Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

More Making Somebody Happy

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Lon’s back bigger, harder, and with a full head of hair.

My fellow Lon Dumont fans likely have already taken note of the best news I’ve heard all month: Lon is back in a new release from BG East called Rookie Wreckers!! Yes, my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division, is back in ring action, sporting that full head of hair he hinted at in my interview many months ago, and looking unbelievably ripped!

Lon looks like he’s squeezing the produce in readiness to crush Morgan like a grape.
I’ll compose a full review in a few days, but I’m chomping at the bit to just revel in the thrill of seeing Lon back in the ring. Hot damn, this man turns me on and holds my rapt attention like the beautiful, cocky, incredibly hot and entertaining pro he is! Looks like he’s returning to those bygone days he mentioned in my interview of schooling up-and-comers in the harsh realities of professional wrestling. Beefy, hairy rookie Morgan Cruise seems like he could be a handful, even for the likes of indy wrestler turned competitive bodybuilder Lon. Morgan looks big and cocky, with nowhere near the level of peak conditioning that Lon is sporting, but big and strong enough to potentially do some damage on his smaller “trainer.”
Lon sets the fishhooks deep, ready to reel in the rookie and mount him over the fireplace.
Then again, Lon looks to me to be up to the challenge, and the collection is called “Rookie Wreckers” for God’s sake! I’ve been in sporadic communication with Lon in the months since our interview, and I believe that this match was filmed as he was heading into the current bodybuilding competition season. This would explain his truly astonishing fitness, notably harder and bigger than before. He’s seriously lean… like this-man-has-got-to-be-ravenous-for-some-carbs type of lean. If a miserable month and a half on the Atkins diet taught me anything, it’s that when deprived of carbs, a human being can get incredibly short-tempered, just a bit irrational, and down right nasty at the slightest provocation. All this might explain the look of terror, bewilderment, and semi-consciousness that’s playing across Morgan’s baby face in the first pics released from this match.
Who has striated back muscles!!!? Lon Dumont does!
Good God, who has striated back muscles!!!? And let me give an obvious nod to the continuation of my recent theme of asses that drive me insane. I doubt Morgan fully appreciates just how envious I am of the opportunity to feel Lon’s legs crushing his midsection and rearranging some internal organs. Lon’s incredibly high-quality physique paired with, what did he say, eight years in indy pro wrestling is possibly the hottest combination I can imagine in the characteristics that are sure to make me break a sweat. Add to all that a razor-wire wit and a knack for telling a story, and it’s no wonder that I’m ready to start a citizen’s initiative to name a holiday after him. I’m setting off some fireworks tonight in honor of Dumont Day in the WrestleBard household!

Time Warp

wrestlebard1 Comment

Friends and casual neverland readers will back me up when I say that I tend to be very age-positive. That is to say, while my sexual interests include young (adult) hunky wrestlers, I’m frequently even more turned on by more mature wrestling bodies.  Like good wine and cheese, a homoerotic wrestler with a few more seasons under his belt is often more my taste than a smooth, bright-eyed and bushy tailed youth. Before anyone lobs some ageist insult my way, let me state that this has been pretty constant throughout my adulthood. Now at 40 years old, my fantasies are frequently populated by homoerotic wrestlers at least my own age. There’s a seasoned confidence, a practiced self-possession that seems to me to come only from the accumulation of years that extremely few men can pull off until they stop getting carded when they buy alcohol (though I don’t know if there’s a direct connection with being carded).

Daniel Radcliffe (wand jokes forgone)

But there are moments when age creeps up on me unexpected, and I have to just sit back and check myself. This happened when I was recently re-watching the first Harry Potter movie. No, I’m not ashamed to say it. In my late 20s and early 30’s, I joined the generation of pre-teens consumed with fascination of the world of J.K. Rowling’s imagination. Apart from intrusive fantasies about Professor Lupine (a werewolf, no wonder), the whole franchise was awfully separate from my sexual appetites until pics from Daniel Radcliffe’s stint in Equus surfaced, showing off his barely legal (but legal!) bare body and unmistakably provocative assets. So, having graduated into sexual fantasy material, going back to watch a movie filmed when he was only 11 years old or so is… oddly disturbing. His Sorcerer’s Stone incarnation is not alluring to me, but I can see the smoldering, sexy young adult that he’s going to become and suddenly Jungian taboos grip my conscience as if I were a 17th century Puritan.

Jonathan Lipnicki, all grown up.

Similarly, I’m unsettled in seeing these recent shots of Jonathan Lipnicki, the formerly bespectacled, precocious child star to Tom Cruise’s type-cast, shallow, PR juggernaut who loses his own sense of self in his fanatic devotion to marketing who he thinks he’s supposed to be in Jerry Maguire. Not that I like the movie, so I’m not likely to watch it again anytime soon or frequently. But the superimposition of Lipnicki’s child-self onto these rockin’ images of his sweaty, ripped young adult body is a powerful reminder to me: I’m not as young as I once was.

Lipnicki now does BJJ

It seems that Lipnicki is still acting, and more to the point, he’s competitive in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I simply would never have guessed when I watched him, sort of wanting to punch him for his über-cuteness in 1996, that I’d find myself sexually aroused and sporting runaway homoerotic wrestling fantasies about him 15 years later.

Age is a slippery thing. To say that it’s relative is a gross understatement. At the age of 40, I’m old enough to remember sexy young adults when they were just diapered, slobbering infants. I’m also old enough to carry a mental filing cabinet of sexual fantasies including some lovely, horny, classic hunks who may be of an age to once again be diapered and possibly slobering as elders.  And people wear their ages differently. Some 21 year olds, like Lipnicki, strike me as chiseled, fantasy-worthy hunks, whereas some of their peers appear to me to be far too young to be uncorked. Some 60 year olds sport sculpted, toned bodies and sharp, sexy minds to go with them, whereas some of their peers look… well, “old”!

