Always the Bride’s Maid

 

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Mr. Joshua Goodman is back in black

Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) has got to be one of the most underrated wrestlers at BG East. I admit, I’m biased. I’ve been sending love letters to his crotch for years now. But objectively speaking, Mr. Joshua is seriously dangerous in the ring, and getting more so the longer he’s in the business. Opponents never seem to recognize the threat until it’s too late. I suppose it’s easy to underestimate someone so sensationally pretty. One might easily assume that a musclehunk so epically endowed hasn’t had to work as hard as others might have. I suspect I’m not the only one who would do just about anything Mr. Joshua wanted in exchange for a close up look at his marvelous muscles and that titanic bulge. So perhaps it’s understandable that opponents might think he’s more show than go.

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Chace LaChance channels his inner von Erich

Chace LaChance gives Mr. J a smirk and an eye roll before their Hunkbash 19 match. Like so many before him, Chace appears oblivious to the functional potential Mr. Joshua’s fantasyman body possesses. He just sees a gym bunny goomba who looks better suited to a stripper pole than a wrestling ring. And sure, Chace is every ounce as much a pretty boy as Mr. J.  He’s channeling Kevin von Erich, with his bare feet, taped ankles and wrists, and insanely fuckable muscle-ass. Chace is solid as fuck and fits the part of a beefy babyface with the potential to bring a boatload of hurt. Opponents and fans take him seriously in a way that they don’t always do for Mr. J.

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Chace rubs his Best Body Award in Mr. J’s face

The match appears to be recorded during Chace’s reign as the wrestler voted Best Body at BG East. It seems like he hasn’t been humbled yet by having Kid Karisma rip that title from his clutches (all hail the king!). He’s flexing in the mirror as Mr. J arrives, and when the recurring Best Bulge winner harasses him a little, Chace is quick to point out that he’s the “muscle model winner” in the room. It’s not the first time that an opponent has basked in the accolades that Mr. Joshua rightfully believes that he deserves. He’s been bitterly watching baby hunks jump in line in front of him as top ranked objects of muscle worship for far too long. He’s had his eye on being a mainstream fitness model for years, but then the likes of Chace keep making Mr. J the runner-up. My theory is that Mr. J’s mouthwatering physique is persistently underrated because no one can tear their eyes away from his mammoth package. What mainstream fitness mag, intent on disguising their inherent nature as softcore gay porn, would want to paste the overtly and over the top eroticism of Mr. Joshua’s Louisville slugger on the their cover?

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“It’s dominance time, baby!”

In any case, Chace flashes his von-Erich-esque hotness and ponders his next match, just assuming that he’s got a victory over this erotic dancer in the bag. Mr. J suddenly grabs him by the back of the head and chokes him over the top rope, making Chace’s powerhouse muscled ass quiver with shock. “It’s dominance time, baby,” Mr. J crows.

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Chace buries his face in Mr. J’s tortured muscles

It’s a hunkbash, but not entirely one-sided. Chace has been in the business long enough to know how to earn a little respect even when he’s getting buried under hard. The Best Body beefcake interrupts Mr. J’s momentum long enough to nearly decapitate him with a clothesline and scoop him up in a gorgeously muscled bearhug. It’s no secret that I love a heel, but I particularly swoon over a fallible heel. I crush on them a hundred times harder when a heel takes a little taste of humiliation and has to put his opponent in his place with just that much more authority to obliterate the memory of that fleeting moment of hope. Mr. J hoisted off his feet, every muscle clenched in agony, sweet glistening off his forehead, is hot as fuck. For that brief, shining moment, Chace is the barefoot babyface hero with a serious chance of defeating the nefarious bad ass with sheer will and hard work.

 

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Chace’s pretty face pounded into the mat

It’s just that much sweeter watching Mr. J chop him in the neck with his elbow, pound him corner to corner, and then flatten him like a panic with a sprinting clothesline. “This is muscle worship, boy,” Mr. Joshua snarls, pumping a most muscular pose over top of his writhing, whimpering, despairing victim. Fuck, I’m aching to see another Mr. J match with an opponent who’s even half as turned on by him as I am (somebody please tell me that Randy Stanton has been training with Kid Vicious for his rematch with Mr. J!). Mr. Joshua mentions muscle worship several times in this match, lording his superiority over Chace with relish, implicitly acknowledging you and me, dizzy with lust for him. He tugs at the top of his trunks and shoves his hand into his pouch to rearrange the beast within, which, let’s face it, is really Mr. J’s signature move.

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This is muscle worship, boy!”

Watch him strut and flex. Just watch him, eyes fixed on his own gorgeous image staring back at him in the mirror, but with his beautiful body turned at the perfect angle for us to adore his physique. Mr. Joshua wants to be worshipped. I want him to be worshipped. Please begin to flood the mailbox of BGE, insisting on booking Mr. J with an opponent with both the raging erotic desire to worship him, and the wrestling skills to demand the full tour.

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Chace fails to appreciate this enviable position

I digress. Mr. Joshua does that to me. Two particular holds demonstrate Mr. Joshua’s brilliance and beauty most directly. First, he wears Chace out repeatedly with headscissors. There’s just something combustible about watching Mr. J shove a man’s head high up between his thighs. Crotch pillow scissors and face-to-crotch scissors alike draw our attention like a magnet to Mr. J’s gargantuan package. Chace just bitches and whine’s about the humiliation. Fuck I hate him right then and there. He should be thanking his lucky stars.

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The Best Body getting fucked (over) by the Best Bulge

The other move Mr. J comes back to repeatedly is thrusting reverse bearhug. It’s just meant to be: Chace’s luxuriously muscled ass cheeks pressed firmly around Mr. Joshua’s protruding package.  “Fuck you,” Chace mutters impotently with Mr. J’s pole grinding into his crevice. “Did you say something, muscleboy,” Mr. Joshua openly laughs. “I can’t hear you!”

