Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

The Grudge

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Speaking of getting bent across your opponent’s knee and spanked until your ass is raw, NakedKombat’s latest upload is a grudge match against tag team opponent’s DJ and Leo Forte.



On opposite sides of the mat, the team of DJ and my 2-time homoerotic wrestler of the month, Trent Diesel, teamed up against Leo and Cameron Adams just a couple of weeks ago. That match got heated, with some sweet heat generated between DJ and Leo, trash-talking and taking it personally. Leo and Cameron lost, and the humiliation doled out in round 4 included Leo being ridden like donkey by Trent’s stunning physique (damn, Rusty, you had better bring something soon!), and Cameron’s face shoved up DJ’s ass for days. I think DJ and Leo’s singles match may have actually been taped prior to the tag, but regardless, they continue to communicate quite convincingly that they seriously don’t like each other.

For fans of close calls, this match will delight. The match is gruelingly defensive, which isn’t particularly what I find most entertaining, but the fact that it’s so highly competitive and gritty from start to finish makes up for that.

If you’re desperate for suspense, don’t read further. But the most priceless moment, by far, comes when one of these wrestlers is officially named the loser.

Leo resents coming out on the bottom from start to finish in his sex round. He violates the concept of “winner gets to do what he wants with the loser” by bitching and moaning and resisting the entire time. Personally, I think by the time DJ drapes Leo across his knee and announces he’s going to spank him, I’m ready to see DJ disciplined for being such a sore loser.

DJ swats hard enough to make me flinch just a little. Leo is squirming and screaming (continuing the “…like a bitch…” theme). The loser is furious, full of resentment, teetering on the edge of getting up and walking away mad. And as DJ keeps swatting harder, he looks up at the camera with that half-stoned, heavy leaded gaze, and he grins.

Damn, that’s hot. Not everyone can pull off busting through the fourth wall. But DJ’s a champ on several counts here. For that sly, cocky moment, his gaze grabs hold of us, and an unspoken moment of shared pleasure in this moment of humiliating dominance passes between us. DJ continues to surprise me. He’s skinner and not quite as classically “handsome” as I tend to gravitate toward. Nonetheless, he’s got an awesome presence on the mat, and he’s got great instincts for homoerotic wrestling kink.

Gun Show

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Damn, I’ve GOT to turn my basement into a rental apartment. It’s not about the cash (though that would be nice). It’s all about my growing obsession with HGTV landlord and property improvement hunk, Scott McGillivray.

I never plan on watching his show, Income Property, but it just keeps happening. Like last night, I had no intention of watching home improvement. But somehow, suddenly, the TV was on HG and Scott’s floppy hair and big, white teeth captured me.



He’s such a fucking boyscout (he probably wouldn’t approve of the profanity… but that’s the only way I can think to put it)! I think it’s the Canadian thing. He’s sensitive. He always offers his clients options to choose from. But he’s also clearly confident in his own skills and knowledge. He gets tough and adamant about cutting no corners, obeying all regulations, coloring entirely within the lines.



Someone knows their audience, too. In the episode I caught last night, Scott shows up for about a third of the time to do his handiwork in sleeveless t-shirts. Clearly, Scottie’s been working out, and he has every right to show off the impressive guns. In fact, I found myself shouting at the TV (you know I do that fairly often) for him to flex for us. Let’s get real! The property improvement bit is just a vehicle to display Scott’s boyish good looks and hot body. You know it. I know it. Scott’s producers know it. Scott must know it.



Or perhaps he doesn’t. He’s so incredibly earnest, maybe it doesn’t occur to him when his producer says, “You need to wear this sleeveless t-shirt on the shoot today,” that he’s being objectified. Maybe he’s just so fucking sincere he doesn’t even think twice when they tell him, “We’ll introduce this segment by explaining that you’re teaching the homeowner how to screw in a stud.” (I kid you not).

I’m picturing Scottie-too-hottie breaking out a plaster mold of Tom Zenk at the height of his invincible face days. Scottie doesn’t need to preen and strut so much because he’s so ridiculously gorgeous and self-righteous.



