Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Bodies Over Time – Wrestler-of-the-Month Edition

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In addition to being my current homoerotic wrestler of the month, Denny Cartier is one stunning looking man. I know. I’ve said this before. But when you’re the homoerotic wrestler of the month, you get an extra helping of adoration. Honestly, it seems impossible that it was nearly 6 years ago that Denny first appeared wrestling for BG East, a bright eyed, curly haired, broad-smiled, dimpled chinned, earnest-as-shit pretty face dressed all in white (oh, rookie….). He had the misfortune of showing up to make his big splash on the scene by going up against the buzz saw that is Bulldog Barzini. But instantly, Denny was showing some cocky confidence, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and he had sweat pouring off of him in buckets by the time Bulldog was done with him. These are precisely the elements upon which a future homoerotic wrestler of the month can build.

It took Denny nearly two years to recover from his initiation at the hands of Bulldog before he showed up again in his “underground” mat match against Jonny Firestorm. Here’s where we were introduced to Denny in his natural habitat: the mats.  He was beefier, with a little bit of hair on his meaty chest, while the hair on his head was more tightly trimmed than before, giving him less of a little boy look and more of a Colt model look. Again, his hard work on the mats against Jonny left sweat streaming off his body, inspiring in me a fantasy shower scene with me holding the loofah. Denny was still awfully pretty against Jonny, but his presence was increasingly fierce and undeniably accomplished.

Another year and a half went by before we caught sight Denny again, this time sporting a buzz cut, bigger muscles, and the beginning of a growing work of art inked to his left upper arm and shoulder. All of this combined has become the foundation of Denny’s current presentation as a serious competitor, a hunk of both gorgeous meat and dangerous talent, and babyface coming of age. Going toe-to-toe against a behemoth about half a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier (holy crap!), Denny illustrated that he is one fearless piece of work. He continued to sport those fantastically hairy, thick thighs, but he was shaved and smooth otherwise. And that ass! Now those red trunks, I believe, bring Denny’s physique into clearest focus.

Happily, Denny’s been showing up more regularly recently. With his young turk takedown of the Mr. Bodies Over Time himself, Chris Bruce, Denny’s started picking up momentum, and, more importantly, a story. Those white trunks with blue piping are an extremely close second place for my favorite Denny gear. His crouching-tiger-poised-to-pounce attitude against Chris was seriously hot. Once again outweighed (only by about 15 pounds this time) Denny keeps chopping away at the BGE veteran until he’s proven the point he showed up to make: that he’s here not just to get tossed around, but to pound away at anybody in his way as he proves he’s dangerous, particularly on the mats, to anyone he sets his sights on.

Of course, that story is bound to draw attention from a veteran heel like Mikey Vee, and not the good sort of attention (at least not good for Denny). In his sequel to Backyard Brawls 6, Denny looks exactly the same for Mat Hunks 8 (appropriately enough, since this match picks up minutes after Denny’s match with Chris Bruce concluded). Bringing the action in doors against Mickey Vee, though, results in Denny at his very sexiest, working up a tsunami of sweat as he gives everything he’s got to keep up with the veteran, who’s playing with him like a cat with a ball of yarn. The victory is Mikey’s, but the story is Denny’s, as Denny proves that even when outmatched, he’ll keep coming back for more, 100% effort every step of the way, until he’s literally collapsed on the ground from total exhaustion. This seems to me to be the core of Denny’s wrestling: he relishes the physical competition and he’ll face down any challenge, regardless of the odds against him.

For Backyard Brawls 7, Denny arrives sporting more extensive ink on that powerful right upper arm of his. His curls are completely gone now, buzzed almost to the skin. He’s beefy, not nearly as “pretty,” but every bit as sexy as ever, if not more so. His dismantling of rookie Attila Dynasty is no squash. The rookie has arrived ready to scrap, with an arsenal of his own already in hand. And Denny gives the impression that he’d want it no other way. It’s not so much about being on top, as it is about the thrill of climbing on top, conquering inch by inch until the rookie is flat on his back, every salvo that he lobbed met, matched, and overcome by Denny’s relentless determination. I have no idea if Denny gets off on wrestling the same way I do, but he possesses an obvious lust for the sport and passion for the physicality of it all that translates nicely to a wrestling kinked audience.
I’d love to see Denny follow in the footsteps of Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), and bring to the mat room one of the countless admirers that Denny must attract every day. I’m certain that I’m not the only one with a deep desire to lick the sweat off of every inch of Denny’s body and squeeze those gorgeous glutes of his. I think it’s time that Denny upped the stakes, bringing that sweat-lubricated lust to conquer, face-to-face with some hot, horny hunk’s conquering lust. 

