MDW’s Tank is a naughty, naughty boy. When silver fox muscle daddy Matt Thrasher shows up, having accepted the job of showing Tank a few things about wrestling, the bulging rookie is anything but gracious. “You look like my father,” Tank sneers at Matt’s salt and pepper whiskers. “You know what? ‘Father’ was too good. You could be my grandfather!”
If there’s a bulging young rookie in need of some humbling respect at the hands of a magnificent, more mature, more experienced muscle daddy like Matt, I’m all in. Daddy’s Home 6 is not the first time my heart has started pounding to see Matt Thrasher climb into the ring in street clothes. Fuck, I love the look of him so much. I’d be thrilled to see a masters competition among the rare breed of homoerotic wrestler old enough to be the average industry competitor’s father. But what I’d really lose my shit over would be to see daddy Matt team up with some other seasoned beefsteak like Shane McCall (or the elusive man of my dreams, Scott Williams!) to tag team terrorize pretty boys two at a time.
Anyhow. As I try to reel my homoerotic imagination back in, let me just appreciate Matt’s stone cold reply to Tank’s ageist taunts. “So?” Matt asks, flexing his mountainous bicep in Tank’s face and owning the fact that he’s aged to absolute perfection. “I might just not want to train you after all,” Matt mutters, slowly pacing around his “trainee” and giving those gargantuan glutes a long, lingering stare. “I might just want to give you a beat down and show you how to respect.” The shit eating, self-conscious grin on Tank evaporates as he gets up in Matt’s face. With total seriousness, he snarls, “I’d love to see that happen.”
And the genius of Daddy’s Home 6 is that I believe him. There’s a transparent cellophane wrapping of aggressive ego defense and intentions to measure up whose is bigger, but what I’m really getting off on is how much I buy that this big, bulging meathead who is clearly completely ill prepared to pull off anything of note by way of wrestling, deep down (somewhere around that pendulous package of his) wants a muscle daddy to take him by the scruff of the neck. Not that he’ll just roll over and take it. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t want to give. He wants to have a muscle daddy milk the submission out of him. It’s not that he wants to be owned. It’s that he wants to be conquered.
I’m not sure what is up with a couple of production aspects of Daddy’s Home that I feel like I have to mention. First, the mat. There’s about 4 inches of foam tucked underneath a black cloth that continually trips the wrestlers. From start to finish, speed plays absolutely no part of this match because the boys have to step gingerly just to avoid getting tied up by the odd ring cover. The other notable production detail that distracted me was the camerawork. On the one hand, there are some fabulous close ups. The camera lingers long and hard on ass cheeks and bouncing pouches. The lens brings a sensational sexual tension to the bout, adoringly framing Matt climbing onto Tank’s prone body and pounding his crotch deeper and deeper between Tank’s mountainous ass cheeks. Love that. Then, as if camera guy is suddenly using his free hand to whip out his dick and start jacking off (not that I’d blame him), the camerawork suddenly goes still. The wrestlers shift position, but the camera doesn’t, leaving an awkwardly long shot of Matt’s knee, and nothing else, before the camera suddenly points toward the ceiling a couple of seconds and then comes back to its senses. Not sure what the fuck was up with that
But there are some truly fantastic elements to Daddy’s Home 6 that make up for the odd missteps mentioned above. I’ve already alluded to Daddy Matt’s propensity for dry(ish) humping Tank’s virginal ass cheeks. A lot. And fuck me, it never gets old. Tank may have big bulging muscles, but he’s got the stamina of a tsetse fly. So when he repeatedly finds himself face down, ass up, and mounted from behind, his tanks are on empty and the muscle daddy beatdown completely has it’s way with him.
At one point, Matt’s mounted him just right, and starts slamming his crotch down over and over into Tank’s vulnerable cheeks. “I bet you like that, don’t you!?,” Tank attempts a weak ass, borderline homophobic verbal defense, as if liking pounding a muscled ass like Tank’s is a bad thing. And then here’s another element of this match that thrills me. Matt replies, “What’s not to like? A big, dumb kid with a pretty little ass, crying from my beating? What’s not to like?” Every varsity football star should get his ass spanked blood red and humped relentlessly, just so a homoerotic wrestling muscle daddy like Matt can pop that machismo balloon just like that and put it right there on the table. Yep, Tank. Beating your fine ass, humiliating you 5 ways to Sunday, and repeatedly simulating/practicing power fucking you senseless is, indeed, something Matt Thrasher likes. A lot. And so do I.
The last bit I’ll mention about this match is the spanking. I’ve talked about spanking before, and I’m on the record as being slightly dubious of it as a sellable wrestling offense. Humiliation? Icing on the cake? Sure, I love it, mind you. But the use of spanking as a debilitating offensive maneuver stretches even my larger-than-normal homoerotic wrestling imagination.
Until now. Holy fuck, two thwacks into it, and there’s a bright red welt exactly in the shape of Matt Thrasher’s big, meaty hand rising like a blood moon across Tank’s lily white cheeks. And the spanks keep coming, and fuck, I can’t help myself but flinch at the deeper, darker shade of red, beginning to turn a bruised blue, imprinted on the rookie’s ass. Matt spanks him for days, interspersed with occasional deep tissue massage as the veteran digs his fingers deep into that ass just screaming for it. About 9 minutes in, once again flat on his stomach and getting swatted incredibly hard across his butt, Tank is flinching and writhing, and he whimpers, “No… more… no more!” And holy shit, I believe every word of it.
And, happily for you and me and Matt, there are 11 more minutes to go in this rookie beatdown. The drama starts to hinge on the ultimate Daddy victory, as Matt insists that Tank must say the words, “You’re my daddy!” Like I said, Tank isn’t giving the milk away free. He spits out profanities and insults instead. Even in a single leg cradle, with Matt’s big, bulging crotch pressed provocatively against the rookie’s lightly hairy hole, Tank growls, “Fuck you, old man!”
Frankly, I was prepared to be underwhelmed by Tank. But there’s something incredibly sexy about his deep bass voice, and juxtaposed against (and all wrapped up within) Matt’s hot, sweaty, hairy muscles, Tank’s baby smooth body has me hungry for more. But the superstar of this match, and the very best Daddy’s Home matches I’ve seen, is muscle daddy Matt Thrasher. One of these days, I want to see one of Daddy’s boys show up to his next match with big Matt holding the leash, giving orders, coaching him through mastering his own muscle boys.
“You’re mine now,” Matt crows near the end of Daddy’s Home 6. “And you’re pretty excited by the prospect, aren’t ya?” The question is purely rhetorical.