Not infrequently I’m asked to devote some time here at neverland on retired homoerotic wrestlers. “Classics” is probably a word thrown around too often, so let’s just stick with talking about honorably retired homoerotic wrestlers. My attention tends to be drawn to the next shiny new thing to catch my eye, but that’s not to say that I don’t cherish and regularly revisit old school favorites. One match I still have on VHS, contributing to my determination to keep my VCR on life support as long as possible, is BG’s Fantasy Fight 2, now available through Can-Am.
Fantasy Fight 2 tossed two true fantasy men, both of whom were physique stars and high profile pornboys in their own right, into a tiny box of a room and told them not to come out again until one of them fucked the other into oblivion. If Tom Katt and Scott Randsome weren’t sporting quite such massively oversized egos to go along with their insanely pumped muscles, this could have have been rip roaring love story. However, thankfully for you and me, neither of these power hitters had any intention of willingly taking it up the ass.
I remember seeing ads in the back of muscle mags when I was hoarding them for pre-porn enjoyment, and regularly being entranced by ads for Scott Randsome’s workout and flexing videos. I never bought one when I was as deep in the closet as my muscle mags, but after I’d come busting out, I came across Fantasy Fight 2 when BG (not-East) was still marketing their own catalog. It was the chance to see Scott wrestle for fuck stakes that made me whip out my wallet.
And true enough, Scott is a fucking BEAST in Fantasy Fight 2! I could lose my load well before the first fall of this match is over, when these two are still in their jock straps, based on nothing more than watching Scott’s pale, muscled ass flexing and stretching! It was like the still-frame fantasyman of my pre-porn days crawled off the page and into live-action homoerotic wrestling just for me. Blond, buff as hell, and beautiful as all get out, Scott works me hard. But although Tom Katt was an extremely high profile muscleman pornboy in his own right, still I was stunned by the heat Tom brings to this muscle wrestling feast!
I have to say that I sort of don’t want to be as turned on by Tom Katt as I am. That’s weird to say, I know, but there’s something over the top about him that tweaks my wish to have more discerning and subtle tastes. First of all, he’s phenomenally huge. It’s hard to imagine a lot of other wrestlers (then or now) seriously dwarfing massive Scott Randsome, but Tom Katt unquestionably does it with sheer presence. Tom’s thighs are straight out of a Mr. Olympia photo spread in one of those same muscle mags that introduced me to Scott. Scott’s pecs are bulging and worship-ready, definitely, but the slabs of beef hanging from Tom’s clavicles are gargantuan. Tom flexes that mountainous right pec and shipyard-corded rope of a forearm, and stunningly sexy veins pop out like spider webs everywhere. He’s over the top handsome. Over the top massively muscled. You have to be blind not to recognize him as an object of lust.
So imagine my surprise, expecting to see Scott Randsome shock and awe with those classified-ad-muscles, and instead watch Tom Katt absolutely bully the blond bombshell around the tiny little room like a freshman on rush day. They both trade taunts and promises to fuck each other long and hard, but Tom’s threats are decidedly more ominous as he holds his opponent down and growls in his stunned face.
Tom takes an understandable interest in Scott’s beautiful ass, delighting in spreading the hunk’s legs wide and studying the bullseye longingly, licking his lips in anticipation. With that slow, deep base, erotically syrupy Southern drawl, Tom calls massively muscled hunk of man Scott Randsome his “pretty boy,” and chuckles in delight as he promises to get to know that “pretty hole” a whole lot better before the day is done. It’s the dark and dominating heel in a black jock strap bearing down like a hurricane on the pale, blond, beautiful pornboy-next-door in white. I tuned in to soak in the sight of man of my dreams Scott crush and claim an opponent, but damn it all if I’m torn as to whether I want to see the blond beauty turn the tables or, quite possibly, get all his smooth, bulging muscles conquered and watch the hunk grovel at the feet of his master-for-the-day.
Nevertheless, Scott did not disappoint the larger than life fantasies I’d imagined since burning with desire for him in the back of the mags. The kid could easily have been cowed by the muscle beast bearing down on him, but he does a sweet job of staying with it, sucking up humiliation in order to capture the moments (there are lots) when Tom Katt gets sloppy, slow, or just plain lazy. Scott also gets into the swing of things after taking a heaping helping of taunting early going, and eventually starts adding erotic insult to injury by not only locking the big man up tight, but pointing out how much he’s going to enjoy making the homoerotic wrestling adonis squeal with his cock up his epic ass.
Speaking of squeal, there’s no smoke and mirrors about the wail of agony ripped from Scott’s lungs by big Tom crushing his testicles. Just watch Tom’s forearms flex, the veins popping out again, Scott’s sac distended and dark purple stretching sickeningly out between Tom’s fingers, and there’s no suspension of disbelief required. This is ball torture delivered by a brute strong enough and convincingly vicious enough to seriously do permanent damage. Scott devolves into a puddle of naked anguish, his gorgeous body and that aforementioned “pretty hole” defenseless and played like a concert cello in the hands of maestro.