Definitely, white boots and trunks, and I’d say matching white knee pads (they’ll come in handy later). He’d be a legitimate buzz saw against 95% of the punks who wouldn’t take him seriously. But that 5% (perhaps my pick: Marc Bartolomeo), would turn the tables with dirty tricks, drape his ass over their knee, wedgie the white trunks up his crack and spank that boyscout ass of his until it’s raw. I still believe the only question left to answer is whether Scottie could be pushed too far, humiliated too much, to the point that he says, “Fuck the rules,” and really gets nasty. My fingers are crossed.

Game Changer

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I’ve been worshipping Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you) for many years now. Ever since he followed Brad Rochelle into the BG East matroom, he’s had a starring role in many a sexual and wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Unlike his actual wrestling matches, though, all of my imagined wrestling fantasies with Mr. Joshua have included a liberal dose of body worship. No, I’m not referring to Mr. Joshua’s self-worship, because that has, indeed, been a staple in every one of his for-purchase performances. No, I’m talking about his opponent (frequently me) pausing before, during, and after the action to marvel with my eyes, hands, nose and tongue at the sculpted piece of erotic art that is Mr. Joshua’s physique.

Finally, at long last, Mr. Joshua has found an opponent nearly as awestruck by Mr. Joshua’s body as is Mr. Joshua. Randy Stanton is hot for teacher from the moment he sets foot in the mat room. Something has already happened between them, clearly, and the online description of the match suggests that Randy made a pass at Mr. Joshua at the gym, “promising to worship Mr. Joshua’s physique like he’d never been worshipped before.” Randy, you read my mind.



We’ve all known for a long time that this is what Mr. Joshua needs, now haven’t we? This is the story that Mr. Joshua has been asking for, begging for, from day one. He’s been aching for someone to give him the abundance of slack-jawed respect he deserves and demands, not only because he can kick ass, but because he has crafted his muscles to the brink of divinity. Randy may just have been in the right place at the right time, but I suspect he’s a homoerotic genius who discovered precisely the buttons to push to work his way into the enviable position of being commanded by Mr. Joshua to worship him. That’s right. You heard me. Mr. Joshua demands that Randy cop a feel.

He doesn’t have to tell Randy twice. Well, honestly, he doesn’t actually have to tell him even once. Regardless, this match features the spot-on elements of deeply appreciative body worship, a supremely confident narcissist, and an explicitly lustful opponent. Mr. Joshua has been circling this plot for ages. I’ve been aching for this plot for ages. Watching Randy saddle up behind Mr. Joshua, reach around to squeeze and caress his biceps, pressing their bodies together… well, I’ll just say that I had to push pause within the first minute of this match. After a little while to rehydrate and let my heart rate slow down, I eagerly pushed play once again.

As the story goes, Randy didn’t have wrestling on his mind at all when he followed Mr. Joshua out of the gym, but he’s game when the BG East veteran suggests that they take to the mats to see if Randy can earn some more body worship rewards. Mr. Joshua has all the earmarks of a pool shark reeling in another sucker. Randy hasn’t cottoned on, but it’s clear that Mr. Joshua’s narcissist/sadist personality combo has played this whole scenario out in his mind before the two of them lock up. He’s planning on taking the rookie to school, destroying and humiliating the lustful hunk in order to preen and flex overtop of Randy’s crushed body as evidence of his own, indisputable superiority. This must be what Mr. Joshua sees when he closes his eyes and is almost ready to orgasm: his own stunning image on cocky display atop a crushed hunk. For what I believe to be the first time, Mr. Joshua is literally putting his own ass on the line, upping the stakes against a hard and hot and aroused opponent. Before the jeans are off, though, Randy sends a clear message that he’s not going to just roll over. Taking the veteran by surprise, he locks his knees around Mr. Joshua’s ears, shoving the veteran’s nose into the mat. And then Randy leans forward, plants the palms of his hands on Mr. Joshua’s fantastic ass, and claws lustfully at those glorious glutes. Never before have I encountered a more sympathetic character than Randy in that moment. I’m thinking Randy’s thoughts. His hands are my hands. His delight is coursing through my body. He’s embracing this moment of unexpected opportunity with precisely the fervor and abandon that comes from my fondest personal fantasies involving Mr. Joshua and his vulnerable ass.