Lipnicki looks like he’s itching for a fight.

The only thing that I’m very certain of in the socially constructed shifting sands of age and eroticism is that my choice of the objects of my lust almost definitely say more about me than about them or their subjective states. We are, all of us, in possession of that moving target of age. But what that means, and how we inhabit our ages and our bodies and our sexualities, is nothing more and nothing less than works of our own invention.

Working Difference

wrestlebard3 Comments

I’ve got deadlines coming out of all of my orifices (yes, it’s as unpleasant as it sounds). But I want to muse just a bit over a recent reflection. I was just this morning marveling once again at the wonders of BG East’s recent release, The Science of Scissors. The two wrestlers on this two-match DVD that grab, shake, and drain me dry the most are match #1’s Attila Dynasty and match #2’s Jimmy Gee. As I contemplated the juxtaposition of these two wrestlers, it suddenly occurred to me that as different as these two wrestlers are on many counts, regarding both of them, I’m most enthralled with their gorgeous asses.

NOTHING at all wrong with Jimmy or Rio Garza from the front, either!

Yes, yes, another post about asses. I’ve been fixated on hot wrestling asses for a long time now, I realize. I don’t self-judge such things; I just enjoy my lusts as they move me. In this case, however, I’m fascinated that these two very different wrestlers move me in much the same way, despite sporting distinctly different body types, including very, very different types of asses.

Attila is gorgeous from every angle.

I know I’m not alone in my growing fascination with BG East discovery, Attila Dynasty. I’ve heard from a number of readers craving more of this sweet, acrobatic, fiercely competitive, tightly packed stud puppy. I’ve marveled before, at least a couple of times, at being astonished and provoked by the sight of Attila’s hefty package that he’s sporting throughout his squeeze fest with Trent Blayze. But as I re-watch this match (repeatedly and adoringly), it’s Attila’s ass that’s grabbing me (now that’s an image I’m going to have to sit back and linger on for a while).

I’m incredibly jealous of Trent’s view!

It’s a tight, hard, athletic ass. Attila’s is an ass that belongs to flexible, endurance athletes. It’s all muscle, but that muscle is sculpted in perfect proportion to the extremely lean, taut, no-wasted-mass body that makes Attila such a sight from head to toe. His glutes are round and a perfect handful (at least for me), but they aren’t expansive or excessively massive. Attila is simply beautifully proportioned, and with that acrobatic training he clearly has, my mind wanders helplessly to a whole menu of contortions and physical feats of dexterity that such a supple, hard, rigorously trained physique could bring to some post-match sex (not that Attila has appeared to be overtly aiming for an erotic top off to one of his inspiring matches… yet….).

Kaboom. There I go again…

In some ways, the contrast between Attila’s ass and Jimmy Gee’s makes me check myself. Jimmy’s glutes are a study in the art of building a body huge from obsessive, superhuman heavy weight training. The word “proportional” doesn’t come to mind as I stare in awe at Jimmy’s ass, though that’s not because he’s somehow disproportionate in any way. It’s just that globes so fucking huge, ripped and powerful as his are clearly not the end result of someone searching for anything as subtle as “proportional” aesthetics. Once Rio Garza, bless his soul, peels Jimmy’s lime green square cuts off to reveal the banana hammock underneath, I suddenly cannot, through any voluntary force of will, tear my eyes away from Jimmy’s rocking, awesome, awe-inspiring muscle ass.

Rio’s got to admit that his suffering is so worth the view!

The headscissors that Jimmy applies to Rio make my heart skip a beat. The standing scissors in which he slowly shuffles across the mats, dragging a gasping, dizzy Rio with him as he crushes Rio’s head between those gargantuan thighs, has made me lose my load more than once at precisely the moment that the cameraman FINALLY circles behind for a clear look at Jimmy’s flexing glutes.  When I’m able to keep watching past that point (usually only because I start again watching farther into the match), the sight of Jimmy’s next standing headscissors in which he has Rio bent backward with his face being crushed like a grape, his nose shoved high up between those ponderous hamstrings a mere fraction of an inch away from Jimmy’s granite, hard, gorgeous glutes makes me helpless to resist still another explosive reaction. Seriously, I only know how this match ends because I finally fast-forwarded through to the final moments out of curiosity. Otherwise, Jimmy’s flexing muscle ass crushing Rio’s head would never let me manage to get to the end.

As if with a mind of their own, my hands reach out to grab a couple of handfuls.

So both Attila and Jimmy have asses inspiring my homoerotic wrestling fantasies and tweaking my wrestling kink very, very hard. As different as they are, their fantastic asses similarly hold my lustful gaze like a vice. Two very different body types drill down to the same spot at the core of my wrestling lust, and Attila’s taut, round, athletic glutes do to me almost exactly the same (fucking awesome!) thing that Jimmy’s powerhouse, superhuman, lived-at-the-squat-rack-for-months rock hard, angular, massive muscle ass does. For some reason, this juxtaposition thrills me and speaks to me about what turns me on quite apart from some Platonic Form of my pro-typical not-quite imagined ideal of the perfectly perfect homoerotic wrestler.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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What a response to my offer to let you all choose the new homoerotic wrestler of the month!  116 of you registered your votes, and like homoerotic wrestling itself, there were some delightful squashes as well as hard fought, close competitions. Naked Kombat fans did not rally behind their NK pornboy entries (at least not the ones that I decided to nominate for their new releases last month). Sexy, smoldering Alexander Garrett and brickhouse terminator Tyler Saint got their asses pummeled in the polls.  The nominees from Thunder’s Arena posted only slightly better showings, with Lance Romance wooing 6 of you to vote for him and Thunder’s incredible utility player, Big Sexy, drawing 11% of the vote. But it was the Can-Am boys in a runaway squash over the rest of the field. Aryx Quinn and Landon Mycles were neck and neck for most of the polling, repeatedly leap frogging over one another to outdistance the rest by a mile. The suspense was killing me as votes kept coming up to the very last minute, but in the end, there was one definitive winner of the readers’ choice homoerotic wrestler of the month….

