Santa Baby

For those anticipating the arrival of a particular gift-bearing sugar daddy, I hope you get to check a whole lot of excellent items off of your wish list this evening. Knowing that someone purchased Hugh Jackman’s sweaty t-shirt gives me hope for a sweet, musky surprise in my stocking. And if we’re talking wishes, I’ve got my fingers crossed for one of the following Santas to appear, like magic, in my living room to deliver the goods. I’ll clear some floor space for a wrestling mat, just in case.  Now the real challenge is deciding which of these hunky Santas I’m wishing for most…
Prettyboy Santa
Prettyboy Santa here is making me feel awfully naughty and nice at the same time! Look at those massive shoulders! Full nelson, anyone?
Homicidal Santa

Goldberg as Ho-Ho Homicidal Santa in a movie that is so epically bad that it almost (but not quite) circles back around to become a cult classic… so wrong. But Santa as a musclebound heel? Now that could work…

Bright-Eyed Santa

 Bright-Eyed Santa here with a couple days of scruff is ready to get pinned. Whoever Santa didn’t get to visit before he showed up at my place would be shit out of luck, because this Santa stud isn’t going anywhere!

Surly Santa

 Surly Santa hunk here looks like he’s ready to shed the “jolly” and open up a can of whoop ass. Let me just clarify, I’ve been terribly, terribly naughty this year, Santa. Teach me a lesson, muscle man!

Naked Santa

This Santa appears ready for a naked wrestling romp, which makes him rise up my wish list of which Santa I’m hoping for most of all. The dopey, dimpled grin suggests that this bare Santa may be destined to be my jobber boy. If I learned anything this year, Lon Dumont taught me that you can’t be too smiley and still manage to be a convincing heel.

Punk-ass Santa

 This Punk-ass Santa has got something to prove, and I, for one, would be happy to crush his ego just as devastatingly as I crush his gym bunny body.

Pouty Santa (aka, Flamer Santa)

 Pouty Santa (aka, Sagger Santa) at first glance strikes me as too pretty end up anywhere other than under foot. However, as I consider a little longer, I’m getting a hit of a boa-brandishing flamer with the heartless core of a nasty heel. If this is the Santa that shows up fireside this evening, I could very well find myself tied up with that boa and tormented humiliatingly. Wish fulfilled!

Suspender Santa

 However, I think this is the Santa that’s top on my wish list, because I just can’t decide whether he’d be destined to rack me across his broad, beautiful shoulders, or whether I’d be dragging him across the floor by that handy red-tie.  I can picture Suspender Santa on either end of the stick. So I have no idea who’d end up on top, and that’s what makes him my fondest wish for a hunky, shirtless Santa to visit me for a long, long winter’s night!

On behalf of all the homoerotic wrestling Santa hunks and me, I hope this is a happy night for all the friends and fans of neverland!

Auld Lang Syne

Steel Muscle God disciplines a mere mortal
This seems like more of an auld lang syne themed post than a night before the night before Christmas post. Regardless, I took a trip down memory lane yesterday and checked in with a couple of hot hunks that dominated my homoerotic wrestling imagination for months at a time a while back. It’s been over a year since I mentioned Eastern European morsel, Steel Muscle God (“Dan”). In the mean time, he’s transformed his webpage into a fully operational membership site, where, for a price, you can follow SMG’s every flex, growl and stunt.
SMG is divine in nothing but boots and a jock strap!

It’ll cost you. Specifically, you’ll pay $19.99 per month, and if you want full length videos, you’ll still put out more cash (but at a discount off the still astonishingly expensive downloads that non-members can purchase from the site). Now that I’ve cut off Kink.com for sinking Naked Kombat, who knows. Possibly a stint in the divine realm of SMG might be in my future. He’s definitely catering to his audience, bless him. Preview pics and clips show sweetly muscled SMG in domination and bondage scenarios. That ass in a jockstrap is truly an angelic vision!

SMG: Chained god
I don’t always “get” SMG. Like posing while wrapping himself in a chain. I’m guessing some eager fan put that out there and magnanimous SMG conceded to his worshipper’s pleas. Maybe it’s just too avant-garde for my provincial tastes.

