Clearly, this is the dawning of the Age of the Ginger. A full one third of the wrestlers in BG East’s 114.3 were red-headed and/or Blaine Janus. I’ve lauded Charlie and Blaine and Steven Ponce, so it’s about time I dropped some fan appreciation on this blog’s current reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler and devastatingly sexy ginger muscle man, Kid Karisma.
In the first match of Great Outdoors 2, Kid K steps into the BG East gazebo to find tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome Carter Alexander stretching out.”Who in the hell did they bring me today?” Kid K asks, apparently unfamiliar with Carter’s previous appearance, also in the gazebo, against Kid K’s favorite sexy monkey boy, Jake Jenkins. “You look cute!” Kid K acknowledges, giving Carter’s handsome face a smiling appraisal. The rest of Carter, however, Kid K finds lacking in comparison to the karismatic one’s estimation of his own sensational physique.
Carter Alexander is a tough mother fucker. Like Kid K, I find him remarkably pretty. I want to pinch his cheeks and spank his ass, he’s got such boyish charm attached to that rocking hard muscle bod. He’s particularly proud of his ripped fitness, and when Kid K swarms all over his ass to start the action, he’s buttoned up almost instantly and at the mercy (yeah, good luck with that, buddy) of Kid Karisma. “Say you give!” Kid K demands, screwing down his bread and butter body scissors and making Carter’s summer tan flush dark, angry red. The young stud screams. He whimpers. He fucking weeps like a bitch, crying, “No more, no more!” But when pressed to submit, the oh so pretty slice of beefcake grunts, “I never give!”
You know I adore… nay, worship Kid Karisma. So understand that extremely humble place from which this next comment comes from when I say that, as is so often the case, Kid Karisma gets too cocky. On the one hand, I suspect Kid K would say there is no such thing when it comes to his sensational physique and wrestling domination. On the other hand, as is so often the case when Kid K is riding rough shod on an outmatched opponent (as in, nearly every single one), he starts to preen. He winks at the camera. He flexes and struts and starts paying more attention to camera angles and the best lighting to show of his muscles than he does to the coiled mass of ripped muscle beneath him. And suddenly, Carter uses those luscious, long legs to hook Kid K mid double bicep pose and pry him backward, squeezing on scissors and pounding those world class abs.
Carter likes being on top. He starts laughing louder the more Kid K groans. He sticks out his tongue and flexes his mouthwatering, aesthetically perfect biceps. “See that!?” he demands of the whimpering muscle veteran. “That’s ripped, baby!”
Carter has about 18 times as much personality in this match as he did in his debut, and I have to think it’s further evidence that Kid K brings/rings out the very best in an opponent. And perhaps, this is exactly some of the fantastic formula that goes into Kid K’s match strategy, overextending, allowing himself to get upended here and there in order to pull out of his opponents something new. Or, in Carter’s case, letting the sultry, sexy stud have as much rope as he wants to hang himself with. And as much as Carter lip lickingly relishes being on top, he’s a sniveling, crying, simpering BITCH as catcher. When Kid K inevitably muscles his way back into contention, Carter withers under a barrage of pounding shots to his lush pecs and abs. “Come on, man!” Carter complains, pleadingly, “you’re hurting me!” There’s this tone in his voice to suggest that this surprises him, that somehow Kid K is doing something untoward. “Come on, I didn’t do nothing to you!” he keeps bitching as he’s stretched out seductively in a full nelson and body scissors. “Come on, can’t we work this out?” he begs. Kid K laughs at the whimpering stud. “I’ll let you buy me a drink later,” the infamous party boy replies. “I’ll buy you two drinks!” Carter ups the bid, pleading for his tormentor to take the bribe. “Come on, I didn’t ask for this, man!” Carter cries like a total spineless bully-turned-bitch. “Well, you’re gettin’ it!” Kid K laughs.
The wrestling is intense and convincing, so Carter’s rapid fire reversals from taunting bully to simpering victim are compelling drama. They speak to some deep seated character flaw to accompany Carter’s physical perfection. He doesn’t know who he is on his own. He relies on others to shape him. He needs to be either conquered or conquerer to get a reading on his own inner compass. It makes me sort of wonder what the fuck he’s thinking stepping into the world of BG East and agreeing to face down one of the baddest muscle heels in operation today. But when Kid K starts yanking on Carter’s hair domineeringly, prying his head backward as he crushes the stud’s throat with his gargantuan right bicep, Carter gasps, confessing, “I… I like it when you… pull on my hair.” And then, somehow, the two-sided coin of Carter’s bully/bitch reversals make sense. His defiant opening promise that he never, ever gives up, falls into place like the tumblers of a lock being pried open. He taunts and pushes his luck and showboats because he’s the one determined to bring out the best (read: baddest) in his infamously cruel opponent. Here, I thought he was getting force fed his Wheaties all this time, when it turns out, he likes it. Hey, Carter! He likes it!