… Aryx Quinn.
I’ve been accused of not giving Aryx his due as a homoerotic wrestling icon with a resume a mile deep. I’m not sure where the concept of “justice” entered the conversation, considering this blog has always been about my personal tastes and biases, but I was completely sincere in nominating him as completely worthy of being at the top of the heap for his work in Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1.  In preparation for this post, I’ve watched more of the tag team throw down between Aryx and his hunky partner Brendan Cage taking on former homoerotic wrestler of the month, Landon Mycles and his partner Jake Lyons. Aryx is a snarling, snapping, cheating, sexually and psychologically dominating, relentless pro wrestling heel. In other words, he’s our new homoerotic wrestler of the month!
Aryx and Brendan are clearly the heels in this brutality. The match takes its turns ebbing back and forth, but the badboys are never more than a couple holds and a dirty trick away from climbing back on top and beating the babyfaces into the mat.
I love the way that Aryx and his partner Brendan utilize their advantages over their pretty boy opponents to “practice” their sexual domination. Double-teaming blue-eyed Landon in their own corner, Aryx pounds Landon’s face into his crotch while Brendan dry humps Landon’s stunning ass. Shortly thereafter, Aryx choreographs the scenario of his partner perched on the ropes on the ring apron, with Aryx throwing Landon to his knees in a hammerlock and shoving the blond bombshell’s face into Brendan’s waiting, eager crotch. Landon’s suffering is just so fucking sweet (perhaps accounting for his close 2nd in the voting), but beautiful Aryx’s relish in stroking and squeezing his suffering opponent’s stone carved muscles is circling very, very close to the very heart of what moves me most about homoerotic wrestling.
With Aryx clearly alpha dog in this dog pack, it’s no wonder that he has dibs on the Landon’s rocking ass once he and Brendan have conquered their opponents in a sweat-soaked free for all. Once Jake is out cold, Landon is running on fumes even as Aryx is living large and in charge. He gives his gasping opponent an “open shot,” which he easily dodges before slapping on a rear choke. Before Landon manages to lose consciousness entirely, Aryx slips around to his front and smacks on his signature finisher at Can-Am, “the kiss of death” (where did he learn that one?). The kiss of death puts Landon out just as cold and beautifully vulnerable as his partner.
The victors divide the spoils, with Brendan owning and plowing twink Jake before the camera turns to study the artistry of Aryx’s victory celebration over Landon.  Landon and Aryx replace their partners in the ring for some mutual admiration. I’ve been crazy lately for wrestling hunks kissing (I know not everyone is into that, but I am), and the pre-sex make out between these two is very satisfying. Aryx adores Landon’s incredible body, taking his turn first at sucking long and hard on Landon’s cock before having Landon return the favor. Aryx eventually puts his spoils of war on his hands and knees for Aryx to examine and then plow his ass. And then…
… well, I haven’t seen what happens then. I’ve been watching this match in serial format on Can-Am Max, and they haven’t released what I assume to be the final clip since the last clip posted almost 5 months ago. From the preview pics on the main page, however, I’m intrigued by the possibility that Landon lures his conqueror into a false sense of security, only to slap on a buck naked “kiss of death” of his own to lay tanned and gorgeous Aryx out cold and set him up for getting fucked in return (see Arena 2 for the same plot device).
I don’t know if the turned tables are just an effort to give every corner of the audience what they want (want to see Aryx fuck? want to see him fucked? it’s all there). But I do like the drama (you know me), and I enjoy the idea of physically and psychologically dominant Aryx getting lulled into vulnerability right in the middle of sexual intimacy by the muscle stud he just conquered and owned, to be laid out and revenge fucked in return. There’s something profoundly satisfying and thrilling about watching Aryx’s loud, cocky, bullying mouth turned into a twisted groan of humiliation in the end.
Hot stuff, gentlemen! You have an excellent eye for talent. And considering the remarkably good turnout at the polls, I’m considering whether to add a “readers’ choice” award on a regular basis (feel free to weigh in with your opinions about the possibility). Considering this blog has always been primarily about my own tastes and biases (I’ve mentioned that before, right?), I’ll probably take back the reins of crowning future homoerotic wrestlers of the month, but since you seem to have had some enthusiasm about getting your opinions registered, we may see about more opportunities for a more “fair” and democratic element to reoccur.  In the mean time, all hail reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Aryx Quinn!

Grapefruits

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Have you voted for this month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month yet? If not, pick your wrestler of choice at the top right of this page. The poll closes tomorrow, and as of my writing of this post, it’s a barnburner battle between the Can-Am boys so far. I’m fascinated to see how the final numbers play out!

