Month: July 2011

Divinity and a Spanking

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Someone (and he knows who he is) deserves a stern spanking for delaying for a couple of days my opportunity to rip open a certain padded manilla envelope with the treasure Hunkbash 12 inside. One viewing of Kid Karisma offering No Mercy to  Jake Jenkins, however, and my thoughts of needing to spank someone have evaporated… for now….

Holy…. shit. Good God almighty. Sweet Jesus! There’s just no other way to describe it. This was a religious experience for me. I am completely captivated and captured by this match!

Kid K and Jake tell a truly classic pro tale. The rookie is all eager, flexing in the locker room mirror, tucking in the drawstrings of his stark, white speedos and pulling up his kneepads. He’s a rock hard, barefoot warrior ready to conquer. Like a spider, however, Kid K descends in black boots, black knee pads, and black trunks. A locker room ambush is the rookie’s first lesson: always keep looking over your shoulder, Jake!

It’s a schooling, nearly from start to finish. Kid K drags the rookie around, quite literally by the scruff of his neck. He toys with Jake. He preens and proves over and over that this is “sport” only in the sense that shooting clay pigeons from the deck of a cruise ship is sport. Lightweight hunk Jake is easy prey for being tossed and flipped, hurled and hammered mercilessly by a salivating Kid K. The Kid sets his sights early and unceasingly on Jake’s beautiful lower back. A few body slams to soften him up set the stage for the first of several excruciatingly lingering camel clutches that stretch and strain Jake’s neck and back. Prying the rookie’s head sharply backward with a fistful of hair on one hand, Kid K crunches out a massively peaked single bicep with his other, all to the soundtrack of Jake sobbing in agony.

Kid K is nastier than I’ve ever seen him, and he’s punching every button I’ve got. He looks like he relishes every boot he pounds into Jake’s naked back almost as much as he’s seriously getting off on flexing and posing over top of the battered rookie. I expect Kid K at any moment to yank down his trunks and pound out a couple of quarts in eye fluttering ecstasy. He doesn’t, of course… me, on the other hand….

Kid K is like a master artist in this match.  He has a delightful knack for carefully positioning almost every long, lingeringly held hold so that he (and we) can admire both his and Jake’s ripped bodies. There are no wasted motions, nothing abrupt or interrupted as the master chips away at this masterpiece. Right around 7 minutes into the match, he has Jake weeping in another camel clutch. As the camera zooms in for a close up, Kid K looks right at you and me with a sly grin, even as he barks at Jake, “Give up!?” He captures Jake’s chin in his left hand and pries the rookie’s head both backward and around, making the veins in Jake’s neck rise to the surface. When Jake refuses to give, Kid K rocks back and forth, sliding his hips forward and backward, wrenching on the poor rookie’s back that much harder. I swear, it looks like Kid K is dry humping the young stud’s sweaty, corded back.

Kid K pushes his luck, like all narcissists do sooner or later. He throws in one too many showboating cartwheels on his way toward using his body like a battering ram against Jake in the corner. At the last moment, Jake lifts his elbow and catches the red-headed terror in the face. A truly stunning flying head scissors illustrates that Jake is filling out a legitimate pro wrestling arsenal very quickly. Kid K’s unnecessary roughness has bruised hot young Jake’s ego a little too much, perhaps, inspiring the rookie to return the favor and drag Kid K to his feet by an iron clad fistful of hair. The massive sweat stain that Kid K leaves on the mat after getting awesomely flattened by a Jake Jenkins drop kick makes me swoon, hit rewind, swoon again, hit rewind again, and then swoon for a third time. Suplex after sweaty suplex winds the boy in black. But not for long.

Prying Jake’s back like a twist-tie around the ring post is every second as long as it needs to be to get the job done on Kid K’s side of the camera and on mine. And, okay, so I don’t have a strangling fetish, but sweet Jesus, when Kid K plants his claws around Jake’s neck, schoolboy pinning him and making the rookie’s face turn bright red, I can’t deny it. That’s fucking hot!

