I’m willingly channeling Joan Rivers for today’s flight of fancy for the sake of alliteration. God forbid two wrestlers show up for a match wearing the same gear, but honestly, there’s a finite number of choice, sexy homoerotic wrestling gear out there. It’s bound to happen. For example, we’ve seen the same eye-catching baby blue bikini trunks with yellow piping round the waist and thighs on several wrestlers, including (at least) Tyrell Tomsen, Joe Robbins, Dick Rick, and most recently, Brad Barnes. So, sure, we could easily debate for days which of these massive mountains of muscle would win in a battle royale ring rumble. But besides that, who wears those hot trunks best (or, alternately, who needs most to have them removed… with my teeth)? Of course, the correct answer is that we have to see them take them on and off in person to know for sure, but if you had to pick, who would it be? Vote below!
Tyrell Tomsen wore these briefs extremely briefly in his Strip Stakes 1 match.Joe Robbins worked the same look in his Catch-Weight 5 contest against Paul Hudson.Dick Rick squeezed into these trunks in his tag team appearance alongside Braden Charron in Tag Team Torture 15.Brad Barnes donned the same gear for his most recent Fantasymen 35 appearance against newbie Lane Hartley.
I am a vegetarian, but that doesn’t stop me from loving big, juicy, meaty thighs. For no other reason than a absolute adoration of alliteration, here are a sample of some of the juiciest homoerotic wrestler quads that come to my mind in order to celebrate Thursday Thighs.
NCAA champion wrestler Tim Foley gets hot, sweaty, and muddy grappling with hardbodied Indian traditional wrestlers.
I’ve been getting several helpful suggestions about what neverland readers would like to see around here. Typically, I think every idea I get is fantastic, but not infrequently, I lose track of the suggestion before I get my butt in the chair and compose it. So if you’ve sent me an idea that I haven’t posted, don’t take it personally. I have the attention span of a tsetse fly. Moments before Jeff’s suggested YouTube videoevaporated from my short-term memory, I snagged it along with a few photos of the star of the video, NCAA champion wrestler Tim Foley:
This is part of a series of videos of Tim wrestling around the world for “Wrestling Roots,”this time in the traditional style and garb of India. My only point of reference for Indian-style wrestling is the champion of my imagined homoerotic wrestling Olympic tournament, Indian hardbodied hunk Sushil Kumar, who may not have one actual gold in London (close, though!), but the Indian muscle machine most definitely scored a 3-count pinfall followed by a three-peat cum shot to the face of a musclebeast also-ran to take my gold.
Sushil Kumar brought Olympic homoerotic wrestling to a whole new level in my imagination!
So far, I cannot find that particular maneuver repeated in any of the videos of Tim Foley’s wrestling competitions in India, but I’m still looking. However I had to pause at precisely the moment that Jeff knew would catch my eye, at right around the 2:50 mark of this particular video, where Tim and his opponent roll out of bounds and are called back to the center. After having yanked hard on his opponent’s trunks repeatedly and rolled head over heels in the dirt, locked in intimate embrace, when Tim stands up to return to the neutral position, he quickly and somewhat desperately pivots his hips backward (showing off even more beautifully that astonishingly hot muscled ass!), and shoves his hand deep down the front of his trunks for some emergency ballast repositioning.
Tim shows off that round, muscled ass as he digs deep.
Looks like Tim needs a hand with the oversized baggage he packed for this trip to India!
Holy shit, that’s hot! I know, I know, its almost certainly the result of testicles getting a little twisted amid all intense grappling, but that doesn’t change the fact that the need to take a moment to feel around in the front of your trunks and set things just right is an incredibly hot, implicitly erotic maneuver. Just ask Joshua Goodman(that’s Mr. Joshua to you!!!).
Mr. Joshua demonstrates that sometimes you just need to take matters into your own hands.
Here are just a few more parting shots of Tim taking his fabulous wrestling muscles around the world to spread the news that watching high quality wrestling requires a major crotch adjustment!
That. Ass!I’ve got soap in (one) hand to help with the traditional communal shower post-match.
