Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

The Taste of Victory

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Thank God I’m done with traveling… for a few weeks. Back in the comforts of my own home, I’m able to settle into the familiar routines, including carving out some time for one of my most enjoyable pass-times: appreciating homoerotic wrestling.
With my attention renewed on the topic that you and I find so enjoyable, I’m feeling the need to make aright my neglect of my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month: Kid Karisma. Typically by now, I’d have at least one or two posts vetting and venerating the hard working hunk who so ably captured the title at the beginning of the month. It’s certainly not as if I’m at a loss for things to say as I marvel at the body and body of work of the Karismatic one! I could write an encyclopedia of attributes that make Kid K such a commanding favorite of mine, and for which he also recently muscled his way past Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) to claim the top contender spot for my overall favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division. There’s nowhere on Kid K’s body or in his wrestling arsenal that wouldn’t be appropriate to slow down and marvel for a while, but let me just start in a particular spot that’s been particularly responsible for my growing infatuation with the red-headed muscle hunk: his lips.
Perhaps this isn’t the particular geography that you’d have selected to begin to admire the remarkable assets of Kid Karisma, but it’s his liplocks that have been topping me off lately. I don’t own Kid K’s entirely library of work yet, but I believe that exactly twice he’s capped off a crushing victory over an awestruck opponent by grabbing the lucky, lucky loser’s head and commandingly, lingeringly sucking face.
The first time I caught sight of this truly inspired moment of Kid Karisma homoeroticism was in the Karismatic one’s hard-fought conquering of that stubbornly tough twink-punk, Len Harder in Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun. The sight of these two hot-and-bothered, sweaty specimens teetering on the edge of aggression and affection is profoundly stimulating for me. Kid K’s rippled, rock hard body stretched overtop of Len, crotch-to-crotch and lips-to-lips, makes me gasp. And then when Len sweetly, gently grabs Kid K’s gorgeous round glutes in both hands, as the red-headed juggernaut shoves his tongue down Len’s throat, all of my homoerotic wrestling kink synapses fire at once.
Despite less skin, Kid Karisma’s make-out with Christian Taylor in Wet & Wild 5 is arguably even more arousing for me. Despite being a half a foot shorter than Christian, Kid K is simply much more than Christian can handle. Kid K is cocky and taunting. He gives away just a little bit of riding time, but the match both in the pool and on the mat poolside is essentially and entirely in Kid K’s quite able hands. It’s a bit like watching a beautiful house cat drag a poor mouse inside to play with it mercilessly until he’s killed the rodent like his instincts demand. Kid K laughs at poor Christian. He smirks at Christian’s hopeless attempts to secure an advantage. Any moment that Christian rallies every ounce of strength and will to power to the top, Kid K just lets him tire himself out and than smacks him back down with contempt. And then when Christian is completely wasted, flat on his back, having submitted repeatedly until he barely has the strength to submit again, Kid K chokes Christian out cold with a completely unnecessary figure-4 clamped like a steel pipe across the loser’s throat.
That would’ve been enough to satisfy my devotion to a seriously sexy homoerotic wrestling beatdown. Christian suffers valiantly like the handsome, tall drink of water he is. Kid K preens and revels in his complete domination over his outmatched opponent. Tick, tick… all the boxes checked. This will be a match to come back to again and again. But then…
… Kid Karisma stretches across Christian’s motionless, supine body and wakes the spent stud with an almost compassionate kiss. Now that’s a way to wake up! Completing the fantasy that I’m too often left to write in my own imagination, Kid K quite literally savors the taste of his victory, and Christian realizes that every second of the whole humiliating, painful encounter was completely worth it. Compassion turns to passion, and the two handsome faces are locked together as Kid K assists the woozy contender to his feet. Sealing the deal, Christian grabs a handful of the Karismatic one’s meaty ass as he’s led inside for a post-match reconciliation.
There’s a lot that I could (and let’s face it, that I will) obsess lustfully about when it comes to Kid Karisma’s body and wrestling accomplishments. But it’s what he’s willing to do with those sweet, hot lips of his that make him rise to the top of what I enjoy most in homoerotic wrestling. I realize that not everyone enjoys seeing kissing in their homoerotic wrestling fare. In fact, I’ve heard from some of you that it’s a turn-off. Mores-the-better for the diverse industry that feeds our cravings. As for me, however, the marriage of skilled wrestling storytelling with homo-sensibilities of erotic pleasure is the essence of what arouses me most (full stop). For Kid K’s full arsenal of skills, especially including his liplocks, his stock is very much on the rise in my infatuations. In no small part due to everywhere his lips have been, Kid Karisma is sitting pretty atop the throne as my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Pushed Too Far

