Month: March 2012

Size Matters

wrestlebard7 Comments
Anyone who knows me knows that when it comes to men’s bodies, my tastes include a broad spectrum.  In fact, it’s not just that there are a variety of body types that turn me on, but variety itself is a turn on. I have friends, for example, that will only date guys who are over 6 feet tall, or blonds, or twinks, or Asian men, or bodybuilders. For me, each of the above is delightful, and all of the above is fantastic.
Most people who know me are also aware that I tend to have a fascination for stats. Most relevant to today’s post, I love the numerical context for the homoerotic wrestlers who arouse me. Astute readers have picked up that I tend to count things like height, weight, and matches wrestled when I contemplate wrestling hunks. Numbers can sketch out the backstory that I love so much to wrestling drama. Stats can also, without a doubt, mislead. Take, for example, wrestlers’ physical stats. Overestimating heights and weights is a notorious tendency in professional wrestling, as promoters try to paint a bigger than life picture of the gladiators battling in the ring. So with more than a grain of salt, I appreciate wrestling numbers and today reflect on the right tail of the distribution: literal giants of homoerotic wrestling.
My research project for today’s post was to try to identify the homoerotic wrestlers at least 6’4″ tall.  Who might you guess is among the skyscrapers towering that high? There were about a dozen long, tall drinks of water that I expected to make this list, but who didn’t (at least not according to their wrestling profiles). I fully expected to see on this list such BG East big men as Mitch Colby (actually listed anywhere from 6’1 – 6’3), Gareth Black (6’3″), Kid Brock (6’1″), Stan Greer aka Cage (ranging from 6′ to 6’2″), Jeff Olsen (6’2″).  I thought I’d find more to add to the list from Thunder’s Arena, who specializes in the big boys, like O’Shea (6’3″), Sampson (6’3″), or Titan (6’2″).  A few of Can-Am’s classically massive wrestlers surprised me by missing the list, like Brett Mycles (6’1″) and Jirka Kalvoda (6’0″).  Also catching me by surprise by not towering quite as high as I thought were Naked Kombat rafter cleaners Blake Daniels (6’3″) and Spencer Reed (6’1″).  Not to say that any of these guys aren’t long, lovely specimens who I’d have to get a step ladder to look in the eye. But their online profiles indicate that they aren’t quite at the most elite level of towering hunks in the business. So who is?  Well this is the list that I was able to identify…
Thunder’s Arena’s giant Boxxy rains power down on Angel.

Thunder’s Arena’s butt-tastic muscle man Boxxy is posted at a dizzying 6’4″ carrying his 240 pounds of decadent muscle. Of course, putting him on the mat opposite 5’5″ Angel only accentuates the superhuman size of the bubble-butted phenom. 
Boxxy even makes muscle man Rex look relatively small!
Side by side with fellow side of beef, 5’8″ Rex, Boxxy manages the seemingly impossible task of making the word “petite” somehow seem to stick on Rex’s powerful, pounding physique. When looking for a hit of size-fetish satisfaction, Boxxy certainly deserves to stand among the pantheon of homoerotic wrestling giants (in stature).
BG East’s Clint Morgan towers over a battered proboy Bryan.
There are a few other power hitters like Boxxy who stretch the measuring tape to 6’4″, such as BG East’s classic bully, Clint Morgan.  Clint stayed in the game long enough to earn him a Bodies Over Time post (somebody remind me).  He was such a physically dominant powerhouse, I actually figured 6’4″ was an underestimate, but the measuring tape isn’t capturing just how much his beef and personality fill up the ring.
Clint used his amazingly long legs to torture his opponents viciously.
Clint is a massive, vicious, merciless brute of man that I’d definitely want on my side of a bar fight. And once we’ve brutally won the impromptu battle, flush with adrenaline and bursting with cum, this giant is coming home with me celebrate!
Can-Am’s Brian Maxon demands to be worshipped.
Can-Am’s Brian Maxon was another 6’4″ package of vile muscle heel. “Larger than life” sort of sums up “maximum Maxon.” Every astonishing inch of his body was divine, including that perfectly proportioned python dangling so ominously between his legs. I always get the impression in a Maxon match that, like the muscle god he is, Brian is less interested in the “winning” as he is in being worshipped. 
Brian used his massive body to smother and bury his opponents in the mat.
I pictured big Brian swaggering his big, beautiful body through the homoerotic wrestling universe collecting an army of devotees who’ve been converted by being smothered between his huge pecs and pounded into painful ecstasy by his titanic cock.  He snaps his fingers and the lucky bastards who were just ground into the mat jump to their feet and follow him, wide-eyed in devoted rapture, to his next spiritual conquest.
BG East’s Magnus had to pry Surge’s face upward to meet his gaze.
So numbers can (and let’s face it, usually do) lie. Some of the hunks on this list I’m guessing have had their heights fudged upward at least a couple of inches. But I have no trouble at all believing that BG East’s recent muscle monster, Magnus, is every inch his reported 6’4″ and every ounce the 230 pounds they say he is. Talk about being ripped from the pages of a superhero comic book! I wouldn’t be surprised to hear the news that English-Hollywood superhunk Tom Hardy was mugged and beaten into a coma outside of the filming of the next Batman installment only to be replaced by his mugger, the real Bane of babyfaces everywhere, Magnus!
Surge was clearly awed by the massive presence of Magnus.
There are plenty of moments when Magnus’ muscleboy opponent, Surge (5’11”), completely disappears in the giant beast’s shadow. Sexy Surge didn’t go down without a fight, but you get the distinct impression in their battle that Surge was awestruck looking up (and up and up) at the mountain of muscle in front of him from start to finish. Like my imagining of Maxon, Magnus turns his mere mortal opponent into a quivering pile of rubble desperate to serve and service the muscled god who pins his face to the mat with his beer can (a 40 ouncer) cock.
Naked Kombat’s Rusty Stevens plowed skinny giant Ben Deep.
Look up the idiom, “The bigger they are, the harder they fall,” and surely you’ll see this image of Naked Kombat loser Ben Deep, whose 6’4″ of height were just more chump to fuck with for the infinitely “bigger” wrestler (at least his personality is bigger than just about anyone else’s), Rusty Stevens (6’0″). Personally, I can’t take my eyes off of Rusty in his NK days, so discovering that Ben was not only taller than Rusty, but 6’4″ tall was a little bit of a shock. I’ve seen this match a dozen times, and I’d swear Ben was 5’5″ when I think back on it. But that’s just because Rusty dominates so completely and keeps Ben flat on his back with his feet in the air pretty much from start to finish. But stand the jobber up, and we discover that lucky loser Ben Deep was one of the (skinniest) giants in homoerotic wrestling.
Thunder’s Arena’s Draco nearly launches Z-Man through the ceiling.
Thunder’s posts conflicting reports of their short-time wrestling stud named Draco. His “official” profile puts him at a towering 6’5″, but I’ve seen him listed in one of his products at 6’3″. I’m not entirely sure I buy the extra 2 inches, but I did catch his match with a curiously blond Z-Man (5’10”). Draco definitely makes Z-Man look juvenile, starring up the long, ripped, tanned body of the newbie.
Gorgeous Draco can’t quite fit in the frame!
In the pantheon of titanic muscle giants, Draco would be the sexy playboy. Guys this tall can have a tough time keeping their proportions aesthetic, I find, but Draco’s bronze loveliness (and gallons of hair product) are nothing short of pretty. He may not have the physically dominant presence of a Clint Morgan or a Magnus, but it’s not hard to picture him being fed by the sight of a losing opponent worshipping at his feet.
BG East’s Kevin Armstrong foolishly looked down his nose at nasty heels KL & TK. 

