Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Tickled Breathless

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From the world of bizarre, comes a story of a disgraced U.S. Congressman who has resigned his office under allegations that he groped his male staff members. No, it’s not that the New York Democrat is married with two children that makes this story so strange (not at all, in fact). It’s not even that this guy has suddenly started telling the story of Rahm Emanuel cornering him, naked, in the shower to strong arm him into voting for the President’s health care agenda…

Just wait a minute while my heart stops racing from imagining Rahm Emmanuel naked, in the shower, strong arming someone…. I’d wrestle that man for the soap anywhere, anytime.
Okay, no, no, it’s not any of this that makes this story truly bizarre. The truly bizarre bit is that this guy goes on a rabidly conservative [insane] television “news-ish” show to talk about the whole thing, in which he explains that not only did he grope a male staffer, but he tickled this employee “until he couldn’t breathe, and then four guys jumped on top of me.” And now he’s astonished to have been charged with sexual harassment.
Oh no, there couldn’t be ANYTHING sexual about that scenario (how’s that for sarcasm, Joe?). On an entirely unrelated topic, I was thumbing through Can-Am’s tickle-fetish catalog and thinking to myself, what sort of sick fuck gets into this crap?
I guess now we know. Should’ve guessed it was the straight guys with wives and children downstairs. (My apologies to you tickle fetish boys out there. You can tie me down and tickle me to teach me a lesson).

Ass-Whoopin’ Time

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I’m not saying who it is, but somebody clearly needs an ass-whoopin’.

Carl Edwards has been on my radar since I first saw him in all his shirtless glory. After this weekend’s dramatic NASCAR crash, attributed to Edward’s bump, Carl is revealing why he will, indeed, make a fantastic character for my fictional wrestling world.

With the bluster of a pro-wrestler being interviewed post-match after splitting open his opponent with a folding chair, Carl says: hell yes he bumped Brad Keslowski from behind, sending him airborne so high he nearly flew over the barrier protecting the fans. And, Carl assures us, Brad deserved it.
These two have apparently tussled in the past, and Carl felt that the dramatic up-the-tailpipe move was coming to Brad. This is melodrama made for old-style pro, with Carl even appealing to his “personal code” that tells him that when a competitor dicks around with you, he deserves to have the boom lowered hard and decisively – let the chips fall where they may.
We all know what’s required here. Two punks need to strip to trunks, climb in the ring, and settle this shit. And who, may you ask, is going to have to face off with 6’1, 185 pound muscle stud, Carl?
Meet 5’10, 155 pound (seriously, I’m not making this up), Brad. Picture babyface Cameron Matthews‘ humiliating beatdown at the hands of hung hunk Beau Nasty. Ah, hell, I’m going to be obsessing about this until Carl v Brad shows up in the Producer’s Ring (hopefully soon).

Breaking Down the Unbreakable

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When I was about 7 years old, my older brother offered to let me punch him in the stomach. “Sure!” I said, since he was always bullying me. I swung for the rafters, not really knowing how to put much behind a punch, but fueled with a desire to make him hurt. He winced, but his flexed abdomen was none the worse for wear. “Now it’s my turn,” he said ominously, beginning a gut punching session that I had never agreed to. He was often a dick that way.
So gut punching tends to take me back. These days, I more often identify with the puncher. Perhaps I’m living out my fantasy of what I should have done to my brother when given the free shot. Frankly, though, I don’t really have my brother in mind when I see Ricky Martinez’s tasty ass planted on Troy Baker’s babyface as he humiliates the goldenboy while rapidly pounding Troy’s stunning abs.
Vinny Trevino’s double fisted pounding on Patrick Donovan is an awesome example of the erotic testing of a muscle stud’s core. Patrick was destined for this moment of agony painted across his face from the moment he stepped into the ring with this badass bodybuilder. He should have known that outweighed and outmuscled, there was nothing but humiliating pain in his immediate future. But cocky overconfidence is a jobber’s bread and butter, and so Patrick squeezed into his pink and white trunks banking on his ring-veteran savvy to overcome Vinnie’s power and youthful invincibility. Fifteen minutes later, Patrick is on his back, clutching desperately at Vinnie’s wrist, screaming in pain with his ankles in the air. Very nice story.
In babyblue and white trunks, Justin Pierce was similarly suited up for a devastating pounding from the fists of sadist musclepunk, Joe Mazetti. The systematic picking apart of the muscle stud who has complete faith in his own invincibly shredded abs is absolutely awesome. I want to see the muscled babyface on his back, writhing in pain, with his pride-and-joy six pack quivering and defenseless. I want to see Justin owned. Joe does not disappoint.
Sadist extraordinaire and aptly named, Kid Vicious never fails to deliver. His relentless attention to Steven Thomas’ wall of muscle is a work of art. With Steven’s wrists bound overhead and his lower abs bright, bright red from being used as a punching bag, Kid drives home the point that some beautiful bodies are simply made for suffering, and when it’s done right (KV always does it right), it’s a win-win-win situation.