Banged

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When I saw Brandon Bangs in Raging Stallion’s release Brutal, I was intrigued by my reaction. His porn name makes me uncontrollably roll my eyes. Seriously, “Brandon Bangs?” And he’s so ridiculously an over-the-top, almost caricature of himself, suburban white-boy-next-door. He’s blond, pale, with a pretty but not terribly hard body. He’s not outrageously handsome. There’s no specialty body part that stands out on him as jaw-dropping stunning (not to say that everything isn’t quite nice, and he’s got a completely respectable cock made for porn). He’s just so middle-of-the-road in the field of standout pornboys and wrestling pornboys. So why was I so completely drawn to him!? Couldn’t take my eyes off of him in Brutal, which is astonishing when you consider his one scene was alongside of Phenix Saint (a total standout stud) and Angelo Marconi (with the face and body ripped off of a romance novel cover). I don’t understand me.

This week, Brandon showed up for his debut match at Naked Kombat, grappling alongside of tag-team partner DJ (very smart choice, Brandon!). He’s a little softer than the shape he was in for Brutal. In both the pre- and post-match interviews, he’s a little awkward, sort of dorky. He stumbles across a couple of malaprops that, if I were feeling a lack of generosity, I might say give him a “dumb jock” air (which typically bores me). Once again, on paper I’d expect this pale, pale vision to be quickly forgotten. But once again, I’m quite taken with him! Is this some inexplicable, whitebread, bourgeois pornboy crush I’m nurturing!? And if you just answered, “yes,” should I feel as embarrassed of myself as I do for it?

I do understand some of Brandon’s allure. He’s just so incredible eager! The malaprops and smirking, winking, nudge-nudge, “we’re going to turn these guys into men,” banter with his partner somehow come across as simply, authentically eager to get down to the business of showing his stuff. That’s just damn adorable. And he grapples all-in. Even in the post-match interview, the off camera interviewer compliments Brandon on his impressive intensity and panache for his debut with NK. DJ could have singlehandedly mopped the floor with their two destined-to-job opponents, but Brandon scraps with surprising savvy and sincerity, taking cues from DJ in scoring “NK points” and dominating like only a suburban, whiteboy, boy-next-door-turned pornboy can. I get some of what it is that’s making me give Brandon a double-take. But there’s something more going on here that I’m missing…

So I’d pay money to watch Rusty Stevens psychologically crush Brandon before they ever locked up. Rusty’s lightening, slicing wit is pretty much the antithesis of Brandon’s awkward rookie babble, and when it comes to turning me on, there’s a reason Rusty is still my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy (despite a chilling absence from homoerotic wrestling lately). But still, I’m going to place Brandon Bangs in my “guilty pleasure” category, because despite every reason I have to not be captivated by him, he’s got my attention.

And apropos of nothing, despite my whole-hearted endorsement of the degrading pony ride, unless the cowboys are seriously enjoying themselves, then I’d recommend that they give it a rest. It seems lately like someone has told DJ he has to ride his pony, and in his last two tag matches, DJ has woodenly taken the lead in saddling up and explaining the significance of tucking his cock halfway through the ride (“Let’s make it even harder on them” he says, like Ted Baxter reading a cue card). Just my opinion, of course, but I’m starting to join the chorus of those critiquing the “sex round” for being phoned in.

Hard Sell Het’ro

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A few days ago I answered a Yahoo chat message. I “chat” so infrequently, it caught me by surprise. Turns out my chat-buddy that day was someone named Jeremy who was really, really, (really) wanting me to write him a custom erotic story starring Superman.

Okay so far, right? As a completely gratuitous teaser, Superman is going to show up in my superhero homoerotic wrestling series, “Brothers in Arms,” relatively soon. So sure, I can totally get into an erotic story about the man of steel. But… wait for it… Jeremy wants straight erotica starring Smallville’s rendition of Superman with either Lois or Chloe has his co-star.

