Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

A Feast for the Senses

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I’m coated in sweat at this moment. Normally, that might be a signal of something hot and thrilling going on for me. But at this moment, it’s just a symptom of my low tolerance for heat and humidity. However, it brings me back to the topic that I’ve expounded on many times before: my love of sweat-lubricated homoerotic wrestling.
Landon Mycles v Michael Vineland – Can-Am’s Pro Sex Fight 1
Yes, please! There’s something that much more intimate about two hunks wrestling lathered in sweat. The lubrication is itself part of the association with value-added arousal, I’m sure. Less friction, harder and hotter action. Just an application of lubricant can bring me to full attention, so an entire body coated in lubricating sweat is profoundly arousing.
Sweat-Pig Extraordinaire Bud Orton v Kevin Shea –
BG East’s Wrestleshack 6

It’s not just the physiology of a penile reflex to lubrication, though. Just the sight of sweat dripping off a wrestler’s nose or chin makes me light headed. There’s a deep, homoerotic masculinity about a sweat-soaked body engaged in combat. When the hair is plastered to the scalp, wringing with sweat, when beads are dripping off the brow like a leaky faucet, the wrestler becomes even more an object of primal, sexualized strength and domination than he was before. The smell of fresh sweat, still clinging to the body, is like vintage wine, stimulating all the senses at once.

Rio Garza v sweat-soaked Chris Bruce – BG East’s Undagear 17

I’m a fan of sweat-soaked gear, as well. The gear that allows you to trace the path of moisture pouring from the pores is extra goodness. Peeling off sweaty gear is even more erotic. The hollow sound of heavy, soaked gear slapping against skin or smacking the mat is over the top arousing for me.

Lickable Denny Cartier v Mikey Vee – BG East’s Mat Hunks 8

And, as I’ve mentioned before, in addition to a visual, tactile, olfactory and auditory arousal associated with sweat, there are some prize homoerotic wrestlers bodies that, when coated in a sheen of sweat, I find myself desperately fantasizing about licking. I’d like to see more licking in my homoerotic wrestling. The primal sensuality of tasting your opponent’s body, the pairing of domination and caressing as your tongue slides across the salty surface of a hunk’s muscles, is powerfully thrilling.

AKA

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Eagle-eyed neverland reader, D.S., wins a Connect-the-Dots Award for spotting one of my current favorite wrestlers under another alias. D.S. tells me that he confirmed the double-identity by checking the tats. Indeed, they match, and indeed, D.S. rocks for giving me the heads up!
I’ve gotten in trouble in the past before for sleuthing out the full-monty versions of homoerotic wrestlers who’ve kept their kit on for the wrestling audience. Well, to be entirely fair, I haven’t exactly gotten “in trouble.” I have, though, been contacted by very gracious wrestlers asking very politely to remove my links and pics of their more risque sidelines for one reason or another. And for the record, I’m happy to do so, particularly when the wrestling hunks in question are such gentlemen about it.
So if the wrestler in question were to find it more advantageous for these truly awesome shots of him to be removed from neverland… well, let’s just say an autographed photo of him with a personal inscription to me, would most likely result in his wish being granted. Is that blackmail? I sincerely don’t intend it to be so.  I hold homoerotic wrestlers in the highest regard, and the pages of this blog are intended solely to promote the finest of their work with the best of intentions. So, should this page at some point in the future suddenly display photos of puppy dogs, you’ll know that I got a message from a certain wrestling stud extraordinaire (and, quite possibly, it may mean that I now own an autographed photo).

Memory Lane

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Re-reading yesterday’s post, I’m struck by my near hysterics. I’m actually not feeling nearly as desperately uncomfortable today as yesterday. It may be that the temperature has actually changed, or possibly my body has adjusted a bit to this climate (or both). You can still call me a pussy if you like, but I may just feel well enough to hip toss you to your ass and sit on your face for the trouble. Your call.

My work is making me cross paths frequently with college-age hunks these days. Like I mentioned yesterday, the heat is also inspiring the aforementioned barely legal muscleboys to display generous quantities of skin. Yes, indeed, there could be worse ways to spend a summer, even with the sweat trickling down the back of my neck at this very moment.

