wrestlebard

Sensational Nightmare

June 30, 2016 wrestlebard1 Comment

Can terrifying be sexy? Uh, have you seen Christian Bale in American Psycho?! Ryan Reynolds in the Amityville Horror remake? Luke Evans in Dracula Untold? Clearly, gratuitous sexiness in horror entertainment is not just for adolescent straight boys.

Which brings me to my next (largely rhetorical) question: is there a place for terror in homoerotic wrestling? As major fan of both genres, my knee jerk reaction is to say “of course.” But reflecting deeper on the question, I suspect that the issue may likely be yet another us/them divide in gay wrestling. Dabbling in the crossover, however, BG East’s Ring Release 4 tests precisely those waters.

Drake doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.

In the trope of a slasher flick, Drake “Don’t Call Me Jobber” Marcos is the virginal (uh, yeah) victim who doesn’t realize the terror he’s about to face. He’s irked in the ring, having been stood up for a match. Just when he decides to walk away and pound out a frustrated solo (okay, I added that last bit), the lights in the ring room go out. “What the fuck!?” the Cheshire Cat whines. “Are you kidding me with this shit?” There are ominous sounds of chains clinking, the squeak of the jostled ring ropes, the sudden, still silence of impending doom.

Kayden is prepared to get off on the terror.

When the lights come on, heel pup Kayden Keller is suddenly standing right next to him, wearing sensationally sexy, slick, black square cuts and a hungry grin. What follows is a barrage of rage, fueled by bitter rivalry and some private grudge. The virgin (uh-huh, sure) Drake is quickly suffering hard, caught off guard and at a distinct size disadvantage. There’s an atypical edge to the attack. Kayden’s big hands wrap around Drake’s throat early and often, throttling him, pinching off his carotid, severely restricting air to the lungs. “You’re starting to piss me off,” Drake croaks with false bravado. “You’d better shut your mouth,” Kayden advises with a chilly calm that signals his certainty that there’s just one outcome fated for this match, with the only question being the degree to which Drake will be tortured.

Stuck between a couple of rocks and a hard place.

The bitterness between them almost makes this feel like a tag team match. Just when you think there’s got to be an ebb to the intensity, a coming up for air, instead there’s a fresh boil of rage bubbling up. Kayden’s long, lovely, strong legs shackle his victim into helplessness. Putting on a brave face, Drake tries to punch free of bodyscissors. Suddenly, Kayden flexes his gorgeous quads, and his victim goes rigid with agony. Drake climbs to his knees, determined to pry his tormentor’s knees apart. Again, Kayden’s quads turn to granite, and Drake arches backward, screaming in a mixture of terror and disbelief of the debilitating power crushing him.

If the comparison of Ring Release 4 to a horror movie holds, think in terms of Scream, where the serial killer takes a beating along the way. Drake uses his sultry, sexy legs to break another potentially crippling hold, and suddenly the Cheshire Cat is grinning on top of a schoolboy pin. “What is that Michael Myers shit, sneaking up like that?!” he shouts into the villain’s face with fury.

“Come on, bitch! All of that black gear, who do you think you’re fooling?”

I’m particularly a fan of Drake’s legwork, having felt the bruising power in his scissors myself. With Kayden’s right arm locked up high and tight between Drake’s lightly hairy thighs, the Cheshire Cat viciously hyperextend’s his attacker’s elbow. Momentarily, Kayden’s red-eyed rage disappears behind squinting agony of his own. “Come on, bitch!!!,” Drake roars with frustration, latched on tight to a thin hope of defying fate. “All that black gear, who do you think you’re fooling? Fucking give up, bitch! You’re mine!!!”

The waves of terror keep crashing into Drake’s naked body

I always love it when Drake crows and struts, riding a wave of offense, even though you and I know (and I think, deep down, so does he) that every effort he makes to grab for the ring, every taunt, every small act of mercilessness, is just digging his own grave deeper and deeper. Although Kayden may not be invulnerable, fuck me, he’s so damn long and strong! When he methodically works his way free from his victim’s clutches, the soul-grinding brutality is awesome. He rips his victim’s gear off (thank the homoerotic wrestling gods for that!). He plants Drake naked and dripping with sweat across the middle turnbuckle, prying the Cheshire Cat wide in a sweetly vulnerable spread eagle. The heel pup salaciously and sadistically tortures his victim with deep, digging claws and tormenting punches designed for the delivery of exquisite agony rather than strictly for submission. Only half conscious, Drake instinctively sucks at Kayden’s nipple shoved in his face.

Drake probably thinks that his total submission will earn him reprieve. He can be adorably naive like that. Kayden demands that his victim unzip his overpacked pouch with his teeth. On his knees, Drake obeys, gasping just a bit when Kayden’s big, fully erect cock comes bouncing out in his face. Savoring the moment free of corporal punishment, Drake sucks down a mouthful of meat, silently pleading, bargaining, promising that he can sate his tormentor’s hunger willingly.

The explicitly erotic elements that unfold in Ring Release 4 are loveless and every bit as bitter as every act of open faced aggression in this match. I think the iconic moment in the whole scenario is when Kayden takes his prey to the mat with another lush, sweaty, naked bodyscissors. Drake writhes and screams on his back, signaling with crystal clarity the possibility that Kayden’s crushing quads might just inflict mortal damage on one or more internal organs, if not snap the Cheshire Cat cleanly in half. Drake’s mouth gapes open, focusing on nothing but surviving the agony. And then Kayden reaches down with his left hand and starts to pump on Drake’s fully erect cock. I love that look on Drake’s face, as his eyebrows screw upward, looking like his head is about to explode with the combustible mix of too much pain and too much sexual pleasure bearing down on his mortal body. Kayden eagerly leans in and plants a wide open kiss, as if sucking down the soul of his gaping victim. The ecstatic bounce and quiver of Kayden’s power tool communicate just how satisfying it can be for a bloodthirsty sadist, when a plan comes together.

For the record, Drake submits last then cums first. Kayden then cranks out what looks like about a pint and half of heel juice all over the wrestling mat. I bet Drake thinks, right about then, that he’s survived this near death experience. That chain suddenly wrapped around his throat, dragging his wasted, naked body from the ring, suggests Drake’s nightmare has only begun.

