Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

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!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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September saw a bumper crop of highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling releases! Occasionally, I find the field a bit sparse some months, but that’s not the case as I consider which new release featured the homoerotic wrestler who entertained and turned me on most. Whenever BG East releases a new catalog, they automatically become the wrestling to beat for my monthly title. Catalog 89 is no exception to that rule. From Florida Fights 3, Kirby Stone, Mitch Colby, and Cole Cassidy rise to the top of my affections. In fact, Kirby’s fierce beatdown and ownership over Reese Wells was unexpectedly moving, and I’m instantly craving more of the nasty babyface with that fantastic ass! The Science of Scissors pushes my buttons hard from start to finish, and Rio Garza, Jimmy Gee, Trent Blayze and Attila Dynasty could all equally merit the crown. Patrick Donovan’s Wrestler Spotlight makes me wonder how it’s possible that Patrick has never possessed one of my titles, not to mention the always enticing stylings of Tyrell Tomsen and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), who’s still chomping at Kid Karisma’s ass to muscle his way back into the top contender spot for my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division. Muscle god Dev Michaels, sexy rookie Lucky Loko, Jonny Firestorm (and especially his forearms) and Brook Stetson (both looking to claim the monthly title a second time) put in fabulous bids for September’s homoerotic wrestler of the month distinction. And still more from BG East, Cain McDonald’s amazingly hot ass, Z-Man’s coverboy pecs, and Skrapper’s intense, primal sexuality have all made me do a double take at Mat Scraps 1. And double rookie debut Magnus and Surge both put up completely competitive performances for Wrestle Worship 3. Rio Garza gets a second nod for his Can-Am appearance working out some long-built frustrations for that astonishingly long line of heel beatdowns, working over perpetually over-the-top Jobe Zander in Rio’s Revenge. From Rock Hard Wrestling, another two former homoerotic wrestler of the month title holders bring a fantastic ring battle to be considered this month: Jake Jenkins and Lucas Payne.
There were a lot of other releases in September that tempt me to make this long list even longer. But I’m drawing the line there. The rest, however delightful, are only also rans for my affections. That’s already 22 wrestlers working me hard, making this one of the tough, tough calls in the history of my homoerotic wrestlers of the month. Regular readers know that I frequently find myself moved most by the unconventional choices, the wrestlers who may not be the prettiest or appear to be the most popular in the discussion groups. With that caveat in mind, I’m boldly stepping forward, lifting the crown, and placing it squarely atop the shaggy brown mop of hair atop the head of…
… Z-Man.

Yes, perhaps my tastes this month uncharacteristically overlap with the majority (though I don’t think Neilsen’s actually has hard numbers on viewership of homoerotic wrestling). I’m not ashamed to say that the pretty, pretty, pretty (pretty, pretty, pretty) prettyboy Z-Man turned me on arguably the most for his Mat Scrap with one of my long-time, low burning crushes: Skrapper.
There’s always an inherent tension in picking a homoerotic wrestler of the month based on matches released in the prior month. For one thing, it takes two to tango, so to speak, so a particularly fantastic match is seldom built on the performance of just one wrestler. Mat Scraps 1 is a case in point. I’m turned on more and more every time I see Skrapper in action (keep your eyes open for more news on that front). His absolutely lovely delivery of both pain and humiliation on Z-Man is testimony first and foremost to his quickly evolving homoerotic wrestling expertise. He dishes out precisely measured portions of agony and ego-busting embarrassment, and he displays the coverboy’s picture perfect physique with incredible generosity. And I’ve got to say there’s something astonishingly sexy about Skrapper’s deep, bass voice. Not everyone who uses the word “Dude” with such frequency has the same effect on me, but that voice of his rumbles out of some deep, dark place where a seriously ferocious, primal lust to dominate lives.

So it should come as no surprise that Skrapper could just as easily been crowned this month for his work with Z-Man. However, it’s upon Z-Man that I’m placing the crown of laurel, because for a smokin’ hot hunk who’s always had a truck full of potential for homoerotic wrestling entertainment, for me this is the first time I’ve thought his delivery fully lived up to his potential. I’m being unkind when I say that I wasn’t always sure from Z-Man’s work with other companies whether he was burning at full wattage. There’s something bordering on thick-headed about his persona in the past, and pretty and smart turn me on about 100 times more than pretty and dumb. But I feel like in Mat Scraps, I got a glimpse of not just a pretty face (and ass, and pecs, and biceps, and ass, and ass…), but a clever hunk who can tell a story on the mats. He suffers exquisitely in Skrapper’s machinations, but Z-Man also remembers where they are in the plot. When Z-Man’s upper lip curls in fury as he rips apart Skrapper’s crotch like a Thanksgiving wishbone, the symmetry is beautiful. In almost the precise place and position in which Z-Man himself had been ripped apart earlier in the match, he gets his revenge on the wiry one.

