Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

A Rose, By Any Other Name

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My reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month is none other than the irrepressible Z-Man… aka, Zack Johnathan, aka Zachary Vazquez, aka Zack Holt. There are more incarnations of Z-Man than I can keep up with, but it is entertaining to keep trying!

Z-Man faces “Ace” – Thunder’s Arena’s Easter Bash 2008

I’ve mentioned before that my first introduction to Z-Man was on Thunder’s Arena. The “playboy model does underground wrestling” concept was quite the hook. Thunder’s website shows the cover for Mat Rats 9, but a click through says the product no longer exists, which is sad because I’m hopelessly nostalgic about my homoerotic wrestling. What I remember about Z-Man’s first match against Alexander (the Great) is that I had to watch it a couple of times before I could get past Z-Man’s smirking and clowning around in order to really appreciate the homoerotic wrestling fare. Happily, I got there, not the least of which thanks to Z-Man’s luscious, sculpted body getting pummeled and humiliated.

Z-Man v Alexander “the Great” (the rematch) –
Thunder’s Arena’s Halloween Havoc 2009

Z-Man has long been arguably the linchpin of Thunder’s Arena.  At last count, he has starred in an astonishing 52 Thunder’s Arena wrestling matches!  His wrestling resume with Thunder’s alone is far too long to examine in much detail (and still manage to do the work that pays my bills to buy more homoerotic wrestling products!), but suffice it to say that Z-Man has wrestled, quite literally, a ton of wrestlers (cumulatively measured).  He’s pounded the mats with many of the wrestlers who inhabit my go-to list of sure-fire homoerotic wrestling satisfaction, including Frank the Tank, Ace Hanson, Ice-Man, Mr. (Christopher) Bruce, Cody Nelson, and two beautiful throw-downs with the most aptly named Big Sexy.

Z-Man v Big Sexy – Thunder’s Arena’s Revenge Match

Holy shit! What a line-up! Z-Man has had that handsome face of his crushed, crunched, battered and beaten by a venerable pantheon of some of the most arousing wrestlers at Thunder’s! And he’s still showing up for more!!! He’s been putting a new round of Thunder’s hopefuls through their paces for their most recent “Auditions” series, including beating the lovely (LOVELY) ass of freckled, tattooed, scruffy, mohawked, big-toothed Texas-leaguer rookie, Lex.  It’s just impossible to see Z-Man any longer as the naive narcissist whose body and spirit must be broken in proportion to his cocky swagger and self-worship. Z-Man’s a veteran now, and I like the sub-text that underneath his big mouth and perpetual adoration of his own body is a genuinely dangerous character whose turn it is to bring to heel a new generation of sexy young meat.

Z-Man auditions Lex – No Holds Barred 14

So Z-Man’s Thunder’s Arena filmography is, all by itself, of epic proportions. He’s a fixture in homoerotic wrestling, even if we were to just stop there. But of course Z-Man hasn’t stopped there, so neither should his fans. The first cross-over I caught Z-Man in was his appearance at the inauguration of Rock Hard Wrestling as Zack Johnathan. The plot was built around the idea that Z-Man saw himself as the definition, the epitome of Rock Hard Wrestling. He was the franchise, and the rest of the first generation RHW wrestlers should kiss his perfect, round ass for the opportunity to be propelled to fame on Z-Man’s coat tails (really, someone should plant their lips on this perfect glutes!).

Zack Johnathan v Brody Hancock – Rock Hard Wrestling

Again, at RHW Z-Man has faced some of the top-tier, go-to wrestlers that I can turn to just about any day of the month to grab hold of my wrestling kink so pleasingly. RHW’s translation of Z-Man into the ring was pure genius, for my tastes. My preference for ring wrestling has long been documented, and Z-Man bouncing off the ropes, getting his face pounded into the turnbuckles, and getting beaten into the canvas turns… me… ON! For RHW, Z-Man’s appeared as a ring-wrestling fantasyman against the fantastic likes of Ray Martinez (aka, Rio Garza), Troy Nelson, and 3 separate encounters with the magic biceps of Brody Hancock (aka, Reese Wells). 11 more wrestling matches (and counting?) show up on Z-Man’s resume from RHW.

Zack Johnathan & Cody Nelson v Brody Hancock & Troy Nelson –
Rock Hard Wrestling

The concept of Z-Man teaming up with Cody Nelson (who he would later wrestle against for Thunder’s Arena), against Cody’s brother Troy Nelson teamed with Brody is nothing short of brilliant homoerotic wrestling drama! The plot of a big brother egging on his playboy model partner to crush and humiliate his “little” brother’s sweat-soaked muscle physique is pure, unadulterated gold.

Zack Holt bares all for Mark Wolff’s Nubreed 8: San Diego

Had enough of Z-Man? Overexposed? Lagging fan enthusiasm? Not a chance when it comes to Z-Man. Just to give his bread-and-butter fan base a taste more, he can be purchased in full monty glory over at Can-Am, appearing in Mark Wolff’s softcore series, Nubreed. While we’ve come to associate Z-Man with Florida, Nubreed pictures him in San Diego, posing provocatively, stripping his clothes, and stroking his pretty cock (with an atypical outward bend when erect!). I’ve since found more softcore shots of Z-Man from nearly every angle elsewhere from other publications (which don’t seem to have any association with wrestling, so despite his naked beauty, my interest wanes there).

But there’s STILL more! Just this year, Z-Man migrated to the homoerotic wrestling producer that consistently turns my kinked crank hardest, BG East.  I was highly skeptical of this move. When I first heard rumor of it, I seriously doubted whether Z-Man could lift his wrestling game to the level that I come to expect of BG East products. Sure, I knew he’d look smokin’ hot. I figured he could take some pounding. I hoped he could dial down the clownery long enough to let me get seriously hot and bothered.

Z-Man v Patrick Donovan – BG East’s Sunshine Shooters 4 

Happily, Z-Man met BG East more than halfway. He lifted his storytelling to new heights in his mat tussle with homoerotic wrestling veteran Patrick Donovan.  Z-Man pleasingly surprised me by taking some fantastic pounding into those punching bag pecs that leave the pretty boy bright red and stroking his muscles in agony. He also made me swallow my bitchy, armchair criticisms by delivering hot, beautiful, arousing wrestling.

Z-Man (where his face belongs) v Kid Karisma – BG East’s Fantasymen 33: Muscle Pros

BG East then tossed Z-Man into the ring with my current top contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division: Kid Karisma. As I mentioned above, Z-Man (or almost anyone, for that matter) in the ring makes my blood pump twice as hard as any other geography. This match made my head swim for so many reasons, including Z-Man taking to the air, getting pounded in the turnbuckle, trapped in the ropes, and tossed from corner to corner. Kid K’s delight in slapping Z-Man’s wedgied, gorgeous ass, sitting his world-class bubble butt on Z-Man’s gorgeous face, AND rubbing his crotch in Z-Man’s nose all made me more passionate for Z-Man than ever before, and propelled Kid K into the top 2 of my reigning favorites ranks.

