Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Authenticity

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Recently, I’ve been feeding my growing infatuation with BG East wrestler Denny Cartier. I just saw Denny’s Mat Hunks 8 match against classic, classic (way classic) BG East veteran Mikey Vee from last spring. Because I love a through-story, I was delighted to discover that this match picks up immediately following Denny’s highly entertaining tussle of age/experience vs. youth/beauty, when he lowered the hammer on another very classic veteran, Chris Bruce in Backyard Brawls 6. 


Denny’s match with Mikey is absolutely awesome. No hedging on my part here. It was completely wrestling-kink satisfying. And no hedging on Denny or Mikey’s part, either. This is the highest quality of wrestling I’ve seen from two opponents in the same match for a long time. Somehow I don’t remember Mikey being quite the shoot expert that he clearly is in his schooling of Denny. They both work up a quick, hot sweat. Like two chess masters, they bring much more than just brawn to the mats (though I’m a major fan of all the brawn on display here).

Mikey is bound and determined to smack the young pup down in retribution for his humiliation of Mikey’s peer, Chris. With sweat pouring off of him in streams, Denny looks astonishingly sexy as Mikey puts him out cold on his feet. This is fantastic, hard, hot, technical, powerful wrestling that builds into commanding domination and humiliation: lesson learned.

And now I’m watching over and over Denny’s newest release taming the rookie Attila Dynasty (have I mentioned how much I love that name?). Attila looks like a gymnast who’s recently tackled combat sport. He has astonishing balance and body awareness, and he’s got the build of a muscle twink pornstar. This match isn’t as technical or ferocious as Denny’s fight with Mikey Vee, but Atilla has a surprisingly deep arsenal for a rosie cheeked rookie. Personally, I think he’s got the asset portfolio to be successful with BGE, perhaps as a pretty boy sadist (maybe it’s the name).

But it’s Denny who particularly gets me all hot and bothered in this match. When the board shorts are still on (should be a law against that), the thought occurs to me that next time I’m in an actual fight, I want Denny at my back. He’s awesomely intense and powerful, and he fights both hard and smart. Every angle, every shift in his center of gravity is calculated to be ready to spring. And when the board shorts come off, Denny in relatively demure mid-rise briefs just screams SEX at me. His pale, hairy legs wrapped around Atilla, making the rookie squirm, have an authenticity that I know I’ve mentioned before.  Not only would I want him at my back in a fight, I could imagine him as one of my (above average, devastatingly handsome, cool as ice) hunky friends ready to watch my back. He’s somehow knowable, relatable, in a way that most of my homoerotic wrestling fantasymen obsessions are just pure fantasy.

Denny’s rookie-taming of Attila speaks particularly to the wrestling kinked among us, not just those in search of hot bods in underwear. There is that, too, of course, but if you’re into the erotic pleasure of witnessing wrestling skill, fierce determination and stamina, culminating in one man undeniably bested by another, this (and all of Denny’s matches) is a cut above your average homoerotic wrestling fare.


At this rate, I could imagine Denny mounting a surprise attack on Lon Dumont to climb upward in my favorite non-pornboy homoerotic wrestling ranks. Now THAT’S a match that I’d have to take time off of work for.

Blindingly Pretty

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5’11” tall. 170 pounds of fit, lean muscle. A sweat-soaked mop of blond hair. Blue eyes. Pouty lips. A mouthful of bright, white teeth. Some smart-ass (you know I love you, topher) commented recently that I’m not-so-secretly all about pretty boys. I still say that’s not entirely true. But I must admit, Rock Hard Wrestling’s Travis Storm is just so blindingly pretty that I’m helpless to resist him. So I don’t try.



Santa came through a little early, plucking from my Christmas wish list the desire to see a little more white bread Southern charm back in the RHW ring. Like a shiny present tied up with a bow, Travis arrives in RHW’s latest release, taking on the imposing figure of Max Powers (okay, I hate that name). And just in keeping with my last post, I’m happy to report that Travis fills up the front of his supertight shorts nicely.