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Jonny Firestorm adds insult to injury – BG East’s The Contract 6
Have you ever been pushed too far? I’ve been there. And I recognize that moment when I see someone else who’s suffered one too many indignities, one too many injustices. I’m familiar with that moment when we realize that playing by the rules, following the script, and knowing our “place” are guaranteed to get us nothing more than another boot to the teeth. It’s a desperate moment, forged out of an existential crisis. It’s a dangerous moment, when the normal boundaries and consequences that typically operate to establish order unravel right before us. When the scales fall from our eyes and we see how we’ve been complicit in our own oppression, when our eyes seem to open for the very first time to recognize that how we choose to act in this very moment is entirely and unalterably no one’s call but our own, there’s something primal that can rise to the surface that can envelope us and those around us with something deeply unsettling, tapping into the brutal, dark corners of our collective unconscious. Have you ever been pushed just too far, and decided then and there that you weren’t going to take it anymore?

Brad Rochelle snaps – BG East’s The Contract 6

I’m sitting from thousands of miles away combing through scarce news coverage of the riots in London. I say scarce, not because there aren’t headlines on every news outlet I can find. They’re just scarce because the stories that accompany the headlines are absurdly superficial. There’s nearly no context. The media are clearly at a loss to make any attempt to explain (not justify, just explain), how a fatal police shooting could spark three nights running of rioting and looting that have left Scotland Yard slack jawed and impotent. I was just in London last month, and the notion of buildings being burned and shops being looted in the face of an ineffectual police is hard to reconcile with my memory of that busy, bustling, extremely efficiently ordered urban landscape. As a result of the bizarrely vapid news coverage, I have no idea what’s really going on. But I recognize that moment… when people have had enough and the rules of a well-ordered society are kicked to the gutter because of one too many indignities, one too many injustices. When people seem to emerge from the woodwork to participate in seemingly senseless acts of rage, bullying, and lawless pilfering, effectively calling the bluff of a police force that was never meant to be equipped to corral an out of control guerilla mob that’s given up on all pretense of “civility,” that moment speaks to me of deep seated injustice that’s pushed a whole lot of people one step too far to contain any longer.

All hell breaks loose in BG East’s Wrestlefest 1

The concept of a “market correction” is a commonly understood phenomenon these days. So when the trading markets around the world witness the evaporation of untold trillions of dollars worth of equity (read: people’s pensions, livelihoods, scholarships, resources to conduct live-saving research, etc.) over the course of a single day, as happened on Monday, there isn’t quite an existential crisis. We make sense of the senseless catastrophic implications by calling it “a correction.” It’s cast as a mere adjustment to the over-reaching greed of undeserving market speculators. Rather than a means of destroying the lives and livelihoods of millions, it’s repackaged as an act of justice, the delivery of equity, a “correction.” While I’m not a student of economics, I am a student of the history of the modern social welfare state, and we have a parallel phenomenon there. Once or twice in a generation, elitist political environments tout austerity and market liberalism as inviolable social values, resulting in a massive pullback of social involvement in providing a baseline level of material goods necessary for human dignity and survival among the most impoverished and oppressed among us. As a result, the desperately poor get that much poorer. The institutionally oppressed are ground down into the dirt that much more humiliatingly. And then one thing happens… it can be just about anything really. It can be something that seems almost tolerable in comparison with the mass of injustice being heaped upon the underclasses relentlessly. But there’s an event… a group of veterans protesting the denial of their pensions are roughed up and violently routed by an overaggressive police force… a courageous leader is shot dead by an unbalanced ideologue… students protesting an unjust war are mown down by the police ostensibly there to “keep the peace”… and it’s just one thing too many to tolerate. Often in the already oppressive heat of the summer, a spark ignites already raging tempers. One event spreads like a wildfire, and fuck-’em-all violence breaks out in pockets. Pockets of fuck-’em-all violence push still more people to question why they hell they’re putting up with the indignities that they bear, and still more violence erupts and spreads.