Full disclosure, this match isn’t all body worship, and the body worship doesn’t involve tongues (next time, Randy). The wrestling is primarily a series of long-held squeezes and body-wrenching endurance holds, punctuated irregularly with a few blows and slams. The wrestling, I think, matches the stakes, with an emphasis on claws and clutches driving home the point that what’s on the line is the consummation of Randy’s lustful intentions. In gasping lulls between submissions, both boys tease one another as Randy worships Mr. Joshua’s fantastic physique. I absolutely love the moment when Randy cups Mr. Joshua’s pec in his hand, feeling the weight of the slab of muscle. And although Randy somewhat demurely fails to give Mr. Joshua’s legendary package equally adoring treatment, I confess to feeling small moments of orgasmic ecstasy when Randy is stroking Mr. Joshua’s abs, hips, and legs, and his hand repeatedly presses “inadvertently” against the unavoidable obstacle course posed by Mr. J’s stuffed-to-the-brim crotch.


This match is all sorts of wonderful for me. This is something new in Mr. Joshua’s delightful portfolio of appearances with BG East. I’m a big fan of something new, just like I’m a crazed fan of Mr. Joshua as an object of body worship. Personally, I vote for this to be the inception of a new series, with Mr. Joshua’s ass on the line against amorous admirers willing to fight for the opportunity to conquer and take full ownership of the promises posed by Mr. J’s physique. And as much as I’m over-identifying with randy rookie Randy, Mr. Joshua’s venture into this new territory is sufficient to upset the rankings of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers – non-pornboy division. Yes, Mr. Joshua has toppled my previous #1 object of trunks-on lust, Lon Dumont. Mr. J has thrown him to his back and slapped his pendulous package down across Lon’s chin (metaphorically… I’d pay money to see that literally….). Lon is still well within striking distance as the new #1 contender, but I have the attention span of a midge, and Lon has not been in a new release in just too long to ward off the surging homoerotic appeal of Mr. Joshua Goodman in Matmen 21. So I’m offering a standing ovation to Mr. Joshua and his crotch, for clawing his way to the top of the heap and inviting all comers to take a shot at fully appreciating the homoerotic prize that is his wrestling body.

Ohhhhh… now I get it!

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I just saw Inception, the first movie I’ve seen with Tom Hardy in it. I finally get it. I wasn’t getting it before. He’s handsome and all, but more than a handful of the pics I’ve seen of Tom make him look a little goofy and not always in a flattering way (goofy can be very attractive, of course). But seeing him on screen, in motion, I do get it. He’s incredibly sexy in a kinetic way that far exceeds his good looks in still life.

Of course, the tats don’t hurt either, as far as I’m concerned. Nor does the hard, tight body (as far as any of us around here are concerned).

Bulked up, shirtless, with a hairy chest, and he’s quite the object of my lust. Regardless of whether he’s dabbled in boy-on-boy action, he qualifies for a starring role in a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination.

The fact that Tom also seems to have been a fanatic with iPhone self-portraits and the exhibitionism that suggests also works to caricature the hunk for a homoerotic wrestling universe. Not sure who should do the initiating, but I’ll probably think of something sooner or later.


On Safari

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Scooter’s comment to my last post sent me scurrying around trying to get some more inspiration regarding the wrestling scene at a London gay club and hottie Ashley Ryder, featured in BG East’s newest release of Motel Madness UK 7.  I’ve found a few pleasing paper trails, including a Facebook page and a YouTube channel. 





So if I saw this out at a club, I’d take notice. Ashley Ryder’s hot club bod makes me feel all predatory. This specimen needs hunted, tagged and bagged, and I’m itching to go on safari. 