My heart pumped considerably harder a couple moments as I distracted myself from work by scanning the gayest news I could find today. First, recurring star of homoerotic wrestling fantasies (and not just mine, anymore!), Josh Hutcherson adeptly discussed his sexuality in terms that both respect LGBT people and clarifies how much he likes women, but holds the door open for feeling the need to kiss a gorgeous guy at some point in the future. Now, how about wrestle a gorgeous guy to the ground, sit on his face, and make him kiss your ass? Watch for more wrestling stories starring my drug of choice, Josh Hutcherson, coming soon to Sidelineland from CelebWrestleFan. Damn, I’m hot for Hutch….
Less than 100% straight.
My other double/triple take was seeing some pics from 2013 Gymnastics World Championships. Shots like this of beefy muscleboy Brandon Wynn gave me intensely arousing flashbacks to homoerotic wrestling fantasies that consumed my imagination during the Olympics last year. In the competition that matters most to me, it was Great Britain’s Louis Smith who pounded out the gymnast wrestling competition by smothering American Danell Leyva between his thighs while the Yank was trapped in the ropes. I’ve got to say here and now that American Brandon Wynn, who was not on the U.S. Olympic team a year ago, very well could make a serious run at crushing Louis’ luscious body with those insanely huge arms! Sweet gymnastics gods above!!! What do you think, does pumped powerhouse Brandon Wynn have what it takes to beat Olympic homoerotic wrestling champ Louis Smith? What’s the finishing move?
Could 5’7″, 163 lbs beefcake Brandon Wynn take……5’10”, 168 lbs, Louis Smith?Built to Bearhug!?I’ve got a really big hunch (massive) that Brandon Wynn could bring gold medal winning homoerotic wrestling gymnast Louis Smith to his knees!
I’m instantly enthralled with a man with legs long enough to climb into the ring by stepping over the top rope. There’s just something intensely intimidating and profoundly sexy about that over the top ring mount! It takes a seriously long-legged hunk of man to pull that off, and the word “giant” instantly pops into my head whenever I see it. Pair that pair of incredibly long legs with a washboard stomach, luxuriously meaty pecs, the wingspan of an Boeing Dreamliner and a booming, baritone, evil laugh, and I’m at full attention for none other than BG East’s Diego Diaz.
6’3″, 184 lbs., Diego Diaz
I’ve been buying anything and everything Diego has been selling since the moment he showed up at BG East. I have no idea how Diego fits into the pantheon of wrestling archetypes. Although he’s taken some epic beatings, there’s no way in hell to mistake him for a jobber. He’s a stunningly gorgeous specimen of a man with a strong penchant for excusing his obliteration of lesser opponents as righteously justified by his superior skill and strength, but I think he just enjoys making another man suffer a little too much to call him a babyface. But then again, I’m not sure he enjoys it nearly enough, nor is he quick enough on the draw for underhandedness, to qualify as an archetypal heel. What is he? He’s fucking-Diego-Diaz, kids, and you better put on your big boy undies because he cannot wait to separate the men from the boys!
6′, 185 lbs., Rio Garza
And was there ever a more boyishly beautiful jobber on the planet than tasty morsel Rio Garza!? The genius of the Diaz v Garza pairing in Fantasymen 35 makes me gasp a little. The Brazilian skyscraper versus the Mexican fitness model champion!? Latino hunk versus Latino hunk!? Playground bully versus the protypical muscleboy!? Not an exaggeration: I was cruising at top speed less than 30 seconds into this match.
Diego introduces Rio’s throat to the sole of his boot.
The string bikini trunks on Rio are mesmerizing. I could stare at beautiful Rio for days on end, mind you, but there’s an unmistakable value-added in his ring gear for Fantasymen 35. His mouthwatering ass quite possibly may have never looked as juicy, and there’s a perfect fit of tightness and room to swing in the pouch of those flaming hot red briefs. Cute as the proverbial button, flexing his award winning physique for the mirror, and making his pecs bounce, however, have never amounted to being an intimidating ring presence for Rio. Despite an initial flurry of offense that knocks the sneering Brazilian stud on his ass, it’s not long at all before Diego pins the Mexican coverboy by the throat into a corner by his mile-and-a-half long leg and size 17 and a half boot. “This is no place for a kid, you know what I’m saying!?” Diego growls like a tiger.
Diego nearly rips the gorgeous head off of the Mexican coverboy.
