I’m doing a little backfill in order to catch up with the homoerotic wrestler of the month appointments. I was out of pocket much of May with the move, but I’ve tried to go back and survey the new releases that came out that month. I’m sure I haven’t sampled all of the contenders, but I’m more than satisfied with one particular wrestler who caught my eye earlier this year, and in the month of May showed up with a set of assets seemingly custom ordered to my kinks and tastes. The belatedly lauded winner of my personal choice for homoerotic wrestler of the month for May 2016 is…

 

 

…Thunder’s Arena’s Talon.

I haven’t had my eye on Thunders in a while, but several recent additions to their roster have been calling me back like the Sirens’ song. Siren-in-Chief for me has been the still frame bodybuilder Talon. Standing 5’11” and a reported 209 lbs of lush, ripped muscles, he’s a beautiful babyface beefcake with curly auburn hair and, in this match, a full beard. I’m infatuated with his aesthetics. His superhero proportions, the tats, his vascularity. If this dreamboat has any muscle worship products anywhere on the net, I’m hoping fans will point me in the right direction. In his “Special Edition” match against meatscicle Jet, both musclemen start out in street clothes, which, as I’ve mentioned before, holds some inexplicable erotic value added for me. In particular, Talon’s plaid dress shorts make my heart skip a beat in anticipation of the bright yellow underwear peaking out the top. The promise of rip ‘n’ strip wrestling will always force a double-take from me, but particularly when the boys are as beefy and pretty as Talon and Jet, the promise of forced disrobing instantly turns the burner up to high for me.

“Who do we got here? Hey, Bud,” Talon acknowledges his opponent stretching out across the room from him.  “Going to pump up over there? You’d better pump up an extra 20 pounds, maybe.” The locker room smirks and trash talk zings fly back and forth as the shirtless studs check each other out. There’s a simple who’s is bigger, who is badder pretense to the pre-match pre-heat. I typically like a little more context, but with two boys so closely matched in beauty and size, a straight up “let’s see who’s better” will work in a pinch. When they lock up, collar and elbow, there’s a lot of sweet, powerful muscle pushing and pulling, balance tested, tolerances pressed, until abruptly Talon yanks down the rookie’s baggy trunks, scoring points (with the fans, at least) first.

“So that’s what you’re into, huh?” Jet asks, looking over his shoulder and letting his opponent get a long, hard look at his sensational ass suction packed into his electric blue trunks. “Yeah,” Talon answers, signaling a second time that he very well may know his audience. When Jet turns around and steps out of his baggies, his seriously ample package suddenly takes center stage. As they lock up again, the new kid’s hammer swings and shimmies excitedly. Abruptly he snags his bodybuilder opponent in a grunting reverse bearhug, pulling Talon up high off his feet and shoving his hips forward, resting Talon’s muscled ass cheeks across his hips just right.

As far as I’m counting, Talon gets credit for both of them getting stripped, pausing the action to squeeze his massive thighs out of his dress shorts. Without breaking character, it’s as if the bearded beefcake acknowledges what I’m here for, and that is to see two magnificent bodies locked in wrestling combat in as little clothing as possible. “So you like bearhugs, huh?” Talon asks a half a second before shooting low and driving up hard to capture the stud puppy in a tit-for-tat reverse bearhug. He holds it twice as long, parading the kid around, his granite glutes flexing hypnotically.

The shit turns sexy has hell when Talon throws the boy down, then drags him back up by his hair. “Get up! Since you like to talk so much, let’s talk!” He sticks his fingers in the side of Jet’s mouth and yanks, looking for sure like he’s about to rip the handsome rookie’s face right off. He flexes his mammoth bicep in the kid’s grimacing face, before throwing him face first to the mat and laughing at the feel of humiliating this slice of beefsteak.