Not that KV needed it, but he does take advantage of a 2-on-1 scenario at times to break down Steven. The 2-on-1 gut pounding is a particular delight for me. I know, I know. Not everyone is into a double-team beatdown. I’m a big booster of the 2-on-1 most of the time. When two gorgeous muscle sadists, Daz and Big John (where the hell did those two priceless gems disappear to!?) capture and immobilize infinitely arrogant Mr. Joshua Goodman, Joshua’s truly marvelous, ripped abs are primed for punishment. It’s not like Daz or Big John needed to double team Mr. Joshua. They’re both powerful and nasty enough to have broken him and his lamb-to-the-slaughter partner, Kieran Dunne, singlehandedly. But the double-team, like the gut punching session itself, is about the story of breaking down the hunk who believes he’s unbreakable. Much more than just about a decisive victory, it’s about proving the arrogant face wrong, destroying his ego, transforming him into a humiliated piece of property who will never again be able to strut and preen without one eye looking over his shoulder.

So when SteelMuscleGod offers to let his sidekick use his abs for a punching bag on YouTube, I’m seeing so much potential opening up for SMG. I’ve suggested that Lon Dumont do the honors of welcoming SMG to America (admittedly, in order to see more of Lon as much as to see SMG in the ring). BGE has a whole stable of hungry studs who could do the honors nicely, though. Who would you suggest to roll out the red carpet for SMG’s debut in the arena in which his godlike status was clearly born to be tested?

Feel the Steel

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So I thought I’d scored when I saw that SteelMuscleGod is back with a new video. He’s playing to his true audience (me and you). This is almost all about gut punching. SMG’s sidekick looks like he’s swinging with some passion, which only goes to show that much more what a wall of steel SMG is packing there. I snagged the following cap, just to ask you how you feel about this view:

Personally, I like it.
Imagine my ecstasy to discover that SMG has a live website up and running as of a couple of weeks ago with so many more mouth watering pics. His ass in a thong is like manna from heaven (as in, I’m desperate to taste it)!
SMG’s about-me page is absolutely adorable. He teases us with the tidbit that he’s been a competitive freestyle wrestler in high school and college. Sweet Jesus. Like this man needed to be more eroticized for me.
I’m fascinated to read in his forum that worshippers are discussing the erotic joys of imagining SMG crushing Adam400m in a wrestling competition. Somehow, somewhere that sounds familiar… Ah, well. Great minds and good tastes must think alike. SMG promises in his forum to post some videos with wrestling, at which point my head will explode (well, at least I’m certain there will be a whole mess of bodily fluids involved). I’m more a secured-payor internet consumer, but once SMG is paypaling, I’ll be helpless. Better yet, with his wrestling background and penchant for gutpunching, some brilliant mind needs to buy this boy a ticket to Boston and a date in the ring with Lon Dumont.

More Jokes and Jocks

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I still love the combination of class clown and hot hunk. There’s just something that much sexier about a handsome, hardbodied hottie with a quick wit and a sharp sense of humor. Superherofan, God bless him, capped some nice pics of funny man Joel McHale from NBC’s Community, in a strip pool game. Joel is always a ham, which is somewhat disarming and leaves you unprepared to be so astounded by that rockin’ body when he’s left standing in his briefs (then implied full-on).