These shots of Seth Kuhlmann from DNA are making me feel all nostalgic for my own undergraduate days. True story: I was a frat boy in college. Have I mentioned that? All four years, with the secret handshake and the pseudo-religious ritual and the copious quantities of alcohol always nearby… Somehow, my memories of those years don’t quite match up with the gay porn fantasies of frat house romps. I don’t quite remember my frat brothers dropping trou like butt-beautiful Seth here. All that said, however, I have to also say, there were some fantastic wrestling kink moments strongly associated with frat house living, that stoke my fantasies still today.

I had a few rockin’ gorgeous frat brothers, one in particular who particularly enjoyed to wrestle. He was blond, a football player with incredibly long legs and a fantastic hard, round ass. I don’t think I’m overstating it to say that he had some of the aesthetics of a Seth Kuhlman. And for some reason, he loved wrestling with me, in particular.

The scenario was repeated often my last two years in the frat (I was a junior his freshman year). He’d walk in the room where I was (the “chapter room,” my bedroom, the bathroom…), and he’d say something intentionally provocative. He’d make a short joke (I was about half a foot shorter than he). He’d walk up and knock my cap off for no good reason. Whatever, he’d create a pretense in which I was required by the intricate homo-charged bonding rituals of young men to stand up, puff out my chest, and indicate that I was prepared to defend my honor with physical force. Two seconds later, we’d be locked up, him with a height and weight advantage, me with a lower center of gravity and, let’s face it, superior smarts. Two times out of three, the situation would end with me submitting. At least one of those times out of three, I’d submit because my erection was raging so hard that it couldn’t be disguised and, frankly, was posing an injury hazard. One time out of three, the gorgeous blond stud would power me to my back, hook a leg, and just let gravity keep me pinned to my back until I gave up.

And that last one time out of three, I’d take him down, typically sweeping one of those long, strong, smooth legs of his. 19 years old and still growing, he’d be all awkward arms and legs and unchecked balance. I actually pinned the pretty little bastard just handful of times, but much more often, I’d make him cry uncle by locking one of his arms behind his back while I straddled his narrow waist, cranking his wrist higher and higher up between his shoulder blades… or I’d snap my albeit shorter but surprisingly strong legs around his midsection, lace my ankles together, and grind my knees into his gut and lower back. That would always make him laugh at first, as if it was no big thing to be scissored between my thighs. But his laughter would evolve into choked coughing, punctuated by sharp inhalations as he attempted to disguise his pain. Eventually (preferably only after a long time), he’d groan, no longer with any pretense that he wasn’t suffering. Finally, he’s repeat quickly, with more than a note of desperation, “Okayokayokay!!!”
There’s no chance in hell that this guy was unaware of the hard-ons that our wrestling bouts inevitably gave me. I don’t know what it meant for him, whether it was just relatively socially acceptable homoeroticism for him as it was for me. But he kept coming back for more, and despite the odds against me (and perhaps even more so because of them), I kept puffing out my chest, locking up, and wrestling long and hard fueled by an overabundance of testosterone and a passionate lust for intimate physical contact in the form of wrestling domination.

I’m a Pussy

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Brad Rochelle: BG East’s Backyard Brawls 1
This has come as a bit of a shock to me, but I have to admit it: I am a pussy. Now, I mean that in the most non-misogynistic (and pro-feline) way possible, but frankly, there’s just no way to sugar coat it. I’m a pussy. A few unkind hearts reading this are nodding their heads and snarkily mumbling that it’s about time that I admitted it. Well… fuck you, that’s not what I’m talking about. I don’t back down from a fight, and I’ve been told by several independent sources that when I’m in a particularly serious mood, I remind them of an angry grammar school gym teacher (which, perhaps oddly, I find really flattering). What I am a pussy about, however, is this heat.
Ryon Long & Greg Michaels: BG East’s Backyard Brawls 2

I’d heard that Boston in late July was hot, but somehow I still wasn’t mentally prepared. I catch myself continually bitching and moaning about the heat throughout the day, and I’m not proud of it. I sleep on top of the covers with a fan blowing directly in my face, and still I’m hot. And now a local colleague has mentioned to me that it’s going to “start heating up around here” over the next few days. I almost started to cry. I can’t deny it. I’m a pussy.

