Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

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!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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I’ve been so busy with the holidays that I’ve grown tardy with my pick for December’s homoerotic wrestler of the month. BGE came out with a boatload of catalog 85 new releases to vie for our affections, of which all three Matmen 21 matches (D’Amato v Reid, Colby v Riley, and Goodman v Stanton) have wrestlers with a shot at a favorite-of-the-month nod just about any day. Backyard Brawls 7 shines an adoring spotlight on Denny Cartier and newcomer lean-n-mean Attila Dynasty. Motel Madness UK: New Breed gets legitimate credibility for the -of-the-month club for my growing infatuation with furry Sasha and wrestling kink spokesman Ashley Ryder. And I have to mention that I love the look of both Joah Bindao and smoking new face, MJ Vergara from Ringwars 18. Thunder’s Arena definitely has boys in the running this month, including Zack, Uno, and Frank the Tank for their contributions in Battle of the Male Models (1 & 2), and the unique candidates for homoerotic wrestler of the month in Santa and his Evil Elf. Rock Hard Wrestling has four worthy contenders for the title, including Travis Storm, Max Powers, Cody Nelson and Chris Cox. I’m sure I’ve forgotten someone, and it seems a crying shame to have to pick only one out of this excellent field. But they don’t pay me for self-pity (okay, so no one pays me at all for any of this…), so I’m just going to call it like I see it:




I know, I know. You were totally expecting me to say Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). I’ve gushed so much about Mr. Joshua’s fantastic story development in Matmen 21 that I just feel like someone else needs the light of day apart from Mr. J and his concession to be the object of body worship and to wrestle with his suitor to see if Randy Stanton has what it takes to tame and claim Mr. J’s package. Frankly, shockingly, the mind-blowing rock hard muscle ass of Santa from Thunder’s Arena nearly propelled the jolly saint into my -of-the-month title (who’d have thought!?). And Travis Storm from Rock Hard Wrestling is going to have to get some special title of his own for now two standout rookie performances that are raising the bar at RHW. But if I’m truthful with myself, and with you, it’s Denny’s turn for the title.



Watching Denny’s smooth moves in Backyard Brawls 7 against a serious rookie competitor triggered both crazy lust and profound respect from me. There aren’t many homoerotic wrestlers currently in circulation who possess the mat wrestling credibility that he has, as far as I’m concerned. When Atilla starts talking trash almost immediately in Backyard Brawls 7, Denny crouches low and hikes up his baggy shorts, bouncing from foot to foot and looking like someone’s just put dessert on the table. Everything about him delivers the singular message that Denny is a mat opponent to be taken very, very seriously.



When he stretches out the rookie and strums Attila’s six pack like an acoustic guitar, Denny begins to add “homoerotic” to that awesome wrestling credibility of his. Peeling down to their briefs, the rookie reveals brief, flashy, lime green low-risers with a shiny fashion plate. All-business-Denny, on the other hand, sports relatively demure mid-rise undergear grays, and there’s just something about them that are about 3.5 times sexier than the rookie’s flash. His thick hairy legs and gorgeous round ass probably contribute to the math, but it’s also the cocky, self-assured lack of a need for any additional sparkle that makes Denny absolutely shine in my book.



I was so pleased to see Cage Thunder call out Denny as his current wrestler-infatuation in his interview with Joe at Ringside at Skull Island. Now that would be a match of the decade! But I adamantly insist that either Cage Thunder’s mask or Denny’s trunks would absolutely have to be removed for that set-up to be believed (preferably both). That would simply be non-negotiable.



Denny has been in search of his wrestling persona since he arrived at BGE five and a half years ago. His been the devastating tactician. He’s been the young pup needing to get schooled by a savvy veteran. But I think Denny’s potential lies in the formula of Backyard Brawls 7. He dishes out the high impact moves just as hard as he takes them. He’s inexplicably underestimated from start to finish. He may not be as “pretty” or as shredded or as big as some of the boys he faces. But every angle of his body, every lightening fast move and counter, every grunting, resentful submission and every crowing, gloating victory says that this boy not only can wrestle, he loves to wrestle. He relishes it, and the stiffer the competition, the more he enjoys the fight to outmaneuver, overpower, and humiliatingly dominate the young buck wannabes knocking at the door of BGE for a bite.