The tallest wrestler I could find on the BG East roster doesn’t have his own profile, but his one appearance lists Kevin Armstrong at 6’5″ and 215 pounds. Personal trainer and gym manager Kevin apparently tried to use his impressive physical presence to pour cold water on the rising tension between former tag partners Kid Leopard (5’8″) and Thom Katt (who I can’t find a height for, but he had to be shorter than KL).  As you might expect, KL and TK were impressed with the physical specimen presented to them, but hardly intimidated.

So much fun to be had with a 6’5″ personal trainer!
In fact, the two smaller men delight in bringing the big, blond Gulliver to the mat and not just beating him, not just humiliating him, but in discovering a laundry list of innovative ways to torture such an impressive expanse of body. I haven’t seen this one, but note to self: buy Kid Leopard’s Classic Spotlight!

Can-Am’s classic giant muscle man, Rob Frank

I don’t believe I’ve seen Can-Am’s Rob Frank wrestle either, but if he really was the 6’6″ height he’s listed at, he was one stunningly huge muscle man! To pack that much muscle on that big a frame seems like an astonishing feat. Further, to recruit such a specimen for wrestling for gay eyes seems even more of an amazing accomplishment.

Rob Frank hangs 5’10” Rich Money like so much laundry.

Have him wrestle naked in the ring, and I’m kicking myself wondering how I haven’t seen towering Rob Frank wrestle yet!  I’d have snarky comments to make about the mullet, if I weren’t a little scared of having a 6’6″ muscle beast take it personally. He could do some serious damage without even trying!

Thunder’s Arena’s Troy Stevens dwarfs Z-Man.

But who’s the tallest of the homoerotic wrestler giants? There’s an addendum after my answer, but for now, I’m pulling out my step ladder to crown Thunder’s Arena’s muscle freak giant, Troy Stevens, as the biggest of the sexy big men that I could find.  Whether he’s the every fraction of an inch the 6’7″ Thunder’s puts him at, he’s incredibly huge!

What the fuck was Z-Man thinking?!

Thunder’s only posted 2 matches featuring Troy, which is a shame. There’s a little bit of an Andre the Giant feel about these scenes of him destroying 5’10” playgirl muscle model, Z-Man. It’s as if these are two different species. One is a jaw-droppingly gorgeous muscle star, and the other is a classic Titan of Greek mythology.  The size difference is just astonishing, and if there’s a Zeus in the pantheon of homoerotic wrestling giant men, I’d guess it’s the superhuman musclefreak, Troy Stevens.

Thunder’s Arena’s Enforcer: Giant, yes. But homoerotic wrestler?

Addendum: Search engines on some of the homoerotic wrestling websites suck, so I very well may have missed some of the wrestlers who topped out at 6’4″ or taller. Feel free to point out where my list is lacking.  I won’t take it personally (unless your a dick about it). Also, Thunder’s Arena actually posts their wrestler, The Enforcer, at 6’10” tall, a full 3″ taller than Troy (aka Zeus). However, I’m taking the liberty (since this is my list, after all) of disqualifying The Enforcer as not having actually “wrestled.” His “match” with Z-Man, and the attempted double team with “Tristian” (aka Aryx Quinn, aka Tristan Baldwin) strikes me as all gimmick, no wrestling. The Enforcer is undeniably huge, but… well, no, I’m just saying he doesn’t fit the requirements of qualifying as a homoerotic “wrestler.”  His singular appearance with Thunder’s has much more the feel of a sideshow than of a wrestling match, or perhaps more accurately foreplay before Z-Man and Aryx got down to a legitimate tussle.

While it doesn’t take a giant over 6’4″ to get my blood pumping, this list of towering hunks proves that it doesn’t hurt, either!  Bodies this big also tend to come with accompanying vulnerabilities, like weak joints, but a massive, giant homoerotic wrestler who can pump up and pound out a hot wrestling match is a wonder that can most definitely work for me.

Reader’s Choice: Aryx Quinn

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It probably shouldn’t be a surprise that the winner of this month’s Reader’s Choice poll is none other than supremely productive wrestling pornboy Aryx Quinn (aka, Tristan Baldwin).  With 27% of the 164 votes cast, Aryx was the decisive reader’s choice, pulling a full 13 percentage points ahead of the next closest wrestler, muscle stud Jake Jenkins.

Reader’s Choice: Aryx Quinn

I say that this should probably come as no surprise for several reasons. First and foremost, Aryx is one sexy hot hunk. He’s got a gorgeous body and a fantastic, snarling, heel-run-amok personality when he hits the mats or climbs into the ring, that’s well-tuned to gay wrestling kink fans. He looks good in just about any gear, arguably better in none at all, and with that lovely, long cock of his, you just know that his high school guidance counselor told him he had one and only one option for a rip-roaring successful career: porn.

Aryx as Porn Star Tristan Baldwin

Aryx’ has earned an army of fans with a wrestling resume that’s astonishingly long.  Notwithstanding his non-wrestling porn performance fans, he’s logged appearances (usually starring roles) in 29 matches for BG East, about 17 matches for Can-Am,  2 for Thunder’s Arena (as “Tristian” Baldwin), 1 side dish match for Cocksure Men, and his handler’s teaser for an upcoming major revamp of Tristan promoting himself promises more wrestling to come/cum.

Aryx applies the Kiss of Death to Rio Garza in
Can-Am’s The Arena Part 3

Surprised that a staple of homoerotic wrestling like Aryx win reader’s choice? No. But it’s not only his hot bod and depth of wrestling experience and exposure that earned Aryx the nod. He also hustled his ass off for the win in the Reader’s Choice poll just like he’s been hustling his ass across the mat and in the ring from promotion to promotion for years. Unlike his competitors in the poll, Aryx re-tweeted a tweet from one of his twits forwarding his followers to the link here to neverland to register their votes for him.  Moments after his re-tweet, votes began to ring in for him at about a 2 to 1 margin over his competitors.