But if I saw this, I’d set up a tent and never leave. A wrestling club set up in the middle of a gay club is a stroke of genius. Pure genius. I feel all tingly inside, and at the same time bitter that I don’t live near anything like this.





I’m quickly developing quite a little crush on Ashley Ryder. The square jaw, the ears, that lean bod in need of taming… yes, crush is the precisely the word that comes to mind.



This seems like such a promising sign for the mainstreaming of homoerotic wrestling kink. Of course, mainstreaming also sounds a little perilous. As much as Grapple 101 is an innovation and introduction of wrestling kink to more of the club-going masses, too much mainstreaming could very well take the innovation right out of the scene. I like my homoerotic wrestling cooked a bit rare. Hell, I like a little gamey taste to it. If it were to get too mainstreamed, if it were to get turned into a franchise and marketed as fast food, if it were beaten into consumer submission and served in identical wax paper wrappers by the billions, then it would be a sad day indeed for me.





Happily, we appear nowhere near that point, and I’m eagerly cheering on Ashley and all the boys at Grapple 101 (from a tragically great distance). I’ve got to get myself to London and hunt me down some homoerotic club wrestling… soon!

Folks’ Strokes

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The first preview pics from BG East’s Arena a couple of weeks ago drew a tepid response from a handful of commentators over at BG East’s yahoo discussion group. It’s good for me to see differing opinions, because otherwise I’d blithely dance along assuming everyone was as giddy with excitement and anticipation as I am. I catch myself assuming that what yanks my crank must be a universal attraction (just like occasionally I forget that not everyone is gay). Not true, of course, except in my flights of fancy.

Still, I have to scratch my head in wonder that a wrestling kinked gay man could be uninspired with some of the new releases. In particular, Matmen 21 is already making me wipe the drool from the corners of my mouth. Angelo Demato’s ass in shrink-wrapped shorts alone is enough to make me light-headed. I’ll wax adoringly about that release more in a couple of days. But for now, let me point out a few other highlights that make me astonished to realize that someone else can be disappointed with BGE’s holiday-time releases.


In no particular order, I’ll start with Denny Cartier facing off with gorgeous rookie, Attila Dynasty (awesome name, BTW). Denny with a shaved head and gray, very brief briefs is pushing him farther and farther up the ranks of my favorites. In what looks like a legitimate scrap with a skilled and stunning newcomer, Denny instantly grabs my attention. In a homoerotic wrestling world with a lot of pretty boys playing paddy-cake, Denny is one of the stars keeping the hot wrestling in my homoerotic wrestling. And his round ass, meaty pecs, strong, hairy legs, and cleft chin leave me unable to imagine him disappointing me in any scenario.

The first glimpse I ever got of Eddy Rey was in Lon Dumont’s debut match. That was a little unfair to Eddy, as I can’t take my eyes off of Lon. I haven’t seen much of Lon lately, which seriously damages his strength in the standings of my favorites, but seeing more of Eddy is making me take note of the fine, fine specimen that he is. First of all, he’s a huge beast of a man. I know that in BGE-land, 6’1″ and 210 pounds isn’t necessarily monstrous, but there’s just something about Eddy’s look that seems ponderously massive beyond his stats. He also appears to continue to be ripped to shreds and incredibly arousing when doused in dripping sweat, which is most of the time. In his new match against omnipresent Donnie Drake in Hunkbash 11, Eddy’s trunks accentuate the lead pipe he’s smuggling. None of this, so far, leaves me uninspired.

I realize stills can be deceiving (another recent topic in the discussion group), but the pics for the new Motel Madness UK 7 are taking my breath away with excitement. First of all, six new faces in one release is pure gold, as far as I’m concerned. I won’t get on my soapbox again here about the problem with recycling that’s plaguing so many new releases across wrestling companies (Donnie Drake, I’ve got one eyebrow raised in your direction right now). But I will heap praises on BG East’s talent recruitment skills in hopping the pond and signing up fresh meat that I’ve never seen anywhere else. From the description, apparently Ashley Ryder (another excellent name) is a staple at a London gay wrestling event at a Soho bar. First of all, why the hell don’t I live somewhere with a regular wrestling event at a gay bar!? Second, the mop of hair on Ashley’s head, the devilish grin, the tight bod, and his opponent’s hand across his adorable ass are all sorts of things, I think… none of which are disappointing or uninspiring.