Worship your god!
The preview for his body worship video with an adorably hot buddy oiling SMG up and stroking him all over, on the other hand, is inspired. This is a man who’s here to please. SMG is working every bulge and ripple to maintain his position as a man of fantasy. Hot stuff, SMG!
Adam Charlton, aka adam400m
In my mind, I’ve filed SMG in the same hanging folder as Brit bodybuilder beautiful adam400m. The two of them starred in a serial wrestling scenario that held my imagination for many months. So getting a fresh fix of SMG sent me checking out whether adam400m is still stoking the body worship fires.
adam400m lubricates to please
O Holy Fuck! Adam400m is still pumping, flexing and damn it all if he hasn’t continued to build a world class physique! Damn, damn (damndamndamn)!!! This boy is simply HUGE without losing even a fraction of his bright, blue-eyed handsomeness. And I’ll be damned if adam400m isn’t breaking out the babyoil and making everything shine so nice and slick!  His splash page for his membership site looks the same as it always did, but with the proliferation of free YouTube teasers, I’m guessing he’s keeping his $17.99 per month body worshippers well stocked with CockSox stuffers this happy holiday season.
Jesusmaryandjoseph! Those thighs have GOT to scissor somebody!
Big, studly adam400m fought a nasty, back and forth barnburner with SMG in my imagination, but the godly one finally tamed the stunned Britboy, forcing adam400m to obediently suck his tit and acknowledge that, while superhuman, he’s just not quite as divine as the Steel Muscle God.
adam400m is muscled beyond belief and groomed well, too!
I used to credit SMG with an edge in the battle of the bulges on YouTube as a result of his more explicit catering to the gay eye. Adam400m has since turned the heat way, way up, and I’m not at all sure that SMG can boast quite the edge he used to have. Adam400m has recently been tugging his sweat pants down mid-thigh, barely covering the base of his cock while showing off a granite sculpted torso and a neatly scaped fringe of dark pubes.
adam400m’s best side
Adam400m has also managed to show off what I was always aching to see: that v-shaped back pointing like an arrow to massive, hard, round muscle glutes.  Now that, my friends, is a crowd pleaser (at least in the crowd I’m standing in)!!!
The Steel Muscle God: Still ruling the pantheon?

It’s heartwarming (and crotch-warming) to check-in with these two stars of my homoerotic wrestling imagination. I’m truly happy to see them, by all appearances at least, thriving, enjoying themselves, and spreading more than their fair share of bodyworship good cheer. They’ve both come such a long way, but this stroll down memory lane raises a serious question in my mind: with the mind-blowing gains that adam400m has made since getting his hot, muscle ass handed to him by lip curling, snarling, silky smooth SMG, would a rematch turn out quite the same way?  Perhaps in 2012 we might find out whether Conan-adam400m learned his lessons and trained his mind as well as his body to overthrow the godly one in divine retribution. SMG very well may want to watch that sweet, sweet ass of his in the coming year!

adam400m: Ready for revenge in 2012?

Holiday Whiskers

Mighty Rex
Steve Reeves – another bearded beauty

Whiskers and Christmas go together in my mind, so in the spirit of the holiday, I’m lingering today on the furry hotness of homoerotic wrestler muscle bear, Rex. While hardly a doppelganger, there are many shots of beefy Rex that bring to my mind the power and beauty of a classic Steve Reeves (who, without a doubt turned me gay). Rex’s combination of burly, hardbodied thickness and two of the most precious doe eyes are a gift that just keeps giving this season of superficial generosity and rampant consumerism.

Rex crushes Boxxy between those monster thighs.

Rex pinged my radar twice in the past few weeks, first with his informal “welcome” of rookie extraordinaire Boxxy to Thunder’s Arena. If you like cocky banter from a couple of sharp wits, first get in line behind me, and then you might want to check out Thunder’s “Battle of the Scissors.” The bare bones recipe is just that: 2 parts verbal sparring match-slash-metaphorical cock measurement and 1 part civilized, controlled, beautifully delivered exchange of scissors.

Boxxy’s head starts to disappear between Rex’s monster quads.

Rookie Boxxy has been raved about already recently, and there’s almost nothing on that gargantuan man that can safely get any bigger, so to spare a swelling of his head, let me focus on the reason for this post: Rex’s monster thighs. The rookie pretends like he barely notices the headscissors, but I’d wager those tree trunks of Rex’s could crack skulls if he really put his mind to it. Boxxy’s noggin squeezed so high up between Rex’s quads left me wondering about the stuffing that fills Rex’s ample camouflaged package that Boxxy rests his head on like a pillow.

Arriving at BG East as Rex Braddock

Shortly thereafter, BG East introduced their own new release starring Rex Braddock, with the same hot beard, same massive muscles, and a few inches more of beef to admire.

Picture perfect muscle bound wrestling extravaganza!

Strip Stakes 2 takes a while to warm up. Both Rex and Marc Merino (also a Thunder’s alum) are crazy in love with the sight of their own bodies. Hell, it takes Marc a good 5 minutes before he can tear his eyes away from his own flexing physique to notice that someone else has climbed into the ring with him. Once the tussle begins, however, it quickly becomes a feast for fans of big, beefy muscle wrestlers. I may sound just a little critical when I say that Strip Stakes 2 is largely absent of finesse or nuance, but my intention is not to be bitchy. Because every hold, ever slam, ever single moment of the match is 100% about blunt power. Both big bruisers suffer beautifully whenever one of them manages to capture the other long enough to clamp a musclebound limb or two around one vulnerable body part or another.  Frankly, when mighty Rex snaps Marc’s head in a face-to-crotch headscissors just a few minutes into the wrestling, I lose my self control to see the bearded fantasy man marvel lovingly at his own stunning double bicep pose.  Typically, I like a good quantity of speed and subtlety in my homoerotic wrestling, but minute by arousing minute, bone crusher Rex and pretty, curly haired adonis Marc convince me of the profound allure of giant, massive, methodical muscle men grinding away at one another patiently.