Tyrell Tomsen large and in charge against Patrick Donovan

In the mean time, I’ve been enjoying (and I do mean enjoying!) some wrestling that earned nominations for homoerotic wrestler of the month two months ago. BG East’s Wrestler Spotlight on Patrick Donovan is profoundly pleasing to me. Patrick and Tyrell Tomsen’s sun room mat match is hot as hell, and I do believe Patrick brings out the sexiest wrestling performance from muscle hunk Tyrell that I’ve seen so far (and I’ve loved Tyrell in everything that I’ve seen!).  Their bodies present a stunning contrast, with Tyrell’s thick, bodybuilder muscles and dark brown skin in as tight an embrace as physically possible with Patrick’s pale, long and lean (but muscled) physique. Patrick has become the king of pec punching, as far as I can tell, and big, meaty pecs like Tyrell’s are an incredible target for Patrick’s solid, concentrated, sadistically thrilling, drilling poundings.

Mr. Joshua and his grapefruit

It should come as no surprise, however, that my greatest infatuation is with Patrick’s ring bout against former favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). Sweet mother of God, Mr. Joshua is driving me insane with lust! The attitude, the ass, those fucking amazing legs, the ripped abs, gorgeous pecs, and sculpted arms, combined with that coverboy handsome face works me with an intensity that makes me seriously consider whether Kid K should get demoted back out of the standings of my top ranked homoerotic wrestlers – nonpornboy division.

Mr. Joshua pins Patrick with his #1 asset

While not as stunning a visual contrast as Patrick’s pairing with Tyrell, Mr. Joshua and Patrick are well-formed, distinct wrestling characters that so many of us have come to know and lust after. The latest incarnation of Patrick is that of a serious, dangerous heel who has learned from years in the business the finer arts of physical punishment. Patrick is a viper. His lip curls in concentration and practiced focus as he dominates Mr. Joshua’s incredible body. He clearly enjoys his work, but he’s not at all light-hearted. He’s deadly serious, even as he slaps down thick sarcasm and taunting. Everything from Patrick is in the service of conquering his opponent. An early flurry of offense catches Mr. Joshua flat-footed, and Patrick puts him on his back folds his legs up to his ears and slides his crotch forward to shove his balls into Mr. Joshua’s face humiliatingly.

Patrick introduces Mr. J to teabagging

“Mr. Donovan!” Joshua gasps and sputters. “You know I don’t like being teabagged!” And there, you can see that Mr. Joshua has an entirely different ring demeanor. Even on his back with his sweet, sweet ass splayed vulnerably in his opponent’s control, Mr. Joshua is a smart ass. I mean that with complete love and respect, mind you. Mr. Joshua is through-and-through a smart ass. He loves the one-liners. He clearly, intensely loves to dominate. I’m captured in this match by his laughter. He laughs domineeringly, of course, but there are more than a couple of moments when he’s got Patrick in a really, really bad way, completely in his control and squirming in agony, and Mr. Joshua chuckles long and sincerely. Mr. Donovan may be all about getting down to business, but Mr. Joshua wants to stop and smell the roses (and the humiliation) along the way. He wants to have some fun (in the nastiest, meanest, most dominating and humiliating way possible) as he does what he does best: turn me on!

Patrick, channeling Bard, with more than a handful of Mr. J’s pride and joy

Mr. J’s cocky clowning seems to get under Patrick’s skin, and the lean veteran appears to work fixedly on the task of pounding the shit-eating grin off his opponent’s gorgeous face. A nasty slap to Mr. J’s hot pecs seems to do the trick. Mr. J clearly takes offense, and his smile fades in a mix of anger and pain. He retaliates with a sweet, loud crack across Patrick’s ass that even hurts just watching it. Patrick doesn’t manage to beat the smart ass out of him, but he effectively puts Mr. J on notice that any lapse, any loss of focus in order to showboat and monologue will earn him swift and painful punishment.

Patrick & Mr. Joshua make me a believer in spandex

I’m generally not a fan of spandex leggings on my wrestlers, but both of these boys do absolute wonders squeezed so tightly into their mid-level gear. The shiny fabric sculpted to Mr. J’s glutes like a layer of paint is completely hypnotizing. After a couple of minutes, I’ve decided that Patrick and Mr. J are already making me fire on all cylinders even with so much of their beautiful legs covered. That does not, however, make me any less exultant at the rip and strip angle of this match. When Patrick pulls off Mr. J’s training pants, my heart skips a beat. “Fine,” Mr. J. concedes without appearing too concerned or surprised by Patrick’s determination to strip him. “Take them off. I know thats what you’ve beeen wanting to do anyways.” And for that, Patrick is nothing short of my own personal avatar in his bout.

Mr. J is more than eager to do some stripping of his own

Mr. J’s smart mouth and all of those other components of his alchemy over me are in full force in this match. Every time he shoves his hand down the front of his trunks and adjusts the ballast therein, my familiar lust/hate relationship with Mr. J comes to the foreground. Either he’s smuggling a porterhouse steak down there, or he’s got mammoth balls that I’m desperate to get a gander at.  When he bodysplashes on top of Patrick, followed up by repeatedly pounding himself, cock-to-cock into his agonized opponent, yet again my identification with Patrick is almost desperate.

Nowhere else in the world I’d rather be!

The tables turn repeatedly in this match in such a way that I genuinely didn’t know which way the wind would finally blow, which is a plot that I appreciate A LOT in wrestling. I like a little suspense. I enjoy being surprised. I appreciate it when I find my loyalties, loves and lusts toyed with by the ebb and flow of a match back and forth, as I find myself torn between wanting more of both sides of the battle.  But when Mr. J turns on the afterburner and eventually begins to pick Patrick apart with glee in his voice and an extra bounce in his chuckle, he has me as completely at his mercy as he eventually has Patrick. The figure-4, face-to-crotch head scissors that Mr. J treats Patrick to goes on for days and transports me body and soul into Patrick in that moment.

Since trunks can’t quite contain him, why, oh why,
does he continue to wear them?!