Aryx works a 2 on 1 advantage for an anticipatory taste of victory in
Can-Am’s Brutal Battle

Now, I strongly suspect that several of Aryx’ votes came from his porn fans, many of whom probably have only passing interest in the homoeroticism of wrestling. But just like pro wrestling, success is often measured not by what happens inside the ring. A little “extra effort,” a little “outside interference” is a fantastic element of hot, hard, delightfully nasty pro wrestling, and Aryx has shown he’s ready to stoop to whatever low blows and rule-bending tactics he may need to come out on top in the ring. So it should come as no surprise that he rallied his posse to stuff the ballot box.

Brad Rochelle learned in BG East’s Contract 3
that Aryx has no qualms about kicking an opponent when he’s down.

Honestly, I LOVE that Aryx pulled off the win with some strategically spotted self-promotion!  One reader who voted for Eli Black noted that Eli needs a fan page.  I couldn’t agree more (hot damn that Eli’s one hot, ripped wrestling stud!). But more to the point, I think a lot of headliner homoerotic wrestlers like Eli should get the push from the fans that comes from mobilizing of the sort that Aryx’ people are doing for him these days.

Aryx gets a little help from his friend and tag team partner, Nick Archer,
in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 4

Blogs like neverland, Ringside at Skull Island, Beefcakes of Wrestling, Wrestling Arsenal, and Inner Jobber have been successful (I believe) in raising the profile of professional homoerotic wrestling in recent years. Hell, 164 people voted in yesterday’s poll, and even if we guess that as many as half of Aryx’ votes might have been from non-wrestling kinksters, that still suggests that 140 or so guys not only tuned in, but had an opinion about which homoerotic wrestler deserved their nod. And behind the scenes, there were about 1,250 people who hit up neverland yesterday, accounting for about 3,000 page views. I’m sure several of the other blogs that focus on the homoeroticism of wrestling for gay eyes see that much traffic or more. In other words, there’s an audience not just buying some DVDs and getting off in the privacy of their homes on homoerotic wrestling; there are also thousands tuning in for more, probably getting a taste of what they might like to sample next, or too financially strapped (or closeted) to purchase some homoerotic wrestling to own and so sampling from the photos and text we blog about, or maybe even stumbling into our corner of the net with that first, tentative, anxious search engine revving around the words, “GAY WRESTLING.”

A low blow is just another way to say “winner” when
it comes to Aryx in the ring.

It’s a tough world out there for media marketers. Take a look at the number of daily newspapers today as compared with 10 years ago, and you’ll see what I mean. But it’s not just hardcopy print media. The wired world we live in is testing the means of controlling intellectual property that no longer is tied to a physical product that needs to be sent via the postal service (another endangered species).  When it comes to erotica, the net is lousy with pirated and amateur titillation to suit just about any kink, including wrestling.  Despite several folks who mistakenly think I’m somehow an industry insider, I have no idea what the numbers are, but as a devoted fan of professional homoerotic wrestling I have to guess that the bottom line of producing the kind of quality and variety of wrestling for gay eyes that Aryx’ resume testifies to is often in doubt.

Homoerotic wrestling, like Aryx (seen here in BG Eas’t Catch Weight 1),
 could be decapitated if fans don’t do their part! 

Back to the point that Eli Black needs a fan page, though. I think the future of the production of homoerotic wrestling is in our hands, gentlemen. Blogs can push the conversation and broadcast the products in a new way, but I think we’re going to have to do more. And just like Aryx/Tristan is promising a self-promotion entrepreneurial website to market himself, I think we need to reward and promote the beautiful boys that work for us with some serious loving. A fan page for Eli would be an awesome start! When you google “Eli Black” right now, you get links to references to Jewish Rabbis and Hollywood talent agents.  We’ll get more push to our beloved Eli Black’s homoerotic wrestling future with a #1 link that extols the loveliness of Eli’s wrestling and the lustiness of our loyalty.

Aryx is in total control of the polls and his opponents, as here, controlling
Jimmy Gee in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 12

Google your favorite homoerotic wrestler and see how many links you have to pass up to get to a reference to the hard, hot hunk you’re looking for. Now google Tristan Baldwin.

Tristan Baldwin has a massive…
Twitter following.

In this socially networked world, the future of homoerotic wrestling is increasingly out of the hands of the brilliant minds and hard workers that produce the materials we enjoy most. They’re all doing a stand up job of marketing, no doubt. But these days, it takes more. It takes buzz and hits. It takes chatter and “likes.” It takes the type of marketing that generates 3,377 Twitter followers for Aryx/Tristan, so that all it takes is just one of them to notice that Aryx is in the running for a Reader’s Choice poll in order to mobilize even a small fraction of Aryx’ fans to put him up way over the top.

Aryx gets a hand removing his trunks from his fan, CJ Parker
in BG East’s Fan Fantasy

Wow. I’m on a roll today, aren’t I? Sorry for the geopolitical diatribe on the implications of social networking on homoerotic wrestling in the Virtual Age. But I do hope that some of you fierce fans of the boys who were in competition in yesterday’s poll (and the many more worthy wrestlers who weren’t on that list) put more than just your money where your kink is. Keep putting your money into the wrestling that gets you off, of course, but also launch those fan pages. Fire up the Twittersphere. Nominate yourself as the leader of the Eli Black fan club (or Jake Jenkins, or Kid Karisma, or Landon Mycles or …). And do what fanatics do best: we love our celebrities with a devotion that gets us to do more than just consume, but to convince others of the unique allure of the wrestlers that capture us the most passionately.

An iPhone and a website seem like essential tools for success
in Virtual Marketing these days.

Congratulations to Aryx, as well as to all the wrestlers who generated votes (poor DJ is the only one who didn’t, which I think is evidence of why NK went down, because despite the lack of love here, DJ was one fierce and incredibly hot kombatant!).  Now get out there and buy these wrestlers’ matches and talk them up every chance you get. We need to grow this industry into all those dark corners and closets just longing to get introduced to the fantastic eroticism of wrestling for gay eyes!

Pushing and Shoving

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Voting has been fast and furious in the current reader’s poll to pick the popular opinion on who’s “best of the best” among the cadre of homoerotic wrestlers of the month. Register your opinion to the right, and leave a comment to try to persuade ambivalent voters whose behind toward which they should throw their support.