Mighty Rex, firmly in control

And this is Strip Stakes, my friends, so Rex and Marc go where the Thunder never rolls. Marc “loses” the terms of the bout, losing three out of five submissions and costing him the last of his modest gear. With a fistful of those curly locks well in hand, Rex lets the gorgeous loser have the day-late-dollar-short thrill of peeling big Rex out of his jockstrap. You might think doe-eyed Rex might leave things well enough alone, but you’d be wrong. He tosses his naked opponent around, lifts, slams, squeezes and crushes the dumbstruck adonis like nothing but a plaything… a huge, musclebound, sweetly handsome plaything.

The Beauty of the Beef

Rex’s thighs continue to mesmerize me, even more so stripped of all gear. I’m guessing that just one of those massive upper thighs is very likely bigger around than my waist. And Rex’s beautiful, bulbous ass and growing cock strike a sure-to-be iconic vision of naked wrestling beauty. Done with toying with the slack-jawed loser, big Rex applies a sleeper that slowly, ploddingly drops Marc to his ass. Rex demands that Marc submit one last time. Marc begins jacking off with Rex still clamped like a lovely vice around his neck, until the curly haired loser screams his final submission even as he’s shooting a load across his own abdomen.

Rex shows Marc what victorious muscles look like.

Like a Steeve Reeves fantasy come to life, Rex stretches out on the couch at ringside, soaking in the sight of his victory as Marc lies unconscious and covered in cum in the center of the ring. He smells the wrestling gear both men wore just a half and hour earlier, and then he begins stroking his own hot rod to life. Huge muscles like Rex’s can tend to, by comparison, dwarf a bodybuilder’s manhood, but have no fear. Rex grows to truly beautiful, stunning proportions and celebrates his victory with a chest-heaving shot of ecstasy of is own.

Rex Braddock ready for action

I’ve heard that mighty Rex can be found elsewhere doing traditional cyberporn. More power to him. I imagine that there are a lot of audiences ready to pay to see him in action. As for me, there’s nothing that I want to see more than this bearded, beefy powerhouse wrestle naked in the ring to a double cum shot finale. I hope we see much, much more of that from mighty Rex in the ring in 2012, and many more skulls getting crushed between those amazing monster thighs!

A Hearty Welcome

Jason Kane: the newest Teen Dream from Rock Hard Wrestling

Am I getting older, or are the stars of homoerotic wrestling getting younger? It’s a rhetorical question, so give me an early Christmas present and don’t answer. Generally speaking, I tend to think of myself as perpetually 29 years old. But seeing the face on the new teen dream from Rock Hard Wrestling, Jason Kane, I suddenly feel much, much older. Seriously, is this kid even shaving yet?! Okay, so fuck the face. The peaks on those biceps make me feel young and vigorous again. Raw, untested rookie beef like this is timeless. I don’t care how old this teen heartthrob is. Someone needs to make this gym bunny scream.

Ethan Andrews welcomes Jason Kane to Rock Hard Wrestling

Ethan Andrews clearly knows what I’m talking about. I think I’ve bitched about Ethan being some sort of bait-and-switch for RHW, since he’s decidedly less handsome and more skater punk than rock hard stud. I can be such a bitch sometimes. The look of low-down, carnal, sadistic pleasure stretched across Ethan’s toothy punk ass face as he soaks in the sight of studly Jason screaming in agony requires me to apologize for any past bitchy comments I made about young Ethan and acknowledge here and now that, while it’s Jason’s ripped body that makes this match rock hard, it’s Ethan’s nasty delight at making the muscle hunk suffer that makes this match homoerotic wrestling.

Ethan looks downright evil making the pretty boy scream

Ethan knows he’s got this rookie-bashing confrontation all sewn up within about 8 seconds of hopping over the top rope to start the match. Pretty, babyface Jason offers downright polite pleasantries. “What, no trash talk?” Ethan asks sincerely surprised… a fraction of a second before he lands a lightening boot strike to Jason’s washboard abs and rolls over the rookie like a steam roller. Ethan seems to take Jason’s rock hard, flat stomach as a personal insult somehow, and he proceeds to pummel the teen dream’s core with tunnel-visioned focus.

Ethan shows Jason what all those muscles are really for:
suffering so sweetly!

Jason goes no where fast. Ethan plays him like a guitar, strumming and plucking all of those taut, beautiful muscles like a maestro. Jason suffers in the corner, bounces off the ropes, gets squeezed, punched, kicked and twisted mercilessly to welcome him to the homoerotic wrestling universe. Ethan explains the facts of life to Jason. Muscles are nice and all, but victory depends on technique.

