Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #3

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My third favorite moment in blogging in 2010 came from my innauguration of a non-pornboy division in my ranking of favorite homoerotic wrestlers. I’ve been blathering for more than a year about my favorite pornboy homoerotic wrestlers, but I decided a few months ago that the non-pornboys needed a division all their own. Up against the likes of Mitch Colby, Derek da Silva, Rusty Stevens and Trent Diesel, the wrestlers who stay shy of pulling out their cocks and unloading a climactic, gasping explosion on top of the loser of the match beneath them are at a severe disadvantage in the magnitude with which they stroke my homoerotic imagination. But they’re entirely delightful and entertaining and provocative in their own way, and so a nonpornboy favorite homoerotic wrestler division was created to share some love with them as well.

Lon Dumont was my inaugural champion nonpornboy. Good God, that man turns me on. He’s got a pro polish wrapped up in one gorgeously muscled, shredded to bits, tight little package built for taking big boys by surprise and kicking their asses.



Lon’s instant top contender was the BGE boy with a wrestling portfolio nearly as massive as his balls: Josh Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!). Lon’s history with BGE makes him look like a rookie, but there’s nothing rookie about his command of the ring and his opponent’s bodies. Mr. Joshua, on the other hand, has been one of the most prolific BGE battlers, and he seems to be going stronger now than ever, showing up in 3 different releases this year, and looking as stunningly muscled and outrageously in love with himself as ever. From go, it was a close call between Lon and Mr. Joshua.



So perhaps it should be no surprise that Mr. Joshua caught up with Lon and smacked his fine, athletic ass into second place just a few weeks ago. That’s my #3 favorite moment in blogging in 2010: the game changing performance of Mr. Joshua in Matmen 21.



I thought Mr. J’s performance in this summer’s release of Demolition 14 was fantastic new territory for him. He not only slapped his pendulous balls down across Austin Raines’ lips, he taunted the overmatched scrapper with talk of teabagging. Still, there was something missing from Demolition 14, something I still longed to see in a Mr. J match (other than an unobstructed view of his legendary credentials).



I have nothing against innuendo, mind you. I’m (obviously) a major fan of implication and allusion. But I’ve been waiting for too long for a Mr. Joshua match that just says it straight out: Mr. Joshua both desperately needs and undeniably deserves to be the object of some lustful admirer’s body worship. Randy Stanton shows up in Matmen 21 and cuts right through the innuendo. Randy wants a shot at Mr. Joshua’s rippled abs, beautiful pecs, and sweet, shapely ass, and he’s willing to wrestle for it.



Sorry to spoil the suspense for those of you who haven’t seen it yet, but in the end, Randy isn’t quite up to the task. That said, he puts up a surprisingly enthusiastic fight. He strokes Mr. J’s washboard. He claws at his pecs. He digs his fingers into Mr. J’s round ass with a lustful exhilaration that comes straight from my crotch. When Mr. Joshua finally turns the corner, perhaps having to work a little harder for it than he’d expected, he racks Randy across his statuesque shoulders and claws at the rookie’s crotch for his trouble. Mr. J doesn’t just crush his suitor, he beats him senseless and then lingers in the delight of humiliating him with a body-by-body comparison of their relative physiques. Randy’s a hot slice of tasty goodness, but he’ just no match for stunning size and aesthetic proportions of Mr. Joshua.



I LOVE this storyline! This completely gives an outlet to my unrequited lust over Mr. J’s erotically charged nonpornboy body. I’ve complained about Mr. J playing it coy for quite some time, but his performance in Matmen 21 shuts my mouth (metaphorically… you know I’m seldom at a loss for words). The concept of a veteran nonpornboy putting his body on the line against a hard, amorous hunk jonesing to turn him into a pornboy is just brilliant. It finally gives a full helping of the homo to match Mr. J’s quality entertainment wrestling credibility.



Not only did Matmen 21 earn Mr. J the title as my new #1 favorite homoerotic wrestler – nonpornboy division, it also solidly ranks as my #3 most favorite moment in blogging in 2010. I’m ready to pre-order any future match with Mr. J bringing another hot and randy hunk back to the matroom to see if he’s finally met his match and found the stud worthy of dominating and taking full possession of the priceless treasure that is Mr. Joshua’s intoxicating body. It’s the awesome depth of entertainment Mr. J has produced in the past and the promise of more fantastically hot, high stakes wrestling in the future, but most of all, it’s Mr. Joshua’s game changing performance in Matmen 21 that earns my #3 most favorite moment in 2010.