Drake’s gear is ONLY good for choking him with it.

So, I love the raw edges and full-on commitment in Ring Release 4. As has been pointed out by others, both Kayden and Drake are perennial favorites of mine, anyway, but I really enjoy the scorching heat and desperate edge of terror that they toy with successfully throughout this match. I count just a couple of dings to the content, including Drake’s gear, which I frankly hate, and perhaps a tad too much vulnerability from Kayden to completely sell this sense of fated horror that I was hoping for. If ever there was a genre in which a squash made perfect sense, I think this would be it.

Physically, my infatuation with both pairs of gorgeous, strong, long legs in this match is just that much more intense. My growing crush on Kayden’s beautiful ass also gets a big boost in and out of his gear in the match. Hot, long held, relentless wrestling action, magnificent sell, and a compelling narrative make this a pleasing hit for me.

The Point

June 28, 2016June 28, 2016 wrestlebard2 Comments

Every so often I find myself in a conversation with another wrestling fan about what makes homoerotic wrestling “gay.” I’m not in the camp that would argue that all wrestling is particularly homoerotic. I’ve seen some wrestling that I would classify as thoroughly and tragically straight. An occasional wrestling match explicitly marketed toward us gay fans of wrestling will even strike me as not gay in the least. Which, of course, raises this persistent and recurring question of what makes some wrestling “gay.” I’ve said in the past that I think it’s the queer eye watching a match that ultimately qualifies (or disqualifies) a wrestling match as homoerotic. Thus, a wrestling match doesn’t have to climax in fellatio or anal penetration for me to find it outstandingly homoerotic. For that matter, I’ve enjoyed watching two wrestlers who I’m pretty damn sure are, on their own time, straight as rulers, engage in entirely non-explicit, classic pro wrestling, and peg my homoerotic meter hard. Then, of course, there’s the distinction between a wrestling match that’s explicitly gay as opposed to a wrestling match that’s homoerotic.

Walking hard on, BG East classic Dino Serra in Wrestle Shack 7

There are a lot of moving parts to deconstructing what makes a particular wrestling match gay (or straight, for that matter). But I recently found myself arguing that one component that transforms wrestling into homoeroticism (and not just being gay), is that iconic barometer of male erotic attention: the erection. I’ll add it to my swelling collection of homoerotic wrestling if I get hard watching it. Even faster, I’ll drop it in the “homoerotic” side of the equation the moment I see one of the wrestlers sprout wood.

Lance Jeffers crotch monster stole the show in Wrestle Shack 6

I’ve had a few conversations with experienced, gay professional wrestlers from BG East about the topic of erections in the ring (or on the mats). Clearly, the heat of competition, the conspicuousness of a camera crew, or perhaps the camera itself can be a cold shower to gay wrestlers who happily report getting hugely turned on by wrestling on their own time, but don’t quickly rise to the occasion when the cameras are rolling. But thankfully, the pro wrestling erection is not all that hard to find at all, and I send up a little cheer and prayer of gratitude to the homoerotic gods every time I spot one.

Wade Cutler added impressive bulge to his already bulging body in his Hard Pros matches.

I’m definitely not a size queen, but it is true that more massively endowed members are more readily spotted, particularly when the trunks are still on. And I really love what a big, growing, stretching, swelling cock looks like straining at the seams of beautifully snug wrestling gear. It’s often (not always) value added for me when a raging erection is openly acknowledged and a full-on plot device in a wrestling match. That said, there’s something poignantly, intensely erotic about the unmentioned special guest that shows up unannounced, obviously born of an unspoken, deep down, honest to the wrestling gods erotic enthusiasm for muscle pounding wrestling.

It’s all about the magnificent, massive, pounding cocks in Cockfight 2

So, sure, I could conceive of wrestling that’s gay and yet not all that homoerotic (though just knowing that wrestlers are gay likely tips the scales on my side of the screen). And I treasure many wrestling matches between ostensibly straight wrestlers who, nevertheless, crank my erotic fantasies with both (all four) hands hard. But a surefire element that never fails to make me claim a wrestling match as my kind is a hard, bulging, visibly swelling erection (preferably two or more) that stands as a living, weeping embodiment of what has made wrestling an erotic obsession of mine all my life: it’s a fucking fantastic turn on.

Lucky rookie Frank Daly found out what effect wrestling Kid Vicious can have on him!

Rick Hunter discovered how excited Kid Vicious was to wrestle him in Wrestle X

Selfies, Lies, and Videotape

June 24, 2016 wrestlebard9 Comments

It seems like several of us bloggers have been anxious for some satisfying tag team wrestling. Count this as the third of, thus far, three reviews that I’m aware of the first match in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 19. Joe published a straightforward match summary that catches the spirit and pace of the match. Like Joe, the antics had me laughing at times, though it seems as though the match may have stroked my kink a little more successfully than it did Joe’s. Alex was actually first out of the gate with an insightful review of the same bout. As Alex points out, this is a classically crafted tag team match full of respect and full throttle enthusiasm for old school tag team melodrama. I whole heartedly agree. It’s over-the-top, character-driven pro wrestling action, but over-the-top only as far as classic pro tag team wrestling (think at least 30 years ago) was over-the-top. So often, homoerotic wrestling products succeed precisely by bringing the camera in close and documenting the humanity (and obvious erotic text/sub-text) of pro wrestling in intimate detail. TTT19 pans back, paints with a broad brush, and successfully conveys a pro wrestling narrative that’s larger than life and perfectly on pitch for conveying heroes and villains, inflated egos and strained alliances, astonishingly high quality wrestling finesse and blunt force trauma.

Ring veterans Ty Alexander and Christian Taylor sell

First, let me give a nod to veterans in the ring. Both Christian Taylor and Ty Alexander have possessed the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month here at neverland in the past, and they both have earned a huge fan following. Ty is, over time, crystalizing into his truest self, I think, with TTT19 documenting his deepest, darkest descent to date into dangerous, raging, psychopathological self-infatuation. And Christian clearly stores a secret portrait of himself in the attic, because he is somehow fitter, younger, and prettier than ever (despite my being assured by insiders that this match was very recently shot). Ty does heel jobber to perfection, and Christian is the quintessential hot, hardworking, never say die babyface veteran.

