Producer’s Ring: Roberts vs. Cuomo

——-continued from The News Division: Match 4———–

The News Division: Match 5

Roberts vs. Cuomo

After everyone made it back up the cliff and got cleaned up, the six newsmen gathered in the living room.  As expected, the plasma screen sprang to life, with Eli Brody’s grinning face filling the screen.

“Fantastic fight!” Eli cheered.  “You do not disappoint.  In fact we have major new sponsors clamoring to come on board, due to the remarkable appeal you’ve tapped into.  Both semi-final matches will take place tomorrow.  At noon, Chris and Thomas will square off.  As soon as that match is over, Carter and Rob will take the beach.”

Rob grunted his approval at the match-up, glaring angrily at Carter across the room.  Carter smiled slyly back.

“Two of our sponsors have invested in some special challenges to help you earn a little more pay off during tomorrow’s matches.  Pore-Away acne cream will provide sponsorship of producer credits for a major film to one fighter.  The fighter who wins and displays the most popular victory pose will be awarded the film sponsorship.  One of you will enjoy the opportunity to move behind camera and get into the potentially lucrative film side of our industry.”  All six men looked very interested.

Eli continued, “The second sponsorship comes from Male Fitness online-zine.  They’re offering a quarter of your yearly salary to any fighter that takes off their speedos in this round of fighting.  Their consumers want to see the full-monty, gentlemen.”  There was uncomfortable shifting as each man measuring his price to go naked.  “Oh, and if any of you don’t fight au natural, your bonus will go to your opponent, if they take your speedos off by force during the fight.”

Eli paused, allowing the hidden cameras time to capture reaction shots from each of the men.  “I suggest you rest up,” he finally concluded.  “Four of you have a big day ahead.”

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At noon the following day, Chris and Thomas walked onto the beach.  Chris wore navy blue speedos, and Thomas wore black trunks.  Both men were tanned significantly darker than when they’d first arrived at the beach house.  They were closely matched in size and fitness. Chris had dispatched his first round opponent more quickly than had Thomas, but Thomas had taken the time to truly humiliate his opponent.  Both men were suitably cautious, respecting each other’s strength and fierceness.  Both men also noted that neither of them had yet chosen to accept the full-monty challenge.

The horn sounded on the cliff above, signaling the beginning of the fight.  Both hunks crouched low, slowly circling in the sand.  Thomas lunged forward a couple of times, quickly abandoning his try at a single leg as Chris danced away.  Both men cautiously extended their arms, locking together in a collar and elbow.  Pushing and jockeying against one another, Thomas managed to muscle Chris off balance.  He threw Chris onto his back on the sand, quickly dropping on top of his opponent.  Straddling him in the mount, Thomas reached toward his opponent’s head, but Chris grabbed his wrists defensively.  Muscles straining against one another, Thomas leaned forward, allowing gravity to add to his superior strength.  Chris’ arms began to quiver as he held Thomas suspended above him.  Slowly his strength weakened, and Thomas pressed his arms downward onto Chris’s broad chest.

Thomas slid his left arm sideways, slowly pressing his forearm against Chris’ neck.  Chris’ face began to grow red as he pressed back as hard as he could.  Releasing his right hand, Chris grabbed a small handful of sand and flung it into Thomas’ face.  Thomas instinctively brought both of his hands to his face defensively, wiping the sand away from his vulnerable eyes.  Chris bent his knees and pressed his feet into the sand, quickly arching his back up and off the beach.  Thomas sprawled forward, landing over the top of Chris’ head, still wiping at his eyes.

Chris wasted no time, spinning over onto his stomach and grabbing hold of each of Rob’s ankles.  Chris yanked Thomas’ legs out from underneath him, stretching him out over the sand.  Chris stepped his right foot around and over Thomas’ legs, straddling him facing backward still holding onto Thomas’ ankles.  Hooking Thomas’ ankles underneath his armpits, Chris squatted backward, folding Thomas’ body backward in a tightly locked Boston crab.  Thomas grunted deeply.

Chris strained, pressing his body backward, applying more pressure onto Thomas’ lower back.  “Give it up!”  Chris shouted.

Thomas chuckled.  Lifting himself onto his hands, Thomas pressed his upper body high off the sand.  Chris was thrown off balance enough for Thomas to twist his legs free.  He kicked Chris’ back sharply, sending him sprawling on the sand, his back arched in pain.  Both men rolled away from one another and came slowly to their feet.

After a second to catch his breath, Chris charged forward, grabbing Thomas’ outstretched right hand.  Twisting Thomas’ arm sharply, Chris spiraled his body powerfully around, applying full pressure on Thomas’ locked right arm.  Thomas had no option but to sommersault forward, rather than have his shoulder ripped apart.  He landed hard on his back, gasping in pain as Chris maintained his lock on his arm.

Chris kneeled next to Thomas’ prone body, wedging his knee against the back of Thomas’ hyperextended elbow.  With his left hand remaining locked around Thomas’ wrist, Chris wrapped his right hand over the top of Thomas’ palm.  Chris pressed the palm backward by the fingers, hyperextending it toward Thomas’ wrist.  Thomas gasped in pain.

Before Chris could react, Thomas pulled his knees to his chest, planted his feet against Chris’ chin, and kicked him away.  Chris flew backward, losing his grip on Thomas’ wrist.  Chris rolled to his side, but Thomas had already jumped on top of him.  Pinning Chris’ torso with his hands, Thomas extended his right leg straight backward, his weight resting on his left knee.  In quick, violent bursts, Thomas repeatedly drove his right knee into Chris’ abdomen.  Chris winced in pain, trying to double over defensively, but being held in place by Thomas muscled body bearing down on him.

Thomas spun around to Chris’ head, grabbing Chris by his knees and folding his body tightly, ass skyward.  Stunned and in pain, Chris didn’t realized what was happening until Thomas had reached his hand between Chris’ legs and grabbed the back of Chris’ navy trunks.  Pulling fiercely, with a grunt, Thomas ripped the speedos off Chris’ ass and up to his knees.  Chris began to kick and squirm frantically, but Thomas was able to stand and remove Chris’ trunks completely.  Backing away from his humiliated opponent, Thomas twirled the navy blue speedos around on his index finger, smiling.  “Lose something?”  he asked.

Chris pounded his fists in the sand angrily.  Now completely naked, he lay on his back in the sand.  Well endowed and smoothly shaven, where his speedo had been, Chris was pale white, starkly contrasted with his deep tan over the rest of his body.

Quickly, Thomas bent over and pulled off his black trunks, securing both full-monty bonuses for the match.  Thomas also had a contrasting tan line where his speedo was.  He was visibly excited by the turn the match had taken.

Chris rolled to his stomach and came slowly to his feet, watching Thomas cautiously.  “Nice… muscle,” Thomas said with a smile, nodding at Chris’ crotch.  “I may need to devote some special attention there before we’re done.”

Thomas lunged low, wrapping his arms around Chris’ waist and locking his wrists behind Chris’ back.  Just as Thomas lifted Chris sharply in the beginning of a bearhug, Chris defensively bent his right knee forward.  As Thomas hefted his opponent powerfully upward, he inadvertently drove Chris’ knee sharply into his own balls.  Thomas gasped and choked, wide-eyed, as he lost his grip.  Chris dropped harmlessly to his feet.

Without pausing, Chris grabbed Thomas’ hair in both hands.  Pulling Thomas’ head downward, Chris drove his left knee upward.  Chris’ knee crashed into Thomas’ jaw with a loud crack, and Thomas fell to his knees, dazed, clutching his jaw.  Furiously, Chris pulled Thomas by the hair, pressing his gaping face into his groin.  “Take a good look, smart ass” Chris growled.

Thomas weakly tried to push his hands against Chris’ thighs.  With a jerk, Chris shoved Thomas’ head tightly between his thick thighs, wrapping his arms around Thomas’ waist.  With a grunt of effort, Chris pulled Thomas off his feet, suspending him in an inverted, reverse bearhug.  High in Chris’ grasp, Thomas’ balls hung inches in front of Chris face, his legs spread wide.  Lips curled, teeth clenched, Chris dropped to his knees, driving Thomas’ already dazed head straight downward into the sand.  Thomas bounced shortly, then fell to his stomach, his head face down in the sand between Chris’ upper thighs. He remained motionless, except for his fingers slowly clutching uselessly at the sand.