Talon goes for Jet’s lower body next, pounding the stud’s knees into the mat, “Yeah, I like it a lot better when you’re not talking,” Talon taunts, grabbing hold of the trash talk reins with both hands while his opponent chokes on the pain. He offers to help work out the kinks in Jet’s bad knee, helpfully locking in a Boston crab and positively basking in the glow of dominating the gasping muscle stud beneath him. Everything is working just right. Jet’s quivering package hangs low between his capture legs. Talon’s flexed pecs and gargantuan shoulders flush red, while Jet’s ankles, locked up tight beneath Talon’s underarms, make the veteran’s already huge biceps flex still bigger.  But it’s that look on Talon’s face that makes me hit rewind and watch this moment a few more times. I don’t know it from first hand experience, mind you, but I’d bet money that look of ecstasy and exertion washing across Talon’s face is exactly what he looks like when he’s shooting his load (all over my chest).

Talon’s ankle lock is next up in his tour of corporal punishment, twisting like a screw top and making the rookie writhe. The hold is excruciating and we can savor it long and slow as he milks it with the fortitude of a much more mature man. Every twist and turn, every shift to apply more torque, shows off Talon’s fantastic muscles glistening with sweat. When he lets up, climbs to his feet and surveys the damage, the battered rookie starts to smart off. But that’s cut short as Talon drags him by a fistful of hair into what I think of as the first of two premiere money shots in this match, this one being standing headscissors. Everything about this hold is perfection. The way Jet’s back arches and bends in pain, the decadent deliberateness of Talon’s beautiful, slow application of pressure crushing the kid’s skull, and, yet again, the incredibly patient, generous pace by which Talon milks this magnificent muscle feast moment so long, so beautifully. Fuck, it’s worth me breaking down and trying my hand at giving you the first ever animated gif on this blog.

“I hope you have a nice view of my ass up there, pretty boy!” Jet chokes out a pitiful attempt at saving face, considering his face is at that very moment squashed like a bug between Talon’s mammoth quads. Talon doesn’t confirm or deny it, though frankly the real benefactors of those wanting a view of Jet’s stuck, squirming ass are the fans (again, thanks, Talon!). The veteran just bears down that much harder until the bitter, nearly broken young stallion trapped between his thighs can’t talk any longer.

A lovely conventional bearhug sucks the fight right out of Jet, setting him up to be served up like Thanksgiving turkey in a breathtaking over the shoulder backbreaker. That pendulous package suddenly starts to steal the scene again, jumping and quivering at the apex of Jet’s tortured arch. Finally, Talon slams the whimpering meatscicle to the mat again and starts flexing in victory, because that beefstake is officially done medium rare.

Then there’s the second money shot of the match for me.  The newbie doesn’t know when to quit. Interrupting Talon’s expertly earned victory poses, the kid climbs weakly back to his feet once again. The camera zooms in on Talon’s face as the veteran looks right into my eyes, gives me an acknowledging nod and a knowing smirk, and abruptly turns around and nearly decapitates Jet with a fantastic blindside clothesline.

So, yeah, in Special Edition, Talon manhandles me every bit as completely as he does that flat-footed lucky bastard Jet. Accompanying Talon’s fantasyman physique is what seems like an innate respect for those of us on this side of the camera, quickly stripping them both down to skivvies, delivering long, lustful, ecstasy-milking holds that show off his and his opponent’s gorgeous assets to perfection. Jet tries to taunt the veteran into what could easily have turned into a no-homo game of chicken, which would have turned me off instantly. Instead, Talon smirks, gives us a wink, and crushes the smart-mouthed kid into a silent stupor so that we can watch a few final moments of Talon showing off his gorgeous, sweaty muscles in victory for just you and me to enjoy.  At nearly $26 for less than 12 1/2 minutes of action, this is pricey fare. But for pulling me right onto the mats with him, for delivering muscle dominating punishment like a champ, long, slow, and unflinchingly thoughtful for the admiring eyes on this side of the screen, Talon is May 2016’s homoerotic wrestler of the month.