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.

Rumble Again – The Bitter End

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So there I was, packed like a sardine into a Manhattan hotel room with 30+ gorgeous wrestling hunks, trying my best to resist the impulse to start stroking and, instead, to keep the camera pointed at the action in the ring. Part 2 of Sir Dark’s Watchfighters Rumble Match opens with four hot hunks left from the first half of the field. Masked Machine, Red Adrian, Chris Collins, and Alex the Great were still in the running to have a shot at winning this non-stop line up of some of the hottest and fiercest wrestlers in attendance at Wrestlefest NYC. Then the 17th entrant struts onto the mat, and my ability to resist dropping the camera and just jerking off then and there was sorely tested. Fuck. Beau Fucking Jordan. FUCK, this man owns the full throttle erotic end of the homoerotic wrestling pool these days. He made it to the final three of Sir Dark’s Rumble Match 1 in Toronto last year, and holy fuck, I am constantly breathless watching him, waiting to see if someone’s going to be submitted by this stunning muscle man or, perhaps, face fucked by him. I’m totally on board, either way.

Beau is unhurried, always cocky. Just casually wraps up Alex the great, leans back against the wall, and crushes the fuck out of Alex with headscissors. Adrian and Chris double team Masked Machine, and again, I just have to say, Chris Collins is fucking fearless. If anyone is about to count out a lightweight in a rumble like this, I warn you: do not count out buck-and-a-quarter Chris Collins. The eighteenth entrant is already cuing up though, and the bodies are piling up, and you know the shit is about to get seriously crazy when Sir Dark finally clocks into the match. “Bitches, daddy’s here,” he screams, before launching himself like a missile onto Alex the Great’s gut while Beau keeps casually leaning back with Alex’ masked head stuck between his thighs.

As I mentioned in my review of the Rumble Match Part 1, one of the challenges I discovered in trying to video record in this context was proximity. There was just not a lot of room at the margins of the mats, so framing some wrestlers standing, others flat out on the mat, the action stretched from corner to corner, was just impossible. And Sir Dark is all over the place, joining double and triple teams, stomping and stretching, up and down. See my many prior comments about just how sexy it is watching the blinding chaos of Sir Dark doing what he does best. Also, I’m seriously, seriously, seriously having a hard time containing myself when Chris Collins decides he’s going to try to take out Beau. Fuck, now that’s a sensational pairing!

Chase Addams gets counted into the mix next. Chase looks fucking sensational. He immediately locks horns with Sir Dark, which seems like a combustible combination. The bitter scrap between the two of them fights for attention with Beau, casually cranking on face-to-crotch headscissors on Masked Machine, resting his head on his hands like this is a day at the beach. Honestly, I feel like Beau could sell tickets for that ride next year and have us lined up around the block.

The next competitor to clock in is SilverFlex. Talk about here comes hot daddy! He’s got history against Sir Dark, so maybe that explains why he launches in the rumble host without skipping a beat. There’s just so fucking much eye candy, there’s no way I can do it justice, but I will say that Chase sitting on Beau’s face in a foldover pin and spanking Beau’s magnificent ass is my new desktop wallpaper.

Next to clock in is Nick Lean. I’d seen this hottie before online, but suddenly I was bumping into him everywhere at Wrestlefest NYC, starting with watching him literally leap into the fray and joining SilverFlex in going to town on Sir Dark’s gut. It felt like maybe there were bragging rights to be had for being the one to knock the host out of his own rumble. Regardless, Nick Lean was fucking gorgeous, with this sly opportunism about him. He’s practically high-fiving Silverflex for their intense double-team on Sir Dark, and the next second, Nick has leapt on Silverflex’ back and rolled him into a rear naked choke. Also, I want Nick’s trunks. And his ass.

Next to clock into the rumble is Canadian pretty boy, Ryan Reilly. Fuck, he’s such a boy-next-door-waiting-to-get-owned. Honestly, I’m a little worried about him, but then again, I was a little worried about Chris Collins, and he was a fucking rabid ferret in this rumble earlier. Ryan immediately hones in on Nick, which makes total sense to me. There’s the chaos corner of the mat with Sir Dark pulling down his trunks and planting his naked ass on Chase’s face, and the calculated corner with SilverFlex and Ryan having their way with spankable Nick.