In the mean time, I just posted a new piece of fantastically written homoerotic wrestling fiction at Sidelineland. For newbies, Sidelineland is a members-only site for sharing your wrestling fiction. The new short story is the second contribution by Alex, who brought us the blazingly hot underground encounter when the Canadian “champion” and  his U.S. counterpart battle it out for national pride (among other stakes). With his new story, Alex takes us “behind the scenes” of an early 80’s pro wrestling production called AWL. Classic pre-80’s pros are struggling to make the transition to the demands for prettier, harder, bigger bodybuilder faces that began to own the scene. Young behemoth Colt is relatively new to the scene, and his orchestrated push is rustling feathers among the long-standing pillars of pro wrestling who can’t stand to see a rookie climb so fast. When push literally comes to shove behind the scenes, young, hairy gladiator Colt is determined to put his ass where the veteran heel’s mouth is, calling him out for some extra-curricular confrontations to put up our shut up.

Colt’s nemesis on camera and off is Andy, a classic, vile, ring savvy heel with a beer belly and an accomplished disdain for rules. Colt is pretty sure that Andy’s been in the business too long to remember that he may be written to be the bully for the show, but he’d be a fool to think he can outmuscle and outwrestle a 6’6″, 290 pound stack of bricks like Colt. The stakes for the extra-curricular activity are the finest, as is Alex’ writing.  I’m crazy to read more from this fantastic, generous contributor to Sidelineland, and I’d love to see some hot takes on homoerotic wrestling from more writers out there, as well. If you haven’t already, sign-up for access to Sidelineland here (pro forma, just to weed out some of the nut job haters).

Reader’s Choice Poll – From the Hall of Fame

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I feel a little like Don Quixote, battling with the windmills that Google places in my way. You don’t see it happening, but I’ve been driven nearly crazy over the last several days struggling with Blogger. Every time there’s an “upgrade” in Blogger, for some reason blogging becomes more difficult. Ah, progress! I’ll keep jousting with our Google overlords to try to keep this homoerotic wrestling engine running. In the mean time, it’s time for the monthly reader’s poll. In the navbar to the right, you’ll see a new page link for the Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month Hall of Fame. Mostly to keep them all straight in my own mind, I’ve compiled the official list of all the prior (and current) wrestlers-of-the-month here at neverland.  On the one hand, the exercise of creating the page was mindblowingly infuriating because of Blogger graphics bullshit. On the other, it was quite titillating, thumbing through the highlights of the stars of recent releases over the past two and a half years.  It’s a who’s-who of the boys currently wrestling who get my blood rushing. There are some standouts who have also risen to the elite status of overall favorites, like Trent Diesel, Rusty Stevens, Kid Karisma, Mitch Colby, and Lon Dumont. There’s one, and only one, two-time title holder who I’m missing like CRAZY since Naked Kombat when belly-up. There was the one month that I couldn’t decide between opponents Brook Stetson and Mitch, so they both won the title locked in one lusty, long-held sweaty embrace for all posterity.  There’s rookie Landon Mycles, the only wrestler of the month to take the title with his debut wrestling match. There are cocks-out pornboys like Trent and Landon as well as DJ, Rex Braddock, and Aryx Quinn. Several wrestlers with clear amateur wrestling credential populate the Hall of Fame, like Denny Cartier, Jonny Firestorm, Jake Jenkins, and Eli Black. And there are plenty of indy pro ringmasters working that magic that works me so hard in the ring, like Bobby Horton, Jonny, and Lon. The vast majority of the Hall of Famers so far have been white, but a few smoking hot wrestlers of color have made the list, like Lucas Payne (multi-racial, I believe), Z–Man (rumor is, Latino), and Charlie Panther (black and beautiful).

So this walk down memory lane made me think what a good idea it would have been to have a “wrestler of the year” award. Perhaps I’ll think of it next December to pull it off for 2012 (somebody remind me). In the mean time, I’m opening up a reader’s poll for you to pick who among the current 20 Hall of Famers is the hottest homoerotic wrestler in the bunch. Month by month, I picked these boys based primarily on their performances in new releases. But for this poll, feel free to give a nod to the wrestler whose whole body of work (or just his body) gets your juices flowing the most.  It’s a little of an odd exercise, since you’re being asked to choose your favorite from among the list of my favorites (no write-ins this poll). But I’m an odd guy, and if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times that this blog is unabashedly about me and my tastes first and foremost. So vote at the right. I’ll leave the poll up for a couple of days for you to consider your choice carefully. You can explain your reasoning, if you’d like, in the comment section below.

Row 1: Trent Diesel, Bobby Horton, Enforcer, Landon Mycles
Row 2: Trent Diesel, Denny Cartier, DJ, Ace Hanson
Row 3: Brook and Mitch, Lucas Payne, Jonny Firestorm, Jake Jenkins
Row 4: Kid Karisma, Rusty Stevens, Z-Man, Aryx Quinn
Row 5: Lon Dumont, Rex Braddock, Eli Black, Charlie Panther

Bodies Over Time: Wrestler-of-the-Month Edition

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Reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Charlie Panther, grabbed my attention every bit as commandingly as he grabbed poor rookie, Tim Messina, and crushed him like a grape between his steel cabled thighs.  Charlie is relentless, battering Tim in wave after wave of withering physical and psychological domination. The squash is breathtaking (for me… for Tim, it’s also dignity-stealing). Charlie’s non-stop verbal assault is every bit as humiliating as the non-stop physical assault, and that much more erotic for it.  Charlie earned his status as my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month for all of that, but also for his incredibly hot, hard, sexy body. Perhaps what grabs me most is the change itself. Between three years ago and now, Charlie Panther went from looking like this…
…to looking like this…
Holy shit! Charlie’s mighty, meaty pecs and tight, narrow waist rock me hard. Losing the bleach increases his handsomeness by a multiple of at least 10, I think. But the physical transformation runs far deeper than a bottle of peroxide.
Irish Muscle God Devil Devitt targets where Charlie Panther used to be most vulnerable.
The last we saw of Charlie, he teamed up with the brutalizer Matt Stryker (and his dubious manscaping) to face off against the high flying, high quality indy pro team of Paul Hudson and Irish muscle god Devil Devitt.  Charlie was big and beefy, no doubt, but next to the stunningly ripped physique of Devitt, Charlie looks ready to show up in a Wrestling Arsenal feature on doughboys. 
Charlie gets a kick out of watching his opponent’s suffer.
That tag match was a rare re-match after Charlie’s nasty mauling of hardcore pro boy Paul Hudson in singles competition. I’m not sure if lovely, lithe Paul ever looked sweeter getting worked over by the heavyweight Panther. The contrast between them is a work of art.  Charlie’s gorgeous, dark brown complexion wrapped around Paul’s blindingly lily white skin only skims the surface of the visual contrast between these two “blonds.” Paul is whittled down to the lean loveliness of a professional athlete who trains relentlessly and probably has the genetic gift of burning calories effortlessly. The snarling Panther is a full half a foot taller, fifty or so pounds heavier, and bursting at the seams to bully his lightweight indy pro opponent. 
Cameron Mathews tries to turn the tide of fate and
start a winning streak by tackling the Panther.
In the Big Cat’s only other match released to date, he was still sporting the unfortunate effects of bleach, but this time facing off against an indy pro a little closer to his own size, Cameron Mathews. Cameron was achingly young and pretty, not yet having quite blossomed into the muscle stud he is today. But despite having the reputation as “the company punching bag,” Cameron twist-ties Panther like a loaf of bread and pushes the Big Cat to reconsider whether all that talk he’s so good at may have just been digging him deeper and deeper into a hole. However, with the wind at his back, Charlie makes Cameron pay, crushing and slamming Cameron’s beautiful bubble-butt into whimpering submission.