Z-Man v Skrapper – BG East’s Mat Scraps 1

But it was Z-Man’s latest mat match against sexy…as…HELL Skrapper that earned Z-Man the title of my homoerotic wrestler of the month AND earned Skrapper elevation to top contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy. And now, I see Z-Man running new recruits through the ringer at Thunder’s Arena again. Wow. That’s a long, storied, and incredible career, any way you measure it.

This exhausting review of Z-Man’s career highlights for me two key points about the long-coming homoerotic wrestler of the month. 1) Have you noticed that Z-Man’s fitness doesn’t seem to waver an inch? Clearly, this man has no soul left to call his own, because he simply must have sold it to the devil to have a perennially ripped to shreds muscle body like that. I suspect that he may never appear in a “bodies over time” installment here at neverland because his body seems to remain unchanged in every tasty detail! In addition to the bill of sale that must exist between Z-Man and Satan, this also likely testifies to the fact that Z-Man is a ferocious self-trainer, a gifted body sculptor, and in possession of iron-clad willpower and focus.

Z-Man v Rocky Brick – Thunder’s Arena’s Bodybuilder Battle 16

And 2) I’ve never noticed before the midas touch that Z-Man has in relation to my own homoerotic wrestling attentions. While I’ve been long critical of what Z-Man brings to the table (before more recently, at least), it appears that Z-Man either has such an extensive wrestling resume that he was bound to wrestle opponents that have long driven me crazy with lust OR (and I freely admit, more likely) while Z-Man hasn’t always left me sold on him as a homoerotic wrestler, he has nevertheless been selling me all along on his opponents. That’s a skill set that I admit that I have a bit of a blind spot for.  I’ve clearly long enjoyed and been turned on by watching hard, hot hunks punish Z-Man for (in my mind) his wrestling shortcomings. Both Kid K and Skrapper were propelled into the top ranks of my overall favorites on the strength of their wrestling against Z-Man.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – Z-Man

So maybe there wasn’t really a method to his madness, but it’s impossible to miss the fact that Z-Man has been a fixture in my homoerotic musings and fantasies for long time. Whether it’s despite himself, or because he’s a profoundly skilled craftsman in the erotic arts of turning gay wrestling kinksters on by deserving to be punished for weak salesmanship, thus pushing opponent after opponent onward in my estimation as objects of homoerotic wrestling lust – Z-Man has earned my respect. I’m always at the mercy of a gorgeous hunk who can tell a wrestling story with his beautiful body, and Z-Man is doing that with flash and skill that rises above the crowd of boys lobbying for our affections lately. I look forward to Z-Man continuing to add to his epic resume, hopefully with new twists and turns in the plot, but always with the face of an adonis and the unbelievably constant body of a god.

Don’t let that flat-chested bitch beat you!

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The Rock Hard Wrestling tag-team match pitting former homoerotic wrestler of the month Jake Jenkins and his frequent friend and foe, Austin Cooper against twink scrappers Cliff Johnson and Nick Collins has been up for a while. However, my pennies have been diverted elsewhere, so it’s only now that I’ve had an opportunity to dip the ladle back in the gamey elixir of Rock Hard Wrestling’s unique talents at filming hard, devastatingly handsome hunks laying down some pro-style maneuvers.

Like the past several RHW matches I’ve watched, I’m giving this tag-team bout a thumbs up. There’s a glaringly weakest link in this mash up that you can’t miss. What the hell was little Nicky Collins thinking climbing into the ring against the experience and outrageously gorgeous muscle physiques of Jake and Coop!? Cliff, while still seeming to me to qualify for twinkdom, has a nasty attitude of a heel to make his slender form seem somehow that much more potently dangerous. Cliff is a cocky son of a bitch. He’s mean. He’d like nothing better than to dominate and humiliate a couple of fitness model pretty boys who think that a competitive amateur wrestling resume can translate into the professional wrestling ring. I get Cliff’s motivation. Little Nicky, however? He’s nervous. You’ll see what I mean. No doubt, he’s got a poker face, but he’s got tells you can see a mile away. When he’s leaning across the top rope, taking a breather while Cliff is getting tossed, slammed, pummeled and crushed inside the ring, I swear you can see it written on little Nicky’s face: damn, glad that’s not me. As a lamb led to slaughter, little Nicky Collins is perfectly on cue.

Jake Jenkins continues to captivate me. Perhaps the homoerotic wrestling world might be divisible into Jake-fans and Coop-fans. It seems to me that I see devotees of each who don’t seem nearly as interested in the other. If the world were that simple to dichotomize, I’d be squarely on the Jake Jenkins side of the fence. The face, the body, his adrenaline on turbo boost, his ass… in this tag-team match, Jake also reminds me of another reason that I’m so turned on by him: that mouth.

The action in this match is well-paced. The boys use about 80% of the ring, and there’s a healthy mix of amateur and pro wrestling moves as they inhabit territory in mid-air, on their feet, and down to the mat. Within the first 5 seconds, Jake and Coop are cheating, with Coop pounding Cliff into the unfriendly corner where Jake locks him up from the ring apron to leave him defenseless against his partner’s assault.  As often happens in RHW action, the tables turn on a dime (sometimes leaving me feeling a little whiplashed, in fact), and Cliff illustrates his hottest move: with one arm wrapped around Austin’s throat from behind and the other controlling Austin’s left arm behind his back, Cliff drops to one knee, driving Austin’s lower back squarely down on top of Cliff’s bent knee (when he pulls this off on Jake late in the match, you can see why it’s even more devastating on a shorter opponent!). It’s a sweet move that looks like it really hurts, and Cliff repeats it often. The golden boy looks like he’s got nothing to counter it, in fact, which inspires Jake, watching on with concern, to bark encouragement from the corner. “Come on Coop! Don’t  take that shit from him. Make him sniff your ass!”

The greatest tragedy of this match is that when all is said and done, the boys-wonder have neglected to follow through and make Cliff sniff Austin’s ass. However, there’s plenty of storytelling still to come. Each time one man gets the upper hand and exploits his advantage to the point of cocky arrogance, it comes back to bite him in the ass. With Coop’s number on speed dial, Cliff delights in hurting the big blond beauty. For his troubles, as soon as Jake tags in, he scoops Cliff up in his arms, lunges backward and flings the lean and mean one over his head, slamming him to his back.  As payback for Jake taking some extra liberties rubbing in the domination over Cliff, little Nicky (inexplicably) exhausts and schoolboy pins Jake, pounding his pecs for days. Now, my armchair assessment is that Jake could eat Nicky for afternoon tea and still have room for a porterhouse steak. However, the sound of panic rising in Jake’s voice as he cries for some underhanded interference from the ring apron makes me swoon just a little. “Get him off me!” Jake pleads/demands of Coop. “You’re close! Get him off me!”