Francis Piven co-authored the seminal work on this whole theory of the cycle of austerity, violent social upheaval, and the subsequent social correction in welfare policy (and has since been demonized by Glenn Beck to the point that ultra-right nutjobs have forced Piven into hiding from the flood of death threats against her) that happens when societies readjust their welfare systems to alleviate the very worst of the poverty and indignity. The argument is that welfare states are like a steam valve, holding in systemic injustice and degradation of the underclasses until violence threatens to envelope all of society, at which point the valve is released, welfare is doled out a little more generously, until the underclasses don’t feel so desperate, until they feel that there could be something worth giving “the rules” another chance for, that better days might be ahead of them if they just color within the lines once again. Once the rich start to skim more and more off the top, eventually austerity is reimposed on the poorest once again, until the whole steam valve scenario comes to a head once more.

Football turns into free-for-all – Can-Am’s Football Fracas

Is this what’s going on in London? In Syria? In Egypt? In Iran? Is this ahead of us in the United States, because it’s certainly woven through our past. It wouldn’t be the first time that all hell broke loose and the frightening vision of a world of supposedly senseless chaos seemed to threaten to swallow up everyone and everything. I feel profoundly sad for the loss of life and property that accompany riots and massive social unrest. But don’t we recognize that moment when we see it, from the perspective of the battered and beaten underdog who’s been pushed one step too far? It doesn’t justify anything, but while the BBC seems to be able to categorize the riots as nothing but senseless, there’s something in me that says that although I don’t know what the hell is really going on over there, I know what it’s like to say fuck the rules. I’ve had enough of this shit.

Brad Rochelle isn’t going take this shit any longer – BG East’s The Contract 6

Bard’s Pilgrim Way

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An always helpful reader sent me an email in response to my pilgrimage stopover at the Paradise in Cambridge, confirming that it was the same club where BG East filmed a series of oil wrestling tapes in the late 80’s. He also suggested that I might want to hunt down the site of the old club Metro, where BG East filmed Live at the Metro.

Site of the former club Metro, Boston

In the shadow of Fenway Park sits what is now the House of Blues, but what was, in one of its many previous incarnations, the Metro. Live at the Metro doesn’t appear to be up on the BG East website any longer, but I have it on the very best authority that this is, indeed, the site where BG East early on staged live audience wrestling entertainment.

Kid Leopard & Bryan

The card that wrestled at the Metro included classic names that continue to make my blood pump, such as the irrepresible Kid Leopard and Bryan.

Kid McCoy & Kid Leopard mug for the camera.

I believe that adorable babyface Kid McCoy was also on the card that night.

Kid McCoy suffers in the ropes.

Just snapping some pictures from across the street, I literally found myself aroused by my proximity to this site of homoerotic wrestling history. I felt like I should leave a token of respect, but I couldn’t decide on an appropriate act of homage. There are plenty of tourists schlepping their tired asses in the summer heat along the Freedom Trail, gawking and snapping pics of Revolutionary Era cemeteries and churches and the house of Paul Revere. As for me, however, the pilgrim’s way from site to site of significance in BG East’s homoerotic wrestling history is much more provocative. It wouldn’t be the first time that I felt significantly deficient in patriotic fervor, but never have I felt as connected to the stream of homoerotic wrestling history as standing by myself, clicking shots of old wrestling venues, and sensing the sweet echoes of sweat, grunts, holds and blows of hot matches of the past.

Round 2

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I’m coming up for air just a bit to root around in the fertile soil of my favorite blog haunts. File this under the heading “models in wrestling gear,” because the sign in the background may say boxing, but model Courtney Grant’s gear is all about wrestling.

