Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

I Need a Hero

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This piece of bizarre from the New York Post grabbed my attention. The story reads, “NYC’s own superheroes.” Apparently, there are actual costume donning hero-types who walk around seeking to intervene on behalf of the forces of good. I’m a little unclear on a few points… for example, how does anyone in a superhero costume in NYC attempting to intervene in ANYTHING avoid getting a major ass-kicking?
Well, okay, this guy probably avoids a major ass-kicking because he’s a sexy piece of meat. “Dark Guardian,” as he calls himself, reportedly surveils Washington Square Park drug traffic. Being extra-conspicuous, both by wearing a superhero costume and by being a sexy little hunk of dark and handsome, probably helps to keep plenty of eyes on him, which in turn makes him less likely to be assaulted. I don’t have the research on that theory, but it makes sense to me.

I suspect DG bewilders his evil foes with the combination of crazy-mother-fucker and sexy-piece-of-ass personas. Apparently he’s all about doing good pro bono, but I think he could make it worth his time to hire himself out for some masked beatdowns in the ring. Not that I’m naming names, but I can think of at least one internet wrestling kinkster who writes homoerotic wrestling fiction who wouldn’t mind being DG’s arch-enemy. Let’s just call this supervillain “The Bard-inator,” and then picture the comic book panel with our villain’s arms locked across DG’s abdomen, lifting him off his feet in an excruciating rear bear hug.
There are apparently other masked hereos prowling the streets of New York who the Bard-inator would have in sights. Once Dark Guardian has been conquered and turned into his arch-enemy’s slave-toy, the two of them would almost certainly have to ambush the Camerman and Life in a dark, steamy alley. The Bard-inator would lay claim to personally destroy Life, piledriving the top of his head to the pavement, ripping off his mask, and similarly turning another white knight into a minion of the Bard-inator’s sexual conquest of all cocky do-gooders everywhere. Life… fiction… life.. fiction… whatever. Bring it on!

Beautiful Body Faux Pas

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I have some bitter friends right now with painfully twisted panties. Personally, I was planning on giving a pass on the remake of Clash of the Titans after I saw the trailers. It looks like unrealized potential from start to finish. My panty-twisted buddies who paid ridiculous amounts of money for a theater ticket to see it tell me that my prognostication was on target.

Worse than just mediocre technical translation of an iconic cult classic, there are a lot of disappointed gay boys running around with crumpled up ticket stubs. The original Clash of the Titans, with its laughable special effects, was still this gay boy’s fun and games for the beautiful, shirtless, sweaty displays of a young Harry Hamlin. I know for a fact that there were plenty of other gay boys who had the same thing in the back of their minds when they sat their asses in the seats to watch the Sam Worthington version. Those are the bitterest friends I have these days.
No shirtlessness at all!? Oh… my… God. Sam, Sam, Sam… this can’t help but do serious damage to the trajectory of your rising star. Share the eye candy or your will have some crying, nasty, vengeful boys with long, long memories to contend with. We know Sam has a body that we’d all like to see more of. This is precisely the sort of serious faux pas that would end up as a major geopolitical disaster in the world of my wrestling fiction. We don’t need all the pretty boys in Hollywood to actually be gay, but they’d better damn well show their appreciation for our lustful adorations, which means that untested chiseled chins like Sam Worthington need to put up or get shut up.
In Eli Brody’s world, I know of one overachieving Australian who’s due for a world of hurtin’. The only question is who gets to kick some ass, and how will they teach the lesson that a certain Aussie clearly needs to learn.

Devastating Dimples

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If he were five years older (or I was five years younger), I have no doubt Antonio Sabato, Jr. would get major credit for turning me gay. As it is, he just made me very, very happy to be a gay young adult, when I consumed his gorgeous image as an underwear model, aspiring actor, and it-boy in the early 90’s.
Undeniably, Antonio’s body was (and remains) ridiculously hot. He oozes sex, and I have always been eager to lap up what he’s oozing…. wow, that ended up much more graphic than I intended. Nevertheless…

I kid you not when I say it was always his dimples that were the most erotic thing about Antonio, in my mind. There’s something almost obscene about those dimples. They instantly transform him from smoldering sex stud into the shy, hunky, boy-next-door. Somewhere in the middle, he exists in that priceless place of the smoldering, shy, hunky, sex stud, boy-next-door. Of course, if I had a next door neighbor that looked like that, I’d be much, much closer with my neighbors.