Once Patrick can’t peel himself off the mat, Mr. J does his customary shoving his hand down the front of his trunks. This time, however, he takes some time to gently massage his testicles, recovering from some particularly vicious assaults by his opponent. Mr. J marvels that, “When you’ve got balls as big as grapefruits, that hurts!”  As Mr. J stands in the center of the ring, staring at the defeated body of his unconscious opponent, he once again digs around in his trunks. And in what I believe might be the first real glance we’ve ever had, his right testicle slides out of his trunks and hangs there for a while before he realizes it and manages to shove it back into its pouch. While possibly not literally of grapefruit proportions (or bowling ball proportions that I’ve suggested in the past), it’s obvious that Mr. J has no need to stuff his trunks with a porterhouse. He’s got major league beef all his own down there.

Mr. J enjoys bondage play and humiliating spitting on poor,  pretty Patrick

The end of this match continues to push the fantasy that Mr. J has inspired in me for his entire career. His decision to tie Patrick’s wrists to the middle ropes and his ankles to the top ropes in the corner nearly makes me lose consciousness from the violent redirection of blood flow in my circulatory system. Then, Mr. J’s choice to grab a bottle of water to spit on his opponent’s helpless, hunky, conquered and splayed body is over the top erotic. But then, when Mr. J turns out the lights and angrily demands that the camera crew get the hell out as he climbs back into the ring to continue the story with Patrick off camera… well, I’ll just say that I’ve got at least three bodily fluids escaping simultaneously and spontaneously.

No…… where….. else!!!

Most of Mr. J’s matches leave me powerfully satisfied (and completely exhausted), and this one is no exception. The pairing of two pros with such extensive resumes is genius. More to the point, it’s a beautiful example of allowing homoerotic wrestling genius to tell its own story, to prod and provoke, to erotically inspire with literalism and fantasy, to know its fans, respect them, and tell a story ripped from our (or at least my) fondest imaginings.

Now, let’s see Mr. J drop the trunks entirely… and keep the camera rolling for the post-victory celebration!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – You Decide!

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My thanks to all of you who expressed concern about my absence from posting for several days. It’s nice to be missed! Same old story… work, travel, crappy internet access, paying bills… It’s past time for Z-Man to pass the homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month title on to the hottest wrestling hunk to turn my crank in a new release in October. But frankly, to be entirely honest, I feel a little stumped this month because I simply haven’t had much opportunity to sample new releases lately. What with all this work and travel, most of my homoerotic wrestling fare has been relatively old school products that I trust as staple fare. So for the first time, I’m asking you to help me sort through the field and figure out who deserves to be homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month for a new release performance in October.

Here are my nominees. As I mentioned I’ve only looked longingly at most of the marketing for these matches. But based on my tastes and biases, I’m narrowing the field to these fine studs. Consider the options thoughtfully and then vote in the poll at the top right of the screen. You don’t need to have seen a wrestler’s October release to vote for him. Just vote once, and feel free to lobby for your favorite hunk in the comments below.  Here are your options:
Alexander Garrett
Alexander Garrett – Naked Kombat October 26 – This is one of the few new releases I did watch this month, and I was delighted by the rookie debut of tall, dark and handsome Alexander taking it personally when he grapples long and hard (and in oil!) against is boyfriend. His boyfriend wins the match, but my eyes were riveted on Alexander, making him my first nominee for wrestler-of-the-month.
Aryx Quinn
Aryx Quinn – Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1 – Release dates of Can-Am always confuse me, because I enjoy most of my Can-Am fare on their subscription site, which sometimes releases videos earlier than when they show up on the open access site. Anyhow, I don’t think I’ve nominated anyone from Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1 yet, and it’s completely worthy of a nomination (or two). From the snips I’ve seen of this match, Aryx Quinn is mean and in charge as usual. Frankly, I love him barking instructions domineeringly at his own partner the most, but the wrestling, the concept, and the execution are hot.
Landon Mycles
Landon Mycles – Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1 – My other nominee from this match is Landon Mycles, who you might decide deserves a second homoerotic wrestler-of-the-month title on his mantle.  Landon (aka Marcus Mojo) is gorgeous, enthusiastic, and he does a wonderful job of crossing the line back and forth between aggressive wrestling action and erotic body worship.
Tyler Saint
Tyler Saint – Naked Kombat Occtober 5 – Tyler is a wrestling veteran musclegod cyborg who inspires pure terror in his NK opponents. The concept of Tyler teaming up with Blake Daniels to obliterate a couple of dumbfounded twinks in front of a live audience has all the ingredients of a Bard-favorite… but I haven’t had an opportunity to actually appreciate this match yet.
Lex
Lex – Thunder’s Arena No Holds Barred 14 – This is another match I did see, and as much as I appreciate Z-Man as a crafty veteran initiator, I was completely captured by Lex’s smoking hot gorgeous-as-hell ass. All those teeth, all that muscle, some sweet wrestling including flying scissors, and I’m a fan of Lex! You?
Lance Romance
Lance Romance – Thunder’s Arena Bearhug Challenge 1 – Speaking of jaw-droppingly gorgeous asses! I haven’t seen this yet, but I’m powerfully moved by the pics in Thunder TV of Lance’s muscle-on-muscle squeeze fest. I have no idea if this muscleboy can wrestle, but I’m desperately hoping so.
Big Sexy
Big Sexy – Thunder Arena Bearhug Challenge 1– From the A-side of the same product as above, Big Sexy always, always, always grabs my attention. I think Big Sexy has never owned the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month around here, which begs the question, is this his month?
So vote for who deserves the laurel leaves this month, and let me know why I ought to laud the wrestler of your choice. If your favorite who appeared in an October new release didn’t make the list, feel free to let me know how I missed the boat. I’ll leave the poll up for a couple of days to give you an opportunity to consider your choices carefully.