It’s not as if I’ve ever not been turned on by Z-Man in still frame. His body is a work of art. His milky smooth skin stretched over an extraordinary gym body is captivating. But more than ever before, I believe Z-Man in Mat Scraps. I believe that he’s seriously pissed off that a skinny skater punk should dare to treat him with such contempt. I believe that he’s hurting, that those fists driving deep into the thick muscles of Z-Man’s pecs seriously smart. I believe that the Z-Man has some actual ego invested in meeting his opponent toe-to-toe, in not being made a fool of, in showing that he can corral the innate ham within and bring to bear all that strength, beauty, and yes, even smarts, to give every impression that he wants to be a competitor.

I get this match. Somehow, it seems like this match gets me. Skrapper is a stud that I’ll have more to say about soon, but today, this month, it’s Z-Man that I’m happily rolling back my prior bitchy criticisms of. He delivers powerful, personality-filled, ego-invested wrestling that I enjoyed without reservation. If I’ve ever offended Z-Man for being less than generous in the past, I’m contented to say that he’s made a believer out of me today. And if ever he feels the need to smack me around a little and lock my head between his fabulous legs and squeeze, I’ll certainly understand!

Hercules and the Giant Antaeus

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Cage Thunder’s blog post today lays out how he envisions a match playing out between new BG East wrestler Magnus and him. Cage has some inspiring ideas of the twists and turns in the drama that would undoubtedly unfold. Even conceding 40 pounds and 5 inches in height, Cage is thinking that he’d have Magnus’ number in the end. If anyone has the experience, savvy, and skill to conquer muscle freak Magnus, I’m thinking it’s Cage Thunder.

There’s a whole lot I like about Wrestle Worship 3. First and foremost, I’m excited to see another installment in the wrestle worship franchise. I own and love WresWor 1 (mmmmmm… Rafe….) and 2, and the notion of gorgeous bodies slipping seamlessly between battle and lustful adoration is one of my favorite homoerotic wrestling scenarios of all time. When wrestlers work up a roaring head of erotic passion out of the intense physicality of a battle for domination, it strums a chord right at the heart of my wrestling kink.

6’4″, 230 pound Magnus is fucking huge. When he’s posing in the mirror in the BG East matroom before his opponent arrives, he looks freakishly massive, but it’s only when Surge walks into the room and steps in front of Magnus that it’s entirely clear that Magnus isn’t simply huge. He’s fucking huge. 5’11”, 185 pound Surge is quite the impressive muscle beast himself, but lets face it, he looks relatively juvenile dwarfed in the shadow of the gargantuan wonder.

There are two things that occur to me as I watch the beginning of their tussle. First, I’m thinking that Magnus would be his own ride in that homoerotic wrestling theme park that I fantasize about every so often. I’d wait in line a long time, with a bottle of baby oil in hand, to have a go at studying every inch and ounce of his astonishingly worship-worthy body. The second thought that occurs to me at the start of this bout is that “little” Surge is like a hero of Greek mythology. He visibly swallows the stark terror that’s got to be washing over him and then bravely demands that Magnus wrestle him. “I’m not afraid of you!” he lies.
As you might guess, Surge is completely outmuscled by Magnus. It’s not as if it’s a surprise to see the 6’4″ muscle freak pick up, throw down, toss and crush his opponent without breaking a sweat. What’s more compelling for me is the gusto with which sexy Surge keeps throwing his own beautifully muscled body at the monster in front of him. While Magnus admires his own double bicep in the mirror, Surge creeps up behind him and struggles to wrap his arms around the massive lats and traps in front of him. I mean, literally, he struggles to extend his limbs sufficiently to be able to manage a full nelson on the wide open bodybuilder. When he does finally manage it, Magnus seems to barely notice. He simply steps backward and crushes Surge against the wall behind them. Surge loses his grip and slides off as Magnus returns to the middle of the mat to flex for his own pleasure some more. Undaunted, Surge sprints across the room and launches himself into the skyscraper again, lacing his fingers behind Magnus’ neck and making the muscle freak stumble backward. Here’s where I’m fascinated most: Magnus struggles in the full nelson! He strains and stretches with the ferocious terrier latched to his back. Sure, he eventually charges backward and slams Surge into the wall again, winning his freedom. But Surge’s determination to face down these incredibly long odds makes me, despite myself, start cheering for him!
Picture Hercules wrestling the giant Antaeus. That’s what I’m seeing as I watch, inspired by the sight of beautiful muscle hunk Surge get ground into the dirt and relentlessly keep coming back for more. Surge clearly has something to prove. He’s obviously not familiar with the feeling of being overpowered, and he stubbornly keeps launching one doomed effort after another to bring the giant to his knees. For his troubles, Magnus grows progressively nastier in dishing out his punishment, slapping down the Greek hero more and more brutally. And the longer Surge refuses to stay down, the more sexually charged the contact grows between them. When the square cuts come off, Magnus somehow seems to swell even larger.  He stands like a marble statue as Surge tentatively, almost fearfully peels the yellow trunks down Magnus’ freakishly thick thighs. When thongs get stripped not long afterward, the timelessness of this battle seems that much more poignant. I think it’s incredibly astonishing (and just damn unfair!) that Magnus’ beer can cock is perfectly proportioned to the rest of freakishly huge body. Again, Surge is no slouch, but he seems somehow merely mortal as he faces down the side of beef hanging between Magnus’ legs.

