was wearing nothing under his tights. Terry groaned deeply and the audience around them cheered, taking it as a sign of the young Brit’s suffering in their man’s hold. On the front row of seats, Doug tutted and rolled his eyes. He knew Terry was enjoying himself.

For a good thirty seconds, Terry let Bernard squeeze him between his legs while he made the most of feeling the man’s butt under the silky lycra, and the pressure of the German’s very ample package pressed into his face. Bernard wasn’t hard, not yet, but Terry could definitely feel the contours of something very thick and long grinding into his face as Bernard worked his scissors hold. With his face completely obscured to the audience, Terry opened his mouth and suckled on his tormentor’s balls. Bernard hissed. He could have released then and there if he hadn’t liked what the young Brit had just done. But he didn’t. 

When he thought they’d sold it as long as they could to the audience, Terry gave the obligatory twist and handstand and ‘escaped’ the scissors hold. As both men leapt to their feet and circled each other again the crowd applauded Terry’s skill and Bernard’s near ‘victory’. On the German’s face was an expression of regret. The crowd thought it was because he had lost a possible winning move. Terry knew it was because he was no longer having his ballsac tongued by a good-looking young stud in trunks.

Though he was metaphorically – and literally – having a ball, Terry knew it was time to give his partner his share of the limelight. Besides, he needed a few minutes to let his own ‘enthusiasm’ subside a little before it became far too visible to the punters on the front seats. Terry span away from his opponent, stepped up to his home corner, reached out his hand and let his partner tag in to take his place in the ring.

Bernard too tagged out. Across the ring, Terry tried to catch the veteran’s eye, but Bernard’s attention was wholly fixed on Stefan as he took his ‘father’s’ place and squared up to Johnny Deuce. Really selling the concerned father act, Terry thought as he took in Bernard’s anxious expression. Okay, he was beginning to see where the ‘plot’ of this bout was heading. It was a standard.

As it turned out, he was even more right than he had expected.

As Terry had guessed, Stefan had little of his father’s skill. Stefan charged into Mark like a young bull, actually driving the Brit back into the ropes before he recovered from the unexpected suddenness of the attack and responded in kind. The two quickly went on to exchange a series of forearm smashes to each other’s chests that had zero finesse but had the crowd quickly whipped up and shouting. Mark wrapped his powerful arms around the boy’s head and neck in a heavy lock and dragged him down to the canvass to lay it on hard. Stefan thrashed and pounded the mat, Mark grunted and leaned back, upping the pressure mercilessly, and Bernard leaned as far across the ring as he could in an obviously vain attempt to reach his son’s flailing hand to save him by tagging him out.

Terry grimaced. He could see what was going on. Both inexperienced and both too headstrong to allow the other to look good, Mark and Stefan’s wrestling would descend quickly into undisciplined brawling, far-removed from the skilled technical wrestling he and Bernard had given the crowd. The classic pattern to a bout like this would be for Mark to rough Stefan up some more before tagging Terry back in. Terry would then work the boy over in more imaginative ways, letting him get close to reaching his despairing father’s hand again and again but always pulling him back at the last minute. This would allow Bernard plenty of opportunity to act the concerned / outraged father, and should drive the crowd into a frothing frenzy of righteous indignation at the treatment of the local and youngest man in the ring. Mark would then step back in to score the first fall over Stefan who would then be forced by the rules to begin the second session in spite of his ‘weakened’ state. He would however finally make the tag with his father who would be able to leap in and avenge his son’s punishment and humiliation, taking an equalising fall over Mark.

After that the possibilities were more varied. Ideally there should be at least one moment when all four men were in the ring at once, laying into each other. The poetic justice that the crowd would love would be if Bernard used his skill to gain a second and winning fall over Mark, but Terry doubted very much that Mark would allow that.

Terry’s mind wandered again. Images of Bernard caught up in Mark’s brawny arms being slowly squeezed in a bearhug, his slim, hairy body crushed against Mark’s, experienced maturity helpless and suffering in the grip of brash youth, that heavy purple package squeezed tight up against the heavy tool in Mark’s white trunks. He forced himself to concentrate on the real ring action playing out in front of him. It was not following the plot!

Mark had run a chain of postings on the youngster, repeatedly whipping him across the ring and slamming him back first into three of the ring’s four cornerposts in turn so that the lad fell to the canvass, arching in pain while Bernard made great show of his unhappiness and desperation to help his boy. Stefan reached up pleadingly from the canvass towards Bernard calling out, “Vati,” but Mark stepped in and grabbed the out-stretched hand, pulled him up by it, spun him round and sent him crashing yet again into a turnbuckle. Terry winced. The cornerposts were padded and the impact rarely as bad as wrestlers made them seem. But even so he could tell that Mark was putting all of his strength into hurling the burly boy into them, the whole ring actually shaking from the impact of Stefan’s body against the pads. That agonised look on his face was probably not all acting. And neither, thought Terry as he glanced across at Bernard, was all of the anger on that face either. As Mark’s brutal treatment of his opponent continued Bernard’s expressions and gestures of dismay and anger became less exaggerated, more genuine.

Then Mark made his rookie mistake. Stefan was down yet again. Clapping both hands around his head and ignoring the ref’s pleas to wait until his man got up, Mark hauled the lad back up to his feet and sent him cannon-balling into a corner post, but this time his home corner. The boy smashed front first into the turnbuckle and fell like a sack of potatoes but at the feet of his ‘father’ who only had to lean down to swipe his hand to be allowed to replace him in the ring. Pausing only to lift Stefan to his feet and guide him to a position of safety outside the ropes, Bernard turned to face his son’s tormentor. From across the ring Terry could see the murderous look in Bernard’s eye.