Battling Boyfriends

wrestlebard1 Comment
Naked Kombat this week is billed as a battle of boyfriends. It seems that NK veteran, Mike Rivers, talked his incredibly hot boyfriend to an NK appearance. This concept probably has been done before (though I can’t put my finger on it), but certainly it’s not been done to death. And even if it were for nothing but innovative spirit, I’m loving it.

However, it’s got more than innovative spirit. There’s a whole lot going right here. Mike taunts his rookie, greek sculpture of a boyfriend relentlessly. Whether or not the boys are actually boyfriends, it does seem to me like there’s an extra bit of intimate familiarity between the two. And Alexander Garrett has an accent (always value added!). And there’s oil.

Yes, this is a grocery list of some of my staple homoerotic wrestling favorites, capped off by one seriously gorgeous mammoth cock on Alexander (if this man isn’t already a dildo model, he should be).  It’s a relatively close contest, in which Mike’s experience matches Alexander’s superior strength. In the end, fans of muscleboys going down will be very satisfied.

The sex round, often my least favorite chapter, is interestingly uncharacteristic. There’s an obligatory spanking in lieu of a pony ride (got to be one or the other, right?), but completely understandably, winner Mike wants his victory prize to be fucked by Alexander’s astonishingly beautiful cock. The drama at the very end is awfully compelling, as Mike grabs Alexander by the hair, calls him a loser, and then tenderly adds, “but I love you.” To which Alexander climbs to his feet and spits on his boyfriend/conqueror’s back.  Sweet, sweet drama, boys! The post-match interview is also sweet… less hot, but sweet. I’d love to see more boyfriend battles and the drama that ensues (and more of Alexander, please!).

Giving it a Tug

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More shots like this from the filming of Henry Cavill as the Man of Steel just keep winding me up harder and harder! Holy. HELL. I don’t know what Superman plot features so much facial hair on Clark Kent, but this look is really, really (really) turning me on!

I haven’t pictured hot Henry as sporting a full beard in my homoerotic wrestling imagination… yet. With these images seared into my retinas and filed away as priceless memories in the erotic stacks in the back of my brain, I’m strongly suspecting he’ll show up with lots of fur the next time he graces the pages of the Producer’s Ring (which, by the way, Google techs now tell me should be up and accessible for everyone who was recently having trouble accessing the site).

Henry Cavill with a full beard is also sending me diving into my search engines for some homoerotic wrestlers with beards. I’m not talking goatees, though I have been known to have a major crush on a goatee before). Not the soul patch (god forbid). Not the stash (though I must say I’d be up for a ride on this one…). Know what? I’m finding them a rather rare species.

Is it the stubble burn of close contact and lots of friction that makes them unpopular? I see tons of boys with enough stubble to hurt when rubbed the wrong/right way. But to really qualify as a “beard,” and not just a lazy ass 5 o’clock shadow, I’m finding precious little.  There are some “sculpted” beards that just barely qualify in my book. BG East’s Jarel Andretti, for example, has a pencil thin outline that stretches from his sideburns all the way to his chin. Same goes for his beefy opponent Jaguar, depending on the lighting. So I’ll give them partial credit for the beard (and say, yes, yes that’s one hot jobber beatdown!).

Thunder’s Arena has a whole bunch of boys who look like they just got lazy with the razor that morning, but a few who clearly have put enough forethought into sculpting the buzz to just barely skate across the line into beard territory. Big, beautiful, bubble-butted Dozer for example.

I’ll even give massive and gorgeous Mario a nod as a bearded beast, perhaps not because his facial hair looks entirely intentional, but because he’s fucking huge and I’d be afraid that he’d crush me like a grape for implying that his scruff doesn’t count.

But the real rare breed in this zoo is the full, furry, lumberjack beard like Mr. Cavill is sporting these days. The thick, hairy fur that typically accompanies hairy pecs and legs – that’s the stuff that I’m jonesin’ for right now. Ace Hanson’s appearance against Uno, for example, comes to mind. So sad to see Ace has been moved to the ranks of “alumni” since I checked out of Thunder’s last spring.

Hairy beast Rex reminded me of Steve Reeves playing Hercules in the films that turned me gay (not really). But really, Rex does give me a Steve Reeves hit, just like he gave Sledge a picture perfect bone crushing bearhug in Bodybuilder Battle 35.

Naked Kombat’s Scout has to be mentioned for the manly facial hair. He simply doesn’t have the porn body (well, not the gay porn body) that I tune into NK for, but in the sport of spotting the rarified form of a beareded homoerotic wrestler, Scout gets a nod.

Possibly the hottest bearded wrestler I’ve had the pleasure to watch (over and over) is the one hit wonder from Can-Am’s Montreal Muscle Bear Fights, Bruno Sinclair. His battle with silky smooth studpuppy Ricardo Dias puts me in precisely the same mood as where I’m picturing Henry Cavill heading in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.  There have GOT to be more bearded homoerotic wrestlers out there. Who am I missing?

And finally, I simply have to say that it’s as if Henry is reading this blog. Just when I was complaining that there are simply not enough pin up shots of hot hunks from behind in order to marvel at a wide, rippled muscle back, our future Mr. Man of Steel goes and lingers like this long enough for several camera shots. Full nelson, anyone!?

