For the past several months, I’ve had too little time to savor the homoerotic wrestling scene. One of the new releases that I’m circling back around to drink in, now that I have more time, is BG East’s Demolition 27 from catalog 140. The pairing of bad ass muscle man Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and perennial pin-up boy Christian Taylor is inspired. Like Mr. Joshua’s crotch, drama is busting at the seams with nothing more than the set-up. Christian is achingly innocent in his very first wrestling match climbing into the ring with the dazzling bulges and perfect proportions of Mr. Joshua right in the middle of his ascendency.

Part of what makes this such a perfect pairing is what we’ve known of both wrestlers’ bodies of work. In his 30 previously released matches (yet taped after his initiation in Demolition 27), Christian distinguished himself as a fan favorite baby face heart throb with effortless eroticism. He’s wrested passionate kisses from about half of his opponents. Perpetually lean, Christian layered on matured muscle over the 14 or so years since he climbed into the ring with Mr. Joshua. Match by match, he’s grown more confident and dangerous. Starring in releases with superlative titles like “sexiest,” “sizzling,” and “hottest,” a seasoned Christian Taylor has demonstrated that he loves the erotic intimacy of fiercely fought, sweat soaked submission wrestling as much as you and I do.

Mr. Joshua, on the other hand, has distinguished himself as one of the most heartless cock teases in homoerotic wrestling history. In his approximately 45 previously released matches, Mr. J has ranged from narcissist muscle jobber to low-blowing, bulldozing bodybuilder heel. But a subplot in his ascendency has centered on fans’ unrequited love affair with his stunningly massive crotch. We’ve repeatedly voted his as the Best Bulge in BG East, and Mr. Joshua keeps teasing us with his wardrobe adjustments mid-match, rearranging his prominent bulge, shoving his hand down the front of his trunks, swinging his moneymaker all over the ring. Early on, his quick crotch adjustments seemed incidental, unselfconscious. But clearly word has gotten back to Mr. J how gay fans swoon for it, and he’s grown relentless about teasing and taunting his opponents/fans with his barely caged anaconda. Right around Matmen 21, he turned full on cock tease, bringing a breathless fan to the mat room to battle for the chance to conquer and claim his grand prize. Ever since, Mr. Joshua has been explicitly acknowledging the obvious fact that his smoking hot bod, and in particular that humungous, low-hanging bulge, is driving gay wrestling fans nuts!

So Demolition 27 was taped before Christian evolved into a fully formed erotic submission wrestler with a penchant for locking his hungry lips on an opponent’s gasping mouth, and probably before Mr. Joshua had fully begun to exploit the power of his mammoth allure. Right there, in that moment, Christian is stretching in the ring in anticipation of his first BG East match, skinny, pale, achingly young, surely nursing the embryonic wrestling kink that would later blossom. And in walks Mr. J, packed into very brief golden trunks that never stood a chance at fully containing his overflowing abundance. “You look like a string bean over there,” Mr. Joshua immediately starts the trash talk. “You’re a dead giveaway as a rookie. You know how I can tell? You’ve got no tan!” Christian looks cool, unfazed. He’s got that James Dean upper lip curl suggesting contempt. But even if you didn’t know what an erotic wrestling enthusiast he would become, you can see the youngster’s eyes lingering, his feigned nonchalance worn thin in an instant as the stunningly gorgeous slab of beefsteak climbs into the ring with him.

“What’s your name, rookie?” Mr. Joshua asks, just so he can make sure the kid’s next of kin is notified when all is said and done. “Christian,” his obviously unsettled opponent replies with a stiff upper lip. “Christian?! Well, I’m an atheist,” Mr. J clucks, “and the pope isn’t going to save your ass, so you’re in trouble now!”