With the badboy interference from outside the ropes pushing the reset button, little Nicky suddenly has a giant target painted on his ass. Jake controls the nervous one with exquisitely commanding strength and focus. Folding up Nicky’s legs and prying them upward in a nasty-looking backbreaker, Jake revels in the sight of the twink pounding his fists into the mat helplessly. “Eat the mat!” Jake chuckles as he shoves little Nicky’s face downward with his right forearm. A few seconds later, he’s tossed Nicky to his back, rolled him up with Nicky’s ass pointed at the ceiling, and pinned his shoulders to the mat for a leisurely three count pinfall with Cliff looking on from the ring apron in disgust.  “That’s how you do it in Jake Jenkin’s house!” Jake declares.

The start of round 2 finds wiry Nicky slipping behind Jake and wrapping a sloppy choke across the muscle stud’s throat. The look on J’s face is priceless (10:13), as he smirks at Coop and rolls his eyes in contempt for the twink backback he’s got on. A second later, he bends forward, sending unprepared Nicky head over heels and slamming to his back with a gasp.  As I said, little Nicky is the weakest link by far, both in selling and in keeping pace with quality wrestling of the other three. His primary arsenal is that schoolboy pin and flurry of fists to Jake’s pecs that he comes back to a couple times more. He takes some nice punishment, especially from Jake, and 7 times out of 10, he sells some satisfying suffering. But the pec punching offense wears a bit thin, and the boys-wonder thankfully make him pay for his lack of creativity.

The other three relative veterans dial up the storytelling, pretty much redeeming little Nicky’s performance as far as I’m concerned. While it’s primarily little Nicky punching Jake, Cliff gets in some gratuitous shots as well. When Coop tags in, he’s determined to even the score and defend his partner’s honor (now that’s sexy!). “You going to hit my guy like that!?” Coop shouts down into Cliff’s face, tit-for-tat schoolboy pinning the lean wrestler and delivering a barrage of retributive pec punches. Cliff is nearly pounded a couple of inches into the mat beneath Coop’s big, beautiful body and jabbing fists. “Yah!” Coop crows, climbing off his dazed opponent. “You aint hittin’ nobody now!

With little Nicky in his corner leaving the storytelling to more expert hands, Cliff battles his way back to his feet and drops big Coop with some choice strikes. “You slap me like a bitch, huh?” he growls furiously.

“You are a bitch!” Coop shouts from one knee, letting his mouth keep writing checks even while Cliff is cashing in on a growingly arrogant beatdown.

But it’s Jake’s mouth that works me hardest, as he jumps into the battle of words from his position in the corner, waiting to enter the fray. “Don’t let that flat chested bitch beat you!” he shouts encouragingly to Coop.

While this match is not seamless, and there are several moments when the boys have to remind one another where the story arc is taking them next, the final 45 seconds are beautifully executed and majorly hot. The muscle stud victors finally start firing on all cylinders, and with all 4 men in the ring at once, Jake and Coop deliver side-by-side, simultaneous offenses like synchronized swimmers.  With little Nicky draped across Jake’s huge shoulders like a mink stole, and bitter-in-defeat Cliff screaming in pain racked across Coop’s sculpted body, my anti-heroes delight in humiliating the outmatched, outmuscled team and, they absolutely pulse with testosterone as they flex and taunt overtop of the battered losers. Hot, hot story, boys!

Respect

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Attila Dynasty is The Man. I knew from his debut BGE match against one of my perennial crushes, Denny Cartier, that Attila was going to be a wrestler to keep an eye on. He gave Denny a run for his money, despite all those acrobatics of his not really being up to the challenge of Denny’s technically superior mat skills. But Attila has a swagger, a cocky confidence that’s exponentiated by his truly astonishing command of that supple, sexy, incredibly flexible body. It’s not just the handstand push-ups he can pump out like he’s tying his shoes. Attila has an amazing awareness at all times of where his center of gravity is. I mean, every single moment, you can see in the way he holds his body, the way he flies, ducks, lunges and tosses that he is at all times precisely and exquisitely balanced.

Attila’s follow-up to his Backyard Brawls debut sheds perhaps a little more light on how it is that this lean, handsome stud has such a preternatural awareness of his center of gravity. In the Science of Scissors, Attila climbs into the pro ring (hallelujah!) and pits quads against quads with the big, dangerous likes of one of Joe’s rookie crushes, Trent Blayze. Trent possesses and advantage of over 45 pounds and 5 inches of height over strikingly beautiful Attila. You have to hand it to Trent that he has a point as he looks skeptically at Attila as the two are warming up before the match and asks, “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Yes. Yes, indeed, Attila Dynasty is ready for this. This match is a delight on multiple fronts. If you like a big v small match, or slow Southern drawl v broad Boston accent, or pounding mat worker v high flyer… so much kink to tweak in one match! And what sneering Trent learns early and often is that Attila’s legs may be smaller, but their made out of fucking steel!

Another thing that we all learn early and often in this match is that quite possibly, Attila’s freakish mastery of his center of gravity has to do with the seriously astonishing ballast he stores beneath deck! Is that a ship’s anchor stuffed down his trunks, or is he just really, really happy to be wrestling?! Yes, yes, the advantage teeters back and forth in this bout (no squashes here). It’s a contest of endurance both explicitly and implicitly when it comes to the Science of Scissors. And yes, yes, Trent looks like he could split timber with the vice he applies with those massive legs of his. And absolutely, yes, you will be awestruck with the ability of acrobatic Attila to exploit the ring to the fullest advantage a hard, body-aware, fearless terrier like he is can. But let me just cut right to the chase here: I don’t know if that two-by-four stuffed down Attila’s trunks is actually wood, or if he’s just so incredibly endowed that fully flaccid he still displaces that much water. Whether he’s literally turned on or just has a disproportionately blessed endowment to begin with, it’s hard to miss the most astonishing feature of these 27 and a half minutes. Attila may be the little guy in this match, but there’s nothing little about the outline of his cock stretching his blue trunks in all the right directions!

Joe will probably smack me upside the head for saying this, but for my tastes, there’s one superstar newbie in this match and he’s attached to a baby blue clad python stuffed down his trunks! Regular readers will back me up when I say that 7 times out of 10 I’m an ass man. My eyes automatically check out a beautiful ass about 3.76 seconds before they assess the crotch. And Attila’s tight, athletic ass is incredibly pleasing. However in this case, I’m simply stunned and helplessly hypnotized by this boy’s massive member.