Shannon Embry & Jonny Firestorm:
BG East’s The Contract 9

On the other hand, this sort of heat brings out an abundance of bare flesh. And I’ve been very delighted with the hot and bothered eye candy that Boston has to offer. I keep looking for some BG East wrestling hunk strolling down the street (preferably in his skimpiest wrestling trunks). But despite not catching any BG East fanstymen sightings yet, I have to say, I’ve seen some prime beef that very well might be able to give the BG East boys a run for their money (at least in hunky looks… toss them into the ring and I’m sure our BGE battlers would beat the shit out of these downtown posers).

Reigning Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month:
The sweat-soaked gorgeousness o Jake Jenkins
Regular readers also know what a sucker I am for a thick sheen of sweat on a muscled hunk, so just imagine my constant titillation in a city baking their beefy boys with a side of nasty humidity.
Brad Rochelle: The Contract 6

Back to the self-revelation that I’m a pussy, though… as for me, I just don’t have the body chemistry to enjoy baking my own body. Sun bathing is not on my list of enjoyable pass-times. Watching the fine physiques of hot guys sun bathing is an enjoyable pass-time, but even then, it turns out that I’m such a pussy that my own discomfort is distracting me from that most excellent byproduct of a steamy, summer day.

Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor: BG East’s Wet & Wild 5

And frankly, the notion of a wrestling match is almost too much for me to bear. The last thing I feel like doing in this heat is swapping body heat with anyone else in close quarters. This pussiness is profoundly, existentially unsettling the very core of my wrestling kink identity that I typically find as constant as magnetic north. But a whole lot of aggressive, physical exertion at this moment is almost nauseating to think about.

A homoerotic wrestler I’d wrestle in any weather:
BG East’s Mitch Colby
Then again, the right body, perhaps lubricated with some tanning oil, could probably lure me out of my bitchy, whiny buzzkill. I hope you don’t judge me too harshly for this vulnerable confession. However, if you do, wait till September and I’m back in a more familiar climate, and I’ll kick your ass and make you enjoy every second of it.

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Bruno

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Bruno, the connoisseur of Beefcakes of Wrestling, has quite an eye for wrestling muscles. I check is blog daily, because I rely on folks like Bruno and Joe at Ringside at Skull Island to draw my gaze to the best of the crop of eyecandy professional wrestlers that I’m missing as a result of swearing off straight-up wrestling some time ago. The beefcake that Bruno features works for my wrestling kink about 75% of the time. But honestly, it’s the 25% of the time that fascinates me the most. That 25% of Bruno’s picks that leave me thinking, “Now he’s just not quite doing it for me,” those send me scurrying into the corners of my own tastes and imagination, self-reflecting on the nature of desire, arousal, and personal tastes. Bruno is a gentleman and a gem, and I’m very honored that he’s bringing us this latest in neverland’s summer series of guests posts on the topic of “Diverse Tastes,” in which he provokes and inspires the most essential element in a healthy wrestling kink (or sexual fantasy of any sort, really): the imagination.
——————
Can You Imagine?
by Bruno
One of the things I enjoy most on Neverland is Bard’s homoerotic wrestling fiction featuring TV/movie actors, newscasters, and the hunky carpenters of HGTV. We’ll probably never see studs like Joe Mangianello or Chris Evans step into a ring to wrestle in tight briefs, so creating fictional scenarios where they do is the next best thing.
Joe Manganiello & Chris Evans:
Bruno foreshadows a possible future bout in the Producer’s Ring?
Bard has already featured dozens of sexy non-wrestlers from the worlds of show business, broadcast journalism, and sports and I’d like to contribute a couple of new faces to his roster. 
I’m a pretty private guy and as followers of my blog “Beefcakes Of Wrestling” can attest, I don’t often talk about myself. But I’m going to make an exception for Bard and tell you a little bit about what I do for a living. I’m a voice actor who dubs soap operas from Mexico, Venezuela, Colombia and Argentina from their original Spanish language to English. 
Now if you haven’t watched a “telenovela” yet, you’re missing out on a lot of hot Latin beefcake. The gorgeous actors from these countries are tanned, buff and not shy about showing off their gym-toned bodies. There are two actors I have supplied the voices for whom I think would be perfect for Neverland’s roster of homoerotic wrestlers.
William Levy
First off is the reigning hunk of Mexican soap operas, William Levy. Blonde, ripped and impossibly good-looking, Levy always plays the romantic lead who is both tough and sensitive.
In a wrestling match, he’s the ideal babyface/rookie/jobber — a pretty boy with a lean, athletic build that demands to be punished in hold after excruciating hold. 
Pablo Martin
And who would be the prefect opponent to do that to Levy? Of all the villains I played, the one who most fits the bill as a vicious wrestling heel is  Pablo Martin.
His thick, muscular build and dark good looks remind me of those heels in BG East’s Big-N-Beefy series. Whatsmore, Martin knows how to be nasty; in the soap opera where I supplied his English-sepaking voice, he was despicable as the dastardly, conniving bad guy who tormented the female lead (and who wore speedos 80% of the time!). 