I can’t decide who’s ass works me harder (though I’d love to give that a road test), Jake’s tightly packed, athletic glutes or Kid Karisma’s mind-blowingly round muscle butt. Jake’s sweet ass is beautifully and generously displayed, as Kid K lifts him off his feet in a groaning, gasping bearhug. A reverse bearhug chaser, gives us a long look at just about every inch of Jake’s dripping body. I swear, a reverse bearhug never looked so much like a power-fuck!

So I’ve got just a few conclusions to wrap up this inadequate attempt to capture a profound spiritual experience. First conclusion, I was never so right as the day I picked Jake Jenkins to be my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. I’m on my knees begging the gods to send us more of Jake. Second conclusion, someone (and he knows who he is) seriously needs that spanking for keeping this treasure out of my hands even a second longer than necessary (you didn’t think I’d seriously forgotten!?).

And a third and final conclusion, Kid Karisma can simply do no wrong when it comes to my homoerotic wrestling kink entertainment these days. Time after time, he’s brought his ridiculously sexy brand of nastiness into my wrestling fantasies, doing to one pretty little thing after another, with masterful precision, exactly what I’m longing for him to do. It’s a momentous day, and regular readers can attest that this does not happen all that frequently, but Hunkbash 12 has convinced me without a shadow of a doubt that Kid K has broken into the top ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers – non-pornboys. That’s right, Joshua Goodman! Kid Karisma has refused to call you Mr. Joshua and instead slapped you and your pendulous package back into the ranks of the not-quite contenders. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see Mr. Joshua claw his way back into contention, but for now, as of this moment, Lon Dumont had better watch his rippled back, because Kid Karisma is my new top contender for the title of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy.

Pleased to Make Your Acquaintance

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I was mesmerized by those hairy pecs and munchable nipples the moment I saw Eliad Cohen on Men’s World last week. Good God, this man is pure sex! I thought to myself, that has got to be the sexiest body on the planet. Then again, I think that about a lot of hunks (I’m fickle).

Then I noticed he’d been featured on Homotrophy on Saturday…

…and then on eyecandy and Project Q on Sunday… 

….and then on Tattooed Hunks yesterday…

… and now neverland today. His “artist” Facebook page identifies Eliad as not just a dizzyingly gorgeous body, but also an actor, model, and personal trainer. He’s also the coverboy for Spartacus International Gay Guide.

Eliad’s fan page on Facebook gives a detailed bio that makes me think it may not just be bullshit. Reportedly, he’s an Israeli, 23-year old, fresh out of the army (aren’t all 23-year old Israelis?), gay entrepreneur.

When he puts up his fists, he suddenly becomes an object of wrestling/fight kink fantasy, as well (of course!). I’m picturing him as the template for a character in my superhero wrestling fantasy series. I’m not sure what his superpower should be, though…

Eliad is further proof of a long-standing theory I have that Israeli men are among the sexiest in the world. I hope that all this recent attention inspires more exposure for Eliad, and in the mean time, he’s working overtime in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.

AKA

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Reader Rob Sherborne (who I suppose is probably not this guy, but it’s who I picture associated with that name) gets the second Connect the Dots Award within the past week here at neverland, for turning me on (well, that ship had already sailed) to the AKA of Rock Hard Wrestling’s (and a my former homoerotic wrestler of the month) Lucas Payne. Seems young slab of beef Lucas also goes by Kasey “Colossal” Rolow.

Young Lucas Payne caught my eye and grabbed hold of my title as April’s homoerotic wrestler of the month for many reasons: that body… the way he nibbles his lower lip in concentration as he rips apart his opponent… that body… his cocky swagger… that body…. But honestly, it’s that mouth of his that earned him top honors from the new release list in April.