I’m seeing this via Homotrophy, via photographer Tom Cullis. The narrative appears to be that Courtney has just worked up a sweat competing in an amateur wrestling match. He gives his opponent a long, ferocious look, fueled by the adrenaline still pumping in his veins. He shrugs his shoulders out of his singlet straps and tugs off his headgear. We’re done here.

Now with headgear draped across his shoulder, Courtney tugs his singlet a bit farther down his waist. He’s a handsome hunk, with the gorgeous strong shoulders, broad chest, rippled abs and narrow waist of a veteran athlete. He looks hungry, like the physicality of wrestling does to him what it does to you and me. His gaze is locked like steel on his opponent as he leads him into the locker room.

Sliding the wet singlet down over his hips, Courtney looks over his shoulder. He knows what his opponent is looking at. Unleashing his incredible, round glutes, Courtney stares fixedly at the man with whom he’s shared the unparalleled intimacy of wrestling. It’s not a look of accusation, but more a sober assessment. You going to do anything more than look?

Nearly naked, partially in the shadows, it’s time for round 2.

Required Reading

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Have you read Joe’s interview with BG East Boss, Kid Leopard, over at Ringside at Skull Island yet? If not, consider it on your required summer reading list, effective immediately. Seriously. Stop reading this blog, click here, and get your ass over to Ringside at Skull Island for compulsory homoerotic wrestling kink reading.


You’d better not still be reading this if you haven’t taken a long, hard look at Joe’s incredibly insightful, provocative, and entertaining interview with Kid Leopard. It’s been up over a week already, but along with sparse postings here at neverland for the past couple of weeks, another casualty of my summer work travel has been less time following the rest of the wrestling kink world. I nearly missed Joe’s interview with the head of BG East, but thankfully a friend asked me what I thought of it. I instantly dropped work, clicked over to Ringside, and settled in for a delightful read.

I’m always learning something new from Joe. In this case, he’s exceeded himself (that’s a biblical allusion, for those keeping track). Having majored in history as an undergraduate, I’m particularly drawn to the incredibly fascinating narrative that KL offers over the course of the interview, explaining his own start in wrestling and the circumstances that led to him planting the seeds that grew into BG East. Like any good story teller, KL leaves us with new questions in precise measure to every answer he gives (e.g., the phrase, “Buddy’s fundamentally criminal mindset wreaked havoc on all things BG” makes me pine for more of the gritty details!). But all told, this interview bathes the history of the homoerotic wrestling industry in bright, sometimes brutal light.

There’s also something almost intimate about Kid Leopard’s detailed description of the creative process that goes into distinctly BG East wrestling that sets it apart from the rest. I’ve always appreciated the unmistakable and unfakable artistry in BG East products, that’s explained so effortlessly in KL’s metaphor of producing wrestling as directing ballet. I’m also delighted and provoked by his words reflecting on the way that the closet impacts the world of homoerotic wrestling both at the level of wrestlers and the level of competing wrestling companies. This isn’t just food for thought, it’s a banquet that anyone with even a twist of wrestling kink in them has got to find fascinating, inspiring, and illuminating. This is essential reading that should be a prerequisite for anyone with even a passing arousal at the sight of unapologetically homoerotic wrestling.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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July has been full of unfortunate distractions from my devotions to homoerotic wrestling. Too much travel and way too much work have kept my attention divided. So awarding this month’s title of homoerotic wrestler of the month may very well be a bit slipshod. My way is to pour over the nominees with a passionate commitment to rigorously apply all of the steps of the scientific method in eliminating all but the singularly most worthy wrestler who has appeared in a homoerotic wrestling new release in the previous calendar month. I tend to favor laying out all of the contenders one by one for your and my consideration before the unveiling. I like both the vetting process as it lends itself to a more carefully considered decision, and I also like the opportunity to offer a send up to all of the hardworking wrestlers putting their bodies to the test for our entertainment and edification. This time around, however, I’m skipping past the examination of the field. That’s not to say that I haven’t done my due diligence, but I’m just a little too distracted to paint you the full landscape. I looked at offerings from Naked Kombat, BG East, Can-Am, Rock Hard Wrestling, and Thunder’s Arena. I was deeply aroused by a few. One, however, stood head-and-shoulders above the rest, and frankly, it’s probably long-overdue that he sat atop the throne. My newly crowned homoerotic wrestler of the month is….