“Not enough,” Chris mumbled, as he climbed to his feet and straddle-walked the length of Thomas’ body.  Grabbing Thomas’ ankles, Chris again hooked them under his armpits and squatted, pressing his full weight down and backward.  Thomas’ legs arched painfully backward, his lower back being folded in half.  Chris lowered himself farther into his squat, finally coming to rest, cheek to cheek, on top of Thomas’ bare ass.  Still dazed, Thomas struggled, but was too weak and disoriented to pull free.  Feeling his back locking painfully, vertebrae grinding against vertebrae, Thomas screamed in incoherent pain.  “How does it feel, fucker!?” Chris screamed.

Thomas shouted, “I submit!”  But Chris held the Boston crab, leaning backward as far as he could.  Again, Thomas screamed out in pain, fists pounding the sand in desperation.  Finally, Chris stood up and threw Thomas’ legs to the sand.  Turning, Chris stomped on the small of Thomas’ back with his right heel.  He spat on the back of Thomas’ head, and then flexed a sweaty, sand-coated double bicep pose as he glared at the back of Thomas’ head. “You had that coming,” Chris growled.

He dropped his huge arms and turned to face the other newshunks watching silently across the beach. His pumped pecs and cock bounced, as he stared defiantly.

 

Asses Named

It was great to see a lot of you playing along in this rebooted round of Name that Ass! As my stats instructor was fond of saying when handing back our tests, mistakes were made. But asses were also correctly named. No one accurately identified all four sets of mouthwatering glutes in this round, but three of the four hunks were correctly named, in the aggregate of answers. Of course, this is all just an excuse for me to worshipfully adore the gorgeous butts of some of my favorite wrestling hunks, so let me get on with the pay off and name those asses.

Ass #1 belonged to none other than underground wrestler gone way, way big: beautiful Finn Balor.

Since making it huge in big, box store corporate wrestling, rainbow ally Finn has fucking whittled his magnificent physique to insane tolerances. I actually prefer his beefier build from early career BGE appearances, but that g-g-g-gorgeous ass of his is top shelf in any weight class. There were a couple of incorrect guesses for Finn’s glutes, but eagle-eyed Jose instantly recognized one of his (and my) favorite wrestlers’ backsides.

Jose also immediately I.D.ed spectacular ass #2 as belonging none other than indy pro hunk Clark Connors.

Holy FUCK, I’ve got a raging infatuation with Clark. His body sends me swooning instantly. I’ve got it about as bad for him now as I have crushed for most of my youth and adult life on a young Billy Jack Haynes. His porn-ready ass has a YouTube fan video devoted to it, and I’m slightly irritated that I didn’t think of that first. I can guarantee you that you’ll see Clark starring in some homoerotic wrestling fiction on these pages soon, because I cannot get enough of him!

You can all be forgiven for not recognizing ass #3 as belonging to CMLL luchador, young buck and golden devil, Oro Jr.

I’ve been watching so much CMLL in the past year that nothing I say or do can convince all Google platforms that I speak fluent Spanish (I don’t). One of the top reasons I’m so into the Mexican luchadors is Oro Jr., and, let’s be honest, Oro’s unbelievably juicy ass. He jokes on his Instagram page about how fans only seem to ever take photos of him from behind. I can see why. When he’s in the ring, I’m obsessed with watching his magnificent glutes from every angle. When he’s waiting his turn on the ring apron in a tag match, I forget about the action and just stare at his glorious butt. I realize he’s pretty perpetually in prima o segunda lucha position, so he’s not exactly a headliner yet. But I fast forward through most everything else when I know his hot bod is going to step into the ring.

And finally, ass #4 belongs to none other than rising star and body beautiful, Angel Garza.

Tim Sheridan accurately identified Angel’s ass almost the instant I posted the game, because Tim knows his spectacular wrestling asses! Unnecessary Gay Character (awesome handle, by the way) also put his finger on the correct pair of glutes. Garza is just so ridiculously pretty, and like Oro Jr., he’s clearly abundantly aware of what the fainting gasps and screams are about when he shows up packed snug in a pair of butt-hugging wrestling briefs (or, better yet, when he arrives in tear away tights, and rips them off like a stripper halfway through a match). I LOVE a crowd pleaser, and the impish, handsome smile on his face says that he knows what we’re all lining up to see.

Finally, one more ass that was not featured in the original game on Monday. Kayden Keller chimed in on Twitter to chide me for neglecting to shine the spotlight on his jaw-droppingly sexy backside in this round. First of all, I’m loving that the multi-winning, reigning Best Heel at BGE is demanding my attention. Second of all, I will marvel at and adore Kayden’s fantasy man glutes morning, noon, and night. No one technically “won” this round of Name that Ass, but I think Kayden’s power play at slapping down his beautiful butt and insisting on its due makes him, and, really, the rest of us, the real winner.

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Name that Ass

One of my favorite little gimmicks in my 10 years of blogging about homoerotic wrestling was Name that Ass. It was modeled on the very old game show Name that Tune, where contestants endeavored to recognize a popular song with just few, isolated notes. In my homoerotic wrestling version, I challenged readers to identify a wrestling hunk with just an isolated, up close image of his hot ass. I strongly suspect it was significantly more pleasurable for me to curate the images than it was for readers to decipher them. But honestly, this blog is about me, so I’m dusting off the guessing game. I’ve offered a variety of prizes for winners in the past. The first to identify all of the beautiful butts from straight up pro wrestling below can choose the theme of an upcoming blog post or fantasy match, if you’d like. I suspect some of these asses will be easy (so to speak), while others will be considerably more of a challenge. Post your answers in the comments below. Good luck!

Ass #1:

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Ass #2
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Ass #3

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Ass #4

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Good Boy, Bad Boy

For the past several months, I’ve had too little time to savor the homoerotic wrestling scene. One of the new releases that I’m circling back around to drink in, now that I have more time, is BG East’s Demolition 27 from catalog 140. The pairing of bad ass muscle man Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and perennial pin-up boy Christian Taylor is inspired. Like Mr. Joshua’s crotch, drama is busting at the seams with nothing more than the set-up. Christian is achingly innocent in his very first wrestling match climbing into the ring with the dazzling bulges and perfect proportions of Mr. Joshua right in the middle of his ascendency.

Part of what makes this such a perfect pairing is what we’ve known of both wrestlers’ bodies of work. In his 30 previously released matches (yet taped after his initiation in Demolition 27), Christian distinguished himself as a fan favorite baby face heart throb with effortless eroticism. He’s wrested passionate kisses from about half of his opponents. Perpetually lean, Christian layered on matured muscle over the 14 or so years since he climbed into the ring with Mr. Joshua. Match by match, he’s grown more confident and dangerous. Starring in releases with superlative titles like “sexiest,” “sizzling,” and “hottest,” a seasoned Christian Taylor has demonstrated that he loves the erotic intimacy of fiercely fought, sweat soaked submission wrestling as much as you and I do.

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Goodman is a big, bad boy

Mr. Joshua, on the other hand, has distinguished himself as one of the most heartless cock teases in homoerotic wrestling history. In his approximately 45 previously released matches, Mr. J has ranged from narcissist muscle jobber to low-blowing, bulldozing bodybuilder heel. But a subplot in his ascendency has centered on fans’ unrequited love affair with his stunningly massive crotch. We’ve repeatedly voted his as the Best Bulge in BG East, and Mr. Joshua keeps teasing us with his wardrobe adjustments mid-match, rearranging his prominent bulge, shoving his hand down the front of his trunks, swinging his moneymaker all over the ring. Early on, his quick crotch adjustments seemed incidental, unselfconscious. But clearly word has gotten back to Mr. J how gay fans swoon for it, and he’s grown relentless about teasing and taunting his opponents/fans with his barely caged anaconda. Right around Matmen 21, he turned full on cock tease, bringing a breathless fan to the mat room to battle for the chance to conquer and claim his grand prize. Ever since, Mr. Joshua has been explicitly acknowledging the obvious fact that his smoking hot bod, and in particular that humungous, low-hanging bulge, is driving gay wrestling fans nuts!