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #4

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The Vancouver Winter Olympics come in at #4 on my list of my favorite blogging moments of 2010. I particularly appreciated the trend this year to cast scantily clad hardbodies athletes in magazines in order to promote the competition, national pride, and team spirit.



I also appreciated the opportunity that the Olympics provided me to learn from so many readers who are much better informed concerning winter sport than I am. I had several tips come in that helped me suss out where to focus my attention in order to catch the hottest meat on snow and ice.



Speed skaters continue to be my most anticipated winter Olympic eye candy. The massive, mounded, shredded thighs packed into lycra are just unbeatable. When there’s an unmistakable bulge at the crotch screwing with the aerodynamics, so much more the better.



I confess to getting a little caught up in the patriotic melodrama of the event this time around. Typically, I’m teflon when it comes to “for the motherland” plots. But even I, a guilt-wracked, privilege-ambivalent American, had to admit that seeing Canada win hockey gold was awfully satisfying.  And I still say Canadian hockey man-of-the-moment, Sidney Crosby, looks like Brad Rochelle!



The best moment of moments, and I predict a precursor of things to come, was boarder hotty Scotty Lago getting caught on camera with his bronze medal wrapped around his tiny little waist, pulling up his shirt to reveal his sliced-to-shreds abs and hip tat, in order to allow an eager fan to lick the bronze medal dangling in front of his crotch. Scotty was rushed out of Vancouver in a flash. Apologies and recriminations were made. There was an official gasp of scandal. But I think Scotty is just ahead of his time. The Olympics are bound to get more overtly sexy in the future. The victorious competitor with a body built for worship is all about sex. Sure, there’s national pride. Sure, there’s the profound satisfaction of being the best you can be, and that being better than anyone else. But let’s face it, like all animals, we compete to determine which buck gets first pick in mating season. I say leave Scotty alone, and if he ever needs his bronze medal shined again, he can give me a call any day.



While I still say that the cards are stacked against the Winter Olympics when it comes opportunities to lust over the world-class athletes (too much gear!), I had a fun time keeping one eye on Vancouver and the other eye combing the internet for more exposés on the hot, hard bodies of winter sport. For the monster thighs, massive bulges, and hi-tech lycra bodysuits of the future, the Winter Olympics rank #4 for my favorite moments in blogging in 2010. I raise a glass to toast the drama, the thrill of competition, and most of all, the world class bodies.

Year in Review – Favorite Moment #5

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If you were tracking my musings this time last year, you may remember that I did my own “best of 2009” countdown. I’m reprising the tradition as I reflect back on another year of finding a ridiculous quantity of things to say about beautiful men, wrestling, and especially beautiful men wrestling.




Again, if you were tracking my musings this time last year, you may also remember my bitterness at the end of 2009 as a result of Italian adonis newsboy Chris Cuomo getting shafted (linger on that image a moment…) and yanked off of my morning television into the oblivion that is 20/20… or is it 60 minutes… or Dateline…. one of those news programs that I have far too much of a life to be watching on a weekend evening.
To kick off my 5 most favorite moments of 2010, I’m reflecting with deep appreciation on the new crop of news hunks that the networks are now beginning to harvest. I was sure it was going to happen, but it seemed like an eternity before hot new meat popped up to catch my eye in the morning news. When Matt Gutman showed up on ABC covering the oil spill in the gulf, suddenly the morning news grabbed my attention like it hadn’t managed to do since Chris’ exile.

So my discovery of Matt is the “moment” I’m appreciating, but I’m also happy to have seen plenty more of Matt on the oil soaked beaches of the gulf, and then covering the tornado ravaged Southeast, and more recently in harms way as Haiti rioted. I’m pulling for Matt to get a desk job soon, so that he can be a more regular fixture of lust and we can see those dimples up close. As long as he continues to keep his shirt unbuttoned to give us a glimpse of that hot, hairy chest, he will remain my favorite new fantasyman from the world of journalism.