Can you imagine a match between these two Titans of The Telenovela? I’ll leave it to Bard to fill out the rest of the details (should he wish to). Now it’s back to the recording studio for me. Thanks for the opportunity to contribute to your blog, Bard!
————————
Truly my pleasure and honor, Bruno! And this is exactly what I’m talking about. I might never have known about the profoundly inspiring treasures of William Levy and Pablo Martin if it weren’t for Bruno. I believe that all of our fantasies diverge and converge around the worlds in which we live and let our imaginations run free. It takes no more encouragement at all for me to put a William Levy vs. Pablo Martin match on my docket for the Producer’s Ring. And I’m predicting that William is in for a world of hurt and humiliation. Thanks for opening up my wrestling kink imagination that much farther!

We’ve Only Just Begun

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Note to self: Don’t check the BG East website updates when in a relatively public place. My instant arousal upon seeing a barefoot Jake Jenkins in knee pads and Kevin Von Erich-esque tight, white trunks posing for his ring match with bad boy musclestud, Kid Karisma, required me to stay seated for quite a while in order to keep confidential the tented crotch of my pants. I don’t know if I’ll manage to wait for a DVD copy of Hunkbash 12, or if I’ll cave as I curse the US Postal Service and also buy a 24-hour pay-per-view download of the match in the BGE Arena. Damn my inability to control my lust for instant gratification! Damn, that’s one hot wrestler! Damn straight, he’s my homoerotic wrestler of the month!

As I struggle to see whether I can wait it out for Hunkbash 12, let me celebrate another Jake Jenkins match that thrills me to the core and makes me almost ready to throw a bar mitzvah for Rock Hard Wrestling. The quality of Jake’s recent release against rookie (somehow I don’t think so) Gunnar Bayani (I LOVE that name!!!) suggests that RHW may have finally come of age, as far as I’m concerned. Delightful pacing from two skilled athletes with a story to tell. Gunnar has some professional moves and presence that clearly draw from an established ring career elsewhere. And my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month is both absolutely gorgeous and delivering a delightful combination of amateur tosses and pins mixed in with a growing arsenal of pro-style thumps, flights, and viciousness.

Gunnar plays it cool to start the match. “All that wait, and this is what I get?” Someone needs to check Gunnar’s eyesight, because Jake is looking stunning from go. He sports incredible fitness with thick, athletic muscles in all the right places to keep him both flexible and physically dominating in the ring. And that ass… my, oh my, that ass… packed into those red square cuts to perfection.

The running bit that Jake pushes from before they ever make contact is the comparison of Gunnar to skinny Japanese competitive eating champion, Takeru Kobayashi. Personally, I don’t really see the resemblance, but then again, I don’t suppose that’s the point. It’s about psyching out an outmatched opponent. “You look that that little skinny Kobayashi,” Jake taunts. Let’s face it, no one is going to be intimidated by Takeru Kobayashi unless you’re stupid enough to go head to head with him in competitive eating. In the wrestling ring, however, it’s another story.

“Just like skinny Kobayashi, I beat guys four times my size!” Gunnar snaps back. And although Jake’s physique is way out of Gunnar’s league, Jake is definitely not four times his size. Gunnar unleashes a lightening fast volley to get the action started that has Jake seeing stars. Backing my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month into the corner, Gunnar lands several hard slaps to Jake’s gorgeous pecs that echo around the arena. “Owww!” Jake gasps with a stunned grin that looks unmistakably like he’s actually caught off guard by the sincerity and authenticity of Gunnar’s assault to his beautiful chest. Jake’s beautiful pecs glows bright, bright red for the next 5 minutes of this match.