Cleaning House – 2011

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Welcome to the newly redecorated neverland! Yesterday was an auspicious beginning to the new year, with record stats for the blog. About 2,250 page views from around 850 visitors made New Years Day the busiest ever around these parts. It’s exciting to welcome a lot of new readers to the conversation about beautiful men and the wonders of homoerotic wrestling kink.



Return visitors will notice the new decor and some house cleaning. The dawn of a new year inspired me to clean out the cupboards and slap on some new paint. I’ve relegated the miles-long labels list to the bottom of the page in favor of bumping up the search tab for folks who want to look up their favorite posts and infatuations. I’m hoping to keep the counters clear of clutter and more easily navigated, so the design is relatively simple and streamlined. I hope you enjoy the new digs.



Lucas Kerr recommended the color scheme. He’s a poser granola/earth-tones sort of guy. I put him to work yesterday, lending a hand with the New Year’s cleaning. He owed me, after getting sloppy on New Year’s Eve and passing out with his dirty boots on the couch, that bastard. He didn’t wake up until about 2 in the afternoon. I was ready for him, though.



For having a well-deserved, raging hangover, he was remarkably resilient when I trapped him in a side headlock and paraded him around the living room. He threatened to puke, but when I rubbed his handsome face in the mud stains he left on my couch, he seemed to finally believe me that he’d pay much more dearly if he threw up. Still, he managed to squeeze his head free after a couple of minutes of the humiliation. Truth be told, he’s got a few inches in height and about 20 pounds on me, so I shouldn’t have been surprised that he was able to put up a fight.



Of course, putting up a fight just made the whole situation that much hotter for me. Lucas has quite the pleasing, lean bod, and other than moments of fighting off his hangover nausea, he gave me a run for my money when I commenced with exercising the discipline he so abundantly earned. We locked up briefly when he figured out what I had planned for him. With his reach advantage, he held off my advance for a little while, but with his pounding hangover headache, it was inevitable. I yanked him forward, pulling him off balance, and then reversed momentum quickly, sliding my right foot behind his left ankle and dropping him to his fine, fine ass. I had his ankles in hand quickly, and I took great pleasure in dragging him on his ass across the living room, through the kitchen and into the guest bedroom where I’d cleared enough space to put the mattress on the floor.



Again, the naughty bastard managed to rally more than I’d have given him credit for. He wrapped me up in a bearhug, which I’m not ashamed to say that I enjoyed immensely. Flinging me onto the mattress, he made a quick attempt to wrap those long, lean arms of his across my throat in a rear choke. Again, I’m not above sharing with you that when he wrapped those hard, muscled legs around my waist and locked his ankles together across my abdomen, I harbored a moment of indecisiveness with regard to whether losing this battle might, in the end, win the war. But pride ultimately tipped the scales, along with a strong sense that justice needed to be served.


He couldn’t apply the choke for shit. I tucked my chin and waited as he tired himself out trying to gain position. Eventually I managed to squeeze my right hand between my back and his abdomen far enough to claw his balls through his jeans. Holy shit, he screamed like I’d actually ripped them off. He lost all concentration and will to defend himself then, and it didn’t take long at all for me to school boy pin the pretty boy with one hand punishing his balls and the other pulling his face into my crotch. 



He submitted, which cost him his jeans. For the second fall, he never saw the light of day. He was doubled over from a knee to the gut, his head stuck between my knees, and his arms pried behind his back with absolutely nowhere to go. He says he submitted, but I swear I didn’t hear it, which is why I drove him face first into the mattress. He turned into such a whiny bitch about not playing fair at that point that I really got pissed. I started working over his lower back relentlessly (“What’s that? You submit? I’m sorry, I can’t quite understand you…”). Rapid fire knee drops beat whatever fire was left right out of him. I took a couple of minutes to sit on his back and yank his bikini whites up his ass crack, the better to spank his sweet round glutes, one whack for every $10 it was going to cost to get the couch reupholstered. I’m sure I overestimated, but whatever. His ass was angry red and hot enough to roast marshmallows over before I was done.