Jason begs to differ: his muscles are for dominating!

The rookie gets riding time as well. Mostly strikes and slams show off Jason’s hot flexing body, including the bright red hand prints left by Ethan’s slaps. With just a little advantage, the babyface is crowing and strutting, flexing his thick bicep in Ethan’s face and proclaiming with absolute certainty, “You don’t need technique, when you got this!” Jason looks every bit the high school quarterback, grinning from ear to ear as he corners a skinny nerd in the bathroom to slap him around and prove once again why he’s on top of the cutthroat, Lord of the Flies social structure of adolescence.

Ethan studies the effects of his complete mastery of the rookie stud

However, Ethan knows something that painfully young Jason hasn’t yet figured out: this isn’t the high school bathroom. This is a professional wrestling ring, and those HD video cameras are reflecting the eyes of hundreds of gay men unzipping their pants to watch an all too pretty young muscle hunk force fed a dish of humility. Sure, Jason’s undersized trunks ride down his hips a bit, but I tell you it’s the tilt of Ethan’s head as he smiles down so lustfully at the sight of his sweaty, grimacing, writhing opponent  that becomes what I can’t tear my eyes away from here.

Hot young muscle where it belongs: underfoot.

There’s a truly inspired moment near the end of Jason’s initiation into our world. Ethan has gazed long and hard at the pain contorting Jason’s pretty face as he threatens to rip the young stud’s shoulder out of its socket in a bow and arrow. Ethan lets him go to taunt him a little more, explaining that he’s got more in store for the once-invincible pretty boy. Shiny Jason shakes his head frantically as he looks like he’s trying to crawl away on his stomach, reaching for the reprieve of the ropes. The close-up of wide-eyed panic on Jason’s face is intoxicating, but it’s the vision of Ethan, hyped up on the exhilaration of completing owning this hot young stud as he grabs Jason’s ankle to set him up for a match ending figure-4 leglock, that sends me over the edge. Welcome to the world of homoerotic wrestling, Jason. So happy that you decided to join us.

A Blue Christmas

Chris Wragge on his way out at The Early Show
Why do morning television news producers hate me so? My extra blood pump in the morning is getting rarer by the day. It started with Chris Cuomo getting booted from Good Morning America almost exactly two years ago. Things brightened up last January when The Early Show brought hunky Chris Wragge to the anchor desk, but again, the Christmas season is bringing tragic news for my daily dose of hunky newsmen. Wragge is being benched and replaced by two cold showers.

Carter Evans – the most recent evidence that news producers hate me.

And now I’ve learned that Carter Evans, the real anchor of my hunk lust morning routine, is leaving his morning market report to follow his prego wife who’s just got a new job in L.A. I don’t know what Carter’s plans are, but apparently they don’t involve appearing on my television screen every morning.

Matt Gutman – my last, best hope

The slim bright spot and ray of hope is that Good Morning America is tapping hairy chested hunk Matt Gutman with increasing frequency as a correspondent.  Matt is ripe for the picking, as far as I’m concerned. I think I’m due for a little good news from the traitorous bastards at ABC News who sent Chris Cuomo to Siberia (aka, 20/20). Matt Gutman needs to be tapped for an on-air desk job on GMA.

The Gutman – ready to get the call to the Big Show

Please, picture The Gutman with his shirt unbuttoned halfway down his hot, hairy chest, which is his standard operating procedure as a correspondent. Those dimples, the strong arms, and that aforementioned hairy chest as regular news reader on GMA would be golden, I tell you. Who wouldn’t want to tune in to see this man flashing that sexy smile on a regular basis? WHO?!

Matt Gutman is fully committed to delivering the news.
Sure, Chris Cuomo is willing to work a wet t-shirt, fish shirtless, and wear muscle-hugging spandex as a triathlete. And no doubt, Chris Wragge made a desperate bid to stave off the axe by doing his own behind-the-scenes ironman self-expose. But in The Gutman, we have a new hunk who, in the interest of informing the public, is ready to strip down to a towel while covering a story. He’s got an international resume. He was harassed by big oil as he bravely covered the Gulf Spill with seemingly fewer and fewer buttons needing buttoned with each broadcast. He showed off that broad, meaty, hairy chest of his covering the soft news of extreme diving.  The Gutman is versatile (which I love in a man), sharp as a whip (which I love even more), and already starring in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.
I have no idea if this is actually The Gutman, but this provocative shot
is out there and attributed to him… and it works for me.
The morning news landscape is getting downright desolate. I’m bitter and disillusioned. I’m perfectly poised to be captured by a new vision of sexy news with brown eyes, dark curly hair, fit body and coverboy dimples. In the mean time, when it comes to my morning routine, it’s a blue, blue Christmas for me.

Exceeding Myself with Happiness

Friend of neverland, AH, commented on my post about Lon Dumont last Friday, saying, in part:

“…I hope that Lon is as turned on by your words as you are turned on by his methodical manhandling of his opponents!”

