Not long ago, I was chatting with a friend about muscle worship videos. While wrestling is, by far, my primary kink, I occasionally get a taste for some hot muscle worship. I think it dates back to coming across some old black-and-white AMG clips years ago that included completely out-of-context scenes of one scantily clad hunk looking awestruck and euphoric as he reaches out and touches the flexing biceps of another thonged muscled man with the tentativeness of someone tapping a stovetop that may, or may not, be hot enough to burn. There’s this titillating blurred line between explicit and implicit eroticism in good muscle worship, just like in the hottest wrestling. When it’s good (for me, at least), there’s this almost demure quality to muscle worship, as a worshiper rides the ebb and flow of obvious erotic pleasure with his finger tips, thumbs, and palms, while straddling this cheeky line of plausible deniability. I was mentioning to my buddy that not all muscle worship fare lands for me, though.

Sometimes, I know why, and sometimes I don’t know why a muscle worship vid doesn’t quite push my button. There are some essential elements to the genre for my tastes. The muscle hunk being worshiped needs to be excessively hot. Like, I need to feel that awe deep down inside of me, to buy the passionate awe of the worshiper. It hits the sweet spot for me when there’s a contrast of passion, with a worshiper barely able to restrain themselves and the object of worship enigmatically almost (almost) disinterested. There’s a quality to the touching that has to be there, as well. Occasionally, I come across (or fail to cum across) a disappointing example of the genre where there’s missing authenticity to how a worshiper is putting his hands on the one worshiped. I suspect some of what I’m indicting involves gay-for-pay hunks going through the motions, but without genuinely feeling it from the inside out, the purported worshiper looks more like he’s hanging drapes than erotically revering the stunning physique of a muscle god. I’d give examples of muscle worship misses, but it’s my policy not to call out products that I don’t like and just focus on promoting what I enjoy.

But I’m happy to be able to call up BG East’s new release Wrestleshack 35, and its very enjoyable play on elements of playful muscle worship blended beautifully with hot mat wrestling. The casting is instant drama. On the one hand, you’ve got Dio Characi (have I mentioned I got to talk with him in person last February at Wrestlefest NYC?). Dio has never been coy about his erotic interests. The Brazilian beauty always shows appreciation for his opponents’ hotness. Like clockwork, he is regularly turned on by a hotly muscled body standing in front of him, often reaching out unbidden before a wrestling match starts to cop a gratuitous feel of hard flexing muscles. As I’ve documented extensively, I think Dio, the 2022 Best Body winner, can easily belong on the receiving end of slack jawed muscle worship, which honestly makes it that much hotter when he gets that gleam in his eye and that tug of hungry delight at the corner of his mouth when he comes face-to-face with another worship-worthy muscle god. Like Chace LaChance.

Is it Mandela effect, or am I correct in remembering that Chace was one of the early Best Body BGE award winners? That’s not included in his pedigree on his profile, but I would swear that he topped that chart at least once. In any given year, he easily merits being a contender for the title. Fuck, his body is 100% classic physique coverboy! We’ve had the privilege of watching Chace grow up before our eyes in front of the BG East cameras, emerging from a cocoon and slowly spreading his wings into this stunning specimen of gorgeous aesthetics and superhero proportions. Unlike Dio, I have no idea what does or does not turn Chace on, though. His deep catalog at BGE and elsewhere veers decidedly on the side of merely implied eroticism. Many opponents have turned their lustful gazes on Chace, but he’s remained the straight man in the drama, not flinching at the erotic gaze of opponents, but staking out his investment squarely in the territory of testing his muscles and skills in defense of his ego.

So, when Dio strides into the wrestleshack (looking sexy AS FUCK as always), the salacious grin that stretches across his face when he sees Chace stretching out on the mats says everything. “Okay, I can see a bunch of muscles here,” he says like a hungry man stepping up to an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Those muscles look tight,” he observes, immediately copping an uninvited feel of Chace’s mountainous right bicep. “Damn, they’re pretty big,” Dio undersells, even as his roaming hands disclose a lot more unqualified appreciation for Chace’s mouthwatering body. Chace can’t stop himself from flexing and stretching his massive muscles even as the Brazilian helps himself to digging deeper and deeper into Chace’s luxuriously thick pecs.