Lucas does not strike me as a professional wrestler first and foremost. He lacks polish and a ring strategy. He doesn’t really press an advantage. But Lucas brings what can make or break a homoerotic wrestling offering in my book: attitude. That smart-ass mouth of his tells a story so sweet it makes my mouth water. He taunts and belittles. He mocks his opponent whenever the poor sucker can’t help but cry out in agony. He occasionally growls one of those primal, beastly growls that makes my knees buckle. No kidding, that body is nothing but gorgeous (have I mentioned his body already?). But I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s that cocky, smart-ass mouth of his that I find the sexiest asset hunky Lucas has with him as he steps into the ring.

I haven’t paid the membership fee for Kasey’s personal worship site, but the preview pics available make me think that he comes by the cocky, quick-witted, smart-ass attitude without too much effort. His shirtless muscle shots show him to be the genetic marvel that he clearly is, with more than a hint of a supremely confident young stud who knows he can afford to ham it up and look silly, because he’s drop dead gorgeous and can snap most anyone like a twig if need be. I hope the homoerotic wrestling world has more Lucas entertainment ahead for us.

Damn. Damn-damn-damn!
Thanks so much for the very hot tip, Rob!

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor AH

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Regular neverland reader AH struck up an email conversation with me a few months ago, asking my opinion about where I’d recommend investing limited resources for maximum wrestling kink enjoyment. In many ways, that was the seed that eventually became my post last month on Kink Costs, which generated quite a bit of debate both on the blog and offline. AH and I had slightly different reactions to one of my favorite homoerotic wrestling matches, the debut match of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division, Lon Dumont taking down muscle stud Eddie Rey. I’m always fascinated when other fans see things differently, or outright see different things than I do. So when I asked AH if he might be interested in contributing to neverland’s summer series on Diverse Tastes, I shouldn’t have been surprised that he took things in a slightly different direction than the other guest contributors who’ve posted so far. Whereas most contributors have gone directly toward examining tastes in wrestlers and wrestler’s bodies, AH zeroed in on what he finds hottest in wrestling: the sleeperhold. Personally, I’m an over-the-knee backbreaker fanatic, but that’s the point! Different and divergent tastes make the world of homoerotic wrestling kink that much more interesting and provocative!
———————-
Witness to the Execution
by AH



My first memories of wrestling was of the WWF (no one watched WCW at all), and of Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake ending matches with his sleeperhold.  I was hooked as quickly as his opponents were lying helpless on the wrestling mat. Because of this, the sleeper has always been my favorite move; and although it has been modified throughout my 20+ years of watching wrestling, I will take the original sleeper hold to most any other variation.


The first thing that really intruiged me about the sleeper was the hand-arm placement of the person applying the sleeper, usually right above the victims’ eyes and as close to around the neck as possible, without truly suffocating/causing permanent damage.  This intrigued because, as I know now, facial expressions play a big role in my wrestling kink.  Seeing the victims’ eyes flutter, and finally succumb to passing out/unconsciousness has and always will turn me on.



However, there is another factor of the sleeper that I love, that does not really involve the person applying the hold nor the person in the hold, and I think that this part of the equation gets lost in the action of BG East, Thunders and other companies (though I am not an expert on the matter as my match viewing from these companies and others pales in comparison to some of the people who are reading this).



That factor is the referee:  his job when a submission was happening was to make sure the wrestler in the submission was OK, and whether or not he was all right to continue or if he wanted to give up.  However, with a bulging bicep around the throat, it is difficult to say anything; so the referee would raise the victims’ arm, and if it fell, would lift it two more times.  After the third time raising the arm, if the arm would not stay upright, the referee called for the bell, and the match was over, the loser down on the mat, more or less unconscious.



For me at least, adding a referee or an “unbiased” third party to a match (does not have to be submission, as this person could make the pin counts as well in matches) would add another dimension to the matches, and it would enhance the kink i get out of matches that either have sleepers in them, or end with sleepers.  Seeing matches that are not fully staged and choreographed on a grand scale, end with eyes fluttering and finally closing, an arm being raised and ultimately dropped three times, and the victor standing or flexing over his unconscious opponent, would bring full circle my love affair with the sleeperhold.

