It’s awards season time! I know of a few fans of homoerotic wrestling (and quite a few wrestlers, as well) that despise the year-end awards rigamarole. I, on the other hand, take probably too much pleasure in it, mostly for the excuse it gives me to pour over videos and photos of hot hunks who turned my crank over the past 12 months. BG East just posted their ballot for their besties. I just noticed that Cameron is following in BG East’s footsteps with a year-end awards call for fan voting this year. Alex does his personal best-ofs the industry. Joe has his lists of tops. Keeping with my annual tradition (started last year), I’m wading into the pre-awards season with my personal infatuation with some categories that, inexplicably, no one else seems to pay nearly enough attention to for my tastes. First up, I climb onto my ongoing soapbox about legs.
Best Legs
Honestly, it astounds me how precious little attention is paid to considering who has the sexiest legs in this business. I adore powerful, shapely, muscled legs for their aesthetics and their integral role in making homoerotic wrestling happen. Scissors. Leg locks. Scissors. Kicks. Scissors. Hot legs are an essential component to the sexiest wrestling matches. Yet again, I must register my formal complaint against the industry photographers who continue to snap those pin-up boy shots of scorching hot wrestlers cut off mid-quads or higher. Sure, some close ups on a sexy upper body are lovely, but absolutely ignoring everything below the waist is criminal! As an aficionado of wrestlers’ legs, I could generate a much longer list (see honorable mentions below), but I’ll mostly stick to my top 3 favorite pair of tree trunks to crush their way through 2018.
Zach Altovito
My third place pick for best legs goes to the gargantuan pillars on Zach Altovito. I watched him wrestle for the first time over at Muscle Domination Wrestling this year, and his quads stole the show. He also put in an appearance at Wrestler4Hire. Of all of the wrestlers currently competing, I’d most pop my cork to see an opponent worship Zach’s monster quads. His MDW match against Joey Justice comes close with Joey forced to oil the big man all over, but but I’m wanting to see some serious, slack jawed worship of those beasts. Zach’s granite pillars deserve nothing less.
Thrash
In second place comes the international man of mystery, BG East’s masked punisher Thrash. Fuck, I’m loving this masked heel more and more every time I see him wrestle. I want to know his backstory. I want to know for sure if Thrash is getting as turned on by dominating his opponents as I think he is. But most of all, I want to drag my tongue from big toe to crotch and back again. Thrash’s legs are devastatingly gorgeous. The aesthetics are phenomenal, with his thick, shapely calves perfectly balanced with his buttery, beautifully built upper legs. His quads are nowhere nearly as thick as Zach’s, but they’re about twice as beautiful and alluring for my tastes as a result of proportion, shape and balance. Thrash drives me fucking insane, and my hope for 2018 is to see an opponent appreciate his hotness even half as much as I do.
Austin Tyler
Top honors for Best Legs of 2017 is a surprise to me, frankly. I haven’t written about gorgeous centerfold Austin Tyler before on the pages of this blog, so I fully admit to how strange it is to see him skyrocket into first place for a year-end call up like this. However, in doing the extensive research I do for these awards, I kept coming back to Austin’s magnificently gorgeous legs. Joe has been crushing on him from the beginning, and Alex credits Austin with bringing him back to UCW, but it took my background work for this post to convince me that I need to see much, much more of Austin, starting with his sweaty thighs. I’ve watched him in action at Wrestler4Hire, and clearly, like Alex, I need to reinvest in UCW to study this award winning physique in more detail. If anything, Austin’s lower body development is disproportionately massive in contrast with his hot, tight, tanned upper body. But this award is about the best legs, and holy fuck, Austin Tyler’s got them.
I can think of no better place to fall asleepAustin’s quads make Jobe disappear into the background.Form and function perfected.
There are so many more sexy legs out there than I can squeeze into a top 3 list like this. So I just have to mention the bevy of beautiful legs that deserve to be very honorably mentioned for their appearances in 2017: Kid Karisma (BG East), Kevin James (MDW, aka Tank at Thunder’s Arena), Eagle (Thunder’s Arena), Mr. Joshua Goodman (BG East), Dolf (Thunder’s Arena), Damien Rush (MDW, BG East). Van Skyler (BG East) Steel (Thunder’s Arena), Payton Meadows (BG East).
I was recently chatting with a friend about the potent allure of a baby heel. I love it when they’re fresh and young and hot and mean as fuck. I also love suspense, so when an up-and-coming heel cockily climbs into the ring with an air of vulnerability about his nascent career, I get excited to see what happens.
Charming as Fuck
Chase Addams has successfully excited me for the past year and half as he’s started clawing his way into BG East. He’s frequently indulged my prurient curiosity in him by granting me interviews. In fact, I’m guessing I’ve never interviewed a rookie this often with this few matches under his belt. I like the look and sound of Chase. I like his explicit devotion to promoting quality professional wrestling for a gay audience. I love his moves and his ambition. I want to see him kick ass as he settles into the role of a vicious, obviously dangerous, unapologetically sexy baby heel. But he’s still raw, rawer than he’d probably like to admit. For all of his studied skills and training, he could get his ass kicked based on chance and inexperience alone. He’s a mean fucker, so my money is typically going to be on him, but then again, he could lose, and that potential turns me on twice as hard as I watch him step into the ring in Ringwars 28.
Big Toney Rico looks even bigger in person
Chase’s opponent is big Toney Rico. This is my first serious look at Toney in the ring. Fuck, he’s huge. I actually saw Toney in passing during my visit to BG East this summer. He’d been stuck in traffic on his way to tape this match, in fact. So when he blew in, he stripped down to those shiny silver square cuts, hydrated extensively, and then almost immediately headed to the ring room with a now slightly iced Chase. On the one hand, this gave me a chance to interview Chase and to study the fit of those black, custom trunks that I sponsored for him a couple of months ago. With a knowing grin, Chase let me eye fuck him as he showed off every angle, lifting his arms and turning on my command as I read his ass.
Chase giving me a long look at how these Bard-sponsored trunks fit, moments before his match with Toney.