Matt’s debut in my homoerotic wrestling fiction (it was inevitable) was at first glance, perhaps, inauspicious. He submitted to David Muir in a Mexican Ceiling hold variation, despite the ringside encouragement of his mentor, Chris Cuomo.


When Chris’ nemesis, Carter Evans dives into the ring looking like he’s eager to take a bite out of the beaten rookie post-match, Chris intervenes in defense of his protegé. Matt cements himself as an anti-hero object of my lust by Pearl Harboring his now-former mentor and double-teaming the Italian Stallion with his new BFF, Carter. I expect to see more of all parties involved showing up in my homoerotic wrestling imagination in 2011, needless to say.

And I’m delighted to add that there are a bevy of newsboys ready to join them. A real life shake up at CBS’ The Early Show has catapulted Chris Wragge and Jeff Glor into my sights. I’ve also been taken with the appearance of CBS newsboys on the rise like Ben Tracy and Whit Johnson.


And did you see that Thomas Roberts is clawing his way up the ladder, now over at MSNBC? True fans will remember Thomas made a delightful debut in some of my very earliest wrestling fiction posts, including taking his tag team partner, Rob Marciano, by surprise in singles competition, illustrating that Thomas is a wrestling kinkster and erotic sadist in his own right (welcome to the family, Thomas!).

Indeed, Matt Gutman broke a bitter drought for me in newsboy infatuations, completely earning him my #5 most favorite moment in blogging in 2010. As the new year approaches, I’m toasting to Matt’s good health, unbuttoned shirts, muscled arms, and a lively News Division in 2011!


Between Takes

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I love it that you’re reading a homoerotic wrestling kink blog on Christmas! You are such the hardcore, ironman wrestling kinkster! Or, you’re reading a back edition… or this isn’t even your holiday… but in any case, I’m taking it easy today. I’m trying not to sweat the obligatory family drama. I’m trying not to resent the cacophony of carols that have nearly bored a hold straight through my head by now. I’m trying to relax and let it all wash over me.

This time last year, I posted some of the behind-the-scenes shots from BG East, capturing the boys between slams and submissions, relaxed, smiling, and clearly just savoring a happy moment. I thought I’d reprise the theme again for another Christmas day, because these unguarded smiles on these hardworking hunks just lighten my mood.


We all take ourselves too seriously. I do it. You do it (don’t contradict me!). Hell knows, the politicians and pundits and preachers do it, particularly this time of year. So a glimpse of an almost shy smile on a granite-chiseled, merciless ring heel is a sweet reminder, I think, to just cool my jets. Whatever it is that gets me hot and bothered (in a bad way), if I just  just take a step back and remove my ego from the situation, 9 times out of ten it’s all just silliness not to be taken seriously.



There’s seriously messed up shit going on in the world right at this very moment, of course. That’s no laughing matter, but that said, in light of the serious shit, my shit honestly is laughable. So I had to wait in an insanely long line to get that last Christmas present that I put off until way, way too late. So the roads are filled with crazies. So another season of Dexter came and went and I still haven’t seen Michael C. Hall’s world class ass. None of it should be such a burden that I can’t set it down today, let the tension that I’m carrying in my body slip away, and just smile.


Okay, so I’m having trouble letting go of my bitterness about Michael C. Hall’s ass. I’ll keep working on it in between Scrabble games and slices of turkey and endless accounts of the inanity of my sibling’s miserable children (tension rising again… breathe……. okay, I’m back).


Whatever rituals you do or don’t engage in today, whatever your religious or familial proclivities, whatever the burdens you carry, my hope for you is a deep breath, a sly smile, a moment of innocent humor, and all the hot, sweaty, muscle thumping, crotch bumping, ass humping sexual pleasure your heart desires.

10 Lords-a-Leaping

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Tis the season and all that jazz. I’m feeling a little unmoored in the season of holidays this year. It’ll probably pass in time for me to get stuffed with food and feel the nostalgic adrenaline rush of receiving presents to tear open like a lion taking down a gazelle.

In the mean time, I’ve got my tongue firmly in cheek as we head into the eve of the notorious day. I’ve got a taste for the irreverent Christmas treat, the scandalous perversion of the high holy day, the middle finger flown in the face of uptight carolers. If anyone deserves a lump of coal in his stocking this year, I’m sure it’s me.



