5’11” tall. 170 pounds of fit, lean muscle. A sweat-soaked mop of blond hair. Blue eyes. Pouty lips. A mouthful of bright, white teeth. Some smart-ass (you know I love you, topher) commented recently that I’m not-so-secretly all about pretty boys. I still say that’s not entirely true. But I must admit, Rock Hard Wrestling’s Travis Storm is just so blindingly pretty that I’m helpless to resist him. So I don’t try.
Santa came through a little early, plucking from my Christmas wish list the desire to see a little more white bread Southern charm back in the RHW ring. Like a shiny present tied up with a bow, Travis arrives in RHW’s latest release, taking on the imposing figure of Max Powers (okay, I hate that name). And just in keeping with my last post, I’m happy to report that Travis fills up the front of his supertight shorts nicely.
This was my second tasty feast with Travis as my main course, but this was my first glimpse of Max. From his pics and description, I expected to see a big baddie at play. He’s got the look of a classic pro heel, I think, with his stubble helmet and powerful build. He just looks like he’s someone who takes no shit, somewhat impatient to beat down the next chump in his way, someone who’s typically packing more than enough to crush his opponent, but quick to resent the need to break a sweat. And indeed, Max proves almost immediately that he’s a kick-em-while-their-down sort of punk.
Nice trash talk from both boys. Both boys are adjusting their crotches a lot, which is always nice to see in otherwise straight-up fare. It has to be said, though, that Travis is working precisely twice as hard as Max in selling these 19 minutes. The hit I get is that Travis actually has some amateur wrestling cred (his bio claims as much), with an accompanying nice sense of balance and awareness of his own body, whereas this is pretty new to Max (I peg him for a high school football hero). As a result, Travis sets the pace, pulls off what finesse there is, sells all sides of the story for both of them, and totally earns the drops of sweat beading off his chin by the end of the final fall.
A few highlights that make me feel just fine about being a little lighter in the wallet include several moments in which Travis is almost literally spinning circles over Max, with the palm of his hand squeezing Max’s mighty glutes. The over-the-knee backbreaker to finish round 2 places Travis on delightful display (he gives up way too quickly, though). Travis repeatedly lifted off his feet in multiple fall 3 bearhugs is just all sorts of enjoyable. But I think my favorite, ever-so-brief moment is when Travis has just worked the shit out of Max, illustrating that he can own his ass at any moment. Max is flat on his stomach, not sure which end is up. Travis is taking half a second to catch his breath, straddling the big boy’s back. And he smashes Max’s face into the canvas by holding him down by the back of the neck. It’s a hot, dominating, just-how-will-I-crush-you-next sort of moment that tweaks my kink and makes me come up for air.
Coming up on the anniversary of RHW’s launch, I feel the need to point out that they’re still working out their own kinks (of a different sort than mine). That is, they’re still working with how to make the most of the astounding high definition quality of their visuals in light of the fact that they’ve got wrestlers often ham-handedly pulling punches. This time around, they’ve got some odd visual post-production edits, with body blows apparently intended to be accentuated by quick cuts or a shaking, “pulsing” camera shot. It’s not as distracting to me as their previous over-reliance on off camera sound effects to make body blows seem louder, but it’s still not nearly as high quality of wrestling production as it is high quality video production. My suggestion (no one asked… just offering…) is just rely less on strikes to tell your story. Particularly now that they’re in a ring where the boys can really lift and slam one another, I think they can sell that sort of high impact move in place of so many stage-strikes, and then pour on more long-held, really hard selling squeezes, claws and scissors (all those luscious pecs and not a claw in sight!? There oughta be a law…). I’d personally sign over a paycheck to experience Travis’ sweaty thighs wrapped around me, so let the boy crush some internal organs and really milk the muscleboys with those long, strong legs!