In an attempt to make this review slightly about more than Attila’s hypnotizing cock, let me highlight a few moments in this match that entertain me most.  Pretty early in the match Attila has Trent captured in a face-to-ass scissors with Attila scaling the top ropes like Spiderman. He makes this look like a stroll in the park, but damn! Try it! That’s an astonishing feat of strength and balance anyway you look at it. And his cock is already bulging and stretching his trunks stunningly as he’s perched in mid air.  The whole thing is beautifully capped off by Attila twisting his body off the rope, sending big Trent flipping through the air and landing hard on his back. Hot damn! Another moment that yanks my kink hard is a move that always, always, always arouses me. Attila has Trent’s neck scissored from behind (his bulge resting like a quarter pounder on the back of Trent’s head). He’s already secured yet another scissor-submission, but Attila refuses to let go until he’s planked, stretched out with Trent’s face captured a half a foot or so off the mat. With a little extra “umph,” Attila lifts his hips and then drives them downward, crushing Trent’s face into the mat. Hot damn, again!!! I could also comment on the mind blowing (and it wasn’t just my mind that blew!) maneuver in which, having been tossed outside the ring, Attila holds onto the bottom rope and lifts his legs over his head to capture Trent’s head in still another submission as the boy wonder hangs upside down, resting on the top of his head (sounds thin? I tell you, I buy it!). But let me just wrap up with an image that lingers long and hard. “Little” Attila exhausts the big, slow Southern boy and finally knocks that bastard out cold with his final skull crushing face-to-crotch scissors (for which I would imagine there’s a line a mile long to take his place now!). The fiery, hot acrobat bounces in excitement at the sight of his opponent flat out cold. He’s bubbling over with cocky swagger. Spontaneously (every appearance to me, at least) Attila plants his hands on either side of Trent’s head and does another rock solid handstand, dipping low until his mouth is inches overtop of the loser’s lips. “How do you feel, huh!?” Attila snarls down into Trent’s slack face. “How do you feel, huh!? Yeah, he can’t say SHIT!”

In the end, Attila tugs down the front of his trunks and points out the tattoo across his very very lower abdomen. He’s got “Respect” inked like a banner overtop of the huge bulge hanging beneath. Truer word never spoken (or written), Attila! Cannot wait to see more!

"Bitch" Slap

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Did you see Cage Thunder’s relentless rhetorical trashing of Mitch Colby in his blog a couple of days ago? He insists on referring to him as “Bitch Colby,” calling him out for bullying smaller guys in order to make Mitch look arrogant and tough. “He knows he’s hot,” Cage writes, “and he somehow thinks that makes him superior to everyone else.”

Cage also directs anyone who has a problem with his withering rhetorical assault on beautiful Mitch to come here to neverland where I “gush” over Mitch all the time. Setting aside my delight in the image of me “gushing” over (and on top of) Mitch, I can’t really honestly deny that I have a long history of frequently musing adoringly about how astonishingly hard Mitch turns me on.  I had an instant infatuation with him the moment I saw him step into the BG East gazebo to conquer sexy Alexi Adamov in a sweat-soaked battle of beautiful youthful arrogance and beautiful mature arrogance. My lust for Mitch has continuously burned ever since.

Mitch schools sexy Alexi –
Wrestler Spotlight: Alexi Adamov

And true enough, I’ve cited Mitch a total of 62 out of around 730 posts here at neverland! That’s nearly 8.5% of my posts that have lingered lustfully on the beauty, power, and highly erotic wrestling of Mitch. So I can understand Cage Thunder referring Mitch apologists here.  Mitch has made me gush with regular frequency on the pages of this blog (and elsewhere). Is there anywhere else to go to find more or more passionate worship of the 6’2″ work of art that is Mitch? Does anyone else obsess so adoringly on the look of ecstasy on his face every time he slides some poor, lucky, lucky fucker between those incredibly long, lean, gorgeous thighs and squeezes until he screams?

Mitch’s gorgeous legs deployed to perfection –
Motel Madness 8

I once sent Mitch an email begging for him to give me an interview. I never heard back. So I suppose it’s quite possible that Mitch is arrogant, with a cocky air of superiority about him.  Or perhaps he’s shy, at least when he’s off camera. Maybe I had the wrong email address. Maybe he was just busy at the time.  Maybe Mitch would like to come hang out in (very) friendly territory here at neverland to answer some questions and respond to the bitch-slap that Cage laid down on Monday.

It clearly isn’t just the big boys that Mitch likes to wrestle!
Sunshine Shooters 4 

Reading between the lines, for all of Cage’s trash talk directed toward Mitch, I detect that Cage may harbor something entirely different than contempt for the statuesque stunner of my fondest fantasies. Before any fellow Mitch-fanatics start flaming Cage, let me just point out that if you read his blog post closely, you’ll see that Cage talks longingly, dare I say lustfully, about a passion for witnessing Mitch getting pummeled. While I enjoy Mitch whether he’s pitching or catching in a homoerotic wrestling match, I can wholeheartedly understand Cage’s powerful enjoyment of watching earnest, gorgeous Mitch get picked apart, conquered and humiliated.  For my tastes, Mitch dominated is perhaps a shade more fantastically erotic than Mitch dominating. Further, I’d propose that the unmistakably aggressive tone in Cage’s post seems to me to be an implicit challenge for his own crack at testing Mitch’s mettle.

Cage Thunder always lays down the challenge!

Mmmmmm… I’m nearly gushing once again just thinking about the provocative potential in a match between Cage Thunder and Mitch Colby! How has this stroke of genius failed to happen already? Cage and Mitch are like two alligators stalking the waters of the Everglades, swallowing whole lesser creatures and growing big and confident and dangerous over the course of their long and impressive BG East wrestling careers. Surely it’s inevitable that two such foundational pillars of homoerotic wrestling over the past 5 years should face off. So, true enough, Cage concludes his recent blog post with a direct challenge to Vlad Varek. But I’m thinking Cage’s real target, his real call out isn’t for the nasty, brutal Russian (or at least not exclusively). I think Cage actually has his sights set on a certain tanned, muscled, sweet assed, earnest 6’2″ fitness god. I, for one, think Mitch ought to rise to the provocation, give me interview, and show up on Cage’s doorstep with jock strap in hand.

Mitch with his opponent firmly in hand –
Wrestler Spotlight: Mitch Colby

And now 8.6% of blog posts here at neverland include adoration for Mitch Colby!

Lovin’ It

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Pornboys rock. I really love porn, and I’m on the record as a staunch advocate of my right (and your right) to enjoy the arousing self-pleasures and mutual pleasures that are available in the celebration of beautiful bodies and erotic sensibilities that is porn. Still, I saw Boogie Nights (should have fast-forwarded to the final 30 seconds… live and learn). I know that the porn industry has quite the sordid history, and not because it’s associated with the cracks and crevices of its stars’ bodies. Porn has a reputation for not treating its people well. I’m far from a porn industry insider, so I have no idea whether gay porn today has the healthy respect and value for the lovely bodies and beautiful minds that it promotes (well, it promotes the bodies, but I honestly believe there are some beautiful minds out there as well). I hope so. I worry that the industry doesn’t treat the pornboys well, but I hope it does.