Pairing each of these veterans with a fresh, raw newbie was a stroke of genius. To start with, I’ve had my eye on Charlie Evans for about 8 months, since first catching sight of him at MDW. In TTT19, he’s a fantastic sidekick to his superheroic partner. About 80% of the time, wearing stars and stripes gear is a very bad omen for BG East wrestlers, but there’s a cocky irreverence about the All-Americans that keeps me on the hook. The good guys start the action by interrupting their opponents’ endless selfie obsession and delivering a beautifully synchronized beatdown on the badboys (an extremely cathartic moment for me, frankly). But then I literally stand up and cheer when bantam weight Charlie executes a handstand monkey flip, flinging a stunned Trophy Boy out of the corner and instantly into Christian’s waiting crotch-ripping spladle. This is NOT going to be a flat-footed pushing and shoving match. This is fucking serious pro wrestling!

Ty’s newbie partner, Chase Addams, has also instantly put me on the hook. I despise him (in a good way) before he even climbs into the ring. The smirk. The duck face. That fucking annoying headband. Within about 8 seconds of showing up on camera, he’s completely embodied the rash, cocky, unsportsmanlike pro wrestling heel he is. His trash talk and running commentary nearly steal the entire show for me. The match pivots on Chase’s quick wit and character flaws, like when Team Vanity is isolating and working the fuck out of each of their opponents in turn, with Ty bearing down big time on Christian with a gorgeous dragon sleeper. Ty shouts over his shoulder to make sure that his rookie partner is documenting this magnificent moment on his cell phone camera, but Chase is busy adoring his own handsome face staring back at him instead. It’s also Chase who kicks off the sexy-as-hell device of demanding, mid-submission hold, to hear from his opponent whose submission hold hurts worse, his or Ty’s. I don’t know where Charming Chase came from or what pro wrestling school he purportedly graduated from, but he’s emerged as a fully formed pro wrestler who can pace a complicated match with impressive acumen.

Chase cranks up the pressure (in my crotch)

Lest I make this match sound too, too straight, let me also say that both newbies in TTT19 are cranking my engine with both hands. There’s something sort of elven about Charming Chase, sort of kick-ass pretty, like Legolas ripping off his clothes and pumping out a most muscular to intimidate a foe. He’s lean and fit, but not whittled or swoll. On the one hand, I could picture some of the seriously big boys at BG East snapping the Charming One like a twig, but on the other hand, there’s a hard core center to Chase that makes me equally able to picture him cheating and stealing and clawing the fuck out of a big, muscle daddy’s balls to level the playing field. Like I said, that smirking, sneering, self-obsessed attitude makes me fucking hate this kid with relish, AND I’m pounding 5 or 6 out dedicated especially to him before I’m all done with this DVD.

My physical arousal for Charlie Evans takes me just a little by surprise. He’s so insanely lean, absolutely whittled down to an anatomy chart with a shock of ginger hair. I frequently key off on wrestlers with more mass, usually more muscle size, sometimes just more size overall, but Charlie carved out his own space in my wrestling lusts. I momentarily worry for the bantam weight when Team Vanity is double teaming the shit out of him. There’s a delicate veneer on Charlie that looks like it very well could shatter, strung up in that tree of woe with Ty’s knee grinding the Trophy Boy’s entire bodyweight down into Charlie’s balls. But the ginger babyface sucks down the punishment like it’s Diet Coke on ice. Screaming, sure, but the gritty undercoat on Charlie turns me on hard as I slowly grow to trust that those ultra lean limbs aren’t going to snap under his opponent’s assault. He’s also got a seriously above average ass on that lean, lean frame. And when he gets just a little giddy with the thrill of reigning down punishment on his narcissistic opponents, damn, I’m nursing a major hard on and just a little bit of a crush.

Double Armbar Suspended Backbreaker? I just call this sexy as fuck!

Alex and Joe have done a great job of outlining what this match attempts and accomplishes, so I’ll just call out a couple more moments that stick with me and make me enjoy this match so much. I don’t know if it a”double armbar suspended backbreaker” is the most poetic way to describe the hold that Chase wraps Christian up in, but whatever the fuck it is, it makes me gasp. Christian looks like a twist tie. There are about two dozen ways this sculpture could come crashing to the ground in a miserable heap, but it doesn’t, and Chase makes this work like a seasoned pro. And fuck, it looks like it hurts!

I also love, love, love this breed of All-American babyface heroes who despise their self-obsessed opponents just a tad more than they are devoted to following the rules. They signal their contempt very early, right after the opening salvo in which they slap Team Vanity down like bitches. Christian and Charlie high five each other for a job well done (thus far, at least), and they spontaneously peel out of their Stars and Stripes board shorts to battle the rest of the way in sensationally brief Stars and Stripes speedos. Why do they take their board shorts off? It isn’t really clear, but I read this moment as a direct challenge to the “pretty title” that Team Vanity seem to have already awarded themselves. Just to drive home the point, Charlie and Christian (the heroes, let me remind you), grab their opponents’ cell phones, tug at the top of their speedos, and take selfies of their own cocks, just to remind Chase and Ty after all is said and done just how much the All-Americans were packing in this match. It’s a similar vibe to the completely illicit double teaming that Christian and Charlie inflict on Ty, with a gorgeous face-to-crotch smothering headscissors by Christian with a Boston crab chaser by Charlie just to make the humiliation and agony that much worse. It’s audacious. It’s rude. It’s completely gratuitous and self-congratulatory. And I could seriously back this brand of postmodern babyface heroes!

h0112_lg — Ty sucks on the pain and humiliation

There are just a few things that would have perfected this match that much more for me. For one, all those selfies… fuck, I’ve said it before and, sadly, I’ll probably say it again, publish those fuckers!!! And I’m not (just) talking about the cock shots of the All-Americans (though, yeah, that would be major value added). I think when they bring multi-media into the narrative, it would be so sweet to download those pics and make them part of the promotion. Dial up the immediacy and authenticity by sprinkling in some of those very shots of Chase and Ty duckfacing, of the All-Americans screaming in submission, of the ultimate losers flat out cold and helplessly documented.