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“Did you say something, muscleboy?”

Mr. Joshua manhandles Chace more completely than I can ever remember Chace getting manhanlded before. Over the knee backbreakers serve him up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Mr. J’s squats, with Chace racked across his shoulders helplessly, demonstrate what Mr. J means when he repeatedly announces, “It’s dominance time, baby!” There’s one particular camel clutch that has Chace weeping like a sniveling bitch, begging for mercy, owned in total. Mr. Joshua throws him down with contempt, leans back and slaps Chace’s Best Body butt possessively.

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Manhandled

Fuck, this match fires on all cylinders. If you like watching a von Erich get plowed under and owned, body and soul, or if you’re even half the Mr. Joshua fan I am, pull up a chair. Mr. Joshua is back to deliver a message. Anybody jumping in line in front of him for muscle worship glory had better watch his back.

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The body and bulge to beat

Triple Z

I’m a simple man. I like word play and alliteration. I enjoy well told stories with compelling characters. And I love hotly muscled, mismatched hunks making each other scream.

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Z-Man is perpetually perfect.

Zip Zarella’s sensational schooling of Z-Man in Hunkbash 19 has all the required ingredients to make my mouth water. I’m sure I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again, but I am 100% positive that Z-Man has a decrepit portrait of himself aging in a dusty attic somewhere. He’s fucking inhuman! To say that his physique is on point in this match is the least newsworthy statement in history. His physique is ALWAYS on point. My opinions of his wrestling have waxed and waned over the years, but his sexy-as-fuck, luxuriously ripped muscles have remained perpetually and permanently perfect.

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Zip Zarella sees you looking.

Then there’s Zip Zarella. I’m just about ready to offer to throw down with ANYONE who wants to challenge me as his biggest fan. His boyish babyface is cute as a fucking button, which makes his gorgeously inked muscles just that much more breathtaking. I know that his day job is as an indy pro narcissist in the made-for-the-masses variety of wrestling, but that combo of boy-next-door dimples and gay porn-ready body is simply perfect for pro wrestling for a gay audience, as far as I’m concerned.

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Indy Pro Z vs. Underground Phenom Z

The narrative device is pristinely simple.  Z-Man is, unquestionably, a soft-core physique model who’s made mint moonlighting as a ham sandwich for gay wrestling audiences forever. So his strut and smirk just piss the fuck out of Zip, who perfected his craft night in and night out in front of live fickle indy pro wrestling audiences. But in the BG East universe, let’s face it, Z-Man is the The Man in this match. All he has to do is snap his fingers and clench his ass cheeks and an army of gay wrestling fans would cum drooling all over themselves ourselves. In our corner of the universe, Zip is a newbie still building his brand. Of course, I was an extremely early adopter, but BGE fans are still deciding how to respond to Zip.

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“Want to see a good view?”

Honestly, I’ve seen a lot of indy pro wrestlers dabbling in wrestling for gay audiences who convey, quite clearly, overall apathy for the sexual objectification that is a key ingredient in what we’re talking about. Hell, some of them seem hard pressed to suppress out and out repulsion at the thought that you and I are getting turned on watching them at their craft.

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“You’re liking this,” Zip speaks the truth.

Zip is not a no-homo-bro. When he finds Z-Man posing in the mirror, he insists on a side-by-side comparison. Zip turns his back to his opponent, and us, and gives a juicy flex of his right bicep and tightly packed glutes. “You’re liking this,” Zip chuckles, catching Z-Man’s glance. He’s also talking to you and me when he says, without a hint of reproach, “I see you looking.” Hell, Zip is tickled as fuck that you and I are looking at his phenomenal body.

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“Is this what you guys want?!”

Permit me to fast forward a half a dozen minutes or so in this match. Zip is beating the living fuck out of Z-Man. It’s gorgeous and completely humiliating. Zip just can’t get over what a pushover this prettyboy is, after having heard about all of the gay wrestling fans who fawn over Z-Man. “All those pretty muscles won’t help you now,” Zip laughs, twisting Z-Man’s ankle viciously in a sick leg lock and making him scream. He manhandles the coverboy like a practice dummy, dragging him up into a bearhug, pounding him into a corner, and then hip tossing him hard to his back in the middle of the ring. Zip flexes his tatted pecs in a most muscular pose, first checking the mirror for the optics, and then turning his gaze directly at the camera. “Is this what you guys want!?”

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Zip’s got a message for Z-Man fans

Ohfuckyes, that is most definitely what THIS guy wants! Zip wants to please some fans. He wants to deliver. He’s holding the gay gaze and looking back, unflinchingly, and demanding to know if he’s stroking us just the way we like it. I have no idea what team Zip plays for on his own time, but when he’s on our dime, he appears enthusiastically committed to delivering in the ring whatever it takes for us to unZip our pants and grab hold of the entertainment he delivers with both hands.

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“Oh, I heard about you, Z-Man!”

Fuck, I love this guy. Sex and contempt pour off him like a steam shower. “Is this really THE Z-Man they brought me,” he scoffs, choking him with a barehand, bending him backward across the top rope. “I trained for a wrestling competition, for this? This is a joke,” he barks with a half-laugh at how easily he has his way with the coverboy. He face-plants Z-Man’s prettypretty face into one turnbuckle after another. “Oh, I heard about you,” Zip taunts, cranking the fuck out of a figure-4 leglock that makes Z-Man howl like a wounded animal. “And I was expecting so much more than this!”

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“Come on, boy, flex those pretty muscles now!”

I know some of you hate spoilers, but then again, you know I spoil matches constantly. But seriously, this is a Hunkbash. It should hardly be a shock when I say Zip plows down Z-Man like a riding lawnmower. But this is so much more than a squash. Zip is out to do a lot more than “win.” He’s hell bent on destroying the body beautiful beefcake who, at least for the moment, possesses more BG East fans than Zip does by a factor of at least 20 to 1.  “Come on, boy, flex those pretty muscles now,” Zip taunts, literally (I kid you not) standing on Z-Man’s head crushed into the mat.