Expecting an even easier time of it against the lighter wrestler, Mark was completely unprepared for the speed at which the veteran launched himself at him. Even Terry barely had time to blink as Bernard threw himself in a forward roll that carried him the length of the ring, bringing him up right behind Mark. Slamming his sinewy forearm into the Englishman’s broad back, Bernard knocked him to the mat, flipped him over and damn nearly had him in a pinfall before the bigger, stronger man just managed to power his way out and back to his feet again. Bernard twisted, tripped him, turned and nearly pinned him again. Again and again the more skilled man took his significantly bigger opponent to the mat and almost pinned him there for the three count, brute strength alone enabling Mark to force his way out each time. Terry could only watch open-mouthed. The speed, skill and stamina of the older man were incredible, and he was giving them all a masterclass in attack wrestling. There was nothing give and take about this. Bernard was furious at what his young tag partner had been subjected to and was out for revenge.  

The crowd roared its approval, and Terry leaned as far over the ropes as he legally could, arm out-stretched, his desperation to tag quite real. He had a bad feeling that what had started out as a good pro bout was now spiralling rapidly out of control.

Stunned and disorientated by the German’s attacks, Mark staggered from one narrow escape to the next, only his greater size and strength saving him each time. But Bernard’s blitzkrieg was wearing him down, and Terry thought it was only seconds now before the vengeful father would have the pin he was looking for. Then, with a roar of fury and frustration, Mark struck. On his knees, with Bernard standing, leaning over him, eager to take hold just as soon as his man got to his feet again, Mark punched up, straight and hard between his attacker’s lycra-clad thighs, driving his fist hard into the veteran’s balls. Bernard collapsed in agony. There was stunned silence across the hall. Even Terry could hardly believe what his partner had done. It wasn’t the illegality, for all that he and Mark were supposed to be good guys. It was the totally unfeigned reality of the move. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the agony on the face of the man rolling around on the canvass clutching his crotch was completely and utterly real. The hall erupted into outraged thunderous condemnation.

“Johnny! Johnny!” Terry shouted as loud as he could, in a vain attempt to be heard over the punters’ noise, bouncing up and down on the bottom rope, arm outstretched in an attempted tag. But Johnny couldn’t hear him, or wouldn’t listen. Enflamed by being made to look so foolish by the older man, Mark was deaf to everything: his partner’s pleas, the vocal disapproval of the crowd, the referee’s admonitions. All he wanted was Bernard Shoenfeld, and payback time. Reaching down he pulled the older wrestler up to his feet by his grey hair, wrapping his powerful arms round the German’s trim waist and hoisting him bodily off the canvass. For a second Terry thought his earlier wish had come true and Mark was going to lay on a bearhug. Instead, carrying the still stunned German, he turned to face a post and walked, gathering speed until he was running full pelt into the corner. At the last minute he let go of the wrestler, slamming him back first into the corner post, his own weight following on immediately in an impact that drove every last scrap of air out of the veteran’s lungs in a crash that Terry felt reverberate throughout the ring.

Bernard would have fallen to the mat but Mark roughly shoved his hands under the German’s armpits, hoisted him to his feet again, took hold of the top ropes on either side of his opponent’s body, took a step back while still holding on then charged into him, driving his shoulders into the man’s exposed and helpless gut. He stepped back and did it again. Then again. The crowd were on their feet protesting this maltreatment of their favourite, and the referee was trying frantically to stop the brutal punishment without actually getting pulped  between the two wrestlers’ bodies himself. Only after he had delivered six shoulder charges into Bernard’s stomach did Mark leave off, standing back to raise his arms and affect surprise at the anger of referee and crowd alike, while Bernard slid slowly down the turnbuckle padding to the mat, wheezing and clutching his gut and ribs. 

The referee spoke quickly and harshly to Mark, jabbing his fingers at his sweating chest then signalling furiously to the ringside MC who announced something Terry had no way of understanding but which he assumed was some kind of public warning, the first step to disqualification in pro wrestling, and an unthinkable thing for a team of ‘blue eyes’ who were always supposed to follow the rules. He tried to catch Mark’s eye, but Mark was already crouched and regarding the gasping form of his opponent in the corner, impatiently waiting for him to get up again so that he could resume his ruthless assault. The referee had no choice but to begin a count. “Ein, zwei, drei….” Terry thought it was all over. The crowd was shrieking at Bernard to get up. Stefan was shouting at the top of his lungs, urging his father to rise. On the seven count the older man finally stirred. On the eight began to struggle to his feet. He just made it by the nine.

Mark immediately pushed the referee to one side, stepped in, scooped the groggy German up bodily in a crotch hold, paraded him helplessly to the centre of the ring and then slammed him down harshly, back first to the mat. Bernard had time to arch only once in agony, before Mark dropped on him, elbow first into his tenderised gut, then lay across the top half of his body, chest to chest, hands holding down one of his arms, feet the other, keeping him easily pinned to the mat for the full three count of the first fall.

The English were in the lead.

As Stefan leapt over the ropes to dash to help his partner up, Mark swaggered over to his corner of the ring. For the punters, Terry clapped him on the back as if proud of his achievement, nodding and smiling like a loon, but as he leant into him he hissed into Mark’s ear, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Winning the match. What does it look like?”

“You don’t have to kill a man to do that.”