So, sure, I owe big Toney for more Chase time. But on the other hand, I sensed that Chase was feeling just a little miffed at being left hanging. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to admit it, but the delay may have frayed the young stud’s nerves just a tad, as impatience crept into his voice.
Toney wants Chase to know that there are no hard feelings. WTF?!?
I’d half suspect that big Toney did it on purpose, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s such a fucking Boy Scout. A hunk this beefy and this sportsmanly is a rarity in this business. He holds the ropes for Chase to more conveniently climb into the ring. I know what you’re thinking. I was thinking it, too. Chase was thinking it, as well. Toney was in perfect position to exploit Chase with one foot in and one foot out of the ring. He could have viciously yanked up on the middle rope and racked the baby heel. He could have driven a knee to Chase’s chest as he crouched underneath the top rope. It was a vulnerable moment that Chase cautiously walked into with his eyes wide open. But Toney didn’t do any of those things. He was just being helpful. What the fuck?!
Chase knows that Toney breaks for ropes, the dope.
Chase similarly struggles to believe the read he’s getting on Toney as the big rookie repeatedly offers a sportsmanly handshake to demonstrate he has no hard feelings. He’s so fucking upright. With a body that beautifully built, he could dictate his own rules against an opponent Chase’s size (40 pounds lighter). But he’s such a Dudley Do-Right that he just obeys all the rules of fairness and civil conduct. He’s banking entirely on his physical strength and newbie ring skills to give him the fighting chance he needs to demonstrate his clean-cut superiority. Oh, fuck, I’m hating this guy so much. Make this fucker weep like a baby, Chase!
Toney diligently keeps the action in the middle of the ring.
The battle is a sweetly engaging teeter-totter, baby heel vs. baby babyface. Big Toney can essentially shot put Chase across the ring at will. Toney works his advantages with blunt force, muscle dominating Chase with tests of strength and effortless lifts. He impales Chase’s gut with a shoulder block in the corner, but like the goodie-goodie he is, he pulls Chase off the ropes to snap mare him into the middle of the ring.
Chase, on the other hand, exploits the ropes to their full, rule-breaking advantage.
For his part, Chase sucks down the pounding punishment like a pro and delivers surgical, vicious, rule-breaking strikes to level the playing field. A sudden heel strike to the side of Toney’s knee drops the big man abruptly. Instantly, he positions Toney’s throat across the bottom rope and chokes him relentlessly, kicking, butt dropping, and eventually full out standing on the babyface’s shoulders, full bodyweight pressing Toney’s throat into the rope and cutting off air to his lungs. The baby heel is unquestionably vulnerable against the overwhelming muscle and mass of his opponent, but as fresh as he is, this is definitely not Chase’s first rodeo. They trade momentum back and forth, but I can totally believe that Chase is on his way to pulling this out.
Like a baby
But then Toney scoops Chase up in an effortless cradle and holds him there. It’s a boss move. It’s completely fair and totally bad ass, demonstrating that Chase’s hot body is at his mercy. Finally, big Toney drops to one knee and slams the living fuck out of Chase’s back, holding him for a couple of seconds in an OTK, literally bouncing the baby heel on his knee before spilling him to the mat in a heap of anguish. Toney deliberately drops to the mat and pins his opponent’s shoulders to the mat, slapping down a 2 count before Chase kicks out. As they start to get to their feet, Toney offers another handshake to demonstrate that he’s still got no hard feelings, despite his sick ass brutal muscle domination. “Get that away from me!” Chase snaps furiously. “What is wrong with you!?”
Chase gets pissed.
And right there and then, I’m starting to get worried about our boy. It seems almost as if Chase was prepared to go toe to toe with another rule breaking bad boy, but is thrown off his game by big Toney’s extravagant sportsmanship. That note of impatience that I sensed in Chase’s voice a half an hour earlier creeps back in, as if Toney is ironically crawling under Chase’s skin with his iconoclastic, straight laced, dispassionately rule-abiding earnestness. There’s a bubbling rage in Chase that makes me seriously worried that he could get plowed under here, if his emotions get the best of him.
Chase broken in half in a series of power OTKs.
Indeed, Toney is pitching in probably a little over 50% of this match, and every gentlemanly offer of a handshake just keeps riling Chase up worse and worse. The baby heel gets rung out in more than one sensationally intimate bearhug. The desperation rises in Chase’s voice as he’s slapped down and ground underneath this mountain of straight-edge muscle. As I think about it, I was probably interviewing Kayden Keller out back right around the time Toney was scooping Chase up again in that total boss cradle, parading him around the ring, and pounding him down into another OTK. Then Toney muscles him up again, still in that same cradle, takes a step, and fucking drives Chase’s back down across his thigh, making the baby heel cry out. Then again, Toney muscles him up in that same cradle, takes another step, and drives him down again, pounding Chase’s tingling spine across his OTK still again, making our boy scream.
Welcome to BG East wrestling, Toney!
This is nowhere near the end of this match, and fortunes turn back and forth with sweet suspense. And since we’re talking about boss moves, you’ll have to watch for Chase trussing Toney up in a corner, spread-eagle suspended across the bottom ropes, before taking a running point-after kick driving Toney’s balls up into his throat. Both of these sweat soaked battlers celebrate victory with a pin fall. It’s just that one of them celebrates too soon.
Chase digs deep to level the playing field
So if you can’t tell, I love this match. I love the personalities. I love (to hate) big Toney’s relentless good guy schtick. I’m sucked in, as always, by the acrobatics and dexterity of Chase’s high class pro submissions. I love the psychological battle almost as much as the physical battle. I love not knowing who’s going to walk out of the ring the winner, leaving his battered opponent completely unconscious and drowning in a pool of both men’s sweat, liplocked and bested.
Baby heel in trouble
But I also love this match for how it sucks me in. When my boy Chase is getting pummeled and humiliated, it makes me want to dive into the ring and rescue him. Watching Toney bounce him in that OTK, listening to Chase scream, it ignites in me that same type of fantasy that drew me in so completely, watching pro wrestling as a kid. It makes me want to be there, to pick sides, to put my finger to the scales by wrapping my big bicep across Toney’s throat just when he thinks he’s got Chase owned. I want to hang from Toney’s chinlock as I bend him backward across the top rope, for Chase to deliver another vicious punt to the big man’s balls. I think it’s why I favor competitive matches, and why I’m so eager to pick my favorites. At its best, pro wrestling always drags me into the action in my mind. In this case it’s just that much more poignant knowing I was literally just 100 yards away.