This was my second tasty feast with Travis as my main course, but this was my first glimpse of Max. From his pics and description, I expected to see a big baddie at play. He’s got the look of a classic pro heel, I think, with his stubble helmet and powerful build. He just looks like he’s someone who takes no shit, somewhat impatient to beat down the next chump in his way, someone who’s typically packing more than enough to crush his opponent, but quick to resent the need to break a sweat. And indeed, Max proves almost immediately that he’s a kick-em-while-their-down sort of punk.



Nice trash talk from both boys. Both boys are adjusting their crotches a lot, which is always nice to see in otherwise straight-up fare. It has to be said, though, that Travis is working precisely twice as hard as Max in selling these 19 minutes.  The hit I get is that Travis actually has some amateur wrestling cred (his bio claims as much), with an accompanying nice sense of balance and awareness of his own body, whereas this is pretty new to Max (I peg him for a high school football hero). As a result, Travis sets the pace, pulls off what finesse there is, sells all sides of the story for both of them, and totally earns the drops of sweat beading off his chin by the end of the final fall.

A few highlights that make me feel just fine about being a little lighter in the wallet include several moments in which Travis is almost literally spinning circles over Max, with the palm of his hand squeezing Max’s mighty glutes. The over-the-knee backbreaker to finish round 2 places Travis on delightful display (he gives up way too quickly, though). Travis repeatedly lifted off his feet in multiple fall 3 bearhugs is just all sorts of enjoyable. But I think my favorite, ever-so-brief moment is when Travis has just worked the shit out of Max, illustrating that he can own his ass at any moment. Max is flat on his stomach, not sure which end is up. Travis is taking half a second to catch his breath, straddling the big boy’s back. And he smashes Max’s face into the canvas by holding him down by the back of the neck. It’s a hot, dominating, just-how-will-I-crush-you-next sort of moment that tweaks my kink and makes me come up for air.

Coming up on the anniversary of RHW’s launch, I feel the need to point out that they’re still working out their own kinks (of a different sort than mine). That is, they’re still working with how to make the most of the astounding high definition quality of their visuals in light of the fact that they’ve got wrestlers often ham-handedly pulling punches. This time around, they’ve got some odd visual post-production edits, with body blows apparently intended to be accentuated by quick cuts or a shaking, “pulsing” camera shot. It’s not as distracting to me as their previous over-reliance on off camera sound effects to make body blows seem louder, but it’s still not nearly as high quality of wrestling production as it is high quality video production. My suggestion (no one asked… just offering…) is just rely less on strikes to tell your story. Particularly now that they’re in a ring where the boys can really lift and slam one another, I think they can sell that sort of high impact move in place of so many stage-strikes, and then pour on more long-held, really hard selling squeezes, claws and scissors (all those luscious pecs and not a claw in sight!? There oughta be a law…). I’d personally sign over a paycheck to experience Travis’ sweaty thighs wrapped around me, so let the boy crush some internal organs and really milk the muscleboys with those long, strong legs!

One way or another, keep this boy coming back for more!

The School Bus has Landed

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Careful readers will have detected that I’ve been ass-obsessed for quite a while now. Typically, I tend to fixate on eroticized body parts on a rotation scheme. But I’ve been crazy for hard, round glutes over all else lately. 




But I think it’s the sight of my new #1 favorite non-pornboy homoerotic wrestler, Mr. Joshua, and his package getting jostled about a bit in Matmen 21 that’s turned my tastes to cock lately. You know what a big fan I am of the erotic imagination, of course, but I’ve been getting some extra thrill recently from the boys that leave little to the imagination. Take, for example, body beautiful sadist heel, Max Dare, wrestling in oil and a mesh thong in Paradise 1.


Conventional clothing for men seems to be devoted to promoting the illusion that guys have nothing swinging between their legs. I don’t know if this is an expression of the emasculation of the “civilized” male in an effort to defuse violent competition and promote more complex forms of cooperative community, but the tight, flat front trouser seems the exact opposite of the beautifully aroused phallus encased in bulging wrestling gear. Derek da Silva’s gorgeous tool at full staff in his decimation at the hands of Kid Vicious is a case in point. To try to disguise that slab of beef, to tuck it or camouflage it in the interest of making it appear inconsequential, would be a crime against nature.