“Have you seen any of my videos,” Mr. Joshua demands to know. “Have you seen what I can do?” He flexes just a little. Christian denies having watched Mr. J’s back catalog, but no shit, there’s a sheepish grin on the kid’s face that makes me melt. His lusciously lipped mouth says no, but everything else about Christian says that he’s unzipped and studied the legendary wrestler’s body of work with more than passing interest. As if in confirmation, Christian’s eyes and the camera simultaneously zoom in on Mr. Joshua’s mountainous crotch.

Supposedly, the story is about the veteran who goes a little overboard breaking in the young buck. Mr. Joshua does love his “lessons.”  “Keep the viewers entertained, Christian Taylor,” Mr. Joshua lectures, scooping the kid up and holding him across his huge chest for days on end, passively demonstrating his total control, lording it over his opponent, knowing what it’s doing to fans watching, before pounding long, limber Christian down savagely into an over-the-knee backbreaker. He holds him there, pinned like a butterfly, grinding his elbow into Christian’s crotch.

“We have to put all this hair to good use,” Mr. Joshua continues his lessons. Christian is a worm on the hook, but Mr. J grabs a hand full of hair and keeps yanking the kid off the mat mercilessly.  But, when Christian gets a fleeting taste of offense, he hooks Mr. J’s boots nice and snug against his crotch and pries the bodybuilder’s arms backward viciously in a kneeling surfboard. “You want to tell me about those rules now, huh,” the bitter rook snarls. It’s a sweet little morsel of bully revenge fantasy as the rookie owns the bodybuilder. He lets go of the arms to rain down vicious fists into the muscled lower back of his captive. Mr. J is looking seriously ready to get fucked over by a gangly, lightweight Freshman. Finally, he reaches forward and grabs the bottom rope. “You’ve got to let me go because I’ve got the rope! That’s part of the rules!” Lovely, limber, adorable Christian lets him go, because… rookie.

About 2 minutes later, Mr. Joshua is working up a head of steam all over Christian. He’s pounding and stomping out every last ounce of irrational courage in the newbie. Mr. J grinds the kid’s skull between his magnificently muscled thighs in standing scissors, leaning forward and giving Christian the atomic wedgie of the year (why is that not a category!?). He literally splits the kid at the seams, tearing open a hole up the crack of Christian’s square cut trunks. “I beat you so hard I ripped your underwear,” Joshua marvels. “You just couldn’t handle it.” He muscles the newbie all over the place, finally wrapping him into a deep-seated Boston crab, wrenching on Christian’s lovely, long legs and prying his spine severely backward. The rookie pounds the mat in agony and desperately submits. “But that’s another one of the rules. I don’t have to let go. I’m not finished. Just because you say you’re finished doesn’t mean I am!”

“Christian Taylor,” Mr. Joshua contemplates, as he drags the kid to the ropes and forces him to see himself get manhandled in the mirror. “You sound like a good boy. You come from a good town, good family. What are you doing here?!” Here’s the money shot for me, my friends. It’s when Mr. J ties up Christian’s long, lanky arms between the ropes. He doesn’t need to, of course. He’s fucking demolishing the newbie like a stick of dynamite. Rather, Mr. J ties the kid up in order to have his hands free, in order to flex, in order to have an all access pass to Christian’s lovely, pale body stretched out and unable to even curl into the fetal position.

 

Mr. Joshua brutally pounds the impudent skinny kid trussed up before him. He yanks on those trunks again, hard, to lend that much more leverage to his fists punching Christian’s gut. He yanks so hard, in fact, that Christian’s dick pops out at one point, flailing helplessly in the aftershock of another gut punch (welcome to homoerotic wrestling, newbie!). Mr. Joshua pries Christian’s head backward over the ropes so he can hoist a leg over and straddle this kid’s handsome face. “That’s right, kiss my ass while you’re down there,” the veteran demands. Honestly, Christian’s face is buried so deep, it’s impossible to verify whether or not he obeyed.