I’ve already lingered quite a bit on three particular moments in the homestretch of this mat battle. First, there’s a moment when Magnus has pounded Surge to his back on the mat once again. They’re both naked, and Magnus saddles up on top of Surge’s chest, slapping down his monster cock. The proximity seems to send Surge over the edge, as he desperately stretches his neck and lips to grab hold of the giant’s feast. Magnus teases him, keeping the tip of his head just a fraction of an inch out of reach of Surge’s hungry mouth. Eventually, Magnus demands that Surge “flex those big pecs” of his (I LOVE it that Magnus acknowledges Surge’s rocking physique!). Crunching out his pecs, Surge is delighted to be treated to Magnus stroking his cock, tightly squeezed in the crevice between Surge’s thick pecs. A second intoxicating moment in the match for me is the last of a whole boatload of bearhugs that Magnus applies crushing Surge, making him scream, swinging him about like a rag doll. The last one is over relatively quickly (though it’s not hard to imagine Magnus maintaining the hold for a week and a half). Both wrestlers are naked. Surge’s sweet ass is on gorgeous display. My herculean hero thrashes, throwing his upper body in every direction to try to loosen his captors grip. The pain in his voice as he submits once more is simply sublime! And the final moment captivating me is the sight of the two warriors standing, cock-to-cock and pec-to-pec in the center of the mats. From behind, Surge nearly completely disappears behind Magnus’ hulking form. Magnus holds Surge’s face in his hands, staring down domineeringly, as Surge lustfully slides his hands around the back of Magnus’ hips, grabbing the thick and meaty glutes of the superhuman giant. Pause. Rewind. Play again.

This is an excellent new addition to the Wrestle Worship series for many reasons. Magnus is a force of nature that, I predict, would stretch even the skills of someone like Cage Thunder, which would be simply priceless to watch! And sweet, sexy Surge is irrepressible. Watching him wrestle with his own stubborn refusal to admit defeat, only to see his desire to conquer morph into a lust to worship his conquerer is over the top hot. What a combination!

Asses Named

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So how did you do on our back-to-school edition of Name That Ass? Pull out your bubble sheet and let’s review the answers.
Ass #1 belongs to…

… BG East’s Cole Cassidy.

Cole’s body is sculpture. Every inch of him (at least every inch I’ve seen) is stunningly proportioned and absolutely perfectly Cole. That this perfectly tuned weapon is in the possession of such a sadistic heel ought to make much more competitive wrestlers than poor Brendan Byers quake in their wrestling boots. When Cole plants those muscled glutes across the mouth of devastated Brendan in their newly released match in Florida Fights 3, for that half a minute as Cole flexes and preens in victorious ecstasy above him, I’m bitterly envious of Brendan.
Ass #2 belongs to…

Rio’s got to have earned major frequent flyer miles getting that beautiful ass beaten from Florida to Boston to Los Angeles. He has some of the most loyal fans on the planet, and while I don’t consider myself a Rio devotee by any means, I unquestionably appreciate the aesthetic lines and sculpted contours of Rio’s beautiful body. I loved the concept of indy pros Cameron Mathews and Paul Hudson putting on a 2-on-1 clinic for Rio to tutor him in the arts of a professional-quality wrestling beatdown in Can-Am’s So You Want to Be a Pro Wrestler. Here’s another fantasy concept I’m just throwing out there… how about a rookie tutored by a pro and a homoerotic fantasyman? The pro beats him senseless and the fantasyman sexually dominates him.