It’s no secret that I’m turned on by Lon’s ringcraft in the extreme. I can only wish such passionate pleasure on my dearest friends. I was nursing a bodybuilder wrestling fantasy before I first saw Lon displaying his gorgeous physique in the BG East ring. In fact, bulging, expertly crafted muscles, paired with championship indy pro ring skills and a wicked sharp wit was starring in my wrestling kink imagination for a majority of my life. Lon’s arrival on the scene at BG East was an epiphany, the alignment of stars, a fantasy man climbing out of my erotic longings and into the ring. True enough, it’s only now that he’s officially my homoerotic wrestler of the month, but he owned the title long before I actually saw him leave big, sweaty Eddy Rey hanging defenseless in the ropes, watching Lon pump a sweetly peaked bicep in his dumbstruck face.

While I don’t know what’s turning Lon on at the moment, I do know that he read my latest post. I also know that he’s a genuinely gracious muscle hunk, because he generously forwarded me these pics from the culmination of months and months of obsessive physical training as he competed in several bodybuilding competitions this season.

The pro tan seems oppressive for those of us unaccustomed to the particular tastes and demands of the competition bodybuilding scene. However, I’d drop a paycheck to be the one to finger paint the shiny, brown pigment across every bulge and in every nook and cranny. Reports are that Lon’s trophy case is completely maxed out after competing in multiple shows this season. His hot muscles understandably earned the respect of plenty of judges.

As much as his on-stage side chest pose impressed the judges, I have to say, his side chest pose in the ring, with one boot planted victoriously into the back of writhing Morgan Cruise is about 50 times more awe-inspiring for my tastes.

The pro tanned, slicked up sculpture of Lon’s double bicep in physique competition is hot, but the image of him lifted off his feet in a full nelson and forced to pump out the same pose in submission to beefy Eddy Rey is off the charts!

With the stage lights glistening off his obliques, there’s no denying that this single bicep shot is a work of art. But hot damn, Lon gazing lovingly at that same bulging bicep even as he threatens to snap Terry O’Daly’s knee off in the ring is simply incomparable!

No doubt about it, I love hot, muscular, beautiful bodies like Lon’s.  Competitive bodybuilding’s insistence on slicking their muscle men up with baby oil and stripping them down to minimal posing trunks makes the sport one of the most spectacular spectator sports ever dreamed up. But anything, anything that happens under the bright lights of non-contact bodybuilding is mind-blowingly eroticized (even more) when a hot, handsome, hard muscle man is transported into the wrestling ring.  Lon would be a fantasy man based solely on his razor wit and aesthetic proportions, without a doubt. But he’s reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month because he’s all that and a sexy ass pro wrestler, too!

Demanding a Recount

Bodybuilder Battle 46
Thunder’s Arena regulars have been burning up the comment pages with regard to anything they can get their hands on with rookie giant, Boxxy. His stats put him at a reported 6’4″ tall and 240 pounds. In his native Transylvania, Romania, that would translate to around 1.93 meters and a bruising 109 kilograms. The pairing of 5’5″, 135 pound Angel against this monstrosity in Bodybuilder Battle 46 is a stark contrast. Boxxy looks like he could snap Angel in half without breaking a sweat.
Foxxy Boxxy
My characterization of Boxxy as a “monstrosity” is admittedly wildly imprecise. He’s clean cut, shaved smooth and remarkably handsome. His handsome must be remarked upon because if you’re like me, it may take you a while to notice his face. His body is hard to tear your eyes away from. He also has a deep, sexy voice and hot, Eastern European accent. So far he seems like an impervious juggernaut at Thunder’s, but I can’t help but think his potential as a babyface is where Boxxy would truly shine. Put him in front of some smaller, sadistic heel and let him learn the hard way that big and beautiful are not all they’re cracked up to be in the land of cut-throat capitalism. Just my 2 cents….
Angel works a little catchweight magic on the Transylvanian Terror.
Angel has been staple fare at Thunder’s for ages, and his mocking impersonation of Boxxy’s thick accent and broken English are sweet drama to start this confrontation. The look in his eyes as he stares way, way up at the Romanian can’t be confused for anything other than fear covered with a thin layer of bravado. The sound in his voice, however, is sneering contempt designed to start the battle in the giant’s psyche before the physical confrontation begins. While Angel was never, ever going to “win” this match, there’s something very hot about seeing the petite, tattooed scrapper manage to schoolboy pin the giant and snarl insults down into his face. I tell you, that babyface-ripe-for-the-plucking angle could be a barnburner for foxy Boxxy.
Boxxy brings much more to the mat than just muscle and hair gel!

That’s not to say that the behemoth doesn’t pull off withering contempt quite well himself, though. He looks into the camera in disbelief when he steps onto the mat with his petite opponent.  “This is the guy you send me to fight?” he asks incredulously, pointing down into Angel’s face. “Come here, BOY!” he suddenly snaps.  “Toys?” Angel intentionally misunderstands the thick Romanian accent. “I don’t have any toys!” he laughs.