But once Jake catches the momentum, he illustrates handily what all those gorgoues muscles can do. He picks Gunnar up like a sack of potatoes and flings him to the mat. Just to even the scorecard, he takes pleasure in some tit-for-tat corner abuse. “Does that hurt!?” Jake demands, just checking, just measuring the immediate effect of his swelling dominance over the rookie. “How does that feel?” he asks, as if he’s taking notes in the fine art of exacting the maximum agony out of a skinny rookie. A single leg crab has Gunnar screaming. Jake transitions to a nasty leg lock that looks like he’s nearly ripping his opponent’s leg off at the knee. A lightening fast drop kick, a running scoop slam, and a school boy pin sets him up to return the favor of pounding Gunnar’s tight pecs with his fists. For an amateur wrestler stepping sideways into the pro ring, Jake shows that he’s got a quickly growing arsenal of holds and maneuvers that take full advantage of his strength, flexibility, and finely tuned awareness of his body in motion. He flies off the corner turnbuckle. He lands a drop kick that spins Gunnar 270 degrees in mid-air. Gunnar is going nowhere as Jake slaps down a leisurely 3-count pinfall. “After that you may want to go back to eating hot dogs, Kobayashi!” he smirks.

Jake works my wrestling kink every bit as relentlessly and skillfully as he inevitably works over Gunnar. Slamming the rookie’s face into the turnbuckle, he taunts, “How do those corners taste!?” Multiple powerslams leave gunnar gasping for air. Jake sells some suffering as well, as Gunnar delivers unmistakably expert offense.  His running drop kick squarely into Jake’s face looks awfully nasty and perfectly on the money, from my angle. But eventually overcoming exhaustion, Jake just manages to catch Gunnar in mid-air as he leaps off the turnbuckle, reversing the flight it into a beautiful power slam that has the rookie helpless. Jake quickly lifts Gunnar across his shoulders in an entirely convincing torture rack in the center of the ring, pulling hard on Gunnar’s body as the rookie screams in desperate agony before gasping out his submission. “We’re 2 and 0! Game over!” Jake flexes, his body beautifully pumped from a seriously athletic match.

Jake, my homoerotic wrestler of the month, I’m passionately hoping that we’ve only just begun!

Desert Island Discs

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True story: I just recently had to pack for several weeks away from home. I’m traveling for work, and packing is tight. I’ll have my laptop with me, and therefore access to watching DVDs. Here’s the task I gave myself, though: with limited space, I allotted myself exactly 3 homoerotic wrestling DVDs to bring with me. With that provocative task that I set for myself, the question became, which 3, out of my pretty impressive collection (if I do say so myself), should I bring?
Here’s what I came up with to keep me entertained for the next month or so (in addition to what I can snag online):
My first choice was Wrestlefest 2. It’s classic, old school BG East, with a live audience of fellow wrestlers cheering ringside and a strong smell of sweat, testosterone and camaraderie in the air (I’m on the record aching for more of all of that!). Having a young, stunningly hard, tanned rookie version of Brad Rochelle opening a can of nasty whoop ass on then-jobber Patrick Donovan can put me over the edge over and over, particularly once he’s got Patrick tied in the ropes.

I also love Chip Slater’s wrestling stylings (and that gorgeously handsome jaw!), and his humiliation and demolition of Jeff Jordan and his lucious pecs in Wrestlefest 2, with the hunks ringside cheering and whooping, is smokin’ hot! To be clear, Wrestlefest 2 isn’t precisely my favorite homoerotic wrestling DVD in my collection. But for this trip, with what’s yanking my crank at this moment, it was my top pick to pack.
My 2nd choice took me a little while to settle on. It likely comes as no surprise that I’d be packing a bit of Mitch Colby in my bag, but which Mitch masterpiece? I settled on Mitch-cubed, with Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. His mat match against Patrick Donovan (yes, with extremely tight space, I’ve managed to squeeze in a double shot of Patrick!) is quite possibly my favorite Mitch-match of all time, but that’s hard to pin down because nothing Mitch does ever disappoints. But I’m absolutely enthralled with the give and take between Mitch and Patrick, the closely contested wrestling and tests of strength and tenacity, the gallons of sweat pouring off their gorgeous bodies, and a bearhug contest that I just about cannot make it all the way through without a very satisfying explosion.
When Mitch brings back amorous admirer Marc Rion (hey, what ever happened to that tasty one-hit-wonder?) for the 3rd match in this collection, it’s admittedly a little light on the wrestling but delightfully heavy on body worship. There are frequently times when some passionate body worship will get my heart pounding nearly as ferociously as an over-the-knee backbreaker. And worshipping Mitch is a very fond fantasy of mine. Definitely, Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight is undoubtedly going to come in very handy over the next several weeks away from home.

