Oy, just now finding a window of opportunity to write down some of my latest thoughts about my favorite topic. I’m still backfilling the Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month awards. But it’s time for someone to unseat the magnificent mountain of muscle that is Mark Muscle and take the title for my favorite wrestler in a new release in the month of August. Sometimes these choices are harder than others, and this was one of those times. But speaking of harder, at the risk of irking the other worthy contenders, I have to admit that one hot wrestling hunk made me harder than all the rest. For his new release appearance in the month of August, my new HWOTM is…

 

 

 

 

…Mason Brooks.

While I’ve long been infatuated with Mason, somehow he has never before taken the HWOTM title. His opponent in Bedroom Brawls 3, Christian Taylor, is a member of the rarified ranks of HWOTM 3-peats.  But despite my open adoration of Mason’s nipples, my longstanding fantasy to pound one out across his luscious, thick pecs, and my deep appreciation for his wickedly sharp, intellectual approach to the carnal delights of homoerotic wrestling, this “thinking man’s wrestler” has failed to wrestle his way to the top of my monthly tallies. That oversight is officially and decisively over, because Bedroom Brawls 3 was the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long time, and Mason is unquestionably the leading man, despite facing off with Hollywood handsome Christian.

The story is novel and enchantingly entertaining. Mason and Christian are bunking side by side in the mat room during one of those insanely busy week’s of BG East recording, where dozens of hot hunks are stacked like wood, awaiting the myriad delights of squaring off against one fine opponent after another. In the wee hours of the morning, Christian rouses first, looks at the sleeping beauty next to him, and does what any one of us would want to do: he coyly pulls up the cover to take a peak at the beautifully muscled stud still unconscious next to him. Mason comes-to trying to decide if getting exploited by the likes of BG East’s champion babyface kisser really just happened, or if it was one of those magnificently sexy dreams you don’t ever want to wake up from.

Like Christian, I often find myself eyefucking Mason’s gorgeous body. Mason is no clone. He defies easy classification. He’s not a bodybuilder, but he’s sweetly, thickly muscled. He’s nobody’s twink, but he’s certainly lean and lovely with a leaning-toward-babyface beauty. Although I haven’t had an opportunity to post about it yet, I immensely enjoyed the opportunity to meet Mason when I visited BG East this summer, and in the midst of my interview with him (still to be published), I felt the persistent urge to palm his broad, powerful, aesthetic pecs. We’ve seen Mason go full monty in past matches, and so I have no problem at all reading Christian’s mind as he pulls the cover down and hungrily examines the tasty bulge in the front of Mason’s briefs, wondering if he might catch a tantalizing glimpse of early morning wood. So many of Christian’s matches revolve around the gravitational pull that Christian has on countless BG East wrestlers chasing this Prince Charming, but there’s a super sexy authenticity about the erotic gaze Christian turns on sampling the goods (greats) that Mason puts on the table.

There’s a clear fun-and-games vibe about the action as Mason confronts Christian for trying to take advantage of him as he slept. Mason makes it clear that he’s abundantly ready to return the amorous attention, but coyly, Christian tries to deny what the camera objectively documented. “Just be a man and own up to it,” Mason demands. “You were totally checking me out.”  Perhaps because Christian is so often the object of lustful attention, he’s apparently embarrassed and out and out lies. “No one’s looking at your dick, Mason.” But of course Christian was looking at his dick. And I’m looking as his dick. And you’re looking at his dick. And tickled both by the attention and Christian’s embarrassment, Mason insists that no one is going back to sleep until Christian confesses that he just couldn’t keep his hands and eyes off of Brooks’ beef.

So it starts playful. Christian doesn’t initially put up a lot of fight, still feigning as if it was Mason who rudely interrupted his beauty sleep. Early going I get a sense that at any moment these two may just abandon the battle for physical domination and just start fucking their pent up morning energies away. I wouldn’t have blamed them. The sexual tension is perfectly balanced and sensationally thick. But in addition to both being sexy as fuck, Mason and Christian have also abundantly demonstrated that they are fierce, competitive, accomplished wrestlers. So the wrestling fan in me is turned on that much harder as they veer right past giving in too soon to their mutual attraction and, instead, start seriously punishing one another.