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“I’m about to break you in half, boy!”

He drags him up to his feet, and Z-Man is standing only because Zip his holding him up by a fistful of hair. “I’m about to break you in half, boy!” Zip scoops him up across his chest like a child and parades the battered beefcake around the ring a couple of laps before pounding him down in a sensational OTK backbreaker. And up and down again, cracking him sideways across his thigh. And again.

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“I’m taking over here. I”m the new body guy!”

“That’s right,” Zip crows, his pecs bouncing and his muscled glutes flexing. “I’m the new Z-Man. I’m taking over here. I’m the new body guy!” I’m sorry to have to tell Zip that he almost certainly has not made anyone less a fan of Z-Man, laying waste to Z-Man’s fantasyman body and manhandling him so beautifully. However, I have to believe that Zip’s masterful ownership of both Z-Man’s crushable body and the narrative of this compelling match will do nothing but bring along more fans to the ZZ camp.

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“I’m the new Z-Man!”

Get in line behind me! I’ve been eyefucking this magnificent specimen all along. And more importantly, Zip has been asking for it all along. The Z-Man is vanquished. Long live the Z-Man!

“Centerpiece this!”

Holy crap! It’s been a month since I had a chance to post anything. Time flies when life is full and busy.  I have managed to squeeze in a little time writing a few match descriptions for the new release of BG East’s catalog 128. So even if you don’t know it, you very well may be reading some of my writing in that format. As so often happens with big pauses in my blogging, I’m now facing a backlog of intentions and plans.  I’ll do my best to backfill, but hot new wrestling releases wait for no blogger.

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Superhuman Mitch Colby

With that in mind, I want to describe the sweat soaked pleasure it was to watch one of my longstanding obsessions climb into the ring again in the new release of Ringwars 29: Steeped in Sweat. Honestly, all it took was watching Mitch Colby stretching before the match to get me dizzyingly aroused. Over the years we’ve seen Mitch in various states of fitness. There is no version of him that fails to turn me on, mind you, but in RW29, he is mind bogglingly gorgeous, primed and pumped, tanned and toned, with mile wide shoulders and an impossibly narrow waist like Clark Kent at a day at the beach.

 

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You can afford to be chill when you look this hot!

There’s something coolly majestic about Mitch.  I suppose if you look like he does, and you’ve hammered your rockin’ muscles so sweetly out on your 6’2″ frame, you can afford to be chill as fuck. He’s self-possessed and confident, this side of cockiness. I always get the impression that Mitch wants a challenge. He gets a little contemptuous if it’s too easy. Mitch appreciates serious competition. He wants to prove himself.

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Jobe Zander and the Centerpiece

“Serious” is not a word that jumps to the front of the line when Jobe Zander struts into the ring room. Fuck, I hate this guy. And by hate, I mean, fuck, I ache to see someone beat the living shit out of him and strip him naked. He’s always a contender for biggest bulge in the business. And he enthusiastically puts his most prominent feature forward in every match, calling attention to “the Centerpiece,” and taking every opportunity to shove his massive package in an opponent’s face. Jobe is loud and over the top and almost comical, which is clearly his modus operandi. He struts and barks and presents himself almost as a caricature of the narcissist pro wrestler, invariably disarming his opponent who struggles to take him seriously.

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Jobe uses Mitch as a doormat

Do NOT fail to take Jobe Zander seriously! Mitch learns what most of Jobe’s opponent’s learn. Underestimate him at your peril. He takes it to the beach body beefcake with authority, and I love watching Mitch struggling to dig himself out of a hole. Even before the low blows and dirty tricks take over the narrative, Jobe quickly outhustles my fitness model infatuation and works him over like a boss.

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Jobe has him exactly where I want him!

As is almost always the case, inexplicably, it’s Jobe who’s first to attack his opponent’s balls. I’ve got all sorts of feels about watching him claw the fuck out of Mitch’s bulge. First and foremost, just getting a feel of what Mitch is packing is a vicarious thrill. In particular, this reach through the legs from behind with a subtle twisting chaser is as if I’m remote controlling Jobe. Mitch, with his glistening, superhuman muscles quivering in agony and whimpering, is a work of art. But I’m also rolling my eyes at this move because you know, for a fact, what happens next when Jobe, possessing arguably the most massive crotch in competition, flings open the door of crotch attacks.

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“What’s wrong, can’t take your own medicine?”

That shit just got real, now, didn’t it, Jobe? I’ve been taken to task before for crushing hard on a classic babyface disciplining a vile heel. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I want to see an earnest, magnificently muscled jock slap a loudmouth cheater down and make him regret it all. I know, I’m such a mark. When I’m pounding one out in ecstasy watching Mitch make the previously cocky bad boy weep and beg, I don’t give a shit. These two hunks can manipulate me any way they want.

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Inspect the Centerpiece

Jobe make SUCH a huge deal of his HUGE deal, it’s no wonder that, yet again, this match really becomes all about “the Centerpiece.” He shoves it in Mitch’s face. He demands that the hunky heart throb pay homage to the legend that is straining the seams of Jobe’s pouch. “The tide has turned, Mitch the Bitch,” Jobe snarls down atop the schoolboy pin, smothering Mitch in his ball gag. “I’m the Centerpiece here,” he monologues like a Batman villain. “Nothing can stop me now!”

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“Centerpiece this!”