Ass #3 belongs to…
… BG East’s Lon Dumont.
Ironically, the close-up of Lon’s ass appeared in the quiz right next to his image as my #1 favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division in the right margin. In particular, Lon is pictured here crushing the skull of Doug Rand on opposite sides of their Tag Team Torture 12 encounter. Lon has been in sole possession of the #1 spot in my non-pornboy rankings for a helluva long time, particularly considering he hasn’t had a new release in a little while. And still, hands down, he’s my favorite for his equal portions of smoking hot competitive bodybuilder physique and wrestling kink golden pro wrestling persona and ring skills. I’m not ashamed to say I’m a little obsessed with Lon, particularly after our delightful interview earlier this year in which he revealed himself to be both everything that turns my on in a wrestler as well as a damn fine human being. For those who regularly write me, asking for any news of the hunk, I’m deeply thrilled to pass on three titillating tidbits I’ve gathered: 1) Lon has achieved even more stunning development of his physique as he enters the new bodybuilding season, 2) he is still sporting the full head of hair he foreshadowed last winter, and 3) he and his full head of hair and mind-blowing muscles will indeed be showing up again in action for BG East!

Ass #4 belongs to…

… BG East’s classic workhorse, Bryan.

This beautiful, blond stud seemed to have been marching arm-in-arm with Kid Leopard in the pioneering early days of BG East. I think he was never more arousing than when he was 100% pro, in the ring in boots and square cut trunks and slamming some hot, pretty young thing’s face into a turnbuckle. However, the matroom pairing of Bryan and a very young, tan, in the peak of fitness Brad Rochelle in the seminal edition of Ultra Fight is awfully, awfully compelling. Those are two incredibly notable asses locked together in one hot, ferocious battle!

Ass #5 belongs to…

…Can-Am’s Beau Hopkins.

I repeat myself when I say that his opponent in Supermatch 11, Tom Flex, knew exactly what he was doing when he locked his crushing legs around Beau’s narrow waist, squeezed until the dark, hairy hunk screamed out, and then yanked on Beau’s trunks so hard that they entirely disappeared between those astonishingly beautiful ass cheeks. This is also a reminder of the delights that we miss out on, with the absence of baby oil in homoerotic wrestling for many years.

So it appears we have our work cut out for us as we start the new school year. No perfect scores were recorded for this Name That Ass quiz. The eternal strengths-based instructor, however, I think that just leaves so much more room to improve and to grow in our expertise when it comes to the studied appreciation of homoerotic wrestling asses.

Name That Ass

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I’m pretty certain that no one, but no one, loves a good game of Name That Ass nearly as much as I. Despite that fact, and in honor of the beginning of another school year, here’s a brand new quiz with the  invigorating smell of mimeograph still clinging to the page. Your reward for being the first to name all 5 of the following asses, as well as their opponents in the matches pictured, will earn you top marks, the right to pick the next Name That quiz genre, and elevation alongside of Topher as the only students to run the board in a Name That quiz. I think relatively novice homoerotic wrestling fans should get a couple of these glorious glutes. Well-versed fanatics will likely get 3 or 4. It’s the seriously obsessive homoerotic wrestling fanatical nerd who will name them all and recognize their opponents. Let’s hear from you, fellow nerds!…
Ass #1:
If you’ve ever seen these muscled buttocks, the image has remained seared in your brain. And if you’re at all like me, they’ve popped up with some frequency in sex fantasies. Everything about this man is distinctive, and I, for one, would recognize that ass anywhere!
Ass #2:
That, my friends, is a tasty ass! Doesn’t that just scream out for a severe tongue lashing?! His opponents (hint, hint) for this match lashed him with a whole boatload of other methods, but not their tongues, sadly.
Ass #3:

Don’t recognize this ass? For shame! The owner of this ass has already been guaranteed a spot in this blog’s favorite moments of the year wrap up that I do as the clock ticks down on each calendar year.
Ass #4:

Just look at those perfectly round glutes! This entry leaves a little more of a “classic” taste on the palate, so relatively old school homoerotic wrestling fans may have a leg up in identifying this beautiful piece of ass. I think it’s an expert, indeed, who can name his opponent as well!
Ass #5:

To quote Maggie Smith (which I do often), “Yummy, yummy, yummy!” This close up is a work of art, I think, and the inspiration to yank so brutally on those fluorescent trunks is pure genius. Whether you can name this ass or not, I think we should all be able to agree that just taking some time to linger on the image is reward enough. My guess (I’m often wrong) is that this will be the toughest item on today’s quiz, separating the boys from the men. I’m hopeful that I’ll hear from some men who can put their finger on the identity of these simply gorgeous, shiny glutes.