When it came time to settle on my 3rd and final choice, I was feeling a lot of pressure. Saying yes to any one thing would mean saying no to everything else in my collection. Will I want old school? New school? Heavy on the erotic? Heavy on the ring wrestling? In the end, I settled on the classic Hunkbash 2 to round out my desert island discs. As with all my choices, the fact that there are many favorite wrestlers and matches on the same disc played heavily into my decision to stow Hunkbash 2 in my carry-on. First and foremost, I don’t believe I’ve ever sat down to watch a Wade Cutler match that didn’t end with me coated in sweat and toweling off. But place muscle hunk Wade into the expert hands of heel extraordinaire and BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard, and the climactic match of Hunkbash 2 qualifies for one of the hottest, most satisfying homoerotic wrestling matches I’ve ever seen. Wade is in prime physical condition, wearing iconic stars and stripes trunks (for a while, at least), and suffering in complete shock at being manhandled and sexually dominated by a smaller, less muscular opponent. Classic tale. Iconic wrestlers. Never-fail entertainment to satisfy in the coming weeks.

But there really isn’t a match in Hunkbash 2 that fails to offer quality goods to tweak my kink from one angle or another. Blond babyface Barry Longshaw getting stomped into the mat by an incredibly young Kid Vicious with a full head of hair is simply awesome. Psycho Capone opening up his nasty brand of insanity all over big, beautiful muscle boy Terry Reed is over the top hot (something about that match totally sucks me into really pitying Terry… seriously beautiful salesmanship, obviously). But I think my second most favorite match from Hunkbash 2 is pro-heel Bryan unleashing a stunningly hot mauling all over the beeee-autiful and timelessly muscled body of Dante Rosetti. From start to finish, I love every twist and turn in Dante’s bashing, but when Bryan looks like he nearly shoves his boot up Dante’s tasty muscled ass as the tanned Italian is trapped and spread-eagled in the corner ring ropes, I am seriously moved.
Like I said, these don’t necessarily reflect my favorite discs of all time. But I chose them to offer me a smattering of several motifs, tastes, and genres to satisfy me through a variety of potential moods over the coming weeks. I can already guarantee that at some point I’ll kick myself because I’m particularly in the mood for some other gem from my library. Just not having access to the rest of my collection will likely heighten my obsession for something I won’t have in hand. But I feel pretty solid on these three discs to get me through several weeks of what could be astonishingly dry, boring work. And of course, there are online matches that I’ll have at my fingertips as well…
What 3 discs would you have packed?

Planes, trains and automobiles…

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I’ve been posting sparsely this week because I’ve been traveling… a lot. I’ve spent quality time in 6 airports and 2 train stations in the past 8 days. The bad news is that my opportunities to post new material here have been limited by jet lag and spotty internet access. The good news is that I’ve enjoyed spotting countless summer hunks worshipping the sunshine with a dearth of skin coverage.

I love travel particularly for the opportunity it brings to widen my gaze. While I haven’t conceptualized this post as part of this summer’s “Diverse Tastes” series, my thoughts turn to how much I appreciate hunk watching outside my own familiar haunts. It’s inspiring to get a taste of the fashions, hairstyles, races and ethnicities, strides and swaggers that I just don’t see in my neighborhood. Hell, I even saw several studs making skinny jeans look hot, and I honestly never thought that was possible.

I had one brush with fame. Sadly, it wasn’t Alexander Skargård at the airport. I’ll just say it was a Torchwood hunk whose ass features prominently in one very fond scene.

Planes, trains and automobiles. Boats and trams. Beaches and High Streets. Parks and stadiums. With an eye for hunk-spotting, getting there is at least half the fun.