It turns out, a 6’2″ fitness competitor in the best shape of his life can, actually, stop Jobe Zander. Mitch milks the babyface retribution to perfection. He scolds Jobe mercilessly for his greed and self-centeredness. He punishes him brutally, employing all of those stunningly gorgeous muscles to accomplish the task of dominating and destroying this quite serious competition. It’s not as if it had to go this way. It’s not as if Mitch is, by his nature, hell bent on humiliating and bullying an opponent. He’s just cashing that check that Jobe’s been writing all along, piling on complete domination to not just beat him, but to disprove every taunt and brag and unnecessary act of poor sportsmanship along the way.  “How about that for a Centerpiece,” Mitch demands to  know, resting his balls on Jobe’s chin and anointing his own big bulge the new title holder.

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Mitch SCREAMS!

There are a lot of familiar components to this match, if you’ve watch many of Jobe’s more recent bouts. But there are a few delightful innovations in this pairing that I have to mention. One such innovation is that Jobe makes Mitch scream. I mean, really scream. Mitch typically is the type to screw up his face and put a cork in it when he’s suffering hard. Agony paralyzes and gags him most days. But when Jobe really cranks on his balls, crushing and twisting and dragging him around the ring by them, Mitch lets loose with some crotch tingling screeches of pain. Fuck, I love that chink in the muscleman’s armor.

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Peekaboo

The other notable part that I want to mention is all the trunk pulling. It’s like Mitch knows how much I’ve been wanting someone to finally rip Jobe’s trunks off and show us what the heel has been teasing for years now. That doesn’t quite happen, despite my longing. Nor does Mitch bend him over the top rope with Jobe’s anaconda in his hand and Mitch’s manhood up Jobe’s round ass. But both wrestlers give us peekaboo glimpses of the underworld, dragging each other around by a fist full of trunks and showing off just a little of the astonishing beauty both men criminally cover up with their gear.

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Sexiest bearhug of the year?

Mitch’s bearhugs are sexy as fuck. If watching his gargantuan deltoids flex and swell as he crushes his wailing opponent suspended a foot off the ground doesn’t get you off, then it is a complete enigma to me why you would read this blog.

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Babyface revenge

This match pushes a ton of my buttons, so if we share any buttons, I recommend you tuck in. My infatuation with magnificent Mitch has only grown with his latest display of his power and beauty. If the wrestling gods ever bother to hear our prayers, then please, oh PLEASE, let’s see Mitch pit his mouthwatering muscles again another longstanding infatuation of mine, Scott Williams. That would be the headliner match to the “Masters Division” matches I’ve been fantasizing about for so long now.

The Charm Offensive

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Chase shows off his Bard-endorsed ass

You only have to be casually familiar with this blog to know that I’m a major Chase Addams fan. I literally sponsored his first custom, signature trunks. It makes me feel a little like a part-owner of his hot ass when he wears the tight, gun-metal gear with the words “Charming as Fuck” stitched across his backside. I didn’t contribute to the shiny purple version of those same trunks that he wears in his new match for Florida Fights 7: Pride-Aftershow, but I still feel like I’ve got a proprietary claim on his derriere.

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Someone has GOT to dick slap that grin right off of Kirk’s face!

Regular readers also know of my strong feelings about Kirk Donahue, Chase’s opponent in Florida Fights 7.  I hate that guy. I mean, he’s also a sexy little fucker with incredible wrestling chops that I respect the hell out of. But there’s just something about his heavy lidded, smirky, smart ass, saccharine-sweet earnestness that leaves me with an insatiable desire to watch him get thumped and plowed under hard, again and again. Happily for me, BGE wrestlers keep delivering that sweet dish over and over, smacking the cutesy off of Kirk’s freckled face and making the cocky indy pro weep like a little bitch.

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Trevor Read, how the FUCK did you blow this!?!

And then, somehow, Kirk pulled off a stunning upset victory in front of the live audience at Wrestling with Pride. I don’t know Trevor Read, but I’d like to. So sexy. Gorgeous to look at, but the bitter edged, fiercely confident heel attitude he wore in his match with Kirk was what really made me want to slap one of those front row fans to the curb to get an up close look at him. He looked like he was on his way to delivering the public humiliation that Kirk so abundantly begs for. But then, what the fuck, Trevor choked to that annoying little stud puppy! Fuck, Trevor. Just… fuck.

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Hands full

So apparently riding high on that shocking babyface victory, Kirk accepted a challenge from Chase Addams that same weekend back at BGE central. The stakes were high when I tucked into this Florida Fights match. Because if this was signaling Kirk’s ascension, if his freckled face and gargantuan bulge are going to start racking up serious victories over the likes of my boy Chase, then I am going to be SO pissed.

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Chase tested hard

Honestly, I wondered if Chase might be biting off more than he could chew. He’s shared his origin story with me in different contexts over the past couple of years, but the narrative remains the same. Chase is, largely, a self-taught pro wrestling prodigy. He transitioned from fan to competitor by perfecting submission holds on the lucky son-of-a-bitch friends who would let him tie them up in knots, and then later on in the underground gay wrestling scene in St. Louis. Don’t get me wrong, Chase regularly leaves me awestruck and tongue tied by the vicious, gravity defying stunts he pulls at the expense of his opponents. He’s serious as a heart attack. But testing out his moves against a seasoned pro like Kirk, albeit a perennial jobber, seemed risky to me. If Howdy Doody has, in fact, turned over a new leaf, I could certainly see things going south big time for the Charming One.

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Kirk having his way with my boy

Kirk clearly has wind in his sails as they sink their claws into each other. The action is ferocious and almost faster than the eye can follow. Kirk’s been doing this longer and much more often, and he looks annoyingly cocky as he curls his upper lip and dives in. The near-submissions fly with abandon. At one point, Kirk cinches Chase’s arms brutally behind his back and flips overtop of him, bridging high and grinding Chase’s handsome face into the mat viciously while attempting to rip his arms out at the shoulder. Holy fuck, that monster bulge at the apex of Kirk’s bridge defies belief.