Like other funny man hardbodies, Joel earns respect with his humor, which is the surest sign of an impressive intellect (which ups one’s hotness exponentially, in my book). Joel is pretty self-deprecating at times, not appearing to take himself too seriously (at least that’s the schtick… he may be a complete narcissist in real life). So seeing him ham it up as he strips down to reveal some thick, clawable pecs and a tight, tasty body is a delightfully jaw dropping.
And this is, indeed, the only appropriate response to a shiny, happy hardbody on public display. Public nudity and body worship of a class clown stripped to his stunningly hard nakedness… this is seriously hot stuff.

Runaway Train

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Just between you and me, I really hate the word horny. It lacks imagination. It suggests to me a state of hormonal overload that’s divorced from the most erotic tool that we have: our imaginations. I think of horny as a state of animal impulse that doesn’t necessarily even take pleasure in and of itself. It’s a drive that’s satisfied by emotionless physics and physiology: friction, blood flow, and the release of bodily fluids. The joy of eroticism for me is that it’s so much more than that. Still…

I’m so horny this morning! Holy shit, I’m ridiculously at the mercy of my libido. I can hardly type.
Is it the approach of Spring? Is it the cycles of the moon? Damn, I’m about absolutely nothing more than friction, blood flow and bodily fluids right now.
Before I blow a gasket, I’ll wrap this up with one final thought. Even at the mercy of my libido, I’m passionately drawn to the image of the erotic fighter. This runaway train isn’t about to stop for anything, but what seriously stokes the fire even at this moment is the muscled body poised for erotic combat. I’m always capable of taking care of these matters myself, which I will take my leave this morning to do. But tonight, my friends, I have a date with a musclehunk who has no idea that our regular grappling session is going to be supercharged.
Seriously, I gotta go.

True Calling

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Clearly, I’m predictable. It doesn’t take an extensive literature review of my posts to detect the themes that capture my imagination and spark my erotic obsessions. StayPuft generously sent me some pictures of MMA boy Phil Baroni, and explained to me why Phil is the sort of musclegod that I’m into.

Yes, yes indeed. The transformation of Phil from pretty muscle adonis to kick-in-the-face bad-ass wanna be is a beautiful sight to behold. This is a prime example of the wonders that some body-to-body banging and suffering can accomplish with someone a little too beautiful.
StayPuft really, really knows me well. In his email to me, he points out that Phil doesn’t win all the time, and that, coupled with a fierce, cocky never-say-die attitude casts Phil as a classic muscleboy jobber. Slap some body hair and a liberal layer of sweat on those muscles and this is the man of my dreams.
Any musclegod with that body and who has the attitude that tells him to wear his shades to weigh in must be punished mightily. Some of his interviews suggest that he’s got swagger/dickishness that just begs for seeing his ridiculously gorgeous body tortured and humiliated.
The tats, the swagger, the firm flag planted on the frontier of jobberland all work for me on so many levels. Phil may think that his destiny is to slap down his cock to measure up in the MMA world, but he’s missing his true calling. This is a man made for a pro story line that MMA just can’t write for him. His full potential to entertain and own a market will only be realized on the pro-stage. This is a man of fantasy. StayPuft, I feel so close to you!

New Kids on the Block

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I’m not sure when matmuscle.com came online, but they have three fighters featured in three matches. The $24.95 download price for a 16 minute bout is a bit too steep for my socioeconomic status, but more power to those who are happy to pay up. Fortunately, the masterminds at matmuscle have loaded some short teasers on YouTube to give me a taste of what I’m missing.

