“You think it’s going to be that easy?” Morgan Cruise asks incredulously.  He’s been beating the shit out of adorable boyband beauty Joey Carter for several minutes already.  “I hope,” Joey says, with more than a little smart ass tone in his voice. “Then you don’t know a damn thing about wrestling!”

While this moment happens partway through the match, this pretty much sums up Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Back Buster 5 from start to finish.  Joey, literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, doesn’t know a damn thing about wrestling.  Morgan and I don’t just mean that Joey’s got zero wrestling offense. We don’t must mean, as Morgan states explicitly, that Joey has absolutely no clue about executing a reversal or counter move. It’s so much worse than that for dimple cheeked Joey.  He doesn’t know the first thing about selling his own suffering.

Those who commented on my recent post advocating for more mature wrestlers on the homoerotic wrestling scene, who said that young, barely legal boys do nothing for them, well, I’ve got bad news. Joey looks like he was handed his high school diploma yesterday (at best). He’s smooth and supple and with dimpled cheeks that need either pinched our slapped hard. If the achingly young, unspoiled baby-babyface is not a character who can move you, Joey will do nothing for you. However, I am not so burdened, thankfully.

The action starts with Morgan tossing the kid into a corner and “bashing” him in the chest with a forearm. It’s a showy move, meant to convey high impact brutality. But obviously there’s little actual force behind Morgan’s blow. I say “obviously,” because Joey literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, looks at the camera and smirks.  It’s like he’s struggling not to laugh at the melodramatic play acting. There’s almost a hint of “Fuck, you’re paying me to do this shit?” in his twinkling, dreamy eyes.

“Please, you’re stronger,” Joey pleads for mercy as Morgan locks on yet another in a long series of back-busting pro holds. I say “pleads,” but there’s no panic in his voice. He’s fucking underselling this like a chump! Maybe he’ll be able to go back to his buddies and save a little face by pointing out that this was all just paddy cake, but in the homoerotic wrestling universe, Joey Carter is a fucking chump! If there’s any cardinal sin that offends the homoerotic wrestling gods (and, more importantly, the fans), lazy ass underselling has got to be one. I’m thinking early on here, please, oh please, Morgan, actually hurt this beautiful twink just so we can hear him literally, and yes, I literally mean literally, cry.

So there are a ton of elements here that should mean I hate Back Buster 5. A totally unprepared, uncommitted rookie twink. A start to finish, no suspense, frankly little drama squash. And Morgan delivering exactly everything that we’ve come to expect from him, not a penny less, not a penny more.  I’m supposed to be sitting here and writing a scathing review, or, as has been my default in the past couple years, just ignoring this match entirely because I don’t have anything good to say about it.

But I do. Shocking even me, I have to say, this match turned me on harder than the average homoerotic wrestling fare I sample these days. What the fuck, you may be asking. I’m asking that myself. But if I have to put my finger on the one thing that spins this train wreck right back around and tosses it squarely in my wheel house, I know what it is.  Joey Carter’s ass. And yes, I’d literally like to put a finger (and both hands, and other body parts) on that ass!

Holy fuck, this kid has got a phenomenally beautiful ass! If MDW did year end awards (which they couldn’t because Muscle Master Kevin and Morgan would have to win everything or else it would damage the “alpha dog” shtick), I would both nominate and be campaign manager to get Joey the title of Best Ass. Whoever writes the online match descriptions for MDW knew that the real break out star of Back Buster 5 would be the rookie’s sensational butt. The match description is as fixated on Joey’s ass as I am. The text mentions Joey’s ass 5 times, which is exactly 100% more often than Morgan does during the match, despite the heavy innuendo throughout the description implying Morgan wants to fuck that tantalizing butt hard. I feel a little like an American shorthair who’s just been tossed a toy full of catnip.  Fuck, I cannot tear my eyes away from Joey’s ass!

It’s not just his ass though that manages to redeem this match for me. Truly, Morgan pries and pummels the kid, pushing his tolerances enough that near the end, with Joey finally screaming his pleas for mercy, I’m almost believing him. And I suppose there’s the sufficient suspense that grabs me. That’s the narrative that I’m always saying I crave in my wrestling. In this case, the narrative that captures me is wondering if Morgan is actually going to hurt the kid enough for me to hear the sincerity wrenched out of Joey’s lickable young body. The rook says all the right things. He weeps and moans. He screams and sobs. But moment to moment I’m still trying to decide if I buy it. Is this punk still going to go back to his bros and talk shit about homoerotic wrestling as full of pussies and playacting? Or can I believe that the kid is going to wake up tomorrow honestly bruised, aching, and wondering if he has what it takes, and if it’s worth it, to pick up the phone when Muscle Master Kevin calls to try to book him and his sensational ass in the ring again?

I go back and forth on the verdict, frankly. It’s not like I’m ever totally sold, but I enjoy watching Morgan press the envelope, and I get a kick out of watching Joey scream just a little louder, humiliate himself just a little worse, as the minutes tick by.  And in those moments when his phenomenal ass isn’t in the spotlight, I’m completely mesmerized by Joey’s eyebrows. Those fucking eyebrows sell about 20 times better than anything that comes out of his mouth.  His eyebrows dance and bounce, as if pain is washing over his face. They pucker up in an anguished Darwin’s V, and then arch as if astonished by the pain. His mouth may be saying, “All right. I’m pathetic. I’m sorry,” almost like a petulant child, but his eyebrows are fucking working it like an Oscar winner.

In the end, Joey has conceded that Morgan is stronger and more handsome than he is (definitely, do not try to put that to a vote, Morgan!). He’s repeated over and over that he understands truly and deeply that he is now and forever Morgan’s bitch. He acknoweldges that his only reason for ever stepping into the ring and getting his “pretty little face” bashed in by anyone else will be for him to assure his future tormentors that Morgan Cruise punished him worst of all. He will be Morgan’s bitch. He will be his spokesperson. He’ll be his ring announcer.

As long as he shows off that sensational ass and continues up the learning curve of both selling and wrestling, I’ll buy it.