It’s at this point in my story that I feel the need to clarify something. I have nothing against straight people. Some of my closest friends are straight. When my straight friends want to talk about women, I’m completely available for that. I smile and nod understandingly. I don’t judge. Sincerely, I want the best for my friends, and if that means that they insist on having sex with women, I can accept that. But for someone to ask me to write straight erotica!? Huh?

So I chuckled to myself and replied to Jeremy that me, writing straight erotica, would not be in the cards. Women don’t turn me on… at all… in the least… Kinsey 6 (plus extra credit)… the thought of women’s intimate body parts makes me a little nauseous. More power to Jeremy for working out his own particular kink in text, as far as I’m concerned (I told him as much). But as impressively endowed as my imagination may be, I wouldn’t know where to start to write straight erotica. Good luck, Jeremy, I offered kindly.

Jeremy replied that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. So which chick would I probably write for him, Chloe or Lois?

So here’s the way it is. I applaud ballsy, in your face domination, really I do. I’m also entirely supportive of every man’s effort to write his own sexual fantasy. I’m honestly happy to know that there are straight men looking to tap a hot piece of text. But, just as I thought to myself as I brought a forceable and abrupt halt to my chat with Jeremy, first and foremost, I write for my own pleasure. What I write turns me on to write it and read it and share it. As fantastical as it may get, everything I write has more than a little bit of me written into the story. So it’s not as if I just wouldn’t want to write something straight. It’s not as if I’m just a homo-snob and insensitive to the plight of word-starved straight superhero erotica text fetishists (who knew?). But just like the likelihood that my senior high prom date was ever going to see some action with me that night, it just isn’t in the cards for me to write an erotic straight story. It’s just not in me, and I’d never find myself in it. Now, transported into a homoerotic wrestling serial, Superman could, most definitely, find a place in my lustful imagination…

Seriously, good luck, Jeremy.

Telling the Story

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How do I miss these things? Someone who clearly knows my tastes very well commended BG East’s two book series entitled, “Sexfights at the BG Arena.” The text is by none other than Kid Leopard himself, and the graphics are by the incomparable, late MATT. This is the tale of hardcore pro-wrestling for you and me, told from the perspective of the hot, hard boys who climb into this very particular ring.

This is ALL about my kink! My own wrestling fiction has been striving to capture just a slice of what Sexfights offers. The characters are written with a lustful, loving hand. The ring action (thank you Jesus) is straight out of the very best of classic pro-wrestling, with the necessary twist that the ring is surrounded by hot and horny gay men with precisely the kink that draws you to read this very blog, and the star-studded talent in the ring is keen to please both the promoter and this particular crowd.

The 2-parter tells the story of one night at the BG Arena, with the blow-by-blow told from the locker room to the ring and back again throughout a packed card of hard muscled pro-wrestlers working for increasingly erotic stakes. My favorite match is from the second part, where former tag-team partners, Tony Napoli and Skeeter Birmingham, are consummating a long, slowly boiling over grudge. After their partnership dramatically collapsed, and two back-and-forth grudge matches over the course of a couple months split the score, tonight they show up for the decisive third match to determine who’s “going over.” In the end, Skeeter drapes Tony’s beaten body face-first across the top ropes in one corner. Yanking down Tony’s trunks to reveal his “rock hard butt,” Skeeter slides his massive cock up and down between his buddy’s muscle ass.

“Skeeter humped and thrust his spear into Tony’s most private public part. He leaned his full weight againt his buddy’s back, two sweat-soaked gladiators as engaged as they could possibly be. His teeth impressed on Tony’s earlobe and he stuck his tongue deep into Tony’s ear. His right thumb and forefinger located Tony’s protruding right nipple. He squeezed hard. ‘It’s over, T, and you lose.'”

Simply fantastic. I highly, highly recommend Sexfights for anyone who’s got a kick for wrestling kink text with a side of classic MATT homoerotic wrestling graphics. And my thanks to Kid Leopard for his permission to post these images and the delightful sample of text. Now, where do I get tickets for next Friday at the BG Arena!?