The first time I watched this match, the point at which the jock straps came off instantly became the measure against which all full on homoerotic wrestling would forever be compared for me. There’s something raw and intensely intimate about these two muscle gladiators going at it, their junk swinging and bouncing along with their pecs. The entire scene was overtly sexual all along, but the boys look hungrier, eye-fucking one another long before the fuck stakes finish is anywhere near. There’s a point at which that suspension of disbelief has to kick in, when Scott is being bullied handily (no, that’s entirely believable), and he’s on his hands and knees with big Tom slapping away at that hot, granite ass. Scott winces (still pretty believable), but instead of rolling to his ass to protect the spot now tagged with a bright red handprint, he just crawls across the mat, letting his amorous opponent continue to wail on each alabaster ass cheek, one after the other. It hardly has a ring of legitimate wrestling combat about it… but I find myself sucked into the drama with the notion that Scott is the one on offense in this scene. It’s Scott who’s flexing his glutes that his opponent has long ago telegraphed to be his fondest desire. It’s Scott, swinging those cheeks from side to side and allowing Tom some extra whacks, not because he’s miraculously paralyzed by a spanking, but because he is, in fact, mounting an erotic offense, distracting the marble statue of a muscle man towering over him, unmistakably turning Tom on by dangling Tom’s weak spot (his fixation on Scott’s ass) in front of him. Sure, you may see it as just a break in sell. I’m still entirely on board!
And sure enough, just when it looks like massive Tom Katt is going to bully his thick cock right over Scott’s finish line, the blond beauty of my muscle mag fantasies starts to pour on the gas. There’s a turn in the tide in the 3rd fall of this match that’s impossible to miss. Tom goes from an unstoppable terminator into a Greek god, to be sure, but one with an Achilles’ heel (or ass). Scott mounts the big, dark bully in a schoolboy pin, and vicious Tom starts to tune in Anchorage, pinching the hell out of Scott’s mouthwatering nipples. The blond winces. His head rolls back on his thick neck in pain. That little boy face on that big, big boy body looks like he may just break out in tears on the way to having the pornboy playground bully yet again knock him down and put him in his place. But Scott suddenly gasps, a look of rage replacing his agony, and dives down onto Tom’s dark, vulnerable nipples in a titty-twister endurance battle. My first time through this ride, I had my money on the Southern bully outlasting in the nip torture, but that look of supreme, cocky confidence on Tom’s face slowly twists up into undisguised pain. His down deep bass voice rises an octave in anguish, and shockingly, he lets go of Scott’s nips to try to pry the blond kid’s hands away from his own. Holy shit. Scott Randsome is on his way to owning Tom Katt’s ass! There’s no other conclusion I could draw, particularly when, with a triumphant look on his pretty face, he swats away Tom’s hands and digs in deeper with the tide turning titty-twister.
This match heads in the direction that I didn’t even know was my fondest desire, at least not the first time I saw it. With a head of steam, Scott starts to seriously own Tom’s insanely hot body. The big bully grunts and agonizes, his juicy cock still squirming even when his opponent has locked the rest of him up impossibly tight one immobilizing, tantalizing hold after another. Scott has the behemoth bridged so vulnerably, so beautifully, with Tom’s head stuck in the vice, trapped between his knees. Tom flexes and tries to twist, but he’s going nowhere without breaking his neck, so he hangs there, suffering. Scott reaches up and spreads the muscleman’s marvelous ass cheeks apart and mimics his opponent’s Souther drawl just a bit as he snarls, “What do I see here?” Tom’s hotly muscled body is at the mercy of the blond bombshell beneath him, and speeding toward the end of the 3rd and decisive fall, I realize that there’s nothing I wanted more than to watch a brutal, dominating, cocky fantasy muscleman with a syrupy Southern drawl almost, almost bully my babyface hero into total submission, but only to find himself out hustled, outwrestled, and made to grovel at the feet of my chosen pretty boy.
Tom submits for the 2nd time, giving away the game to the hot, hunky blond boy he was sure he’d fuck into oblivion. He doesn’t like it, but he let’s Scott drag him around a bit in humiliation, because fair is far. Scott drags the fantasy man to his feet and slams Tom’s face into the wall, holding the muscled beast in a half nelson as he spreads the dark hunk’s cheeks, bends him over just a bit, and fucks those bodybuilder glutes with a whole lot of satisfaction and not much gentle kindness at all. The bully gets more than just a taste of his own medicine, he gets crushed and humiliated and on behalf of all of us who’ve been both turned on and terrorized by the big, nasty jocks in our lives, he’s fucked long and hard and mercilessly.
This may be a one off, or it may be a gimmick I come back to again, but let me just sum up my take on Fantasy Fight 2. This match gets nearly perfect marks for the physiques involved, and it gets very high marks for explicit, homoerotic heat throughout. The narrative is delightful and the hunks tell a compelling story. The wrestling is middle-of-the-road, though the physiques make the sell sweeter because it’s not hard to believe these boys putting a serious hurt on one another. It’s old school, so I have to mention the videography and production quality are also old school, no HD here, tinny sound quality, average lighting, a reliance on the wall-o-mirrors to compensate for the extremely close quarters (which has a nostalgia about it I have to admit I enjoy, though technically speaking, it’s makes for awkward action-tracking). All told, I’d give Fantasy Fights 2 an 85 out of 100, and recommend it particularly highly for fans of muscleboy fuckstakes wrestling.