Month: December 2023

No Laughing Matter

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I have on more review in the queue for the year-end releases, but I think this will be my final review to post this year. And fuck, Mickey Knoxx and Forrest Taylor’s Undagear 37 match is the cream of the 2023 crop! I knew I was going to be all over this pairing. I’ve spent a LOT of time in 2023 adoring them separately, so I was anxiously anticipating this release since I first got wind of it. My expectations were high, and the heat and sweat and intensity of this match exceeds them.

There are a few “themes” to this match that will speak to different kinks, I imagine. The most explicit theme is tickling. Personally, I have a complicated relationship to tickling that dates back to being held down by my big brother as a kid and tickle-tortured. That’s the vibe, right there, when Mickey’s hands stray from his sweetly sexy, generous massage of Forrest’s back to tauntingly tickle the red-headed lumberjack’s sides. Turns out both of these wrestlers are ticklish, and the difference between their groaning, writhing sell of wrestling punishment in contrast to their frantic flopping, kicking, yelping scramble when they’re tickled, leaves me thinking that, no shit, these sexy boys are legitimately ticklish. From start to finish, there’s this intense bully-tickle theme, as both beauties work to lock each other down so tightly that they can torment each other with their sadistically dancing fingers across their feet, sides, and armpits. The desperation in both of them, as they fight 3.5 times as hard to flail and flop free from their tickling predicament than they do the straightforward wrestling punishment, takes me right back to that tormented, bitterly and involuntary laughing, of my childhood nightmares.

The theme that strokes me even harder in this match, though, is the more meta-level theme of adolescent bullying. From that perspective, the tickling is just one tool in the wrestlers’ arsenals to tauntingly dominate each other with a sensationally sexy mean edge. Forrest initiates the taunting slaps to the face and seriously hard shoves to the chest. Early on, as they’re on their knees and just starting to lean in for another lock-up, the red-headed hottie suddenly slaps his palms against Mickey’s chest and shoves him so hard that the French Canadian flies completely out of the frame. Then, when Mickey comes back into frame, he’s a cruise missile in flight, in a soaring, irritated, mean flying tackle that knocks Forrest to his back with authority!

Fuck, I love that heat! The mean edge to this entire match is such a fucking turn on to me, and it certainly appears to ignite some hungry lust in Forrest and Mickey. So, it’s not just climbing on top and physically dominating their opponent. It’s not just indulging in the spoils of victory by stealing hungry kisses. It’s doing all that, and then, when the wrestler on the bottom is melting, suddenly punching him in the gut, kneeing him in the balls, and/or turning the putty of the rocked hottie into a live wire of panic with more tickling. Forrest keeps amping up that mean edge in a way that seems to take Mickey (the relative rookie) by surprise. But it’s so fucking delightful to watch Mickey’s fuse get lit. That bitterness in the back of his mouth when he gets slapped in the face hard makes this handsome hottie tap into a sadistic mean side I don’t think we’ve seen from him before.

Another theme that, of course, grabs me by the balls is the truly sensational focus on two of the hottest asses in wrestling this year. Honestly, this match is sort of my fantasy pairing of the top two contenders for my vote for Best Ass of 2023. And, as if channeling me, Forrest and Mickey take delight in each other’s luscious glutes. There are repeated fold over pins where the wrestler on top wedgies his opponent’s undagear to expose those magnificent glutes. When it’s Mickey’s turn, he kneads and spanks Forrest’s alabaster cheeks until they are an angry, visibly hot shade of dark red. Fuck, Forrest’s ass is so fucking lush!

Forrest gives Mickey’s ass the passionate attention it deserves, as well. In fact, Forrest cops a feel of Mickey’s gorgeous body repeatedly whenever the handsome rookie is on top of him. Previous opponent’s have just not shown Mickey’s stunning physique sufficient love, as far as I’m concerned, but Forrest’s groping hands know exactly what I’m thinking whenever I see Mickey in action. But it’s when Forrest is on top, with his opponent’s sensational ass in his sights, that his brilliance really shines through. He wedgies and spanks and kneads Mickey’s golden glutes, sure. But he also bites them and licks them and yanks Mickey’s white briefs down to completely expose them. I don’t know if I was ever as convinced in a match that a wrestler was thinking and feeling exactly what I’m thinking and feeling, as when Forrest is squeezing and tasting and spreading Mickey’s straining, quivering cheeks.