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Okay, so AH’s take on a sleeperhold nearly makes me a convert! I still go crazy for an OTK backbreaker, but I appreciate the fluttering eyes and the sinking arm-raise that much more, now. My thanks to AH for taking this conversation in new directions, and my thanks to BG East (as always) and Wrestling Arsenal for the pics.

A Feast for the Senses

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I’m coated in sweat at this moment. Normally, that might be a signal of something hot and thrilling going on for me. But at this moment, it’s just a symptom of my low tolerance for heat and humidity. However, it brings me back to the topic that I’ve expounded on many times before: my love of sweat-lubricated homoerotic wrestling.
Landon Mycles v Michael Vineland – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 1
Yes, please! There’s something that much more intimate about two hunks wrestling lathered in sweat. The lubrication is itself part of the association with value-added arousal, I’m sure. Less friction, harder and hotter action. Just an application of lubricant can bring me to full attention, so an entire body coated in lubricating sweat is profoundly arousing.
Sweat-Pig Extraordinaire Bud Orton v Kevin Shea –
BG East’s Wrestleshack 6

It’s not just the physiology of a penile reflex to lubrication, though. Just the sight of sweat dripping off a wrestler’s nose or chin makes me light headed. There’s a deep, homoerotic masculinity about a sweat-soaked body engaged in combat. When the hair is plastered to the scalp, wringing with sweat, when beads are dripping off the brow like a leaky faucet, the wrestler becomes even more an object of primal, sexualized strength and domination than he was before. The smell of fresh sweat, still clinging to the body, is like vintage wine, stimulating all the senses at once.

Rio Garza v sweat-soaked Chris Bruce – BG East’s Undagear 17

I’m a fan of sweat-soaked gear, as well. The gear that allows you to trace the path of moisture pouring from the pores is extra goodness. Peeling off sweaty gear is even more erotic. The hollow sound of heavy, soaked gear slapping against skin or smacking the mat is over the top arousing for me.

Lickable Denny Cartier v Mikey Vee – BG East’s Mat Hunks 8

And, as I’ve mentioned before, in addition to a visual, tactile, olfactory and auditory arousal associated with sweat, there are some prize homoerotic wrestlers bodies that, when coated in a sheen of sweat, I find myself desperately fantasizing about licking. I’d like to see more licking in my homoerotic wrestling. The primal sensuality of tasting your opponent’s body, the pairing of domination and caressing as your tongue slides across the salty surface of a hunk’s muscles, is powerfully thrilling.

AKA

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Eagle-eyed neverland reader, D.S., wins a Connect-the-Dots Award for spotting one of my current favorite wrestlers under another alias. D.S. tells me that he confirmed the double-identity by checking the tats. Indeed, they match, and indeed, D.S. rocks for giving me the heads up!
I’ve gotten in trouble in the past before for sleuthing out the full-monty versions of homoerotic wrestlers who’ve kept their kit on for the wrestling audience. Well, to be entirely fair, I haven’t exactly gotten “in trouble.” I have, though, been contacted by very gracious wrestlers asking very politely to remove my links and pics of their more risque sidelines for one reason or another. And for the record, I’m happy to do so, particularly when the wrestling hunks in question are such gentlemen about it.
So if the wrestler in question were to find it more advantageous for these truly awesome shots of him to be removed from neverland… well, let’s just say an autographed photo of him with a personal inscription to me, would most likely result in his wish being granted. Is that blackmail? I sincerely don’t intend it to be so.  I hold homoerotic wrestlers in the highest regard, and the pages of this blog are intended solely to promote the finest of their work with the best of intentions. So, should this page at some point in the future suddenly display photos of puppy dogs, you’ll know that I got a message from a certain wrestling stud extraordinaire (and, quite possibly, it may mean that I now own an autographed photo).