Another missed opportunity here is that this is a Christian Taylor match with no kissing. Christian is the reigning kissing king at BG East, and I’m slightly bitter that all of the self-congratulations the All-Americans enjoy doesn’t include a liplock for lucky, lucky Charlie.

Regardless of what isn’t in this match, by the end of it all, I’m a little more infatuated with every single one of these battlers. I love the story, and I’m thrilled with the action. There’s an unapologetic and out loud vibe throughout the match, and I’m not just talking about Chase’s face getting shoved into his partner’s ass. These are 4 hot boys who convey a genuine love and respect for pro wrestling and gay fans. I can’t wait to see more of Charlie and Chase. I never fail to be entranced by Christian. And I love the ever growing dangerousness of the Ty that makes his Trophy Boy narcissism many times more multi-dimensional.

Chase gets manhandled by a BG East veteran

Stay Hard, Ready and Real

June 21, 2016December 19, 2022 wrestlebard8 Comments

A very special bonus to prattling on and on about homoerotic wrestling the way I do is that occasionally, like a gift from the homoerotic wrestling gods, some magnificent hunk who has inspired my wrestling musings contacts me. Truth be told, it happens more than you know, because about 50% of the time those wrestlers decline my invitation to say something on the record, in their own words. But the other half of such cases are open to letting me toss some questions their way and to share their answers with the readers of this blog. Happily for you and me, bruising beefcake heel daddy Brook Stetson is in that second half.

Brook stumbled across neverland and found my adoring mentions of him, including when I named him one of my homoerotic wrestlers of the month five years ago for his work working over my long-time wrestling crush, Mitch Colby. We chatted a bit before we went “on the record” for the following interview. Amid so many pretty boys and twinks that get acknowledged on these pages, Brook wasn’t sure he was likely to rank high for neverland readers. Honestly, I found this completely confounding, because… well, fuck, LOOK at him!!?! And if you’ve ever seen Brook wrestle, you know that his brand of raw, rough, powerful, dominating, lustful grappling is precisely what this blog is all about. In any case, what follows is the delightful conversation that unfolded.

Brook Stetson (aka Brad Michaels, Vinny Reno, Clark Kent, Blockhead, The Tick, & American Dad)

Bard: Brook, thanks so much for agreeing to take some questions! I think you have one of the most distinctive looks in all of homoerotic wrestling. Sort of classic cowboy meets comic book superhero (or villain). What heritage produces that phenomenal physique and hypermasculine jawline?

Brook: I’m a full on mutt, I have a little bit of everything in the family tree if you shake it out hard enough. I guess on the plus side there is the old adage amongst breeders that mutts are stronger than pure breeds. I used to be teased in the military, being called Clark Kent, when I wore standard issue glasses. I was Blockhead in high school, university, and the Tick and American Dad, since.

Bard: I could see all of those. I was guessing a mix. Maybe a bit of Greek god, Roman god, Norse god, something like that. You’ve definitely got a face for stopping traffic.

Brook: Well, it is a very hard chin. It has been known to hurt those who land a punch on it.

Bard: I bet! So when you contacted me, you shared what I think may be the best compliment ever. After reading some of my blog you said that I “get it” when it comes to writing about your kink. Can you talk more about what “it” is?

Brook: That my wrestling, even when just “straight” wrestling, has a combat subtext of primal control, domination, and assertion of sexual superiority. I get off on the emotional, intellectual, and physical struggle of it all. I’m one twisted fuck [laughing].

Bard: Call me “Pretzel,” then, because that makes two of us twisted fucks. I’ve seen a lot of your matches, and I’ve often found myself thinking of you like a force of nature, like the pounding tide or a gale force wind: irresistible and irrepressible. How would you describe your wrestling style?

Brook: Equal parts bull in a china shop, technician, and amateur sadist.

Bard: I can see all of those ingredients. I’ve seen you wrestle big, bruising opponents like Mitch Colby as well as guys much smaller than you, like Skrapper. Is the experience any different for you in a catch weight contest?

Brook: Absolutely, I have a tendency to break my toys so I need to employ more finesse and skill with a catch weight than I do a similar sized victim. Both are a lot of fun but in different ways.

Bard: Are there any matches that stand out for you? Opponents that uniquely tested you, took you by surprise or particularly turned you on?

Brook vs. Chance Caldwell in Fantasy Fight 11

Brook: Chance Caldwell for BG Enterprise, he had been an Olympic contender in Greco Roman for Czechoslovakia. He really made me use my amateur skills. Mike Adams for NHB Battle and I started to battle often off camera and was some of the most rough fun I have had with a straight boy. Skrapper was a blast because he took a lot of punishment and kept coming back for more; he is lucky I didn’t rape the fuck out of him. Tony Vencini and I had some good combat foreplay that needed more exploring and then one of my favorite jobber toys was Mitch Colby. Let’s just say that what’s played on camera doesn’t scratch the surface of what’s off camera.

Bard: I haven’t seen the Chance Caldwell match but I love him! I have to look that one up. I greatly enjoyed your matches with Skrapper, Tony and your Mitch match was award winning on my blog. How does your wrestling in private compare with what we see that gets published?

Brook: It’s more primal privately. For the camera you have to leave space and time for the camera to follow and capture the shots. I rarely allow that much airspace privately [laughing]. Shooting a match for video is difficult for me because I tend to let my instinct take over and can forget to stay on script. I’m not naturally submissive or tame so I have to really try to capture those traits when needed.

h0905_lg — Suffering for long is not something that comes naturally to Brook

Bard: How much direction do you get when you’re taping a match for public consumption?

Brook: Surprisingly, not a lot. I’m pretty lucky in that most of the companies recognize a certain level of skill and chemistry I have with my opponents and let it play out mostly. Usually the direction is slow it down or cheat the shot more towards the camera. I just completed a couple for Naked Kombat where they literally said, you guys just go for it and we’ll try to keep up. Now that was fun!