We haven’t seen buzz cut boy Joe Driver in a long time, but any conversation about a prominent wrestling cock should mention the image of his stuffed trunks. He was a lean, mean wrestling machine, perhaps a little too lean yet not mean enough for my tastes most days. But that massive bulge was absolutely hypnotizing!

The pic of Joe’s crotch straining at the seams of his trunks as he bridges high with his head trapped between the thighs of Cole Cassidy is simply art. This should be slapped in a gilt frame and set hanging in a museum. It also arouses in me a recurring fantasy of my lover in a wrestling match, trapping, stretching, and exposing his hunky opponent vulnerably and humiliatingly, and me climbing in the ring to capitalize on the capture of my lover’s prey.



Lance Jeffers is another name that I think simply has to be included in any discussion of astounding appearances by cock in a wrestling match. In his case, Lance’s truly astonishing cock probably diverts too much attention away from his impressive wrestling skills. He was an impressive, scrappy, savvy wrestler who deserves to be admired for that… but then there was that monster cock! Watching that python grow in his trunks was like it’s own Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom episode. Lance’s throbbing, bobbing, incredibly long and beautiful beast was x-rated well before his trunks ever came off. I’ve only seen preview teasers for Wrestleshack 6, but that’s been enough to sear into my memory the incredible image of Shon Tracy punching Lance’s school bus like a heavy bag.



Perhaps the most inspired incorporation of a monster cock in a wrestling match, in my book, was in X-Fights 15 (you’ll have to ask for it by name if you want to order it). DW and Doug Perry face off in one of the most balanced combinations of erotic and wrestling that I’ve ever seen. Doug Perry’s crotch is simply mind-boggling before it ever gets pulled out of his trunks. I confess to having thought, “Surely that can’t be real.” Then DW slips Doug’s meat free of his trunks, and my jaw falls open. “Holy shit… it’s real!” But the most priceless moment is when DW has Doug in an over-the-knee backbreaker, naked and fully erect. Doug’s monster is flopping around as he squirms in pain in this torture hold. And then DW grabs hold of it, strokes and massages it for a while, lulling Doug into stillness. Then shockingly and abruptly, DW pulls upward on Doug’s massive cock at the same time he slips his leg out from underneath of him, slamming Doug to the mat and never losing his grip for an instant on the raging python. It makes me gasp every time I watch it.

I’m sure there are many more that I’ve unfairly left unmentioned. The pretty boy stretch Armstrong-looking Jordan, for example, seemed like he had to lean backward just a little to compensate for the inordinate weight he was carrying in the front of his trunks. It’s also an iron clad truism that it doesn’t have to be huge to be stunningly beautiful, at least as far as I’m concerned. But at the moment, all credit and obsessive homoerotic wrestling thoughts of mine are heaped upon the boys with ample quantity as well as quality. 

Gods and Men

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Clearly the PR machine is working overtime to get us all hot and bothered in anticipation of the movie release of Thor.


Mission accomplished. I’ve been skeptical of the casting of doe-eyed Aussie, Chris Hemsworth, as the Norse god of war. First of all, Chris hasn’t really had the physique of a godly superhero. That appears to have changed.

Holy hell. Chris has clearly taken his preparation for this role seriously. I confess that I doubted his potential to bulk up this much and stay ripped. I’m thrilled to be proven wrong. Chris has taken a couple nasty, humiliating beatings in the fictional wrestling matches that play through my imagination. If he steps back into that world, I think he’ll be bringing some impressive new artillery to the game.



The new teasers promoting plenty of Chris’ blond, beautiful bod seem to me to be squarely aimed at those of us looking for burly, aggressive, muscle eye candy. I know of at least one Swede who took exception to the casting of the Aussie for a Norse god, leading to the fictional wrestling match between Alexander Skarsgård and Chris in which Chris is handed his sweet ass and fireman’s-carried out the door. I have to wonder what the children of Odin think about the new teaser, and I can’t help but speculate about what a rematch might look like, with Chris’ new divine physique fully realized. In my imagination, Alexander is a nasty, brutal, take-no-prisoners sadist who hasn’t met an opponent he can’t crush to tears. A rematch with new and improved Chris seems ripe with possibilities to test the Swede like he’s never been tested before.



I predict that hair will come in handy, however it turns out.

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.