As you well know, in my brain, all good things (and most bad) lead back to hot men in various stages of undress, frequently engaged in wrestling scenarios with homoerotic undertones or, even better, overtones. Frankly, I find it hard to find hot, Christmas-themed homoerotic wrestling treasure, and that’s just sad.

I suppose the notorious day is supposed to make us all feel pre-pubescent, harkening back to a more innocent time when we couldn’t quite imagine what sex was and the most thrilling thing in the world was an unopened gift. I think that time passed for me when I was about 5 years old, though (seriously). And these days I’m all about injecting the sexy into the holidays. With that in mind, here’s my vote for sexiest YouTube santa. I think absolutely every Santa should have a six pack, a dimpled chin, ice blue eyes, (okay, so just a tad less mousse), a back tat, a tight round ass and a tightly packed crotch. Here’s hoping you have happy holiday dreams of a hardbody Santa squeezing down your chimney tonight!

Trinkets for the Holidays

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Just a few items of “business” before I head out to wade my way through the sea of fellow procrastinators today. First, I will shortly (later today) upload a new chapter in my superheroes homoerotic wrestling fiction series over at Sidelineland.

The first chapter introduced Hank and Brett, to young hunks auditioning to achieve their lifelong dreams to become superhero crime fighters. The seconds chapter focused specifically on Brett’s introduction to the training program of the Legion of Superheroes, and his slow realization that not only are the other recruits more remarkable then they first appeared, but he too is brining more to the wrestling mat than just his stunning body, championship skills, and fierce determination.



Chapter 3 will follow Brett’s brother, Hank, as he has a somewhat harder landing into the training program. Hank’s team of recruits is lorded over by a particular nasty sadist heel by the name of Sting.



It’s a little Lord of the Flies, I freely admit, as Sting and his two henchmen, Buck and Vapor, turn teammate-bashing into a science. Hank quickly finds himself a target of Sting’s machinations, and only the team coach, Barry, holds any hope of intervening on Hank’s behalf. In the end, Hank is forced to make a difficult decision regarding who he wants at his back within this team of backstabbers. The enemy he knows, in Sting and his boys, or the unknown quantity of his coach, Barry.



I’ll also be uploading a new reader contribution by Bearhugs, who’s challenged me to write a Part 2 to his excellent Part 1.



Finally, everyone’s weighing in on the relative merits (or demerits) of Tron. So apropos of nothing, I’d just like to say that I enjoyed it, but wouldn’t exactly pull for it to win any Oscars. And Zuse was “supposed” to be gay?! Perhaps there’s a critique there to be made of gender and gender stereotypes, but honestly, I did not see him as a “gay” character in the least, much less someone posing a cautionary morality tale about sexuality of any sort. Much ado about nothing, as far as I’m concerned. Enjoyed the movie. Think Michael Sheen is a genius of an artist. Will likely own it and happily watch it repeatedly to make myself feel more hopeful about things like net neutrality and Wikileaks (fight the power!).

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This morning I watched the live broadcast of the presidential signing of the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” the U.S. military policy that has insisted that military personnel remain closeted about their sexual orientation (if they’re gay, of course). The ceremony this morning gave me chills and brought a tear to my eye. Integrating the military was a major precursor to mainstreaming civil rights discourse and laying the foundation for civil rights legislation with regard to race in this country more than 60 years ago. It was hard to argue that our citizens should fight and die  in the trenches of war, side by side regardless of race, but then return home to legalized discrimination and inequality. Perhaps, hopefully, the same mechanisms will operate with the dismantling of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”



As is my way, I feel like pushing the rock uphill just a little on this historic moment. I bought it, of course: the argument that the repeal of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” is a seminal and necessary achievement in the unfolding of full citizenship for gays. But I’m not exactly thrilled with what we’re left with now that “the battle” is basically over. Because what we’re left with isn’t a metaphorical battle for votes in Washington, but a literal battle, or more precisely, a raging war in one country and an ongoing occupation in another.



I find myself on the radical fringe of gay debates frequently. I’m entirely unconvinced that obtaining “equal marriage rights,” for example, is a step forward for gays or for society. Personally, I advocate for the government to get out of the marriage business entirely.  Consistently, I think that we, “the gays,” too easily buy into the arguments that things will be better when we get what the straights now have. If what the straights now have is broken and carcinogenic, why should we be so desperate to worm our way into a share of that legacy?