Bard: You wrestled for NK? Damn, now I’ll definitely have to resubscribe. As an avid consumer, the experience for me is intensely intimate, just me watching anonymously as you and your lucky opponent tear into each other in the illusion of privacy. But it’s obviously not that private on your side of the camera. Is the crew behind the scenes distracting?

Brook: Those two matches were done with the minimum crew to get a great shot, but they had a lot more than I’ve had in the past to allow the match to really proceed as naturally as possible, the only reason I agreed. That and the fact that they offered me some choice beef and I was a hungry mutt [laughing].

1608_lg — Brook loved a heaping serving of Tony Vencini in Mat Brats 2

Bard: Sounds fantastic! I can’t wait. When you have your pick of choice cuts, what sort of beef do you like sinking your teeth into?

Brook: I’m pretty omnivorous. It’s just got to have a lot of fight in it or I sate to fast and lose interest.

Bard: Clearly you like to play with your food. Fuck, I’m getting hungry. I’ve always wanted to tell you that I think your ink is sensational. The color is stunning and the artwork looks amazing. And I love where it travels around your gorgeous body. Is there any special story about it?

Brook: I knew I wanted it and the placement to be where I could show it or hide it depending on the shorts I chose, etc. I found an amazing artist in NYC shortly after the ban on tattoo parlors had been lifted, since WWII. He had a place in the Hotel Chelsea, I used to go there and hang out and soak up the local color and history of it and we met. He was able realize in ink what I had in my head and 49 hours later (after several sittings), voila.

Bard: It’s incredible. The way it curls around your thigh and up your back brings wrestling to my mind.

Brook: Thank you, that’s very kind.

Bard: So you possess such a distinctive look- do you ever get stopped by guys who recognize you from your wrestling?

1502_lg — Outstandingly good, but not too good to be true

Brook: I haven’t ever be recognized on the street. I have been recognized on some of the wrestling match up sites. It usually works against me though and it’s assumed I am a fake profile. So it works against me more than for me, lol.

Bard: I could understand guys thinking you have to be too good to be true. But oh, the cruel irony if they pass you up! Have you ever done any pro style ring wrestling?

Brook: I have, I really enjoy it. It’s fun bouncing boys and myself off the ropes.

Bard: I could easily see you in the ring! There’s something about a pro ring that makes everything larger than life. I hope we see you in the ring for public consumption sometime. So what’s a typical gym workout for you?

Brook: I try to do a split work out, four days on, one day off. I’ve really been concentrating on my cardio lately so it’s five days a week. Now cardio can of course be various things from running to throwing down on the mat, I try to keep it creative.

Bard: Yeah, I can think of a lot of fans, including me, who’d love to be part of that cardio! What does a typical date with Brook Stetson look like?

Brook: Old School. Something where we can actually speak and get to know one another. A meal is good, walk on the beach, a fun activity like go-carting, hiking. Never shy away from some sort of physical activity. I want to get to know the person, test chemistry, and compatibility. A kiss or several is a must, everything is built from there. If it’s sub par, it’s never going to happen. It’s something that is ingrained and instinctual, it cannot be taught.

Kissing featured in Brook’s early career Sex Wrestling 3 match for Zeus with Dane Tarson.

Bard: Even though it can’t be taught, I feel like taking notes and studying diligently. I definitely feel like the kiss is make or break. And guys not into kissing need not apply. Have you ever dated someone you’ve wrestled?

Brook: Yes, both on camera matches and off.

Bard: That sounds like a ton of sensational chemistry, if things are firing on the mats and on one of those dates you described! Are there any wrestlers you haven’t had a crack at that you’d like to meet on the mats?

0603_lg — Mason Brooks makes the short list

Brook: Gareth Thomas, Kayden Keller, Mason Brooks, Kid Karisma, Matt Thrasher, Chance LaChance, Blue Rage, Cal Bennett, Ace Hanson, Van Skyler, Vasily Volkov……. It’s starting to become a long list, and don’t even start me on past roster wrestlers. WOOF!

Bard: Woof, WOOF! That’s a damn fine list! A little something for everyone. I’ve had a hard spot lately for some heel on heel match ups, so so many of those would scratch that itch so good! And don’t even get me started on how hot I’m getting thinking about you digging in deep on some of those pretty boys. Yum! I’d pay double for pretty much everyone of those match ups. In addition to the upcoming NK shoots, are we going to see you hit the mats on camera more in the future?

Brook: If the right cuts of meat are dangled and I’m hungry, yes!!!

Bard: Well, I just happen to have a couple hunks from your top pick list on speed dial, so I’ll be letting them know immediately that they are on the menu! For all of us twisted fucks with a Clark Kent erotic wrestling fantasy who have keyed into your brand of brutal physical domination, anything else you’d like to say to your avid fans?

Brook: On the mats, in the ring, or in life. Stay hard, ready, and real. And don’t forget…..I’m also just a guy, standing in front of a man, asking him to wrestle him [laughing].

Bard: [Laughing] I can guarantee that as long as you keep wrestling like you do, there are a whole lot of us who will stay incredibly hard. And if you keep paraphrasing Knotting Hill to such perfection, you’ve got a lock on another Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month title as far as I’m concerned. Thanks for being open to doing an interview!

Brook: I still think you are overestimating my appeal, but you’ve been incredibly kind and flattering. It’s been a lot of fun and very thought provoking. Thanks a lot, Stud.

Bard: My pleasure!