Mark shrugged. “Shouldn’t step in a ring if he can’t take the lumps, should he?” And his tone changed, became harder. “And he shouldn’t have made me look such a prat.”


Back in January, a snarky Instagram account by the name of WrestlefestNYC reached out and asked if I’d post a PSA here on the blog to spread the word about Wrestlefest NYC. You know me. I’m a giver, and when I learned that Wrestlefest was a mass coordinated meet-up of MeetFighters wrestlers from all over the world, descending on NYC over Presidents Day weekend to socialize, trash talk, compare gear, and most of all, to get in lots and lots of wrestling, my curiosity was piqued. I posted the PSA (scroll down the blog for receipts), and I expressed my disappointment that I wasn’t able to make it myself. Since then, however, I’ve enjoyed seeing pics and hearing stories about the good time that a whole lot of hot wrestlers had at WrestleFestNYC, including some long-time friends who I didn’t even know were going to be there. My prurient curiosity still piqued, I scored a quick interview with the snarky hottie behind the WrestlefestNYC Instagram account, Scooter, who then put me on to a couple more wrestlers who were willing to share some insights into just how hot and fun things got for them at WrestleFestNYC.

First all, let me introduce you to Scooter. He and I have exchanged a lot of messages over the past couple of months and discovered an astonishing number of small world coincidences where our lives have, unknowingly until now, overlapped. Scooter is the enthusiastic and creative booster responsible for some seriously funny and curiously sexy social media memes on Instagram…

Bard: Can you tell me what you know about the history of WrestleFest?

Scooter: If you want a source of fest institutional knowledge, that would be some of the fest veterans who have been  coming for years. Some of the guys know everyone, and even play informal hosts in their suites some nights. Some of those vets who started WrestleFest are still active and participating, so I asked them to find out as much as I could about the history since this is the first year I have been involved. The first year, I was told, was 2004, and it was a total of 4 guys who got rooms at the Hotel Pennsylvania, and just beat up on each other all weekend. Since then, it has been talked about in the chat rooms, etc., and it happens every year on President’s Day weekend in NYC. The only formal thing about it was a roster of who all was participating, those from out of town, and locals. NYC has a lot of guys active in the wrestling scene, but hardly anyone who lives here can host. So the idea is that out-of-towners, who would be getting a hotel anyway, get rooms with big beds or bring mats and everybody wrestles whoever they want.

Bard: What an elegant solution to make space for hot wrestling meet-ups in the cramped big city! And it sounds like it was more just a roster on a bulletin board on MeetFighters, and folks found each other and enjoyed?

Scooter: Yeah, a bulletin board of sorts is a good way to describe it. It was maintained by hashbock for many years and recently by brawl_mart.

Bard: Just catching the buzz on social media as it was happening, it sounds like it was definitely a lot more than just 4 guys beating up on each other this year. Like, a lot of guys beating up on each other [laughing]!

Scooter: I think a lot of people have heard of WrestleFest, but don’t know what to make of it. The posts on social media were a way of letting people know it’s as serious or not serious as you want it to be. Everybody makes their own kind of WrestleFest by the kinds of matches they set up. This year, there were over 125 registered participants. They were in two primary hotels and then everywhere else around the city. Guys came from Canada, Mexico, Brazil, France, UK, and of course, every part of the US. Guys who are registered see who else is coming and set up as many or as few matches as they like. And this was also the first year that there was any sort of public event; we joined the men at the Eagle NYC for their infamous Sunday Beer Blast.

Bard: I was delighted to see some of the photos from the Beer Blast on social media, and even happened to hear from a friend who was there at Beer Blast, and was among the 125+ WrestleFest participants. You mention that it seems like some guys who might have heard of WrestleFest may not know what to expect from it. I know you said everybody builds their experience to suit, based on the matches they line up. Any other suggestions you have to orient guys who might be interested about why they might want to check it out?

Scooter: Well, for me the most interesting part of the fest, has been the camaraderie that has come about among the guys who participated. Often, pics would show up of some of the guys out at a museum, on the subway, at a show, etc. If you wanted to find a crew of guys to do things with, you could. After the matches are done for the day, some of the guys would open up their suites or rooms to folks to hang out, watch vids, have drinks, etc. I met guys there who are into totally different styles of wrestling than me, and it was awesome just to chat. The same thing happened at the Eagle NYC event.

Bard: Sounds like some amazing opportunities to build community!

Scooter: Another first this year, was that the fest had a dedicated chat server just for people who had registered for the fest. It was where guys could find a roommate, see who had mats available, set up group matches of different types, etc. It really changed the nature of the experience for most guys who used it.

Bard: Technology used for good!?  That sounds surprisingly positive [laughing]! You’ve convinced me that this is something I need to get my ass to. For guys wanting to be a part of it in the future, how can they jump on board and participate?

Scooter: The feedback from guys who were at the fest and those who heard about it has been incredible. Now, plans are coming together around the world for WrestleFests in different places. Toronto already has over 75 registered participants, and some of the guys in London are coming up with something too. Anybody that wants to host a fest in their locale should get in touch. We have templates and graphics to share. For everybody else, to keep up with updates, subscribe at and follow @wrestlefestNYC on Instagram.

Scooter offered to get me connected to a couple of WrestleFestNYC participants to get a couple more perspectives on what it was like to be in the mix of those 125+ wrestlers filling their dance cards with fellow wrestling enthusiasts from across the globe. I almost immediately heard from a charming stud who goes by IllWill II at MeetFighters.

Bard: First of all, what can I call you? Your MeetFighter’s handle is making my vision blurry [laughing]?

