Reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy: 5’10”, 145 lbs Skrapper

My pornboy favorite rankings have been stagnant for a while.  When Naked Kombat went down, the need for a separate pornboy category from the non-pornboy homoerotic wrestling favorites seemed less important to me.  Now that NK is back and I’m back paying attention to them, I’m guessing there will be new pornboys capturing my fancy and shaking up the ranks.  Mr. Intense, aka BG East’s Skrapper, has held the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy forever, though I’m hoping the likes of someone like babyface sadist Vance Crawford might give Skrapper a run for his title.  The heat that dude-meister Skrapper generates, however, is incredible, and even when no on (on camera) is losing a load or two by the end of a match, Skrapper’s mastery of a homoerotic wrestling opponent is nothing short of scorching.

Scorching Jake Jenkins: 5’7″, 155 lbs.

Did someone say scorching?  Holy Mary Mother of God, have you seen that “little fucking monkey” (lovingly dubbed so by Kid Karisma) Jake Jenkins in mouthwateringly low rise Calvin Klein briefs!?  His mat match in Sunshine Shooters 6 against Skrapper presents Jake as insanely sexy as we’ve ever seen him, somehow stoking my fires a tad more for eventually wrestling in nothing but his tighty-whities soaked through with buckets and buckets of sweat.

A little “training”
Jake has a notoriously steady hand on the rudder when he wrestles.  He looks like a chess master through most of his matches, as much as a seriously dangerous powerhouse muscleman who, as Skrapper learns, can wrestle, punch, and kick with equally devastating results.  Skrapper spends the first half of this match chipping away at the cool as ice exterior on lovely Jake.  Having lured him to the mats for some “training,” he instantly and literally knocks Jake on his heels with the surprise that he wants to box.  It takes approximately a blink of an eye for Jake to recalibrate and start unloading a semi full of bell ringing strikes with fists, feet, knees and elbows.
Skrapper may not have gotten the memo that Jake is also an MMA fighter!
Bit by bit, Skrapper keeps chipping away, not giving Jake a moment to breathe, not a second to recover when he gets the wind knocked out of him.  Slowly it dawns on Jake that this isn’t about “training” at all.  As Skrapper starts both dominating and humiliating the “little fucking monkey,” Jake starts to lose his patience.  “What’s your problem, dude!” he snaps angrily when Skrapper stays on the offense well past the point of “practicing” a hold.  Between Skrapper and Jake, I suspect there may be more utterances of the word “dude” in this match than any other in the history of homoerotic wrestling.  I could find that grating, but I don’t.  Not for a second.  Because like Jake, I just don’t have time to catch a breath or be bothered by anything.  Skrapper sucker punches and pounds and squeezes his way inside Jake’s guard and underneath Jake’s flawless skin, and right around the time sweat is pouring off of both of these boys’ bodies in streams, Jake is seriously pissed off and I’m completely turned on.
I’d pay good money to trade places with Skrapper at this very moment!
The baggy shorts come off pretty quickly, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods.  More than 5 minutes with Jake Jenkins in anything more than very low-rise briefs is a crime against all that’s right and good in this world, as far as I’m concerned.  And fuck, Skrapper!  Damn!  He’s no muscleboy, mind you, but he’s seriously fit, toned, and does a mighty fine job of making his own pair of athletic-fit Calvins stretch at all the right seams.  Their two well-lubricated bodies sliding and squeezing all over each other is somewhere between a religious experience and insanely masterful art.  Skrapper’s face and hands go places I’d give a kidney to go, and the more moisture their bodies generate, the more I swoon at the sound of hard, muscled bodies slapping wetly into each other… and the mat… and the walls.
I don’t know what you call this, but I call it sexy as hell!

Skrapper’s got a tiger by the tail when he’s finally succeeded in provoking Jake, but damn it all if the skrappy one doesn’t hold onto that hot, hot piece of tail with precisely the fearlessness and tenacity that propelled me to lustfully anoint him my top of the pack pornboy wrestler.  I don’t know what the technical term is for this combo acrobatic/yoga/little-fucking-monkey move that Skrapper manages on the muscleboy, but he plants Jake’s handsome face into the mat, folds his legs at the knees, and pries the rest of Jake’s shiny body upward, slowly cranking Jake’s back arching backward.  Damn, that needs to be mounted and framed and hanging on my wall!

Skrapper messes with the bull…

I never, ever count Skrapper out until he’s been unconscious for at least a minute, and Jake figures that lesson out for himself eventually.  The skrappy one’s tenacity and endless reservoir of momentum and sheer nerve sincerely appear to stun his gorgeous opponent.  But tenacity and nerve, in the end, aren’t nearly as stunning as Jake Jenkins provoked, unleashed, and just plain fucking fed up!  The can of whoop ass he opens up as Skrapper keeps peeling himself off the mat and charging headlong into the buzzsaw is breathtaking.  Just ask Skrapper right about the time that sweat-soaked Jake Jenkins plants his luscious ass down on Skrapper’s sternum, his hefty package lodged sweetly in Skrapper’s cleavage, and Jake breathes deep and pumps out a double bicep in victory.

Is he finally down for good!? 
Chalk up another victory for that little fucking monkey!

By the end of this match Jake, Skrapper, AND I need a shower, and I can think of one easily solution to that problem!

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