Tim Messina doesn’t have enough hands to check all
the bruises that muscle stud Charlie Panther pounds into him.
I have to wonder if that’s the Charlie Panther that Tim Messina thought he was going to face when he signed up for Pros in Private 9. Perhaps Tim thought he might catch the Big Cat flat-footed, counting on Charlie to lumber into the ring and underestimate him as just another in that long line of lean white boys who eventually succumb to the Panther-pounding.  It’s easy to miss it, but Tim’s clearly an accomplished wrestler, and you just have to wonder if perhaps he was counting on exploiting Charlie’s soft-around-the-middle conditioning and outlast the Big Cat to a stunning career-establishing upset.
Charlie Panther displays his stunningly beautiful butt while threatening
to pop Tim Messina’s head off of his neck.
If Tim was expecting to see the Charlie Panther of 3 years ago, imagine the shock to watch Charlie Panther 2.0 climb into the ring! Charlie must have dropped about 30 pounds of padding and then added another 15 back on in gorgeously seasoned, thick, powerful muscle mass. It’s not like Charlie’s ring record was suffering from having to work a little harder than any of his opponents to move his beefy body around the ring. He was already devastating. He took some licks, but let’s face it, carrying some extra ballast and all, he’d proven again and again that he wasn’t going to be satisfied until he’d beaten the will to fight out of his opponents.
The Panther roars with his prey captured helplessly and humiliatingly.
Now add to that tried and true formula for success a newly sculpted physique. Add to that concoction even more power, twice the endurance, and, unbelievably, even more self-possession that leaves no doubt that Charlie knows what a rocking stud and dominating ring master he is. He’s every ounce the same crushing, slamming, pounding presence he’s always been, but with that mouth-watering new body of his, the Big Cat is nothing short of a juggernaut. The second most astonishing thing about this match (after the unveiling of Charlie’s luscious new physique) is that poor Tim has still managed to resist the temptation to running screaming from the ring a full 30 minutes after he arrived.
Time and training have done Charlie Panther good!
Charlie Panther has all the moving parts that define a homoerotic wrestler of the month here at neverland. He’s got a mouth that never tires out. He’s got muscles just crying out for some slow, lingering, hands-on worship. He’s a seriously handsome mother-fucker, particularly without the extra weight and that unfortunate encounter he had with a bleach bottle a few years back. It’s amazing to me that I’ve managed to make it this far without mentioning his astoundingly lovely ass and the concealed handgun he’s got stashed in the pouch of his perfectly proportioned trunks. And, as always, most importantly, Charlie Panther tells an excellent story, both in word and in action, grabbing my attention, twisting my crank with both hands, and leaving me breathless and deeply satisfied.

Aw, Shucks

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Thunder’s Arena’s Python (and his goofy grin)
On Friday I started off my review of the top biceps that turn me on in homoerotic wrestling by marveling at the fierce pythons on Thunder’s Arena’s new muscle boy, Python. I also mentioned in passing, among Python’s many notable features, he’s got a damn adorably goofy grin. I haven’t seen his debut against Angel yet, but his photo shoot pics are full shots of that toothy, awkward, cute-as-a-button overbite from the slammin’ gorgeous bodybuilder. The “aw shucks” homoerotic wrestler has a strong appeal for me. The “aw shucks” wrestler is that rookie who, whether he’s got the guns to blaze like Python or not, he sports an undisguisable self-consciousness about him.  He looks like he’s got an ocean of insecurity swirling just underneath the surface of a barely managed game face.  Without words, he communicates with perfect clarity, “aw shucks, I’m just lucky to be here.” He knows we’re looking at him, marveling, fantasizing, and he feels like he should probably do something, flex just so or say something witty, but all that he’s got at the moment is that “aw shucks” goofy grin.
Thunder’s Arena Dallas goes from  “aw shucks” to “oh, shit!”
Thunder’s Arena puts up more than their fair share of “aw shucks” wrestlers.  Before his recent match with Coupe, Dallas adamantly insisted that between the two of them (both with spotty win-loss records, to say the least), he was the bigger chump. Coupe couldn’t believe that Dallas could possibly be as much of a jobber as he is. But the look on Dallas’ face as they faced off in speedos is priceless. It morphed delightfully from “aw shucks” to “oh, shit!” Coupe is an extraordinary muscle freak, and Dallas, while delightful to look at it, is relatively soft and crunchable standing vulnerably in Coupe’s shadow. Self-conscious vulnerability, stage fright, a little bit of “what the fuck am I doing here?!”… it can be a nice element in the typically over the top battle of narcissists who more frequently populate the scene.
Big Sexy and PeeWee give the “aw shucks” wrestling motif 4 thumbs up.

Thunder’s took Aw Shucks to (and possibly over) the edge of credulity with the infinitely fuckable babyface who wrestles diminutively as PeeWee. PeeWee showed up to audition for Thunder’s knowing full well that he’d get his ass kicked. Big Sexy is more than happy to make PeeWee’s prophecy self-fulfilling, but PeeWee keeps the “aw shucks” attitude going from start to finish. He’s a hot little muscle stud with some unquestionably hot moves of his own, but even when he’s working some rare riding time on Sexy, PeeWee is profoundly insecure and self-deprecating. Even when he’s got Sexy so compromised that he could (if he chose) yank down Sexy’s trunks and fuck his ass, PeeWee is supremely self-critical and predicts his own demise. Bulging muscles, bulging pouch, bulging insecurity… this works for me in many (though definitely not all) cases.