Elbow drops, stomps, and long, lingering trampling drive Diego’s point home over and over in the opening minutes of this match: Rio is looking like he’s in way, way over his head against the giant. I’m so completely aroused by the moment that Diego is so obviously tickled at the sight of the fitness star crawling on his hands and knees to get to the ropes to try to reach his feet again. Diego’s laugh is deep and full and so fucking sexy as he taunts the golden muscleman who’s already seeing stars about 3 minutes in. When he mounts Rio’s back, sits on those insanely fuckable glutes that Rio has, and leans back in a camel clutch, Diego’s incredible reach is stunning. When he wraps his humungous hands around Rio’s throat to not only threaten to break the boy’s back but choke him along the way, the fitness model champ coughs out the first fall submission. “What did I tell you, huh?” Diego asks rhetorically, standing up and kissing his own biceps victoriously.
Rio has been getting his fine, fine ass handed to him from coast to coast for several years now, so it should not come as too much of a surprise to see that the beautiful muscleboy has learned a few tricks along the way. Although he spends ages in transit sprinting back and forth helplessly pounded from corner to corner, he turns the tables by capturing his devastating opponent between his legs. Personally, I’d hand the Brazilian my firstborn to trade places right there, and I assure you there’d be no way in hell my hand wouldn’t be sliding up those golden thighs and underneath those red bikini trunks to feel that taut muscle ass mid-flex. Rio’s aesthetically perfect proportions can disguise the fact that he sports fantastically meaty, thick thighs that can make a long, lean Brazilian wail like a wounded animal caught in a trap. The look of concentration on Rio’s boyishly handsome face is breathtaking. His lovely pecs glisten with sweat. He bears down, and Diego’s knees buckle. Holy shit this is sexy!
Rio’s got more offense to show for himself, mind you. His full nelson on the towering Brazilian is astonishingly hot. The coverboy leans back, resting Diego’s ass against Rio’s crotch and making the shaggy-headed giant howl. Rio looks pissed. Seriously pissed. Like, pissed enough that I almost believe that his epic run as anyone and everyone’s jobber could be over because he’s had enough and he’s not going to fucking take it anymore.
Perhaps Rio should have reached his boiling point against someone less devastating, less overpowering, and more impressed with his credentials as a fitness model superstar. As is so often the case, the achingly pretty muscleboy cannot close the deal, and instead finds himself nearly sliced in half between the internal-organ-rearranging scissors of the Brazilian hedge clipper. Okay, I’m taking my firstborn back from Diego and handing him to Rio, because if I’m living the fantasy of trading places with someone here, it’s Diego’s sweaty thighs that I want to feel wrapped around me. Holy fuck, he manhandles Rio like a freshman, flopping the muscle stud back and forth as Rio leaves pools of sweat (and tears) behind him on the mats.
So perhaps my earlier point about Diego not being sadistic and underhanded enough to clearly qualify as a heel needs reconsidering, because just as gorgeous Rio is wilting, Diego drags his golden muscles across the ring and proceeds to torture the Mexican muscleboy in the ropes. Choked in the ropes, spine rearranged in a series of neckbreakers, and a lusciously intimate sleeper tied up nice and tight inside the luxuriously long right leg of the Brazilian brute… Diego doesn’t need to do any of it. He’s just schooling the little kid in the dangers of playing with the big boys.
Rio’s recurring, real-life nightmare plays itself out once again as his mouthwatering, award winning physique is battered and brutalized, as all of his picture perfect muscles are broken and owned, and he experiences that all-too-familiar sensation of his dignity being stripped as another charging bull beats him into the dust. “You want pain?!” Diego asks rhetorically when Diego refuses to give up on command. “You’ll have the pain!” What the hell is Rio thinking, showing up at BG East for his 16th match after being ground down, gorgeous muscle by gorgeous muscle, again and again?! What could motivate a goldenboy who apparently owns the competitive fitness model scene to tempt fate once more and place that beautiful body in the path of another raging wrestler?! I honestly can’t tell you… however… I swear to god there’s something new in this match that catches my eye, right around the time that Rio is helplessly suspended in Diego’s hangman, and that bouncing, quivering pouch of the Mexican muscleboy swells just a bit.
“Look at you,” Diego’s rumbling laugh returns as he watches Rio try to peel his soaked torso off the mat and defend himself. “So sad to see. Where’s that guy with all the poses?” Diego taunts. “You’re just crawling back for more…” This opening match on Fantasymen 35 just keeps coming back for more, more muscle, more beauty, more Latino swagger and ego, more agony, maybe just a little more ecstasy, and more fantastic physiques put to their most perfect use: hot, sweaty, homoerotic ring wrestling!