Memory Lane

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Re-reading yesterday’s post, I’m struck by my near hysterics. I’m actually not feeling nearly as desperately uncomfortable today as yesterday. It may be that the temperature has actually changed, or possibly my body has adjusted a bit to this climate (or both). You can still call me a pussy if you like, but I may just feel well enough to hip toss you to your ass and sit on your face for the trouble. Your call.

My work is making me cross paths frequently with college-age hunks these days. Like I mentioned yesterday, the heat is also inspiring the aforementioned barely legal muscleboys to display generous quantities of skin. Yes, indeed, there could be worse ways to spend a summer, even with the sweat trickling down the back of my neck at this very moment.

These shots of Seth Kuhlmann from DNA are making me feel all nostalgic for my own undergraduate days. True story: I was a frat boy in college. Have I mentioned that? All four years, with the secret handshake and the pseudo-religious ritual and the copious quantities of alcohol always nearby… Somehow, my memories of those years don’t quite match up with the gay porn fantasies of frat house romps. I don’t quite remember my frat brothers dropping trou like butt-beautiful Seth here. All that said, however, I have to also say, there were some fantastic wrestling kink moments strongly associated with frat house living, that stoke my fantasies still today.

I had a few rockin’ gorgeous frat brothers, one in particular who particularly enjoyed to wrestle. He was blond, a football player with incredibly long legs and a fantastic hard, round ass. I don’t think I’m overstating it to say that he had some of the aesthetics of a Seth Kuhlman. And for some reason, he loved wrestling with me, in particular.

The scenario was repeated often my last two years in the frat (I was a junior his freshman year). He’d walk in the room where I was (the “chapter room,” my bedroom, the bathroom…), and he’d say something intentionally provocative. He’d make a short joke (I was about half a foot shorter than he). He’d walk up and knock my cap off for no good reason. Whatever, he’d create a pretense in which I was required by the intricate homo-charged bonding rituals of young men to stand up, puff out my chest, and indicate that I was prepared to defend my honor with physical force. Two seconds later, we’d be locked up, him with a height and weight advantage, me with a lower center of gravity and, let’s face it, superior smarts. Two times out of three, the situation would end with me submitting. At least one of those times out of three, I’d submit because my erection was raging so hard that it couldn’t be disguised and, frankly, was posing an injury hazard. One time out of three, the gorgeous blond stud would power me to my back, hook a leg, and just let gravity keep me pinned to my back until I gave up.

And that last one time out of three, I’d take him down, typically sweeping one of those long, strong, smooth legs of his. 19 years old and still growing, he’d be all awkward arms and legs and unchecked balance. I actually pinned the pretty little bastard just handful of times, but much more often, I’d make him cry uncle by locking one of his arms behind his back while I straddled his narrow waist, cranking his wrist higher and higher up between his shoulder blades… or I’d snap my albeit shorter but surprisingly strong legs around his midsection, lace my ankles together, and grind my knees into his gut and lower back. That would always make him laugh at first, as if it was no big thing to be scissored between my thighs. But his laughter would evolve into choked coughing, punctuated by sharp inhalations as he attempted to disguise his pain. Eventually (preferably only after a long time), he’d groan, no longer with any pretense that he wasn’t suffering. Finally, he’s repeat quickly, with more than a note of desperation, “Okayokayokay!!!”
There’s no chance in hell that this guy was unaware of the hard-ons that our wrestling bouts inevitably gave me. I don’t know what it meant for him, whether it was just relatively socially acceptable homoeroticism for him as it was for me. But he kept coming back for more, and despite the odds against me (and perhaps even more so because of them), I kept puffing out my chest, locking up, and wrestling long and hard fueled by an overabundance of testosterone and a passionate lust for intimate physical contact in the form of wrestling domination.