…BG East’s Kid Karisma.

I don’t suppose it should come as a surprise, considering that Kid K’s masterful Hunkbash on last month’s homoerotic wrestler of the month, Jake Jenkins, earned Kid K the rare move into the coveted #2 spot in my overall favorite homoerotic wrestler -non-pornboy division. Kid K wrestles rookie Jake like a Cordon Bleu graduate plating fois gras (I’m seriously working the metaphors, lately). He slaps Jake down, spreads him out with an expert touch, and positions him for maximum, mouthwatering viewing.
Hunkbash 12 makes me mentally place Kid Karisma into the remarkable stable of newly came-of-age gorgeous hunks at BG East who are ravenous to serve up rookie initiation. It seems like only yesterday, Kid K was fresh meat (and what meat!) slapping down his junk to see how he measures up against the baddest and the fiercest. Our boy’s all grown up now, my friends, and his torpedo delivery of bashing, twisting, and cranking agony on body beautiful young Jake is perfectly seasoned to taste (at least my taste!).
Like all beautiful bad asses, Kid K loves his body, as well he should. Wrestling is foreplay for Kid K, merely the setting for jerking himself harder and harder toward self-worshipping ecstasy (not that I’ve ever seen Kid K cum on camera, but I’m still hoping he’ll make that leap into the pornboy division!). And he has every right to be as captivated with the sight of his own rippled physique as he is (and I am). He’s 5’8″ and 170 pounds of sculpted granite. And in a world full of blonds, bleach blonds and brunettes, a freckle-faced, fiery red-head both stands out and brings me to full attention. And that ass!!!!
I consider it a testimony to my superhuman willpower that it’s taken me this long to mention Kid Karisma’s unbelievably gorgeous glutes. Seriously, you could feed a hungry family of 4 for a month on the meat hanging off his backside (…too much? I warned you I pushing my metaphors hard lately!). Surely that ass could turn the most adamant bottom into a raging top, and speaking on behalf of gay men everywhere (across the planet, every last one of them!), I’m praying that Kid K plays for our team and makes some man/men insanely satisfied with pounding that muscle butt until all parties pass out from exhaustion. If he isn’t, I’m first in line to do my very best to convince him otherwise (first, I said! back of the line, the rest of you!).
Tapping Kid Karisma as my new homoerotic wrestler of the month is a recognition of the strong, hard, arousing body of work that Kid K has been adding to his CV in the past few years, putting in the training, sweat, and tears that are clearly evident in his taking full ownership of Jake Jenkins in body and soul. Truth be told, Kid Karisma probably has every right to snap me into a bearhug and demand to know why it’s taken so long for him to get the nod. All I can really say to that is bring it on, bad boy!

Bard’s Pilgrim Way

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Club Paradise – Cambridge, MA

Where I come from, gay clubs tend to come and go like the tide. They may stay in the same location but change names and genres. They may keep the same name but move around the neighborhood. I don’t know if Boston is like that, so I can’t really say if the gay club Paradise in Cambridge may be the same venue where BG East shot their Paradise oil wrestling series. But while I’m working in the area, as one stop on my BGE pilgrimage, I took a stroll down Mass Ave and snapped these shots of Paradise today.

Like I said, I don’t know if this is the venue where BGE’s Paradise series was shot, but I get a little aroused just thinking about. The first Paradise tape was released back in 1989. All four tapes in the Paradise collection feature ripped, beautiful BGE boys getting oiled up and cheered on by a raging crowd of horny gay men as the studs grapple and slide all over each other on the dance floor.