Playing it coy digs Christian a deep hole that Mason is eager to fill. As Christian claims that he just wants to go back to sleep (liar), Mason twist ties him into knots. It’s intense and quickly sweat soaked as they scramble atop and often get tied up in the bedding. Mason keeps twisting, keeps prying, driving his gasping, whimpering increasingly humiliated hottie opponent to the edge of being forced to admit the obvious, that he (on behalf of all of us) wants to see a lot more of Mason. With studied skill and patience and more than an able hand with the driving whip, Mason demonstrates that he can dish out a whole lot more humiliation than just having Christian confess his transgressions. Finally Christian grudgingly barks it out. “Yes! I was checking you out,” Christian snarls. “I was checking out the goods!” The sweetly satisfied smile across Mason’s face alone could get me off. “I hope it was good for you,” he coos, softening up his grip and starting to stroke Christian’s sweat soaked washboard. “‘Cause it’s good for me.”

Before I inadvertently convince you that this is a squash, let me assure you that the battle is far from over, and Christian is abundantly equipped to hold his own and grab hold of Mason’s as well. What starts as a fun-and-games romp, evolving into an ego punishing confession-submission, charges headlong into a back and forth battle as Christian seeks, and ultimately gets, some dominating satisfaction of his own. As erotically oriented as he is to Mason’s body, he’s not shy at all about abusing it with abandon. Mason is tough as fuck, of course. We know that. So there’s that much more pleasure at watching Christian insist on cranking on holds past the point of Mason’s tolerances, twist that much farther, squeeze that much harder, demanding some face-saving respect after having the stuffing and dignity wrung out of him earlier. Mason is certainly not the first opponent to be forcefully convinced that Christian is far from just a pretty face and rocking body.

Despite Christian more than holding his own in the middle third of this tussle, Mason makes this match all his own as he controls the pace in the backstretch. It’s a game of libido chicken. Both clearly turned on to the point of distraction, they repeatedly start to melt into each other. Famished kissing breaks out. Muscles go slack as blood is redirected to their crotches. Just when one gagging stud is ready to get down to business, the other exploits his open lust to lock down ever more vulnerable holds, ever more brutal punishment. Christian plays this game well, but Mason is the master of it. Time and again, Mason savors the moment of watching Christian’s gasping lust twisted into bitter frustration as Mason denies his amorous advances and laughs at his agony twisted, handsome face. Christian’s cock doesn’t know which way to turn, but it’s doing all of his thinking as Mason plays him like a pipe organ, making him sing, making him groan, making him whine to get his lips on that tasty morsel that he woke with a craving for.

Is it too early for us to discuss the Liplock of the Year award? These two suck on their mutual excitement for each other with a passion that I simply can’t believe is put on for the cameras. The more Mason takes the reins, the more he peppers his punishment of Christian with tantalizing, teasing tastes of what is obviously motivating both of them.

It continues to careen at breakneck speed into that blurred boundary between erotic wrestling and rough fucking. Christian takes the brunt end of the stick, but he’s not fooling anyone. He wanted exactly this all along. He wanted every inch of his beautiful body to feel every inch of Mason’s. He wanted Mason’s morning wood in his face, pressed between his cheeks, grinding relentlessly into him.

I don’t know why Christian didn’t just come out and admit it from the start. But I’m thrilled that he didn’t. I’m ecstatic that he played coy, forcing Mason to force him to admit to the obvious magnetic attraction between them. Mason is never better than when he’s taking control, owning an opponent, breaking through all defenses and dictating the sensationally sexy terms of surrender. And in this case, there are no winners or losers, just two insanely sexy hunks, soaked in sweat, their sexual cravings completely exposed, crawling back under the covers to do anything but sleep.

Fuck, I loved this match. I’m jealous of both wrestlers. But I’m mostly captivated with Mason for seizing the opportunity (and every last inch of Christian Taylor) to pound that sexy alarm clock into completely dominated submission.  This is easily and art house edition of classic BG East wrestling. It’s erotic-forward. It’s wrestling forward. And it compels me to finally award a belated recognition to Mason Brooks as HWOTM.