So there are those themes to stroke various kinks and tastes… tickling, bullying, adoration of asses. But for any fan of homoerotic wrestling itself, the intensity of the competitive side of this match is just sensationally sexy. Fuck, Forrest’s scissors make me swoon as hard as they, quite clearly, make Mickey suffer. There’s an unscripted scrambling edge to the action that feels spontaneous and ego-driven. When Mickey smoothly and decisively pries Forrest open in a banana split spladle, just owning his quivering handstrings and taking possession of the red-head’s balls, the sweat and pain and delight painted across the entire scene is classic wrestling kink. The story grows suspenseful as the action turns ragged and bitter near the end of the 30+ minutes. They’re evenly matched in size, skill, and intensity, and I don’t know who’s going to score that last submission, until the loser is getting his face pounded with the victor’s grinding crotch, alternating with the victor’s hungry lips possessing the gorgeous loser’s mouth.

Fuck, I don’t know if this settles who gets my vote as having the Best Ass of 2003. This very well may include my vote for Hottest Liplock of the year. I do know for certain, however, that Mickey Knoxx, fiercely aggressive and bitter, executing offense with authority and looking like a total badass BOSS, is deliriously sexy! And that punkish, taunting, mean edge to Forrest has never been more successful in starting a inferno that the bearded babyface beauty may, or may not, be able to handle.

Sheriff

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Another last minute 2023 indulgence I enjoyed was the rare all-out heel-on-heel battle between Brutal Brendan Byers and Monstah Mike, as part of BGE’s last hurrah of the year, Wrestle Worship 5: Power Struggle. To be honest, heel-on-heel matches don’t always land solidly for me. Too much heel energy (like too much jobber energy) can interrupt the momentum of a hot match, I find. Mike and Brendan are to absolutely hot heels who, if it were just the subtitle for this match, “Power Struggle,” might not have stroked me just right. But these two sensationally hot heels fuel the momentum of this match with something other than the classic innocence-spoiled angle, and that something is jet fuel: lust.

This is just Mike’s second match at BG East, after hitting the scene elsewhere, so his extremely cocky attitude could easily be a set up for even a sculpted muscle god like him to get slapped down. He’s so over the top contemptuous of absolutely any possible challenger that I honestly feel like Brendan might just be the pin to pop the bodybuilder’s balloon. “I’m going to dominate here, just like I dominate everywhere,” he boasts before Brendan arrives. Mike is joining me in eye fucking his superhuman proportions and luxuriously draped thick muscles. “I wish someone around here would give me a challenge. But nobody here’s going to mess with me!” And, yeah, it’s not hard to see where the contemptuous boasts come from. It’s like Mike Columbo and Joe Mazetti had a love child who went into competitive bodybuilding. And there’s just something about those trunks he’s wearing that somehow, impossibly really, make his super lean waist sitting on top of those gargantuan, rock hard muscle glutes, appear even more superhuman. I’m not exactly unhappy to report that those magnificent trunks get a bit translucent when Mike works up a thick sheen of sweat, as well. I’m even happier to report that, before this match is over, he’s yanking them down to shove Brendan’s face into the deep crevice between his magnificent cheeks.

But this is Brutal Brendan Byers who steps up to accept the challenge. Brendan towers nearly half a foot taller than Mike. I’m just going to say it again, Mike is fucking pretty, and he’s prettier than Brendan. Brendan’s got the thick, powerful, functional physique of headliner pro wrestler. He’s got this sexy layer of fur down his torso and inner thighs that contrasts sensationally against the baby-oiled smooth surfaces of Mike’s sculpted muscles. We saw what Mike’s bulldozing persona can do to an opponent when he thrashed the living fuck out of adorable Freddy Campbell in Wrestle Shack 31. But big Brendan is NOT adorable Freddy, and the seasoned erotic heel just does not whither under the scorching hot lens of Mike’s extreme self-confidence. Possibly the best line in wrestling this year is when Mike demands, rhetorically, “When was the last time you saw a chest like this,” and Brendan does not skip a beat before answering, “Whenever I look in the mirror.” Fuck, two hot bodies with massive, massive egos.