So welcome back to school, everyone! I hope to hear from you all what sexy wrestling adventures you got up to over the summer break. And even if you can’t name all of the asses above, feel free to submit your work (single-spaced, 1″ margins) in the comments below, to let us know how far you got. You may begin…

Life Imitating Art Imitating Life…

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Almost exactly 1 week after I posted my latest fictional homoerotic wrestling match, in which Hugh Jackman unloads a can of whoopass (and just unloads) on babybadboy wannabe Taylor Lautner, Hugh Jackman apparently appeared on WWE and unloaded a punch onto some bleach blond WWE boy in “real” life!

My imagination has been casting Hugh in wrestling action for a couple of years now, but I honestly never imagined that the Aussie would ever actually appear ringside and get in the action. Apparently the whole thing, including the PR stunt afterward in which the bleach blond boy reported that Hugh had fractured his jaw, was one massive product placement for Hugh’s new big screen release, Real Steel. The premise, I gather, is that Hugh character is a washed up boxer who ends up training a robot boxer in the sci fi world of the future.  It’s a kid-buddy movie with a cheesy premise and lots of scripted pseudo-violence… therefore there was no better situation in which to drop the product placement than WWE.

Whatever my ambivalence about WWE and mainstream straight pro wrestling, I’m completely stoked by Hugh being game to appear in a high profile wrestling venue in the pursuit of its promotional value. Who do I need to fuck to get Hugh’s next movie to feature him as a male stripper recruited into the world of underground gay wrestling videos, in which he gets his ass kicked (a lot!) early on, but he perseveres in the biz until he’s built legitimate wrestling credibility and does a major heel turn into a seriously sadistic, ball bashing bastard who learns to seriously love destroying an opponent and then working out a geyser of passion across his opponent’s beaten body?

Cause that most excellent movie concept would REQUIRE an appearance in the next homoerotic wrestling video in order to promote the flick to its true audience (you and I). I’m committing myself here and now to see that movie in the theaters at least 10 times, and then buy two copies of the DVD release. Who’s with me?

Short of that, the sight of ripped hard hunk Hugh in the ring beside an overtanned wrestling hottie will almost certainly inspire another appearance of Hugh in my homoerotic wrestling imagination!

What’s Been Unsaid

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After nearly about a month and a half, I can finally spit out the metallic taste of blood from my mouth! When I made my pilgrimage to BG East in August, I was treated to the privilege of seeing photos from all of the catalog 89 new releases. It was a profound thrill, like being told that I, and I alone, could open all of my Christmas presents a week early. But then I couldn’t talk about it! I couldn’t write about it! I couldn’t obsess on the pages of this blog about each and every tantalizing, confidential morsel from catalog 89 that made my mouth water. I’ve been biting my tongue non-stop since August 5th, and I’m overjoyed that BG East has released catalog 89 for purchase. Let the obsessive reviewing begin (and the healing of my bitten tongue)!!!