Charming Chase classes up the place
In addition to getting off on the action as well as on the rewrite in my mind that ends with Toney screaming a final submission completely suspended off the mat in my Boston crab back-to-sweaty-back with Chase’s chinlock camel clutch, I’m also enjoying this match for whatever comes next. I have been craving a big, dominant, babyface bruiser to leave a wake at BG East for a while, and holy shit, Toney Rico could very well fill those wrestling boots. Of course I can’t wait to see him suffer, but I get the strong impression that big Toney will take down more than his fair share of hopeful heels along the way, perhaps balancing the scales just a bit at the notoriously heel-dominated company. And I’m also looking forward to watching Chase become, match by match, more himself. I want to see him grow meaner, more focused, and enjoy it just a little more. And I hope he just can’t shake that little twist of baby heel vulnerability that makes me believe he could use a little hand now and then from an amorous fan.
Like I said, I was underwhelmed by the October new releases, so I’ve foregone naming a Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month for that month and am doubling down on November. The first winner was my running favorite homoerotic wrestler who can’t stop winning my infatuated fanaticism even if he tried, Kid Karisma. My other HWOTM is also a long time infatuation and a perennial friend of this blog. Kid K’s co-HWOTM is none other than…
Mitch Colby took the fight to his longtime detractor, Cage Thunder.
Motel Madness 14 represents the culmination of what has to be one of the longest, hottest, most misdirecting sell in homoerotic wrestling history. It’s got to be close to a decade since Cage started harassing me about my fawning adoration of Mitch Colby. As soon as I’ve said a complimentary word about Mitch over the past 10 years, like clockwork Cage has popped up in the comments section to tell me that my fawning over Mitch is misplaced fanaticism. “Bitch Colby,” Cage has persistently misidentified him, tauntingly calling him a pretty boy whose victories only come when he’s picking on a wrestler much smaller than he is. All flash and no substance. Couldn’t handle a real man. “The bloggers waxed euphoric about his physical perfection, his skills, how he filled his trunks,” Cage commented in a recent post on his blog, clearly rehearsing his eye rolling contempt for this blogger’s Mitch-lust. On and on, Cage has been calling Mitch out with a pointed fervor that I don’t think I’ve seen from one wrestler to another in social media, and certainly never sustained for such a long time.
Cage is one of the most successful heel’s in BGE history for a reason.
I’d actually heard this match was in the vaults for some time, and I was perplexed by the odd juxtaposition of Cage’s raging trash talk and what appeared to have been embargoed evidence as to whether Cage has what it takes to back up all of his withering insults to Mitch’s magnificence. I actually heard through the grapevine that part of the problem was that Cage “forgot” to wear his mask for this match, and once unmasked, it’s hard to sell a masked heel in future matches. Whatever the extensive behind-the-scenes drama was, I tucked in with relish to watch all of that salivating, snarling contempt from this heel dig its claws deep into one of the prettiest, most babyfaced babyfaces in the business.
Cage shows Mitch what he thinks of all of those gorgeous muscles.
As I’d expected, when Cage is on offense, he’s fierce as fuck. He writes in another recent blog post about the curiosity of wrestling unmasked, and I have to say, it’s oddly disconcerting/provocative for me to watch as well. He’s more handsome than I’d have guessed. Almost pretty, in fact. I almost forget at times that this is Cage Thunder. And then he knees Mitch in the balls, punches his pecs beet red, and folds the muscleboy up and makes him choke on his bulge, and there’s no mistaking it. This is Cage Thunder. “What do you say, muscleboy,” he taunts, quite literally spanking Mitch’s gorgeous ass. Sitting on his face and driving his fists into Mitch’s meaty pecs, he asks rhetorically, “So, Mr. Bodybeautiful, how does that feel?” Yep, that’s Cage Thunder. It’s delightful watching his look of ecstasy when he’s working over his dazzlingly pretty nemesis. We don’t quite get to enjoy that side of the equation when he’s masked.
Twisted Cage
But even more provocatively, Motel Madness 14 gives us a glimpse at Cage caged. Agony twisting his face. The clear look of panic as he realizes that Mitch’s “prettyboy” muscles very well might just crack one of his ribs. We’ve seen Cage hurt before. It’s relatively rare, because he’s such a dominant heel, but it’s happened often enough to remember. But unmasked and undone by the fitness model he has been deriding for a decade, I can’t imagine how much less satisfying it would have been if he’d endured this muscleboy reckoning from behind his mask.
Mitch demonstrates that his gorgeous muscles are not just for show.
Read Cage’s blog and you’ll see that he’s suddenly soft pedaling his extremely well-documented taunting dismissal of Mitch, and now that this climactic end to a decade-long feud is available for public consumption, it’s clear why. Mitch Colby fucking owns Cage Thunder! A suddenly philosophical and contemplative Cage reflects in the pages of his blog about his undoing. It may have been that he was outmuscled. It may have been that he was just too turned on by the “overhyped prettyboy.” It may have been because he felt oddly out of step without his mask on. I’m sure all of the above excuses that Cage offers are true enough. But whatever may have been behind it, I can tell you one thing for sure: Mitch makes Cage his bitch!
Who’s the bitch now?
I mean, Cage Thunder gets buried under! This would have been a humiliating loss even if Cage hadn’t been talking shit about Mitch for years. As it is, it’s shockingly debasing. Cage chokes on Mitch’s bulge repeatedly. He’s “forced” to kiss Mitch’s mountainous biceps in complete subjugation. It’s less that Mitch beats him, and more than Mitch herds him like a sheep to the slaughter, patiently grinding Cage down to raw nerves and shattered illusions.
Cage succumbs to Mitch’s beauty.