Starting Strong

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We’re barely a week into the new year and I can already predict, with absolute certainty, what one of my top 5 favorite moments of 2011 will be. In fact, I may need to start a favorite moment of the decade category for this. One of my favorite moments of the year is going to be, without a doubt, being contacted by Lon Dumont, my current #1 contender for the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division (and inaugural championship title holder).
Lon dropped me a note last week, letting me know that he’d run across this blog and had appreciated my kind words about him and his outstanding wrestling with BG East. He also offered me the tantalizing tease that he’s expecting to wrestle some more with BGE this year. The promise of seeing more of giant-killer Lon climbing into the ring and squeezing agonizingly long, gasping submissions out of his shocked opponents is already making me a little breathless!
It’s hardly surprising to learn that Lon is a competition bodybuilder. A friend recently sent me some pics of Lon on stage, displaying his award winning physique. The sight of his bronzed, oiled, shredded, vascular marvel of a body makes my eyes hurt, probably because I’m just not blinking as I stare in wondering adoration. Totally worth it.
While Lon’s physique in still-frame is simply, undeniably, a work of art, I continue to maintain that his ring persona is what makes him a standout object of homoerotic wrestling kink gold. At 5’7″ tall and 150 pounds, Lon might seem to be at a disadvantage when he climbs into the ring with likes of 6’1″, 210 pound Eddie Rey or even 5’10”, 185 pound rookie, Terry O’Daly. But as his undefeated record in 1-on-1 competition attests, he’s got precisely what it takes to bring the big boys to their knees. You could tell from the moment that Eddie Rey climbed into the ring with Lon in Lon’s debut BGE match, when Lon challenged the muscle hunk to forced-to-flex stakes and called towering Eddie “Sprout,” that Lon had the cold confidence and the ring savvy to zero out whatever size advantage his opponent might enjoy. Frankly, I almost feel a little sorry for Eddie and Terry by the end of their encounters with Lon. With all of their illusions of crushing a “little guy” shattered, and with Lon flexing his competition-quality muscles in their faces humiliatingly, I catch myself almost feeling a pang of pity for them. Happily, Lon is as pitiless as he is devastating, and I’m left with nothing but lustful awe for the big, big man packed into a tightly shredded, striated, gorgeously muscled, compact body.
Lon’s only blemish on his BGE record thus far is his tag team loss wrestling alongside of rookie Chace LaChance, falling to the dirty tricks of big bruiser Donnie Drake and his rookie sidekick, Doug Rand. Now, this is just my opinion, but I think go-go boy Chace deserves some harsh retribution for his part in earning the giant killer a tick in the loss column. Lon hasn’t mentioned anything to me about it, but it just seems to me that if anyone has earned some harsh feelings from Lon, it’s that far-too-prettyboy poser.
Of course, Chace only has a 2 inch height advantage and about a 5 pound weight advantage over Lon, which seems like a complete joke when you take a look at Lon’s absolutely masterful dismantling of muscle stud bigboy, Eddie Rey. So, true, perhaps a grudge match with Chace might not be as competitive as a typical Lon Dumont wrestling clinic, but I’d put money on the odds that an obliterating go-go boy beatdown would be every bit as entertaining. Seriously, I’d put money on that!
Taking a page from the trailblazer, Joe at Ringside at Skull Island, I’ve approached Lon about the possibility of an interview to post here. He seems as generous outside the ring as he is relentlessly dominating inside the ring, so we’ll be scheduling that soon. I suppose I should make it clear that personal communication from a top-tier wrestler-obsession of mine shouldn’t tip the scales at all in his direction as I dispassionately weigh the current rankings of my favorites. By no means should Lon get any favoritism from me. That said, if I were Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), I’d stop staring at my massive balls and look over my shoulder, because there’s a 5’7″ bodybuilder with a vicious streak coming up fast from behind! Watch for more from me here, and watch for more from Lon at BGE this year. In the mean time, I’m going to go buy some Visine, because I still can’t take my eyes away from those stone-carved abs!

Working It Out

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It was about a year and a half ago that I asked some of the earliest members of the Producer’s Ring homoerotic wrestling fiction group what ideas they might like to read for new stories. Several story lines emerged, including the “All-Stars” division of professional athletes vying to cross over into the high impact career of the entertainment industry (in my imagined post-apocalyptic, postmodern alternate reality known as the Producer’s Ring). Another idea I stewed on for many months was the suggestion of a superhero story line. I tried the concept on for size several times, starting and scrapping a bin full of ideas. I ran some early drafts by a frequent collaborator, who was full of encouragement despite not really finding the superhero motif his cup of tea.