Bodies Over Time – British Invasion Edition

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Henry Cavill has been intruding into my erotic imagination for quite a while. When the fashion model landed his starring role in The Tudors, the battle of pretty versus pretty between Henry and Irish badboy, Jonathan Rhys Meyers was hot and heavy… in my imagination. The boys had to sort their shit out by climbing into the wrestling ring and beating each other senseless until big, beautiful Henry was  conquered, claimed and tamed by troubled wild child Jonathan. As 16th century aristocratic playboys, my homoerotic wrestling imagination couldn’t help but picture the both of them as babyface twinks with gym bunny chasers.

And there’s nothing at all wrong with that! Slender, smooth bodies with a few aesthetic curves and firm muscles are entirely lustworthy for my tastes.  Sure, I like a hard wrestling hunk with thick muscles, bulging pecs and biceps, and thick and crushing thighs, too. I can also go for seriously big, powerful muscle daddies with hairy pecs and meaty muscle bellies. But I can take a lean, long, smoothly sculpted babyface twink with long eyelashes and a naturally round ass – no doubt about it.

But there’s been a torrent of shirtless pics of hunky Henry flooding broadband recently, and holy fuck! Twinky little Henry has been working out and growing up! That long smooth torso has tightened up quite nicely. For almost released Immortals, Henry’s sweet, sexy chest is now bulging with hot, sharply defined pecs. The boy’s abs not only sport a six pack, but he’s got obliques, and that’s damn hot!  His arms now have not only shapely bulges, but he’s got the vascularity that seriously works me hard.

Now I’m not so naive (I am naive, but just not so naive) as to miss the strategic make-up and post-production manips that make chisel-chinned Henry look a bit harder and more defined than perhaps he really is. But this is simply not the twinky fashion model body of yesteryear. The shoulders alone make it impossible for me to picture Henry in quite the same way that I used to (as satisfying as that was).

And that BACK! There are not nearly enough pin-up shots of hunks from behind… and by that I don’t just mean a chance to size up the ass (though that’s hugely important), but a broad, muscled, powerful back capped by ripped, rock hard deltoids and mountainous trapezius muscles are astonishingly erotic. I love the view from the front, but I find the view from behind every ounce as arousing, calling to mind what I’d see moments before locking him up tight in a full nelson or cutting off his air supply in a ferocious rear choke… or, for that matter, squeezing those hot hips in my fingertips as I drive home my victory fuck, occasionally stroking the rippled muscles laid out before me.

My homoerotic wrestling imagination cast Henry as the prize in a team match between the pairings of Henry and Jonathan versus my picture of Sean Maguire and his bear cub Gerard Butler.  The Tudor twinks put up an admirable fight, but there’s no way that ring battle wasn’t going to end with Jonathan tied helplessly into the corner, watching Henry conquered and tagged as the newest member of the Maguire/Butler cub pack. 

And because a hot, erotic wrestling threesome haunts my fantasies, I also pictured Henry and Gerard teaming up against the muscle gods Joe Manganiello and Mehcad Brooks. In my imagination, Henry is eager to please his senior pack mates, and in turn, Gerard and Sean keep a couple of firm, but doting hands on their boy. Under their tutelage, Henry starts packing on his aforementioned muscle mass and develops a taste for bringing down big muscle studs. So, sure, Sean’s “coaching” ringside makes the cub pack victory a little less than above board, but Henry’s insistence on climbing on top of conquered behemoth Joe and pounding one (well, several) out all over the giant’s epic pecs ends up turning the spotlight squarely on the lustful potential of the up and coming fashion model turned subscription channel pretty boy turned gym bunny powerhouse. Sure, perhaps Joe’s striking, superhuman physique might jump to mind first at the mention of the words, “Man of Steel.” But it was Henry that caught the right eyes and got the nod to play the all-American muscle hero (in both the real world and in my imagination).

And now we see what Henry’s been up to since getting the Man of Steel nod. Sweet JesusMaryandJoseph! This is a man (and no longer can I bring myself to call him a boy) on a mission! This is serious, serious beef, my friends! Those hot, hairy pecs take my breath away, followed closely by still more oxygen deprivation thanks to the boulders he now calls shoulders and the veiny, softball size biceps.

Tell me a rip-n-strip fantasy doesn’t possess you at the sight of this shot from the set! Soaking wet and with a full beard doesn’t hurt one bit, either.  I’ve got a strong suspicion that sooner or later, we’ll see an astonishing fourth appearance of this worship-worthy muscle man appearing in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, and it could very well be that sweet little Henry may have outgrown his daddies. Strutting around with all that beef, it’s a mystery to me whether Gerard and Sean could possibly still keep the collar on such bear daddy potential.

That’s not to say, of course, that there aren’t plenty of big burly muscle men that want to be dominated.  And in muscle-hugging spandex with a big broad back and an amazingly luscious ass, the Henry of my homoerotic imagination could very well be more than happy to remain part of the cub pack, with that ass firmly in the possession of his pack masters. He’s handed over his loyalties in the past, though. In the wrestling drama in my personal fantasies, it has yet to be seen whether the new incarnation of Henry as a major league muscle man would want to keep his place in the pack, trade up to be a bear daddy himself, or become a lone wolf answerable to know one.

Wherever his career and physique take him next, Henry Cavill remains an amazingly hot commodity. I had an itch for him bad when he was lean and lithe. I had a major crush on him as a smooth, gym bunny with a snarl. And I’m profoundly inspired by the sight of him with massive, hairy, poundable pecs, mile-wide shoulders, and biceps ready to crush some skulls.

Whatever lies ahead in his career in this reality, his career in my homoerotic wrestling universe is red hot!

