Good Lord. Where has Harol Baez been all my life? DNA is talking directly to you and me, wrestling kinksters, when they describe this photo shoot of Harol, saying, “The theme of eros and competition is age-old…” Indeed, and it’s obviously a major turn on, particularly with the likes of hunk of beef Harol.
These pics have had some major digital retouching, giving sweet Harol somewhat of a virtual look about him. Personally, I like my men entirely human and touchable with blemishes and scars. I have to believe that the basic elements here are all Harol, though. That astonishing ass is made-to-order for my latest musclebutt obsession. The beautiful face is screaming out to be squeezed between my legs. But those massive, tree trunk legs are absolutely jaw-dropping.
Have I said, “Holy hell,” yet? Holy hell. As a solo shot this is unrequited lovin’ at its best and worst. For God’s sakes, someone climb into that ring and tackle that muscle adonis! Send him whipping off the ropes and connecting with your low knee lift! Scoop him up in your arms, parade him around the ring like the boytoy trophy he is, and then drop him savagely across your outstretched knee! Don’t let him fall off!!! Pin him there, pried backward across your leg, while you claw, twist, and pound on every impressive inch within reach! Do it now!!!!
Yes, indeed. Superhumanly smoothed complexion or not, these shots of Harol certainly stunningly realize the delicious theme of eros and competition. Now that he’s stripped, beaten black and blue, and exhausted, someone, anyone (ME!) absolutely must climb on top and help Harol realize the whole story, from start to finish, where pain and pleasure are inextricably entwined and winning is losing is winning…
Sidelineland 
WOW! SIMPLY….WOW! (GRRREAT WRITING, BARD!)
Thanks MIKE. Isn't Harol incredibe? I wonder what ever happened to him.