I have more travel coming up, which may disrupt my posting schedule further. However, I think I’ll have  dependable internet access and at least a little disposable time to keep neverland a summer destination for you to see and be seen.

Wherever the season finds you (and I realize some readers of this blog are in the middle of winter), I hope that you’re blessed with an abundance of beautiful men, arousing wrestling, a little of exactly what you want, and a lot of what you didn’t even know you wanted until you found it.

Safe travels!

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Stay Puft

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Another guest contributor and friend of this blog, Stay Puft brings us his take on the theme of “Diverse Tastes.” I think there’s an echo-chamber effect at times in the relatively small world of the online wrestling kink universe. Those of us with the expendable time to spare to regularly write blogs on the topic tend to have our voices relatively amplified over the hundreds or thousands each one of us statistically represents. Just a reminder that blogger accounts are free and you can start your own blog to expand the conversation on a regular basis. But short of a thousand homoerotic wrestling kink blogs, I’m happy to have regular readers and man-on-the-street consumers like SP join in this summer series for neverland, exploring what “Diverse Tastes” mean in homoerotic wrestling kink.  I like to think of myself as versatile and turned on by a wide range of tastes when it comes to bodies and looks, but SP’s range puts me to shame. I’d venture to guess that SP represents the many folks for whom diversity itself is a turn on, and for that, I’m always glad to get his perspective on what’s happening in the wrestling world.  ~Bard

Brian Kendrick



Daffney



I will start off by saying that while I am going to explore my own diverse tastes, I make no attempt to explain them, because they don’t necessarily make sense even to me.  My diverse tastes can briefly be summed up by looking at a time when TNA Wrestling had three of my favorites hired (though sadly under-utilized) at the same time: Brian Kendrick, Big Rob Terry, and Daffney.  Maybe Daffney doesn’t QUITE affect me the same as the first two, but I’m at least…fascinated enough to admit she deserves a mention.


Two of my earliest crushes were on Iron Mike Sharpe (“AAAARRRRGGGHHH!!!”) and Michelle Pfeiffer (“Meow.”), I guess that’s pretty diverse.  Although the wrestling side of things seemed to have taken the stronger hold early on.  (Oh, and I haven’t seen “Personal Effects” yet but it has Michelle Pfeiffer AND Ashton Kutcher, which is happy for me.)

Randy Orton
Kate Beckinsale

If I had to pick two people I thought might be THE most beautiful people, they would be Randy Orton and Kate Beckinsale.  (Their voices, their grace in motion.)  Although for sure, it’s only Randy I’d want to see in a wrestling match, don’t get me wrong.  (But in “Alice through the Looking Glass,” Kate was the only actress to take the lines from the book and sound like she was naturally, really saying it.  She’s so natural, and her hands are so long and slender.)

Jamie Scott of Graffiti6
Diverse tastes take things outside of the world of wrestling, and I think I’m in love with Jamie Scott of one of my favorite new English bands, Graffiti6.  His looks, his writing, and his voice, though not necessarily in that order.


Alistair Overeem

Rio Garza, Mike Knox, Alistair Overeem, Phil Baroni, Clay Guida, Chris Masters, Brody Steele, El Elegido, Brook Stetson, the Gambler, these people don’t fall into the same body types but they all do it for me. I do find that I don’t mind (in fact, I prefer) when I’m only attracted to one person in a match.  Then I can concentrate on him.

El Elegido

And…yes, I prefer jobber matches, squash matches, with the person I favor on the receiving end of the beating.  But there’s even diversity there, because sometimes enough’s enough, and I feel sorry for the person, and I WANT to see things turn around, but do I really…? (Pain and conflict is necessary for interesting narrative and can be incredibly arousing but at the end of the day I guess I just want everything to be okay.)

Big Rob Terry


And for the heavier (bodybuilder) end of the spectrum, Big Rob, Mike O’Hearn, etc., it bothers me when people dismiss anyone over a certain size with phrases like “‘roided up.”  I’m not naive enough to think there are no more steroids being used, but there are natural bodybuilders who I’d imagine take a certain amount of pride in what they achieve, and it seems petty to doubt their claims, or to over-generalize.  And for the people who DO use steroids, come on, you’re working so hard already, you’d still be beautiful without them, and is it REALLY worth risking any sort of side effect to your nether regions?