Showing up for his BG East audition sexy Alexi Adamov
grins nervously for approval from Brad Rochelle.
Thunder’s, however, definitely doesn’t corner the market in “aw shucks” wrestlers. These days, tall, tasty Alexi Adamov is all about that deep bass rumble and a tenuous certainty that he can, on any given day, kick some ass.  But in his first BG East match, showing up for a faux “audition” after the stealth coup of the compound by heel-turned Brad Rochelle, Alexi is one great big, luscious, gorgeously smooth, ridiculously pretty slice of humble pie. Brad, getting his kicks off of fucking with the newbie’s mind, requires that the Russian babyface try on several possible gear choices, each one more made-to-order for a jobber beatdown than the last. Alexi poses for Brad, obeying the veteran’s instructions, proud of his beautiful body but seemingly easily unnerved by Brad’s strategic verbal jabs and slights. Alexi is just pleased as punch to get a shot at the world of BG East, and recently emerged heel Brad is like a hungry spider, slowly luring the fly into his web to slowly, mercilessly suck him dry.
Morgan Cruise – too smiley to heel?
Morgan Cruise is a quick study, learning nasty-ass lessons from the likes of pro veteran (and current contender to re-take the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy division) Lon Dumont on the nuts and bolts of constructing a BG East ring heel. Morgan’s most recent appearance was showing that he was taking notes from Lon by turning around and catching ripped rookie (and last month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month) Eli Black off guard and pounding the shit out of him forever. But if you missed Morgan’s first match, facing off against Lon with the explicit agenda of being BG East’s next great heel, then you missed Morgan’s “aw shucks” moment (which was, not coincidentally, the same moment that it was crystal clear that Lon was going to own his ass). Morgan flexes proudly. He bounces his pecs in Lon’s face. He says the right words about being confident in his own destiny as a big, burly muscle heel. But he’s got that unmistakable toothy, self-conconsious, I-can’t-quite-sell-myself grin on his face. Lon even notes that Morgan is a little too “smiley” for a heel-wannabe. Lon’s crushing of him seems to have squeezed the “aw shucks” right out of him, but no mistaking it, Morgan Cruise initially showed as an “aw shucks” rookie bear cub.

Rio Garza always looks like he can’t quite believe
his own luck.

And finally, when it comes to “aw shucks” wrestlers, Rio Garza’s tasty hot ass is seated squarely in line with the best of them. Can-Am has exploited what I’m guessing is Rio’s genuine state, that of the stunning muscle stud who’s a little awed to be asked back over and over to be ogled and admired by armies of gay wrestling fans. When he faced Aryx Quinn (pretty much the opposite of the “aw shucks” wrestler), like Alexi Adamov, Rio was easily manipulated by the mind games of a sadistic veteran. Rio was nothing short of humbled by the status as a brand new Can-Am “exclusive,” and with some strategically placed compliments from Aryx, the awkward, sort of embarrassed grin on his face grew. This all simply makes him oh-so-ripe for a humorless and merciless crushing from Aryx. The device works particularly well with Rio, I think, explaining why he showed up wanting Cameron Mathews and Paul Hudson to teach him how to be a pro wrestler. He knows he’s strong. He knows the fans like looking at him. But with a little nervous grin, he admits to the pros that he’s got something to learn about the business. Cameron and Paul, of course, oblige, and Rio’s “aw shucks” awkward grin gets twisted into beautiful agony soon enough.

All those muscles can’t quite disguise the self-conscious grin on Python’s face.

A little “aw shucks” goes a long way for what turns me on. Overplayed, and it comes across as amateurish and distinctly less than erotic. But sprinkled on top of a hot steaming helping of beautiful bodies, skimpy gear, and hard hammering wrestling, an adorably goofy smile and a self-conscious glance down at one’s own feet can make for a sweet set-up to an arousing match.

The Warehouse

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I just posted a new piece of homoerotic wrestling fiction over at the members-only writing group Sidelineland (join for free, but you’ll need to join to read the collection). Author Metellus took the lead for this introduction to an underground fight club in NYC. Our introduction to The Warehouse comes through the eyes of doe-eyed muscle rookie, French Canadian Thierry, who shows up for his rookie debut.
Warehouse rookie: Thierry

I happen to know for a fact that Metellus has a significant and long-standing crush on model Thierry, so it comes as no surprise to me that Thierry has shown up for some full contact, no rules, beautiful bodies bonanza fictional wrestling in Metellus’ imagination. And no doubt about it, Thierry is a specimen to behold! His oh-so-pretty face looks almost out of place on his seriously hot, bulging, muscled body. Thierry clearly has the raw talent to turn heads and inspire some imaginations, but does he have the wrestling talent to survive for long in the brutal world of underground, pay-per-view competition?
The Warehouse Promoter (and new Bard obsession): Brad
I, for some reason, got quickly fixated on a secondary character in Metellus’ first draft. The club promoter, Brad, is a massively muscled, blond bodybuilder bombshell that seems to be scratching an itch I’m having lately for the big boys. Metellus assures me that we’ll be seeing more of big, beautiful Brad.
Daniel Garofali has a taste for hot wrestling, now!

And Thierry’s initiator into the brutality of The Warehouse is none other than my stunning New Year’s Eve houseguest, Aussie fitness model Daniel Garofali!  Daniel certainly taught me some delightful lessons in homoerotic wrestling, and I’m thrilled to see that he’s got a regular gig showing off that fantasy man body and going pec-to-pec and cock-to-cock in competition in The Warehouse. I could have warned Thierry ahead of time that this gorgeous Aussie should NOT be underestimated. Ah, but what fun would it be if rookie’s all understood what was in store for them?  Thanks, Metellus, for sharing some highly entertaining fresh fiction!

Pythons

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Thunder’s Arena’s newest rookie sensation (aptly named): Python
Damn! Did you see the newest muscle stud at Thunder’s Arena? He wrestles as “Python,” which draws attention to the body part that certainly inspires hard-swallowing awe within me: his beautifully peaked biceps. There’s a lot on Python’s gorgeous physique to appreciate. He’s got a hot, broad upper back, beautiful pecs, very nice abs, and one damn adorably goofy grin. But again I say: damn! The peaks on those biceps are a—mazing! I haven’t seen his rookie debut with Angel yet, but I’ve got a deep down craving to see that right bicep of Python’s slowly wrapped around Angel’s neck from behind and then methodically flexed until the pointed peak of that monster crushes Angel’s throat in a name’s-sake rear choke. Follow that up with the rookie shoving that mountainous muscle in his dazed, battered opponent’s face and making him kiss it, and I’d be wasted (for at least a couple of minutes).