So when Superherofan, God bless him, posted some caps from a recent release featuring Antonio in a loin cloth, I was instantly reliving some pleasant memories of young adulthood, stunned and enraptured with the image of a certain hunky, young Italian.
When I scrolled down to find that Antonio is in a shirtless wrestling match in this flick, holy hell… I sent up some prayers of gratitude for the gifts that Superherofan brings. The image of Antonio’s muscles bulging as he slaps on a sleeper hold are a homoerotic fantasy of mine come true. Of course, in my fantasy, Antonio’s opponent isn’t a tusked alien creature. Photoshop out the alien and insert me, and you’ll have a closer facsimile of my fantasy. Don’t forget in your photoshop work to include my raging erection, as I work to press my hips backward to work up some friction on Antonio’s manhood.

Since this is my fantasy, you’ll have to tolerate my stunning counter, as I drop to my ass and bring Antonio’s chiseled chin crashing hard into the top of my head. Yes, gentlemen, I break out of Antonio’s apparent sleeper finisher, and open up a can of whoop-ass on his pecs, dripping with sweat in the hot sunshine. Antonio finds himself screaming out his submission, but I don’t give him even a moment’s rest before I slap on a new, humiliating hold. Exhausted, on his back, with me mounted across his abdomen and clawing savagely at his thick pecs, you’ll understand, I’m sure, when I tell you that Antonio looks up at me and smiles broadly, flashing those big white teeth and those devastating dimples. Because, dear reader, in my fantasy, Antonio is a total masochistic pain slut, and he loves every minute of his torturous humiliation.

But that’s just me.

Earning a Shot, continued

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I see that Joe11NJ has taken the challenge directly to SteelMuscleGod himself, suggesting that French YouTube bodybuilder, Yann S., might have what it takes to turn the god into a jobberboy. Hopefully, SMG won’t smite Joe11NJ for his impertinence. Or, perhaps, Joe11NJ might like a good smiting. Hell, I wouldn’t mind a smiting from SMG, particularly if it involved my face smashed against his pec as he punishes me severely in a brutal side headlock.

Speaking of brutality, Yann S. poses a seriously brutal challenge to SMG’s #1 contender, Adam. It has to be said, though, that Adam has a distinct PR advantage over Yann, considering Adam continues to post new, updated evidence of his beautiful body regularly, and he’s growing seriously huge! Last we checked in with the three YouTube posers, Adam laid down the gauntlet, displaying is gargantuan thighs and taunting the Frenchman by calling his shanks “chicken legs.” Yann delivered the message loud and clear that this bout would be about more than just sheer muscle mass, though, with a savage kick to Adam’s face that dropped the English muscleboy to one knee.
Adam is dazed, his eyes blinking rapidly as he cradles his throbbing jaw in his hands. Before the room has stopped spinning for him, Yann has pivoted once more, lifting his left knee and driving it cracking loudly into Adam’s right cheek. The English bodybuilder drops to his side on the floor, wincing in pain and groaning. Leaning against a wall on the opposite side of the room, SMG watches, his arms folded, his face impassive.
Yann is all about headhunting. As Adam slowly pulls himself up to his hands and knees, Yann is dancing on the balls of his feet, calculating carefully. At just the right moment, as Adam lifts his head still perched on all fours, Yann plants his left foot and soccer-kicks the Englishmen in the chin. Adam’s head whips backward violently, as he’s lifted off his hands and thrown flat on his back. “We have a word for what you are,” Yann says, strutting and preening as he slowly circles Adam. “We call you an hors d’oeuvre.”
Yann glances at SMG, flexing and posing proudly for the champion. “You,” Yann says, finally relaxing and squaring his shoulders toward the SMG, “will be my entree.” Yann winks at SMG before turning his back to face his opponent. Adam remains flat on his back, his right hand lifted to his face, rubbing his eyes. “Now, we need to deal with those legs that you are so proud of,” Yann says, dropping to his knees and grabbing Adam’s ankles.
In one smooth motion, Yann falls to his ass while lacing his legs round Adam’s legs. Bending Adam’s left leg at 90 degrees, he places Adam’s left ankle over top of his right knee. Locking his own legs on top of Adam’s, Yann leans back on his elbows and looks down the length of his long, muscled body, proudly examining the secure figure-four leg lock. With a sudden surge, Yann flexes his legs, causing Adam’s right knee to hyperextend dangerously. Adam’s shoulders levitate off the floor as a panicked cry comes from his mouth. “Oh god, no!” Adam shouts, pleading with his opponent.
“That’s right,” Yann replies with a broad smile. “From now on, I’ll be your new god for you to worship, beg, and service.” Yann looks over his shoulder at SMG and winks at the champion, even as Adam continues to cry out in pain.