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So Demolition 27 was taped before Christian evolved into a fully formed erotic submission wrestler with a penchant for locking his hungry lips on an opponent’s gasping mouth, and probably before Mr. Joshua had fully begun to exploit the power of his mammoth allure. Right there, in that moment, Christian is stretching in the ring in anticipation of his first BG East match, skinny, pale, achingly young, surely nursing the embryonic wrestling kink that would later blossom. And in walks Mr. J, packed into very brief golden trunks that never stood a chance at fully containing his overflowing abundance. “You look like a string bean over there,” Mr. Joshua immediately starts the trash talk. “You’re a dead giveaway as a rookie. You know how I can tell? You’ve got no tan!” Christian looks cool, unfazed. He’s got that James Dean upper lip curl suggesting contempt. But even if you didn’t know what an erotic wrestling enthusiast he would become, you can see the youngster’s eyes lingering, his feigned nonchalance worn thin in an instant as the stunningly gorgeous slab of beefsteak climbs into the ring with him.

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“What’s your name, rookie?” Mr. Joshua asks, just so he can make sure the kid’s next of kin is notified when all is said and done. “Christian,” his obviously unsettled opponent replies with a stiff upper lip. “Christian?! Well, I’m an atheist,” Mr. J clucks, “and the pope isn’t going to save your ass, so you’re in trouble now!”

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2017, 2018 Best Bulge

“Have you seen any of my videos,” Mr. Joshua demands to know. “Have you seen what I can do?” He flexes just a little. Christian denies having watched Mr. J’s back catalog, but no shit, there’s a sheepish grin on the kid’s face that makes me melt. His lusciously lipped mouth says no, but everything else about Christian says that he’s unzipped and studied the legendary wrestler’s body of work with more than passing interest. As if in confirmation, Christian’s eyes and the camera simultaneously zoom in on Mr. Joshua’s mountainous crotch.

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Supposedly, the story is about the veteran who goes a little overboard breaking in the young buck. Mr. Joshua does love his “lessons.”  “Keep the viewers entertained, Christian Taylor,” Mr. Joshua lectures, scooping the kid up and holding him across his huge chest for days on end, passively demonstrating his total control, lording it over his opponent, knowing what it’s doing to fans watching, before pounding long, limber Christian down savagely into an over-the-knee backbreaker. He holds him there, pinned like a butterfly, grinding his elbow into Christian’s crotch.

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“We have to put all this hair to good use,” Mr. Joshua continues his lessons. Christian is a worm on the hook, but Mr. J grabs a hand full of hair and keeps yanking the kid off the mat mercilessly.  But, when Christian gets a fleeting taste of offense, he hooks Mr. J’s boots nice and snug against his crotch and pries the bodybuilder’s arms backward viciously in a kneeling surfboard. “You want to tell me about those rules now, huh,” the bitter rook snarls. It’s a sweet little morsel of bully revenge fantasy as the rookie owns the bodybuilder. He lets go of the arms to rain down vicious fists into the muscled lower back of his captive. Mr. J is looking seriously ready to get fucked over by a gangly, lightweight Freshman. Finally, he reaches forward and grabs the bottom rope. “You’ve got to let me go because I’ve got the rope! That’s part of the rules!” Lovely, limber, adorable Christian lets him go, because… rookie.

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About 2 minutes later, Mr. Joshua is working up a head of steam all over Christian. He’s pounding and stomping out every last ounce of irrational courage in the newbie. Mr. J grinds the kid’s skull between his magnificently muscled thighs in standing scissors, leaning forward and giving Christian the atomic wedgie of the year (why is that not a category!?). He literally splits the kid at the seams, tearing open a hole up the crack of Christian’s square cut trunks. “I beat you so hard I ripped your underwear,” Joshua marvels. “You just couldn’t handle it.” He muscles the newbie all over the place, finally wrapping him into a deep-seated Boston crab, wrenching on Christian’s lovely, long legs and prying his spine severely backward. The rookie pounds the mat in agony and desperately submits. “But that’s another one of the rules. I don’t have to let go. I’m not finished. Just because you say you’re finished doesn’t mean I am!”

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“Christian Taylor,” Mr. Joshua contemplates, as he drags the kid to the ropes and forces him to see himself get manhandled in the mirror. “You sound like a good boy. You come from a good town, good family. What are you doing here?!” Here’s the money shot for me, my friends. It’s when Mr. J ties up Christian’s long, lanky arms between the ropes. He doesn’t need to, of course. He’s fucking demolishing the newbie like a stick of dynamite. Rather, Mr. J ties the kid up in order to have his hands free, in order to flex, in order to have an all access pass to Christian’s lovely, pale body stretched out and unable to even curl into the fetal position.

 

Mr. Joshua brutally pounds the impudent skinny kid trussed up before him. He yanks on those trunks again, hard, to lend that much more leverage to his fists punching Christian’s gut. He yanks so hard, in fact, that Christian’s dick pops out at one point, flailing helplessly in the aftershock of another gut punch (welcome to homoerotic wrestling, newbie!). Mr. Joshua pries Christian’s head backward over the ropes so he can hoist a leg over and straddle this kid’s handsome face. “That’s right, kiss my ass while you’re down there,” the veteran demands. Honestly, Christian’s face is buried so deep, it’s impossible to verify whether or not he obeyed.

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I sort of think he probably did. Because here’s the thing, while we can’t know whether Christian already had in mind his evolution into a full-on erotic submission wrestler, we can confirm (in that back-to-the-future sort of way), that following his demolition at the hands (and everything else) of Mr. Joshua Goodman, Christian has taken most every opportunity he’s been given to pucker up and lay one on an opponent.  Was Christian as erotically charged by wrestling before Mr. Joshua dismounted off his face, only to spin around and mount him again, this time with his legendary package basically smothering him? Only Christian knows, and I’ve never been able to get him on the line for an interview to ask him. I like to think so, though, that Mr. Joshua popping his homoerotic wrestling cherry (metaphorically speaking) brought babyface Christian back again and again to work up buckets of sweat wrestling nearly (and at times entirely) naked, and often buttoning down long, lingering lip locks on one hot bodied hunk after another. I like to think that Christian showed up that day a good boy, with just a little erotic curiosity, and Mr. Joshua’s unique brand of carnal depravity sensationally and irrevocably corrupted his innocence and spoiled him for anything but erotic wrestling.

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Of course, this could easily by just my imagination. But then again, at another telling moment in the action, when Christian is no longer St. Sebastian tied to a tree, Mr. Joshua hooks him into face-to-crotch headscissors, crushing the kid’s noggin for a while, before rolling Christian to his back, still bearing down on the scissors, and grinding his award winning bulge into Christian’s lush lips. There are a lot of ways a moment like that can go down, of course, but what does Christian do? He reaches up, strumming his fingers across Mr. J’s rippling abs, palming the muscle man’s thick pecs. What’s a good boy like Christian Taylor doing, showing up at BG East, squeezing his alabaster body into doomed, lavender trunks, and presuming to climb into the ring with a notorious heel with an ego nearly as enormous as the ballast in the front of his trunks? He’s willingly, eagerly, even, coming face to crotch with a bad boy and hoping that a lot of it rubs off.

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In the waning moment of the match, Mr. Joshua keeps yanking Christian by the hair and demanding that he open his eyes to witness his final destruction. I’m pretty sure Mr. J is reading his opponent’s eyes tightly shut as terror, or resignation, or a primal instinct to retreat to his happy place in the face of this horror show. I have a different theory, however. I suspect that Christian was searing the evocative sights, smells, and feels of this match into his memory. In fact, I bet Christian still lies in bed in the dark, these 14 years later, occasionally catching a whiff of Mr. J musk, a muscle memory cramp in his now-toned abs in the shape of Mr. Joshua’s fist, the exact feel of Mr. Joshua’s sculpted pecs in the palms of his groping hands as he struggles not to choke on the legendary crotch relentlessly grinding in to face.

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Mr. Joshua does that. He insinuates himself into the homoerotic wrestling imagination and absolutely owns a parcel of property there that no one else has come close to laying claim to. And he knows it. I think he’s systematically come to know it more and more, the more he’s molded hot, eager, gay opponents like Christian into putty. I still hate what a fucking cock tease he’s been all of these years, haunting my dreams (and Christian’s) with his taunting, terrorizing, tantalizing main course that’s never quite served.

0232_lgAnd then there’s Christian, 14 years later, looking like a movie star, sporting his own rippling abs and sensationally sexy physique. His been beaten and battered many times, but never split open wide quite like that first day at BG East when he climbed into the ring as just another good boy, from a good town, to lock up with one of the biggest, baddest, sexiest muscle men in the business. Would it all have turned out quite like this without that first ring encounter those years ago, when Mr. Joshua Goodman laid him bare and showed him just how far his wrestling dreams could take him?