Mr. Joshua Goodman in such anguish he’s momentarily forgotten about his immense self-satisfaction with the massive muscle in the front of his trunks.
I woke up this morning and my first conscious thought was, what the fuck did I do to deserve this? I mean, seriously, what the fuck just happened here?! I was coasting along on such an awesome weekend, feeling no worries, and then suddenly it hits me. It’s Monday morning, and I’ve got so much shit to do! With the dawn of a new work week knocking me way back on my heels, I’m feeling a little spiritual commiseration with these fine specimens of homoerotic wrestling angst pictured here, captured in the moment of trying to shake the cobwebs from their rattled brains and take mental stock of just how fucked up they feel after being manhandled by an opponent.
Eli Blackputs palm to face in disbelieving horror at the humiliation this usually devastating young hunk has just suffered!Rusty Stevenshurts too much to pry open his eyelids as he checks the root cause of his agony.
Thiago Diaztries to see through the stars circling his head, attempting to piece together the sequence of events that put this stunning muscle stud flat on his gorgeous back.
Sweaty, sexy Derek Da Silva hangs from the ropes, struggling to decide whether to scream, weep, or vomit from the vicious assault on his gut.Tyler Reeves’ eyes are open, but the shocked agony gripping his hot body still has him blinded as the slack-jawed, hardbodied hunk attempts to take up the slack in his jaw.
There are some neverland readers, and you know full well who you are, who frequently pepper me with questions about Jonny Firestorm. “Did you get to feel his bicep when you met him at BG East?” “Was he as electrifyingly sexy in person as he is on camera?” “Is he ever going to film a match in which he wrestles naked?”
For the record, the answers are no (though next time…!), most definitely, and I have no idea. What all the questions drive home for me is that Jonny has got an intensely infatuated hardcore base of fans who are ready to live, breath, and (most of all) eat Jonny non-stop. Especially for them, though I think of interest to many homoerotic wrestling fans, Jonny has launched a professional website to satisfy more of your prurient interests in all things Firestorm.
Jonny now blogs, tweets, and takes orders for custom made matches, as well as makes himself available for private matches with eager challengers. I’ve put in an order for a custom match already, so get in line.
Considering Jonny’s embarrassing indictment at the end of Contract 10, just out in BG East’s catalog 100, this all makes me wonder whether Jonny’s hedging his bets should there be serious hell to pay for his literally turning his back on The Boss and, by extension, costing Kid Leopard the exclusive use and abuse of Brad Rochelle. More likely, I suspect, Jonny simply knows that there are a cadre of fanatics aching for more-access-Jonny.
If you’ve had a private match with Jonny, or with any other homoerotic wrestler out there, I’d love to hear about it. If you’ve ordered a custom match from him (or from Cameron Mathews, the only other wrestler on our scene that I’m aware of that offers this service), tell me how the creative process unfolded and how you feel about your final product. As for me, I love an entrepreneur with a hard body and a fetish for wrestling, so I encourage everyone to visit Jonny’s site, and all of the personal and professional sites of our homoerotic wrestling favorites, often!
Let me wipe the sweat off my brow (not to mention any other bodily fluids) and return to my senses. I’m sure I’ll spend a whole lot more time sucking out the marrow from the mouthwatering delicacies BG East has presented in their centennial catalog, but I’ve got serious business to do, now that I’ve pushed pause. I feel the need to elevate from among possibly the most competitive field I’ve ever seen one wrestler to crown as my pick for homoerotic wrestler of the month. Occasionally, newbies to neverland demonstrate that they don’t know what I’m talking about when I laud a new HWOTM, so let me just review the concept for you who have just tuned in:
Each month, I take a look at the new releases from homoerotic wrestling producers the month prior. My usual suspects are BG East, Can-Am, Muscle Domination Wrestling, Naked Kombat, Rock Hard Wrestling, and Thunder’s Arena, and every so often an “independent producer” makes a play for serious contention (e.g., Steel Muscle God, or the rare foray into the genre by mainstream porn producers). The criteria are simple and straightforward. The wrestler I name must have appeared in a new release during the prior month, and he must be the one hunk who stands out for having turned me on the hardest. Sometimes readers read more into it than that, but that is, genuinely the scope.