At His Age

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This post could qualify for any number of my regular themed series… Bodies Over Time; What Turned Me Gay (again, not really); Guys I Want to Lick. Okay, that last one isn’t actually a series I’ve posted… but we all know it easily could be, don’t we?

Anyhow… I was getting my daily allowance of beautiful men on the net when I ran across a post at Groopii (a new obsession). Groopii has posted some recent caps of Don Diamont from the soap opera, The Bold and the Beautiful. Gorgeous Don meets both requirements for this show: bold… beautiful.
What strikes me, though, is Groopii’s assessment that Don, here, looks hot and his body is amazing “at his age.” I’m bad at math, but from Don’s bio at IMDB, it appears to me that he is 47 years old. So… let me see, where do I start? … Okay, so, what do we expect a 47 year old television hunk to look like? Is someone (particularly a television personality) who is 47 years old somehow surprising if he has a fit, hard body that turns us on? 47 years old? Really?
In the interest of full disclosure, I should say that I’m getting closer to 40 than to 30. Hell, I’m getting closer to 40 than I am to 35. So perhaps my reaction here is a bit defensive. But I don’t think so. I think that Don’s body today is one that I’d have jumped on and rode hard at pretty much any point in my adult life (and earlier). Strap on some sparring gloves and let me watch this hunk of a man work up a sweat on that punching bag, and “for his age” is not a phrase that comes to mind as I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth.
I am old enough to remember lusting after Don back in the dark ages, when he was not yet bold and beautiful, but merely “Young and Restless.” I can remember some fevered moments of adolescence finding myself irresistibly compelled to work myself into a frenzy with the image of his lean, muscular body imprinted on my brain. Yes, indeed, Don has to get a little credit for turning me gay.
And it’s obvious that his body has changed in the past 25 years. He isn’t as lean as he was when I was first firing warning shots over the bow, my eyes shut tightly, picturing his gorgeous form. But at 47 he has a rocking, gorgeous body that isn’t just hot “for his age.” It’s just hot. The “for his age” bit says much more about those of us judging him than it says about him. I think I prefer, and find it much more accurate, to say that he was stunning 25 years ago, and he’s absolutely a worship-worthy muscle stud today. And he will be appearing in an erotic fantasy of mine soon, and I don’t mind telling you that he’ll be showing up beefy, sweat soaked, with sparring gloves and that messed up evil villain, overly-cropped, facial hair.
“At his age,” indeed….

Classic Fresh Meat

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Ashton Kutcher is a recurring character in my wrestling fiction. I introduced him into the world of my celebrity wrestling fantasies facing off against Swedish buzzsaw, Alexander Skarsgård. Ashton, a classic heart throb clown with a smoking hot body and sadistic underside, expected to make short work of the rookie Skarsgård. What Ashton expected and what he got were two entirely different things.

Luckily for Ashton, in the world of my wrestling fantasies, producer Eli Brody snapped up Ashton’s humiliated ass (not to mention his severely punished balls), and immediately hired him as an executive assistant. Ashton has made several appearances in multiple matches so far, proving himself to be a quick learner when it comes to middle management and a cunning, merciless, sadistic opponent in the ring.
Superherofan, God bless him, has posted these caps of a new movie trailer with Ashton, in which he appears for an entire scene shirtless. This is exactly why Ashton is the stuff of my wrestling fantasies. His body is gorgeous, his face is classically handsome, and he can’t help but display that shit-eating smirk of his that makes me imagine him as a cocky, smart ass stud who is consistently underestimated, which leads to sweet suffering for his devastated opponents.

With new pics of a mature Ashton looking good enough to lick from head to toe (seriously, I’m offering), I’m confident that his job with Eli Brody will remain secure for quite a while to come, along with his name on the card of many more matches in the future.

Driver’s License, Please

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I’m STILL stuck in bed, and it’s not the good kind of stuck in bed. I think I’ll be presentable in a day or two, though. Thanks for all the kind wishes.
I’m not feeling particularly creative today, so I just thought I’d put a shout out to a series of amateur photos from Grapplers Planet that I keep coming back to… again and again and again. This “Hornets” wrestler is simply captivating. I swear, I thought this was a painting the first time I glanced at it, it’s such an iconic piece of art with such an iconic looking invincible, Aryan grappler. My hope is that, in whatever state he resides, he is of legal age. Since I don’t know that for certain, I’ll keep my comments restrained.
Holy.
Hell.

Incredible.
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Despite Joe’s certainly wise counsel that I should stop masturbating and make sure I get plenty of fluids and rest as I recuperate from the crud, I have all this time on my hands… Seriously, no masturbating? I think that cure may be worse than the disease. As I contemplate the bitter medicine that Joe prescribes, I find myself drawn by a familiar infatuation with beautiful butts.