Now we’re talkin’…
Opportunities for Angel to laugh are, otherwise, quite rare in this 21 minute mat match. Watching the big, beautiful Boxxy manhandle the lightweight like a sack of laundry is quite a sight. I know that there are fellow wrestling kink fans who find a one-sided catchweight bout yawn-inspiring, but when the big man really punishes the foolhardy little guy, it can stir something in my loins that I so love to be stirred. Boxxy and Angel use all 4 hands to stir that very spot in me in this match. Like the legions of commenters on the Thunder’s boards, I have a tough time not being entranced, hypnotized almost, by the sight of Boxxy’s powerful, massively proportional ass. “Best ass in Thunder’s,” some of the fans are arguing. Until I see him sans trunks side by side with similarly naked Big Sexy, I’ll reserve judgment on that count. Unreservedly, however, I’m fully on board with the assessment that Boxxy’s butt is phenomenal.

Boxxy needs to be cast as Clark Kent
captured, bound, and crushed into muscleman humiliation!

The big man has moves, too! He possess more agility and speed than a body that size has a right to. “Not so tough now, huh, BOY!!!” he screams into Angel’s face as he pins the lightweight to his back under his overwhelming mass of muscles.  “Toys? Toys? Look, I don’t have any toys,” Angel grimaces as he tries to play from his smart ass deck, which is usually his trump suit.  Boxxy shirks off the ridicule and flexes his gargantuan bicep for the camera while he easily pins Angel’s throat to the mat beneath his other arm.

Boxxy has news for neverland readers: he’s got more than his fair share of potential!

Boxxy’s ego, like his ass, is in perfect proportion to the rest of him. He terrorizes Angel into a decisive victory that sends the message loud and clear: in the land of big, big muscle studs, there’s a new giant muscleman who just may be able to give even the biggest bad boys a run for their money. He’s going to snarl and shout derision. He’ll muscle his way around and look gorgeous kicking ass. I won’t be surprised to see him go pec to pec with some other gargantuan bodybuilder bodies, because let’s face it, that’s the way the Thunder rolls. But I’m telling you, this man needs to be suited up in skimpy white trunks and boots, tossed into a wrestling ring, and given the initiation that all devastatingly handsome muscle men with a fierce belief in the righteousness of superior strength and diligent physical training deserve.

Happiness Is…

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month –
Lon Dumont
I had an instant crush on homoerotic wrestler of the month, Lon Dumont, when I saw his BG East debut in Fantasymen 32.  Lon’s cocky swagger and clear, strong voice, paired with his beautifully sculpted body and fully formed wrestling persona had me riveted before big Eddy Rey even showed up ringside.
Lon cuts big Eddy Rey down to size
When Eddy finally arrived, Lon continued to captivate me by taking the lead in the dance of establishing the plot. Eddy encouraged Lon to continue with his posing routine, but Lon refused with a snort. “People pay to see me flex,” he explains. Lon wasn’t about to just give it away for free. When Eddy proposes that perhaps he might just make Lon flex for him, Lon put his hands on his hips and tilted his head to side, thinking. When he acknowledges that Eddy is a tall drink of water and calls him, “Sprout,” I both laugh and grow even more aroused at the same time.
Eddy obediently flexes for Lon
In short order, Lon confirmed my fondest hope.  Via a blindside assault on big Eddy, Lon demonstrated with brutal grace that he has not only the body, not only the persona, but also the ring savvy and wrestling skill to deserve my firmly established fanaticism. On message like a bear trap, Lon made sweaty Eddy flex his hot muscles over and over, wringing one submission after another out of the big man. Lon was patient but firm as he physically and psychologically broke down big Eddy, systematically transforming him from an over-confident, hard-bodied hunk into a whimpering, obedient, defenseless plaything.
As documented here at neverland, each and every new release from Lon Dumont makes my heart flutter like a star-struck schoolgirl. I most appreciate his rookie wrecking work, such as beating down to size the likes of big, dumb (and presumably full of cum) Terry O’Daly and, most recently, hairy bruiser Morgan Cruise. Big, strong, barely legal studs like these are genetically predisposed and socially trained to believe that they deserve to come out on top over smaller, more mature opponents. Handsome, letterman jacket-wearing sides of beef grow up unfailingly reinforced in the faith that youth and size merit victory when they stand, flexing, side-by-side with the likes of 5’6 and 15/16″ tall, 150 pound, 30-something opponents. When Lon picks them apart like Thanksgiving turkey leftovers, you can see their rookie worldviews come crashing down around them.  As Lon cuts them down to size and then lifts his right boot, pauses as he takes aim, and then stomps all over them, tenderizing their cornfed muscles from head to toe, the likes of Terry and Morgan learn that the real world will not be handed to them on a platter just because they’re big, fit and young.