SleeperMuscle clocks into the rumble hot and furious. Shockingly, he’s puts Sir Dark out in an instant with a rear naked choke, and I’m making a note that I need to find out more about this doe-eyed daddy who can take out the likes of Sir Dark looking like he’s barely trying. English pretty boy MPJ is counted into the fray next, immediately sinking his claws into Chase, which I still think is, honestly, the best bet here. Chase is just fucking dangerous, and unless you’ve got some heavyweight hitters on the mat, these middleweights better keep their eye on Chase.

Well, speaking of heavyweight hitters, welcome to the fray The Swiss Menace, Leon Cyrus. Fuck, the center of gravity shifts in an instant when Leon takes the mat. There’s mayhem for a while with bodies rolling on top of one another like a boiling pot of water, and it’s hard to tell what’s happening to whom. Chase gets a face full of The Swiss Menace’s ass, though, and Leon clearly sets his sites on taking out the perennial badboy.

Entrant #26 into the rumble is a quickly growing obsession for me, AlexxWrestler. I named AlexxWrestler my pick for best legs of 2025, but this was the first time I’ve ever seen him in person. I got to see the incredibly sexy stud sans mask before the rumble started, and holy fuck, this guy is drop dead gorgeous. Hollywood gorgeous. Honestly, I’m now suspecting he wears a mask just to try to be fair to his opponents who would get completely distracted by his devastating good looks. Of course, with the mask on, he completely devastates opponents with that fucking gorgeous body and, in particular, those luscious, award winning legs. And, true to form, within seconds he’s got MPJ’s face buried in his ass in figure-4 headscissors, and there’s just no coming back from that. Fuuuuck, AlexxWrestler tauntingly flexes his glutes, cranking up the pressure and making MPJ’s adorable face flush beet red. Lucky fucker. Just to drive me completely fucking crazy, he then sits on MPJ’s face and gives himself a wedgie to really bury the Brit’s nose up there deep. Holy. Fuck.

Ronin clocks in right around the time that MPJ and Nick Lean have to tap out. So, there’s a sudden shift in momentum, with AlexxWrestler, Ryan, and Ronin only possibly managing a counterbalance to Leon’s dominating size advantage. There’s an attempt at ganging up on the mighty Swiss beast, but he’s too skilled, too strong, and just to fucking big for them to handle. That is, until Sadistic Sid Shaw clocks in, and immediately sizes up the biggest threat on the match. Sid makes pretty short work of The Swiss Menace and in the waning minutes of the rumble, I’ve got to think he could be the bad ass to beat, as he and Ronin double team drop-dead gorgeous AlexxWrestler.

Pot-stirrer Ethan Axel Andrews stomps onto the mat with something to say about that, though. It seems like just a minute later, Tattooed Menace clocks in like he’s hot on Ethan’s tail, and true enough, he launches into Ethan like Ethan had stolen his yogurt from the lunchroom fridge.

Honestly, I was there, and at this point I’m thinking, how many more stars in the wrestling sky can there be to count into this bedlam? Well, welcome Ben Monaco as rumble entrant #31 (or so… I’ve seriously lost count). Again, I’m sort of fascinated that Ben bee-lines directly onto Ethan. Like, he sort of shoves everyone else out of the way. Was Ethan talking shit and pissing guys off in the waiting area, or something? Tattoed Menace and Ronin wishbone Sid, and then Ben and Ethan recalculate the odds for a four-on-one bid to knock Sid out of the fray.

The lucky last entrant to the rumble is Rocko Mortis. Rocko is always a wild card, right? But coming in fresh as a daisy after 31 wrestlers have torn into each other before you has got to put you in the pole position for winning this whole wild ride, right? As I mentioned in my review of Rocko’s tag team match at Wrestlefest Live, which happened the following day after the rumble, Rocko is another chaos demon that brings the unhinged and unexpected. The final five go at each other with abandon. You can practically taste the excitement as they work to clear the table until the rumble title is going to go to just one of two remaining hopefuls.