But going back to an earlier point, if there’s a match where I happen to be into both guys, that leaves a lot more room for the give-and-take.  Hm, and I could have gone somewhere with the hotness of seeing Chris Masters tap out, but the mixed sadness of thinking, “Oh no, he lost his match.”  And I was going to mention being a kid and hating when anything bad would happen to He-Man, and later on those bad things being exactly what would turn my crank, but I guess that might be less about diverse tastes and more about personal history or something, but on a side note, the Rants, ‘Roids & Rasslin’ blog has a great “He-Man in trouble” story going, which is very nostalgic.

Clay Guida

Favorites of mine have been hairy, smooth, ripped to shreds, sporting a big gut, mean and domineering, weasely, bitchy and submissive, long-haired, stubbly-to-bald.

Chris Masters

I’m not used to talking in front of people, so thank you. – SP


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Thank you, SP! You’re awesome, and the diversity that turns you on in truly inspiring!

A Rose, By Any Other Name…

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Parker London, one of the rookie pornboys debuting this week for Naked Kombat, certainly caught my eye. Damn fine fitness! Carved abs, thick chest. The extensive tats down the left arm and across the back of his hand suggest someone with the heart of an artist and precisely the anti-social individualism that I like. He isn’t what I’d peg as classically handsome. Something quirky, a little haggard looking around the face.
Hold it right there! That ink… bells are going off in my head. I know this man. I know him about 15 pounds lighter with a shit-eating grin on his face. I know him with that five-o’clock shadow shaved smooth.
It was like my own personal game of Name that Tat! It took me a couple of minutes to connect the dots, but it came to me all of the sudden. Pornboy Parker London is none other than non-pornboy division wrestler for Thunder’s Arena (though that’s redundant), Dallas.
 
In a different context, with a slightly different build and going places I never guessed smart-ass Dallas had it in him to go (though you probably already knew), I almost didn’t recognize the gorgeous, big, solid rookie. Frankly, it isn’t like he’s completely morphed. He hardly qualifies for a bodies over time spotlight. But like Clark Kent with that deceptively subtle disguise, I nearly thought he was an entirely different wrestler.

And for some reason, Parker London struck me as way, way sexier than Dallas. It’s not just the fact that Parker London rips the gear off his opponent, aggressively sucks and claws his dick and plants his bare, hot ass across his face. Sure, that helps, but well before I saw Parker lay a hand (much less any other body part) on fellow rookie Logan Scott, I was whistling in appreciation for what a hot, beefy hunk of man this newbie is, which was not my initial reaction to Dallas.

I’m certain that the context plays a major part in my disparate reactions to the same man under different names. I knew that Parker London was going to either fuck or get fucked before he was done with Logan Scott, whereas I knew that Dallas was not going to go anywhere near genital contact with Big Sexy the first time I laid eyes on him.  But I think it’s even more than that. Parker London stands on the balls of his feet. He takes the initiative and shoots, slamming his opponent to the mat and straining and struggling for control and points. I always had the impression that Dallas was in an audition for his first ever soap opera role, a little awkward, not often propelling the story, but more reacting and just trying to keep up. Parker works his hot, muscled ass off, slamming and getting slammed, squeezing and getting squeezed, controlling and getting controlled in a relatively competitive atmosphere that ends up a 36-35 squeaker. Dallas, on the other hand, never seemed to have much of a competitive spirit, never a lust for domination with something actually at stake in winning or losing.

And, needless to say, I never saw Dallas give an opponent a naked pony ride on his way to a victory fuck. Some of this distinction has to do with genres, no doubt. I have both a pornboy and non-pornboy division for my favorite homoerotic wrestlers because they are just distinctly different universes. In one, the wrestlers lose their gear, work each other over hard, and someone at the very least loses a load if not buries his cock in at least one of his opponent’s orifices. In the other, the wrestlers have to appeal to my kinks handicapped by having all their gear on and some maneuvers and stakes off the table (which, when done right, can be just as homoerotically pleasing). But it’s more than just the genres that define Dallas and Parker as having very different appeals to me. Parker convinces me in 3 seconds that he wants to win, that he’s fully present and taking seriously his competition, and that his cocky swagger isn’t just a role play, but a psyching up and psyching out wrestling ploy to make a meaningful victory come true. And that, regardless of the genre, is seriously hot.