“I thought this was a wrestling match,” Chace observes dispassionately. “But I guess someone will have to give me a little muscle massage. Does that feel good to you?” The answer is written all over Dio’s cherubic face, and in the intensity of his palms pressing into the powerful pecs, and in his light grunt of pleasure. But in that cheeky way Dio has, he damns with relatively faint praise. “Pretty much.” Under the pretense of helping Chace stretch out his magnificent muscles, Dio slides his hands across the muscle hunk’s body and snakes his arms underneath Chace’s pits, ostensibly to palm those pecs again, but then suddenly, he snaps on a full nelson. “I’ll show you how to stretch,” Dio says with that little devil gleam in his eyes.

I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again. Dio in the driver’s seat sends me places! Fuck, he manhandles Chace hard, and I’m here for it. Double hammerlocks wrench on the big man’s massive shoulders and puff out Chace’s bulging pecs for more hungry groping. Body part by body part, the Brazilian punishes and then possesses his opponent’s sensational physique. He wrenches on the big man’s knee and lower back in a single leg crab, keeping one hand free to slide his palm up Chase’s inner thigh. He’s got Chace begging with bitterness thick in the back of the muscle hunk’s throat, and it’s lush and so hot. With that diabolical, light chuckle of his, Dio caresses the big man’s chest with open lust, demanding the battered muscle god flex for him. And Chace does. “Are you happy,” Chace asks angrily pumping his biceps on command. “More than happy,” Dio enthuses, leaning in to stroke the muscle man’s upper arms and hungrily sniff Chace’s sweaty pit.

Chace catches his breath and hits his second wind in time to catapult sexy Dio across the shack. And holy hell, Chace serving up revenge muscle torture is almost as intoxicating to me as having Dio in the driver’s seat. Having jobbed so many times and suffered so magnificently at the hands of a career and half-long line of heel opponents before, a more seasoned and skilled Chace is a thing of beauty. His bodyscissors wring the sweat out of Dio’s pores. The Brazilian’s head just about disappears when it gets trapped between Chace’s massive quads. Again and again, Chace punishes Dio and then shoves a flexed bicep in the Brazilian’s screwed up face. “Want some biceps now!?” I think Chace thinks he’s teaching the sexy cherub a lesson, but Dio’s answer is to open his lips wide and start sucking on those massive peaks of Chace’s. “I don’t know if you’re enjoying this more than I am, now,” Chace says with a bemused chuckle.

The things is, I think that’s a real question. I mean, on the one hand, Dio shows his cards from start to finish. Dio doesn’t exactly mind getting punished while he’s getting to grope and lick and sniff everything Chace shoves at him. The answer to Chace’s question on the surface of things is OF COURSE Dio is enjoying this more. But, to my delight, I think the answer is more complex than that. Because, I don’t know if Chace would admit it, but there’s no fucking way he’s not getting into getting worshiped with the single-minded focus of this hungry Brazilian. He’s got Dio in a schoolboy pin at one point, just lording his magnificent muscles over his crushed opponent, and having clearly established that Dio wants to stroke, grope, taste and smell every inch of him, Chace smiles down and flexes some more. “You just admire now,” he orders his supplicant. And, I swear, Dio and I say at the exact same time, “Fuuuuuuuck.” And we’re both meaning the same thing. This is fucking hot as hell, and holy shit, I seriously think Chace is getting into being slack-jaw-worshiped just as much as Dio is enjoying doing the worshiping.

There’s a bit of suspense along the way of this 27 minute sweat-fest in the wrestleshack, but whoever is on top, the muscle worship theme rings true and persistently from start to finish. The passion and personalities just keep driving this back to those elements of hot muscle worship that I crave most when I’ve got a hankering for it. That, along with hot, mean, sexy wrestling, make me a huge, huge fan of this match. I’m a long-time fanboy for Chace, and (I know I hide it well), I’m infatuated with Dio (I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but I actually talked to him for a few minutes in person at Wrestlefest NYC last February). And the pairing of these two gorgeous crowd pleasers, along with the perfect complement of a ravenously hungry muscle worshiper and a muscle Adonis almost startled to discover the pleasure of being worshiped, is absolutely sensational.