He was threatening to puke again, and I believed him. So I finished the session with a single leg crab that made him cry, with a final addition of a ball claw with my free hand that made him scream. Truth be told, I probably had one too many pre-champagne toast drinks myself on New Year’s Eve, and we both dozed on the mattress a little while after I felt like revenge had been fully achieved.

To Lucas’ credit, he was a diligent little worker around the house after that. I don’t know if he was genuinely intimidated by my threat to work him over harder if he didn’t do his chores only dressed in his underwear, or whether he’s just that much of an attention whore in love with being worshipped. Either way, I wasn’t complaining, watching his bikini-briefed ass sway back and forth while he was on his knees scrubbing the produce tray in the refrigerator.
All told, the mud on the couch was totally worth it, I’d say. And I’d say that this was a most excellent way to start the new year. Can’t wait to see what else 2011 brings!



Cleaning House – 2011

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Keeping with my New Year’s traditions, I’m taking a little time to do some major cleaning. This place seriously needs it. When male model and novice actor Lucas Kerr came by to celebrate the ball dropping last night, that bastard slapped his muddy boots all over the couch.



When he wakes up from his drunken stupor this morning (or afternoon), there’s going to be hell to pay, I tell you. I’m going to rub his nose in the mess to teach him a lesson like a naughty pup. He’s been a bad boy, and he deserves the stern spanking that’s coming to him. After his punishment it’ll be time for his penance, as I force him to help me straighten the place up, scrub the floors, perhaps put a new coat of paint on the walls, dig the expired food out of the back of the fridge, that sort of thing.

I know that you’ll insist on hearing the whole story, so don’t worry. I’ll fill you in on all the details soon.

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #1

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Surely it can’t be a mystery what my #1 favorite moment in blogging of 2010 has been.  I started tracking my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboys a year and a half ago, with Mitch Colby holding the inaugural title for months on end. Derek da Silva shook things up near the end of 2009, coming on strong, mentioning my blog on his Twitter account, and just like that, Derek kneed Mitch in the groin and brought the big man to his knees. Derek managed to hold the title a precious brief snapshot in time, though. Shortly after, Mitch’s Wrestler Spotlight was released, and largely on the merits of his sweat soaked mat battle with Patrick Donovan, Mitch squeezed Derek between those tree trunks he calls thighs until the title popped right back into his hands. That earned both battlers my #1 favorite moment of 2009.


Something unexpected happened in winter of this year though. Specifically, Rusty Stevens happened. Rusty’s performance in Can-Am’s first Arena release completely took me by surprise. After beating his jobber opponent into the mat, naked with his gorgeous pipe a-swinging as he paced around the loser, Rusty let loose with a trash talk clinic on corporate turncoat Aryx Quinn that made me dizzy with desire. Just like that, he climbed up from the hordes of hopefuls to slam Derek’s ass to the mat and ride him like a pony into the top contender spot for my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy.


Shortly thereafter, the dark horse showed up in Arena 2, picking right up where he left off, trash talking circles around Aryx Quinn. It was his “spanking the baby” dance, illustrating how, when Aryx is unconscious at the end of the match, he plans on “tapping that ass,” that pulled off Rusty’s second consecutive stunning upset. He came up on Mitch from behind and managed to snag the title as my undisputed favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy right out of Mitch’s hands almost without a fight. That swagger! That razor wire wit! The body of an adonis, the mouth of a trucker, and the wrestling chops of a serious player… Rusty settled into the top spot in my rankings like he’d owned the place from the start.



The earth shook beneath my feet the day that BG East posted their preview pics of their first summer release, The Breaking Point: Sexy, Sexier, Sexiest over at the BGE Arena. A truer word has never been spoken in dubbing Rusty’s head-to-head mat battle with none other than Mitch Colby as “sexiest.” I’d played that scenario out in my imagination enough times that the promise of a Rusty v Mitch mat battle seemed too surreal to believe. I whipped out my… wallet so fast that my ass got burned, and I waited with desperate impatience to see these two titans of my homoerotic wrestling lusts actually face off in jock straps.