And my last marvel for the moment is at the first match from Motel Madness UK 7, pitting smooth, tight white bread named Darren Madison against the “gypsy hunk” Sasha. Sasha, Sasha, Sasha…. wow. I didn’t even know I was missing this piece of gorgeousness in shiny orange trunks until I saw these pics. I’m pretty versatile on many counts, including my tastes in body hair. But I must say that the fantastic coat of fur on Sasha’s muscled body is as arousing as it is unusual in the biz these days. If I had the dough, I’d offer to buy this piece of hairy gold a ticket to Boston in order for us to get to see him climb into a ring with the likes of, let’s say, Denny. Since I’m so inspired to buy more of these delightful new releases these days, however, I don’t have the dough…. just the dream. I know that there are different strokes for different folks. BGE’s new releases are offering me plenty of strokes.

Fresh Meat in the Morning

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I’m predictable, I know. Having documented my obsession with Chris Cuomo’s exit from Good Morning America, I’ve illustrated clearly that I watch my morning news for eye candy. That’s why the dramatic news that CBS is dumping pretty much their entire weekday morning on air folks caught my attention. Whom they’re tapping to fill the seats is sparking my imagination, suggesting the possibility I may finally find a new morning news home.

Replacing Harry Smith with Chris Wragge is a no-brainer. I’ve just never found Harry a turn on. Perhaps he’s a wildcat in the sack. Maybe he even enjoys some boots and trunks homoerotic wrestling matches in his spare time. But on-air in the morning, I’ve got nothing for him. 6’3″ blond pretty boy Chris Wragge, on the other hand, makes me sit up and take notice. Another 6’3″ newsboy named Chris to lust after? Holy hell, this is tailored made for me. He can have a bit of an unattractive pursed look about him at times, but he looks delightful in a tuxedo (who doesn’t really?). The way he carries himself just makes me think “sex,” just like it makes me think that he’s a big, beautiful golden boy who’s managed to have life handed to him because he’s pretty. I smell a fictional wrestling character emerging…

Bingo! Oiled up and shirtless on the beach, Chris looks like he’s packing enough perhaps to even give my other newsboy Chris-crush a run for his money. Sensing something inevitably on the horizon? I am.

The boobulous Swedish swimsuit model and ex-wife aside, I think Chris has plenty to offer my raging homoerotic wrestling imagination. This could work. This could definitely work.

But wait! There’s more! New newsreader Jeff Glor has absolutely caught my attention on the weekend news round-up for CBS (as recently as last weekend). He’s got a fantastic boy-wonder potential about him. I don’t know much about him. Can’t find anyone speculating about his height, for example. He’s apparently married with a child, but I’ve already promptly written those details out of my caricature of him. He does have a sexy voice with an odd (in a make-me-hot-and-bothered way) inflection that sort of sounds like someone who’s overcome a lisp or some other impediment. He just looks like such a clean cut slice of white bread, I’m profoundly excited about the possibilities of his showing up as Chris Wragge’s sidekick.