The finale has an old school vs new school feel to it that’s mean and raw with the final two competitors beating the shit out of each other for the last 3 minutes. Who do you think won? Who do you think ought to have won? Who do you absolutely have to see more of, now that you’ve savored this massive sampler plate of homoerotic wrestling talent bearing down on each other for nearly an hour? The scope of this somehow amazes me even more, now that I’m watching the recording, than it did when I was standing right there with camera in hand. One wrestler in the mix made a comment to me afterward, that getting all of these men on board for this ambitious project is a testimony to the sincere respect and affection so many have for Sir Dark. I saw that, as well as a ton of affection pretty much all of these guys have for each other and the joy of suiting up and going at each other.

Check it out. The entire two-part rumble is sensational and sexy and a pure showcase of homoerotic wrestling talent that deserves to be celebrated!

Not Exactly the Worst Place

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I was wrestling Scott Williams a few weeks ago. Fuck, I love dropping that into absolutely any conversation I possibly can. But, anyway, I was wrestling Scott again, seriously enjoying wringing those bitter, frustrated submissions out of him. After a while, at one point, he snagged me in a side headlock. He was cranking on it, really grinding the side of my face into his meaty, hairy pec, trying to claw back a little of the dignity that he’d been hemorrhaging earlier. And I made the mistake of honestly saying out loud what I was thinking. “Not exactly the worst place I can imagine being stuck.” Sensing weakness, he proceeded to take every chance he could to give me a face full of those fucking gorgeous pecs, knowing just how ambivalent I was feeling about the idea of escaping and climbing back on top.

It was genuinely news to me when I first learned that some guys are specifically into being dominated. I think I had such a steady diet of pro wrestling kayfabe when I was growing up that it took me a while to catch on to the fact that some guys “into wrestling” are specifically turned on by being controlled and conquered. The pretense of wrestling is built on the idea that both wrestlers want, maybe even expect, to be victorious. The suspense and drama come from watching whose strength and skill are proven to be superior. In terms of watching, it’s hot to witness a once-proud hunk crushed and humiliated, forced to recalibrate his ego and reconsider how confident he has a right to be. I think, though, that I always bought into the scenario from the perspective of wanting the guy I identified with to be the one climbing on top and doing the dominating.

I mean, I understand it now. Watching homoerotic wrestling, I’ve seen plenty of evidence that some wrestlers get seriously turned on the more they take a beating, the more they’re overpowered and wrung out. Like, you can watch Brendan Byer’s erection inside his trunks flex with excitement when Brooklyn Bodywrecker slaps down the final 3-count after absolutely bulldozing Brendan for 40 minutes in Jobberpaloozer 5. My best wrestling buddy is someone whose personal wrestling fantasy is always (always) getting dominated.

However, this same wrestling buddy and I both wholeheartedly agree that the pretense of hot homoerotic wrestling comes crashing down if one wrestler obviously wants to get his ass kicked. The turn on in watching a match is in the conquering (whether you’re fixated on the conqueror or the one getting conquered). The whole thing falls flat if a dyed-in-the-wool jobber shows up begging to get thrashed and humiliated, or even if he just shows up not even trying because he’s so hungry to be possessed. And there, right there, is that curiously delicate fine line dividing my wrestling kink from an interest in BDSM. At the end of the day, both might end up in similar places, with one stud calling the shots, having his way, dishing out humiliation and pain in precise doses according to his sole discretion. But the journey to get there makes all the difference to me. Even if you deep down want to get crushed by your opponent, even if you show up planning on submitting because that’s what turns you on, don’t just give it away for free.

Scott’s pecs really are sexy, though, right? Fuck. Getting my hands, my face, fuck, any and every part of me squeezed tightly against top quality, gorgeous muscle like that is a pleasure. I’m not even hating the fact that Scott knows that in his arsenal is just how distracting his fucking hot body is to me. And, honestly, it’s probably good for both of us when he gets some riding time in. Scott’s crowing trash talk when he gets a glimpse of daylight and he starts counting chickens before the eggs hatch only makes fighting back on top and punishing him for it that much more deeply satisfying. And by “satisfying,” I mean an incredible turn on.