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Kirk whines like a bitch

The suspense is thick from start to finish, as they trade momentum back and forth, but I’m reading the tea leaves when Chase rakes Kirk’s eyes to escape from that bulge-tastic bridge. “You cheating son of a bitch!” Kirk whines petulantly. Right then, right there, my anxiety on behalf of my boy Chase settles down a bit. Chase is eager to show off his submission skills, but he’s also enthusiastically ready to piss on the conventional rules of sportsmanship and fair play. And Kirk is, ridiculously, shocked and irritated. The odds just tilted dramatically in my (Chase’s) favor.

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You’re fucked now, Howdy Doody!

My hunch is seemingly confirmed when Chase exploits Kirk’s foot stomping, whiny little bitch moment to clamp down one of a billion arm and wrist locks he has in his quiver and wrenches Kirk’s fingers sickly backward. Fuck, Kirk’s screams of panicked agony turn me on. Howdy Doody with the monster package taps out to give Chase the first submission.

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Look at those sexy as fuck legs!

They work like berserkers tearing through holds faster than the eye can follow. Despite my early intuition that this is Chase’s match to have, Kirk evens the submission count with a viciously deep Boston crab. Back and forth they trade submissions, with neither one able to pull away, until the count is 3-2. Then 4-2.  Then 5-2. Kirk keeps fighting, mind you, but Chase absolutely outclasses him. The more withered Kirk gets, the meaner Chase grows. Watching his profound pleasure taking ownership of this hot bodied indy pro who thought his victory of Trevor Reed was signaling a new day for Howdy Doody is so sensationally satisfying. And by satisfying, I mean an incredible turn on.

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The Will Breaker

I stand up an cheer when Chase locks down the Will Breaker and Kirk’s desperate screams echo off the warehouse walls. The self-taught phenom quite literally hangs this seasoned indy pro submission star out to dry. When Chase deigns to let him back down to the ground (after soaking in the dulcimer tones of his opponent’s countertenor screams of anguish) the Charming One lingers, crouching over top of Kirk’s wasted body. He strokes Kirk’s sweaty back possessively. Chase’s obvious admiration for his beauty makes me feel like I can admit that, sure, Kirk’s fucking hot. If Chase would just peel Kirk’s trunks down, bend him over his knee, and spank his alabaster ass fire engine red, I just might be ready to set aside my perennial enmity toward Kirk Donahue.

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Chase gets ready to crawl on top and knead the dough

Sadly for everyone, I still hate that guy. This match, though, I love. Chase, seductively stroking Kirk’s tightly muscled back, I enjoy. Chase’s insanely long, smooth legs tied in crushing knots all over his opponent’s overwhelmed body, I lust for. A gut check story of a self-taught prodigy testing his mettle against a privileged, impeccably trained, abundantly seasoned pro and making Kirk his bitch, I adore.

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The trunks say it all!

 

Skinny Does It

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Charlie Evans

If you know me at all, you know that my tastes cover a range of wrestlers and wrestling. Lately, I’ve been keying off a lot on skinny boys. I love audacious skinny wrestlers who instantly make fans wonder out loud, “What the fuck is that guy think he’s doing climbing into the ring?!” I like them when they look breakable. Tantalizingly vulnerable, but with a fierce core of tensile steel and inexplicable fearlessness. Within the genre, I like them cute as buttons, with bright eager smiles and pinchable cheeks. Thus it surprises no one with a passing familiarity with my tastes in wrestlers that little Charlie Evans keeps reeling me in.

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Charlie uses guile and deception to take Gunner from behind

I also like my skinny boys with a chance.  So, in Catchweight 9 when Charlie camps out underneath the BG East ring to sneak up on Gunner Baer from behind as the big muscle boy flexes and stretches, I’m cheering him on. Charlie leaps up on that broad, muscled back of Gunner’s, squeezing the big man’s torso between his legs and clamping down a blindsided sleeper gambit.  He takes the muscle boy completely by surprise. As Gunner stumbles around for several seconds struggling to catch up with the chess match, I have fleeting hopes for a revenge of the nerds bout. With this uncharacteristic flash of foul play, perhaps Charlie is finally taking my longstanding advice to grab the wheel with both hands and swerve recklessly into the heel lane. Fuck, just how satisfying would it be to see a skinny boy instantly outsmart his preening, homecoming king, jock opponent and sadistically pry his luscious body apart in retribution for every towel snapping, homophobic bullying that the genetically gifted bodies take such pleasure in doling out during our compulsory education. Okay, perhaps that says more about me than about Charlie or Gunner.

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“Really? This is what they sent?”

Tragically, my unrequited longing to see Charlie’s heel turn continues unabated. Big Gunner reaches over his shoulder, grabs Charlie by the back of the neck, and easily, with one hand, flips the lightweight cheater head over heels. “Really? This is what they sent?” Gunner asks, giving voice to what countless fans have said upon seeing an ambitious skinny boy like Charlie dare to accept a match with a muscle armored hunk like Gunner.

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Face of a cherub, body of a beefcake

I’m still undecided what I think of Gunner Baer. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s unquestionably fuckable. He has a teen angel thing going, with a stunningly gorgeous, delicately featured face atop a hypermasculine, thickly muscled, beautifully proportioned body. My question is not whether Gunner is a sexy mother fucker. Give me a bottle of lube and a couple of hours, and I’d muscle worship the fuck out of big Gunner Baer. The jury is still out for me as to what to make of him as a homoerotic pro wrestler. In his debut match, he was squashed like a bug by Flash LaCash, and he made a compelling case as a doe-eyed muscle jobber. Watching his musclebound pretty boy dreams get trampled under foot was seriously hot. This time out, though he’s large and in charge. He’s contemptuous and sadistic. He’s far more fallen angel than teen angel. I’m not sure which side of Gunner Baer I’m left wanting to see more of. And of course, that, in and of itself, is seductively sexy for me.