Producer’s are expecting the new CBS morning team to make their audience grow, and I know one audience member who is already doing so. I will be tuning in to CBS’ The Early Show, and Chris and Jeff will, most definitely, be making an appearance in a fictional homoerotic wrestling match near you. Other newsboys should consider themselves on notice!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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The homoerotic wrestler of the month designation I started last summer has a few readers perplexed. Some readers seem to think that there’s some science to this, that there are rules to be followed and justice to be handed out. Of course, this is just my entirely subjective take. I call ’em as I see ’em, and I’m the first to admit that my choices may be at times arbitrary or capricious. I’m fine with that. You’ll have to cope. Which leads us to November’s homoerotic wrestler of the month. My take is that new releases are relatively slim again this month. BG East appears to be about to pop out a new catalog for December, but in the meantime they released a Donnie Drake wrestler spotlight that has to put Donnie, Jobe, Paul Hudson and Rio Garza back in the running. ThundersArena gets two new releases that have caught my eye as potential sources for November’s homoerotic wrestler of the month. Battle of the Male Models parts 1 & 2  mark some nice new directions for Thunders, I think, including some plot and motivation. They also give Zman, STL, Uno, Frank the Tank, and Batar invitations to jump in the pool of nominees for homoerotic wrestler of the month. NakedKombat has some unconventional entries, due in part to their entertaining release of unfinished matches. Based on these dominating performances, Rocco Giovanni, Spencer Reed, and always-in-contention, Mitch Colby are in consideration, along with DJ and Trent Diesel for their highly competitive and smokin’ hot November 24 tag team victory. RockHardWrestling, I believe, put out their 2-on-1 ring bout this month to give Zman still another entry, along with Tyler Reeves and Ethan Andrews. Finally, I’m giving a nod to Raging Stallions’ release of Brutal, which I’ve had the opportunity to begin to enjoy (and will write more on later), for which I’ll permit Trent Diesel to have another nomination, along with Rusty Stevens, Angelo Marconi, Brenn Wyson and Hugo Milano.

Okay, so I was so wrong. There are plenty of delightful nominees to choose from. But there can only be one (not true, of course… no rules…), and my choice for the homoerotic wrestler of the month for November 2010 is….




Yes, I can already hear some of you complaining that Trent was just homoerotic wrestler of the month in July. True enough. And as far as I’m concerned, Trent earned a repeat at HWM precisely because he’s working that fine, fine (finefinefine) ass of his off pumping out hot wrestling performances. He and Zman had an edge this month for both coming in with two hard-hitting new release nominations, but between the two of them, Trent could beat Zack senseless and own his prettyboy straight ass for days (and that would instantly become my all time favorite match for all of history). Trent’s work in Brutal is decent. He’s got a few minutes of actual wrestling, which is unfortunately a little rare for Brutal. He’s also starring one of the scenes in the movie that “collapses the metaphor” nicely, as intense grappling becomes intense fucking.


Paired with his tag team victory alongside of DJ over at NakedKombat, Trent’s Brutal performance gave him the edge for me this month. His body looks hotter and hotter every time I see him. His tattoos are gorgeous. His intensity is fantastic. Watching him struggle to work through the pain of Leo Forte’s body scissor in his NK match is incredibly arousing. He’s just one incredibly hard working homoerotic wrestling pornboy, and I think he deserves the credit. In fact, I think his hard working is making up the distance between him and my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Rusty Stevens. Rusty’s performance in Brutal is weak on actual wrestling/fighting, with only one highly stylized cut-n-paste, very brief tussle with body beautiful Angelo Marconi. If Rusty doesn’t put up something better than that soon, I could easily see Trent slapping a figure-4 choke on him and fucking Rusty’s lip-clad ass out of the top spot in my rankings. Stay focused, and keep up the fantastic work, Trent!


Overlooking Homicidal Sociopathy

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I’m finally caught up with Dexter after having been traveling on and off for the past couple of weekends, and I’m finally not so bitter about the selfish dearth of skin that has been so characteristic of the series. To the contrary, Michael C. Hall has been shirtless quite a bit recently. This simply must continue.

Two weeks ago, this season’s big baddie (and tasty treat, himself) played by Johnny Lee Miller couldn’t help but show some love in appreciation of Dexter’s hot bod in the locker room. I’m not entirely sure what Johnny’s character was doing huddled up in his locker as Dexter was prancing around in his boxers, but as for me, I would have sat myself down on that bench and stared adoringly at Michael C. Hall’s ass.