I’m just hitting a few highlights for today, because there’s just too much that I’ve had bottled up that I’ve got to say about so many of the new releases. So in addition to nearly making want to cry to see Mitch Colby barefoot in the ring in Florida Fights 3, I’ve been aching to comment on match #1 from that same DVD. Hell and damnation! Kirby Stone can WEAR a pair of skintight shiny pink trunks! That ass has most certainly caught my attention!
Pretty much precisely the same thing has to be said about Cain McDonald in his appearance (taking fall #1!!!) against Mikey Vee. The legs and ass on this grappler make me gasp! That face looks just about too juvenile to feel entirely guilt-free about, but that lower body is 100% guilt-free adult male entertainment.
Next up on the comments burning a whole in my belly: Dev Michaels looks like a fucking monster in the ring against slender, unclassically but undeniably handsome newbie, Lucky Loko. Man alive the two of them make for an astonishingly arousing picture! The fact that Lucky didn’t run screaming from the building on sight of Dev makes him a hot commodity in my book.
And speaking of monsters in the ring (I’ve been DYING to use that line!), has it escaped anyone’s attention that Attila Dynasty appears to be smuggling major meat in his trunks in his scissor fest against Trent Blaze?!!! If the summer Olympics have taught me anything, they’ve taught me that gymnasts are sexy as hell, and the pics of Attila’s acrobatics in the ring have caught me completely off guard. I had no idea from his debut to expect either all that Attila can accomplish without his feet on the ground, or the massive ballast in the pouch of those powder blues (I’m heading back to Backyard Brawls 7 right now for another look).
Next up, it simply must be said that the sight of Z-Man clawing Skrapper’s chest and swinging for the rafters makes me just about ready to pop right here and now. If I know Skrapper, however, Z-Man better not count him out a moment too soon!
And I’ve been anticipating the hating for a while, but I call it like I see it. And as much as the sight of Rio Garza’s body getting worked over (and that face crushed between his opponent’s legs) is like icing on the cake, the pics of Jimmy Gee’s slabs of beef that are his muscled ass has got the be the most delicious main course in this match for me.
I’ve also been aching to say that it’s about time for another installment of Wrestle Worship. I love this concept. I need more of this concept. And newbies Magnus and Surge appear to dish up an extraordinary amount of eroticism with delightful proportions of both wrestling and body worship. Does anyone else wonder if Magnus requires his own zip code? And speaking of numbers, does anyone have Surge’s telephone #!?
Again, I’ve been dying to celebrate the return of ripped, rock hard Tyrell Tomsen. I can’t think of a better opponent to pick apart a bodybuilder adonis than the likes of sexy-assed veteran Patrick Donovan.

And finally, Mr. Joshua, Patrick, barefoot, in the ring, with Patrick’s testicles getting crushed in Mr. J’s fist… You’ll have to excuse me now. I need to rehydrate after writing those words. I’m sure you’ll be hearing much, much more from me about all of this in the future.

Legacies

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I read a sci-fi short story at some point in my youth, I believe, in which people have the job of deleting electronic files that accumulate over the course of a person’s lifetime. I’m pretty sure I read this well before there were “blogs,” but the idea was already there that people would utilize networked computer technology to broadcast themselves, their trivial thoughts, their kinky dreams, their bad poetry, etc., and their archives would live on well past their deaths. The technological equivalent of garbage collectors would be tasked with combing through the piles of electronic stuff left over at the end of a life in order to clean things up and to delete the electronic echo of a person’s life and creative spirit.

What reminds me of this short story (I can’t remember the name… let me know if it sounds familiar), is wondering what happened to the Just Beautiful Men blog. I checked that blog regularly for quite a while because, well, obviously, it was filled with images of beautiful men. The blog is still there, but it hasn’t been updated since October 29 of last year. I just emailed the blogger… hoping to hear that he’s just moved on and doesn’t have the time it takes to invest in posting new material (trust me, I’d understand). On the other hand, it makes me think about my own legacy and what happens to the ridiculous amounts of myself that I’ve invested in neverland over the past two and half years. What happens to neverland, to my homoerotic wrestling fiction, to my passions and musings and bad poetry when I die?
Dark, huh? Well, in honor of the inspiration that Just Beautiful Men has brought me, and as a send-up to my own longing for eternal clemency from the big delete button in the sky, I’ve worked the simply beautiful man featured so tantalizingly on the last post of JBM into my homoerotic wrestling fiction. This is hardly some work of charity, of course. This guy is astonishingly beautiful. The photos nearly make me cry looking at them (which was a frequent reaction I had to Just Beautiful Men). So this blond adonis hardly needs any justification for earning a spot in my homoerotic imagination or in the pages of my fiction.
As summer fights valiantly to fend off the encroaching autumn, I’m particularly loving the sight of thick, muscular thighs, which the coverboy in question has in abundance. JBM thinks that the awe-inspiring hunk may be Danish. I’d buy it. Scandinavian boys have been turning my head hard lately.
So next up for me in the download of my vanity will be a Sidelineland short story, the next chapter in the Brothers in Arms superhero serial, which will include the introduction of a character built on the physical, aesthetic template of the most recent Just Beautiful Men coverboy. And if JBM is still out there and kicking, I hope he’ll shot me an email to let me know that life is simply too engaging (and hopefully pleasing) for him to have had time in the past 11 months to post.