Rumble Again

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As I’ve mentioned, I was honored and overwhelmed to be asked by Sir Dark to help out behind the scenes with his production of Watchfighters Rumble 2. It’s impossible to convey the vibe in that NYC hotel room packed with 32 smoking hot wrestlers itching for their shot at plowing their way through that deep, deep field in order to come out on top. Part of the genius of a spectacle like this is you’re almost guaranteed to have at least one WF favorite (or many more) in the mix. Honestly, it was a large hotel room, particularly for Manhattan, but there was just no room to move without bumping into one hot wrestling hunk after another in various states of undress. Not that I mind bumping into hot wrestling hunks, mind you. But then Sir Dark put a camera in my hands and told me to me get down to the business of capturing this submission-elimination rumble on video. Fuck, talk about feeling torn. A huge part of me just wanted to eye fuck this boiling brood of muscle and ego churning on the mat in front of me. But Sir Dark also terrifies me just a little, so I was also feeling extra motivated to do my very best to capture on camera something that did justice to the incredibly sexy spectacle playing out in that unsuspecting corner suite.

Well, the fruit of my labor and, much more importantly, the brainchild of Sir Dark and the incredibly hot wrestling of 32 grapplers has been revealed, and you can now stream Watchfighters Rumble 2 (Parts 1 and 2) and see how we all did. To be clear, I was behind one of two cameras that day, the other being manned by cousin Scooter. By the time we pushed record, it had already been absolute chaos, which, true, is Sir Dark’s brand. Late arrivals, wrestlers shoulder-to-shoulder gearing up, some pre-match promos… so much going on, and I desperately wanted to savor every single thing at the same time. Just getting 32 rowdy wrestlers to pipe down for the start of the match was drama, but finally, with Sir Dark running the show, one by one, the wrestlers took to the mats, vying to be the last man standing.

Kicking the melee off were KC Ryder and Mickey Knoxx. KC is a total babe who I got to watch wrestle for the first time last year at Wrestlefest Live ’25. I love his energy and that viking marauder hotness, but if you know me at all, you know my eyes were glued to Mickey. Fuck, that man is hot! KC bullies Mickey with an opening side headlock, and like a fucking boss, Mickey hip tosses Ragnar and mounts him like he’s finally had enough of getting called a jobber. If you’re watching the video, this camera angle you see at the opening is mine, and you can practically see my ambivalence, torn between capturing the entire scene and wanting to center ever second on Mickey’s magnificent ass.

Mickey mean (regardless how he’s doing in the match) is the energy I’m trying to channel for 2026. He headscissors KC, sneers into the viking’s pained eyes, and slaps him in the face. And then starts wave after wave of wrestlers clocking in for their turn at stirring the pot and doing their best to clear the field with submissions. Seon Cruz is entrant #3, and instantly, the energy level slams all the way to 11! Whenever there is an odd number of wrestlers on the mat, someone is getting double-teamed, which is fucking drama. The pup is all long limbs and aggressive, with devastating holds, but even behind that mask, he absolutely always looks like he’s loving life like a dog with a new bone.

Rick Roma was counted in as entrant #4. As I mentioned in my review of Rick and Sir Dark’s tag team match at Live, Rick is passionate and fierce, though I think his pro-style fills a ring better than the mat. Whenever there’s four wrestlers on the mat at the same time, the action almost always plays out with pairing off into parallel play. Seon and Mickey go at each other with a hot passion, while Rick looks like he’s trying to take advantage of the fact that KC’s been on the mat from the start. There’s a super sexy beat where Seon and KC strike side-by-side leg nelson’s on their targets in this fun, spontaneous way that’s becomes a gorgeous work of art.