Ripped Lon and partner Chace LaChance

Versatility turns me on, as well, and my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month can tell more than one story. Teamed up with too, too tweezed go-go boy rookie Chace LaChance, Lon was also convincingly one half of pretty-in-peach, going down in two out of three to big, nasty Donnie Drake and his sadist apprentice, Doug Rand. Babyface heroes who battle valiantly but are bested by crafty shortcuts and vile double teams are beautiful to behold. When Lon is knocked out cold and laid out defenseless and vulnerable next to his pretty partner in the middle of the ring, all that gorgeous muscle so helpless and humiliated makes me gasp.

Joe’s huge thighs crushing Lon’s armored core
And speaking of gasping… when I interviewed Lon earlier this year, I asked him what it would take to be bested in a singles match. “Perhaps someone with a 100-pound weight advantage might have better luck,” he answered bluntly, “but besides that, I just don’t see it happening.” Perhaps going on the record like that gave the boys at BG East a devilish idea, because the next time we saw Lon climb into the ring, he was face-to-face… or perhaps, face to sternum… with 6’2″, 240 pound Titan, Joe Robbins. Bigger men have gone weak in the knees in the shadow of humungous Joe, but Lon is a study in self-control. Whether Lon’s prediction from my interview was playing through his mind as Joe wrapped his tree trunks around him and crushed him into sobbing agony, I don’t know. But while nearly 100-pounds of weight advantage did, indeed, blemish Lon’s undefeated 1-on-1 record, Lon proved that he’s not just entertaining when he’s large and in charge. He’s a vision, suffering for days, enduring boatloads of pain for a marathon session of gut abuse that incredibly reluctantly wrings a string of submissions out of the bodybuilder. When Lon is gasping, clutching his rips, slumped against the ring apron, his loss to Joe is just one more check in the win column when it comes to confirming my lustful devotion.
Picture perfect Lon rips Terry O’Daly’s knee off

Not everyone is turned on by what I’m turned on by, but one thing that defines this blog and my lust is wrestling. And Lon is first and foremost a sexy-ass wrestler. Just like his stomps, his masterful application of joint wrenching submission holds is brutally graceful.  The rookies that Lon excels in destroying are typically ham-handed, a little awkward as they work themselves into position to snap on a Boston crab or have to use trial-and-error to figure out the most effective angle to work a bearhug. Lon, on the other hand, slides like liquid gold into position. He knows just how far a knee will bend, just how much tension a back can take. He’s such a technician that he can afford to be an artist as well, flexing his body just right, snarling beautifully, displaying his writhing opponent gorgeously for the perfect camera angle.

Like me, Lon can’t help but marvel at the
image of his complete mastery over Morgan Cruise

It was Lon’s deeply satisfying rookie wrecking of hairy chested bruiser Morgan Cruise that earned him, at last, the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month. The vision of Morgan’s Prometheus Bound performance nearly earned the rookie the reader’s choice as the rookie with the most potential. I, for one, am very, very keen to see Morgan and his cleft chin show up again to see if he can start to learn some of those lessons that Lon so patiently offered him. But as beautiful as Morgan’s destruction is, my eyes are stuck like glue on every flex, every vein rising to the surface, every angle of Lon’s body as he demonstrates his mastery of the ring and as he masters Morgan’s powerful body and so vulnerable soul.

Lon’s excellence of execution
There’s something profoundly erotic about a man who is completely self-possessed and in control of his emotions even as he administers debilitating doses of pain and suffering. This probably explains why I continue to enjoy Dexter so much (despite Michael C. Hall’s stubborn refusal to let us see his ass), and it most definitely explains, in part, why Lon captivates me so thoroughly. He’s a rational wrestler. He’s thinking as he’s applying that armbar. He contemplating the moral of the story, even as he’s threatening to rip poor Morgan’s head off of his neck. When Lon is finished with Morgan, he gives the wrecked rookie a thoughtful examination. It’s not personal. Hell, Lon even suggests that he’d be willing to entertain teaming up with beefy Morgan to continue to tutor the heel-hopeful.

Lon’s rippling abs, sculpted quads, bulding shoulders, rock hard pecs,
perfectly employed.

Lon has been working my wrestling kink like a champ from the moment his flexing image appeared on my screen. His charming interview from last February proved that Lon is a quality human being in addition to being a captivating homoerotic wrestler. He’s been at the top of my charts for a long time when it comes to my favorite homoerotic wrestlers (non-pornboys), and his destruction of Morgan Cruise’s body and dreams makes him, at long last and unquestionably, my homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Lon wrestles, flexes, and thinks his way to #1

True Faith

What brand of genius is it that they’ve found in their casting agents at HBO?! I’ve raved (RAVED, I say!), about the uncanny brilliance of the people who have collected such stunningly inspiring hunks as Ryan Kwanten, Sam Trammel, Alexander Skarsgård, Mehcad Brooks, Joe Manganiello, and Stephen Moyer (to name only a few) into one cruise missile to my crotch that is True Blood. Now, reports are out that True Blood has cast Christopher Meloni for next season.