In this day and age, it’s even more politically incorrect to bash the military than I’m willing to be (and that’s saying a lot!). I honestly do have deep respect for the military and the function is serves in stabilizing civilian law and order and international peace. But I find it cold comfort that gays and lesbians will soon transition from dying in Iraq and Afghanistan while closeted, to dying in Afghanistan (and still, potentially, Iraq) while openly gay. I’m glad that so many servicemen and women feel that serving openly in the military permits them dignity and wholeness. From my perspective, though, I think we would show much more dignity toward all our military if we used them only as a last resort, and if we didn’t rely on them to achieve with bullets and bombs what only the elimination of abject poverty and disenfranchisement could ever legitimately achieve.

I’m eager for the day when we critique our arrogant, bullying approach to the use of military force all together. I think the queerest thing we could do would be to demand that any war worth invading another country (or two) over should be a war that demands a draft of the populace and a full mobilization of our wartime economy. Anything less, anything more palatable and politically expedient, just cheapens the lives of the soldiers and airmen and seamen who face down the guns and bombs that we act so astonished to discover when we’ve invaded another nation. If it’s not worth mobilizing our whole nation over, then it shouldn’t be worth the lives of our standing military force, gay or straight, either.

I’m eager for the day when the gay and straight soldiers in our standing military have nothing to do but sit at home and guard the borders, clean their weapons, and remain at the ready for a day that will never come because we’ve gone truly revolutionary and waged peace with the ferocity and determination with which we wage war today.

I’m eager for the day when the only combat our boys in uniform see is wrestling with their buddies. If fatigues should be forcibly stripped in the process, so be it. If underwear should be ripped to shreds as they continue to battle naked, the pseudo-pacifist that I am, I could still live with that amount of violence in the world. If losers should be required to suck cock, I could probably cope, and frankly, truth be told, the world would be a better place for absolutely everyone if that’s the amount of mischief required of our military might.

So, thanks, elected officials, for repealing “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” You are truly brave and prophetic leaders to tackle this thorny, politically volatile subject. Now, how about doing something about alleviating misery, squalor, famine, oppression, racism, and the many other sources of suffering in the world that continue to feed the fires of extremism and bloodshed and “justify” the presence of our military around the globe? Bring our boys (especially the gay boys) home, give them absolutely nothing to fight about, and let them work out their aggression with some hot and sweaty homoerotic wrestling. Trust me. We’ll all be better off.

Re-Filling the Queue

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I’ve been SOOO pleased to be writing wrestling fiction again with more success in getting complete stories on the page! I expect to have at least a couple of new matches posted in the next couple of weeks, the way things are going. This has also coincided with a lot of new readers signing up at the Producer’s Ring and Sidelineland. As another public service announcement you’ve probably read already, Producer’s Ring is a site that represents an ongoing series of celebrity wrestling matches/fights in an apocalyptic version of the world that I dreamed up where capitalism has overthrown democracy, consumerism rules the world, and homoeroticism and wrestling kink are the currency of world power. Sidelineland is a sister-site to Producer’s Ring where I post my own wrestling fiction unrelated to the world of the Producer’s Ring, and where I try to drum up more of you to contribute your own original works of wrestling fiction (happily, with more and more success!). And just a reminder that the most effective way to access the sites and participate in discussions of story ideas and feedback is to sign up at the Producer’s Ring group and the Sidelineland group (the “sign up” process is just to weed out lurking haters).



Along the lines of my wrestling fiction, superherofan has posted some new caps of Gerard Butler from The Bounty Hunter. These are reminding me of one of my fondest storylines from the Producer’s Ring. As the story has unfolded, Gerard Butler challenged Sean Maguire to a grudge match in the Seattle bathhouse wrestling venue known as “The Focus Group.” Not to spoil things too much for those of you who haven’t read it, but suffice it to say that Sean’s smartass mouth comes in very handy in subduing the raging Scot, physically and sexually dominating him, and transforming him into Sean’s very own adoring, submissive cub (be careful what you wish for, Gerard!).