In terms of my camera work, I did my best not to show too much favoritism to Mickey’s award winning ass. You’ll have to let me know if you see my biases in terms of frame and focus. But, then again, a whole lot of fresh competitors immediately tucked in to get a piece of Mickey’s delicious hotness, so I had plenty of excuses. Dante Lesen, who I interviewed about three years ago, clocked into the scene with the vibe of the giant at the top of the beanstalk who gets off on crushing little guys into jelly. The big boy end of the roster starts seriously crowding the mat when Wrestlefest Rumble 1 champ, Kayden Keller, stomps onto the scene as entrant #6. With Dante and Kayden in the 6’2/6’3 height range, figuring out how to frame the hotness in the camera lens got seriously challenging. Tall boys standing, wrestlers flat on the mat and stacked on top of each other… where the fuck do I point the camera!?! So much fucking hot drama! It’s a full 6 minutes in when the first submission goes down with, of course, Kayden wringing it out of the unlucky first out Seon with a brutal camel clutch. Still, so much fucking wrestling was left on the mat.

I feel like warning the wrestlers on the mat, distracted with trying to top each other off, that the shit is about to go down when Bobby Carter is counted in. Bobby is this fucking wall of muscle and take-no-prisoner’s aggression that instantly gets me hard (which makes paying attention to the camera work challenging). Bobby’s sapphire blue posing trunks have no chance of keeping his gorgeous glutes corralled, and he has this magnificent way of not giving a fuck as he’s focused like a laser on serving up hot suffering. I sort of want to resent him for being the one to eliminate Mickey with that savage ball claw, but I can’t pull it off. Bobby’s too fucking hot and entertaining for me to hate on. Yet another tall boy heavyweight, Dynamo, is counted in around the 9-minute mark, and fuck, it starts to look like an avalanche when, in various combinations, Dante, Kayen, and Dynamo start cooperating. KC is the first victim of the heavyweight cabal who finally eliminate the wrung out viking. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat and looking hungry to make mischief, Drake Marcos is counted in and there’s a palpable shift in focus as he, Rick, Bobby, and Dynamo all descend like a swarm on Kayden. Fuck, I never get tired of seeing big, brutal bad boy Kayden getting wrung out, and the quadruple-team absolutely fucks him up until the Rumble 1 champ is humiliatingly dethroned, tapping out in panic.

If you think eliminating Kayden might level the field for the middleweights, think again. Wrestlefest Live ’25 champ, Tarz Lando clocks in, and raw, brute force, heavyweight muscle keeps telling the story on the mat. Fuck, that muscle beast is a force of nature! Tarz crushes the fuck out of two or three stunned opponents at a time, starting to seriously clear the table wringing submissions out of Drake and Dynamo in quick succession. Bobby also taps in a foldover pin with those magnificent cheeks sadly being eliminated. The next entrant, Barrett, barrels onto the scene, and Tarz almost immediately makes him regret it. Cameraman extraordinaire Miles X clocks in and makes the dangerous calculation to team with big Tarz to beat the shit out of Barrett‘s balls, which I don’t think is exactly the worst situation Barrett could imagine for himself, to be honest. And then, at the 16-minute mark, a total wildcard I never saw coming is counted in, Chris Collins.

I’ve seen Chris online before, but holy fuck, in-person he’s both more gorgeous and more diminutive than on screen. Seriously, he looks like a lamb to the slaughter. Like, honestly, I was literally feeling this impulse to pick him up by the scruff of the neck and yank him to safety before he could get broken to pieces. But then the sexy little minx marks out who he’s going to go at first, and it’s… Tarz Lando. Holy fucking shit! The chemistry between massive, burly muscle beast Tarz and petite, lean and limber Chris takes me completely by surprise. Watching the video gives me exactly the feel I had recording the scene at the time. Chris fearlessly swarming all over Tarz is fucking hot as hell. Even Tarz doesn’t seem to be quite able to believe it, as he tries repeatedly, and fails repeatedly, to yank the “spider monkey” off his back. Genuinely, Chris absolutely shocks by squeezing a submission out of Tarz with bodyscissors, and then he won’t let go! Like, Tarz is trying to crawl off the scene, and Chris will not let him! The ferocious little ferret is all accelerator, no brakes, and he’s got a taste for devouring beef! No shit, he squeezes a second shocking submission out of Tarz with those gorgeous, lean legs clamped around the big man’s head!