Will: [laughing] Sorry. My name on MeetFighters is “Ill Will,” but you can just call me Will.

Bard: It’s very nice to meet you Will! No need to apologize [laughing]. I see it now. Maybe to start, just in broad strokes, what did I miss by not being able to get to WrestleFest NYC this year?

Will: This was my first WrestleFest, but from what I saw and heard, it was just all sorts of action around the city. There was a welcome dinner, a beer blast at a bar, guys doing hotel parties, meals and sight-seeing together, and then lots and lots of wrestling in between.

Bard: It was your first? How exciting! I hear that some guys travel from quite a ways away to join in the fun. Did you get the opportunity to wrestle guys who might not have normally been in the city?

Will: Oh yeah, it was like a world’s market of fighters. I personally wrestled guys from Texas, Canada, and France as well as some from the tri-state area.

Bard: That sounds amazing! For a newbie like me, can you talk about how wrestlers at WrestleFest find each other and coordinate their schedules? And what do you look for when you’re figuring out which hot prospect to line up a match with?

Will: It started for me with guys reaching out months ahead of time to see if I’d be around during the fest window. Chatting about what kind of match they’re looking for, how it aligns with my interests, etc. I always look for compatibility before promising or scheduling anything. If I think the person is actually what they’re advertising and I’m interested, I reach out to schedule based on my availability.

Bard: That makes great sense. It’s cool that you can vet opponents ahead of time, and have a sense of how to check things out. Any highlights of your action on the mats that discretion and good taste would allow you to share? How was the quality of your wrestling experience at WrestleFest?

Will: The wrestling I got in on was fantastic! All of my opponents were skilled and respectful. I had one stellar submission match on a hotel bed where we went at it for like an hour without a resolution. But we kept chatting and hanging out and eventually brought the rematch to a mat room. Was the perfect closer to the fest for me.

Bard: Woah, that sounds incredibly intense and hot! Did you get to enjoy any of the social events, as well?

Will: Yeah, I went to the beer blast that Scooter helped coordinate. It was also a gear night at the place, so it was awesome to see all the guys cutting loose in singlets, trunks, and all after a day of action.

Bard: I saw some photos of the Beer Blast and it looked like, well, a blast! And a ton of sexy gear [laughing]. It sounds like you’d be back for another WrestleFest in the future?

Will: Oh yeah. I didn’t expect myself to get so invested in it at first, just thought I’d have a match or two. But then I caught the spirit and didn’t want to stop! And yes, I’m already thinking about how to participate as much or more next time.

Bard: Any tips for guys who’ve never been before, but considering it when it rolls around again?

Will: I would say approach the fest with an open mind but clear communication. I heard some horror stories of guys getting stood up, matches turning out not-as planned, etc. Stay organized in your planning if you’re trying to get lots of matches, and keep in mind this fest is about/for a community of people who should generally want to uplift and have a good time together.

Bard: That sounds like solid advice! Probably for life, really [laughing]. That WrestleFest spirit sounds highly contagious, and awesome. You’ve been very generous letting me pepper you with questions. Before I let you go, can I ask, when you had the rematch with the marathon opponent on the mats at WrestleFest, how was it resolved?

Will: As for that last match, it was pretty even again and eventually turned into each of us just showing one another some different tricks from our respective grappling styles. With an open invitation to rematch any time we’re in the same city.

Bard: Fuck, that sounds like everyone wins! Thanks so much for sharing with me, Will.

Just a bit later, I heard from another WrestleFestNYC alum who has also become a big booster for the fun and community that the WrestleFest format has been able to foster. Aust10wrstlr at MeetFighters is another hot stud, with a super sexy beard that I’m completely obsessed with, who couldn’t say enough about how much he enjoyed WrestleFestNYC.

Bard: Aust10, thanks for being willing to take some questions and give me another perspective on WrestleFestNYC this year. What made it such an exceedingly positive experience for you?

Aust10: It’s difficult to encapsulate exactly why Wrestlefest 2023 was so amazing for me, because there were so many great aspects this year. Joining the dedicated chat server for Wrestlefest NY 2023 was huge! The server is a great medium for finding opponents with similar interests based on match style and other variables. Being on the server was also fantastic just connecting with other fighters attending the event whether that was for getting each other hyped up, making recommendations on outings around the city, finding group wrestling matches, or just shooting the shit with a group of great guys. During my time in New York I connected and wrestled with so many great guys, some of whom I had connected with and arranged ahead of time, and others that were more spur of the moment while I was in New York. I even got the opportunity to lock up with the amazing guys from Metro Wrestling as a newbie to freestyle wrestling, and it was a fun and awesome learning experience. Aside from all the great wrestling action I got to experience while in New York, I had plenty of time to both explore the city in the great company of some of the other guys attending Wrestlefest as well as socialize and relax as some of the guys hosted hangout sessions. All in all, it was an unforgettable experience, so much so that I am already excited and geared up for Wrestlefest Canada happening in July of 2023!

Bard: That sounds like such an all around fantastic time! What were your expectations heading into the event? How did they stack up with what you experienced?

Aust10: While I knew I was going to have a great time at Wrestlefest based on the conversations I had with other attendees prior to the event as well as having attended Wrestlefest NY in 2020, this year’s event by far exceeded my expectations. I think a large part of that was how much more communal this year felt, again thanks to the chat server where people openly invited wrestlers to events as well as the get-together that was organized at the Eagle, which was an amazing experience for myself and many in attendance.