“Hank & Brett – Brothers In Arms”

Finally, late this summer I posted a pilot over at Sidelineland, following two adopted brothers on their quest to join the ranks of superhero recruits-in-training. It’s something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue, so to speak. Justin Hartley and his Smallville role are my model for one of the brothers, Hank, who has quickly learned that, when under duress, he can move faster than the eye can see. Hank’s brother, Brett, has been a little slower to pick up on the fact that his remarkable power involves his ability to trigger mind-numbing, overpowering sexual lust (now that’s a superpower!).

“Brick – from Chapter 2”

The superhero series hasn’t generated many comments, but I’m finding myself returning to it with some frequency and enthusiasm. It’s become my most integrated serial product, with my attempt to construct two detailed story lines that intersect and illuminate one another, progressively building both plot character development. It’s not going to get me any literary awards, but I’m enjoying it, and more importantly, I’m enjoying writing it, which frankly is what this whole endeavor is about for me.

“Sting – from Chapter 3”

As is my way, I’ve fallen in love with all of the characters, including the “villains” (especially the villains!). I believe all superhero genre creative products are, essentially, morality tales, with mine being no exception. Witnessing and mid-wiving the self-discovery of Hank and Brett alongside of their disillusionment and reconstruction of what the world of superherodom can be makes me just want to curl up with them and all of their buddies, which is sort of what if feels like as I write them.

“Remote and Spike – from Chapter 4”

It helps to have a mental picture Justin Hartley, Daniel Ashton Johnson, Carlos Freire, Brandon Myles White, and Jerry East in mind (among many others) as the scaffolding upon which I’m building these characters. I’ve just posted chapter 4 in the series over at Sidelineland, in which Brett gets more deeply in touch with his superpower even as he allows himself, despite himself, to experience intimate trust with his teammate Jolt. The chapter’s climax features a team match that presents Brett and Jolt with, perhaps, more than they can handle. As is the theme for everything that this blog revolves around, the story explores the intimacy and implicit (and explicit) sexuality of combat.

“Team Jolt & Nova(Brett) – Chapters 2 & 4”

Every time I post a piece of original work, I feel a pang of vulnerability. And each time I grapple with the anxiety of being read and judged, I think I grow as a writer and, frankly, as a person. I hope others will travel down this path as well with me. Anyone with a piece of original writing to share is welcome to submit it for posting at Sidelineland. It doesn’t have to be long (or short) or polished or perfect, by any means. Just a sign of your act of courage, opening up your homoerotic wrestling kinked imagination for others to enjoy, extol, and encourage.

Control Myself

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So this post has nothing to do with wrestling. But it could.

These images of Maroon 5 singer Adam Levine posing sans clothes for British Cosmo’s promotion of guys checking their baubles for cancer are washing up on almost every website I browse on a regular basis. I’ve had a crush on Levine for a while, even having never seen him with anything less than a crisp white v-neck t-shirt. This priceless gift answers the age old question of what my true love gave to me on the 14th day of Christmas (which before some smart ass corrects me, let me just clarify that I know that the 14th day of Christmas would technically be the second day of Epiphany… just let me try to be funny, why don’t you!). On the 14th day of Christmas, my true love gave to me almost every inch of Adam Levine’s hot body that I can handle (which, I suppose, makes SquareHippies my true love, despite me not being one of his husbands).

I suppose that I ought to have more to say about this, other than how much I’m enjoying ogling Adam’s smokin’ hot body. The tats, the coiffed but expansive body hair, the hot pecs with tasty looking nips… okay, sure, I could totally spend some time in the vaults of my imagination drafting a sweaty, homoerotic wrestling match for Adam to star in. He’d end up with exactly this amount of clothing, but the hands grabbing hold of his cancer-free balls would not have long, painted nails. They’d be thick, strong hands clawing at the pretty boy’s vulnerability, perhaps picking him off of his feet with crotch in claw and racking him across some powerful, broad shoulders attached to the muscular arms attached to the thick, strong hands.

Seriously, though, check your junk boys. Know their shape and size with the intimacy born of handling them often and lovingly, so that any lumps or abnormalities that develop, you’ll recognize something is up. And in case the newly crowned title holder as my favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy division, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) needs a hand with his testicular examination (which would be entirely understandable, giving the size of that task!), I am first in line. Indeed, his health means that much to me.