0203_lg-1So, I loved this match. I’m still waiting to get a good, long look at what Mr. Joshua sees when he yanks on the front of his gear and stares down at the crotch monster squirming in his trunks. But what I’d really like to know is what Christian sees, smells, and feels when he closes his eyes and remembers his first day as a good boy, from a good family, from a good town, first getting introduced to the wide open world of homoerotic wrestling.

Wasted Wednesday

I’m trying out new hashtags for the rebooted blog. Today, I’m giving #wastedWednesday a trial run. It’s an homage to that spectacularly sweet moment in wrestling when a once bold, brash, cocky competitor is out-hustled and outmuscled. In straight-up pro wrestling, a hard-bodied hunk laid waste is probably just denouement. The camera centers on the pumped victor. The story is his story. But in wrestling for gay eyes, the camera frequently zooms back in on the vanquished, savoring the sight of his humiliation. It’s as much a story about his heartbreak as it is about the winner’s celebration. I think for many homoerotic wrestling fans, seeing a muscle hunk demolished can be pretty fucking climactic (at least it is in my pants). Bulging muscles left impotent. A swollen, cock-sure ego smashed to bits. Power and promise and danger pounded into a puddle of helplessness. For my tastes, the prettier, the stronger, the cockier the waste-ee, the better. So this is my little love letter to the hot, homoerotic wrestling hunks who gave it their all and, in the end, were left unable to lift a finger to defend themselves. Let me know if you think @wastedWedensday should be a thing.

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Crushed Gabriel Cross

Gabriel Cross is left upended (literally) by Van Ryder in their Muscleboy Wrestling match. Gabriel’s journey from twink to muscle hunk is one of the most dramatic transformations in homoerotic wrestling history. Seeing his spectacular physique laid waste and his cherubic face out cold is so, so sweet.

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Shattered Pet Sharp

Pete Sharp took BG East by storm there for a couple of years. Pete’s gargantuan package earned him an instant Best Bulge award 3 seconds after he arrived, but damn, was there even on inch of that 6’2″ blond, blue-eyed beefcake that wasn’t perfection? Show up looking like that, built like that, and you’ve got to expect some respect. But fuck, no. Not only did his one-time buddy Lon Dumont mercilessly maul the cocky hunk, but Braden Charron completed his titanic heel turn by dragging Pete’s gorgeous ass all over the ring. His tenure in homoerotic wrestling was far too brief, but damn Pete left a big impression!

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W4H’s Colt vs. Drago match is the paradigmatic #wastedWednesday story. Adorable Colt uses chloroform and one sleeper after another to repeatedly make Drago’s divine muscles go slack. All 6’4″ and 240 lbs of Drago are putty in Colt’s hands. Drago rouses, struggles, starts to fight back, but Colt clamps on another sleeper, wringing the tautness out of huge, flexing muscles. Rouse, ring, repeat.

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During my hiatus from blogging, Scrappy evolved from a naughty, pretty boy into a franchise player with the body of a god. It does not surprise me at all that he is wracking up one of the most extensive homoerotic wrestling resumes in history, across multiple companies. He’s such a fan pleaser. It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that opponents all want a piece of him. The sight of Scrappy’s powerfully sculpted muscles gone slack and his little boy face out cold, like when Rhino makes a name for himself posing over top of him, is such a turn on.

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Ruined Gus Rowe – Bearhug Beatings 1

I was an instant Alex Oliver fan from the moment I laid eyes on him wrestling as Gus Rowe for BG East. He has a perennial look of a smirking frat boy accustomed to being the hottest and handsomest, which I assume the the very vibe that makes him such a target for getting absolutely thrashed over, and over, and over again. The method of his destruction varies, as do his opponents, but the match ain’t over until Alex is out cold and ass-up. Seriously, it’s his signature finishing move. This perennial jobber just can’t lose when it comes to turning me on, with his wasted, prone body, crushed, humiliated, and helpless.

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Overturned Alex Oliver – Alex Oliver vs. Joey Angel & Alvin James (double-teamed)
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Obliterated Alex Oliver – Alex Oliver vs. Sargent Stiff

So what do you think? What wrestlers never look better than when they’re worn out, rung dry, and laid out wasted? #wastedWednesday

Scott Williams’ Twink Demolition

 

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Scott Williams

At any one time, I’m typically nursing a throbbing crush on around half a dozen wrestlers. All it takes is a glimpse of one of them, and my heart pounds and my cock grows hard. It’s a rotating stock of sexy studs commanding my infatuation, but there are just a few wrestlers who show up on my shortlist and stick around long and hard.

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One of the first homoerotic wrestlers to instantly be elevated to crush status is BG East’s Scott Williams. I’ve written about my infatuation with Scott in the past, so I’ll just point out that if I were stranded on desert island and could only have 3 hunks with me for an endless round-robin of homoerotic wrestling, Scott is now, and almost always is, on that island.

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Rusty Stevens & Mitch Colby in Breaking Point

My homoerotic wrestling imagination has really been the theme of this blog for over 10 years. My musings have flitted from pro wrestlers, to wrestling-for-gay, to Hollywood hunks and beefcake journalists I’d like to see wrestle. But the real subject is always how my erotic imagination possesses my thoughts and inspires my cock. It’s just a thought-exercise that you’re invited to join me along, exploring my homoerotic wrestling fantasies that, for the most part, are solely playing out in my mind’s eye. But then again, there was that time I obsessed relentlessly for months about my fierce ambivalence between settling on Mitch Colby or Rusty Stevens as my reigning favorite wrestler, only to discover Kid Leopard had made my fantasy come true by pitting them against one another in The Breaking Point: The Sexiest.

I’ll keep nursing my regression to magical thinking and silently hope that I, just wishing it and naming it out loud, can make a fantasy match-up come true. I have some fantasy matches in mind, but I want to carve out what I intend to be a recurring series here, namely picturing tasty twinks for man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams to devour.

Scott has commented in the pages of this blog that he likes getting his hands on new crops of young wrestling twinks. That acknowledgment alone sent me pouring through the catalogs of new releases to decide who it is Scott should get his hands on first, at least in my imagination. For the record, Scott has not endorsed this series, nor has he approved any of the opponents I have in mind for him. If Scott wants a rewrite, or even a retraction, of absolutely anything I write about him, I’m his to command. Like, literally, Scott. Anything I can do for you, let me know.

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Kenny Starr – 5’9″ 175 lbs

The first twink I’m picturing that Scott should demolish is stunningly pretty, doe-eyed sexy boy, winner of the Debut of the Year of 2018, Kenny Starr. Just sizing the two of them up turns me on, because numbers are sexy. At 6’2″ and 190 pounds, Scott would tower over little Kenny, who stands at 5’9″ and 175 pounds. Kenny wears a playful smirk on his boyish face at the start of every match, like he’s just here for the fun and games and the free drinks and ready sex that come with being a young, ripped, erotic wrestling starr.

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So just picture Scott squaring off against Kenny in the BG East matroom, Kenny grinning and chuckling about “beating up grandpa,” and Scott staring back, deadly serious. Fuck, I love Scott’s game face. Glaring almost half a foot down at Kenny, his stone cold, humorless stare would  visibly unnerve the cocky twink.

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Scott Williams – 6’2″ 190 lbs

Kenny would take the initiative with a lightning quick lunge, taking a leg with a self-satisfied grin. Kenny’s plan would be to shock and awe the veteran with youthful speed and aggression. Scott would just watch, appraisingly. Even when Kenny sweeps the leg and slams the veteran to his back, I picture Scott just holding his hands out to his side, calmly, cooly studying the ankle biter quickly mounting his lightly hairy chest and sliding into a schoolboy pin. Kenny’s crotch dangling just over Scott’s face, the young stud would break out into that adorably exuberant shit-eating grin, flashing his baseball biceps and basically just waiting for Scott to admit that he’s outmatched.

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I think Scott would indulge the moment a while, because he enjoys the view and he knows he’s winding up the kid’s flawed sense of invincibility. But mid-chuckle, little Kenny would get bucked off and tossed across the matroom. Kenny’s certainty in his own superior speed would be shattered when Scott beats him to his feet, and then just flat out beats him. Scott likes long, strength-sucking endurance holds, so he’d start with a vice-like side headlock, dragging the twink around a couple laps of the matroom while crushing Kenny’s skull between a bulging bicep and his ribcage. Dropping to one knee, I can see Scott turning the crank in that magnificent way he has, pumping the headlock like he’s working to pry the stubborn lid off of a jam jar. Kenny would whimper and wilt sagging lower and lower until Scott takes him all the way to the mat, still crushing his skull relentlessly.