Bard: Even having attended once in the past, it sounds like this year’s Fest was special for you. Very cool!  How much wrestling did you get in?

Aust10: I think in total I wrestled 19 different fighters, some of whom I crossed paths with multiple times, because we happened to participate in some group wrestling or because one time just wasn’t enough for both of us. Luckily for me, I have interests in a varied number of styles, and I got to have different matches with fantastic guys across the fighting spectrum.

Bard: Nineteen matches!? Holy shit, that’s a ton of hot wrestling! Any highlights that discretion and good taste would permit you to share about any of your matches?

Aust10: I have two particular experiences that jump out at me when I think of Wrestlefest NY. The first one started when I met a fighter at the Eagle social event. We had not connected prior to the event and happened to hit it off that night, first locking eyes, and then finding ourselves on the dancefloor. We traded MeetFighter profiles knowing we both definitely wanted to wrestle each other. We met the following evening, and although our planned time we allotted to wrestle was relatively short due to our schedules, by luck, events worked out where we ended up wrestling one-on-one for almost two hours non-stop. When his next opponents arrived they turned out to be two fellows I’d also connected with prior to WrestleFest, but couldn’t work out our schedules. The guys graciously invited me to join in the action, which gave me a second wind, and what ensued was three hours of sweaty rough wrestling action. It was an amazing experience to say the very least. So much so that I jumped on the opportunity to meet him again the following day before his flight. We enjoyed a walk around the city and before we knew it we were back at the hotel rolling around, building up a healthy sweat and trying to break our tie to determine a victor. Just to give you a hint, we did not manage to do so, and will be attempting to settle our score again soon.

Bard: Damn, like, round 3 and the two of you are still working on settling the score? That sounds intense!

Aust10: The second experience was with a brawler gifted in submission wrestling with whom I connected with in the MeetFighters chatroom before Wrestlefest. We hit it off online and without question I knew we were going to have an amazing time on the mats.  Beforehand we met in person for the first time at the Eagle as well and had plenty of fun on the dancefloor. When it came to wrestling, I was indeed not disappointed!  Not only did we have a grueling long match that lasted an hour without either of us giving in but we managed to connect again at the amazing mat room in Brooklyn where we spent an hour covering the mats in sweat. Aside from the amazing wrestling action, we had a few opportunities to grab meals, walk around the city and engage in fantastic conversation.

Bard: Wait, wait. That sounds so fucking familiar [laughing]! I love that image of chemistry on the dance floor morphing into super hot, intense wrestling. I wonder what you see as the value of an event like this for the wrestle/fight community? How does the fest contribute to building the community after the fest is over?

Aust10: It’s amazing to have an event that brings together so many different fighters from across the country and abroad all to a single location. In my opinion, when you compare the wrestling/fighting community versus other gay leaning kink/fetish/sport communities, it is still quite fledgling. While there are pockets of local groups around the world that congregate for events, I don’t know of any that attract as many wrestlers as Wrestlefest NY. It’s fantastic to have the opportunity to not only unite so many brawlers from across the fighting spectrum and celebrate by doing what we do on the mats, but also the feeling of belonging to a community promotes fraternity and brotherhood. There were plenty of times I saw on the chat server fighters giving each other advice on a myriad of topics ranging from planning group outings to helping guys with lodging.

Bard: Honestly, I had no idea that level of community and camaraderie existed for guys into wrestling. That’s so awesome to hear. I know you mentioned the Eagle and outings you went on. Could you talk more about WrestleFest social opportunities apart from wrestling meetups?

Aust10: The social events were a welcome addition to Wrestlefest and are a great means for making the event feel much more communal. Wrestlefest combined with New York can be a bit overwhelming, especially to newcomers or first-time travelers to New York. The event at the Eagle for example was an unforgettable event. I have always wanted to check it out and going as a group made it feel accessible. Also, it was honestly a freeing experience for myself and many others when it came to celebrating ourselves as wrestlers donning our singlets and wrestling gear in an open environment.  It was also awesome to see how welcoming everyone was even though most of us started the night as strangers. The group was inviting and including all the attendees to feel part of the gang as well as watching out for each other.  More social events would absolutely be a positive addition to Wrestlefest to continue bolstering the community and give guys more opportunities to connect with other brawlers beyond the mats.

Bard: I love hearing how positive and mutually supportive WrestleFest was, and the momentum it sounds like that gives to continuing to build community. And just out of personal curiosity, how many compliments did you receive about your rocking beard?

Aust10: [Laughing] The beard does tend to get a good amount of attention from the guys. I welcome all those who want to give it a rub, tug or nuzzle.

Bard: Well, I’m seriously considering if I can get myself to Toronto for WrestleFest Canada this summer. If I do, I definitely want my turn to give it a tug! Thanks so much, again, for your time and for sharing your insights into what sounds like an amazing experience!

My thanks to Scooter, Will, and Aust10 for taking the time to share with me, and for being willing to let me broadcast some of their experiences here. I hope to see these guys, and you, at an upcoming WrestleFest!

I Need a Hero

My writing collaboration with AR started more than 8 months ago, and it sort of amazes me how strong it’s still going. My writing partner, who prefers to keep a low profile, is a delight to work with, and not just because his 3D artwork is scorching hot. He likes to tell himself that I do all the writing, but it’s not even remotely true. His words and dazzlingly sexy ideas are all over everything we’ve been writing together, and when he illustrates some of them, it’s just seriously delicious icing on the cake.