I’ll cut right to the chase. The match pitting tanned modelboy Aaron against pale, shaved head bodybuilder Bill immediately caught my eye. Matmuscle seems to have a quirky business model, in that they seem to take pride in finding guys who’ve never wrestled before (as well as mat veterans, though I don’t know if they’ve shown evidence of that yet). They promise that despite Aaron and Bill being complete novices, these muscle studs are full of promise.
By the look of the Bill v Aaron teaser, I can believe that neither of these guys have wrestled before. Aaron looks a little more mat savvy and quick on his feet. Bill looks like he has no idea what’s happening, which could make for a sweet story line if his huge, hard body was being set up for some intense initiation. My sense from the teaser is that this is not really the story here, though.
Still, these two bodies are fantastic, and the posing pouch gear is fun to watch. Aaron in particular has his pouch swinging for the rafters as he bounces and bobs his way along. Matmuscle is looking (and by the looks of it, need) more wrestlers. So I’m nominating you, fine reader, to sign up. I have no idea where these boys are located. I tried contacting them for more info, but their contact-server is a dead-end. But I think that you should remain persistent. Get on the roster and squeeze Bill’s bald head between your thighs until he gasps in pain. Maybe we’ll meet up there. And then both of us can tell the front office that $24.95 per 16 minute download isn’t a sustainable business model.

Spittin’ Image

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I’m okay if no one else sees that hockey star and Canadian savior, Sidney Crosby, looks an awful lot like Brad Rochelle. I know what I see.
It appears that Sidney may have one of those faces that everyone thinks reminds them of someone else, though. Someone’s drawn the comparison with Adam Sandberg. Hell, more’s the better, I say. They could all use a serious spanking over my knee.
But the resemblance to photos of Brad from about twelve years ago is striking, I think. Of course, Brad’s bigger than Sidney and looks like he could crack him like a peanut, then and now. Still, even without Brad’s extra beefiness, Sidney’s packing a nice shape that just makes me think of Brad.
I’m sure Sidney’s untouchable now, and he’ll be raking in dough until the day he dies planting that gorgeous face on products from breakfast cereal to gym equipment. But still, wouldn’t a face off with Brad be breathtaking? Brad squeezing the boy wonder in a bearhug until he literally cries… tell me that’s not an image that would bring you to your knees, regardless of your nationality.
Okay, so it’s entirely possible that today’s post is just an opportunity for me to lust after Brad once more and imagine him in yet another scenario that would make me fire over the shoulder. Kid Leopard has offered teasers in the BG East yahoo group that, although we haven’t seen much of Brad on camera lately, he’s still connected with the operation behind the scenes and may still show up in action someday.
I can think of more than a few opponents I’d be whipping out my… credit card to see Brad in the ring with. While Sidney will probably have to remain a grappler merely in my imagination, I’d be ready to provide my own economic stimulus effort to own Brad pec to pec with my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, Mitch. Throw him in the ring with eager young stallion, Denny Cartier to let him crack the veteran’s whip on one of the newest flexible musclestuds. But make sure that we get to see Brad do some serious suffering, say at the hands of Cole Cassidy.

Olympic Spirit Finale

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Okay, so even I have to admit that the gold medal men’s hockey game was high drama. I generally can’t follow hockey (my eyes must be getting too old to see the puck), but what an exhilarating end to the 2010 winter Olympics! And the gold medal-clinching shot came from a Canadian hottie with known shirtless pics circulating! Score again!
Sidney Crosby is 5’11, 22 years old, and 200 pounds of hot, hot (hothothot)muscle. But it’s his lips that are driving me nuts! Any sport that requires this man to suit up in a uniform that disguises every inch of his stunning body and face is seriously in need of retooling (my apologies in advance for all of you hockey fans who are offended by that comment).
Is it just me, or is Sidney looking like Brad Rochelle’s secret love child. Don’t tell me that it’s just me. I’ll resent it. I’m not actually sure that Brad could be old enough to have a 22 year old love child, but I think that they’ve got to be from the same corner of the gene pool, one way or another. Yes, Sidney has got to be Brad’s love child, and I’m sensing a fictional wrestling match coming on. Perhaps a new generation vs. ring veteran who sort out their daddy issues to eventually team up for serious tag team destruction.

He has a serious fanatic blogging about his every sneeze, and I totally respect that in a stalker/fan. I suspect after the emotional climax of his overtime goal to win the Olympics last night, Sidney will be coping with a lot more post-coital fanatics and stalkers.
Way to go Canada, for an excellent Olympics, a smoking hot field of Canadian competitors, and the setting for world class athletes to test themselves and one another.