Welcome to the newly redecorated neverland! Yesterday was an auspicious beginning to the new year, with record stats for the blog. About 2,250 page views from around 850 visitors made New Years Day the busiest ever around these parts. It’s exciting to welcome a lot of new readers to the conversation about beautiful men and the wonders of homoerotic wrestling kink.
Return visitors will notice the new decor and some house cleaning. The dawn of a new year inspired me to clean out the cupboards and slap on some new paint. I’ve relegated the miles-long labels list to the bottom of the page in favor of bumping up the search tab for folks who want to look up their favorite posts and infatuations. I’m hoping to keep the counters clear of clutter and more easily navigated, so the design is relatively simple and streamlined. I hope you enjoy the new digs.
Lucas Kerr recommended the color scheme. He’s a poser granola/earth-tones sort of guy. I put him to work yesterday, lending a hand with the New Year’s cleaning. He owed me, after getting sloppy on New Year’s Eve and passing out with his dirty boots on the couch, that bastard. He didn’t wake up until about 2 in the afternoon. I was ready for him, though.
For having a well-deserved, raging hangover, he was remarkably resilient when I trapped him in a side headlock and paraded him around the living room. He threatened to puke, but when I rubbed his handsome face in the mud stains he left on my couch, he seemed to finally believe me that he’d pay much more dearly if he threw up. Still, he managed to squeeze his head free after a couple of minutes of the humiliation. Truth be told, he’s got a few inches in height and about 20 pounds on me, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was able to put up a fight.
Of course, putting up a fight just made the whole situation that much hotter for me. Lucas has quite the pleasing, lean bod, and other than moments of fighting off his hangover nausea, he gave me a run for my money when I commenced with exercising the discipline he so abundantly earned. We locked up briefly when he figured out what I had planned for him. With his reach advantage, he held off my advance for a little while, but with his pounding hangover headache, it was inevitable. I yanked him forward, pulling him off balance, and then reversed momentum quickly, sliding my right foot behind his left ankle and dropping him to his fine, fine ass. I had his ankles in hand quickly, and I took great pleasure in dragging him on his ass across the living room, through the kitchen and into the guest bedroom where I’d cleared enough space to put the mattress on the floor.
Again, the naughty bastard managed to rally more than I’d have given him credit for. He wrapped me up in a bearhug, which I’m not ashamed to say that I enjoyed immensely. Flinging me onto the mattress, he made a quick attempt to wrap those long, lean arms of his across my throat in a rear choke. Again, I’m not above sharing with you that when he wrapped those hard, muscled legs around my waist and locked his ankles together across my abdomen, I harbored a moment of indecisiveness with regard to whether losing this battle might, in the end, win the war. But pride ultimately tipped the scales, along with a strong sense that justice needed to be served.
He couldn’t apply the choke for shit. I tucked my chin and waited as he tired himself out trying to gain position. Eventually I managed to squeeze my right hand between my back and his abdomen far enough to claw his balls through his jeans. Holy shit, he screamed like I’d actually ripped them off. He lost all concentration and will to defend himself then, and it didn’t take long at all for me to school boy pin the pretty boy with one hand punishing his balls and the other pulling his face into my crotch.
He submitted, which cost him his jeans. For the second fall, he never saw the light of day. He was doubled over from a knee to the gut, his head stuck between my knees, and his arms pried behind his back with absolutely nowhere to go. He says he submitted, but I swear I didn’t hear it, which is why I drove him face first into the mattress. He turned into such a whiny bitch about not playing fair at that point that I really got pissed. I started working over his lower back relentlessly (“What’s that? You submit? I’m sorry, I can’t quite understand you…”). Rapid fire knee drops beat whatever fire was left right out of him. I took a couple of minutes to sit on his back and yank his bikini whites up his ass crack, the better to spank his sweet round glutes, one whack for every $10 it was going to cost to get the couch reupholstered. I’m sure I overestimated, but whatever. His ass was angry red and hot enough to roast marshmallows over before I was done.
He was threatening to puke again, and I believed him. So I finished the session with a single leg crab that made him cry, with a final addition of a ball claw with my free hand that made him scream. Truth be told, I probably had one too many pre-champagne toast drinks myself on New Year’s Eve, and we both dozed on the mattress a little while after I felt like revenge had been fully achieved.
To Lucas’ credit, he was a diligent little worker around the house after that. I don’t know if he was genuinely intimidated by my threat to work him over harder if he didn’t do his chores only dressed in his underwear, or whether he’s just that much of an attention whore in love with being worshipped. Either way, I wasn’t complaining, watching his bikini-briefed ass sway back and forth while he was on his knees scrubbing the produce tray in the refrigerator.
All told, the mud on the couch was totally worth it, I’d say. And I’d say that this was a most excellent way to start the new year. Can’t wait to see what else 2011 brings!