Pretty Prolific

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Have I mentioned Cameron Matthews’ ass lately? There are a lot of fantastic asses out there that I wouldn’t describe as “pretty,” but Cameron’s is one that simply is pretty, I think. It’s a massive, round, genetic gift of grace that makes those of us who have to work (hard) for what we’ve got a little jealous.

Is there any corner of the internet where we can’t find Cameron? He’s jobbed so delightfully and prolifically at BG East. In his most recent ring release with BGE, Babyface Brawl 1, Cameron appears to get spanked over the knee of Russian powerhouse prettyboy, Alexi Adamov. I think it’s his appearance in Mat Brats 2 that illustrates the perfect wardrobe choice for Cameron. It just doesn’t get much better than Cameron in a jock strap.

It looks to me like Cameron has replaced Zack Vazquez as the face of the franchise at Thunder’s Arena. I think Cameron’s sharp wit and readiness to ham it up are perfectly suited to the tongue-in-cheek stylings at Thunders. Interestingly, Cameron and Zack have never faced off, as far as I can tell, which seems a shame. Cameron typically spends his time jobbing for bigger muscle studs, making the big boys look good. Knowing that Cameron has high quality wrestling credibility of his own (well beyond just getting his balls crushed against a post), I’d enjoy seeing him take the Z-Man to school. I think Cameron is the perfect performer to rub the sneer off of Zack’s face and crush that poser like a grape.

Cameron’s also been roosting at Can-Am recently, as well (damn, I wonder if he’d donate some frequent flyer miles to me!?). Speaking of schooling, I enjoyed his double-team tutorial with his old tag partner, Paul Hudson, “introducing” Rio Garza to the intricacies of pro-wrestling holds. Personally, I think Cameron never shines brighter than when he’s in the ring, selling combat, slicing together fast paced high flying action with high impact combinations (watch for Can-Am’s release of Pro-Bashed Triple Threat, pics already starting to post in Can-Am Max).

I’d love to see less of Cameron for a few months. I don’t mean any disrespect. But I’ve long ago taken him for granted, his work is so prolific. He’s a utility player these days, but he’s got the makings of a headliner if only he weren’t quite so overexposed. It’s like being force-fed dessert… sure, the first few bites make you question how this could ever be a bad thing, but too much, too fast will make you gag.

He’s big (and getting bigger by the minute!), he’s beautiful (especially from behind), and he’s wildly talented in nearly everything that this blog is about. This is no Keystone 12-pack. Quality goods like this should be sipped leisurely, savored slowly, swished around in the mouth to tantalize all the taste buds, and swallowed lovingly. I hope he keeps up the prolific, good work, and I hope he’s paid every penny he’s worth, and then I hope his producers let us build a little eager anticipation in between his appearances across the homoerotic wrestling universe.

Don We Now Our Gay Apparel

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Joe has already posted an excellent low-down on the entertainingly bizarre Thunder’s Arena holiday release featuring a masked Secret Santa and his Evil Elf beating the crap out of one another. For an overview of what you get with this novelty match, including a most insightful implication of this as a Marxist morality tale, check out Ringside at Skull Island. On this 11th day of Christmas, I’d just like to point out a couple of additional things that caught me by surprise with this match.

Santa’s ass ROCKS! Even covered head-to-toe in red spandex, Santa is one hot, hot, HOT sexy beast! That perky, diamond-cut pair of glutes somehow defies the laws of physiques and human physiology at the same time. This is one of those moments when I find myself talking at the screen as I’m watching: “You’ve got to be kidding me! I could balance a beer bottle on that shelf!” The Evil Elf’s ass is quite an astonishing piece of art as well, but I’ve talked about those glutes extensively already.

Another point worth repeating is that, for what at first glance appears to be all gimmick, Secret Santa v the Evil Elf is packed with some impressive wrestling action. This seems less surprising once the masks are ripped off and we see the talent underneath. Of course, too much gimmick can signal weak wrestling, but that’s just not the case here. It has more a sense of horseplay than fierce competition, but the action is legitimate pros-on-mats quality that makes me stop thinking of this as a novelty match and more as entertaining wrestling.