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Nothing but a thing

As for this match, holy fuck, Gunner beats the living shit out of little Charlie. There’s almost not suspension of disbelief necessary in this match.  The only doubt you’ll need to dismiss is whether Charlie could take the amount of abuse he takes without broken bones, internal injuries to vital organs, and multiple concussions to show for it. As Charlie has pointed out to me, the trade off for staring down long odds every time he climbs into the ring is that fans will be treated to some of the most visually stimulating feats of lopsided strength available. There’s something just sublime about a fully extended, unending gorilla press. When Charlie gets tossed out of the ring, big Gunner follows his befuddled prey, picks him up, hoists him straight-armed overhead with barely an effort, and then overhanded flings him over the top rope, flying back into the ring to land about 10 feet away.

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“I’m… a little… BITCH-BOY!”

Gunner relishes the psychological dominance every bit as much as his physical dominance. “Say, ‘I’m a little bitch-boy,'” Gunner demands of Charlie before he’ll free him from a spine-damaging Boston crab. Charlie obeys. Prying his body in all the wrong ways like a twist-tie, Gunner refuses to accept another submission until Charlie cries out, “I’m a girly-man!” Flinging him to the mat, Gunner flexes his gargantuan biceps in Charlie’s slack jawed face. “Look at these 20-inch pythons,” Gunner crows. “You thought you could beat this?! I’m a Greek god!”

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“I’m a Greed god!”

While my deep longing to see this skinny boy upend his bully and spank Gunner to tears is unsatisfied, I think I’ve got reason to hold out hope. In every conversation I’ve had with Charlie, he’s saccharine sweet IRL. My relatively colorful use of profanity has, quite literally made Charlie blush (of course, he’s such a ginger that’s not hard to do). Charlie literally, unselfconsciously uses phrases like, “oh, golly,” and “son of a beeswax,” fastidiously eschewing all coarse language in a way that seems astonishingly genuine and habitual. So when big Gunner snap mares Charlie so hard the ginger levitates about a foot off the mat on the rebound, it’s a little shocking to hear Charlie shout, “Goddam it!”  Gunner hooks Charlie’s left knee behind his thick, jock neck and stands up, dangling Charlie off the ground by the straining, snapping tendons and ligaments in his knee. Abruptly, Charlie screams out, “Damn it! SHIT!!!”

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“Damn it. SHIT!!!”

It seems to me like the wear and tear of BG East action very well could accomplish what my powers of persuasion have been unable to. Dudley Do-Right Charlie Evans is resorting to openly cheating to try to level the playing field with the muscle hunks he’s forced to face in the ring. His virginal mouth is now driven to coughing, screaming fits of profanity. His earnest faith in hard work and fair play are already corrupted. His values have been compromised. And he’s persistently a serious student of the science and art of professional wrestling, learning new holds and moves by the minute. So yeah, I’m still hopeful to see this skinny boy finally snap, in a good way. Scratch an undersized gay kid with a lust for wrestling and there’s GOT to be a subterranean volcano of anger, frustration, and unresolved grudges bubbling just beneath the surface. One of these days, little Charlie Evans is going to climb into the ring with a contemptuous, musclebound, captain of the football team, Greek god of an opponent and fuck him up on behalf of all of us who were ever shoved into the lockers, wedgied, taunted and tormented back in the day.

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“Say ‘I’m a little red-headed bitch!'” Gunner demands. “Say, ‘I’m worthless!'”

Feel the power of the dark side coursing through your veins, young padawan.

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Pride and Joy

I’ve been giving a lot in the give and take of balancing my wrestling infatuation with my day job. Not only has it taken a bite out of my opportunities to watch new wrestling, I’ve also not been keeping up with the other excellent bloggers covering the scene. So who’s covered Jonny Firestorm and Ty’s Wrestling with Pride match? I definitely defer to the judgment of eyes on the scene, but this is my take from this side of the screen.

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Transformed Ty

Okay, this is fucking sexy. To start with, Ty is full on, well into beefcake territory at this point in his incredible physical transformation. It’s hard to connect the dots between his beefy, muscular, cover boy body in the Wrestling with Pride ring and his skinny, smooth, boyish vulnerability just a few years ago. Ty’s sell has always struck me as right at that line between compelling and camp, but when he struts to the ring at Wilton Manor, smirking, winking, inviting the gay crowd to appreciate his hotness, that thoroughly Ty character of his perfectly hits the sweet spot.

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Leather daddy Jonny grabs the momentum

 

Ty’s possession of the pretty boy role is only that much more locked into place when Jonny arrives with his hot and hairy bear daddy belly, wearing a leather harness. I don’t know how many of the fans in the live audience follow BG East quite like you and I do, so it’s hard to tell if they recognize the set-up of, historically, one of the company’s most prolific babyface jobbers squaring off against, historically, one of the most lauded badass heels in the business. If they did understand the historical context, they might have expected a squash. If they did expect a squash, they were sorely disappointed.

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Ty fucks up the infamous heel!

Fuck, I LOVE the give and take in this match! Ty’s infamous narcissism (he does, after all, have the words “Cocky: Suck It” printed across his ass) is sensationally tasty when paired with his quickly developing ring skills. He absolutely takes it to leather daddy Jonny. There are many moments when I actually feel just a little sorry for Jonny getting fucked up and humiliated, after such a dominant career as a sadistic heel, in front of this live audience. Ty is a mean mother fucker, asserting a classically heel mix of beautifully executed wrestling and vicious, underhanded rule breaking. I’ve told Ty that I’ve longed to see him become an unmistakably dangerous competitor after serving such a long sentence in prettyboy jobber purgatory. He’s been emerging into adulthood in several matches I’ve seen over the past 9 months or so, but never as commandingly and persuasively as in this match.

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The mighty have fallen!