I’m a Pussy

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Brad Rochelle: BG East’s Backyard Brawls 1
This has come as a bit of a shock to me, but I have to admit it: I am a pussy. Now, I mean that in the most non-misogynistic (and pro-feline) way possible, but frankly, there’s just no way to sugar coat it. I’m a pussy. A few unkind hearts reading this are nodding their heads and snarkily mumbling that it’s about time that I admitted it. Well… fuck you, that’s not what I’m talking about. I don’t back down from a fight, and I’ve been told by several independent sources that when I’m in a particularly serious mood, I remind them of an angry grammar school gym teacher (which, perhaps oddly, I find really flattering). What I am a pussy about, however, is this heat.
Ryon Long & Greg Michaels: BG East’s Backyard Brawls 2

I’d heard that Boston in late July was hot, but somehow I still wasn’t mentally prepared. I catch myself continually bitching and moaning about the heat throughout the day, and I’m not proud of it. I sleep on top of the covers with a fan blowing directly in my face, and still I’m hot. And now a local colleague has mentioned to me that it’s going to “start heating up around here” over the next few days. I almost started to cry. I can’t deny it. I’m a pussy.

Shannon Embry & Jonny Firestorm:
BG East’s The Contract 9

On the other hand, this sort of heat brings out an abundance of bare flesh. And I’ve been very delighted with the hot and bothered eye candy that Boston has to offer. I keep looking for some BG East wrestling hunk strolling down the street (preferably in his skimpiest wrestling trunks). But despite not catching any BG East fanstymen sightings yet, I have to say, I’ve seen some prime beef that very well might be able to give the BG East boys a run for their money (at least in hunky looks… toss them into the ring and I’m sure our BGE battlers would beat the shit out of these downtown posers).

Reigning Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month:
The sweat-soaked gorgeousness o Jake Jenkins
Regular readers also know what a sucker I am for a thick sheen of sweat on a muscled hunk, so just imagine my constant titillation in a city baking their beefy boys with a side of nasty humidity.
Brad Rochelle: The Contract 6

Back to the self-revelation that I’m a pussy, though… as for me, I just don’t have the body chemistry to enjoy baking my own body. Sun bathing is not on my list of enjoyable pass-times. Watching the fine physiques of hot guys sun bathing is an enjoyable pass-time, but even then, it turns out that I’m such a pussy that my own discomfort is distracting me from that most excellent byproduct of a steamy, summer day.

Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor: BG East’s Wet & Wild 5

And frankly, the notion of a wrestling match is almost too much for me to bear. The last thing I feel like doing in this heat is swapping body heat with anyone else in close quarters. This pussiness is profoundly, existentially unsettling the very core of my wrestling kink identity that I typically find as constant as magnetic north. But a whole lot of aggressive, physical exertion at this moment is almost nauseating to think about.

A homoerotic wrestler I’d wrestle in any weather:
BG East’s Mitch Colby
Then again, the right body, perhaps lubricated with some tanning oil, could probably lure me out of my bitchy, whiny buzzkill. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly for this vulnerable confession. However, if you do, wait till September and I’m back in a more familiar climate, and I’ll kick your ass and make you enjoy every second of it.