Despite my being a staunch proponent of self-righteous assholes keeping their opinions to themselves when it comes to the right that the rest of us should treasure to be provoked and aroused by… well, assholes (among other things), I get off much more often on non-porn wrestling than I do on literal, actual hardcore porn. My one regular overlap is Naked Kombat, which proudly features well-vetted pornboys (most often), wrestling for points, with the winner getting to delight in dominating the loser from stem to stern (I’m a big fan of both the stern and the stem). The sole non-BG East wrestler still in the top ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers is pornboy of my dreams, Naked Kombat veteran and damn adorable Twitterer: Trent Diesel.

I concede the real possibility that Trent could conceivably be a total egomaniacal dickhead who I’d be unable to stay in the same room with for more than 20 seconds. However, I don’t believe that’s the case (and I’m a big believer in the power of belief!). Following Trent’s Twits and reading his blog are a decidedly different experience than following any of the other pornboys I (not really) stalk. My impression is that Trent loves his body, loves sex, loves love, and is thoughtfully tackling life as a sincere, sweet young man who periodically finds himself adrift in profound existential questions that have made philosophers weep for centuries.

Trent Diesel and Ryan Rockford
work each others’ stems and sterns for Naked Kombat 9/10/10

Trent posts on his blog very irregularly. His last post before yesterday was from late August, in which he absolutely swooned about his passionate and adorably un-self-conscious love for his “favorite spunky lesbian and yes my best friend and wife Krystal Main.” Now I’ve often scratched my head at Trent’s boyish delight in reporting on his dates with men, while he clearly and passionately loved his wife, who apparently gave her blessings to his cock wanderings. I’m not saying that non-monogamy perplexes me, but committed bisexual non-monogamy amazes me. Once again, I think that bisexuals rock and I’m jealous not to be one. Sadly, however, Trent followed up that post just yesterday with the clearly dejected ramblings of a sad, sad man grieving his new status as single. He also reflects on facing major vocational decisions, feeling torn and unsettled in body and spirit, and anxious to be facing “big steps,” recognizing that he doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he’s certain he can’t just stay still in his life any longer.

Trent was a Raging Stallion starring in Brutal
So I’ve made it this far into this post and have yet to mention Trent’s p-e-r-f-e-c-t ass! Having gotten that out of the way now, let me just conclude by saying that I continue to have a fervid crush on my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, and I long to see more of him wrestling, preferably with that g-g-g-gorgoues ass of his naked and liberally lathered in babyoil. However, I recognize that Trent, like all the boys that I take such pleasure in objectifying, are real men with hopes and dreams and regrets and grief.  Despite my handling some homoerotic wrestlers a little roughly in my critiques, I genuinely wish them all prosperity and joy in life. I hope that whatever the porn industry is about from the inside, that hot little pieces of ass like Trent get their due, including to have love and friendship and comfort in times of sadness. I don’t know if his oblique references to vocational shifts might mean that Trent could no longer appear showing his divine beauty from stem to stern. But regardless of what it means, I hope his decisions bring him prosperity and joy, and I hope he is surrounded by love even when he’s sad.

Maintaining Focus

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Funny to think that two and a half years ago I wasn’t sure if I’d have enough to say about wrestling to populate a blog. I hedged my bets and gave myself a little flexibility to set the course for neverland to include anything pertaining to beautiful men, wrestling, and all things gay, with a hope to frequently light upon the intersection of all three: beautiful men engaged in homoerotic wrestling. After more than 700 posts and over 1.1 million page loads (!), my musings have tended to focus pretty consistently on homoerotic wrestling. Even when my thoughts drift into just admiring beautiful men or contemplating political debate surrounding the gays, I seem to unfailingly be able to pull any random threads back into the seamless quilt of homoerotic wrestling and my homoerotic wrestling imagination.

I occasionally wonder if I’ll just run out of things to say (not to even broach the topic of whether there’ll come a day when no one cares to listen). Then a new batch of homoerotic wrestling products will hit the market, or some beautiful hunk in pop culture intrudes into my wrestling fantasies, and I’m roaring ahead like there’s no tomorrow. I realize that I repeat myself… often. I’ve also been as transparent as possible in self-consciously contradicting myself… often. On rare occasions I hear word from readers who find one or both of these behaviors a moral failing. But the vast majority of comments and sidebar conversations seem to be abundantly gracious, encouraging, and simply happy to share a kinked sensibility that finds hot men wrestling for gay eyes to be a particularly supercharged version of homoeroticism.

While I get a lot of inspiration from non-wrestling sources, I’ve decided to hone the scope of my links and blog-follows here on the pages of neverland to include just the delightful world of homoerotic wrestling.  My blog counter tells me that nearly half the people who find this blog get here via one of the other awesomely entertaining homoerotic wrestling blogs. It feels like we’ve got a nice little corner of the internet staked out as our own territory these days, and I’m feeling like flying the homoerotic wrestling flag exclusively around here.

So in the next day or so, I’ll be cleaning up the updated reports of the blogs I follow and my links of note to just include those that reside within the bounds of our land. Of course the likes of Ringside at Skull Island, Wrestling Arsenal, Beefcakes of Wrestling, Piledrive U!,  and Rants, Roids n Rasslin will remain on my reading and recommended list. If I ever figure out how to get Blogger to recognize it, Cage Thunder’s most entertaining blog will also show up in my reading list (I read it regularly, just can’t seem to get it to show up in the reading list). Regular contributor around here and all around insightful wrestling kinkster Stay Puft has recently started blogging (after I’ve been urging him to for months), so I’m also happy to recommend the newest addition to our circle of interests: Inner Jobber. Just like the rest of the bloggers above, SP brings his own unique perspective on erotic wrestling that never fails to inspire and provoke me.

I’ll continue to cite my sources obsessively, as is my way, including the pop culture, gay hotties, and other random sites and blogs that inspire me regularly. But I’ll just cite them as I call them out in posts, rather than as running links in the reference tab of neverland. I’m also always looking for new homoerotic wrestling sites to add to my regular reading list, so let me know when you find a new one (or start one of your own!). And I’ll keep my eye on the growing graveyard of wrestling blogs begun and abandoned, in the hope of celebrating a resurrection of another entertaining voice in the chorus of fans of homoerotic wrestling.