Savoring the new releases that were produced in September by the above masters of wrestling-for-gay-eyes, my task was simply brutal. There are months when I actually give the title a pass because I just don’t think the field was of high enough quality, but September 2013 posed precisely the opposite problem. Way, way too much goodness streaming down, nearly drowning me as I try to keep my head above water and put everyone else but one standout wrestler into the category of also-rans. There were serious contenders from every producer on my go-to list, but in the end, I went with my gut and stuck to the premise, choosing the wrestler that turned me on hardest…
Brad Rochelle – 6′, 190 lbs, a living legend
…Brad Rochelle. Again, particularly for those of you new to neverland, be warned that I bulldoze right through spoiler material without a passing thought for anyone wanting to remain in suspense about details of most of the matches I talk about. So if you don’t want to know particulars about the climactic chapterin the Contract series, turn away now. Because I’ve got shit I’ve simply got to say!
Brad bends like none other!
First of all, Contract 10 is an awesome testimony to the masterful ensemble that has been responsible for BG East catalogs 1-100. There’s no denying that, as with every Contract DVD, Brad is “the star.” However, the climactic chapter pulls in boys in front of and behind the camera, newbies, paradigmatic veterans, cameramen, and not to be overlooked (for fear of getting my ass kicked), The Boss himself, Kid Leopard. As I’m often chided when I do the HWOTM, the quality of Contract 10 is entirely owed to everyone who is a part of it, not only Brad. But because everyone who is a part of it knows what the fuck they’re doing, they push Brad Rochelle with grace and conviction, and Brad is nothing if not ready to ride that wave and absolutely shine as the rudder to this ship.
Two muscled studs aren’t anywhere close to enough to conquer the veteran babyface Brad Rochelle!
Let me give you just a little premise to provide context. Brad’s reign of terror as the jobber-turned-heel has come to an abrupt end, now that KL has cottoned on to exactly what the legendary babyface Brad has been up to when The Boss’ back has been turned. Brad is bagged and tagged by the back office boys, dragged before KL quite literally sitting on his throne, and once again offered an escape clause to his soul-crushing small print servitude to his contract. If he can beat a wrestler of The Boss’ choosing, he can walk away a free man. If not, and I kid you not, he’s “fucked.” Yeah, that got my attention, too. Just as an aside, as The Boss is saying this, Kid Vicious is excitedly rubbing his crotch through his jeans. Yep, me too.
Brutalized babyfaces stacked like firewood.
The Boss’ right-hand man, Jonny Firestorm, takes it upon himself to toss Brad’s fine, fine ass into the ringagainst gorgeous baby face beauties Chace LaChance and Attila Dynasty(whose massive package, which does not quite remain contained, deserves a contract of it’s own). Yes, Brad, both of them, Jonny explains. Jonny scoffs at Brad’s incredulity, pointing out a living legend like Brad should have no problem manhandling a couple of prettyboys. Now, Brad’s faced 2-on-1 beatings before in the Contract, and though it’s never been easy, he has (post-heel-turn) come out on top. Chace and Attila are gorgeous, acrobatic, awesome competitors, but though they crash like waves into the living legend, Brad beats the living shit out of them both, one at a time. The boys are humiliated, and Brad is a fucking fantastic bully every step of the way. He taunts and torments them. He teases and reviles them. This is incredibly hot wrestling domination, brought to a sudden and screeching halt when Jonny abruptly knocks Brad out cold with the video camera and tells the babyface wonder-twins that “the fix is on!” As Jonny leaves to show hit footage to The Boss, Chace and Attila go to town on the dazed man who has defined homoerotic wrestling suffering for a generation of us. One long 2-on-1 session brings Brad to the edge of endurance. They rip and pry and crush him. And with pathos dripping from the screen like sweet honey, the babyface hero battles back from exhaustion and rips victory from the jaws of defeat.
Jeremy Tyler absolutely crushes Brad!