I guess, honestly, I am surprised that Cage was so handily manhandled, even by the likes of by longtime babyface hero Mitch. But I’m downright shocked that a conquered Cage is so completely played by his own unmistakable lust for this man of muscle crushing him. All of Cage’s snide comments about how pretty and without substance Mitch is echo through my mind as I watch Cage’s eye’s lustfully soak in the sight of Mitch’s mighty muscles pinning him to the mattress. I’d honestly have thought Cage would have been hating himself right around the time he was lapping like a dog at the deep crevice between Mitch’s pecs, burying Cage’s face. By the look on his face, he’s not hating anything right around that time, though.
Cage Thunder can’t disguise what Mitch’s muscles do to him.
This is definitely not the first time we’ve seen Cage get ramrod hard by the heat of battle, but this is the first time I can think of when you can watch his cock visibly stiffen in his trunks the more brutally he is being dominated. I’ve long known that Cage Thunder is erotically stimulated by beating another man into submission, but I honestly had no idea that he’d rise to the occasion of having a babyface muscleman put him in his place.
Cage doesn’t exactly seem disappointed to lose to Mitch.
I think it’s entirely possible that Cage Thunder’s well-known inside track with The Boss could have been what kept Motel Madness 14 under wraps all these many years. If that were the case, I can only guess at what it may signal that his complete undoing at the hands (and pecs and legs) of Mitch Colby has been released anyway, and Cage’s epic downfall publicly documented. But I also think it’s entirely possible that Cage Thunder just played the longest running fan con in the history of homoerotic wrestling. I’m certain that well after this match was taped, Cage was still trashing Mitch in the comments section of this blog. He was still selling that heel contempt, that total trashing dismissal of one of the prettiest boys in the business, well after he and Mitch knew full well that he got owned by the gorgeous muscleman. And in the end, the dramatic reveal is just that much tastier for the real audience of Cage’s relentless call outs of Mitch over the years: you and me.
Cage adores Mitch’s muscles every bit as much as I do!
This would have been a crowd pleaser of a match, even if Cage had not been selling the hype for ages. But because he has been selling the hype, because he had built up the expectation of a classic muscleman destruction at the hands of a dominant, erotic heel, this match became downright legendary the moment I set eyes on it. At the end of the day, it’s clearly evident that Mitch is deeply satisfied by the results of this motel match. And there’s no mistaking the enraptured pleasure playing out across Cage’s unmasked face (and naked cock) as he settles into to that supremely rare feeling of being crushed into complete submission. And for everything on camera and off, for one of the hardest working heels in homoerotic wrestling, this match gets a standing ovation and a shower of my euphoric adoration, not to mention earning Cage Thunder a well deserved second title as Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.
Cage Thunder Unmasked – November 2017 (co-) Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month
October was not the best month in homoerotic wrestling history for me, as a viewer. One reason for this fact is that I was crazy busy, as evidenced by the sparse posting here. But of the new release homoerotic wrestling I did watch in October, I have to say nothing grabbed me with a passion that I typically enjoy when I make a Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month designation. There are some hot hunks who I’m keeping my eye on, who had matches in October, but even when I went back to check the record and dig into the October new releases I missed in real time, it felt like way too much of an effort to justify naming a HWOTM among them. So for just the second time (that I can remember), I’m leaving the title unclaimed for October.
However, with that vacancy, I’m exercising my authorial prerogative to anoint two HWOTM title winners for November. Before you bitch and moan about this being some miscarriage of justice, please see my extensive comments throughout the years reminding you that this is my blog. I make the rules. I break the rules. Today, I lift up the first HWOTM title winner for a November new release…
There are so many reasons Kid K remains my favorite homoerotic wrestler, topping that chart for, I believe, longer than anyone else ever has. When he squares off in the ring against Jobe Zander in Bulge Battles 1, Kid K is physically as on point as ever. Every angle of this muscled Adonis is perfection, as far as I’m concerned. You know the Besties are just around the corner, and it should come as little surprise that I’m lobbying hard to Kid Karisma to repeat his Best Body win from last year.
Just like me, Kid Karisma writes his own rules.
There’s something particularly tasty about the contrast between Kid Karisma’s perpetually precise physical perfection and his extravagant, color-outside-the-lines ring persona. When Jobe takes an initial advantage and starts immediately choking him across the rope, Kid K reverses, tosses the loudmouth into the corner, and shoulder blocks the fuck out of his gut with those gargantuan deltoid muscles of his. Trapped in the corner, Jobe bitches, “You are disobeying all the rules of conduct,” which I think could be the tagline to every Kid Karisma match ever. He’s impeccably detailed and recklessly raucous, both. Kid K is lusciously pretty when it comes to still frame aesthetics, and willfully ugly when it comes to overwhelming brutality.
Jobe starts to rip him apart, magnificent muscle by muscle.
Bulge Battles 1 is not a typical Kid Karisma match, however, because Jobe is not your typical opponent. For that matter, this is not your typical Jobe Zander. Jobe has been dragging around that growing chip on his shoulder for his past several matches, which is understandable. He gets precious little respect. He’s a sensational wrestler and much larger than life showman, absolutely tailor made for the pro ring. But his incredible assets are repeatedly overlooked once he inevitably lets his out of control ego and self-infatuation with his dick distract him from sealing the deal. It’s as predictable as gravity. Jobe is going to dazzle and destroy, but in the end, he’ll get humiliated due mostly to his own unforced errors. But in Bulge Battles he’s more decisive than ever. He’s more confident than cocky, which is something I’m sure I’ve never seen before from him at BG East. A few minutes of hard back and forth action, and I’m totally buying the story that Kid K is in for one of his toughest matches, and Jobe could very well finally, at long, long last, revive his abysmal match record.
Jobe weaponizes the Centerpiece.
To be clear, I passionately love watching Kid K in the driver’s seat. That said, as he takes harder and harder knocks from Jobe and suffers harder and harder, I am so turned on. It’s not that I stop pulling for my favorite wrestler to win, but I’m thrilled to see the deep, dark hole Jobe is digging for him to try his best to climb out of. When Jobe drives Kid K face-first into the mat and than starts stomping the living fuck out of those massive rugby thighs, there’s such a sweet look of panic on KK’s face as he literally crawls across the mat. He yanks down Kid K’s knee pad and digs his knuckles into the ligaments. Finally, an opponent has cottoned on that if Kid K can’t walk, all of that gargantuan power he has packed into his legs lies useless. Jobe manhandles one of the most dominant muscle hunks in competition with authority, bringing tears to KK’s eyes in crotch pillow headscissors. He shoves KK’s terrified face into the Centerpiece, finally putting that insanely proportioned package to its offensive advantage.