At one point, we were discussing if either of us ever fantasized about being BG East wrestlers like the ones we’ve both been turned on by over the years. The answer for both of us was “fuck yes, all the fucking time.” Which then morphed into a series of homoerotic wrestling stories we’ve been working on over the months charting the fantasy BG East career of a certain wrestling blogger who ventures into the ring and in front of the camera to put his relentlessly critical reviewer’s perspective to the test as a wrestler. I posted at Sidelineland Stories some “match descriptions” of this wrestling blogger’s first three matches, in a loving homage to the real BG East website that I’ve called my homoerotic wrestling home for so many years. Today, I posted what was actually the first BG East fantasyverse homoerotic wrestling story AR and I co-authored, which chronologically takes place after those first few solo matches for the blogger-turned wrestler. In this new match, he shows up with a hunky, newbie tag team partner to square off against the tag dream team that never quite was IRL, Joshua Goodman and Troy Baker.

I shared the story with another friend a few weeks ago, who teased me a little about writing myself as a babyface hero of my own homoerotic wrestling fantasy. If you’ve read enough of this blog, you know that I actually passionately love babyface heroes. A lot. It probably should come as a surprise to no one that I’d cast myself in that role in the rough and tumble world of a BG East fantasyverse. If you read the story (and the upcoming ones that continue to chronicle the adventure), you’ll see that the protagonist is NOT a jobber. I feel like somewhere over the last 15 years of blogging about homoerotic wrestling, the role of a babyface hero who isn’t a jobber has somehow disappeared from public discourse. EVERYONE has been reduced to being either a jobber or a heel, and, frankly, I think it’s a loss of depth of the homoerotic wrestling universe. I wanted my fantasy avatar to walk that line again, tough, mean even, but not a heel. Let me know if AR and I struck that chord in Tag Team Torture – Bard/Strong vs. Goodman/Baker.

And if you know me, you KNOW I love a story arc and character development, so don’t be surprised if you see this fictional blogger turned BG East star evolve!

Leather and Lace

I love a hot, homoerotic wrestling story. This is self-evident, I realize, but it’s the starting point for this review of BG East’s inaugural “Cosplay” match. I mean, I like hot bodies grappling under pretty much any context, of course. My buttons are reliably pushed simply by the combination of hot hunks battling for domination. But it’s more than just value-added for me when a wrestling match has big, bold personalities, with explicit motivations, telling a story with an introduction, the building of suspense, perhaps a few surprises, and then a satisfyingly decisive conclusion that doesn’t just determine who “wins” but wraps up the drama with clever call backs and the final release of all that suspense.

Honestly, I cued up Cosplay solely on the promise of getting to see Chase Addams and Dante Lesen in the ring. I’ve been a Chase fan from that beginning. His aesthetics are fucking beautiful. When I enjoyed the opportunity to interview Chase at BG East several years ago, he sat there in front of me in wrestling trunks and boots, and I had a hard time keeping myself on task. There’s something about his body that makes me swoon, and it’s not just his award-winning nipples. And gorgeous rookie Dante Lesen literally made me gasp when I saw him walk into the mat room in his debut match. His proportions, his handsome face, and that ass…. Fuck, yeah, so solely on judging the book by its cover, I was always going to pull Cosplay off the shelf and thumb through the pages.

I’m happy to report that Cosplay does more than just showcase the beauty of these two hunks grappling. In fact, it’s a relatively high concept match, which BG East has been producing more of recently. It’s a story-forward homoerotic wrestling match that establishes a little mystery and some significant suspense from the start. Lovely, lovely Dante has eagerly signed on to a meet-up with veteran wrestling heel and blossoming kinkster Chase, to get them both in the mood before showing up at Folsom-themed festival. In the interest of transparency, I should say that I’ve only admired gay cosplay from a distance, and I’ve absolutely only been a tourist when it comes to Folsom Street Fair and BDSM and leather culture. But Cosplay 1 brings me right along accessibly, pretty immediately and explicitly sorting out the drama of newbie pup hunk Dante needing to get dominated and trained by leather and lace butch queen Chase.

Chase overwhelmingly dominates, which isn’t a surprise. However, I LOVE fierce, brief, little glimpses of Dante on offense. After my interview with Dante, it’s particularly fascinating to watch him dance along that line of bringing it and sucking on it. He sells the fierce young hunk who, sure, wants to be dominated, but needs to be conquered first. So, when Chase conquers him, also delighting in those flashes of Dante’s ferocity, it’s extra sweet. Dante sets the bar high. Chase needs to out-wrestle and control him before he’s going to be willing to get collared. Dante pretty much demands to be punished and pushed to the edge of fear and agony, if Chase is going to earn the right to be his sweaty, sneering alpha. And right there and then, Chase steps into the role with an enthusiasm that I don’t think I’ve ever seen from him before.

Okay, so I should say that I’m NOT a fan of a video so devoted to the concept that the wrestling gets shortchanged. I’ve seen matches like that, and they’ve definitely missed the bullseye for me. But this is Chase fucking Addams, so my wrestling kink is firmly stroked over and over. He snaps on a half a dozen finishing submissions, and I swear Chase looks like he loves the extra challenges and opportunities posed by a superfit 6’3 stud with outrageously high tolerance for pain and seemingly infinite capacity for sucking down physical and erotic humiliation. He uses leg locks and arm bars to maximum effectiveness, exploiting Dante’s long limbs. Scissors, a super sexy leg nelson (a hold I’m growing more and more infatuated with), and a spine tingling lion tamer bring the wrestling that moves me most.