That jet fuel I mentioned earlier is spraying all over the place from start to finish in this match, as Brendan and Mike are both fucking INTO each other big time. Holy shit, it’s such a breath of fresh air when a homoerotic wrestler is saying what I’m thinking in admiring his opponent. “I’m impressed,” Brendan says, hungrily groping Mike’s Monstah pecs and shoulders, adding, “but you’re still going down.” Down the road, when Brendan is using his height to perfect advantage by wringing Mike out in a full nelson and grinding his crotch into those meaty glutes, he half-moans the confession “I love those tight muscles,” which, I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, I was thinking the exact same thing at that very moment.

Mike isn’t as verbally demonstrative, but the swelling bulge in his trunks and the way his breathing gets fast and ragged when he’s being “forced” to worship big Brendan is confession enough for me. When Brendan has Mike’s massive arms trapped in the ropes and he’s straddling the bodybuilder’s face, leaning forward and sucking on Mike’s nipples and licking his abs, the trapped muscle man is a study in extreme ambivalence. The way he really throws himself into his work when he’s kissing Brendan’s biceps and licking the brutal one’s sweaty pits sells the pleasure Monstah Mike is taking from having Brendan grant his wish to have someone around here give him a serious challenge.

Mike’s magnificent muscles take about 66% of the punishment in this match, and it’s thrilling to watch a body like that get worked on so hard. Watching a 230 pound muscle god cracked across an opponent’s thigh in an OTK backbreaker is just epic! And when Brendan’s got him there laid out and vulnerable, the brutal one swoops down and licks the sweat off of Mike’s heaving abs. Holy fuck, be careful what you wish for, Monstah Mike!

I say Brendan is in the driver’s sweat about 66% of the time, but it’s only the final 4 minutes that really matter in the end, when it comes to settling whether BG East has a new “sheriff,” as Mike so boldly announces, or if the old guard is still laying down the law of the land. I think one thing that keeps this heel-on-heel action in the sweet spot for me is that, while there’s a decisive “winner,” no one is hating it when the final round of forced muscle worship plays out. There’s no defense of fragile masculinity, as if being forced to worship a sensationally sexy body you are obviously hot for is somehow emasculating. They’re both fucking into the heat of the battle, into lusting over each other’s hot bodies, and neither of them is an ounce less of a total badass for it. It’s not like I think either of these sexy-as-fuck muscle heels has any tarnish at all on his sheriff’s badge, even though one of them is knocked out cold and pinned helplessly for the final 3-count victory. If anything, I’m hoping it just makes him hungrier. And hornier. And good luck to whoever is next to square off against either of these sensationally sexy bad ass muscle men!

Best Laid Plans

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The final flurry of new releases for the calendar year are out, and there are some eleventh hour gems in BG East’s catalog 173. One of the gems that wore me out is the tag team anchor match in Hunkbash 29. It features the recurring heel duo of Jonny Firestorm and Gabe Steel taking on a surprising rookie combo of former foes, Vinny Vigo and Tony Angeles. Jonny and Gabe bring the sneering, mustache-twirling, sadistic wickedness. Vinny and Tony bring the mountains of pretty, pretty (pretty!) muscle and a surprising unpredictability that made me unable to tear my eyes away to the very end.

I say “surprising unpredictability” not only because I have no idea what to expect from Team Muscle Hunk, but quite obviously, neither do Jonny or Gabe. And, I feel pretty certain, neither do Tony or Vinny, for that matter. I’m certainly not one to spread the rumor that a lot of professional wrestling is scripted, but if you subscribe to that nefarious conspiracy theory, I guarantee you that you’re going to reach the same conclusion that I did: the wrestling drama in this match goes way off script mostly thanks to Team Muscle Hunk. I honestly don’t know if Vinny and Tony don’t really understand the mechanics of tag team wrestling, or they just don’t give a shit and make up the rules as they go. The first explanation sort of jives with a hot-bodied rookie couple like these guys are supposed to be. Sort of eager, impressively endowed and enthusiastic, but maybe naive, poorly trained, a little sketchy on the idea of one partner tethered to their corner until the legal tag is made over the top rope. So, when Vinny leaves his corner, leans through the top two ropes and stretches his stunning (STUNNING) 6-foot physique to basically reach Tony in jeopardy several miles away from being anywhere near making a legal tag… maybe it’s sloppy over-exuberance and a lack of familiarity with the art and science of professional tag team wrestling. Or, on the other hand, maybe Tony and Vinny (and, honestly, mostly Vinny) have the heart of heels wrapped up in dazzlingly pretty babyface beauty, and they know full well they’re fucking with the rules because they just want to win. Either explanation sort of turns me on, for different reasons. But whatever explains it, it’s fucking genius, and I love it!