It’s masked mayhem for the next three entrants to the stunning drama. This is my first look at Alex the Great, Masked Machine, and Red Adrian who, in that order, bring fresh muscle and intensity to the mat. Alex immediately goes after Chris, and I can’t decide if this is genius strategy going after the spunky little spider monkey who can wring two submissions out of Tarz Londo, or just opportunistic because Alex absolutely dwarfs and dominates him. Masked Machine lands like a cruise missile locked onto Barrett’s balls, and even Barrett’s notorious ball bashing tolerance crumbles, making him tap out of contention. Red Adrian shows up with that mask and those fucking gargantuan pecs and, fuck, you’ve just got to pause and admire those slabs of meat! Someone could feast for days on those pecs! Chris’ face absolutely disappears, buried deep between Red Adrian’s mountainous pecs, and I’m not sure if he just might drown way down there!

So, part 1 of the Rumble wraps up with Chris Collins, Masked Machine, Alex and Great, and Red Adrian on the mat and a whole lot of other hopefuls slinking off with their bodies and egos bruised and their hopes to climb out of this pit on top dashed. And half the field is fresh, untested, and chomping at the bit to get their shot in the second half of Wrestlefest Rumble! Even though I was there in person, it’s still stunning to watch this play out on the screen, with about thirty mini-dramas, 16 wrestling hunks (in just this first half of the roster), and 12 eliminations leaving bruised egos piled up off camera in that shoulder-to-shoulder packed NYC hotel room. Honestly, several of my favorite beats from the entire rumble played out in part 1, but the second half the roster featured still more of my long-time favorite wrestling hunks dialing up the drama, spicing up the action with even more erotic twists and turns, and leaving exactly one fan-favorite wrestler outlasting everyone to become the new Wrestlefest Rumble champ.

Chaos Demons

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Videos from Wrestlefest NYC are coming out, which is exciting to see. I’m particularly excited to get another look at the Wrestlefest Live matches, because, as I’ve mentioned, I was a bit distracted trying to take my responsibilities as ring announcer seriously. I don’t want to sound like I’m bitching about it. I was honored as hell to be invited to be the ring announcer. But, damn, there’s a lot more to being ring announcer than I realized! So, my attention was divided as the string of super hot wrestling matches played out between me climbing in and out of the ring announcing each match.

You can find on Watchfighters the third match on the card, a tag team match between the Gothletes (Rocko Mortis and Dash Halley) and Team Vendetta (Sir Dark and Rick Roma). The crowd was pretty pumped and primed by the time this match was cued up. The energy was high well before I introduced the Gothletes, who charged into the room looking like the walking dead version of some hot, hunky college baseball team. Rocko and Dash were all in, instantly arguing with the crowd and brandishing a wooden baseball bat like Chekhov’s gun that you know is going to feature before this tag team drama is over. The sneers and snarls, the hauntingly dark eye shadow, the warmed-over deathly pallor, all signaled that the Gothletes were up to no good, which, let’s face it, doesn’t necessarily preclude them from being fan favorites even when I’m referring to them as “heeling hellions” for their ring entrance.

But there was no doubt about who were the fan favorites once I introduced Team Vendetta. Hailing from Italy (Sir Dark) and Little Italy (Rick) and squeezed into matching Italian flag trunks, Team Vendetta won over fans within seconds with their extensive tour handing out high fives (Rick) and full-mouth kisses (Sir Dark). Even I was treated to a surprise kiss on my way out of the ring that somehow, improbably but true, made me momentarily forget about Dash Halley’s luscious pecs on the other side of the ring. Vendetta brought the smiles and the respect and the super high energy of confident, enthusiastic babyfaces eager to defeat the dark forces facing them and to make the fans proud.