Terry Reed brutalizes Dave Lowe – BG East’s Paradise 2
Regular readers already know what I have to say about much of this: 1) Homoerotic wrestling in front of a live audience is an obsession of mine lately. When the crowd gets into the action, it ups the eroticism for me many times over. The 2 Paradise tapes I own show the eager audience quickly picking their favorites and egging on the soaked studs tossing one another around for their pleasure. When they bark out, almost plaintively, what they want their champion to do to his opponent, it’s like an invisible hand stroking me to watch the wrestlers respond, taking their cues and doing their best to deliver what their worshippers cry out for.
Max Dare gets prepped for battle – BG East’s Paradise 1
And, of course, there’s the oil. Lubricated wrestling is as inherently erotic as it is iconic. For the Paradise matches, one lucky bastard from the audience got to oil down each wrestler and serve as that wrestler’s corner man for his match. Their duties seemed to be primarily focused on the liberal, lingering application of baby oil, shouting encouragement, and rubbing down their shoulders between rounds. This is a job I was made for.
Oil wrestling at Paradise cannot help itself but be a bit gimmicky at times. The setting and circumstances are more performance art than competitive or classic pro. But there are a few Paradise moments that I find extremely provocative and some of my favorite snapshots of homoerotic wrestling. Rev Sutton’s delivery in Paradise 3 against upstanding, clean cut Dave Lowe is truly inspired. Rev embodies a fully fleshed out heel character in an instant. He’s a cocky narcissist. He smirks and rolls his eyes at his opponent for daring to face him. He seems to seriously be ready to get off on dominating bright-eyed Davey. He even throws ice at him contemptuously between rounds, talking shit to his cornerman about what he’s going to do to the chump across from him. Most Paradise matches don’t take this much of a detour into classic pro storytelling, and for that, I absolutely love Rev Sutton in Paradise 3.

Miguel gets revenge on bully Sean – BG East’s Paradise 3

On a completely different end of the spectrum, Miguel Santos’ match against Sean Parker is a charmer. The set-up is that Sean was Miguel’s bully in school, but my, oh my, look at Miguel all grown up now! Both boys are cute as buttons and truly wonderful to watch squeeze and scramble in the oil. The morality tale of bully-gets-his, as cliche as it is, somehow sucks me in, and I find myself wanting to see stunningly gorgeous and now-bigger Miguel get a little revenge. An unexpected bonus in this match is the fact that Miguel has a series of wardrobe malfunctions, and they never quite manage to find the thong that can contain his big, beautiful balls.

Steve Sherman tangles with Wade Cutler – BG East’s Paradise 4

Iconic classic homoerotic wrestler Wade Cutler shows up in both Paradise 3 & 4. In 4, he faces off with Steve Sherman in a prelude to the classic ring battle that has stills popping up in fan sites in every wrestling kink corner of the internet. There’s something gaspworthy, however, about watching muscleboy Wade get his assed kicked like he’s some 98-pound weakling by the bodybuilder (and clearly experienced amateur wrestler) Johnny Rock in Paradise 3. Wade has been a recurring star in many a sweat-soaked homoerotic wrestling dream of mine, and seeing him getting owned by Johnny Rock has fueled many a fond fantasy.

Jay Austin wails on Dennis the Menace – BG East’s Paradise 2
The BG East website no longer lists it, but the Marky Mark and Cruze match in Paradise 4 is another sure fire orgasm for me. One of these days I’ll order Paradise 1 & 2, and I’m sure I’ll find myself happy to own all of these classic glimpses of club wrestling kink. So is Paradise on Mass Ave in Cambridge the same venue that brought us these beautiful works of art? I don’t know, but just the possibility made this stop along my homoerotic wrestling kink pilgrim’s way truly inspiring!

Divinity and a Spanking

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Someone (and he knows who he is) deserves a stern spanking for delaying for a couple of days my opportunity to rip open a certain padded manilla envelope with the treasure Hunkbash 12 inside. One viewing of Kid Karisma offering No Mercy to  Jake Jenkins, however, and my thoughts of needing to spank someone have evaporated… for now….

Holy…. shit. Good God almighty. Sweet Jesus! There’s just no other way to describe it. This was a religious experience for me. I am completely captivated and captured by this match!

Kid K and Jake tell a truly classic pro tale. The rookie is all eager, flexing in the locker room mirror, tucking in the drawstrings of his stark, white speedos and pulling up his kneepads. He’s a rock hard, barefoot warrior ready to conquer. Like a spider, however, Kid K descends in black boots, black knee pads, and black trunks. A locker room ambush is the rookie’s first lesson: always keep looking over your shoulder, Jake!