Boxes

June 20, 2016 wrestlebardLeave a comment

It’s taken a few weeks, but I’m thrilled to report that I’ve relocated chez Bard to greener pastures. My life is still mostly in boxes, but internet is up an running, so all is right with the world again. I’ve had the opportunity to watch just a little homoerotic wrestling during the transition, and I’ve got some exciting features and interviews in the pipeline. For today, though, I’ll just call out the eye catching new release teasers that have been making me salivate. As I’ve mused about before, there’s something a little magical about that liminal time between the first glimpse of marketing of new homoerotic wrestling matches and the moment of putting eyes on the product itself. I’m still consuming about 75% of my wrestling in DVD format, so that enticing moment of promise and anticipation can stretch at least a few days as the US Postal Service makes its way to my door (happily, that distance is considerably shorter for most of my favorite wrestling producers after this last move). Sometimes the marketing inspires my imagination in ways that the actual product never quite matches, but sometimes I’m particularly pleased to be caught by surprise, thrown a twist, or simply served up exactly the titillating, provocative wrestling fare that my heart desired. In the last couple of weeks, the following new releases have been tweaking my fantasies, and being between addresses has meant the opportunity to suck down that gratification has been even more delayed. What follows are the tried and true favorites of mine, and every match mentioned below features a hunk I’ve named homoerotic wrestler of the month in the past. I’m sure you’ll see reviews of at least some of these in the coming weeks as I settle into my new home and new routine, but for now, just the first glimpses catching my eye.

Christian Taylor and Charlie Evans tag up in Tag Team Torture 19

First of all, this tag team in the opening match of Tag Team Torture 19 is spinning me right round. I haven’t felt a good scratching of my ongoing itch for hot, erotic tag team wrestling in a long time, and the pairing of sensationally handsome and ripped veteran Christian Taylor (former homoerotic wrestler of the month around here) with lovely, lithe newbie and fan of neverland, Charlie Evans, could be just what the doctor ordered.

Team Vanity: Ty Alexander & Charlie Evans

Increasing my anticipation of this Tag Team Torture 19 match are Christian and Charlie’s opponents. Of course, I sit up and take notice when one of my boybanders, Ty Alexander, climbs into the ring, looking fitter and finer than ever. But his fan-turned-tag partner Chase Addams could very well need to join the band. Newbie heels are are a hard sell for me, though, so the jury is out as to whether the new kid’s marketed phenomenal attitude and ring skills will make me want to throw my underwear at him.

Matt Thrasher debuts as tag team partner for Brute Baynard

Sticking with TTT19 for just a tad longer, don’t think it escaped my notice that daddy-of-my-dreams and former HWOTM Matt Thrasher has made his BG East debut! I’ve fallen deep for daddy Matt since the first glimpse I got of him at MDW. I’m rigid with anticipation of what BGE might make of this salt and pepper muscleman.

Two boybanders in one match!? Ah, hell yes! You’d think Ring Releases 4 was a custom match I ordered, featuring my long time infatuation Drake Marcos and heel pup Kayden Keller. Drake keeps begging for another shot at taking me on in the ring, so I’m always keenly interested in watching the endless ways that his opponents break him apart piece by piece. I have high expectations that Kayden’s work here will be inspiring and devastating.

I’m also a Denny Cartier fanatic. I’ve named him homoerotic wrestler of the month at least twice that I can remember off the top of my head. There’s something raw and real about Denny, with a look that makes me weak in the knees and mat wrestling skills that bring me at full attention every fucking time. I don’t know if Chace LaChance is too much muscle and ego to handle, but damn, I’m eager to see Denny give it a go.

Also from Chace’s Spotlight, Jake Jenkins. Need I say more? I’ve been on team Jake from the start, and I’ve never failed to be fully satisfied and completely exhausted with every match I’ve seen of his. He has a dismal record in the BG East ring, making me worry about his prospects against Chace is this match, but his size and acrobatics combined with Chace’s muscle mass, leaves me anticipating a lot of gasping, awe and orgasms.

I’ve been off the Thunder’s Arena rotation for a while now, but the tempting teaser of another look at drop-dead gorgeous Eagle stomping the living shit out of Z-Man is one of a couple of strong motivators for climbing back into the arena again. Eagle was one of the rare newbies to convince me to make him homoerotic wrestler of the month, and I’m wanting to see what the sophomore year has in store for the beefcake.

The other motivator is the prospect of sampling Thunder’s new babyface bodybuilder Steel up against fitter than ever (how is that even possible!?) Marco, yet another HWOTM. Guys built as magnificently as Steel have a dismal track record when it comes to homoerotic wrestling, in my book at least. I still hold out hope for a second coming of Steve Sterling, a juicy, impeccably crafted bodybuilder who really takes to the genre with enthusiasm and promise. Even if he’s just eye candy, he’s in phenomenal hands in this match.

Can’t wait to dig in, and of course I’ll let you know what I think (as if you could stop me). It’ll probably still be a little while of unpacking and settling in before I hit my stride here again, but I’m looking forward to comparing notes with you soon.

Apparently

May 24, 2016 wrestlebard7 Comments

Much has already been written about BG East’s recent Demolition 10 match featuring Ty Alexander and Guido Genatto. I’m not sure that I have a lot more to add to the conversation, but it’s an important conversation to have, so let me add not more than about two cents worth. Also, Ty is one of what Joe has referred to as my personal homoerotic wrestling boyband, and I always want to promote my favorites.

Alex Miller at The Cave wrote the definitive review of the initially released match, including raves for the sensationally sexy execution of a totally over the top domination match. Alex also had more pointed critical comments of Big Daddy Guido’s choice of mid-match taunts, which apparently veered persistently toward the homophobic end of the pool.

I always endorse taking a look at things from multiple angles.

I say “apparently” not only because there’s a running bit about the word in the match, but also because I’ve only seen the post-production edited version, after which BG East staff, including Kid Leopard himself, took a closer look at the text and agreed that the slurs took a decidedly politically unaffirming turn. Staying true to their pro-gay raison d’etre, the final release of this match has a few moments of carefully muted audio that a sharp ear can note. However, if I hadn’t read Alex’s review, I wouldn’t have known that specific reason for it.

So my comments are mostly about the post-edit, though I will say that I think Alex, other fans who reflected on the topic on his blog, and Kid Leopard all deserve a ton of respect for having what could be a difficult conversation about the wrestling that turns us on. I stopped watching some gay-targeted wrestling companies years ago for repeatedly charging headlong into a “smear the queer” type of storytelling. I also freely admit that I have quite a bit of ambivalence about companies like MDW that similarly dip their toes in those waters, but after a similarly ethics-forward conversation I had with Muscle Master Kevin at MDW, I’m pleased that they have begun more carefully targeted and labeling their products for the gay fans who get off on gay bashing (which I will never understand), and gay fans who get off on wrestling.