Can-Am’s iconic muscle man: Steve Sterling
Arms do not, as a rule, capture my attention first and foremost on most wrestlers. Not that I don’t appreciate hot, strong arms and especially Popeye-bulging forearms (Jonny Firestorm, I’m looking at you), but my eyes tend to instinctively lock onto other geography. Hot, meaty glutes, for example, or luscious, clawable pecs are frequently tops on my list. Armored abs, a hefty package (a-hem, Mr. Joshua), and thick, bear-trap thighs will tend to be higher on my list than arms. But on some wrestlers, and when I’m in the mood, arms light up my homoerotic imagination and make me feel all creative about the best uses for sculpted arm muscles. For example, I can’t help but picture Can-Am classic Steve Sterling cracking walnuts between his bodybuilder biceps and freakishly huge forearms. Then I tend to picture my cock trapped in the same spot, and with a little oil, working up a frot fantasy that only a musclebound arm like that can satisfy.
Thunder’s Arena’s Muscle Phenom: Coupe
Thunder’s resident muscle freak Coupe’s biceps aren’t as massive as Steve Sterling’s, but holy fuck that vascularity and shape makes me gasp every time I see them. Coupe is a phenomenon. I often throw around the hyperbole of wrestlers sporting 0% body fat, but it’s no exaggeration when it comes to muscle freak Coupe. He’s so cut and sculpted that I have to imagine if Coupe just faced the right opponent, he’d bring a man to his knees by just flashing those double biceps and that cocky I-dare-you-not-to-lick-them grin. This man needs to star in a wrestling match-turned full contact body worship feature like nobody’s business! Thunder’s may not be the company to produce it, but I’ll be the first in line to be that opponent!

Reese Wells and his Magic Biceps

I’ve noted on many occasions the particular magic that Reese Wells (aka Brody Hancock) weaves over me. He’s a living paradox. That pubescent face of his is completely diverting from the fact that the boy sports incredibly mature, aesthetically gorgeous muscle! He seems like one of those genetic freaks who’s probably always complaining about how hard it is for him to put on weight (which, in and of itself, is a reason for a beating in my book). I swear, at the right angle, in the wrong light, Reese would be easily mistaken for a skinny kid. Then BOOM!!!!… the boy flashes a double bicep and out of nowhere he’s got astonishing muscle mass squeezed into his upper arms like surgically inserted softballs. Where the fuck does he hide those guns!?!  There’s a skinny-kid-opens-a-can-of-whoop-ass-on-his-big-bad-bully fantasy just dying to be taped, culminating in Reese flashing one of his Houdini biceps in his former-tormentor’s face while cranking out a load of cum all over the humiliated bastard’s chest.

BG East Fantasy Man: Tyrell Tomsen
BG East’s Tyrell Tomsen’s arms let loose a flood of lustful fantasies for me frequently. So sure, Tyrell’s got the whole package (that should probably be Package with a capital “P!”). Tyrell’s ass, legs, pecs, tiny little waist, washboard abs… they’ve all been star players in climactic fantasies of mine. But when I watch Tyrell actually wrestling, it’s his gargantuan biceps that frequently have me muttering at the screen. He’s got the raw mass of Steve Sterling and the stunning shape and cut of Coupe. There’s something pristinely paradigmatic about Tyrell wrapping those monsters around his opponent’s back, lifting the lucky fucker off his feet, and squeezing the breath and the will to live out of him while shaking his prey like a rag doll.  This scenario has been approximated, mind you, but I’m hard pressed to see how a lucky opponent in that predicament doesn’t cum with his cock getting crushed and dragged up and down across Tyrell’s washboard, so I’m picturing him tossing the loser to the mat with a pint of cum strung between them, and Tyrell forcing the bastard to lick him clean with some special attention paid to his sweaty armpits.
Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz is built to crush!

Can-Am’s Thiago Diaz has 2 equally prominent objects of my lusts: his fireplace poker cock and his incredibly huge arms! Rip Steve Sterling in the prime of his conditioning out of the past and place him side by side with Thiago, and I’d put money on Thiago as having the bigger upper arms. Steve would have the Can-Am newbie beat for overall body proportions, mind you. Thiago’s lower body lags behind his upper body development pretty dramatically, but those shoulders and arms are like a cartoon drawing of a muscleman superhero. And since we’ve already transported Sterling into the present from the prime of his career, I can’t help but get wildly turned on by the image of Thiago nearly ripping Steve’s head off in a dragon sleeper with his veiny, massive bicep pressed perfectly across the classic bodybuilder’s carotid.

BG East’s Magnificent Mitch Colby

So, sure, I’ve spilled more ink on the pages of this blog over every inch of Mitch Colby’s body than just about anything else, but honestly, those biceps! Sweet Jesus-or-whomever-else-you-pray-to! Gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous! Strength, beauty, proportion… I can’t remember if I’ve ever seen it in a Mitch match, but in my mind, I’ve often pictured him with those mile-and-a-half-long limbs clamped around an opponent’s lower abdomen in a rear bearhug, lifting the luckyluckylucky loser off his feet and grinding his gorgeous cock into his opponent’s crack. Mitch-the-man squeezes a screaming submission out of him, then simultaneously takes the loser from behind while flexing his guns hypnotically as he generously jacks-off the overwhelmed plaything.
BG East One-Hit Wonder: Gary Myers’ biceps have biceps!

In hunting for which homoerotic wrestling arms send me shooting the farthest, I came across this image of BG East muscleboy, Gary Myers. I haven’t seen this match yet, but this should be the image next to the dictionary entry for “fantasy man.” So much to soak in, I know, but take a close look at those mind-blowing biceps.  The peaks on those monsters have peaks of their own!  It looks like this muscleboy only wrestled once, but fortunately, it was against the vicious sadist and bodybeautiful heel Jose. I can’t tell from the stills from the match whether Jose captured Gary from behind and locked up all those bulging muscles in a full nelson, but I can hope. And if Jose happened to do a little licking of Gary’s peaked peaks, then all is right with the world. If not, then this fantasy will have to live only in my imagination, though I can always hope to see it born out with one of the bicep-beauties still in the business today.
As I wrap up this small package, I’d just like to make the observation that several of the homoerotic wrestlers who I think of as having massive, gorgeous arms, on closer inspection really don’t. Not that there’s anything wrong with merely mortal muscle arms, of course. It’s the whole package with a sweet dose of attitude and kinetic eroticism that makes homoerotic wrestling my favorite kink and passion.  But when I’m in the mood that Thunder’s rookie Python puts me in, there’s something awfully arousing about the top shelf quality beef of musclebound arms in homoerotic wrestling competition.

Share the Wealth

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A new writer has posted a most excellent piece of homoerotic wrestling fiction at Sidelineland. Alex tells me that there’s a little bit of autobiography along with some very entertaining embellishment in his story of how competing national flags bring out the beast in two hot and horny underground wrestlers.

I’ve said this to Alex directly, and I’m happy to repeat it for neverland readers as well: Alex is a fantastic writer with an excellent taste for the moving parts of homoerotic wrestling kink. I’m already pestering him to write some more to share with us at Sidelineland. If you aren’t already signed up, do so here to get a gander at Alex’s match, “Flag vs. Flag: Canada vs. USA,” as well as other works from other authors (including me). Even better, take a page out of his book and send me some of your own original wrestling fiction!