And I know that there are plenty of fans who completely disagree with me, but I find a badass heel with strong notes of vulnerability one of the sexiest things ever. I love seeing Jonny struggle. I love seeing him have to fight for it. Hard. I love seeing this irrepressible head of steam he’s generated over the course of his career, plowing into, over top of, and through countless opponents like a tidal wave, sputter and stumble. Don’t tell Jonny, but frankly, I’m turned on incredibly by the sight of him suffering hard. My vote for Top Heel a few months ago joined a majority of BGE fans in catapulting Kayden Keller over top of Jonny for the first time, and for me, it’s because Kayden has perfected the seductive allure of a vulnerable heel. Jonny’s performance at Wrestling with Pride, however, could make me rethink my vote come January of next year. There’s not a thing less “heel-like” for those moments when Ty is fucking him up. I don’t subscribe to the philosophy that being a heel and executing a squash are intrinsically linked. Jonny repeatedly and convincingly turns the tables on the babyface challenger, and in entirely Jonny-style, he does more than his share of fucking his opponent up as well. But honestly, the suspense of not knowing which badass beauty is going to pull it out for the adoring gay crowd in attendance makes this bout so succulent for me.

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Everybody digs deep in this match

Ty’s ultimate downfall in this match is not due to any character flaw or inadequacy on his part (and thus I love this match so much more than many matches earlier in his career). He’s a completely legitimate contender who grabs his burly opponent by the balls (literally… and the ref’s balls, for that matter), and battles to the wire in a compelling bid for victory.

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Boys to Men

And he comes up just short. And the ghosts of Christmas past come to haunt his beefcake body laid bare (well, thonged) and wasted at Jonny’s feet. I love the cameo at the beginning of the match when Ty bitches about his ex-tag team partner turned tormentor, Chase Addams, who’s been invited to give color commentary over the PA. I pop my cork at the end of the match when silver fox fantasy-daddy Shane McCall climbs in to perform the post-mortem on Ty. If you don’t follow these two on FB, you may not know that Ty has continued to talk trash at Shane ever since Shane laid waste to Ty back in his twink days. There’s a lot of value added for me seeing Shane in street clothes, mount Ty’s ass, pry him into a camel clutch, and cinch on a dog collar and leash.  Please revisit my comments earlier about the gaping hole in homoerotic wrestling that needs to get filled by the likes of hot daddies like Shane (preferably going pec to pec for the daddy championship title against man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams).

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Kieran Dunne gets a swat in

Collared and crushed, Ty is served up to the front row fans in the most generous moment of Wrestling with Pride. Jonny parades his trophy-boy in front of the fans, inviting them to spank Ty’s pride and joy bubble butt. A few of them seriously get into it, which makes me less bitter toward the ones who momentarily balk at the opportunity to put a hand on Ty’s vulnerable ass shoved in their laps. The public humiliation and fan-participation-spanking again harkens me back to my favorite live wrestling match (in which Shane also makes a post-match appearance!). It also almost makes up for no one (NO ONE!?) accepting Elite Eliot’s invitation to check his gorgeously packed pink trunks for weapons in that earlier match.

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Ty lives to regret getting “Suck It” printed on his ass

I feel like there was a tragically missed opportunity to have Chase join Shane in doling  out some satisfying Ty humbling. For that matter, can we just consider the magnificence of a Chase & Shane (Shane & Chase?) tag team? I can’t think of a sexier daddy-boy wrestling partnership since BBW slapped the dog collar on Shane and they showed up in the same corner to pry apart and ball gag another daddy-boy tag team to victory.

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Sexiest pin of the night?

Well done Ty and Jonny (and Shane, and Chase) for making this match multifaceted and engrossing. So many moving parts could, I’m sure, have sent this train flying off the tracks. Instead, this was the sensationally gayest, hottest, most homoerotic match of the night. And this was Wrestling with Pride, so that’s saying something!

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Crowd Pleaser

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My first thought upon seeing a promotional poster for Wrestling with Pride was how much I was desperate to see Zip Zarella (2017 Debut of the Year winner) and Elite Eliot square off against one another with a crowd of horny gays cheering them on. I knew from social media and the BG East Arena galleries that the homoerotic wrestling gods heard my prayers and pitted these two gorgeous pros against one another at Wilton Manors. Therefore I nearly blew a gasket under the rising pressure in my crotch as I waited for BGE’s insta-release of the Wrestling with Pride matches for catalog 126 to arrive in my mailbox, barely a couple of weeks after the live show.

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Leather cub Elite Eliot

I’ve got so much to say about all of the matches, but I confess that I started by cuing up Zip and Eliot, so I’ll start my obsession with Wrestling with Pride there. Although this is the first glimpse we’ve had of Eliot wrestling under the BGE banner, this stunningly handsome blond beefcake has made a name for himself among the homoerotic wrestling crowd at W4H. The production quality is higher for the Wrestling with Pride DVD than Eliot’s matches that I’ve streamed on W4H, and I have to say I am just that much more impressed with (aka turn on by) him. He struts out from backstage in dayglow pink trunks and a leather cub black vest.

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Eliot Eliot invites the gay fans to appreciate his muscles

Eliot’s ass is EPICALLY magnificent. He knows his audience, pausing just as he starts to make a move to remove his vest, playfully building tension as we all hold our breath waiting to see his muscled torso laid bare.  There are woots of appreciation, but I am yet again cursing the fates that prevented me from being there for the live show, because Eliot’s physique deserves a whole lot more loving than what the boys at Wilton Manors gave him. I’m crushing hard on his new, colorful tats. His touch o’ honey tan is perfection with his blond head of hair and all of those ripped muscles.

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Zip wants to sink his teeth into his competition

In this match, Zip is transparently the heel. He arrives with his hot body almost entirely covered in a black cape, as the ring announcer explains that Zip is convinced that he’s a vampire from Transylvania. This is homoerotic wrestling, though, so the fans aren’t shy about giving Zip at least his share of the love as he does a Stevie Nicks spin in the middle of the ring before taking off the cape. Obviously, Zip knows his audience, as well. He bounces his gorgeously tatted pecs at his opponent provocatively. The crowd signals their approval. “Hell yeah,” Zip smirks at how being appreciated for being so bad feels so good. “What you got,” he questions his opponent’s aesthetic appeal.