“How do you like that, asshole!?”
Jobe’s stock price is skyrocketing the more he’s plowing Kid K under. But honestly, Kid K’s stock price, already at record highs for me, is steadily rising as well, because he suffers in a pool of his own sweat and tears so poignantly. When Jobe twists him into a pretzel in a Boston crab, Kid K lets out a wounded scream of anguish. Jobe likes the sound, so he reaches down and claws the fuck out of KK’s balls and demands to hear more screams. Incredibly, Kid K obeys. It’s not like it’s a voluntary choice. He’s just selling this epic vulnerability at the hands of a shockingly dominant opponent that magnificently. I am actually putting the odds of even Kid K pulling out a come from behind victory at less than 50:50 at this point in the match. Against Jobe. What the fuck?! This is such sweet suspense!
Kid Karisma soars
Just when Jobe is bullying him with complete control, throwing him into the ropes and impaling Kid Karisma’s sensational six-pack with his knee, KK soars into a gorgeous flying drop kick. It’s a total gut check reversal of fortune that makes me cheer out loud. KK is far from being out of the woods. Just when he’s dangling his own but of meat in Jobe’s face, Jobe abuses his balls viciously. It’s not a turn on a dime scenario, but a gritty, mean, ego bruising back and forth that’s so compelling to watch. Kid K is back in it, giving and taking, and I’m giving him a 70:30 likelihood of pulling this out in the end, which is still shocking, when you check their relative careers.
Kid Karisma’s attention is on the Centerpiece
In the end, Kid K pulverizes Jobe. The cocky humiliation in the final moments is so much sweeter having watched Kid K on the brink, having seen Jobe literally spank his world class ass. It’s not just my cock giving a standing ovation as Kid K pries apart Jobe’s legs and slapping the fuck out of Jobe’s big balls. He wedgies Jobe’s trunks and spanks his sweaty ass in sensationally sweet retribution.
Pretty Boys Rock
“Pretty boys rock,” Kid Karisma explains in the fading moments of this match. And all of the grief I get for crushing on pretty boys feels redeemed. This match answers the age old question of what happens when a jobber with one of the biggest cocks in the business faces a heel with the tastiest muscle butts in the world. And that answer is that pretty boys rock. Congratulations to my first 5-time HWOTM title winner and still reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, Kid Karisma.
Kid Karisma – November 2017 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month
In MDW’s Oil Hunks 11, things are not what they seem. Well, some things are pretty self-evident. For example, Joey Justice is impossibly sexy. Fuck, look at that body. Tight, tanned, hugely muscled. The square jaw with thick, dark stubble makes Joey look like a muscled up Batman on vacation. He flexes proudly for the camera as Zach Altovito watches from the ring apron. “Aesthetics, baby,” Joey smirks with a sideways glance at Zach. Total eye candy? Of course Joey Justice is exactly that.
Joey squares off against Zach
And then there’s mountainous Zach. Holy fuck, look at the size of that? If Joey is a muscled up Batman, Zach is every ounce the Hulk with no CGI required. On the pretty-o-meter, Zach weighs in way behind dazzling leading man Joey. But for sheer magnetism, I have a hard time tearing my eyes off of Zach. Put them in a homoerotic line up, and I’d shock myself by kicking Joey to the curb for a a couple of hours with Zach and that bottle of baby oil in the corner of the ring.
Guns a-blazing
Joey is sure he’s got the superior muscle in the ring. He gloats over his jaw dropping physique. He brags about his superior power. The best 2 out of 3 armwrestling contest proves that Zach’s gargantuan guns put Joey to shame. “You got lucky, man,” Joey snarls bitterly, inexplicably, because that wasn’t luck, dude. You just got your pretty muscles owned.
The outcome of the test-of-strength/game-of-mercy is the same. Zach crushes Joey to his knees for the first score. “Where’s your strength at?” Zach taunts. Joey turns the tables to even things up. “I just needed to warm up,” Joey smirks and struts. The tie breaker is all Zach, almost instantly, total ownership.
Look at the quads on Zach!!!
“You come into my ring, flexing and posing, and now you’ve got nothing to show for it,” Zach snarls, vaguely pissed at the poser. “You have to wrestle to prove yourself,” Zach lays down the ultimatum. “Other than that, I’ve got no respect.”
Zach works up a sweat
They agree to oil stakes, which is sort of the first particularly sexy element to this match for me. I’m not fully convinced of the motivation, but they both agree to oil down the winner without any fuss. It’s just a bet. It’s not that they feel particularly emasculated by the thought of putting their oily hands on each other. I like the low key move on both hunks’ part.
After agreeing to wrestle, Zach asks Joey to show him that stunning double bicep pose again. A classic narcissist, Joey believes that he’s just that fucking gorgeous that Zach actually just wants to admire his muscles. He turns to the camera and strikes the pose. Zach drops to a knee and punches pretty Joey in the balls from behind.
The wrestling is concise, but intense. Zach’s reverse bearhug on Joey is lush. He throws him around the ring convincingly. He stomps on Joey’s legs as the square jawed, hypermasculine babyface writhes and whimpers like a bitch. “I’ve had enough!” Joey pleads, holding up his hands in surrender. “I don’t think you have,” Zach defies him, driving double fisted punches into Joey’s washboard abs over and over. He rides all over pretty Joey Justice. Pulling the pin up boy to the mat in a choke, he bears down on his windpipe, making Joey’s panic rise. “Tap out,” Zach demands. Joey does it, because he’s officially Zach’s bitch now.
The oil down is slower and more deliberate than it often is. Joey really rubs the oil in. When Zach demands he do touch up work on some missed spots on this biceps, Joey just reapplies another liberal coat. Fuck, Joey absolutely fades as Zach starts flexing those glistening muscles. God, Zach is the man. He instructs Joey to get the hell out of his ring, and like that bitch he is, Joey just does it.