And speaking of Michael C. Hall’s notable ass, we saw yet ANOTHER sex scene last night with Dexter’s ass coyly hidden from view. That said, superherofan captured a tantalizing tease of Michael’s glorious crack, as his trousers slid down just as he was climbing on top of Julia Stiles. I know that her character is supposed to be completely sympathetic at this point, but I just can’t help hating her out of jealousy. I’m not proud of it.



On the other hand, I am aroused by the homage to bondage play between her character and Dexter’s, moments before their post-homicidal coitus. I’ve had that very fantasy, of tying Michael C. Hall’s hands behind his back helplessly as I explore his body. Unlike Julia’s character, though, I’m not a PTSD-wracked, trauma-cracked, on the path to self-destruction empty jar of marbles that she is. I’d accept a homicidal sociopath for who he is any day, as long as he had Michael C. Hall’s ass. And I come with a lot less baggage (well… less, definitely).

Never Knew What I Missed…

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Christmas came a little early for me this year, and I was treated to some presents directly off of my wish list of matches-to-own. Personally, I would’ve thought I’d have fallen into the “naughty” category. But I’m not asking any questions.

Thumbing through the catalog for things that might show up under my tree, I’ve lately been aching for Ball Bash 2. Truth be told, I’ve got a little crush on Reese Wells aka Brody Hancock. Well, more accurately, I fantasize about crushing him. He’d put up a good fight, mind you, and he’s got some sweet sell. But in the end he’d be screaming a submission wracked across my shoulders, before I rubbed salt in the wound by dropping his back across my knee. When all is said and done and his spirit is broken, I’d walk away with his boots to hang them up as a trophy of good times.

Fortunately for me, Jonny Firestorm has handed Reese precisely the type of treatment I think Reese desperately needs. I wasn’t expecting Ball Bash 2 to be quite so competitive. However, there’s plenty of pretty salesmanship going in all directions for most of this match before it turns into a full-on ball bash squash. Jonny always impresses, and this match is no different. He’s got instincts for delivering exactly the content, pacing, and humiliation that makes ring action my cup of tea.

I have to remind myself that this release came out before anything else that I’ve seen Reese in. This is significant for me because although I’ve seen him flirt with full-on homoeroticism, never since have I seen Reese wrestle naked. And that’s a shame, because he’s got a really beautiful cock, and there’s something about the optical illusion that is Reese’s body that somehow makes perfect sense when he’s in the ring in nothing but those boots (that’d I’d rip off of him and take home with me). I’ve seen the career trajectory that starts out with some stud just translating straight-up wrestling for a homoerotic company, and then eventually evolves into a balls out, naked, full-on homoerotic fantasy fighter. But someone who goes the other direction seems like a novelty (and a little bit of a waste, as far as I’m concerned).

The moment in this match that completely captures me, though, comes when Reese still has his speedos on. Things have been relatively traditional up to this point, with Jonny and Reese taking and giving in approximately equal measure. But when Jonny snaps his legs around Reese’s waist, presses wide the pretty boy’s legs, and grabs hold and squeezes Reese’s balls, this match instantly careens off the straight-up tracks and deep into homoerotic territory. But it’s this moment in particular, and specifically, it’s Reese’s sell of this moment, that captures my imagination. Reese has nowhere to go. Jonny is showing all his cards, including the fantastic revelation that he’s out for nothing short of blood curdling screams. And Reese is writhing in pain, stunningly vulnerable, and totally humiliated. And with his jaws open wide in agony, Reese kisses the mat.

Good god, that kiss just sends me. It’s such an excellent moment of helpless agony. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a BIG fan of Reese’s destruction without trunks, and I’m nearly as enthusiastic about the target-thong that Jonny makes him wear, which is delightfully inadequate to contain Reese’s impressive member that simply can’t be described as entirely flaccid throughout the remainder of the bull busting. All the moving parts to this match line up perfectly, I think. Jonny is impeccable. Reese is astonishing for a “rookie.” The bodies, the wrestling, the setting, the gear (and lack thereof), are all brilliant. But it’s Reese’s lips planted on the floor in agony that makes this match one of my favorites. Thanks, Santa.