It’s a schooling, nearly from start to finish. Kid K drags the rookie around, quite literally by the scruff of his neck. He toys with Jake. He preens and proves over and over that this is “sport” only in the sense that shooting clay pigeons from the deck of a cruise ship is sport. Lightweight hunk Jake is easy prey for being tossed and flipped, hurled and hammered mercilessly by a salivating Kid K. The Kid sets his sights early and unceasingly on Jake’s beautiful lower back. A few body slams to soften him up set the stage for the first of several excruciatingly lingering camel clutches that stretch and strain Jake’s neck and back. Prying the rookie’s head sharply backward with a fistful of hair on one hand, Kid K crunches out a massively peaked single bicep with his other, all to the soundtrack of Jake sobbing in agony.

Kid K is nastier than I’ve ever seen him, and he’s punching every button I’ve got. He looks like he relishes every boot he pounds into Jake’s naked back almost as much as he’s seriously getting off on flexing and posing over top of the battered rookie. I expect Kid K at any moment to yank down his trunks and pound out a couple of quarts in eye fluttering ecstasy. He doesn’t, of course… me, on the other hand….

Kid K is like a master artist in this match.  He has a delightful knack for carefully positioning almost every long, lingeringly held hold so that he (and we) can admire both his and Jake’s ripped bodies. There are no wasted motions, nothing abrupt or interrupted as the master chips away at this masterpiece. Right around 7 minutes into the match, he has Jake weeping in another camel clutch. As the camera zooms in for a close up, Kid K looks right at you and me with a sly grin, even as he barks at Jake, “Give up!?” He captures Jake’s chin in his left hand and pries the rookie’s head both backward and around, making the veins in Jake’s neck rise to the surface. When Jake refuses to give, Kid K rocks back and forth, sliding his hips forward and backward, wrenching on the poor rookie’s back that much harder. I swear, it looks like Kid K is dry humping the young stud’s sweaty, corded back.

Kid K pushes his luck, like all narcissists do sooner or later. He throws in one too many showboating cartwheels on his way toward using his body like a battering ram against Jake in the corner. At the last moment, Jake lifts his elbow and catches the red-headed terror in the face. A truly stunning flying head scissors illustrates that Jake is filling out a legitimate pro wrestling arsenal very quickly. Kid K’s unnecessary roughness has bruised hot young Jake’s ego a little too much, perhaps, inspiring the rookie to return the favor and drag Kid K to his feet by an iron clad fistful of hair. The massive sweat stain that Kid K leaves on the mat after getting awesomely flattened by a Jake Jenkins drop kick makes me swoon, hit rewind, swoon again, hit rewind again, and then swoon for a third time. Suplex after sweaty suplex winds the boy in black. But not for long.

Prying Jake’s back like a twist-tie around the ring post is every second as long as it needs to be to get the job done on Kid K’s side of the camera and on mine. And, okay, so I don’t have a strangling fetish, but sweet Jesus, when Kid K plants his claws around Jake’s neck, schoolboy pinning him and making the rookie’s face turn bright red, I can’t deny it. That’s fucking hot!

I can’t decide who’s ass works me harder (though I’d love to give that a road test), Jake’s tightly packed, athletic glutes or Kid Karisma’s mind-blowingly round muscle butt. Jake’s sweet ass is beautifully and generously displayed, as Kid K lifts him off his feet in a groaning, gasping bearhug. A reverse bearhug chaser, gives us a long look at just about every inch of Jake’s dripping body. I swear, a reverse bearhug never looked so much like a power-fuck!

So I’ve got just a few conclusions to wrap up this inadequate attempt to capture a profound spiritual experience. First conclusion, I was never so right as the day I picked Jake Jenkins to be my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. I’m on my knees begging the gods to send us more of Jake. Second conclusion, someone (and he knows who he is) seriously needs that spanking for keeping this treasure out of my hands even a second longer than necessary (you didn’t think I’d seriously forgotten!?).