But back to where this whole thing started. Things aren’t entirely what they seem. Joey spills the beans after Zach has fucking owned his ass in every form of physical competition. “You just got lucky,” Joey bitches again, “I don’t really wrestle, man.” On the one hand, I want Zach to open up another can of whoop ass on him for shattering the pretense that this is a wrestling match. But, on the other hand, there’s something oddly refreshing about just naming what’s been evident from the start. Pretense aside. Ignoring the art of kayfabe. I’m actually grooving on the oddly genuine moment of truth when, stripped of his dignity, Joey confesses that he’s a poser.
And suddenly in that moment, it occurs to me the other thing that isn’t quite what it seems about this match. Zach is a babyface. A gargantuan, superhumanly proportioned good guy. The premise is that he’s a heel, but everything about Zach screams an upright hero. Other than the blindsided punch to the balls. Though, even then, there’s something sort of right about that. But Zach’s domineering, contemptuous lines don’t have a ring of truth about him. I don’t actually believes that he loves crushing another man underfoot. I think he’s a little awkward about steamrolling all over Joey. No shit, I think Zach’s a heel poser!
Oil Hunks 11 is short on wrestling, and take Joey’s words to heart as a big ol’ buyer beware: Joey is no wrestler. You might think it’s a standard MDW heel-squashes-babyface match, but the twist here is that it’s a poser-on-poser beatdown. I’m probably loaded for about one more match of Joey getting trampled, if it takes longer and he cries a little more. But as for Zach, I’ve got a whole lot of fantasies that I’m aching to see more of, particularly if he brings a refreshing domineering, babyface bruiser angle to spice up the MDW formula.
I sat up and took notice when Zip Zarella returned to the BG East ring last month in Ring Kings. Once again, he’s sinking his teeth into a fellow indy pro veteran trying to make that dicey crossover into wrestling for a discerning gay audience. There’s something straightforward and upright about how he stares down the classic beefsteak Joey King. Math rules, as they agree to 30 minutes in the ring to amass as many submissions as possible. When the bell rings at the 30 minute mark, whoever has dragged more taps out of his opponent is winner.
Joey King is ripped from an 80’s pro wrestling fantasy
I’m always partial to competitive matches, so the concession that both of these sensationally equipped pros will likely score gets me hard before they lay a hand on each other. Truth be told, their hot bodies play a big role in that growing pressure in my pants, too. Joey’s got the body of a classic brawler from the 80’s. He’s like a young, much more handsome, fitter Arn Anderson. Full beard, a light coat of hair covering his pecs and stretching across his magnificent muscle gut to disappear down the front of his classic trunks. His ass is in serious need of getting grabbed. He’s handsome, with an air of inevitability about him, like a boulder rolling down hill. I like Joey. Quite a lot, actually. But for me he’s second fiddle in this match because he’s such the straight man in the scenario. He’s so upright. He’s so completely indy pro that I could just as easily get worked up watching him on TV doing the same character for the presumptive heterosexual audience. He’s such an 80’s beefcake that I almost feel like I need to keep my raging desire to shoot a load across that powerful, furry muscled gut a secret, like this is some guilty private pleasure that only I’m entertaining back in my adolescence, discovering what a turn on wrestling is.
I’d like to do something to Zip that makes him smile like that.
Thank the homoerotic wrestling gods that Zip Zarella shows up and drags this hot contest into the light of day. In still frame, he’s simply gorgeous. I know some of my fellow fans don’t enjoy pec tats nearly as much as I do, but fu-u-uck, I love every artistic angle of Zip. He’s smooth to Joey’s hairy. He’s harder and tighter than his opponent, with sharper angles and muscle separation. He strikes a leaner profile everywhere except those magnificent legs. Fuck, his thighs are sensational, with thick, shapely quads and that fantastic bulge of powerfully built hamstrings that ebb and flow, muscle transitioning smoothly to muscle as the back of his legs meet his bulging, hard glutes. I’ve got a major crush on the boyish smile that stretches across his face when he’s coasting on top. I’d like to give his lovely, tight nipples a tongue lashing to make that pretty smile shine.
“You’re mine, bitch!”
Joe coincidentally just wrote a post reflecting on Zip’s enigmatic character. I like Joe’s assessment of Zip as a sadist’s sadist. He “beams instead of glowers,” Joe argues, noting that Zip is almost too personable and pleasant to really qualify as a heel. I get that. I also think that a lot of what I like about Zip’s spirit is a little extra he brings beyond just a transliteration of straight indy pro to the BGE ring. When he’s wringing Joey out with a reverse bearhug, his hips thrusting forward into Joey’s meaty ass, he snarls, “You’re mine, bitch. Tap!” The tap tallies trade advantage back and forth, but when Zip starts to get a little distance, he targets Joey’s hairy gut with knees and punches, driving him to the mat and standing on the back of his head, choking Joey across the bottom rope. “I’m in control now!” There’s ecstasy in Zip’s voice. When Joey tries to punch his way free from being trapped between Zip’s insanely sexy thighs, Zip dials the big brawler back into being his bitch with sensationally sexy nipple torture.
Joey’s offense highlights Zip’s assets.
It’s every bit as competitive a match as promised. Joey is vicious. He repeatedly targets Zip’s balls with flailing place kicks. He leers down at Zip at one point as Zip tries to peel himself off the mat, tries to claw his way up to his hands and knees. Joey straddles his back, hops up and drives his juicy ass down into Zip’s lean, muscled lower back. Zip stubbornly keeps climbing up to his hands and knees, and Joey keeps using that bubble butt to pound him back down. Joey’s brutal and bitter and does a fantastic job of holding up his end of the suspense. But where Zip lays down tauntingly erotic subtext, Joey’s trash talk is flatly straight. He tauntingly calls Zip a geek, a preppy. He promises to twist him like a pretzel. It’s fun and domineering. But it isn’t, on its own merits, sexy.
Joey can’t appreciate that gun show. That’s for you and me, fans.