And then, fuck, when Chase rips the singlet off beautiful Dante, the combination of aesthetics and wrestling domination are intoxicating! The rookie’s insanely hot ass becomes the star of the show for me, when he’s stripped to mesh trunks and a jockstrap. He’s a mile long and served up for a fucking when Chase rips him open wide in a spladle. Bound in the ropes to get relentlessly groped, whipped, and molded into a gasping, pleading, obedient hunk pup, Dante’s descent is compelling and so fucking beautiful to watch.

I assume there are wrestling fans who may not get into the leather and lace alpha wrestling queen kinkster that Chase sells convincingly in this match. No judgment from me, but as for me, I’m loving it hard. I love the brutally playful fucking around with masculinity and aggression. There’s a lot of wrestling marketed to gay audiences these days that involves very, very, very, very little that’s all that gay about it. See my comments above about my buttons and enjoying the surface of hot guys wrestling, but FUCK, give me some queer wrestling! Bring the explicit sexiness. Let the guys enjoy each other’s bodies, and ESPECIALLY let them enjoy battling to dominate and control each other’s bodies BECAUSE it’s sexually arousing. If we skim off the foam of all of the not-so-gay-for-pay wrestling fare (again, I’m not judging, and absolutely get off on my fair share of hunks wrestling without a spark of open eroticism), the portion of the homoerotic wrestling productions these days that’s as delightfully homoerotic as Cosplay 1 is pretty tiny.

Which is yet another reason I recommend Cosplay. It’s a provocative, compelling, clever and sexy story well told, and it’s unapologetically homoerotic. If you’re into homoerotic wrestling, and not just how wrestling turns you on, this is an in-your-face delight.

The Wish List

Brooklyn Bodywrecker has come up in a few different conversations with a couple of different people recently. Originally, I think I didn’t key off on BBW when I was first discovering homoerotic wrestling online, primarily because of my own stuff. There was something intense and intimate about the way he would growl into the camera and taunt me, like, personally. I mean, I know he was taunting all of the fans watching, but there was this intimacy about it, about his questioning my toughness, his calling me names, his threats to do bodily harm to me like he was beating the living fuck out of the opponent in the ring with him. I’ve come a long way in my feelings of security about myself, and along the way, I grew to really love that fierce intimacy BBW struck with every opponent and fan watching from this side of the screen.

When a friend asked me just the other day something about X-Fights 10, I had to admit I hadn’t seen that gem from, what, 22 years ago? I was told in no uncertain terms that I needed to rectify that situation. And, hell, now that I’ve watched X-Fights 10, I’m berating myself for having waited this long! This will not surprise regular readers, but holy fuck, do I love a through-story. And there’s this seamless, insanely sexy simmering, to boiling, to exploding evolution of the first match of X-Fights 10 into the second match. Literally, the through-story is Yves Larocque, who gets thrashed and terrorized by champion ring sadist BBW, and then dumped in the matroom for the “undisputed superstar of the SM underworld, Donnie Russo.” Honestly, at first glance, I was seriously hot and bothered by the gorgeously nasty heels. But about 3 minutes into his match with BBW, I absolutely fall in lust with deer-in-the-headlights Yves! The still photos do NOT do this hunk justice. Holy fuck, is he the compelling leather-harnessed lamb to slaughter!?

BBW explains to me, personally, at the start of this match, that Yves is one of the countless BGE fans to write in asking for a shot at his heel crush, BBW. Apparently, Yves wrote that he’s got two wishes on his bucket list. 1. Meet BBW. 2. Beat BBW for the championship. Seriously, fuck, where has this French Canadian hunk been all my life?! The balls on this guy!!! And I say that well before lovely Yves gets his cock and balls lassoed and tortured by BBW. And, let me just make it clear, all that’s BEFORE the superstar of the SM underworld gets his go at the lucky fucker.

I sort of adore those early moments in a match when BBW gets rocked. Just a bit, of course. Yves does it in an inspired defensive maneuver. As he’s getting the shit beat out of those lovely, juicy pecs of his in the corner, he wraps his thick thighs around BBW, locks his ankles together behind BBW’s back, and crushes the bad boy. The drama is so fucking gorgeous. BBW keeps making a move to pound more forearms into Yves’ pecs to free himself, and each time, a split second before the blow rains down, Yves flexes his big, hairy quads hard enough to paralyze the nasty heel and suck the power right out of his threatened blow. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard someone credit BBW’s sell on the receiving end, but damn it all, he deserves it.

BBW is blunt force trauma. The moves are huge and straight forward. He repeatedly splashes his big, hairy chest into his battered, fading prey. He sprints corner to corner, to build up momentum, and, clearly, to terrorize the French Canadian with balls of steel. He very deliberately sets up a camel clutch so that the camera is staring down the throat of the screaming muscle hunk in his grasp. A chinlock isn’t sufficient. Just too fucking subtle for BBW. So, instead, he wraps his bulging right bicep across Yves’ throat and chokes him in the camel. Again, too subtle, so he also starts bouncing up and down, using Yves’ lower lumbar like a trampoline. Again, I say, it’s still too FUCKING subtle, so BBW then tries to rip his handsome face (despite BBW’s insults about Yves’ looks) right off his skull.

“You want to send a letter,” BBW asks me, personally, (I mean, the camera). I mean, fuck, the camera work here… Yves is literally not in the frame, his face slammed to the mat, but we hear him whimpering and wheezing and grunting in panic and pain beneath the champ. “Tell me how you’re going to smash me. Tell me how you’re going to squash me.” As BBW taunts me (personally), you can hear Yves whimper, and I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, openly cry in terror, as BBW grabs him by the hair and yanks his head up and into the frame. “Then, this face could be yours! Hey mom and dad, look at your pretty boy,” he snarls, slapping him in the face. “We’re only just beginning here,” BBW explains to me (personally), as the camera pans back. “This is just the start. The massacre is just starting.”