Probably the sexiest singular moment in this match is when the tide has turned back to the kid who likes his hair pulled. Kid K has been parading this simpering beefcake around the gazebo in a magnificent inverted bearhug. If only these two were totally naked, they’d both be sucking cock (my mouth. God’s ears.). Suddenly, Carter reaches out and grabs the gazebo railing, sliding upward and backward so he can lock his ankles together and squeeze a wad-blowing suspended headscissors. Kid K’s face is absolutely smothered so high up Carter’s ass that you can barely hear his muffled groans of shock and pain. Suddenly, Carter flings himself away from the railing and twists his body, and holy shit, uses all that momentum to flip Kid K off his feet and land, slamming down to the mat. Holy shit. I repeat, holy shit. That was a variation on flying headscissors from a total rookie!
But the real money shot in this sequence comes when Carter sits that lovely, mouthwatering muscle ass of his on Kid K’s chin and folds the Kid up, hooking those gargantuan rugby thighs under his armpits. Kid K is stuck like a bug underneath 188 pounds of “ripped muscle, baby!” Carter flexes his massive guns, laughing, crowing. And then he plays Kid K’s multi-award winning ass cheeks like bongo drums. Repeatedly. Rolling his head back in laughter and slapping down a rhythm you can dance to. And if that doesn’t make you blow your wad, he suddenly starts punching those very same multi-award winning ass cheeks, brutally jabbing away, grinding his knuckles deep into the muscle tissue. “You like that, huh?” Carter asks the buttoned up muscle hunk beneath him. “Yeah, give that ass a pounding!” he laughs, coming perhaps as close as any opponent has come to fulfilling the fan fantasies that keep Karisma’s tasty glutes ranked number one, year after year. Kid is fucking impotent right now. He’s getting used and humiliated. Carter pumps out another stunning, vascular, all-over-tanned double bicep and explains, “That’s what ripped gets you!”
If you’re a little worried at this point that Carter may have overplayed his hand, that taunting and humiliating one of the most notorious heels in the stable is digging his own grave a little too deep, you’d be right. Holy shit (I say again), when Kid K comes roaring back into contention, he is pissed. He’s still trash talking and cracking jokes like he always does, of course. But he’s fucking bitter now. He starts using and abusing this masochistic pretty boy with total abandon. Punches, knee lifts, massively muscled rugby leg drops tenderize Carter’s abs and pecs until he’s screaming like that horrified, helpless bitch he is once again. “No more, please,” he begs (mind you, not submitting, just begging like a bitch). Kid K has had enough of believing the beefcake stud is truly contrite, only to get smacked around again. So the karismatic one just keeps clawing at those muscle fibers. He spanks that sensational purple ass in retribution. He owns every inch of the 6’1″ centerfold, and just keeps coming again and again.
Carter is beaten (up) totally and there’s still about 5 minutes left to go. Kid K repeatedly keeps dragging the hunk up by a fistful of hair. We have to think it’s because Kid K is determined to serve up exactly what Carter has said he wants. So Carter whimpers like a fucking baby as Kid K yet again pries his head off the mat by a hair handle, dragging his beaten-bright-red body up only to get pounded down again and again. Carter keeps screaming, keeps crying. Whereas he started the match promising that he “never gives,” he can’t fucking shut up and stop giving now. I lose count, but I’m sure Carter actually submits somewhere around 2 dozen times, interspersed between begging and pleading and crying and groveling and bargaining. A less experienced opponent might think the high pitched panic in Carter’s voice is a signal to lighten up a bit, but Kid K has got the read on this hot pretty boy. So he tightens the screw tighter, over and over.
The most visually stunning moment is probably when Kid K drags Carter (of course, by his hair) up to his feet and slams his back into one of the gazebo columns. Like Tarzan, Kid K leaps up to the top of the railing, hangs on the outside of the gazebo, and scissors Carter’s torso into the column while choking him against the upright. Carter snivels and weeps more. “You’re going to break me!!!” Carter gasps at one point, merely inspiring Kid K to keep doing exactly what he’s doing.
Having watched Carter Alexander’s first match, I had no idea to expect this much personality. He’s complex and compelling. There’s that initial mystery about what could possibly inspire him to keep going as he’s whimpering and groveling and pleading like a whiny bitch (without submitting), that comes into focus when he let’s slip in a moment of ecstasy that he likes it when Kid K pulls his hair. Kid K cottons on just like the rest of us do. Carter likes more than just getting his hair pulled. Those screams, those tears, that choking and gasping and wailing and begging for reprieve at the hands of a heartless, unhearing, uncaring expert tormentor like Kid Karisma are what Carter Alexander lives for.
I think someone should start a GoFundMe page to offer Carter’s next heel opponent a bounty for ripping the trunks off of this sniveling beefcake, because… fuck! That ass! A pretty boy with that mouthwatering of an ass who lives for picking a fight that he’s guaranteed to lose is going to be giving that ass up sooner or later, and I, for one, would put up cash to make sure that gets caught on tape.
Outstanding work to both of these incredibly gorgeous, sexy studs. I’m left breathlessly hoping to see where this deathwish takes Carter next. And I still say the rest of you gingers better clench up, because if there’s another Ginger Off anytime soon, Kid Karisma is going to rip you apart!