When Jonny returns to find Brad post-victory, he pounds the living legend in the face with his video camera so hard that the equipment breaks into pieces! Brad is OUT, waking only to find himself staring way, way up at pornboy wrestling muscle monster BG East newcomer, Jeremy Tyler, in the BG East matroom. I’m not sure if Brad’s nursing a concussion, but he probably is, based on his complete defenselessness against Jeremy’s pounding, grinding, ominously slow onslaught. I’m dying to see the original footage to this match, because the camera fades in and out, I’m guessing capturing Brad’s own slippery hold on consciousness as he’s dismantled, demoralized, and finally forced to flex in complete submission. “Flex for me!” Jeremy snarls in his rumbling bass voice, ripping the shoulder straps of Brad’s singlet down and showing that his muscles are decisively bigger than the “legend’s.”
The Boss grabs hold and gets ready to deliver on his promise to make sure Brad is truly fucked.
Brad comes too, once again back in the BG East ring, now cuffed into the ropes and at the mercy (like, when wasn’t he?) of Kid Leopard. There are lines that have not been crossed with Brad, as far as I can recollect. If someone is going to cross lines, however, it’s going to be The Boss. Brad is viciously controlled by a full throttle ball claw. He’s battered and beaten by the master himself, heel-in-chief, the man who defined “homoerotic wrestling heel” even more prototypically than Brad defined “homoerotic wrestling jobber.” The Boss squeezes those luscious melons of Brad’s glutes. He yanks, hard, on Brad’s trunks to deliver one of the most mouthwatering and anticipated wedgies in history.
They call him The Boss for a reason!
The Boss suspends Brad like a trophy elk across the top turnbuckle, choking him with his belt in one hand and crushing Brad’s testicles with abandon in the other hand. Brad screams. Brad chokes. Brad coughs in that way that he has, communicating with ever inch of his body and breath that he’s on the edge of panic and annihilation. And though I’ve mentioned it before, I just need to say again, his wedgied ass is a work of art!
The master’s tools…
KL kicks the babyface carcass out of the ring and looks ready to put him out and make Brad pay-up on those terms he “negotiated” earlier, when shockingly, the babyface turns the tables. Slipping on a face-smothering kiss-of-death, he catches The Boss by surprise. That’s right, babyface Brad latches on Kid Leopard’s own signature hold, outmuscling the Man. Jonny Firestorm walks into the ring room and is shocked to see KL nearly out cold, desperately waving Jonny over to intervene. “Just walk away,” Brad snarls darkly at The Boss’ intimidated henchman. Jonny wavers, second guesses, but the fierce look on Brad’s face (and possibly Brad’s glorious physique flexed and clutching his prey like a boa), convince Jonny to obey… Brad!
Where no wrestler’s lips have gone before…
The carnage is fucking epic! Brad quite literally and, no shit, honest to god in fact, nearly drowns Kid Leopard, first in his own bidet, and then in his own toilet. The living legend has had so much more than enough. He brutalizes the heel-in-chief like I’ve certainly never seen before, finally “forcing” Kid Leopard to kiss his beautiful ass (oh, please, Br’er Fox, don’t throw me into the briar patch), and finally, climactically, flexing and threatening him from behind, makes The Boss sign the “release clause” in the bane of his life for the past 8 years: the Contract.
Brad Rochelle – HWOTM and career finale in Catalog 100?!
This entire DVD is a work of art. You know how much I love a well-told narrative, and the boys at BG East have pulled out all the stops to deliver a compelling, shocking, climactic story of revenge, retribution, reckoning, and, perhaps, redemption. Like I said, there are no unessential elements in this production, so naming Brad HWOTM is not to imply he got there on his own. However, he more than carries through on his part of the bargain, selling both wrestling domination, soul-wrenching suffering, and a rageful, righteous reckoning that ties together every sordid chapter in the Contract series. The finale of Brad’s Contract is a perfect bookend to its beginning. And based on that finale, I have to question whether I’ll ever have another chance to name Brad Rochelle HWOTM, considering he is literally soaking in the sun on the beach and laughing to himself about what KL must have in store for Jonny “Firefly” after his second-in-command walked away and left him to the babyface’s retribution. All of my anticipation of Brad’s return, I’m certain, contributes to the undeniable fact that his work in Contract 10 turns me on unbelievably hard, even harder than several other matches released in September that would, in any other month, have been shoo-ins for victory. So all hail the return of the living legend, and let me be first in line to offer to follow in The Boss’ footsteps and plant my lips on Brad’s beautiful ass. Because Brad Rochelle is neverland’s reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month!