Perhaps it was spending so much intimate time (in my imagination) with Alan Ritchson as I wrote a fictional wrestling match with him competing against model Jared Prudoff in the first round of the tournament to determine who will be hired as Brody Productions’ newest executive assistant. Alan has one beautiful, round ass that he displays so generously.

With nothing to do but wipe my nose and ponder, it’s the image of beautiful, round cheeks that keep intruding on my thoughts. A sweetly muscled ass is truly a thing of beauty.
My two favorite wrestling asses these days have to belong to Derek da Silva and Tyrell Tomsen (particularly when Tyrell is in competition shape). I’m not entirely sure how Derek’s opponents are able to restrain themselves from constantly grabbing his massive glutes. The fact that Derek is also so stunningly flexible makes his body an infinite wonder of both power and grace.
When Tyrell is in his shredded shape, his butt is hypnotic. When he works up a layer of sweat, and then snaps his brutal biceps around his opponent and lifts him in the air in an overpowering bearhug, it’s Tyrell’s striated, rock hard, flexed ass that I can’t take my eyes off of.

One of the most beautiful, classic displays of an ass put to good use has to be Jay Austin’s thonged derrière as he squeezed Max Dare in Hard Pros 1. That stunning muscle working hard and dominating Jay’s screaming opponent tells the whole story, from start to finish.

Other folks probably see other things in a fevered delirium. As Joe tells me, I should probably be conserving my bodily fluids for more important tasks as my body fights off whatever crud has invaded it. But I can’t help myself. More importantly, I don’t really want to help myself. In the ache of illness, the joys elicited by the images of gorgeous muscled asses make my misery endurable.

Alpha Dogs

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I’m still feeling crummy, but these pics of Ryan Gosling, via Just Jared, are cheering me up quite a bit.

I assume Ryan must be bulking up for a new role. I most heartily approve of his transformation into a muscle stud. He’s gorgeous and sexy as hell already, but fill out those pecs some and he’s broken out into a whole new category of hollywood hunk.
I think he has more talent in his little finger than most actors have any prayer of ever having. So if he has that much talent in just his little finger, just imagine how much more talent he must be amassing as he adds sweet muscle mass to those arms, pecs and shoulders! (I’m not sure if the anatomy and math all add up, but you know what I’m trying to say).
In any case, I’m officially in love with Ryan Gosling. From these photos, he clearly loves his dog. By the transitory properties of infatuation, I think that means that I must love Ryan Gosling’s dog. It does not mean, however, that I must love that pooch’s haircut. Clearly some straight boy thought that would be a good idea. Regardless, Ryan Gosling is an alpha dog and muscle hunk in the making that I’m eager to see much, much more of.

More than Muscle

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An upper respiratory infection has sidelined me from some of my work this weekend. I’m noting that it was just this past Thursday that I was feeling beaten and battered by a ridiculously busy workday, and 48 hours later, I’m ill. Working too hard sucks, and it definitely appears to make me susceptible to the crud. So, word to the wise…

Grandma’s advice aside, my sincere intent is to finish the second match in the Secretarial Pool audition tournament in my wrestling fiction, the Producer’s Ring. You should see the new match posted at some point today. This match features first round hopefuls, Nick Auger and Jakub Stefano, battling it out for their shot at power.
Some of you out there have let me know, in no uncertain terms, that you are fierce supporters of Nick. He was clearly the highest vote-getter in the online poll to determine who the eight finalists would be. I’ve been informed that some of you are seriously committed to seeing Nick all the way to the end of this tournament, and that you can see no other option than his ultimate victory over all of his competitors. Of course, if it were that simple, I’d hardly need to write the story, now would I?
On the other hand, Jakub has received absolutely no fan mail or appeals to see him succeed in the competition. While it’s true that he isn’t quite as stunningly dominant a physical specimen as Nick (very, very nuanced shades of gray, if you ask me), I’m honestly surprised that the Czech internet sensation appears to have no one in his corner. Makes me feel a little bad for him.
My sympathies are not the issue at hand, though. This is a match between two big, BIG and powerful boys who’ve been handed the chance of a lifetime. Even if Nick has an edge in power, they’re far too closely matched for the victory to be determined by sheer muscle. Something else will have to tip the scales… cleverness, sadistic zeal, sexual exploitation, focus… something will have to come into play to determine the tale of the tape.
I hope that no one is too disappointed, one way or the other. I just call ’em like I see ’em.