Let’s be honest, here. This could easily have turned into the #1 disappointment of the year for me. I’d worked this match-up over in my own wrestling kinked imagination so often that Rusty and Mitch were in serious danger of never being able to live up to my fantasy. Would this turn out to be too much of a good thing? And most importantly, would this prove to be the game changer that managed to topple Rusty’s cocky, trash talking ass right off his throne and reinstall #1 contender Mitch with the title he really did own from the beginning?



My joy knew no bounds when I popped in the DVD and sat back to watch The Breaking Point: Sexiest. Mitch was simply huge, a mountain of a man. No longer the svelte fitness competitor of his recent appearances, Mitch was the epitome of a big-n-beefy battler. He just took up so much fucking space in that Florida sunroom! It’s not like a lot of people could dwarf the 6’0, 200 pounds of lean muscle that are Rusty, but Mitch did it the instant he stepped on the mat. Rusty instantly did what Rusty does best: he launched a psychological attack on his opponent’s ego to leave him flat-footed for the physical assault to follow. He threw a couple of jabs at Mitch’s weight and fitness, calling attention to his own sliced to shreds physique. But there’s just no denying the look of intimidation that sneaked across Rusty’s face frequently as the two titans locked up. This was not going to be the walk in the park that Rusty, in his supreme, cocky self-confidence, probably had in mind.

They wrestled hard. They both had sheets of sweat pouring off of them before the trunks got ripped off. It was a back and forth battle, with both hunks determined not just to win, but to tame their opponent into true submission. Mitch’s size advantage started to swing momentum decisively his way about after about the halfway point. He squeezee the air out of Rusty in a fantastic bearhug, shaking the pornboy like a rag doll. Rusty countered with a completely unexpected toe suck to tame the beast he’d awoken in Mitch, but Mitch would not be denied. The #1 contender beat a final submission out of Rusty before lording over the wasted champ, pumping on Rusty’s gorgeous cock until he popped.



What makes one my favorite homoerotic wrestler, though, is not always the score card at the end of the match. In this case, Mitch threw everything he had at the title holder, weaving together a smoking hot story of homoerotic domination. But Mitch never managed to successfully “tame” Rusty. Rusty remained feisty and fierce even with his cock completely under Mitch’s control. It’s Rusty’s smart mouth that made the razor thin margin of victory not in the match, but in my rankings. Sitting squarely on Mitch’s face, about halfway through the match, Rusty preened as if he was about to cum with the sheer exhiliration of the moment of domination. With a chuckle in his voice, Rusty snarled down at Mitch, “I’m thinking you may want to give, but then again, my ass is in your face.”



And again, I was helpless against Rusty’s razor wire wit woven seamlessly through his sweat-soaked, grunting and grinding, hell bent on a humiliating homoerotic wrestling performance. Mitch won the battle, but Rusty held onto the title as my very favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, and that, my friends was my favorite moment of 2010.



It didn’t hurt that the BGE website referenced this very blog in the description of the match, but I swear to you, this would’ve been my most favorite moment of 2010 in any case. Even as I toast to the reigning champion at year’s end, I’m eyeing what 2011 might hold for the pornboy rankings. Trent Diesel has been coming on strong, a major workhorse earning his homoerotic wrestling credit with a steady stream of performances, mostly over at Naked Kombat. Rusty’s performance in
Raging Stallion’s Brutal was, frankly, underwhelming (not that I think that was Rusty’s fault, but he was simply underutilized). Either way, the title seems to be under serious contention again, with Trent looking like he could overtake the champion through sheer hard work and tenacity (not to mention his jaw-dropping physique, aesthetically perfect tats, and speaking of aesthetically perfect, have you taken a look at Trent’s ass!?).

2010 was indeed a fantastic year for me, and hope it was for you as well. For all the readers who keep me honest and the readers who egg me on, for the producer’s and back office boys working the homoerotic wrestling business for a living, and for the hardworking hunks, both pornboy and non-pornboy, wrestling their asses off for our entertainment, I especially lift a toast of joy and appreciation for you all. For Rusty, Mitch, Trent, Mr.
Joshua, Lon, Landon, Bobby, Enforcer, Denny, and the steady stream of generous, hot and sweaty boys doing the hard and certainly not risk-free work of homoerotic wrestling, I toast to your good health and continued success in the coming year.

