Mr. Mike at Thunder’s Arena thought I’d enjoy reviewing a copy of Battlespace 89, featuring a bodybuilder showdown between babyface muscle giant Steel and pint sized muscleman Dolph. Well played, sir. Well played.
It’s not like Steel is actually a giant. He’s right on the money for the average height of men in the United States, at just over 5’9″. But at 5’6″ Dolph makes the doll faced Superboy look pretty towering. The newer kid on the block, Dolph takes the initiative by flexing for fans before Steel shows up. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. I sort of hate his facial hair, but that’s easy enough to fix with a Queer Eye intervention. But shit, those gargantuan biceps! And don’t even get me started on his spectacular, round, all beef muscled ass. There’s something raw and spontaneous about his choice to wrestle in relatively utilitarian Calvin Klein mid-rise briefs. As if he hadn’t planned on wrestling today. He just happened to be hanging out at the Thunder’s compound with the bros, and Steel needed an opponent, and Dolph instantly dropped trou and smirked, “Let’s go,” in phenomenal, camera ready shape at all times. When Steel arrives, he takes some long, tense seconds to check out Dolph’s muscles. Finally, even competitive bodybuilder Steel has to concede that Dolph’s muscles “aren’t bad.”
There’s not a lot of erotic tension in this match at all, which is no surprise for a Thunder’s match. It feels more like Straight Guys for Queer Eyes: Wrestling Version, than a more forward homoerotic wrestling tale. But what most explicitly signals this is for gay eyes, I think, is mostly the pre-match posedown. One man taking his time, silently watching, appraising another man’s flexing physique just isn’t something I think of straight dudes doing all on their own. Dolph pumps out a most muscular, and Steel’s pecs bounce as if in reply. Dolph’s pecs bounce back, like some subliminal conversation at a frequency that only gay wrestling fans can hear.
I don’t actually know the sexual orientation of either of these muscle men, but their pose down brings to my mind how often straight physique stars assume that everything we want to ogle is in the front. They compare double bicep poses, most musculars, lat spreads, quads… everything without turning their backs to the camera. I have a longstanding theory that straight guys performing for gay eyes often skip turning around because, usually unconsciously, it makes them feel vulnerable to know that we’re lusting after their asses. Fortunately, this is wrestling, so we get to see their hot, muscled asses from multiple angles over the course of the next 17 minutes or so.
Steel breaks a sweat just posing. Fuck, I love a man who works himself into a lather. Dolph notices and chides him for it. “Can’t imagine how tired you get wrestling,” he taunts. Um, Dolph? Fuck you. This wrestling fan goes crazy for liberally lubricated muscles, and your odd inability to work up a sweat is not value added. Fortunately, Steel sweats enough for the both of them throughout this match. Dolph gets coated in his opponent’s perspiration, which as far as I’m concerned is lucky for him.
The wrestling is pretty much what I’d expect from guys this fucking huge. There’s not a lot speed or finesse. Mostly power move after power move, buttoned up holds battling against massive muscles bulging to escape. Steel has a significant reach advantage. Dolph seems to exploit a lower center of gravity. It’s more like battleships maneuvering in the open sea than spitfire dueling. But once those epically huge muscles latch on, the battle for those fractions of an inch between submitting and escaping are sensationally slow, grinding, and sexy to watch. The scissors and armbars beautifully feed my well documented lust for big, powerful, meaty, sweaty thighs.
So I like to have a favorite in a match, and a third of the way through, I’m still wavering. On the one hand, I do love the angle of a “little” guy (hard to call Dolph little) taking it to a big, cocky boy like Steel. On the other hand, Steel’s pecs are spectacular, seriously outclassing Dolph’s lush chest. Then again, Dolph’s ass is mind blowing, like, muscleboy porn star quality, absolutely putting Steel’s hard, taut glutes to shame. But then again, Steel is the better wrestler here. He leads Dolph through a series of tit for tats (Steel applies leg scissors, Dolph escapes, and then Dolph applies leg scissors… not quite as convincingly). And I’ve already mentioned the sweat advantage. It’s a close call, but I’m naming Steel my boy. As the action unfolds, more and more I’m wanting to see Steel crack this beast like a nut.
So I’m about to pop my cork when, about halfway through the battle of the big boys, Steel snaps those sequoias around Dolph’s head and just stands there, absolutely immobilizing Mighty Mouse. It’s like Hester Pryne pilloried. Dolph is on his knees, trying to pry apart that vise. Good fucking luck, buddy. The only thing that could make this sexier is me there, pulling down those trunks and blowing Steel’s rod as he doesn’t even need to break a sweat keeping that prideful sinner suffering between his knees.
Dolph does not like an ego bruising. He punishes Superboy with a rear bearhug, hanging all that soaking muscle out to dry. It’s huge and powerful and stunning to watch. 4/5ths of the way through the match, and it’s Dolph working up momentum, and I feel a little guilty, because I’m really, really enjoying watching Steel outmuscled and suffering. There’s a thick man-tames-boy vibe when Dolph starts taking charge, flexing for the camera, getting enough distance between them to showboat with impunity.
I know there’s choreography involved in the double handed suspended choke, but it still makes my crotch stir watching Steel wrap his hands around Dolph’s thick, thick neck and hoist him into the air. So dominating. So huge and powerful. When Dolph squeezes his knees into Steel’s tiny hips, his muscled ass hanging there looks so vulnerable. So fuckable. I’m instantly back to aching to see Steel break him down and put a stamp on him to ship him to me. All of Steel’s sweat making them both shine. His (arguably) bigger muscles holding Mighty Mouse in mid-air. I’m convinced again that Steel’s my boy.
And then, holy fuck, Dolph returns the favor. He has to lean backward a bit more because of the height disadvantage, but no shit, he straight arms Superboy off his feet. Fuck. I want to be a Steel booster here. I want to want to see him dazzle and awe the little muscle man with the bad facial hair. But he looks so sensationally shocked hanging there like the laundry. Dolph is on fire. He slams boy wonder to the mat with contempt and flexes, and I’m racked with guilt because I want to see him do it again to the babyfaced boy of Steel.
Instead, he gorilla presses Steel overhead. This is about 17 minutes into the muscle contest. How the fuck does he still have the strength to do that?! He’s superhuman and insanely sexy. He owns Superboy. He wears him out. My head tells me I should be concerned for Steel. I should be worried that Dolph took this too far, that some sense of fair play should have propelled Steel’s objectively superior, beautiful muscle body to victory. But as so often happens, all I can think is, fuck, I love that brutal bad ass flexing over top of him.
So you should be able to tell that I bring a ton of homoerotic heat to this match that Dolph and Steel, on their own, don’t. The holds are a little sloppy, but the aesthetics of all of that close up, gargantuan, bulging muscle on muscle pretty effectively distracts from that. The final hold is far more compelling in my imagination than it is on the screen. The press shouldn’t knock him out. He moves too much when he hits the mat. It feels more like they reached the 20 minute mark and someone called “cut” from behind the camera. But all of that said, I won’t lie, these muscle beasts got me off. This sends me scurrying back to the Thunder’s Arena website to check out more, and of course the ring match between these same two titans instantly catches my eye.
Thunder’s has some of the biggest fantasymen in the business, as far as I can tell, and these two are sensational representatives of what Thunder’s is doing so well these days. I’d be a broken record to say again that this would work 20 times more effectively for me if these guys just appreciated each other’s bodies a fraction more, just acknowledged a little more explicitly that there are gay eyes lapping up all of that sweat and muscle and domination. But for what it is, it’s hot, mega muscle magic.