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Bruno

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Bruno, the connoisseur of Beefcakes of Wrestling, has quite an eye for wrestling muscles. I check is blog daily, because I rely on folks like Bruno and Joe at Ringside at Skull Island to draw my gaze to the best of the crop of eyecandy professional wrestlers that I’m missing as a result of swearing off straight-up wrestling some time ago. The beefcake that Bruno features works for my wrestling kink about 75% of the time. But honestly, it’s the 25% of the time that fascinates me the most. That 25% of Bruno’s picks that leave me thinking, “Now he’s just not quite doing it for me,” those send me scurrying into the corners of my own tastes and imagination, self-reflecting on the nature of desire, arousal, and personal tastes. Bruno is a gentleman and a gem, and I’m very honored that he’s bringing us this latest in neverland’s summer series of guests posts on the topic of “Diverse Tastes,” in which he provokes and inspires the most essential element in a healthy wrestling kink (or sexual fantasy of any sort, really): the imagination.
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Can You Imagine?
by Bruno
One of the things I enjoy most on Neverland is Bard’s homoerotic wrestling fiction featuring TV/movie actors, newscasters, and the hunky carpenters of HGTV. We’ll probably never see studs like Joe Mangianello or Chris Evans step into a ring to wrestle in tight briefs, so creating fictional scenarios where they do is the next best thing.
Joe Manganiello & Chris Evans:
Bruno foreshadows a possible future bout in the Producer’s Ring?
Bard has already featured dozens of sexy non-wrestlers from the worlds of show business, broadcast journalism, and sports and I’d like to contribute a couple of new faces to his roster. 
I’m a pretty private guy and as followers of my blog “Beefcakes Of Wrestling” can attest, I don’t often talk about myself. But I’m going to make an exception for Bard and tell you a little bit about what I do for a living. I’m a voice actor who dubs soap operas from Mexico, Venezuela, Colombia and Argentina from their original Spanish language to English. 
Now if you haven’t watched a “telenovela” yet, you’re missing out on a lot of hot Latin beefcake. The gorgeous actors from these countries are tanned, buff and not shy about showing off their gym-toned bodies. There are two actors I have supplied the voices for whom I think would be perfect for Neverland’s roster of homoerotic wrestlers.
William Levy
First off is the reigning hunk of Mexican soap operas, William Levy. Blonde, ripped and impossibly good-looking, Levy always plays the romantic lead who is both tough and sensitive.
In a wrestling match, he’s the ideal babyface/rookie/jobber — a pretty boy with a lean, athletic build that demands to be punished in hold after excruciating hold. 
Pablo Martin
And who would be the prefect opponent to do that to Levy? Of all the villains I played, the one who most fits the bill as a vicious wrestling heel is  Pablo Martin.
His thick, muscular build and dark good looks remind me of those heels in BG East’s Big-N-Beefy series. Whatsmore, Martin knows how to be nasty; in the soap opera where I supplied his English-sepaking voice, he was despicable as the dastardly, conniving bad guy who tormented the female lead (and who wore speedos 80% of the time!). 

Can you imagine a match between these two Titans of The Telenovela? I’ll leave it to Bard to fill out the rest of the details (should he wish to). Now it’s back to the recording studio for me. Thanks for the opportunity to contribute to your blog, Bard!
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Truly my pleasure and honor, Bruno! And this is exactly what I’m talking about. I might never have known about the profoundly inspiring treasures of William Levy and Pablo Martin if it weren’t for Bruno. I believe that all of our fantasies diverge and converge around the worlds in which we live and let our imaginations run free. It takes no more encouragement at all for me to put a William Levy vs. Pablo Martin match on my docket for the Producer’s Ring. And I’m predicting that William is in for a world of hurt and humiliation. Thanks for opening up my wrestling kink imagination that much farther!

We’ve Only Just Begun

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Note to self: Don’t check the BG East website updates when in a relatively public place. My instant arousal upon seeing a barefoot Jake Jenkins in knee pads and Kevin Von Erich-esque tight, white trunks posing for his ring match with bad boy musclestud, Kid Karisma, required me to stay seated for quite a while in order to keep confidential the tented crotch of my pants. I don’t know if I’ll manage to wait for a DVD copy of Hunkbash 12, or if I’ll cave as I curse the US Postal Service and also buy a 24-hour pay-per-view download of the match in the BGE Arena. Damn my inability to control my lust for instant gratification! Damn, that’s one hot wrestler! Damn straight, he’s my homoerotic wrestler of the month!

As I struggle to see whether I can wait it out for Hunkbash 12, let me celebrate another Jake Jenkins match that thrills me to the core and makes me almost ready to throw a bar mitzvah for Rock Hard Wrestling. The quality of Jake’s recent release against rookie (somehow I don’t think so) Gunnar Bayani (I LOVE that name!!!) suggests that RHW may have finally come of age, as far as I’m concerned. Delightful pacing from two skilled athletes with a story to tell. Gunnar has some professional moves and presence that clearly draw from an established ring career elsewhere. And my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month is both absolutely gorgeous and delivering a delightful combination of amateur tosses and pins mixed in with a growing arsenal of pro-style thumps, flights, and viciousness.