Zip, on the other hand, is just so fucking sexy. I have no idea whose team he plays for on his own time, but his playful sadism dancing on the edge of homoeroticism makes me think that Zip understands that this audience is getting off on him. Some of the indy pro recruits in our homoerotic wrestling universe seem wooden and vaguely uncomfortable with the implicit nature and interests of the audience. But my intuition tells me that, at the very least, Zip is entirely cool with that. If anything, I’d guess that Zip enjoys being the object of our lusts. I can hope that, perhaps, our adoration might even get Zip hard in return.
“I’m in control now!”
When Zip indulgently strikes an aesthetic pose and flexes his gorgeous body in victory, he does it for you and me. For that, I’m a fierce fan. I hope we see Zip swim out into the deep end and take on more than just the brittlely upright indy pros only vaguely at peace with wrestling for a gay audience. Keep looking like you do, Zip. Keeping doing what you do. It’s all good.
Zip faces Joey’s brutality.Zip careens unhinged into viciousness.Zip takes pleasure in his work.
For months, Ty Alexander has been telling me that he’s a new man. Tired of not being taken seriously, relegated to the jobber heap, the comic relief, Ty has repeatedly dropped hints that he’s undergone a transformation. When I interviewed him at BG East this summer, there was evidence at hand. He was the only wrestler who sat for his interview shirtless, repeatedly flexing his lightly hairy pecs and smirking when he caught me staring at them. More than just the obvious muscle mass, though, there was something edgier about Ty. He’s less cocky but more confident somehow.
So I was eager to see his recent match against the lovely little newbie Steve Mason. It had to be recorded this summer. Ty was in that same shape, with that same confidence to go with the meaty, flexing, lightly hairy pecs. They silently get down to business and immediately Ty outmuscles the tasty newbie. With sheer force of will, he presses Steve into position. He manipulates the newbie’s muscled body commandingly. He spanks his ass and crotch-rips the rookie’s legs open wide in a spladle. It’s assertive and decisive. It’s not nearly so self-congratulatory and self-absorbed as the old Ty.
Steve’s got skills!
It’s that much more shocking when Steve outmaneuvers the upperclassman and locks down a figure-4, smothering Ty’s face in the newbie’s ass. He gets the first submission, and most shocking of all, it isn’t because Ty was showboating. It isn’t because Ty was distracted by his own beauty. It isn’t because Ty got comically cocky. It’s just because Steve earned it. There’s something more compelling and suspenseful about this match than Ty’s previous outings, not because he’s suddenly a bulldozing heel, but because giving or taking, it’s honest and raw without the glitz and strut. “Lucky,” Ty snarls, echoes of his less responsible, more petulant prior incarnation rising up defensively. “That’s not luck,” Steve smirks. “That’s skill.”
I expect to see big things from “little” Steve Mason
I like to think of myself as a connoisseur of young vine wrestling performances. I like to swish them around in my mouth and see if I can taste what future harvests may become with time maturity and experience. I live Steve. I like his look. I like his voice. I enjoyed the opportunity to meet him briefly, mostly in passing this summer, and he stands out in a crowd. In this match, he’s the first to squeeze his opponent’s balls. He’s fierce and determined, with a no nonsense attitude that’s the flip side of the smart-ass, sexy playfulness I caught a glimpse of behind camera. He’s beautiful in a demanding way, like he insists on being seen, studied, and appraised.
“Does that feel lucky?”
Steve submits to Ty headscissors, with a ball claw chaser, moments after scoring his first submission. “Does that feel lucky?” Ty taunts. Steve is pissed. I love that bitter edge. His ego got bruised, and hedigs into the action again with an earnestness that’s delightful. He’s also a surprisingly adept mat wrestler, and this plays out as honestly competitive. There are no fewer than 10 hot, decisive submissions traded back and forth, with the winner finishing the tally with a 6-4 advantage. But the numbers disguise the intensely erotic quality of the action.
Really big things from Steve Mason.
Their singlets were more for seduction and show than function anyway, so there’s little wonder they get torn off. In the heat of battle, both boys can’t keep their hands off of each other’s crotches, but in Ty’s case, he also can’t keep his eyes and his lips off of the newbie’s package. Stripped to a purple thong, there’s a leviathan lurking just beneath the surface, responding as if with a mind of it’s own to Ty’s growing infatuation. Ty adds to his tally with an OTK backbreaker, sliding his hand inside and checking for stolen goods in all of that massively packed baggage.
Gargantuan things from Steve Mason!
It is most definitely not your average debut when Steve slides Ty into face-to-crotch headscissors and lets that swelling, mountainous bulge do all the talking. Ty chokes on the beast, kicking and fighting, until demandingly Steve grabs the back of his opponent’s head and pulls Ty’s face pressed even tighter into his now bouncing behemoth. “Looks like you like it down there,” Steve observes objectively, noting that Ty isn’t fighting it. He’s just groaning in pleasure. Finally gasping for air, Ty taps out.
Ty sends a message to the haters and doubters.
Lean, pretty little Steve starts getting buried under fast at this point, as Ty kicks it into a gear I never knew he had before. I’m sure it’s at least in part due to this new transformation Ty’s been telling me about. He doesn’t choke in the clutch. He outmuscles and outhustles his new plaything, with perfectly measured elements of bullying and erotic delight. Ty tells a whole new story, one built on superior skill, experience, and power.
There are phenomenally big, pendulous, HUGE things yet to cum for Steve Mason!
But I have to think at least a little of what motivates Ty to new heights is the truly remarkable sledgehammer hanging between Steve’s legs. When Ty unleashes the beast, there’s an audible thump as the monster slaps the mat. I’m restricted from showing you pictures (sign into Arena for the photographic evidence, or buy this DVD to watch the leviathan in motion). But it should say something to regular readers when I report that I’m just a bit at a loss for words to convey the magnitude of this debut. I take back and heartily apologize for referring to him as “little” Steve, because that word simply can’t stick once his bazooka comes out to play. “Woah. Impressive,” Ty makes the understatement of the year.