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Seriously, I can see Kenny tapping out to the patiently tantric headlock in the first 3 minutes of the match. It wouldn’t exactly surprise Scott, but it would sort of piss him off. The veteran relishes a test, and a cocky bro rolling over right out of the gate would inspire some serious punishment. Sure, he’d let go of the “submission” hold, but he’d give the kid exactly 1.5 seconds before sliding him into crotch-pillow headscissors and clamping down with his lovely, long, hairy legs. Little Kenny would writhe and whimper louder, struggling to pry the thighs away from his throbbing head.

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Scott would slowly transition to a figure-4 choke, then an armbar, then a tautly strung bow-and-arrow, patiently milking each crush and stretch. The matwork would be masterful, burying the increasingly desperate kid under joint wrenching torture from head to toe. A weak-ass 2nd submission would squeak out of the pretty boy to an incidental half nelson that Scott was using to set up a camel clutch. Scott would throw him down in disgust, exasperated by the would-be tough guy crumbling before him. As little Kenny whimpers petulantly, nursing his battered ego, Scott would call him a crybaby, all talk and no substance. He’d spank the kid’s ass with loud, cracking slaps that would make Kenny spasm and cry out.

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Scott’s patience would run out, waiting for his opponent to get up and fight like a man. Dragging him up by the back of his straining trunks, Scott would hook an arm between Kenny’s legs from behind, hoist him off is feet, and pound the gasping kid down in a gutbuster across his knee. You’d hear the air violently rush out of Kenny’s lungs, even as Scott would hoist him back up and slam him back down, again and again. When the kid doesn’t even squirm on the line, folded humiliatingly across Scott’s bent knee, the veteran would peel the back of Kenny’s sweat-soaked trunks down, exposing that lily white, perfectly round ass. I can see Scott squeeze the produce appreciatively for a while. It’s not like Kenny has any fight in him to complain. Until, that is, Scott starts spanking the naughty boy hard. Screams would punctuate the wet slaps, as the veteran hungrily studies the red palm prints he leaves behind. “Cry for me, crybaby,” Scott would growl. Kenny would weep in frustration.

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Kenny’s pleading submissions would fall on deaf ears. Hell, I’d bet Scott would crack some senior citizen joke about needing new batteries for his hearing aids, and not being able to hear this wailing twink. Of course, the truth is that the veteran would be tickled by every yelp, savoring every tear. He’d drag the kid up, demanding that the weak-kneed punk leave his ass cheeks hanging out. When petulant Kenny stubbornly pulls his short pants back over his red hot glutes, Scott would violently shove him into the wall face-first, pinning his head to the wall with one hand while using the other to yank his opponent’s trunks halfway down his quivering legs. You could just hear the twink’s impotent sobs grow more frustrated, then more desperate, as Scott pins the kid’s wrists to the wall overhead and grinds his crotch into Kenny’s ass.

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Kenny wouldn’t disobey when Scott demands, again, that he leave his trunks where they are. Even as the veteran throws him wall to wall and then body slams the kid to the mat, Kenny would leave his trunks awkwardly hanging mid-thigh. Scott would sit low and mean in the saddle across the kid’s bare butt in a Camel Clutch demanding that the kid cry, which he would. Loudly. Scott’s Boston Crab would be a little more work to cinch in place with Kenny’s trunks sliding most of the way to his knees, but all the easier for the veteran to transition to a single leg and reach down and squeeze the boy’s hanging balls.

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Kenny would submit again. And again. And again. With his tormenter’s claws ripping apart his perky lean pecs, Kenny would give. In an abdominal stretch hanging like a cut of tenderized beef on the hook, he’d cry out in submission again. Twisted, tossed, and tortured, the twink’s trunks would slide lower and lower, until he’d be swaying, barely standing unassisted, his pale white beauty marked all over with red welts turning angry purple, and his prettyboy designer trunks mid-calf. Panting, heavy-lidded, half out of it, Kenny would self-conciously start to bend forward when his gear finally drops to his ankles. Scott would just have to “tut-tut,” and the demolished twink would jerk back to attention obediently, swaying on his feet, eyes on the floor in humiliated subjugation.

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Scott would take one last stroll around his tamed trophy, offering light praise for the kid’s quick obedience, and promising to make a man out of him. Little Kenny wouldn’t say anything, because, really, what would there be to say? He’d just grunt in resignation when Scott shoves an arm between his thighs from behind and hoists the kid across his gorgeously muscled shoulders. If he pulled down on Kenny’s neck and legs, he’d wring more screams and tears out with a torture rack, but there’d really be no point to that any longer. Scott would just be wearing the kid like a wrap now, taking in the sight of himself in the mirror, soaked in sweat and in full possession of the adorable little muscle bro who’d been so filled with cocky overconfidence 20 minutes ago. With his conquest balanced across his wide shoulders, Scott would flex a little. He’d have earned the right to indulge in the self-congratulations, giving credit where it’s due, namely to his phenomenal physique and mat experience. Finally, he’d stride to the door and side-step through it, carrying his naked prize with him.

At least, that’s how I see it. It’s a lot more lopsided a match than we’ve seen Scott wrestle, but seriously, have you seen those huge, corded arms of his with veins popping out in his recent guest appearances at Wrestling with Pride? With the shape he’s in, and company he keeps, and boatload of experience to draw from, I just see tasty little Kenny demolished by the man-of-my-dreams!

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Trunk Pull Tuesday

Is it just my imagination, or does gorgeous hottie Zach Reno deliver more than his fair share of trunk pulls?

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Zach is so determined to weasel out of doing his chores that he stuff’s Jayden Mayne’s handsome face between his hairy thighs, leans forward, and gives the choreboy’s trunks a quick tug.

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Zach does what it takes to level the playing field when he’s double-teamed by gargantuan muscle gods Mark Muscle and Zach Altovito, including, but not limited to, yanking hard on Mark Muscle’s trunks to make his earlier low blows linger longer.

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It’s not like Zach turns to the trunk pull only when the odds are long. He and fellow lightweight Ethan Andrews are more than enough to take on big, beautiful, pro loudmouth Garrett Thomas, but a completely gratuitous trunk pull makes Zach’s gut punches on the trussed up hunk that much more painful. And humiliating.

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Trapped in Kid Karisma’s muscle bearhug in Gazebo Grapplers 17, Zach turns to a defensive trunk pull in a last ditch bid to survive the crushing embrace. The defensive trunk pull is a marvelous variation on the theme. It’s desperate, like clutching at straws, but instead it’s clutching at spandex.

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The defensive trunk pull “works” only in so far as the wrestler on offense instinctively reacts to having his gear wedged up his ass crack and his cheeks exposed on camera. Zach’s pull implies that he’s an innovator, that he’s calculating more than just wrestling skill and strength, but also ego, vanity, and focus. Lesser men might be shocked and distracted to be on the receiving end of a defensive yank like this. Unfortunately for Zach, Kid Karisma is “less than” no one, particularly when it comes to showing off his multi-award winning ass.

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Not only is Kid K unfazed by Zach’s move to expose his perfectly muscled ass cheek, he happily demonstrates that one good yank deserves another. Ever the fan-pleaser, Kid Karisma makes sure you and I can make a fair comparison to determine who wears the wedgie best.

Personally, my fan support for Zach Reno is only accentuated by his readiness to grab hold of his opponents’ trunks. I seriously love Zach’s hot, compact body and his take-no-prisoners wrestling style. I’m a huge fan of his furry, muscled ass, as well. Like his ultimate fate in his match with Kid Karisma, he may not be ready to compete with the sheer beauty of Kid K’s breathtaking bare butt, but I’m loving Zach’s willingness to go there!

Producer’s Ring: Marciano vs. Engel vs. Champion

—continued from The News Division: Match 3

The News Division: Match 4

Marciano vs. Engel vs. Champion

Carter savored his victory a few ecstatic moments, staring down at Richard and giving his cock a rough tug of pleasure. With a smile, he finally reached down. Tentatively, Richard looked at the offered hand a few cautious seconds, before accepting the help to climb to his feet.  Carter laughed gently as Richard swayed on his unsteady feet. As the dazed hunk’s knees momentarily buckled underneath him, Carter hooked an arm around his waist and allowed Richard to lean on him as he gathered his wits.  The defeated newsman cradled his aching, semi-erect cock in one hand as he leaned on Carter’s shoulder. Patiently, gently, Carter began to slowly lead them back to the stairs.