And a third and final conclusion, Kid Karisma can simply do no wrong when it comes to my homoerotic wrestling kink entertainment these days. Time after time, he’s brought his ridiculously sexy brand of nastiness into my wrestling fantasies, doing to one pretty little thing after another, with masterful precision, exactly what I’m longing for him to do. It’s a momentous day, and regular readers can attest that this does not happen all that frequently, but Hunkbash 12 has convinced me without a shadow of a doubt that Kid K has broken into the top ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers – non-pornboys. That’s right, Joshua Goodman! Kid Karisma has refused to call you Mr. Joshua and instead slapped you and your pendulous package back into the ranks of the not-quite contenders. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to see Mr. Joshua claw his way back into contention, but for now, as of this moment, Lon Dumont had better watch his rippled back, because Kid Karisma is my new top contender for the title of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy.

Pleased to Make Your Acquaintance

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I was mesmerized by those hairy pecs and munchable nipples the moment I saw Eliad Cohen on Men’s World last week. Good God, this man is pure sex! I thought to myself, that has got to be the sexiest body on the planet. Then again, I think that about a lot of hunks (I’m fickle).

Then I noticed he’d been featured on Homotrophy on Saturday…

…and then on eyecandy and Project Q on Sunday… 

….and then on Tattooed Hunks yesterday…

… and now neverland today. His “artist” Facebook page identifies Eliad as not just a dizzyingly gorgeous body, but also an actor, model, and personal trainer. He’s also the coverboy for Spartacus International Gay Guide.

Eliad’s fan page on Facebook gives a detailed bio that makes me think it may not just be bullshit. Reportedly, he’s an Israeli, 23-year old, fresh out of the army (aren’t all 23-year old Israelis?), gay entrepreneur.

When he puts up his fists, he suddenly becomes an object of wrestling/fight kink fantasy, as well (of course!). I’m picturing him as the template for a character in my superhero wrestling fantasy series. I’m not sure what his superpower should be, though…

Eliad is further proof of a long-standing theory I have that Israeli men are among the sexiest in the world. I hope that all this recent attention inspires more exposure for Eliad, and in the mean time, he’s working overtime in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.

AKA

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Reader Rob Sherborne (who I suppose is probably not this guy, but it’s who I picture associated with that name) gets the second Connect the Dots Award within the past week here at neverland, for turning me on (well, that ship had already sailed) to the AKA of Rock Hard Wrestling’s (and a my former homoerotic wrestler of the month) Lucas Payne. Seems young slab of beef Lucas also goes by Kasey “Colossal” Rolow.

Young Lucas Payne caught my eye and grabbed hold of my title as April’s homoerotic wrestler of the month for many reasons: that body… the way he nibbles his lower lip in concentration as he rips apart his opponent… that body… his cocky swagger… that body…. But honestly, it’s that mouth of his that earned him top honors from the new release list in April.

Lucas does not strike me as a professional wrestler first and foremost. He lacks polish and a ring strategy. He doesn’t really press an advantage. But Lucas brings what can make or break a homoerotic wrestling offering in my book: attitude. That smart-ass mouth of his tells a story so sweet it makes my mouth water. He taunts and belittles. He mocks his opponent whenever the poor sucker can’t help but cry out in agony. He occasionally growls one of those primal, beastly growls that makes my knees buckle. No kidding, that body is nothing but gorgeous (have I mentioned his body already?). But I’m not exaggerating when I say it’s that cocky, smart-ass mouth of his that I find the sexiest asset hunky Lucas has with him as he steps into the ring.

I haven’t paid the membership fee for Kasey’s personal worship site, but the preview pics available make me think that he comes by the cocky, quick-witted, smart-ass attitude without too much effort. His shirtless muscle shots show him to be the genetic marvel that he clearly is, with more than a hint of a supremely confident young stud who knows he can afford to ham it up and look silly, because he’s drop dead gorgeous and can snap most anyone like a twig if need be. I hope the homoerotic wrestling world has more Lucas entertainment ahead for us.

Damn. Damn-damn-damn!
Thanks so much for the very hot tip, Rob!