Holy crap the championship final match-up was a drubbing at 108 – 33! A humiliating squash! Brutal, 3-to-1 voting blowout leaving Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe and Gabriel Ross ground into the mat, totally destroyed, with just one kiss left standing: Rusty Stevens’ liplock on Kevin Crowes in Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 4.
The Winners!
It’s hard not to see why this liplock absolutely plowed through the competition. Muscle, bondage, beauty, domination… so much of a good thing! Of course, I’d pay to watch Rusty Stevens knit a sweater if he’s doing it naked, so I’ve never had to be sold on being completely infatuated. And sweat Jeebus, Kevin Crowes is pure crack cocaine for my homoerotic wrestling fixation! This work of art needs a recurring role in a homoerotic wrestling serial like nobody I know!
Rusty starts to set up the angelic, ripped pornboy rookie for rope torture and exploitation.
All hail to the winners and losers, because with liplocks like these, we’re all winners! And many thanks to everyone who voted. I’m so pleased that my new blog host has a working poll app! Our google overlords at blogger can suck it, because the new, improved neverland is once again firing on all cylinders!
Rusty digs deep and grows infatuated with watching the pain he’s inflicting contort Kevin’s gorgeous face.
Before all is said and done, angelic Kevin (pushed too far) turns the table and slaps down his own liplock on the now naked veteran pornboy wrestling master!
Muscle Master Kevin is the boy-genius at Muscle Domination Wrestling who has staked a claim as the newest contender to battle for the homoerotic wrestling audience. MMK stepped right into the potential stink of conflict between the sub-dom kink audience and the homoerotic wrestling audience (which does not overlap in all places, by any means) when I spoke with him in May, and somehow I thought MMK came out of that tricky situation smelling just fine.
Muscle Master Kevin invites you to enjoy the view
When Muscle Master Kevin isn’t busy running his MDW empire, he tosses the muscle worship fanatics occasional bones with his muscle worship/domination-themed website, Muscle Master Kevin. For non-subscribers, you can sort out occasional bones of your own by following MMK on his FaceBook page, where he’ll link to YouTube video updates on his magnificent muscular development.
Muscle Master Kevin knows what you’re looking at
Damn, the vasularity on MMK does wonders for my cardiovascular health! The sweet pump he has in those upper arms and pecs makes my mouth water. What Kevin refers to as “the genetic gifts” of his perfect nips are stunningly hot, and I guarantee the moment I watch a sub-dom-themed MMK video where some lucky blogger bastard gets to lick those headlights for hours will top me off for days on end.
The V from the front.
While Kevin made no claims to merit to explain his luscious nips, he did proudly point out that his “nice V-shape” of a torso is something that he’s earned through serious devotion and hard work, as goes for his “thick, striated, often hairy chest.” On muscle worship cred alone, the only thing missing here for my personal needs is to see baby oil slowly massaged into those hot pecs. And of course, baby oiled lustfully and then wrestling another hardbodied hunk would add up to a serious drop in blood flow to my brain.
Look at those veins grow!
I’ll always have a soft spot in my heart (and a hard spot elsewhere) for these personal cam show youtube uploads like this. There’s the opportunity to suck on eye candy, of course. And MMK knows better than most how to capitalize on the format to yank on the strings of homoerotic muscle fanatics. But there’s also something inadvertently real. We can see that MMK makes his bed. Fuck, I love that in a man. He flexes so intensely that most muscular pose that not only do his veins explode, but he quivers, and quivering muscle is a slice of gold that you just can’t fake in my book. Kevin is all alone, struggling to position himself in the view of the stationary camera just right, squatting a little to get his lovely upper pecs in frame, all adding to this sense of spontaneous intimacy and immediacy. It’s a sweet genre that makes me think of the more intentionally formatted “muscle showcase” products that Can-Am and BG East used to produce, showing essentially muscle worship testimonials of the wrestlers we ache for, sometimes following them home, watching them sleep (naked), observing them eating (naked), delighting in them providing a “private” muscle show just for you. Intimacy and immediacy can suffer if video kink is too controlled and contrived, so taking a break from my main drug of choice (homoerotic wrestling) to take a sweet hit of a poorly lighted “private” cam show from Muscle Master Kevin is a solid compliment and pleasing change of pace.
Sidelineland 