The assembled stable of newsmen watching from the base of the stairs were silent as they turned and led the sand and sweat covered competitors up the cliff stairs to the beach house. Once inside, Carter led Richard to the bathroom and began running a bath before shutting the door behind them.

The rest of the newsmen were subdued, when Richard and Carter came back downstairs cleaned and dressed. The tension was thick in the air, as Rob and Chris paced pensively across opposite ends of the room. Suddenly, Eli’s face appeared on the plasma screen over the fireplace.  “Congratulations, Carter,” Eli said.  “Your creativity in securing that submission was a crowd favorite.  Our gay male demographic has gone through the roof.”

Rob stood up and growled at the screen, “I’m leaving now.  I was beaten, and there’s nothing for me to do here now.”

“On the contrary, Rob,” Eli explained.  “We have one more match to determine the fourth competitor to advance to the semi-finals.  The losers bracket will have one more chance to stay alive with a victory in a 3-way.” Rob bristled at the word “loser.” Thomas chuckled at the reference to “a 3-way.”  Eli paused for the surprise development to sink in, as all 6 hunks mentally recalculated their odds. “You have one day to rest,” Eli continued, “and then Rob, Sam, and Richard will compete in a three-way battle on the sand the morning after tomorrow.  Once any one of you submits, you will leave the beach, and the remaining two will then fight to the final submission.” Rob glanced appraisingly at Sam and Richard, noticing the latter  was still visibly exhausted and leaning heavily on Carter’s shoulder. “The winner will be granted the opportunity to claim redemption by moving on to the next round.  I suggest that you rest, perhaps do some light training, and get your heads back in the game.”

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The following day, the competitors recuperated, enjoying the momentary reprieve from the high-stakes competition.  Thomas and Sam appeared to strike up a friendship, if not an alliance. The muscled hunks sunbathed nude on the back deck most of the afternoon, obviously enjoying the responsibility to re-apply sun tan lotion on each other’s beefy bodies. Leisurely make-out sessions occasionally punctuated their side-by-side bare-naked napping.

Carter and Richard appeared to continue to be drawn closer by the crucible of combat. They spent most of the afternoon on the beach, running wrestling drills. Carter coached his new protege in defending against an erotic offense, which entailed Carter repeatedly seducing and arousing him, and Richard building tolerance to resist the temptation to allow his will to crumble. Hours of grappling and aggressive seduction climaxed into full-throated consummation of their mutual attraction, stripped naked under the Southern California sun and the watchful eye of Eli’s cameras and countless fans.

Chris and Rob spent the day in the basement gym, pumping iron. They engaged in superficial bro-talk as they spotted one another, openly validating each other’s muscle and strength, while inwardly sizing each other up as potential competitors.

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The morning of the fourth and final match of round one, Sam, Rob, and Richard strode across the beach while the others watched from the base of the stairs.  The three combatants came to a halt in the soft sand and looked at one another awkwardly.  The shirtless hunks glistened in the sunshine, the sweat of midday heat and the rush of adrenaline already coating their bodies.  Sam, in green trunks, was more tanned and more blond from the past four days in the Southern California sun.  His face was still bruised from the beating at the hands of his former friend, but the swelling had gone done.  Rob wore red speedos.  Fresh off of a day of cardio and light weights, his muscles were pumped.  Richard wore Carter’s yellow trunks.  The veins in his thick arms, shoulders and chest popped, and a new, smirking confidence seemed to have replaced the humiliation of two days before.

“How the hell do three people fight each other?” Rob asked.  The horn sounded on the cliff above. Sam smirked, stretching his broadly muscled chest. “Don’t even pretend you’ve never participated in a 3-way, Rob,” he chided. “I’ve seen the paparazzi pics documenting your misadventures.”

Sam and Richard simultaneously tackled Rob. Richard grabbed his legs while Sam went high, driving Rob’s upper body into the sand with a violent grunt.  Lying on his back, Rob found Richard straddling low across his pelvis, pinning his legs and torso to the sand.  Dropping to his knees, Sam straddled Rob’s head. Grabbing a handful of Rob’s brown hair, Sam slid into position to snap on crotch-pillow head scissors, wrapping his bulging, blond legs around Rob’s neck. Rob whimpered as the huge quads crushed his head. After a few seconds to wring him out, Sam shifted position, bending his right leg and hooking his lower leg across Rob’s throat.  Grabbing his right ankle with both hands, Sam pulled upward, trapping Rob’s head in a vice-like figure-4 choke.

Executing a clearly planned attack, Sam choked Rob while Richard began pounding fist after fist into Rob’s trapped abs.  The stuck hunk’s core flexed defensively. Initially, Rob seemed to take Richard’s beat-down in stride.  The fists bounced off without inflicting apparent damage. Richard shifted tactics, digging the fingertips of both hands deep into the ridged creases of Rob’s six pack, clawing savagely.  Rob’s core continued to flex in a rock hard wall against the onslaught, but he moaned deep in his throat, clearly in pain.  Richard cross-trained, alternating between pounding Rob’s softening abs with his fists, and digging his claws deeper and deeper.

Rob began to whither beneath the swarming double team. As his whimpers grew weaker, Sam unlocked his figure-4 choke.  “I want to beat him,” he said to Richard, staring lustfully and Rob’s reddening midsection. Richard stopped his pounding, leaning backward, out breath and happy to recuperate.  Sam dug his knees into Rob’s shoulders and dropped his ass across Rob’s neck, forcing Rob’s head backward at a painful angle.  The blond beefcake rained fists down on the exposed midsection beneath him. Rob’s groans rose in volume again, straining to pry his arms and legs free from the double team attack.  Slowly, Rob stopped straining, concentrating on sucking down the punishment as he stared up at Sam’s muscled ass cheeks filling his view.

“That’s about all I need from you,” Richard said quietly.  Sam looked up, confused, just in time to see Richard’s right knee come crashing across the side of his face.  Sam sprawled to the sand, clutching at his damaged face. Richard took a slow lap around the two men, breathing hard and plotting his pathway to victory.

Licking his lips, he grabbed Sam’s ankles and dragged him next to Rob’s limp body.  Richard lifted Sam’s legs perpendicular to the sand, and in a rapid motion, dropped both his knees simultaneously into Sam’s exposed hamstrings.  A pained grunt escaped from blond hunk’s gaping mouth, as he reached defensively for his throbbing legs.  Again and again, Richard pounded his knees into the meat of Sam’s upper legs.  Finally satisfied, he yanked Sam’s weakened legs out straight, and snapping on a figure-4 leg lock. Dropping backward on his ass, he sharply hyperextended Sam’s right knee, inspiring a howl of injured pain.

Sam’s fingers dug desperately into the sand as Richard flexed his muscled legs. Maintaining the crippling figure-4, Richard alternated between sitting upright, then throwing his upper body back into the sand and wrenching Sam’s leg harder.  Again and again, Richard drove his body backward, slowly extending Sam’s knee at sickening angle.

Sam screamed out in pain. Richard yelled back at him, “I’ll break it, mother fucker!  Submit now or else you won’t be able to walk away from here!”  Sam screamed, “I submit!”  Richard pressed downward a final time across Sam’s right ankle, hyperextending his left knee at an ugly angle, as Sam screamed in pain, tears pouring down his face.

Richard released his hold, untwining his legs from Sam’s and coming to his feet. Sam rolled away from Richard, coming up to his hands and knees, his right knee held limply off the sand.  The defeated hunk attempted to stand, but his leg gave out underneath him, and he fell back to his hands and knees.  Richard watched for a moment as Sam crawled slowly toward the stairs and the watching stable of news hunks. Before he had managed to crawl far, Richard came up from behind and drove a cracking knee into Sam’s temple. The beaten muscle hunk slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Richard turned to find that Rob had rolled to his hands and knees, his right hand cradling his tortured abdominals.  Adrenaline pumping from dispatching one-half of the obstacles in his way to victory, he quickly walked up behind Rob and straddled his crouching body.  He leapt straight upward into the air, and then dropped his bodyweight downward, driving his ass violently into Rob’s lower back.  Rob fell face downward to the beach, groaning in pain.  Richard remained straddled over his opponent’s body as the battered beauty slowly pulled himself up to his hands and knees again.  Again, Richard hopped up into the air, and dropped his body weight downward, driving his tailbone into the small of Rob’s back.  Rob collapsed to the ground again, drawing his right hand around his side to clutch at his throbbing lower back.

