Brendan Cage earned his homocredibility in the work he did in the ring for Cam-Am. In Pro Tagteam Sex Battle 1, the handsome stud teamed up with porn tidal wave, Aryx Quinn, to physically, psychologically, and yes, sexually dominate mouthwatering former homoerotic wrestler of the month, Landon Mycles/Marcus Mojo and his partner Jake Lyons. Brendan likes cock. He also clearly likes pounding his cock up the ass of hot muscle hunks. So when Brendan invaded the living room of Thunder’s Arena, I took notice.
|Brendan Cage pays $400 for 25 minutes of “wrestling” with Braden Charron|
Brendan brings the most overtly homoerotic element to Thunder’s Arena that I’ve seen yet. For example, in Halloween Havoc 2012 he apparently went on the internet and found Braden Charron, looking as hard and ripped as we’ve ever seen him, advertising for some private, recreational wrestling services. The offer of $400 by Brendan lures beautiful Braden to the Thunder’s mat room, where a hungry Brendan instantly begins to devour the tanned muscle god with his eyes. “Pretty, pretty nice,” Brendan says with his mouth, though his eyes are screaming, Fuck, yes! “You know a little bit about wrestling?” he asks. Of course you and I know that Braden knows a lot about wrestling. Or, at the very least, we can testify that Braden has logged some crazy hot hours in the ring and on the mat, for the most part getting his juicy muscle ass squashed in one bashing defeat after another at the eager hands of some of BG East’s most fierce grapplers. “Are you ready to earn your $400 today?” Brendan asks, giving Braden an unsolicited, hearty squeeze of his huge, sculpted tricep.
|“Remember, it’s wrestling!”|
“Remember, it’s wrestling!” Braden cautions. “This isn’t a muscle worship thing!” And therein lies the paradox. Thunder’s Arena is unquestionably about both wrestling and muscle worship. It’s unmistakably pitched directly at a gay wrestling kink audience. But typically Thunder’s relies on us to read between the lines, to supply our own heat to the pounding muscles of their strong suit: massive, meaty bodybuilders going toe-to-toe in mostly fun-and-games wrestling with frequent drift into selling competition, egos, and lusty desires to dominate. It’s wrestling. Undoubtedly. It’s also “a muscle worship thing,” despite Braden’s protest. But lately Brendan Cage is connecting the implicit and explicit stories written into the fabric of Thunder’s Arena more openly and enthusiastically than I’ve seen before. In some ways, he embodies the role that Thunder’s plays in the homoerotic wrestling genre, creating a virtual universe in which straight bodybuilders grapple lightheartedly in g-strings and speedos, explicitly staying this side of “straight” wrestling, while giving an unmistakable nod to the other side of that line, where the homoeroticism of wrestling draws those like you and me. Brendan’s frequent eyebrow wags at the camera are not-so-subtle signals that he’s turned on by beautiful Braden. He’s offered $400 for a private session not just to wrestle, but to feed a hunger for getting his hands all over big Braden’s famously hot bod. In short, Brendan is one of us, my friends, and he’s slipped in the back door of Thunder’s Arena to enjoy the fratboy hijinks there the way you and I have been imagining for ourselves for years.
|Braden cops a feel, here or there, tempting Brendan farther down the path…|
He wraps his arms around Braden almost lovingly and turns him to the camera. Brendan’s bright, blue eyes give us a knowing wink as he reaches around and feels Braden’s famously luscious pecs. “Remember… wrestling,” Braden warns. “I know, I know… I’m just fucking with you,” Brendan says with a smirk, wagging his eyebrows at the camera once more.
|“Yeah, I’m ready, but this ain’t touchy-feely!”|
It’s Brendan’s $400, so Braden obeys his instructions to get down on all fours. Brendan slides in behind him, pressing his crotch against Braden’s fantasyman ass and sliding his hand slowly around the muscle hunk’s narrow waist in order to squeeze his right pec. “Just let me know when you’re ready,” Brendan purrs. Braden growls threateningly, “Yeah, I’m ready, but this ain’t touchy-feely!” “I know!” Brendan grins, “this is the position you get in. This is called the opening stance.” He digs his fingers into Braden’s massive traps.
|There’s a fine line between a passionate hug and an erotic bearhug.|
“Is this opening stance or a massage!?” Braden protests again. But he doesn’t flinch, really. He doesn’t shove Brendan’s exploring hand away. So Brendan slaps Braden’s ass. When Braden doesn’t complain, he slaps it again. “Cut the shit, and let’s wrestle!” Braden snaps, his patience finally wearing thin. He wants to wrestle, and just playing a game of ass-grab isn’t on the menu (so maybe it’s actually Braden who’s really “one of us” in this scenario!).
|“You really don’t like this!?” Brendan asks incredulously.|
They do wrestle, and it’s hot action. Brendan hoists his musclebunny off his feet in a lovely bear hug, before slamming his back to the mat and mounting his ass provocatively. He spends a lot (alotalotalot) of the 24 minutes of this match mounted across Braden’s back, shoving the muscleboy’s face into the mat and grinding his crotch into Braden’s bubble-muscle-butt. He keeps dialing up the sexual tension, groaning lustfully as he pumps his hips, until he crosses some invisible line that pisses Braden off. Where is that line, up to which Braden will permit Brendan to stroke, squeeze, and grind, but beyond which he’s not willing to go, even for $400? That’s pretty much the eternal question gay man have been asking through the ages, haven’t they, playing fratboy hijinks with their macho buddies, psychologically masterbating off of the sublimated intimacy while upping the ante, bit by bit, to test whether the defensive heterosexuality is merely a veneer overtop of a deep down cocklust?