Movement in the Ranks

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The mental exercise of crowning “favorites” among the homoerotic wrestlers that I enjoy watching fascinates me. I get attached to my overall favorites. I don’t want to let them go, to let someone unseat them once I’ve said out loud, “This guy rocks me harder than just about anybody else.” So regular readers will back me up when I say that it doesn’t happen often that one of my favorites is replaced. Today is just such a momentum occasion, however. Mitch Colby has held the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy or at least top contender for that title almost without pause since I started keeping track of such things. I find Mitch’s body profoundly moving, and there’s an authenticity to his wrestling that, without fail, has the effect of making it nearly impossible for me to tear my eyes away from him as he grunts, strains, flexes and crushes his way through one opponent after another. I’m deeply aroused by the sight of Mitch’s focused concentration as he picks apart some lucky loser, and I’m arguably even a little more aroused to watch Mitch throw everything he’s got at some superhuman freak only to be conquered and dominated in the end. Any new release with Mitch is instantly at the top of my to-buy list.
Mitch got those beautiful abs of his tested hard in Florida Fights 3
However, all that said, his latest new release came out in a batch of fantastic BG East wrestling that figuratively positioned Mitch side-by-side with a certain ferocious, rumbling bundle of nerves, nerve and sexuality that I’ve had my eye on for quite some time. I simply couldn’t ignore the juxtaposition of Mitch’s Florida Fights 3 bout and my growing crush on a certain grappler from Mat Scraps 1. While it’s certainly not that I don’t love Mitch’s high impact ring battle with Vlad Varek, I cannot help but note that Skrapper’s mat scrap against epic coverboy Z-Man has catapulted the skrappy one over top of favorite emeritus Mitch. It’s been a rare day in neverland that Mitch has been out of the the top two, but today I’m lustfully and enthusiastically elevating Skrapper to the position of number 1 contender for the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy – right behind a dangerously quiet Trent Diesel.
The new #1 contender to the title of my
Favorite Homoerotic Wrestling Pornboy
I’m just going to put it right out there. I do not believe that Skrapper is pretty. I do, however, think he’s sexy… as… HELL.  Typically I wax poetic about the size and heft of my favorite wrestler’s bulges, but Skrapper is a different story. Not to say that he doesn’t have a gorgeous ass and more-than-a-mouthful of a package, but the first words that pop into my mind in contemplating Skrapper’s physique are lean, lanky, and wiry.  He’s got beautifully conditioned muscles in all the right places, but he’s no pretty coverboy with low slung pecs or massive biceps. At 5’10” and 145 pounds, he’s an astonishingly tight package without an ounce of bodyfat or merely gym toned muscle. He’s got an unconventionally handsome face with awesomely kissable lips and an aristocratic nose. I’d pick him out of any crowd as someone I’d desperately want to notice me. And if he did, and if he opened his mouth to speak, I’d be a goner.
“You’re losing so fast, dude!”

That voice! To be completely transparent, the word “Dude” is not a turn-on for me. And yet when Skrapper uses the word, as he does with relentless regularity, the timbre of his voice somehow skips right past my cerebellum and speaks directly to my cock. Perfect case in point: just about 2 minutes into his fearless face off with babyface extraordinary and homoerotic wrestler of the month, Z-Man. As is often the case, Skrapper starts wrestling about 2 speeds higher in intensity than his opponent. Z-Man looks for a moment like he’s going to have absolutely zero to offer against the raging focus of the skrappy one. “Damn!” Skrapper snarls, “you’re losing so fast, dude!” Holy shit, that irreverent, cocky, nothing to lose so I’ll fuck you over 9 ways to Sunday, skater badboy bass voice of his makes me nearly lose a load before Z-Man manages to get his groove going.

Beat that shit-eating grin off of face, Skrapper!!!

But it’s later in the match that Skrapper seals the deal to knock the knees out from under Mitch and demand my affections. Z-Man has a history (at least as far as I’m telling it) of hamming and mugging for the camera. BG East has been beating the living shit out of him since he arrived within their sphere of influence, such that he doesn’t have much time between grimaces to manage a cheesy smile. He does, however, still puke one out every so often, and they remain a serious buzz kill for me. So when Skrapper nearly rips the coverboy in half, he heaps on what is undeniably more punishment than is really necessary to make the muscleboy submit. When Z-Man hops up to his feet after conceding the fall, he looks like he’s ready to punch his fist through the back of Skrapper’s skull. “What!?” Skrapper demands. “That’s what you get for smiling at me, dude!” There. Right at that moment. Skrapper climbed into the top contender spot right there, punishing Z-Man not just for being pretty and cocky and screamin’ for it, but because Skrapper knows that fucking grin on the coverboy is a buzz kill and he deserves to be punished mercilessly anytime he pulls it out. I’ve been jonesin’ for someone to not only punish him for the shit-eating grin, but to call Z-Man out for it!

Driving home the point that you might want to just leave a
sleeping Skrapper lie.
Skrapper does not always win his matches. This is not a problem, and indeed it can heighten a wrestler’s allure as far as I’m concerned, if he makes the most of even a loss. Take, for example, Skrapper’s eventual loss at the hands of AJ Lyle in Undagear 17. Seriously, justice is on Skrapper’s side. He was just sleeping in the BG East matroom when AJ comes in, wakes him up, and tries to bully him out of his way. Fast-forward to the end of this scrap and you’ll be treated to Skrapper stripped naked and battered into complete and helpless exhaustion as the sweaty victor climbs on to use the skrappy one like his own electric blanket. Now rewind back to the beginning again, and watch how fucking irrepressible Skrapper is every single second of this match. True enough, he takes the loss and humiliation in the end. I sort of suspect he may have just had a hankering for a taste for giving up a cock-to-cock submission. But any way you slice it, pause the DVD at pretty much any point in the relentless battle, and you’re likely to see Skrapper firmly in charge or battling his way back from getting tossed around by his bigger opponent. Win or lose, you get the impression that Skrapper never really relinquishes the reins of psychological control in a match.

Kid Vicious & Skrapper’s understandable mutual admiration in Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun

It’s no wonder that in his relatively brief career in homoerotic wrestling, BG East has put him in the faces of some of the biggest and baddest boys on record. His encounter with notorious heel Kid Vicious left me breathless for all the right reasons, first and foremost the amazement to watch KV have to work to keep up with the eroticism (which he does, of course)! This is the most intensely erotic match I’ve seen Skrapper in, and frankly I’m not sure if there are many other than the likes of KV who can really match the inherent sensuality and eroticism that Skrapper brings with just a look and a snarl. There are moments in the match that make me gasp because Skrapper doesn’t just get riding time and take control of arguably the baddest boy in the stable: he humiliates him. Folding KV up, sitting on his face, and peeling the vicious bastard’s trunks down to expose his ass in utter helpless humiliation is a position that far bigger and more accomplished wrestlers have only dreamed of.

It’s not easy, but clearly it’s rewarding to take
Skrapper firmly in hand

This match is also where Skrapper earns his way into the adored ranks of homoerotic wrestling pornboys, the way I count them. Not only do both wrestlers lose their trunks, but KV succeeds in planting his ass across Skrapper’s mouth and, after pummeling Skrapper’s cock forEVER, he teases and strokes that battered joystick back to life until Skrapper erupts in ecstasy, his groans of pleasure muffled up KV’s ass. Holy hell! Have I used that expression already in this post? Those words come out of my mouth multiple times in just about every Skrapper match I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy.