In a daze, grunting in pain, again Rob pulled himself upward off of his stomach, drawing his hands and knees underneath him.  Smoothly, Richard wrapped his legs around Rob’s midsection and fell forward onto Rob’s upper back.  The smaller hunk wrapped his right arm across Rob’s neck from behind, applying a chokehold directly across Rob’s throat.  Richard flexed powerfully, digging his heels into Rob’s aching abs and cutting off the captured stud’s blood and air supply.  Rob coughed and choked, but then gaped silently, no longer able to expel the air in his lungs.  Rob quickly grew light-headed, writhing slower and slower in the all-encompassing grasp of his attacker.

Richard leaned forward, placing his face next two Rob’s right cheek.  “Carter asked me to pass along a message,” he said in Rob’s ear.  Then Richard stuck out his tongue and licked Rob’s face from chin to cheek.

Startled, Rob gathered some of his wits.  With herculean strength, Rob kicked his feet off the sand, with Richard still clamped onto his back.  He extended his long, powerful legs and body upward, coming briefly to a handstand.  Then Rob’s legs continued up and over his head.  As Rob came crashing to the sand, Richard’s body was crushed between the larger man and the beach.  The fall knocked the wind out of Richard, who involuntarily released his grip on his opponent.

Rob rolled off of his shocked opponent, but Richard managed to catch his breath well before Rob was finished pulling himself back to his hands and knees.  Richard grabbed Rob’s ankles from behind, pulling him backward off his hands, dropping him face-first into the sand.  He twisted Rob’s ankles, one over the other, leveraging his own bodyweight to flip Rob over onto his back.  Finally, he pried Rob’s feet apart, pinning him to his back, spread-eagled beneath him.

“I learned this one from Carter,” Richard said through clenched teeth.  he drove his head downward, pounding his forehead directly into Rob’s vulnerable crotch.  Rob screamed in pain, jabbing his hands between his upper thighs.  Richard hopped back to his feet quickly, grabbing Rob’s ankles once again and pulling them apart.  Rob stared wide-eyed at him from below, raising his hands as if to ward him away.  “No, no, NOOOO!!!,” he screamed, as Richard dove forward again, driving his forehead toward Rob’s crotch.

Just as Richard released Rob’s ankles, Rob snapped his legs together, lacing his ankles around one another.  His legs snapped shut around Richard’s head in an instantaneous vice grip, arresting the attacker’s strike with Richard’s nose a half-inch away from Rob’s balls.  Richard’s knees fell to the ground awkwardly, and he wrapped his arms around Rob’s big, bulging thighs, trying to pry them apart. Flexing his core and thighs powerfully, Rob grunted loudly, squeezing Richard’s head with all his might.  Richard’s mouth was buried deep between Rob’s massive thighs, gasping for breath.

The pressure on his head caused Richard to begin to see stars.  His ears began to whistle.  Richard tried to punch Rob’s hamstrings, but his blows had no effect.  Rob squeezed harder and harder, groaning with the exertion.  Richard’s body slumped beneath him, and his arms fell limply to his sides.  Rob swung his locked legs, with Richard’s head going along for the ride, to the left.  As his legs crashed to the sand, a muffled scream came from Richard’s mouth still trapped between Rob’s massive thighs.

“Tap, you little bitch,” Rob snarled.  Richard didn’t move, and Rob doubled forward, placing his hands on the outside of his hairy thighs and squeezing still harder.  Richard’s arms jutted straight outward away from his body, pausing as if trying to decide whether he could withstand more abuse.  Rob growled fiercely, his head thrown back and his mouth open wide.  Richard brought both of his hands around to the top of Rob’s thighs, tapping his submission frantically.

Rob released the scissors and kicked Richard away from him with contempt.  Both men lay on the beach gasping for a moment, as Chris, Thomas and Carter ran out to them.  Chris knelt next to Sam, placing his hand on his back as Sam moaned, beginning to regain consciousness.  Thomas fell to his knees next to Rob, slapping him on the shoulder and smiling down at him.  The two of them made eye contact, and Thomas extended his hand.  Rob paused a moment, then grasped his colleague’s outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

Carter sat on the sand, cradling Richard’s head in his lap.  Rob looked down at him threateningly.  Carter looked back and winked provocatively. “What the fuck does that mean,” Rob screamed back at him.  “Who the fuck do you think you are!?”  Rob lunged toward him, but Chris joined Thomas in restraining him. Rob was too exhausted to resist as they led him toward the stairs back to the house, screaming incoherently in a rage.

 

Side Butt

If you’re new around here, you may not have heard that pretty much everything inspires my homoerotic wrestling imagination. One of my longest-standing, relatively random inspirations has been hot guys on television news. For a while, I thought it was just my imagination, prompting me to fantasize about hard, hot bodies underneath the suits of the handsome faces hired to look trustworthy. But no one can ignore the flagrant display of hot journalist beef all over the airwaves these days. It’s not just me combing through the minutiae and piecing together Chris Cuomo’s bulging biceps and Gio Benitez’ mouthwatering pecs out of nothing more than public social media accounts and confirmation bias. These days, the news hunks are quite obviously getting hunkier, unbuttoning their shirts, posting workout videos, and finding excuses to show off their hard toned gym bodies. Thus was born The News Division series of homoerotic wrestling fiction that I’m slowly transcribing from an old private site to the pages of this blog. I’ll post an updated version of a new chapter tomorrow.

If you aren’t new around here, this is all old news. So let me move on to the new addition to my newsmen crush lexicon. My local weatherman is a nerd stud. He’s skinny. Literally, a marathoner. He’s no Hollywood heartthrob, but he’s got a seriously cute, boyish face. Quick wit. I’d schoolboy pin him in a second. But the real star of the show is that ass of his when he takes of his suit coat and steps up to the map. Specifically, he makes me gasp every time he turns to point to the weather map and shows off his remarkably perky, round ass in profile. Solid, sculpted muscle, made all that more stunning by his skinny, little waist. Not everyone has the genetics and laboriously-built muscle to be able to show off such lovely side butt. There are huge, bulging bodybuilders who do squats for years and never pull off the perfectly round globes that my skinny weatherman has. From behind, you can’t always measure the perkiness-factor like you can with side butt.

So, in honor of my weatherman and the provocative gift of a tiny waist and gorgeous, round glutes, I’ve spent more time than I should have curating this annotated collection of homoerotic wrestling hunks showing off sensational side butt.

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BGE’s classic baby face muscle boy Troy Baker gave pin-up boy quality side butt. I’m also a fan of Troy’s tan lines, which serve as a highlighter spotlighting his beautifully round, alabaster cheeks.

0402_lgMy longest-reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler and multi-Best Butt and Body winner Kid Karisma possesses one of the perkiest, most muscular ass cheeks on the planet. He’s a study in physical perfection from every angle, but he gives choice side butt.

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Tyrell Tomsen is an adonis, with extravagant, luscious meat draped from every joint. You have not lived if you have yet to see every awesome inch of Tyrell in Strip Stakes 1, which, frankly, has sort of spoiled me for every other strip stakes match I’ve seen. It’s hard not to let your eyes roam over him, but if you’ve got the self-discipline, you’ll see that his thick, solidly muscled glutes are perfect in profile.

scrapdbEpitomizing the tapered-V, Scrappy (Thunders, W4H, Muscleboy) possesses perfect proportions. The way his tiny waist perches on top of his lush, thickly muscled ass makes him a side butt poster boy.

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One of the more controversial figures in the annals of homoerotic wrestling history, Rio Garza had a remarkable gift for dividing fans and wrestlers alike. But can we all agree to the self-evident fact that the Mexican muscleboy sports practically perfectly round glutes that make for sensational side butt?

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This photo demonstrates the extremely rare (IMO) phenomenally hot double side butt perfection of last year’s Best Body winner Van Skyler on the left bearhugging Payton Meadows on the right. Their Undagear 26 face off really deserves to be cross-listed as a Fantasymen product, because they are both ripped from the pages of an erotic fantasy. But for butt watching, it’s out of this world, and for two pairs of the sweetest, roundest ass profiles to appear in one match, it cannot be beat.