|“Yeah, come on, that don’t bother ya!”|
Braden catapults Braden off of him when near-pin morphs into a some rousing worship of his massive biceps and sculpted pecs. “That’s not my thing!” Braden protests. “If I wanted a massage, I’d go down the street.” “Take it easy man, take it easy,” Brendan smirks, reminding Braden he’s earning $400 to walk that fine line with him. Brendan’s rides the wave across most of the best of what Braden offers, including those mountainous biceps and pecs, but also including slapping and even kissing his ass. “You really don’t like this?” Brendan asks, his crotch pressed tightly against Braden’s ass as he squeezes tight to a full nelson. “Really?” he repeats incredulously. Braden complains, “I just thought we were gonna wrestle!”
|“Oh, yeah, it’s just wrestling, man!” Brendan mocks.|
Of course, 30 seconds later, Braden is the one who’s the first to rip off his opponent’s baggy shorts to reveal Brendan’s speedo underneath. The smile that stretches across Brendan’s surprised face is priceless. He spins around in shock and gives Braden another appraising look. Is he, or isn’t he? Just how far can he take this mouthwatering brick house?! “Oh, yeah, it’s just wrestling, man!” Brendan mocks, even as Braden immediately starts to protest that he’s just here for above board athletic competition. Sensing a green light to go another block, Brendan returns the favor and peels Braden down to a bikini-bottom. “This is good!” Brendan laughs. “You’re having fun with me right? You’re having fun?” Braden isn’t exactly enthusiastic in response, but he doesn’t quite give his lustful benefactor the red light, either.
|Brendan leans in extra close in a distracted test of strength|
A test of strength looks like Brendan is in way over his head as Braden begins to power up, but when the salt-n-pepper daddy leans in and rests his cheek on the muscleboy’s flexing pec, Braden loses his concentration and quickly ends up on his back again. “Look at that muscle!” Brendan marvels, pinning his opponent’s wrists to the mat. He leans in and kisses Braden’s right bicep. “Does that bother you?” he asks, doing the same to the left bicep. He slides his hips forward and rests his pouch on Braden’s chin, laughing. “You gotta admit, this is pretty fun!” Braden grimaces and turns his mouth away, but he doesn’t exactly “say no.” “Does that bother ya?” Brendan asks, slapping Braden’s cheeks with his cock stretching the fabric of his speedo. “Yeah, come on, that don’t bother you. I know how you are.”
|“I’ll keep feelin’; you keep squeezin’!”|
Braden acknowledges the attention that Brendan is paying to his stunningly hot legs and offers his benefactor the opportunity to feel their power in a headscissors. “Yeah, okay!” Brendan accepts eagerly. Brendan strokes his opponent’s muscles wrapped around his skull lustily, making Braden threaten to squeeze harder. “Go ahead!” Brendan says through clenched teeth. “I’ll keep feelin’, you keep squeezin’!” The headscissors turns into a schoolboy pin, with Braden slapping his low-hanging pouch across his opponent’s cheeks in retribution. “Remember that? This is the way you like it, right?” The smile stretched across Brendan’s face is a crystal clear answer.
|This is, most definitely, the way Brendan likes it!|
What else do you get for $400 and 25 minutes with Braden Charon? Brendan requests the pleasure of being captured in Braden’s side headlock and trying to escape. Braden crushes him mercilessly, though the proximity of Brendan’s captured face to his opponent’s bulging pouch doesn’t seem to be entirely “punishment.” Later, Braden allows Brendan to stroke his washboard abs for a few seconds before saying, “Okay, that’s enough of that.” Stroke his abs? No, but Braden will let you punch his abs. And he’ll raise his arms and let you lift him off his feet in a bearhug, and then treat you to the same just to show you what it feels like to have all that muscle wrapped around you.
“Come here, man. That’s good. That was very fun!” Brendan finally embraces his wrestle rentboy, slapping him on those pecs he so admires. But wait, was it $400 or $200 they agreed on? When Braden confesses he doesn’t actually have $400 on him, he may have crossed the line once and for all. Trying to bargain Braden down after the fact earns a suddenly panicked Brendan a fireman’s carry out of Thunder’s Arena to be forcibly transported to the nearest ATM to pay up.
There’s a morality tale or two in this match. There’s something here to be said about the dangers of playing the “just how straight are you?” game with your buddies. Of course, real fans who know of Braden’s work from his Randy Blue days know that he’ll go a lot farther, but presumably $400 won’t cover the ground he staked out for RB. I also think there’s a morality tale about walking that delicate line between appealing to a homoerotic wrestling audience while simultaneously appealing to a more closeted, just-this-side-of-the-line gay audience whose closet boundaries may be less threatened by strictly straight-up wrestling than full on porn. It’s a dangerous line to walk, with pitfalls both for straying too close or keeping too safe a distance away from the line. I have to think that there a lot of you who are like me (and Brendan) who harbor a serious lust to see the beautiful bodybuilders of Thunder’s Arena more exposed, infused with more erotic content, slapped down, felt up, squeezed and kissed in exchange for suffering domination at the hands of a randy wrestling opponent. I for one am glad to see someone like Brendan Cage facing the danger head on and pushing that line (both Braden’s and Thunder’s).