Passing the torch

And speaking of enjoy, it’s so ironic as to seem like fate that Skrapper and Mitch generated such intoxicating chemistry in their voracious mat battle in Catch Weight 3.  The weight differential is simply  too much for Skrapper to make up, but he makes Mitch pay dearly for absolutely any split second of distraction or loss of focus. No wonder at all that he earns a trip hoisted over Mitch’s stone-carved shoulder once all is said and done, to be fireman-carried poolside and tossed in. Illustrating why Mitch has so long been in the ranks of the elite of my favorites, he quickly dove in after his prey to crush him once more in a wet bearhug that merges seamlessly into a make-out session with Skrapper perched across Mitch’s crotch.

I call next!
It seems hard for most of Skrapper’s opponents to resist the temptation to slide their tongues between those beautiful lips sooner or later.  Skrapper’s one victory, prior to knocking Z-Man out cold and wreaking divine retribution on behalf of all of us who’ve screamed at our computer screens when the coverboy broke character and grinned like a Cheshire cat, was a lightweight battle for the books against  perennial jobber Skip Vance. Seriously now. If Skrapper can make the likes of Brook Stetson work his 240 pound ass off to finally tame the feral beast, 135 pound Skip was doomed from well before the start of their Wrestleshack rendezvous. Gorgeously naked bodies, crushed and battered, seamlessly meld into sweat-soaked, fully aroused paramours. Skip hardly seems to mind Skrapper prying his face to the side with a handful of Skip’s hair in order to lock lips and grind crotches.

I’m sure Mitch will always work me hard, but it’s a lightweight, lanky, skater punk wildcat with an obvious lust to dominate that leaves him so loathe to submit that even the big, big boys have no choice but to knock him out cold and carry him from the mat in order to make him quit, who’s in undisputed possession of the top contender spot in my rankings of homoerotic wrestling pornboys who turn me on. And a little word of advice to Trent Diesel: you’d better get your ass back out on the mat soon, pretty boy, because there’s a feral, lanky unstoppable force of nature with a wildly sexy bass voice and a complete lack of awareness of when to give up who’s ready to plow you into second place… dude!

Wet Newsmen

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It’s been ages since I posted about the only reason I have any idea what’s happening in the world around me: hunky morning newsmen. I’ve migrated almost entirely to The Early Show on CBS, having felt crushed and pissed on (not in the good way… if you’re into that…) by ABC’s epic failure to retain Italian stallion and star of many a fantasy of mine, Chris Cuomo. As sexy as I think George Stephanopoulos is (and I do), I just can’t help but feel bitter resentment any time I see his face behind the anchor desk that, by all that is holy and just, should have been Cuomo’s. CBS has partially filled the void in my morning lusts by assembling a team of hunks that collectively get my juices pumping almost as feverishly as Cuomo does anytime he goes fishing.
ABC’s Chris Cuomo and that Bastard Fish
It takes four CBS news studs to approximate the raw sex appeal of a certain curly haired Italian, but I’m not disappointed by the assembled beef and beauty (in descending order of my lustful affections): anchorman Chris Wragge, news reader Jeff Glor, correspondent Whit Johnson, and correspondent Ben Tracy. Sure, Cuomo could crush any one of these studs in a marathon bearhug until the lucky bastard wilted in the Italian’s pythons, slid to his knees, and was force fed a northern Italian protein shake, but the four of them operating in tandem could probably take the Italian bull down and make him suffer a serious beating in the ratings. Yes, yes, I’ve already started that story in the backlog of my homoerotic wrestling fiction works-in-progress.
Chris Wragge – Buttoned Down, Rouged, and Turning on the Charm
The newsman sitting oh-so-pretty at the top of the CBS morning heap of hunks is Chris Wragge. The gargantuan step up from Wragge’s predecessor to this blond beast cannot be overstated. He isn’t as classically handsome as Cuomo, nor does he seem to me to possess as much raw sexual energy. He has some odd, not entirely attractive quirks, like his frequently pursed lips and unilateral smirks. However, the reportedly 6’4″ blond, blue-eyed sexpot is unquestionably worth changing the channel for, for a little dose of morning adrenaline to wake up to. 
I’m not surprised at all the CBS decided to contrive a reason to follow Wragge around with a camera as he trots and bounces about in skin tight lycra. On Monday of this week, they aired a gratuitously long segment on his training and completion of the Montauk Mightyman triathlon. Yes. This is national news that a former college athlete (ivy league football? um, let’s just say he was a big man on campus), swam, cycled, and jogged his way across the tip of Long Island. What, you say? That doesn’t sound like national network news? Have you seen this man’s chest?
Chris Wragge bobbing and bouncing as he jogs in Central Park
So my caps of the whole bodyworship segment sort of suck, because CBS’s online videos of their materials are not in HD (those bastards). But a few things can clearly be seen if you take the time to watch the video (especially if you watch it multiple times… trust me on this). First, the shots of Wragge jogging in Central Park illustrate a few things we just don’t see when he’s suited up for The Early Show. For example, he’s sans make-up and hair gel, so if you want to picture what he looks like waking up next to you in bed, this clip is for you. More compelling still, he’s dressed in tight grey training trunks that clearly show those big, powerful thighs of his have a nice bulge hanging between them.
My first trip to the pause button, however, came when he jogs away from the camera. Wragge has got major league ass (probably necessary to balance out the impressive beef hanging down from the front)! Baby! Those big, round glutes pumping away suddenly make his credibility as a news anchor skyrocket… for me.

There’s a criminally brief and blurry shot of him training in the pool. It’s not entirely satisfying, but Big Boy is clearly sporting some big, bronze pecs with tight little brown nips. They may not be quite as lucsious as Cuomo’s, but I’d need to compare in a side-by-side pec-off, with lot’s of flexing and baby oil, to make sure.

Wragge clearly knows he’s the resident sexpot at The Early Show. I get the impression his self-consciousness at being extensively videotaped in muscle-hugging lycra isn’t exactly born out of embarrassment. Towering over his triathlon veteran buddy after the race, it’s hard to miss the cold hard fact that he’s a big, beautiful, muscled pretty boy who enjoys showing off his side cleavage, big round shoulders, and bulging biceps.

Just to prove the point, he’s posted this impressive shot showing off his grease painted race number down his rippling arm (yeah, sure… it’s the number he’s showing off).

The towering stud bitched and moaned about the 20 minute swim, but otherwise he seems pretty proud of himself for muscling his way through Montauk. The joy of accomplishing an impressive physical feat is, I’m sure, something that he should be proud of. I suspect there’s a strong possibility that his self-satisfaction after crossing the finish line may also include a healthy dose of narcissistic delight in knowing that those pecs, massive thighs, and gorgeous, powerful ass fill out a wet suit exceedingly well.