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I should’ve quit a while back, but I couldn’t stop myself from digging into the archives just a bit more for choice side butt. Blond, blue eyed bombshell Jeff Phoenix had all too brief a stint in the ring for BG East, but that all-over tan and magnificent physique surely ought to arise from the ashes for a comeback, don’t you think? And side butt that juicy needs a severe tongue lashing, if you ask me.

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It’s probably criminal to have any discussion of phenomenal asses without extensive homage paid to Mike Columbo’s legendary glutes. In my hiatus from following the scene, I’ve lost track of whether the Mike Columbo fanatics are still actively worshiping at his altar, but I still keep a candle light for two of the thickest thighs and the superhumanly proportioned profile of his most famous assets.

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But honestly, I was always more of a classic Mikey Vee fanatic than a Mike Columbo devotee. In Mikey’s early days at BG East, he was a devastatingly adorably bad ass in a baby face disguise.

I’ve got half a dozen other hot hunks for whom, I bet, I’d find scintillating shots of side butt, but I’m going to draw a line there rather than work on this post for days on end. You, however, can tell me who I missed in the comments!

Dear Scott,

[Note: The following post is addressed specifically to BG East classic, Scott Williams, in response to his comment specifying what blog topics he would, personally, find entertaining. If you are not Scott Williams, you may feel free to continue to read, but just know that this is really all about pleasing the man of my dreams!]

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Headscissors done right!

Honestly, Scott, yours are the headscissors by which I judge all others. I love the way you milk them with waves of contracting muscle. It’s supposed to be a static hold, but you bear down ever tighter, shifting the angle, fine tuning the pressure. Other wrestlers try to make it look effortless, propped nonchalant on one elbow, smiling, pedestrian, pointedly not breaking a sweat. I grant you, that element of facile control can be super sexy, but then I think of that grimace of concentration on your face as you squeeze, light grunts of your effort punctuated by gasping agony of your prey. Every lovely muscle in your body is coiled, strung taut, actively crushing an opponent’s skull trapped between your relentless legs. Of course, I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know, so let me turn my attention to surveying other “punishing quads” that epitomize both the brute force and the subtle artistry of sensationally sexy headscissors.

I have to confess, working on this has become a labor of love, and my list of killer quads to vet for you here just keeps growing. I’ve given up on attempting a definitive list in one post. Consider these 4 fine specimens as merely my first installment in paying you back for inspiring so much pleasure and so many homoerotic wrestling fantasies.

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The first wrestler that sprang to my mind is Mitch Colby, and not just because I’m almost as big a fan of him as I am of you. Have you wrestled Mitch? I would imagine you and he would be well-matched in skill and temperament. Not only does he pretty invariably clamp on headscissors in almost every match, but he has this sensationally sexy way of locking on and then bearing down on them that reminds me a lot of you. He likes them super snug. He’ll often grab a fist full of hair and yank his opponent’s head as high as possible between this thighs for the extra pressure, and his pleasure. He’ll twist his hips to the side, really working it, crushing his opponent’s skull and cranking on his neck. When he’s firing on all cylinders, and he’s been squeezing a while, his eyes close. His face goes slack, and his head rolls backward. Now, I don’t know if he’s ever literally climaxed with some lucky fucker’s head crushed between his long, powerful thighs, but I feel pretty certain that’s what his face looks like when he cums.

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Mitch demonstrates his favorite position on Patrick Donovan in his Wrestler Spotlight.
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Mitch springs the trap on squashed Christopher Bruce in Undagear 21.
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Mitch may or may not be orgasming as he punishes Bobby Horton in Backyard Brawls 5.
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Surely, he’s cumming as a tortures Tyrell Tomsen in Wet & Wild 3.

My next set of punishing legs for your consideration, Scott, belong to Logan Vaughn.

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You’re the expert, of course, Scott, so tell me if I’m wrong when I say that the most punishing quads aren’t always the thickest. However, when I think scissors, I think of the thickest thighs I’ve ever seen on a wrestler: the lovely legs of  Logan Vaughn. Logan’s sojourn with BGE was tragically short, but his work elsewhere had all ready caught my eye by the time I saw him in exploiting his gargantuan quads to perfection in Florida Fights 5. Have you seen that match, Scott? Holy fuck, it’s a leg lover’s dream match. Logan’s inner thighs are like a black hole, irresistibly sucking Trey Dixon in, over and over. There are a dozen or more scissor variations, and every one of them completely incapacitates lucky Trey. Logan’s head scissors are the sweetest for my tastes, though. Trey’s head looks like a golf ball, completely dwarfed between the sequoias swallowing him. Logan is one of those hunks who make scissors look effortless, but seriously, if he earnestly bore down on them, Trey’s skull would have surely cracked. There’s seamless, totally convincing worship that breaks out, only when Logan permits it. This match is on my most-played list, mostly for the 8th Modern Wonder of the World that is Logan’s superhuman legs and the absolute perfect use he puts them to.

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Logan in repose as Trey is smothered.
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Trey grabs hold and prays he can survive.
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Standing, figure-4, face-to-crotch headscissors suspended from the turnbuckle (try saying that 3 times fast!)
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Trey trapped and tortured from every, fucking, single, angle!
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I love the lacing of his ankles, the flex of his toes, and the way Trey just holds on for dear life.

Correct me if I’m wrong, Scott, but I feel certain I’ve seen you trash talking with Kayden Keller on social media, alluding to having faced the hot, young heel in person. If so, you know better than I can imagine just how punishing Kayden’s quads are.

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I have to include him in my list, however, because his legs make me swoon. Literally. Like, when I was fortunate enough to be able to conduct interviews at BG East a couple of years ago during a weekend of taping, I sat down with Kayden and commented on his stunning, sexy, strong thighs. And he flexed them, just smiling at me as I was instantly light-headed. I bravely attempted to continue the interview, but he just tugged his shorts up higher and flexed his quads some more, and I struggled to string together a coherent sentence. I’ve adoringly tracked his career over the years, from fierce heel pup to, now, the multi-award winning reigning Heel Champ of BG East. He’s grown up good, Scott! I don’t know when you may have faced him last, but I’d love to know if Kayden’s quads are as devastatingly powerful as they look, or as dizzingly sexy when they’re clamped across your skull like a vise.

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Ollie Watts is all tied up with nowhere to go in Gazebo Grapplers 21.
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Kayden gives lovely little Luke Reel a tongue wagging in Ultra Heels 6.
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Kayden shows Leo Tomasi the best seat in the house in Ring Releases 3.
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Kayden’s thighs bring hunky Carter Alexander to his knees in his Wrestling Spotlight.

I’ve got a list of twice this many names, but in order not to sabotage myself, I’m going to give you just one more for today. It’s a wild card. I don’t know how you might feel about competition bodybuilders and fun-and-games frat wrestling, but I’d like to draw your attention to Thunder’s Arena’s Loki.

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I feel like you might not track someone like Loki because he dabbles in wrestling, and you’re, clearly, serious as a heart attack. But hear me out. This muscle kid is absolutely draped in luxurious, thick, aesthetic muscle. And when he hits the mats, 9 times out of 10, he’s going to shove an opponent’s skull between those gargantuan, competition-ready quads. So, sure, he may not be really on the same scene, but you’ve got to admire him for his ready impulse to crack craniums with his quads. Often, his fratboy opponents can’t help themselves but grab hold (in awe, I’m certain). To his credit, he just lets them. If they try to pry him apart, he just holds them by the wrist, keeping them close enough to touch, but not break the hold. The flashing of his flexing quads as his opponents face’s go 2-dimensional is pure gold. Judging by the look of exquisite ecstasy as they’re crushed in the vise, I don’t think it takes a lot of effort from him to make opponents see stars.

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Loki gives Blayne a show as he suffers in Bodybuilder Battles 123.
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I like how he adds a few extra ounces per square inch of pressure with his hand in Ringwars 94.
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Loki likes to watch his quads do their thing in Bodybuilder Battles 130.
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He really, really likes to watch in Vegas Battles 69.
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Standing at attention, flexed for days, in total control in Vegas Battles 73.

I’ll take a break now, because I’m a bit dehydrated, Scott. I hope this has given you a little entertainment and perhaps a little provocation. I’ll be back at a future date to explore the most punishing quads in wrestling some more, along with your other wish list item, some focused attention on Dirty Daddy!