Not long afterward, Sean and Gerard maneuver behind the scenes with the brokers of power in the Producer’s Ring for a team challenge match against Jonathan Rhys Meyers and his own submissive boytoy co-star, Henry Cavill (backstory there, as well). By the end of the challenge match, Henry has been “stolen” from Jonathan, and from the looks of things, he’s not so unhappy about joining the new pack.



With this new inspiration of big-n-beefy Gerard dropped in my lap (now that’s an image that I need to linger on), and with recently clearing my queue of wrestling fiction projects, I’m feeling a hankering to see daddy Sean with his cubs in tow, mixing it up again with some new celebrity hunks. Perhaps a three-on match, or Henry and Gerard teaming up with Sean at ringside “coaching” his boys, or even Gerard in singles again. One way or another, though, I’ve got my sights set on a beefy Scotsman showing up in a wrestling fantasy soon!

Texas Beef

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I’m not the sort of histrionic character that runs around pointing fingers and calling people liars. But I’ve got my finger pointed decisively at the boys at BG East at this very moment, and I’m calling them liars, because there’s just no way in God’s green earth that Duncan Thomas from Boston to Austin 2 measured in at 5’8″ and 162 pounds. They’ve listed his opponent, Jay Grady, at a much more likely 5’10” and 180 pounds, and seeing these two boys face-off illustrates the undeniable fact that Thomas was notably taller (not by a little) and almost certainly heavier (100% of it hard, striated, sliced to shreds muscle).



I remember seeing this match hit the website as a new release 9 years ago. Picking up my recent theme of the relative allure of “pretty,” I readily admit that it was Duncan’s tanned, toned classically gorgeous body and pretty-boy handsome face that caught my eye. Anachronistically, I’d say he’s got a distinctly Henry Cavill look about him. I don’t remember, however, why I didn’t snap up Boston to Austin 2 that very moment. Perhaps I was paralyzed by the devastating beauty in Fantasymen 22, which was released at the same time (damn, that is one stunning collection of muscle men!). In any case, Duncan Thomas made a big impression, but I didn’t actually see him in action…



…until BGE posted his match as a video-on-demand in the Arena last week. I was like a cat watching a piece of string being dangled before my eyes. I was mesmerized, helpless to stop myself. I clicked “buy,” and then hunkered down to compare what I imagined this match to be with the reality.

I was delighted to discover that Duncan is no delicate pretty boy poser. He’s pretty, sure. But somehow, I couldn’t imagine calling him “pretty” to his face. As soon as he opens his mouth and that deep base voice with a rope-’em ‘n tag-’em Texas twang comes snarling out, “pretty” just falls off the table. He’s a cocky, supremely confident, strutting son-of-a-bitch from the Lone Star state with the swagger to suggest that all those eye-catching muscles serve some purpose other than being adored. When Jay walks in and Duncan flips into a rock solid handstand Capoeira-style strike pose, the message is crystal clear: this is not some go-go boy just yanked off the dance floor.



Duncan physically dominates in a way that drives home my point that someone’s measuring tape and scale were badly mis-calibrated when they sized him up at 5’8″ and 160 pounds. No doubt about it, Jay is a hot little scrapper who seems to genuinely delight in the prospect of turning this into a hunk bash. But Duncan throws his weight around and muscles the high-n-tight brawler into one compromised position after another. Nine times out ten, Duncan simply snaps his massive arms around Jay’s head and parades him around the mat, threatening to snap body parts off at will. In fact, for his flashy start, I’m a little disappointed to see no more creative fare from the tanned adonis. I get the impression of a martial artist just barely restraining himself from landing a roundhouse kick to his opponent’s face, so perhaps it’s the format of the mat battle that makes Duncan appear a little less than innovative throughout most of the match.




But the final fall in the best of 5 finally shows what all those highly coordinated, heavily trained muscles can offer. Systematically picking apart his opponent, Duncan unleashes slams, scissors and a final, decisive choke that reminds me, once again, that I wouldn’t dare call this hunk “pretty” to his face.