Sir Dark and Rocko squared off to start the match, in this super intense face off of chaos demon versus chaos demon. When I first saw this match promoted months earlier, I literally contacted Sir Dark to ask if it had been a typo. Maybe it should have been Sir Dark and Rocko teaming together? The two of them have this sensationally unhinged energy about them that makes me think of them like bookends. Then again, if they had teamed up, there would’ve been a non-zero probability that the combined havoc they could wreak might tear open a hellmouth that would swallow the Red Eye whole. So, maybe it was a wise call after all. As it played out, fuck, the way the two of them absolutely go to town on each other accelerated this match from 0 to 60 in seconds. They’re both dangerous, and unpredictability is both of their brands. So Rocko’s rapid fire hip toss and attempted stomp to the balls within seconds was just as on brand as Sir Dark’s savage punch to Rocko’s face and the barefoot choke of Rocko’s throat. Rocko headbutts Sir Dark in the balls and bites him in the neck. In turn, Sir Dark delights in treating Rocko to several of his signature moves, including repeatedly spitting in his face, which Rocko relishes opened mouthed and demanding more.

Rick and Dash tell a more calculated story when they’re in the ring. When the two of them are going at each other, there’s a furious back and forth of hot wrestling holds and near pins. Dash locks on a super sweet stepover toehold facelock that threatens to rip Rick’s head off his neck. In turn, Rick’s lariat on Dash nearly decapitates captain pecs, and the crowd keeps boiling over into an impassioned chant of “Roma! Roma! Roma!” Dash takes such a flurry of offense that at one point he slides out of the ring and looks like he’s about to walk off the scene entirely. Sir Dark taunts him from the corner and demands that Dash get his fine ass back in the ring so they can settle this. Dash delivers a super sexy, lip curling sneer as he climbs back onto the ring apron, jabbing a threatening finger toward Sir Dark and explaining, “Only because I’ll get a piece of you later!”

The fifth character in this drama I have neglected to name thus far is, possibly, the linchpin to the entire drama. Rex Cruise is the devastatingly handsome ref, and the pretty boy packed into deliciously tight shorts never stood a chance of controlling anything in this match. Of course, Rex doesn’t’t exactly make it any easier for himself, repeatedly slow to start count-outs alternating with inexplicable count-outs of non-pin submission holds. The crowd starts dumping on the ref about a third of the way into the match, and there’s a strong vibe of two matches happening simultaneously: Gothletes vs Vendetta and Rex Cruise vs the Crowd. One roaring chant of “Ref can’t count” earns the audience a two handed flip off from the ridiculously pretty boy in stripes.

Like I said, Rex had no chance to actually officiate this tornado touching down in the ring. It’s a melee in the end, with all four wrestlers and Rex suddenly packing the ring with fury and bruised egos. That fucking baseball bat is suddenly tossed into the chaos, and one stunned wrestler in particular gets the living shit beat out of him with it. The losers are the ones who just can’t feed their demons fast enough to keep up at the end, getting them snapped up in mirror sleepers and knocked out cold and vulnerable as the rapt crowd goes wild.

Watching this match (again), I’m in awe that this thing didn’t go off the rails a dozen different times. It’s super-fucking-sexy, with crotch-to-face poundings and luxurious body splashes that linger long and hard. But it’s also spinning like a centrifuge, with wrestlers and props and dignity flying out of the ring uncontrollably. I’ll never get tired of cuing up rival chaos demons daring one another to color farther and farther outside the lines. And I cannot get enough of babyface heroes crotch slamming their foes senseless and mugging for the roaring fans. And who do I have to sleep with to see someone suck Dash Halley’s nipples when he makes his third appearance on the card at Wrestlefest NYC ’27 (fingers crossed)?

You Want a Body Like This

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One of the many things I appreciate about Dio Characi is his unabashed readiness to appreciate another man’s body. He’s definitely not the sort of narcissist that’s so self-absorbed that he can’t admire someone else’s physique. “I can see why you’re proud of your abs,” Dio acknowledges, after Ricky Clayton has gone to great lengths to point out the superiority of Ricky’s washboard.

Ricky is not so generous with praise, to say the least. “You’ve got the body of a little boy,” he snarls derisively at Dio. “If you want the body of a bodybuilder, a true pro like this,” he points unnecessarily at his sculpted muscles as if Dio wasn’t already soaking in the sight of him. “Then you’re really doing to have staring paying attention.”