Gunnar plays it cool to start the match. “All that wait, and this is what I get?” Someone needs to check Gunnar’s eyesight, because Jake is looking stunning from go. He sports incredible fitness with thick, athletic muscles in all the right places to keep him both flexible and physically dominating in the ring. And that ass… my, oh my, that ass… packed into those red square cuts to perfection.

The running bit that Jake pushes from before they ever make contact is the comparison of Gunnar to skinny Japanese competitive eating champion, Takeru Kobayashi. Personally, I don’t really see the resemblance, but then again, I don’t suppose that’s the point. It’s about psyching out an outmatched opponent. “You look that that little skinny Kobayashi,” Jake taunts. Let’s face it, no one is going to be intimidated by Takeru Kobayashi unless you’re stupid enough to go head to head with him in competitive eating. In the wrestling ring, however, it’s another story.

“Just like skinny Kobayashi, I beat guys four times my size!” Gunnar snaps back. And although Jake’s physique is way out of Gunnar’s league, Jake is definitely not four times his size. Gunnar unleashes a lightening fast volley to get the action started that has Jake seeing stars. Backing my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month into the corner, Gunnar lands several hard slaps to Jake’s gorgeous pecs that echo around the arena. “Owww!” Jake gasps with a stunned grin that looks unmistakably like he’s actually caught off guard by the sincerity and authenticity of Gunnar’s assault to his beautiful chest. Jake’s beautiful pecs glows bright, bright red for the next 5 minutes of this match.

But once Jake catches the momentum, he illustrates handily what all those gorgoues muscles can do. He picks Gunnar up like a sack of potatoes and flings him to the mat. Just to even the scorecard, he takes pleasure in some tit-for-tat corner abuse. “Does that hurt!?” Jake demands, just checking, just measuring the immediate effect of his swelling dominance over the rookie. “How does that feel?” he asks, as if he’s taking notes in the fine art of exacting the maximum agony out of a skinny rookie. A single leg crab has Gunnar screaming. Jake transitions to a nasty leg lock that looks like he’s nearly ripping his opponent’s leg off at the knee. A lightening fast drop kick, a running scoop slam, and a school boy pin sets him up to return the favor of pounding Gunnar’s tight pecs with his fists. For an amateur wrestler stepping sideways into the pro ring, Jake shows that he’s got a quickly growing arsenal of holds and maneuvers that take full advantage of his strength, flexibility, and finely tuned awareness of his body in motion. He flies off the corner turnbuckle. He lands a drop kick that spins Gunnar 270 degrees in mid-air. Gunnar is going nowhere as Jake slaps down a leisurely 3-count pinfall. “After that you may want to go back to eating hot dogs, Kobayashi!” he smirks.

Jake works my wrestling kink every bit as relentlessly and skillfully as he inevitably works over Gunnar. Slamming the rookie’s face into the turnbuckle, he taunts, “How do those corners taste!?” Multiple powerslams leave gunnar gasping for air. Jake sells some suffering as well, as Gunnar delivers unmistakably expert offense.  His running drop kick squarely into Jake’s face looks awfully nasty and perfectly on the money, from my angle. But eventually overcoming exhaustion, Jake just manages to catch Gunnar in mid-air as he leaps off the turnbuckle, reversing the flight it into a beautiful power slam that has the rookie helpless. Jake quickly lifts Gunnar across his shoulders in an entirely convincing torture rack in the center of the ring, pulling hard on Gunnar’s body as the rookie screams in desperate agony before gasping out his submission. “We’re 2 and 0! Game over!” Jake flexes, his body beautifully pumped from a seriously athletic match.

Jake, my homoerotic wrestler of the month, I’m passionately hoping that we’ve only just begun!