Swag

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A while back I solicited advice about a quandary. I have only so many resources compared to the wealth of homoerotic wrestling products one can choose from. In fact, in fine tuning my budget in these relatively lean times, I decided that I needed to drop one of my subscriptions. I invited readers to let me know where they think the smart money goes when it comes to subscription homoerotic wrestling.  A lot of you had strong feelings. Never let it be said that gay wrestling fans aren’t loyal! In the end, I decided that based on my tastes, priorities and financial analysis, I would continue to subscribe to the membership sites for BG East, Can-Am, and Naked Kombat, but dropped my subscription to Thunder’s Arena.
Auditions 2011 – Part 6 – Z-Man in trouble against rookie recruit Crush

Of course, I immediately began second-guessing. Naked Kombat has not been sparking my imagination like it used to. Should I have put my non-membership homoerotic wrestling purchases into the financial formula as well, potentially sacrificing DVD and download purchases (such as those I occasionally buy from Rock Hard Wrestling) instead of a subscription? And what could fill the void left by no longer having regular access to marvel at Big Sexy’s ass!?
Big Sexy’s gorgeous ass in jeopardy for butting into The Boss’s Audition 2011
Astute readers noticed that my recent ode to reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Z-Man, included some late-breaking photos from Thunder’s Arena. It turns out that Thunder’s Arena missed me, though I’m sure not as much as I missed them (and Big Sexy’s ass).  The brains behind the brawn at Thunder’s, Mr. Mike (though I picture him with big hairy pecs and a hot muscle bear belly), contacted me recently with the offer to enjoy Thunder TV, the Thunder’s Arena membership site again, complimentary for 6 months.
Angel welcomes talk, dark and very handsome rookie, James to the Thunder’s mat
There are two strings attached to my complimentary Thunder’s TV access. 1) I give my honest reviews of Thunder’s Arena wrestling releases in an effort to inform neverland readers about matches they might want to check out for themselves. I’ve never agreed, at any point, to anyone, to give a positive review to any wrestling matches that I don’t genuinely enjoy. I continue to think of this blog as just one man’s musings about what turns him on. So I’ll never say that something turns me on when it doesn’t. Regardless of the  price of a product, regardless of the pressures of rabid readers incensed that I don’t give enough respect to their favorite wrestlers, I strive always to just call it like I see it.
Sledge appears sick of all this attention paid to Z-Man lately in the upcoming release,
No Holds Barred 15 (photo previews available at Thunder’s TV)
String 2) attached to my complimentary Thunder TV membership is that I will clarify that of all the incarnations of Zack Vazquez, Zack Johnathan, Zack Holt… it was Thunder’s Arena that was the first to dub him “Z-man.” Despite Z-Man bringing the same nickname with him to BG East, the wrestling career indexed under “Z-Man” started with Thunder’s Arena. Fair enough.
Sexy, sweaty Sledge examines the target of his fury
My complimentary Thunder TV membership isn’t the only free wrestling entertainment that I’ve been handed.  After around 735 posts over the past two and a half years, and with a recent average of over 2,500 page hits a day, my fanatical adoration for homoerotic wrestling has come to the attention of several companies.  I’ve occasionally been surprised to receive unexpected, unsolicited downloads or DVDs with an invitation to enjoy them and write a review. I’ve even been offered the opportunity to name some of the products on my wish list, in order to continue to spread the news about the wrestling that inspires and feeds my lusts. The saying, “kid in a candy store” comes to mind!
Z-Man offers rookie recruit Lex a free shot in No Holds Barred 14
In case anyone is concerned that my integrity may be compromised by accepting free stuff from invested parties, I have a couple of responses. First, I’ve never accepted money for anything I’ve done on my blog. My enrichment from wrestling companies has always been in-kind. If I didn’t like what they were producing, it wouldn’t be much of an incentive to get access to more wrestling that I didn’t enjoy. Second, and likely most importantly, I do not claim or strive for anything like journalistic objectivity. Frankly, I don’t actually believe in the concept of objectivity, philosophically speaking. But practically speaking, neverland has always been about my biases, my particular tastes, my personal, subjective kinks and quirks. It’s ALWAYS about what I’m partial to. This accounts for everything that I bother writing about on the pages of this blog. It also accounts for my apathy in response to criticisms that have come my way complaining that I’ve shortchanged someone else’s favorite wrestlers and matches.  I experience no anxiety or concern about the fact that my favorites (i.e., my biases) don’t always coincide with everyone who reads neverland. For a more complete reiteration of this theme, consult the “Diverse Tastes” guest contributor series from this past summer.
My newest infatuation – Lex (love those thighs!)
So thanks, Mr. Mike, for the generous offer! I’m already newly in love with Thunder’s rookie Lex, with that hot bod, handsome, freckled face, mouthFUL of teeth, Texas accent and fantastic bronze tan lines framing that rocking, lily white ass! Even better, despite some obvious nervousness in his first on-camera appearance getting initiated by aforementioned Z-Man, Lex’s wrestling is highly entertaining. He suffers like a champ, and he demonstrates delightful skill in telling the story of the cocky, new generation badass. “It’s time for you to learn some new moves, punk!” he snarls with a sadistic grin as he hip-tosses Z-Man like a sack of potatoes. Those legs!!  A flying body scissors from a hot, young Texan!?  I’m seeing double vision with Lex superimposed directly on top of the image of Kevin Von Erich hanging off the side of a standing opponent, crushing the life out of him with those iron clad thighs. He wrestles better than your average rookie, but Lex inevitably gets schooled and conquered by the crafty, hot-bodied veteran willing to introduce Lex to an “old” move of a double ball claw.
Z-Man teaches rookie Lex that success in Thunder’s Arena
will take more than good looks, a hot body, and “new moves”
Nice!