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Action so close you could taste it

So, of course I’m hard before there’s barely a hint of wrestling. I’ve begged for more openly homoerotic wrestling fare in front of an audience. The gay gaze, the call and response with the crowd, it all kicks a hot match-up like this into overdrive. Unlike in a straight-up pro match, everyone in the room knows that these fans are turned on by what they see. They beg openly for a pose off before things get too serious, because they just want to savor the sight of these young, hot muscles. And they want to interact with these fantasy hunks. They want Zip and Eliot to respond to their hoots and hollers. They want them to acknowledge that they know that they’re being sexually objectified. These two stunning athletes wrestle in indy pro rings all the time in traditionally homophobic contexts, but here and now, this is so sensationally gay.

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Like Eliot, I simply can’t believe the ref won’t grab that ass

Heels at BG East tend to always have a home field advantage. And I have extensively documented just how much of a fan I am of Zip Zarella. But even as the ref is checking the combatants for any illicit tricks or cheats, Eliot earns my (and I believe, the crowd’s) status as sentimental favorite. The ref pats Eliot down at the hips. He checks each white boot for any hidden weapons. And as the ref starts to walk away satisfied, Eliot turns his sensational bubble-butt toward him and insists that the ref confirm that he’s not hiding any unfair advantage in the back of his trunks. When the son-of-a-bitch ref balks (what THE FUCK is your problem, ref!?!), Eliot bends over, shoving his ass the ref’s way and demanding that the official put his hands on one of the hottest set of cheeks I’ve ever seen (seriously, KK, watch your back!).

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A move reminiscent of my favorite live wrestling event, Wrestlefest 2 (Rochelle vs. Donovan)
Proving the point that pro wrestling refs are absolutely useless, the ref does not follow Eliot’s instruction to cop a feel. But Eliot’s all-in, unblinking commitment to the homoerotic moment makes me foreswear my longstanding, slack jawed infatuation with Zip and start screaming at my screen significantly louder than any Wilton Manors fans for #TeamEliteEliot.

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Zip works over the fan favorite

Eliot further evidences his understanding of his audience by demanding that they decide, “Who’s got the better body?” Zip and he take turns showing off a double bicep pose for applause. It’s hard to tell on the DVD, but the fans seem pretty evenly divided in their enthusiasm. I give the edge to Eliot’s lickable muscles, but that’s just me. Zip suggests an archer pose flex-off to settle the tie, but when it’s Eliot’s turn, Zip delivers a forearm smash to the back of the head. Because he’s a bad ass cheater who likes to suck the bodily fluids (reportedly, blood) from his victims.

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Eliot poses for a fan

The wrestling veers into comic relief at times, which breaks the mood here on my end of the screen, but appears to be thoroughly enjoyed by the cheering fans in the seats at ringside. Zip repeatedly flees the ring and sprints through the audience to escape Eliot’s determined rage pointed his direction. The chase scenes go on a tad too long, with too much ham. At one point, Zip “hides” in a seat next to the luckiest fucker on the planet who happened to plant his ass next to the open chair. Eliot can’t find him for a few seconds. It’s hijinks. It’s silliness. Despite the proximity, STILL no one thinks to check the back of Eliot’s trunks for weapons.

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Face plants so hard they make Zip’s ass cheeks quiver

The action in the ring is too brief, but tasty. Zip tries an elbow drop as a sucker shot to Eliot’s back as the babyface starts to follow him back into the ring. Eliot demonstrates that he has both the brains and the brawn, ducking out of the way and letting Zip’s offense backfire on him. The best action sequence for my tastes happens when Eliot grabs a handful of Zip’s long locks and face plants him repeatedly into a turnbuckle to knock the pretty off of his babyboy face. The crowd joins in the count. It’s vicious and humiliating. But what makes this my favorite moment is watching Zip’s beautiful butt shimmy and quiver each time his face makes impact with the turnbuckle. Seriously, this has got to be a leading contender for best camera work of 2018.

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Eliot abuses Zip’s ass often

My second favorite action sequence involves two series of loud, echoing, cracking slaps that Eliot delivers to Zip’s clenched ass cheeks. The spanking somehow redeems the somewhat juvenile silliness elsewhere in the match. It feels a little like Zip overplayed the suspension of disbelief, and Eliot’s stinging cracks on his ass are the suitable punishment. And, who the fuck am I kidding? I fucking LOVE seeing Eliot repeatedly put his hands on his opponent’s ample, athletic ass cheeks.

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“Zip sucks! Zip sucks!” the crowd cheers the vampire.

Eliot’s straight legged high kick boot to the face when Zip comes sprinting off of the ropes is my third favorite moment in the action. There are a couple of reversals of fortune after that bone crunching impact, but that’s really the move that sells the finisher for me. When Kid Leopard made the ring introductions, he reported that Zip had a 35 pound (or so) weight advantage over Eliot, which I can pretty much believe. But Eliot’s standing boot heel to the chin drives home the point he’s been making all along. On this night, in front of this crowd, competing for the Pride Center, Elite Eliot is the stronger, faster, and smarter hunk in the ring.

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Crotch-tingling, hip swiveling double bicep pose

I have no idea what either Zip or Eliot’s sexual orientation is, and, to be clear, there’s no explicit sexual heat exchanged between them (well, other than Eliot’s delight and spanking Zip’s ass). But for earnestly insisting that the ref examine his ass, and for that profoundly sexy go-go boy hip swivel and double bicep pose combination, I am hereby issuing Elite Eliot his honorary gay card, which he can redeem for unlimited free drinks at my local Pride festival, and a two-handed ass cheek examination from this blogger anytime (and everytime).

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