It’s not like upperclassmen Jonny and Gabe set a good example when it comes to coloring between the lines, of course. They do stick to conventional tags, but the badass boys sort of “forget” when one partner tags out that he’s supposed to actually climb back out to the ring apron and wait his turn. In other words, the double teams are fast and furious and earn this barely controlled chaos a legitimate claim to being a sensational “hunkbash.” Tony (bless his gorgeous cheekbones and astonishingly proportioned tapered-V) is the weakest link, and the heel sharks are almost literally licking their lips as they repeatedly isolate and double-team his Captain America-esque physique with gleeful passion.

Before the heels even set foot in the ring, Gabe has already called dibs on pounding the shit out of big Tony’s gorgeous bod. “That one just screams to get beat,” he explains to his heel mentor, Jonny. And, true enough, drop-dead gorgeous Tony folds like a house of cards A LOT as the hot and brutal action unfolds. And Jonny and Gabe milk the double teams on Tony longer and longer, sort of banking on Vinny not realizing that if they bust out a double-team, all bets are off when it comes to tagging. I mean, Tony was just no match for his bigger, badder tag team partner when they went at it a couple of catalogs ago in their double debut as part of Babyface Brawls 5. Sensing his vulnerability underneath all those magnificent muscles, Jonny and Gabe seriously fuck Tony up two-on-one several times, with Vinny getting more and more pissed watching on, seemingly uncertain of how to proceed.

One of the most sensational stories in this match is the evolution of how the heels regard Vinny. This dude is fucking HUGE. He’s the biggest wrestler in the ring, by quite a bit, and every pound is just ridiculously, luxuriously huge muscle. Pre-match, back when Gabe was calling dibs on Tony, perennial badass Jonny, around 50 pounds smaller than Vinny, seems unconcerned that it means Jonny’s task is to claim Vinny. But holy shit, once Vinny finally gets too pissed and impatient to care anymore what the rules are, he turns into a fucking steamroller!

Here’s where all of that chaotic spontaneity suddenly becomes intense… and fucking sexy as hell! Because neither Jonny nor Gabe can, individually, crack a dent in the 6′ wall of muscle that is Vinny. And even when they pull out the double-team on him, no shit, Vinny is most of the time STILL fucking in charge, because Gabe and Jonny, as powerful and experienced as they are, just cannot button Vinny down. At one point, when Vinny has exceedingly successfully come to Tony’s rescue and sent the heels scattering like rats caught in the beam of a flashlight, Gabe and Jonny circle back on him, determined to bring the behemoth down. The heels have Vinny’s Thor-esque physique strung taut into a double-team bow and arrow because, no shit, one of them would NOT have been able to pull that off. And, it turns out, BOTH of them together can’t pull that off! Sheer, raw, magnificent power busts big Vinny free in a way that clearly stuns Jonny and Gabe. And then, he wraps those anaconda arms around Gabe’s throat in a choke, from which Gabe is NOT going to escape. Simultaneously, his gargantuan thighs have snapped shut around Jonny, and for just a second there, I’m honestly worried about the legendary heel’s internal organs. Eventually, Tony drags his fine, fine, FINE ass back into the melee for Team Muscle Hunk to execute beautiful side-by-side take downs of the completely flummoxed heels, but seriously, Tony could have done a load of laundry and balanced his checkbook, because Vinny had the badboys rocked hard all on his own. “Hey, asshole,” Vinny snarls in this deep, deep base voice with an accent I can’t quite place but apparently my cock speaks fluently because it’s instantly responding. “I told you we’d kick your ass,” he taunts, as Team Muscle Hunk give each other high fives and flex over the fallen heels.

