Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

I haven’t been posting for the past several days because my life is very full right now.  No excuses. No complaining. Just a full life that’s shoved new blog posts to the back burner for a bit. As a result, I’ve missed crowning a new homoerotic wrestler of the month based on the new releases from August.  Let me just get right down to work and rectify that situation now.  The worthy nominees include: perennial hunkbasher Ethan Andrews and sexy Alexi Ivanov for Rock Hard Wrestling’s “Russian Nightmare;” Teen sensation Jason Kane and exotic dancer Aaron Travers (whose bulging package probably merits a nomination of its own!) for Rock Hard’s “Dominance;” an incredibly lean version of Braden (Charron) debuting in Thunder’s Arena’s Rough and Ready 30 (yes, I’m back online with Thunders!); Big bearded Sexy and the epic return of Sebastian (looking hotter than ever!) in Thunder’s Rough and Ready 29; astonishingly handsome rookie Cratos and fantasy body of love machine Lance Romance in Thunder’s Rough and Ready 28; and big bruiser Luger getting a cardio workout in all over former homoerotic wrestler of the month Z-Man in Thunder’s Rough and Ready 27. Can-Am’s newest Pro Sex Fight (volume 9) looks tasty, but I haven’t seen it so I’m saving it to nominate it at a later date.

Some legitimate contenders here. I feel like I’ve been calling out the veterans in the business lately, so I have to acknowledge that my tastes have been for new faces this month. And with that little finger resting on the scales, the decision tips inevitably and decisively in the favor of one particular hunk of muscle who absolutely drained me dry…

5’9″, 200 lbs.
Cratos.

Joe gave a sweet review of Rough and Ready 28 that does the match justice.  As Joe puts it, both of these gorgeous boys are a little wooden, but the match is “hugely entertaining” nonetheless, in large part (huge is probably a better word for them) carried on Cratos’ “large and rippling shoulders.”  Yep, as with 97.36% of the time, Joe and I see eye to eye on this one (which is probably why people constantly mix us up, which I always find very flattering).

Homoerotic wrestling sculpture! Note how, like me,
Cratos can’t take his eyes off of his own bulging body.

Joe also detailed the particularly arousing effect of Cratos’ controlled, noisy nose-breathing technique and gritted-teeth, hissing trash talk.  I swear I get a whiff of the musky sweat, metal weights and rubber mats of the gym, all inspired by the way Cratos pumps out a bear hug or crunches his thighs around Lance’s head with the powerful exhalations escaping his nose. I don’t tend to find myself turned on by “workout” videos, but I strongly suspect watching and listening to Cratos pump out a shoulder routine could easily make me blow my top.  Naked wouldn’t hurt, either.

In through the mouth, out through the nose: Cratos works his sartorius muscles.

I have to say that, despite myself, handsome Cratos’ looks alone keep my eyes plastered on him throughout the match.  I like to think of myself as more complex than to be captured by a hot-looking hunk on looks alone, but Cratos’ has a look that works me incredibly hard.  Lance is a work of art, don’t get me wrong, but fuck me (please!), Cratos is ridiculously handsome! I mean, seriously, it’s ridiculous. Have I seen him somewhere before (but just can’t place where), or is it just that he looks like he belongs on a movie screen? The tat sleeve down his bulging left arm totally turns me on.  His muscles make my mouth water.  And he’s got the face of a comic book superhero! The dimples alone could make me do things I’d totally regret the morning after.

Cannot take his/my eyes off that hot body!

Lance is just asking for it. He’s got the hit of a big bully who has a crazy self-love for flexing his ripped muscles and making lesser men feel woefully inadequate in comparison.  9 times out of 10 in his life, I’m sure that Lance sneers and bounces his pecs and the objects of his derision stare at their own feet, passively acknowledging that he’s far more man than they could ever handle.  Then, I’m guessing, Lance goes home, pulls out some lube, and gets off on replaying that feeling of ego crushing dominance. But then there’s that 1 guy out of 10 with the self-confidence to meet his gaze and refuse to back down.   And then there’s the even rarer specimen of a hunk with the good looks to legitimately compete with Mr. Romance and the muscle and mat skills to tie him up like a bow and make him sorry for ever showing his fine, fine ass on on the mats.