Guido’s dialogue even in the post-edit is angry, aggressive and intentionally provocative. “Have you even gone through fucking puberty yet?!,” he taunts Ty the moment he sees him. In one of a few long, deep, intimate face-to-crotch headscissors, Guido acknowledges what you and I (and Ty) are seeing in sharpest focus. “Take a good look at that,” Guido orders the babyfaced beauty with his nose jammed into the massive heel’s balls. “You like those red trunks, huh? My fucking hot sausage looks good in those trunks, huh?” The fact that Guido names the obvious homoeroticism of this fabulous hold stirs something deep down in me. “Smells like fucking testosterone!,” he barks, “like a real fucking man, not a little fucking twink!”

My hunch is that the editor’s finger on the mute button had to get lively not long after this. Personally, some of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers are twinks. I think Ty may be the twinkiest babyface in competition these days. And the roaring narrative of a big, hairy bear crushing a lightweight twink and demanding to be called “Daddy” is golden. Twink isn’t a problem for me as a term, at all. But Guido certainly seems like he could be escalating the taunts rapidly at this point in the match.

“More fucking meat than you can handle.”

The sexual innuendo is thick in Guido’s endless, taunting monologue. “That’s right,” he growls as Ty struggles to pry his smooth, tenderized body off the mat. “Get on your hands and knees, bitch! That’s just where I fucking want you!” Guido alternately sounds like a gay hardcore porn star and a seductively empathic lover, switching back and forth in an awesome mindfuck for a dazed plaything like Ty. “How does that feel,” Guido suddenly asks, like he’s interested, as if he’s pounding for his own pleasure but suddenly wants to make sure he’s tickling Ty’s prostate just right. Then, back again to the hardcore porn side, Guido snarls, “I’m going to fucking stretch you out like a little hole!” Grabbing his own crotch and giving it a hearty tug, Guido muses, “More fucking meat than you can handle.” Then there’s a half second mute that you have to be sharp to catch.

I’m happy that BG East is on it and committed to lifting up gay men, and perhaps I should feel more ambivalent knowing some of the backstory of this match, but I’m don’t. Ty looks sweet enough to eat with a spoon. Sure, he’s in my boyband for a reason, but he’s lean and lush and if he sold his wailing, writhing, terrorized suffering an ounce less, Guido wouldn’t be half as terrifying as he is. Screaming with his face stomped underneath the heel’s big boot, whimpering helplessly in a tree of woe, and most of all, hung out to dry gorgeously in Guido’s torture rack, Ty is an incredibly tasty morsel.

And Guido is a bear daddy fantasy man. He works up a lather of sweat that makes his fantastically bulging muscles glisten hypnotically beneath his thick coat of fur. He’s a raging beast, filling the role of unstoppable dominator like the pro he is. When he straddles Ty’s chest with the Toy Boy hanging in that tree of woe, and then slides his hips backward to cock pin Ty’s smothered face, despite what my gaydar tells me, I’m momentarily convinced that the taunts and insults are just the particular brand of foreplay that works that aforementioned meat into action.

The whole brutalizing catch weight bully match is a time honored genre of course, but I have to muse about more novel homoerotic wrestling narratives where my mind wanders. For whatever boundary crossing he engaged in pre-edit, could there be any finer retribution than to have Guido slated to face my entire boyband of babyface beauties who have proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that hot, sweaty, naked wrestling action turns them on? That’s right, Guido in the middle of the ring, still all strut and swagger, but with an unmistakable note of apprehension with the four corners populated by Ty, Drake, Kayden, and Mason. I have no idea of Big Daddy Guido is secure enough in his sexuality to be quadruple teamed by the unapologetically gay-positive wrestlers who never fail to delight me without qualification. But that, I would like to see.

Drake Reborn: Part 3

May 22, 2016 wrestlebard1 Comment

In Drake Reborn: Part 2, things were looking bad for everyone’s favorite jobber Drake Marcos. Knowing Drake, getting pec smothered by the beefcake archangel Gabriel would surely test his will to keep fighting. But then again, the star of this piece of homoerotic wrestling fiction is not the Drake we’ve come to know and love. And now the climactic finale…

……………

Drake Reborn – by Bard

Part 3

There’s a sudden burst of energy and struggle. It’s hard to see exactly what’s going on because fucking Billy keeps stepping in front of me, but when I lean over far enough to the right, I see Drake hoisting Gabriel up way, way off his feet in a bearhug. Fuck, yes! I barely resist the urge to applaud.

Drake comes stutter-stepping out of the corner with his opponent writhing like a trapped animal. He arches his back, hoisting Gabriel still higher off his feet. Gabriel’s thick legs splay wide apart. Abruptly, Drake lunges forward, pounding Gabriel’s tailbone squarely across his right knee in an exquisite atomic drop. Gabriel actually screams. No acting in that high pitched wail!

Drake’s earlier “breather” had to have been a ruse, because he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet and looking fresh as a sweaty daisy right now. He drives a drilling knee squarely into the center of Gabriel’s thickly muscled back, and again, the Brit wails. There’s no hesitancy. No interruption in Drake’s momentum at all as he hops into the air and drops the back of his right thigh squarely into the back of Gabriel’s head. I wince involuntarily. I’m not sure if Gabriel’s pretty face is going to look nearly so pretty in a moment.

Drake is on fire now, steam rolling all over the bulging Brit. There’s no self-congratulations. No distraction. He moves with smooth confidence, dragging Gabriel up to his knees just so he can land a swinging knee to the pretty boy’s face, flinging him back to the mat in a heap. All of those pretty, pretty fresh muscles on Drake scoop Gabriel up off the mat like a child, swinging him high and slamming him with total authority to his back. Gabriel’s lower back arches in agony instinctively, and fuck it all if Drake doesn’t drive his heel viciously down into the cherub’s lower abs, pounding him back to the mat again.