But what makes this match completely worth being the impulse purchase it was, is Duncan’s smart-ass mouth. I’m not a fan of overly misogynistic themes in my wrestling, but there’s something deeply arousing when Duncan looks like he’s about to rip Jay’s head off, and he snarls, “I can break your neck, or you can slap out like the little girl you are.” In that deep-chested Texas drawl, Duncan’s threat is completely believable, as illustrated by the fact that Jay almost instantly gasps out a desperate submission, proving Duncan’s point. With some hot verbal taunting that brings to my mind the opening salvo by Rusty Stevens upon facing off with Mitch Colby, Duncan paces around Jay after the submission, explaining, “I’ll give you some time for some beauty sleep. You need it.” If that line came from some muscle jobber, it would be such an eye-rolling cliche’. From this aggressive, confident Southern stud, though, it’s fantastic psychological domination. He can kick Jay’s military ass, humiliate him by questioning his masculinity, and then remind him that Duncan is heads and tails more beautiful to look at, to boot. Holy hell!



Best line of the match, hands down, has to be when they’re about to lock up after another submission, and Duncan spits out, “You wrestle like my sister…. that bitch!” Again, you have to superimpose a deep Texas drawl on this text, and then sit back and delight in the take-no-prisoners, smarter than your average bear banter that rolls off of Duncan’s tongue like a seasoned pro. In the end, Duncan kicks Jay when he’s down, and then tops him off with an inverted reverse bearhug into a skull rattling piledriver, delivering a COMPLETELY gratuitous splash while Jay is still clutching his throbbing skull defenselessly.



And see, I’ve made it to the end of this post without even mentioning his stunningly sculpted legs, fantastically asymmetrical pec development (an archer?), and his gorgeously shapely athletic ass and slice of Texas beef hanging from his crotch filling those unbelievably tight trunks to capacity! That’s got to prove it: this Texas one-hit-wonder is absolutely not just about “the pretty.”



P.S. If one of the BG East boys gets sent to my house to beat my ass for calling them liars, can I put in a request for it to be Denny Cartier? In his white trunks with blue piping? With his overnight bag?

Holiday Spirit

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Is it the holiday spirit? Whatever it is, suddenly I have an abundance of wrestling fiction to post. This past week Bearhugs and I finished off a short story over at Sidelineland featuring four hunks, a playroom, and plenty of morally questionable wrestling-sex play. In light of my comments on simulated rape in gay porn last Friday, this particular piece of fiction may seem a little… inconsistent. The less charitable among us might even call it hypocritical. I remind you of a point I’ve made consistently and repeatedly throughout the year and a half that I’ve been building neverland: I see no moral virtue in consistency, and I happily and regretlessly permit myself to contradict myself at will… and I copyright the word “regretlessly.”



Next up, from out of the blue, robeboy dropped in my lap his write up of a sweetly sexy boxing match between pro-football heart throbs, Brady Quinn and Tim Tebow. I mentioned over at the discussion list for Sidelineland that this story takes me by surprise. I don’t follow football, and boxing seems somehow… demure to me. Yet, robeboy’s set up and description of the fight are a complete turn on for me. This is another reminder that reading other people’s fight/wrestling fiction is invariably a major turn on for me. I’m hoping for more generosity from the imaginations over at Sidelineland.



Yesterday, I managed to post, at long last, the Werewolf Rumble. I started working on that project forever ago. I received a lot of encouragement, prodding, and poking to get it done. Most of the anticipation seemed to come from those looking to see Taylor Lautner’s debut in the Producer’s Ring. Coming in a close second in the pre-match hype, Joe Manganiello’s Producer’s Ring debut also had several readers holding their breaths. As I mentioned on the Producer’s Ring discussion list, I actually find beautiful Britboy Russell Tovey probably the most motivating character for me in this threesome. With so many competing interests, I suspect that the match was doomed to disappoint many from the start (since one can never please everyone). Still, finally wrapping up the match and polishing it off, the Werewolf Rumble managed to sort itself (and me) out just fine for my own tastes. Two submissions and one decisive victor claiming the spoils of battle equals a happy Bard.



So I’m already halfway through another collaboration in the BGE Fantasy genre, and as soon as I’m done with that piece, I think I’ve got the missing piece of the plot that’s been holding up my chapter 3 in the superheroes saga over at Sidelineland. I also finally found my visual inspiration for a key character I want to write up for chapter 3, modeled on the stunning beauty of Jay Byars. Lot’s of juices are flowing, including the creative ones, and I for one am eagerly anticipating a happily erotic SolsticeChristmasKwanzaHappyNewYear! Here’s hoping the same for you!