Ty tastes an honest, no shenanigans victory
Steve even manages to keep wrestling for just a bit after he’s been stripped naked, which is a feat to behold. But like I said, this is Ty’s story to tell, and once they sort out who “wins,” they make out furiously and put both guns to blazing. Indeed, this is a whole new Ty, and I’m excited to see what new ground he breaks with this newly built muscle and new found attitude. And as for all of you Best Bulge contenders, move over and make room for the most jaw dropping debut I think I’ve ever seen. No, you need to move over farther. Farther. Steve’s contender needs a whole lot of room!
So now that I’ve come up for a little air, I’m backfilling the Homerotic Wrestler of the Month titles that I missed while I was MIA. Someone has got to unseat Mason Brooks’ beautiful ass off of the throne. I have low simmering wrestling crushes on exactly 50% of the wrestlers who appeared in BG East’s September Catalog 122, but let’s be honest. One wrestler in the field of new releases strolls in as a living legend among merely magnificently hot mortals. There’s just one choice for me when it comes to lauding September’s HWOTM, and that living legend is…
How in the fuck has Kid Vicious not been my HWOTM before!? I mean, seriously, it defies belief. I mean, REALLY, it seems actually, literally impossible that Kid Vicious hasn’t already been a HWOTM winner. I love his work. I’ve always loved his work. I’ve mused often about the uncanny way KV has of doing to an opponent exactly what I’m screaming at the screen to be done. He slams a hottie into an OTK backbreaker, and I scream, “grab his balls!,” and no shit, 2 seconds later, KV grabs his balls. I scream, “suck on that bulge!,” and I kid you not, moments later KV bends forward in that OTK and wraps his lips around some hot hunks quivering bulge. KV gets me, and so it’s no wonder to me that I get so out of control excited to see him return to the ring after much too long an absence.
KV tastes the appetizers.
The juicy piece of meat to lure KV back in front of the camera is a hot bodied pretty boy named Devon Britt-Darby. How could KV pass up sinking his teeth into this hyphenated, self-infatuated narcissist with un-fucking-believably ripped abs? Apparently they’ve already sorted out the details before they arrive at ringside. KV is the unstoppable heel who will not be resisted, and Devon has abs of steel that cannot be broken. Of course, I’ve never seen Devon before, and sure, he’s got a seductively lickable muscle body, but there isn’t half a second that I spend thinking that he has a chance in hell of withstanding KV.
KV tenderizes the beef.
The only question I’m asking as KV beats the living fuck out of Devon’s gut is whether he will strip this newbie naked and suck out his soul before all is said and done. I love the way that KV gets amused by just how tough Devon is, how long he endures KV’s relentlessly focused brutality. That luscious KV sneer speaks volumes as Devon’s impassive face starts to crack in twinges of grimacing agony. KV loves his work in a way that makes me absolutely adore him.
KV LOVES his job.
I won’t name names, but there are plenty of wrestlers who leave me wondering why they’re wrestling, like they’re bored or resentful of the mere fact that they’re climbing into the ring. I never question why KV wrestles. He gets off on it. He gets off on conquering another man. He gets off on taking possession of another man’s muscled body. He deeply delights in driving a cocky stud to the bring of terror and shocked self-doubt. Devon goes down that well-worn path, looking with disbelief at his own quivering, quaking, weeping muscled body and realizing that he’s been transformed into KV’s bitch.
DB-D assumes the position.
This isn’t my favorite KV match, but it’s totally, sensationally, 100% KV magic, which elevates it to a class all its own among the new releases. I’m not allowed to post the full monty pics by agreement with BGE, but let me just assure you that yes, indeed, KV beats the living fuck out of Devon’s “unbreakable” gut. He does strip the newbie naked. He absolutely sucks out his soul and takes total possession of DB-D’s hyphenated manhood.
Fuck… that sneer!
I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there are plenty of people loving on this match because of Devon. I totally get that your attention may be drawn to the pretty, shiny, ripped thing whose washboard core is the titular character of this match. But I have a hard time taking my eyes off of KV’s face, his ecstasy, his crotch warming pleasure that just grows and grows as Devon’s body falls apart. It’s Devon’s gorgeous gut, but this bash is all about Kid Vicious for me, and the moment he baptizes Britt-Darby with a shower of cum from his legendarily lovely Rod, he takes sole possession of the HWOTM title for September 2017.
Kid Vicious – Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – September 2017
I thought I’d better post something before someone prematurely starts writing my obituary. I’m still adjusting to offline changes in my life, but I’m also happily carving out stolen moments here and there to enjoy watching hot wrestling. My thanks to those who periodically check-in when you notice I’m quiet for a while. It’s always nice to be missed. And a big word of humble gratitude to man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams who not only noticed my absence, not only dropped a comment on the blog asking how I’m doing, but also let me know that he’s thinking about arranging an opportunity for me to see him wrestle in person.
Scott Williams
Fuck, that’ll bring me back from death’s doorstep anytime. Honestly, if you ever find me in cardiac arrest, skip the CPR and just get Scott Williams on the line letting me know when and where I can get a live show of him making Ty Alexander cry and beg. I guarantee you that’ll be an instant miracle cure.
Scott hurting pretty boys makes life livable.
If you know me, you know I’ve got opinions piling up about the best and brightest new releases that have come out over the past couple of months. While I’m assembling my thoughts and trying to sort through a backlog of reviews, this post is mostly just to let you know I’m still kicking. And in that spirit, here are some hot, decisive kicks that make my heart beat harder.
You know, of course, that Christmas is coming up. And there’s a new year soon to follow. And there’s a perfect gift out there that combines hot, gay rugby guys and a sensational teaser of my favorite homoerotic wrestler.
Check out the Seattle Quake gay rugby team 2018 calendar. This is the perfect present for anyone into hot, athletic gay guys and superhero camp. And, no I’m not just talking about me. Well, okay, yes. Me. But this would scratch an itch for so many people on your list.
And if mine comes autographed by Kid Karisma, perhaps I’ll be ready to believe that 2018 will turn this hellhole of a moment in history around after all.
After agreeing to wrestle, Zach asks Joey to show him that stunning double bicep pose again. A classic narcissist, Joey believes that he’s just that fucking gorgeous that Zach actually just wants to admire his muscles. He turns to the camera and strikes the pose. Zach drops to a knee and punches pretty Joey in the balls from behind.
Sidelineland 