I sort of think he probably did. Because here’s the thing, while we can’t know whether Christian already had in mind his evolution into a full-on erotic submission wrestler, we can confirm (in that back-to-the-future sort of way), that following his demolition at the hands (and everything else) of Mr. Joshua Goodman, Christian has taken most every opportunity he’s been given to pucker up and lay one on an opponent.  Was Christian as erotically charged by wrestling before Mr. Joshua dismounted off his face, only to spin around and mount him again, this time with his legendary package basically smothering him? Only Christian knows, and I’ve never been able to get him on the line for an interview to ask him. I like to think so, though, that Mr. Joshua popping his homoerotic wrestling cherry (metaphorically speaking) brought babyface Christian back again and again to work up buckets of sweat wrestling nearly (and at times entirely) naked, and often buttoning down long, lingering lip locks on one hot bodied hunk after another. I like to think that Christian showed up that day a good boy, with just a little erotic curiosity, and Mr. Joshua’s unique brand of carnal depravity sensationally and irrevocably corrupted his innocence and spoiled him for anything but erotic wrestling.

Of course, this could easily by just my imagination. But then again, at another telling moment in the action, when Christian is no longer St. Sebastian tied to a tree, Mr. Joshua hooks him into face-to-crotch headscissors, crushing the kid’s noggin for a while, before rolling Christian to his back, still bearing down on the scissors, and grinding his award winning bulge into Christian’s lush lips. There are a lot of ways a moment like that can go down, of course, but what does Christian do? He reaches up, strumming his fingers across Mr. J’s rippling abs, palming the muscle man’s thick pecs. What’s a good boy like Christian Taylor doing, showing up at BG East, squeezing his alabaster body into doomed, lavender trunks, and presuming to climb into the ring with a notorious heel with an ego nearly as enormous as the ballast in the front of his trunks? He’s willingly, eagerly, even, coming face to crotch with a bad boy and hoping that a lot of it rubs off.

In the waning moment of the match, Mr. Joshua keeps yanking Christian by the hair and demanding that he open his eyes to witness his final destruction. I’m pretty sure Mr. J is reading his opponent’s eyes tightly shut as terror, or resignation, or a primal instinct to retreat to his happy place in the face of this horror show. I have a different theory, however. I suspect that Christian was searing the evocative sights, smells, and feels of this match into his memory. In fact, I bet Christian still lies in bed in the dark, these 14 years later, occasionally catching a whiff of Mr. J musk, a muscle memory cramp in his now-toned abs in the shape of Mr. Joshua’s fist, the exact feel of Mr. Joshua’s sculpted pecs in the palms of his groping hands as he struggles not to choke on the legendary crotch relentlessly grinding in to face.

Mr. Joshua does that. He insinuates himself into the homoerotic wrestling imagination and absolutely owns a parcel of property there that no one else has come close to laying claim to. And he knows it. I think he’s systematically come to know it more and more, the more he’s molded hot, eager, gay opponents like Christian into putty. I still hate what a fucking cock tease he’s been all of these years, haunting my dreams (and Christian’s) with his taunting, terrorizing, tantalizing main course that’s never quite served.

And then there’s Christian, 14 years later, looking like a movie star, sporting his own rippling abs and sensationally sexy physique. His been beaten and battered many times, but never split open wide quite like that first day at BG East when he climbed into the ring as just another good boy, from a good town, to lock up with one of the biggest, baddest, sexiest muscle men in the business. Would it all have turned out quite like this without that first ring encounter those years ago, when Mr. Joshua Goodman laid him bare and showed him just how far his wrestling dreams could take him?

So, I loved this match. I’m still waiting to get a good, long look at what Mr. Joshua sees when he yanks on the front of his gear and stares down at the crotch monster squirming in his trunks. But what I’d really like to know is what Christian sees, smells, and feels when he closes his eyes and remembers his first day as a good boy, from a good family, from a good town, first getting introduced to the wide open world of homoerotic wrestling.