And just a word of thanks to several readers who commented online and off after my recent post in which I explored some of the existential quandaries of a homoerotic wrestling blogger.  Kind words, encouragement, and occasional reminders that my prattling on is meaningful to a few others are sweet motivation to keep plugging away.  And I’m happy to report that it appears no one seems the worse for wear as a result of me declining to post paid advertisements here at neverland. Just to be completely transparent, I’m always more than happy to receive comped wrestling products to review (and secondarily add to my burgeoning collection). Between review copies and the occasional positive reader feedback and  talented, courageous souls like Alex sending me some hot wrestling fiction to share, I’m feeling well-rewarded for my efforts.

Say My Name!!!

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As I’ve been spending quality time with Kid Karisma and Austin Cooper in the ring, I’m finding more and more that turns my crank. My reigning homoerotic wrestler (non-pornboy division) is like a maestro, conducting this symphony of slaps, grunts, groans and bangs with awe inspiring grace. 
Kid K looks like he might kum to the soundtrack of
Austin Cooper’s screams.
There’s a knee-buckling moment for me when Kid Karisma locks up Austin’s ankles underneath his armpits and drops that jaw-droppingly gorgeous ass on top of Austin’s entirely mouthwatering derrière. Kid K is literally glowing with the overhead lights bouncing off his bulging muscles coated in such thick sweat I swear I can smell it. Kid is a vision, with a primal lust to dominate reaches climax as his face is transported into ecstatic reverie. Lovely Austin is screaming like 9-year old girl, but his bulging crotch leaves no room to mistake the fact that he’s all man, and he’s all twisted up in complete, hopeless, helpless humiliation.  “Say you give!” demands Kid K with a grin.  When Austin finally screams it out obediently, the karismatic one, chuckles and says, “Wait, wait, wait… what, what, what? I DIDN’T hear you!” he adds arching backward and wrenching Austin’s back harder.  It’s a climactic moment for me as well, but then Kid K sends me right over the top by refusing to let Austin admit defeat until he’s said his conquer’s name. “Now say, ‘I give Kid Karisma!'”
“I GIVE Kid Karisma!!!”
Holy hell I LOVE that! The intimacy quadruples in an instant. The submission is just the beginning as Kid K refuses to let up even after Austin’s tapped. Austin finally gasps through his sublime suffering, “I give… Kid… Karisma!” He chokes and sputters. Kid K flings Austin’s beautiful, beefy legs to the mat with contempt, stands up still straddling the rookie’s gorgeous glutes, and flexes for himself in the mirror.  I’ve lost it a half a dozen times before I can manage to get through all the way to simply admire Kid K’s stunning display, marveling not just a little over the major bulge stretching the crotch of his shiny black trunks. Fuck yes, Austin had better remember the name Kid Karisma!
Vintage Beau Hopkins chokes Jimmy Royce’s submission (and obedience)
right out of him.

This “say my name” moment transports me back to the first homoerotic wrestling product I ever purchased, Can-Am’s Canadian Musclehunk Oil Wrestling 3. Specifically, the wet muscle tussle between butt-tastic Jimmy Royce and handsome company man, Beau Hopkins intrudes on my thoughts. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this match before. Royce and Hopkins are incredibly appealing. Jimmy seems to have a trick shoulder that gives him trouble, and like an opportunistic dick, Beau goes to wrenching that shoulder with arm bars over and over again. This would have been annoyingly repetitive if it weren’t usually accomplished with Jimmy on his stomach, trying not to swallow baby oil, and Beau straddling Jimmy’s INCREDIBLE muscle ass. I could look at that view for days. Beau attacks Jimmy’s trick shoulder for the 400th time, and all of those sweet, sculpted muscles on Jimmy turn to jelly when Beau’s got his arm torqued too far for Jimmy to be able to resist absolutely anything. Beau makes him lick the oil and sweat that are pooling on the blue tarp. He exploits and abuses Jimmy’s knees and lower back. Finally, a little awkwardly, he slides his legs around Jimmy’s throat and begins to squeeze. Jimmy tries to pry himself free, but Beau grabs his wrists and keeps him helpless on his back, feeling the air and blood pinched off between Beau’s knees digging into his throat.  “Say the word!” Beau barks at Jimmy. “Do you give, Jimmy Royce!?” He finally squeezes two humiliating “I GIVES!” out of Jimmy, but Beau holds on for one more. “Say it again! Say ‘I give Mr. Beau Hopkins!” Jimmy croaks it out, full of bitter resentment, “I… give… Mr. Beau…….. Hopkins.”

Mr. Jimmy Royce turns the tables.

After dropping the first fall, Jimmy battles back for a surprise 2nd fall victory by locking up Beau’s arms with his luscious legs (good GOD this man had to have been a dancer!). The chicken wing is incredibly tasty.  Beau’s hot torso and barely contained bulge writhe and buck, but all Jimmy has to do is squeeze and Beau’s arms start to pop right of out his shoulder sockets. Jimmy taunts his opponent, asking if he wants to quit. “You’re finished!” Jimmy proclaims without any doubt. “Do you want to give? Huh, do you want to give yet, baby?” Ferociously Beau refuses with a deep, wolverine growl, “Never!” Jimmy squeezes his meat-packed thighs a little harder and makes Beau gasp in pain and quickly rethink his absolutes. He finally gives, but Jimmy insists, “I can’t hear you!” Beau growls out another contemptuous submission and Jimmy prods him on at the end, “… Mr.?  Mr. Jimmy Royce?” Jimmy demands retribution, insisting on hearing Beau not just admit defeat, but say the name of the muscle stud who’s conquered him from behind. “Mr. WHO!?” Beau spits defiantly at first, but when it’s clear Jimmy can either hold him helplessly like this forever or, perhaps, snap his shoulders apart completely, Beau reluctantly, bitterly snaps, “I… give… Mr…. Jimmy…….. Royce!”

Reigning Favorite Homoerotic Wrestler, Kid Karisma
bulges in ALL the right places!

Unlike for Kid Karisma, Jimmy learns the hard way that payback is one seriously nasty bitch. He goes down in the 3rd fall as a result of Beau going yet again for the trick shoulder. But even with all that oil, all those muscles, Jimmy’s slamming muscled ass, that hot, wet, tight wrestling action… it’s the submissions that demand of the loser to name the winner that stick out as the highlights of those falls. There’s just something primal about shoving your name down your opponent’s throat, like owning a bit of his soul just like you’ve completely owned his body. I’m sure there are plenty of other examples of the “Say My Name” submission (please do tell!), but I’m awfully pleased with Kid K’s latest rendition of this hot, hot, hot erotic wrestling maneuver!