In BG East’s Muscle Worship 1, Dio pays really, really close attention to every abdominal exercise Ricky demonstrates for him. But nothing Dio can do is quite exacting enough, quite perfected in form and function, for Ricky’s satisfaction. When Dio’s reps are too fast, Ricky punches him in the gut to drive home the point that the Brazilian hottie needs to slow down. When Dio’s leg lifts aren’t quite high enough for Ricky’s liking, he stomps the living shit out of Dio, tosses him into a corner, and spears the stunned stud’s gut with a barrage of shoulder blocks. “It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall,” Ricky bitches.

It’s not like even Ricky, as self-obsessed as he appears, can fail to notice the spell his muscles weave over hungry Dio. He can tell Dio wants an up close tour of that fucking gorgeous physique. Like a sadistic cock tease, Ricky voluntarily peels his red trunks off, showing off that magnificent ass of his free ranging in a black thong. “Go ahead,” he demands of Dio. “Give it a feel! Yeah, that’s right. You like that!” Holy fuck, we all like that, Ricky, including Dio who gets busy stroking and caressing and squeezing Ricky’s phenomenal muscles. Dio is channeling all of us with the look on his adorable babyface conveying absolute awe that I believe deep down inside.

Then Ricky interrupts the truly hot muscle worship to beat his awestruck admirer to a pulp. I mean, sure, I’ve seen Dio take his licks before. He’s top shelf in terms of wrestlers who sell suffering wholesale. But there’s something just extra cruel about the way Ricky leads him along, gives him just a taste of getting to grope those mouthwatering bulges, and then stomps his infatuated fan into oblivion. I’ve been known to root for a hot heel, but Ricky is just such a killjoy bitch about it, I’m so pulling for Dio to turn this ship around.

It’s Ricky’s cocky overconfidence that opens the door. Laughing off Dio’s punch to the gut, Ricky holds out his arms and invites more. “Do it again! Go ahead.” Something almost audibly snaps in Dio. He winds up again and again and goes to town on Ricky’s pride and joy six-pack until he’s backed the cocky fucker into the ropes. He’s got a head of steam going now, and Ricky’s been digging this hole deeper and deeper for the last 15 minutes, so Dio, going ape shit on, is so fucking satisfying.

And not just going ape shit on him… Dio takes what Ricky offered, but so cruelly took back earlier, absolutely possessing Ricky’s gorgeous muscles unchecked. When the muscle man is reeling, Dio twists Ricky into a half nelson and uses his free hand to grope the scorching hot contours of Ricky’s pecs. He catches the smart ass in a dragon sleeper that gives him free rein over Ricky’s heaving abs. “Pretty hard,” Dio observes, and I’m honestly not sure exactly where his eyes are looking when he says it. “But I bet it can get harder.”

Holy fuck, the premise of this match absolutely sends me. Taunting cock tease gets ridden hard and made to pay up for being such a relentless bitch earlier!? Now, that is rich homoerotic wrestling drama! It reminds me a lot of my reaction to Randy Stanton’s match with Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) way back in Matmen 21. Randy is openly crushing on Mr. Joshua’s body from the start of that match, and Joshua eggs him on, sort of laying out “if you can win it, you can have it.” Randy gets some riding time in that match, but he doesn’t win the prize. In Muscle Worship 1, Dio gets riding time and absolutely makes the most of showing exactly how much he appreciates Ricky’s rocking physique.

There’s a bit more to the story, with Ricky catching a second wind right around the time Dio is thanking the homoerotic wrestling gods for serving up this meal of beefcake. Sure, sure, Ricky tops Dio off with a bit more punishment to soothe his bruised ego. But I feel like Dio would agree with me when I declare that it was totally worth it! In fact, Ricky isn’t exactly trying to put his objectified humiliation behind him when he asks, at the very end, “You want a body like this?” Every second of this match confirmed that the answer is yes, though perhaps not exactly the way Ricky intended (maybe?). “I know you do,” he purrs. “Come back for your next session tomorrow,” he commands, treating his rapt muscle worshiper to a few final flexes to make sure Dio does.

Fuck, I love everything about this match. The wrestlers. The intensity. The storytelling. And most especially, the unapologetic centering of the gay gaze on a fabulously worthy object of lustful attention. I hope we see a whole lot more additions to this new Muscle Worship franchise!