Knowing that there’s some man loving waiting for him might also account for his success in sprinting all the way past the finish line.
So I’m painting Chris Wragge with my own brush, of course. The big, gorgeous blond could be deeply insecure about his rocking body. Critical comments about his pursed lips and one-sided smirks could possibly cut him to the core, as far as I know. I doubt it, but I could easily be mistaken. But more importantly for my purposes, in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, Wragge is a supremely cocky and confident news stud who delights in having his muscles adored, who lives to have a camera lustfully study every nook and cranny of his powerful physique, and who struts around with his entourage of Jeff, Whit and Ben just itching to kick some competition ass. So sure, one-on-one I’d put money on Cuomo to be more devastatingly beautiful and victorious in a wrestling showdown. But I don’t imagine Wragge as ever feeling the ethical obligation to deal from the top of the deck or show up with anything less than all guns (and flunkies) blazing.

Bodies Over Time – Sottish Beef Edition

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Gerard Butler was quoted recently complaining about the excessive attention that changes is his fitness and physique garner from his critics and gossips. Rather than jump all over his percentage body fat he’s carrying at any one time, he’d prefer that everyone appreciate the level of dedication he embodies by crafting his physique to fit the demands of his roles.  Need to look like a Spartan king in a homoerotic flesh fest? Gerard’s commitment to his craft is up to that challenge.

Gerard showing some love to one of his 300 co-stars

So we should all stop focusing on his physique?… yeah. Right.

Gerard’s rippled torso and thrusting sword in 300

Actually, I don’t think that I really fall under either the category “critic” or “gossip.” My infatuations with Gerard are entirely in the realm of my homoerotic imagination. And I appreciate pretty much every incarnation I’ve seen of the hunky Scotsman. Lean and ripped, thick and powerful, smooth, hairy… Gerard’s body never fails to inspire homoerotic wrestling fantasies in my highly reactive imagination.

I first pictured Gerard as taking umbrage at the unflattering lampoon of his 300 performance by English funnyman and smoking hot hunk, Sean Maguire. In a focus group grudge match, Gerard set out to teach the satirical Englishman a lesson in humiliation. Things don’t turn out quite the way Gerard intends, however, but the Scotsman isn’t exactly too unhappy with finding himself tamed and brought to heel by his new master and commander’s mouth.

Gerard showed up again in my homoerotic wrestling imagination in a tag team ring bout at the side of Sean. With bear daddy Sean calling the shots, Gerard’s fortunes are much brighter as the two of them incapacitate Jonathan Rhys Meyers and capture and claim Henry Cavill into their pack. It’s Gerard’s big, powerful body that inspired much of the action in that match, along with the provocative pairing of smaller Sean in complete control of the Scotsman’s psyche and libido.

And yet again, Gerard showed up for a third time in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, this time teamed with his cub-pet Henry to take on True Blood muscle gods Joe Manganiello and Mehcad Brooks. It doesn’t hurt to have bear daddy Sean at ringside, but that should take nothing away from the impressive performances that Gerard and Henry deliver to conquer and celebrate.

No doubt, I prefer my homoerotic wrestling fantasies to star Gerard closer to the 300 end of his fitness spectrum, but a nasty bruiser with a hot belly can tweak me hard as well. A big and beefy version of Gerard in pink trunks schoolboy pinning some awestruck gym bunny is a hot, hot scenario to imagine.

So I strongly suspect that I will continue to pay excessive, dare I say obsessive, attention on every curve and crevice of Gerard’s body, whether he wishes it or not. And let’s face it, a barrel chested Scotsman who’s made a mint and a half on peeling off all of his clothes for his naked image to be projected onto a 70 foot high movie screen can’t really complain too vociferously about anyone paying a lot of attention to his physique. Now, any catty bastards that want to talk trash about him for occasionally insulating his sexy six pack need to pipe down. Anyone, and I mean anyone who discourages a fine, burly hunk like this from stripping should be soundly boxed about the ears and ball-gagged.  And that scenario very well could inspire a 4th appearance for Gerard in my homoerotic wrestling fantasies!

Brothers in Arms

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Real life actor Justin Hartley in my imagination
as superhero-in-training Velocity
Yesterday evening I posted a new chapter in the superhero-themed homoerotic wrestling series that I call Brothers in Arms. The story’s gaze returns to the trials and triumphs of young Hank, who was terrorized by fellow recruits in his first few days as a superhero-in-training. When Hank finally learns to begin to exercise the power to move faster than the eye can see, he enjoys a reversal of fortune and embraces his new identity as a power to be reckoned with under the moniker Velocity.
Smolderingly sexy model Jay Byars brings to mind
a hot coach fantasy as “Barry”
One of the factors helping Velocity get his groove on is some special attention afforded to him by his coach, Barry. Sharing the same power that Velocity possesses, rough-edged Barry also shares a whole lot more with his prize recruit, including valuable insights into the mysteries of The League of Superheroes. The intimacy of private tutorials becomes the setting for coach to also initiate his eager recruit into crossing that fine line between the heat of a wrestling battle and the heat of sexual passion.
Mouthwateringly sweet Carlos Freire is inspiration
for the nastily bitter heel, Sting
Some returning characters play a supportive role in this chapter, including fan favorite and sadistic heel brought to heel Sting. Velocity’s ascendency is in inverse proportion to Sting’s fall from power, but somehow it’s hard to imagine that nasty boy Sting is entirely done with his reign of terror.
Australian twink, long lean Jordan Coulter is my
template for the mysterious character Vapor
However, the cards are getting reshuffled out from under Sting’s previously trump-filled hand. One of Sting’s henchmen, lanky twink beauty Vapor, retreats from his former master’s sphere of influence and throws his allegiance behind the rising gravitational pull of Velocity.
New wrestler Midas gets introduced to the painful stylings of
badboy bodybuilder, Buck
As I mentioned a few day ago, the g-g-g-gorgeous blond muscle boy from Just Beautiful Men’s last blog post arrives as a new team member in the Chargers dormitory. We get just a glimpse of Golden boy Midas sparring with Sting’s ever loyal muscle brute, Buck.
Competitive bodybuilder and model Michael Tomasetti
makes a return appearance as rookie-no-more Spike
But the primary wrestling action for chapter 5 is the return of Spike, who make his doomed debut in Chapter 4, getting pummeled nearly into oblivion in team competition against Velocity’s brother Nova and his ferocious partner Jolt, who worked out some self-therapy for his PTSD by beating poor Spike to within an inch of his life. However, Spike’s come a long way since his green debut. He’s huge. He’s fierce. He’s got something to prove, and he’s determined to prove it at Velocity’s expense.
Velocity working and getting worked hard in
Brothers in Arms, Chapter 5

Brothers in Arms was the brainchild of a reader request from 2 years ago, and I’m happy to say responding to a reader’s desire for some superhero homoerotic wrestling fantasy has become one of my favorite flights of fancy. For the full series and other wrestling kink fiction from me and other authors, sign up for access to the Sidelineland site. Let me know what you think, what fantasies you’d like to see more of, and share some of your own original homoerotic wrestling fiction for the rest of us to enjoy!