These boys could trade gut punches for hours… if one of them didn’t cheat.

Lance pushes buttons like a telephone operator to start things off.  The contemptuous step across Cratos’ back as the rookie does push ups floors my homoerotic wrestler of the month for sheer audacity.  But like a dog sniffing out a bone, Lance quickly finds the sorest spot in Cratos ego: he seriously, majorly, ferociously HATES to be ignored.  Cratos calls him out, looking for a simple explanation, an acknowledgment of offense.  He’s got the cool confidence that suggests to me that if Lance just said, “Oh, sorry buddy, didn’t see you there. My bad,” then Cratos would likely go back to pumping up his pecs and completely forget the whole thing ever happened.  But remember, Lance’s modus operandi is not to live and let live.  Forgive and forget are two elements that have never appeared in a Lance Romance recipe.

Look at the satisfied smile on that sweat-soaked face! Damn, that’s hot!

Lance flexes and stretches, turning his back on Cratos dismissively.  The longer he ignores him, the more fired up the devastatingly handsome rookie becomes.  Looks early on like he’s stumbled across that 1 in 9 guys who doesn’t just wither and study his toes when Mr. Romance struts and flexes in his general direction.  “I tell you bro,” Cratos warns, “you keep this up, you’re going to be sorry. I swear, bro!”

Almost… yep… just about… yes, right…. THERE!

True to his word, Cratos makes the lover-and-a-fighter reconsider his tried and true game plan.  Lance is a little taller, a bit more shredded than the rookie, but when the rookie locks on a reverse bearhug that’s the closest thing to anal sex you’ll see on Thunder’s Arena, Mr. Romance’s pride and joy muscles are simply not up to the task of extricating himself.  When Cratos really bears down, squeezing a breath-stealing crushing embrace and grinding his crotch perfectly positioned into Lance’s thonged ass cheeks, the look of concentrated effort that contorts his face does nothing but make him about 13 times more handsome. Sign me up, because I’m first in line to ride that ride next, baby! And keep the cameras rolling, because I’ll be reliving the moment time and time again!

Cratos’ glistening muscles make Lance look downright ugly!
So there’s the tat-sleeve, the gorgeous muscles, the ridiculous handsomeness.  I haven’t even mentioned the vascularity that totally drives me wild.  But let me just skip right over to the sexiest element that works me into a lather nearly every time: Cratos works himself into a lather! Sweet sweat shining across Cratos’ boulder shoulders, glistening in the crevice between his pecs, beading across his movie-star brow… hell yes.  Sweat bears witness to a wrestler who’s working his fine body and not just going through the motions, and Cratos is fucking working it hard! Poor, lucky bastard Lance looks like he’s about to have his head ripped off in Cratos’ hands or snapped off between the rookie’s rockin’ thighs over and over, and the shiny sheen of sweat on both their bodies (but particularly Cratos’) makes me swoon.

Cratos is blowing some of Lance’s blood vessels (and my load) with all of those pounds per square inch!

Full disclosure: Lance gives a bit as well.  Cratos’ gets tied up and muscle locked a few times as Lance struggles to make a memory he can jerk off to once he gets home.  Cratos’ body in trouble is absolutely a vision of homoerotic fantasy gold in my book. The look of astonishment and frustration on his chiseled face brings me to my knees, I swear.  But there’s just nothing sweeter than a close-up ready rookie who tells a story from start to finish, and when Cratos tramples a completely rooked Mr. Romance, pacing back and forth across his back and driving home the point that he’s the rarest of rare breeds who’ll not only call Lance on his shit, but conquer him and put him in his place, I… am… sold!

The total package: homoerotic wrestler of the month Cratos
I’m buying whatever this gorgeous hunk is selling. I don’t know where he came from.  I can only hope about where he’s heading.  But here and now, without a doubt, I know where he is: the rare rookie sitting pretty (pretty, pretty pretty!) atop the throne in sole possession of the title of my homoerotic wrestler of the month!

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