So, yeah, this definitely isn’t a squash. And, if you’ve ever read me before, you know that I’m thrilled to share that news. In fact, the balance of power teeters back and forth so much, and the action is so raw and messy and peppered with blown holds and abandoned moves, I’m thinking way, way near the end that this might be the most clever script-flip in homoerotic wrestling history, with the designated hunks being the ones dishing out the ultimate bashing. Tony (bless his succulent nipples and washboard abs) is in way over his head, but honestly, all he has to do is just stay in big Vinny’s wake. It’s suspenseful to the end, and I seriously think none of the four of them really know how this free-for-all was going to sort itself out until two overwhelmed wrestlers pass out in climactic side-by-side sleepers in the middle of the ring.

I’ve got a good friend who is, like Gabe, all about Tony Angeles these days. Tony’s got this smoldering, serious leading man vibe about him, with that classic babyface combo of traffic-stopping handsomeness and a fantasyman hot bod. He’s got a long way to go before he can stand up to the likes of Jonny or Gabe, but he could totally have a long and acclaimed career as a muscle jobber in the meantime. But if pressed to make a choice, I’ve got to say that I’m unequivocally Team Vinny. Not just because of those massive pecs and the light layer of fur on his lower abs, and not just because of his stunningly thick tree trunk thighs. It’s also the way he persistently climbs up to perch on the top turnbuckle to launch his rock hard body through the air like a bunker buster. And it’s the way he grabs Jonny’s ankle mid-kick and rumbles out in that crotch-stirring bass voice, “Now, it’s my turn.” And it’s because Vinny looks like he’s having fun. Like, when he’s crushing Jonny between his lushly thick thighs, he smiles and sticks out his tongue, just fucking LOVING the feel of dominating a frustrated opponent with his superior muscles. So, sure, sure, he’s a babyface beefcake… sort of. But he could totally be a muscle heel. Hell, in those few moments when he’s actually getting wrangled, his suffering sell is also lush, and he could totally be a muscle jobber. But even more exciting for me, I think Vinny could just be Vinny, an iconoclast who ignores convention and just has sensational fun making it up as he uses that epic physique to dominate opponents.

Monstah

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Monstah Mike is so fucking big and solid, he’s got the gravitational pull of planet. You can tell, because from the moment he debuts for BG East in WrestleShack 31: Cash or Cum (spoiler alert: the answer isn’t cash), Freddy Campbell is either circling him or crashing into him over and over again, and just has no chance in hell of reaching escape velocity. Mike has apparently been hired to work in accounts receivable at BG East. Some weasely red-headed jobber rented out the ring room for some private time, and then tried to skip out without paying the rent. Mike was probably told the name of the jobber, but, seriously, how many weasely little red-headed jobbers could be on the BG East payroll?

Freddy is seriously confused when Mike FILLS the doorway of the shack (and then some) with his gargantuan boulder shoulders and demands that he pay up. Unbeknownst to either Mike or Freddy, the real culprit was, of course, Forrest Taylor (honestly, doesn’t that sound more like Forrest, for some reason?). Fuck, Forrest is stirring up shit when he’s not even on site! “Bossman said to collect what he’s owed from some ginger jobber. Looks about right,” he says, giving Freddy a slow, appraising once over. “So, where’s the money?”

Freddy is duly impressed with Monstah Mike. “I don’t mind a handsome guest,” he says, checking the bodybuilder out with a grin. “But you’ve got the wrong guy. I don’t owe any money.” Future opponents take note: Monstah Mike doesn’t take “no” for an answer. A forearm smash across the chest (and, seriously, look at the size of that fucking forearm!?!?) knocks Freddy into the back wall of the shack.

The whole time, Freddy is protesting his innocence, and not for one second does it matter to the hired gun. Mike is going to beat the money out of him, and, by the looks of it, Mike enjoys his work. He tosses Freddy around like a rag doll. He repeated slams the wrong ginger jobber to the mat, and into the walls, and into his own rock hard body. Holy fuck, that’s hot! Mind you, Freddy has been putting on muscle in his last several matches. BG East has him listed at 185 pounds. But he might as well be 142-pound Forrest, for all it matters, with a fucking AVALANCHE of exquisite, gargantuan muscle pounding down on him and flattening him like a pancake.