Yves eventually gets planted on top of the turnbuckle, and an “X marks the spot BBW took your fucking ass” shaved into his thick hairy pecs. BBW cleans off the shaving cream with the g-string he rips off Yves’ suffering, hot (did I mention HOT?) body. His own g-string pouch tied across his face, his cock and balls leashed, and every fucking ounce of dignity stripped from him, Yves is planted by BBW him across his back, screaming, twitching, and weeping as he’s carried around the ring like BBW is just picking up the trash. Finally, the heel hoists Yves’ naked ass over one shoulder and walks him out of the ring room, to hand-deliver him to Donnie in the mat room.

Woah. These days, I’m enthralled with the very same thing that sort of terrified me early on. BBW is talking directly to me. He’s taunting me, personally, challenging me to reconsider my fantasies of going toe-to-toe with the big, bad heels in the ring. The immediacy of this match, what, 22 years later, is so palpable. So, a send-up to BBW, and to all the army of his fans who still fantasize about what he’d do to them in the ring, these years later. And please, please, please someone send my very best to lovely, hairy, hunky, naked (hopefully still) Yves. We hardly knew you, buddy, but you were stunning!

Simmer and Boil

Dio Characi’s journey into BG East has fascinated me. Of course, I’m infatuated with Dio for a dozen reasons, and, if I’m being totally honest, the intrigues of his match history aren’t at the top of that list. Technically speaking. Knowing me, I’m sure I’ll mention the other reasons I’m infatuated with Dio soon enough, but let me start by just musing about his most recent BG East release, StripStakes 6.

There’s a “buyer beware” in the online match description for this match, letting you know that lovely, multiple award-winning Dio loses, but is spared having his last scrap of fabric stripped off his smoking hot body. That said, I get why this is a strip stakes match, though, because, fuck, vicious little pit bull Kirk Donahue relishes prying every last scrap other than that sweat-soaked pink thong off of Dio’s body. I love the simmering rage Dio serves up when he’s submitted. Fuck, EVERYBODY needs some sexy hunk glaring holes into them, the way that Dio smolders angrily at Kirk over and over again.

And, somehow, I fucking despise Kirk even more than I did when this match started. I mean, fuck, he’s incredible, and FUCK he’s sensational as a vile heel. Like, VILE. And I admit that I’ve been hating on him from nearly the first time I saw him climb into the BG East ring, often unfairly. But hating on Kirk now feels like a habit that I just don’t know that I can break, and based on his despicable, contemptuous, nasty attitude as he lowers the hammer on Dio, I’m not about to turn over a new leaf anytime soon. “Something tells me you belong flat on your back in the middle of this ring,” he snarls at doe-eyed Dio, dragging the fierce little Brazilian terrier all over the ring. At one point, Dio openly admires the size of Kirk’s biceps, which seems to be a calling card of Dio’s. He’s not afraid to slap down open admiration, and 9 times out of 10, open praise from a hunk as hot as Dio makes an opponent stop in his tracks and admire himself. But Kirk? Fuck, no. Kirk swats down the compliment and does not return the favor. There. Right there. Fuck, I despise Kirk for that. At no point in this entire match does he seem to appreciate the ggggorgeous hunk of beef that he’s tenderizing. Oh, Kirk says he’s having fun, but he doesn’t look like he’s having fun. Not the way someone who’s got Dio-fucking-Characi at his mercy should be enjoying himself. (Just one blogger’s opinion, mind you).

Dio sends me every time I watch him wrestle, and StripStakes 6 is no exception. He gets pretty much squashed into oblivion, but he never loses that bitter rage, and ferocity bubbling just below the surface. Way, way early, the savvy indy pro heel has Dio’s back stretched over the ropes with the Brazilian’s handsome face wedged up hard and tight in a dragon sleeper. And then, when he’s thrown to the mat, he looks like he wants to take a bite out of Kirk’s throat. Kirk viciously stomps the living shit out of Dio’s shins and ankles, his ridiculously hot body bouncing and writhing and squirming, a bundle of raw nerves and fear of being maimed. The indy pro applies an expert ankle lock and literally drags Dio’s unbelievably hot ass around the ring, whimpering. And when he submits in panic, and then gets his pink trunks ripped off, leaving him in nothing but boots, kneepads, and that entirely inadequate pink thong, Dio could start a fucking forest fire with the laser beams he pins onto Kirk’s smirking face. Fuck, I love that!

Having followed (not stalked, mind you, just very, very, very casually followed) Dio on social media, I know our cherubic babyface beefcake has got a seriously sadistic and kinky side. But other than his lopsided beatdown on notorious jobber Rocky Sparks (hello, 2023’s Best Abs!), the Brazilian hunk never quite unleashed that smirking, snarling, spitting, eye-fluttering sadism in his BG East journey. Thus far.

So, that intrigues me and keeps me up at night. Maybe not as much as Dio’s luscious pecs and mouthwatering ass do, of course. I’m not quite as infatuated with it as I am with, say, his thick, hairy thighs and superhuman proportions. Or his adorable baby-baby-baby face. Or the giggle of his pouch. Or the boatload of sweat that makes the Best Body of 2023 glisten in the overhead lights. But still, I seriously long to see that simmering rage come to a full boil!