A third point (I know, I planned on only making two), Secret Santa v the Evil Elf plays more homoerotic than I typically expect from Thunder’s Arena. The wrestlers here are both quick witted and sharp tongued, and they skillfully walk a fine line between homophobic locker room barbs and full-on gay fantasy (which is a very, very fine line indeed, as far as I’m concerned). When the boys started telling their story at the beginning of the match, I suspected that this could turn horribly wrong. Santa drops in several, “That’s not what you said last night…” lines, alluding to having owned Elf’s ass in their shared bedroom. This could have gone in a train wreck, “no-homo,” sort of direction.

But surprisingly, it doesn’t! They both tell the same story throughout, certainly with tongue-in-cheek but seemingly without apology. Santa and the Evil Elf are lovers, with Santa as a domineering dom and Elf as his under-appreciated buttboy houseboy. The relentless dom that Santa is, he’s riding Elf constantly for being a slacker and needing to be disciplined. Elf is the fiesty cub who decides he’s going to challenge his bear daddy once and for all. Sure, he may bottom by night, but he’s determined to climb on top and whip Santa’s mind-blowing ass by day. I both applaud and empathize with that goal!

It’s a formula that Thunder’s is doing with increasing skill, I think. They’re fully committing. They’ve always, from the very beginning, had their tongues firmly in cheeks. Most of the Thunder’s wrestlers display a sharp-witted, self-deprecating sense of humor that’s quite endearing. More and more, they’re bringing a smart and smart-ass sensibility to their matches, telling a story, letting some homoeroticism hang there in the air without flinching, and seeing the whole thing through without breaking face (which has been a big complaint of mine in the distant past of Thunder’s matches).

So in addition to everything Joe has to say about Secret Santa v the Evil Elf, I also just want to say that this match really took me by surprise, entertained me, and grabbed hold of my wrestling kink with both hands. Having been introduced to Santa’s ass, I’m now combing through the back catalog to catch more of that aptly-named performer’s body of work. For the over-the-top gimmickry, for the legitimate pro-mat wrestling, for the powerfully beautiful bodies, and for the all-in story telling, I must say, I, too, am a fan of Secret Santa v the Evil Elf.

Rising to the Challenge

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Last month, Bearhugs sent me a pro-wrestling short story to post over at Sidelineland. It stars bodybuilder bruiser “Neil,” a local scene pro-wrestling fixture, who has a chance meeting with an old high school buddy at his gym. His old buddy, Shane, drops into conversation that he’s been staying in shape with a wrestling club, and just hoping for a shot at the big time sooner or later. It seems like kismet when Neil proposes to do his buddy a favor, and signs them both up with his wrestling promoter for a match to introduce Shane to the crowds at the arena that very night.

As Bearhugs tells us, Neil was considerably less benevolent in setting this whole scenario up than it first appeared. He beats the living crap out of his “old buddy,” humiliating him across every inch of the ring until the crowds actually grow concerned for Shane’s survival. Neil reveals that he’s been harboring an old grudge for years, and he’s working out not only an epic heel-turn career move, but some pent up needs to even an old score. The bell signals the end of Shane’s “big break” in pro wrestling, and Neil drags him helplessly back to the locker rooms where he ties him up for some post match postscript.

Then Bearhugs challenged me to write “part 2” of Shane’s Big Break. What an excellent intellectual and creative challenge! And I’m nothing if not turned on by a challenge. So I’ve completed my vision of “part 2” of Shane’s Big Break, in which Shane learns that both Neil and the world of pro wrestling have a lot more to teach him, still. This is my stab at a hands on, full on erotic sex-text, in accord with some of the chatter over at Sidelineland and Producer’s Ring looking for a few loser-seriously-gets-fucked matches. Personally, I find a lot of wrestling entirely and satisfyingly homoerotic without anyone getting literally fucked, but there’s nothing at all wrong with loser-gets-fucked stakes, either. I’ve posted Shane’s Big Break – Part 2 over at Sidelineland right now for members to check out.

I hope that I’ve done Bearhugs’ set-up justice. I’ve developed a serious crush on baby-monster heel Neil, and I’d love to see someone else take a shot at Part 3 (I’m thinking there are some High Rollers who’d pay to see No Holds Barred 1-on-2 action with Neil schooling Shane and some other twink pro wannabe at the same time). Thanks for the fun, Bearhugs!