It’s all overwhelming muscle and power in this match, and everything about it is absolutely convincing and incredibly hot. Early on, Freddy lashes out with some punches at those huge targets that are Mike’s pecs and I’m pretty sure the blows hurt Freddy a lot more than Mike. The debt collector folds Freddy like origami, wrapping him up in a small package and then, delightfully, showing just how much he enjoys his work by kneading and biting the ginger’s ass and stroking Freddy’s crotch. “Wasn’t expecting to have this much fun,” Mike mutters, good-naturedly, as he’s streamrolling and possessing Freddy at will.

The sexiest moments for me happen when Freddy finally finds the right button to push (a solid jab to Mike’s balls) to get some revenge on the strongman. When Freddy slides the debt collector between his legs to lock on body scissors, the ginger complains, “Fuck, I can barely get my legs around you!” And, indeed, fuck. Mike is just that fucking huge, every ounce of it solid, succulent muscle, to make it nearly impossible for Freddy to really lock down those scissors. Freddy makes the most of the moment, though. He gets a standing ovation from me for yanking on those ultra briefs Mike is wearing and wedgying the most muscly ass I’ve seen bared in a long time.

It’s Freddy’s spladle on Monstah Mike, though, that leaves me dizzy. Fuck, fuck, AND fuck, all that luxurious muscle ripped open wide. I’d bet cash Mike can crack walnuts with those glutes, but in that spladle, ass in the air, he’s whining and crying like a bitch. Mike SELLS that suffering, which makes the contrast between all that dazzling muscle and his complete helplessness sensationally epic. And Freddy is every fucking one of us, taunting the bodybuilder and clawing the fuck out of Mike’s balls.

Lest we blow past even my infamously adept ability to suspend disbelief, rest assured that Mike turns the tables back upright. And the hired muscle is now pissed. He snaps shut the beartrap of his monstah thighs around Freddy’s head and threatens to pop his skull like a grape. Mike picks him up and pins him against the shack wall, Freddy’s feet nowhere near the ground. He makes Freddy lick, suck, and kiss his massive muscles, wringing all the humiliation he wants out of the naughty boy for that embarrassingly sexy spladle a few moments earlier. Barehanded chokes and endlessly punishing bearhugs crush the wrongly-accused ginger like a beer can.

And speaking of beer cans… fuck, when Monstah Mike tugs his briefs down his sequoia thighs, out springs a cock to match the rest of Mike’s massively developed body. He gets himself even harder by pounding his un/lucky opponent’s face senseless with it. Naked, he sits on Freddy’s face and smothers the lucky ginger with those gargantuan muscle glutes. I go back and forth about how to describe Mike here, but I’m just going to say it. He’s fucking amazingly pretty. I mean, I don’t know how someone selling alpha dog muscle enforcer like he does would feel about that adjective. And it’s not like there’s anything delicate or demure about Mike. But nevertheless, I think he’s just astonishingly pretty, in that 5’10, 230-pound, sculpted muscle and early-80’s biker stash way he has about him. If it was a braver and better world we lived in, there’d be young homoerotic wrestling fans with posters of Monstah Mike hanging over their beds. I hope that IRL he’s got some adoringly infatuated boyfriend bringing him flowers and telling him he’s gorgeous every day, because as big and bad and intimidating as he is, he’s just fucking pretty. I can’t think of a better way to put it.

As incredibly impressive Monstah Mike is ALL over, there’s one super impressive muscle on Freddy that puts even the debt collector to shame. If you’ve watched many of Freddy’s matches, you know what I’m talking about. Even Mike’s impressed, admiring the school bus as he presses one of his hugely peaked biceps across Freddy’s throat and smothers the ginger with Mike’s sweaty briefs. Like me, Freddy doesn’t last long after that point. “Damn, boy,” Monstah Mike marvels, “you’ve been holding a lot in there! Good job!”

Freddy is a wasted pool of sweat and cum by the end. Mike looks like he’s super proud of his work, and hungry for another assignment from the boss man. Just as he’s finally walking out the door of the shack, he calls over his shoulder to Freddy, “You clean yourself up. And then GIVE ME THAT MONEY!”

Super fun, funny, and dizzyingly sexy encounter in WrestleShack 31. Freddy NEEDS to settle up accounts with Forrest somehow, and Monstah Mike needs to just keep doing whatever the fuck he wants with whoever the fuck he wants whenever the fuck he wants… as long as the cameras are rolling.