In my daily life, I’ve heaped sneering contempt by the buckets-full on proponents of “Intelligent Design” who argue that there must be a god because the world is just too perfectly ordered to happen by chance. Now, I have to admit, I’m thinking that this addition of Christopher Meloni to the cast of True Blood may have converted me into a believer. This is making me completely rethink whether there is a god controlling things, because this is just too perfect to be believed. Indeed, I’m suspecting there is a god, and he’s a gay man with impeccable taste working for the casting contractor who supplies the divinely inspired collection of erotic fantasymen that make me lost in flights of ecstasy as I ponder the cast of True Blood.

My homoerotic wrestling fiction is littered with evidence of the spiritual power that the casting of True Blood has had on me.  I’ve written fictional wrestling matches starring Trammel, Moyer, and Kwanten. Skarsgård has shown up twice, and like the two appearances of Manganiello, I’m strongly convicted in my faith that they will show up again. And Christopher Meloni has already been haunting my homoerotic wrestling fantasies hard and loud, inspiring 4 matches in just about any constellation I can throw him into the ring to face (singles, tag-team, gang-bang…).  The last we saw Christopher, he was  left stripped naked in the ring after being mauled by all of Eli Brody’s executive assistants in turn. My idea then was that he was finally, tentatively tamed and would be a fantastically sadistic tool of the powers that be in rookie wrecking more upstart egos, now fully incorporated into the corporate powers of the entertainment-industrial complex.

Hot damn in the morning! If that casting agent who is divine ever opens up a church of homoerotic wrestling devotion, I’m going to be the biggest evangelist the world has seen since Cyrus conquered the known world and incorporated all of the local gods into the pantheon of Persian hegemony. If Christopher Meloni doesn’t appear in a naked wrestling match with Manganiello, Skarsgård and, let’s say Allan Hyde (just to keep things fresh), then my faith in Intelligent Design may waver. Till then, I’m a believer, god damn it!

Reader’s Choice – Nick Collins

Voting was enthusiastic and the competition was hotly contested, but Rock Hard Wrestling’s Nick Collins managed to hold off a late surge by BG East beefcake, Morgan Cruise, to claim the Reader’s Choice award for the recent rookie with the brightest potential.
Jake Jenkins ties Nicky up like a pretzel

Nicky’s appeal can hardly be a mystery. The lean, ripped body… the shaggy, long, yankable hair… that hefty package and oh-so-sweet round ass vacuum packed inside those skin tight trunks… still frame alone makes eager Nick Collins someone to watch.

Jake has his way with fresh, young Nicky

In both his singles and tag-team debuts at Rock Hard, he also shows clear evidence that he can wrestle. He’s nowhere near the polish and ring savvy of the RHW catalog 6 breakouts like muscle stud (and former homoerotic wrestler of the month) Jake Jenkins and his partner in crime, Austin Cooper (who, let’s face it, have come a long, long way in their short careers). Nicky has some amateur wrestling background, clearly, in the way he leverages is lean, tight body to flip and control his opponents. He’s a fit young stud who can get tossed and slammed and keep coming back.

Jake and Austin cannot get enough of rookie bashing Nicky

But he is a rookie, let’s face it. He sells about 40% of the time. He goes from 0 to 60 (writhing in agony to snarling with contempt and hardly breathing heavy at all) in the blink of an eye. He hasn’t yet really sold me, at least, with a reason that he’s climbed into the ring to face brutal, full contact competition. I can imagine the backstory, but sweet, sweet Nicky hasn’t yet really fleshed out the character and motivation for us.

All that fit muscle and bulging potential!

Which may be why so many of you tapped him for the rookie with the most potential. He’s got such sweet, bulging, squeezable raw materials to work with, and at the same time he’s got a boat load of improvement to make to turn a couple of passenger seat matches into a full on homoerotic wrestling kink persona that draws us in for more than just the beauty of that baby, baby, babyface and lean, hard body.

When he sells it, Nicky’s a gorgeously vulnerable babyface

Check babyboy out getting battered and abused by muscleboys Jake and Austin in his tag team defeat with partner Cliff Johnson, or pounding out two out of three to take a victory from fellow fresh face rookie Gunner Bayani.

Sweet, sweet potential!
Personally, I think my favorite homoerotic wrestler, non-pornboy division (and current homoerotic wrestler of the monthLon Dumont needs to ring the school bell and open up a clinic for all of these rookies to learn so, so much (with sweet Nicky at the head of the class, of course)! I’ve also got a deep craving to see the top contender chomping at Lon’s ass for the title of favorite homoerotic wrestler, non-pornboy, and former homoerotic wrestler of the monthKid Karisma, wrap little Nicky’s back around a ring post like a Christmas ribbon. Potential? Hell, yes.