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #2

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My second favorite moment in blogging in 2010 has been the rise of the collaborative spirit in my little homoerotic wrestling fiction universe. Late last year I started a sister-site to my homoerotic wrestling fiction collection, the Producer’s Ring. Sidelineland was intended to be a place where writers and readers could share their original fiction, give and receive feedback, and collaborate on projects. I’ve posted several of my non-Producer’s Ring-related fiction there, including some BG East fantasy fiction as well as my stab at a reader-request superhero piece that I’m getting more and more into as I’m starting to write chapter 4.



I was thrilled to see reader contributions start to come in for Sidelineland in 2010. Nipmuck, Austin, Swito, Bearhugs and Robeboy have all put up some hot wrestling fiction text to share. I find that reading the wrestling fiction of others is a major turn-on. Stepping into the imagination of another wrestling kinkster and being drawn to the details that spark their kink arousal is potent, intimate, arousing stuff, as far a I’m concerned.



Another sweet turn-on has been collaborating on stories with other authors. I can be a little bit of a control freak, so I wasn’t sure how this would turn out. When Swito first proposed a joint project, I was eager but cautious. He was keen to get his hands into the plotline of the Secretarial Pool in the Producer’s Ring, just as I was loosing some steam with that plot. Swito’s got a soft spot for Andrew Stetson, and he’s got something understandably hard for Andrew taking a beating. So Andrew’s surprise beatdown and fall from grace at the hands of Aussie Rugby centerfold Nick Youngquest emerged from Swito’s first authorship and my filling in some details here and there. Part 2 of that story was also a joint effort, with me picking up the primary text as Nick handed Andrew over to Ashton for a full squash reckoning of Andrew’s overdrawn accounts.

A third collaboration with Swito last Spring was 95% his concepts and text, with me just tinkering at the margins. He wrote the fantastic scenario of Chris Hemsworth getting a reality check on his way to collect the fame and fortune that’s just about to cash in from playing the Norse god/superhero Thor. My #1 vampire crush, Alexander Skarsgård, was one Swede none to happy that Hollywood passed over true Norsemen to hand the legendary role to an upstart Aussie.

This autumn I was approached by Bearhugs who wanted to suggest a match for me to write, but I cleverly turned the tables on him and made him co-author the piece with me. The story of a closet-case conservative political operative who gets worked over physically, sexually, and psychologically by a hot sado/wrestling kinked “threesome” (also the title of the match) was very much a joint effort.

To follow up, Bearhugs recently sent me a pro-wrestling match of his own (now posted at Sidelineland as “Shane’s Big Break,”) cleverly turning the tables back on me with a cocky little challenge for me to write “part 2” of Shane’s Big Break, as the action continues in the locker room. Never one to back down from a challenge (and, not surprisingly, turned on by it), I’m already  working on a draft of how things turn from bad to worse for poor Shane who was just hoping for a square shot at pro-wrestling stardom.


The final collaboration that I’m celebrating this year developed from an email request from Metellus. He’s been hands-on every step of the way as we’re working to bring his BG East fantasy match to life, soon to be posted at Sidelineland. Metellus has supplied the protagonist (breakout blond South African sixpack model, Cobus Jonker), and together we’ve selected for his debut bout one of the most merciless masked musclehunks that BGE has to offer, The Enforcer. At first glance, it seems like Cobus finds his way into the ring with BGE’s resident beast-of-few-words out of sheer chance, but he turns out to be no doe-eyed rookie being led like a lamb to slaughter. Enforcer has his big, strong hands quite full, and the boys of BGE can’t help but be impressed with Cobus’ bid to set up shop as their new resident babyface heel.



Damn, I love this! Even my massively endowed imagination (if I do say so myself) couldn’t have thought up all of these fantastically hot scenarios on my own. The give and take, the ins and outs of homoerotic wrestling fiction collaborations have been thoroughly delightful, inspiring, and absolutely arousing. As I toast to a year of working together, I’m also hoping to read more from the imaginations of more wrestling kinksters in the new year, and looking forward to continued successful collaborations to come!