With uncharacteristic (newly characteristic?) deliberateness, Drake grabs Gabriel’s ankles and rolls him to his stomach. Straddling all of that hot, hot muscle, Drake squats low in a Boston crab, leaning way back and making the Brit literally scream in pain. Drake’s face is fucking glowing, and it’s not just the sweat. He makes eye contact with me, briefly, and that over-the-top, handsome as fuck grin stretches across his face. It’s a good thing the Boss didn’t forbid me from grabbing my crotch, because there’s no stopping me at the moment. Gabriel slaps the mat furiously, screaming, “I give! I give! I give!” Drake ignores him a good long while, just making the pretty boy suffer like his bitch.

I can tell the production crew are going crazy for the action, because Billy and Jonny are crossing in front of me repeatedly, getting every angle of the action they can. So I’m not exactly sure how Gabriel ended up racked across Drake’s shoulders, but I’m thrilled to the core to watch our former jobber claw the fuck out of the Brit’s balls, yanking on his chin with the other hand, bending the petite powerhouse like a twist tie around his neck. Angel boy is screaming again. I’m not sure if it’s a submission, but I don’t think Drake is caring either way. He bounces on the balls of his feet, and Gabriel’s screams are comically punctuated with involuntary gasps. I’m sure it’s a submission. I’m equally sure, it’s not going to matter.

Drake unceremoniously dumps his quivering opponent backward off his shoulders. Gabriel’s muscled body slams to the mat like dead weight. Drake’s lightly hairy chest heaves, but he’s far from exhausted, I can tell. A half second later, Drake is grinding the ball of his right foot into the Brit’s temple, pinning the side of his face to the mat. “Take off your trunks!” Drake barks. I swear to god, I’ve never heard that voice before. Where the fuck did that voice just come from? It’s about half an octave deeper, with a lifetime of viciousness behind it. It’s like nothing I’ve ever heard come out of Drake’s mouth before.

“Fuck… You!” Gabriel sputters, trying to shove Drake’s foot away. Jonny has one knee up on the ring apron now, clearly zooming his camera in to capture the humiliation. He’s also obstructing my view again, god damn it.

I can’t see exactly what’s happening when Drake bends forward, but soon enough, he has Gabriel’s hot, muscled body stretched out deliciously in a full nelson. The Brit starts to fight it, muscling his arms downward to break the hold. Drake nips that in the bud by suddenly slamming Gabriel face-first into the nearest turnbuckle, still locked down on that sensational full nelson. The muscle cherub’s eyes roll into the back of his head as Drake pulls him out of the corner. Fuck, I think he may have just passed out there for a second.

Drake parades the muscleboy around the ring, grinding his crotch violently against the Brit’s ass. He pauses at the next turnbuckle to pound that pretty, pretty face once again. Gabriel’s knees buckle, but Drake hoists him back up and around the ring again. All four corners get the pleasure of tenderizing that legendary baby face. I’m pretty sure his nose isn’t broken, but there are dark bruises starting to form around the Brit’s eyes and cheeks.

Finally, Drake flings his prey into the center of the ring again. Gabriel kneels there on his hands and knees, teetering forward and backward like he’s about to collapse or vomit. “Take… off… your… trunks!” Daemon commands in that same voice that grabs me by the base of the balls.

Gabriel is sucking on air now, so it takes a few second for him to finally swallow the pain and humiliation just enough to quietly whisper, “fuck…. you.”

Drake place kicks the kid in the ribs so hard that Gabriel is lifted off his hands and knees and sent sprawling to his back at the edge of the ring. Drake follows without pause, hooking his right foot under Gabriel’s shoulder and kicking him underneath the ropes and tumbling off the ring apron to the floor below, just a few feet in front of me.

Billy backs up so quickly to keep Gabriel in frame that I think he’s going to sit in my lap. Not that I mind. The kid’s got a sweet ass. But fuck, I want to see what’s happening! Between Billy and Jonny, I just catch glimpses of Drake tying Gabriel’s arms in the ropes, his hot muscles hanging like meat in a butcher’s window. Drake strokes the muscle cherub’s pecs. He pinches Gabriel’s nipples, and the Brit gasps quietly, a gentle smile on his face. Clearly, Drake abruptly applies considerably more pressure, because suddenly Gabriel cries out in pain.

Without warning, Gabriel lifts his legs and snaps them around Drake’s torso. Drake cocks his right fist to cut this shit out pronto, but he freezes in mid-swing as Gabriel squeezes hard. Drake gasps, his eyes flutter shut. Oh, fuck, that’s hurting. Gabriel’s thighs are incredible to watch, flexing, grinding. His arms are still trapped in the ropes, but if he keeps this up long enough, he may just suck the momentum right out of my fight boy.

No worries. Drake claws the Brit’s balls so helpfully perched right in front of him. Gabriel’s scissors fall apart in a wail of screams. He bucks and bounces in the ropes, twisting his hips in a completely vain attempt to escape the ball trap latched onto him. Drake leans in close, his face inches away from Gabriel’s, twisted in agony. Tears, seriously, tears are squeezing out of the Brit’s swollen, bruised face.

Drake pries the ropes apart and Gabriel sags to a motionless heap on the ring apron. Thankfully, Billy and Jonny head around the corner to get better angles on the action as Drake drags the muscle cherub by the hair back into the ring. Smooth as silk, Drake scoops the baby face Brit up like a rag doll, holding him there across his chest for what seems like hours. Drake’s hot, hairy thighs glisten with sweat, bulging and flexing gorgeously. Then he slams the boy to his lower back again. Gabriel whimpers, his back arched high, the back of both hands clutching at his throbbing lower spine.

“Now,” Daemon growls from whatever pit of hell he’s possessing Drake’s body. “Take… off… your… trunks.” Gabriel groans incoherently for a while, rolling to his side. I’m not sure if he’s even registering what’s been said. But he must, because he reaches down with both hands, hooking his thumbs inside the top of his trunks and slowly dragging them down his massive thighs. He’s got a heather jock strap on underneath.

Holy shit, the jock strap doesn’t last long. Drake rips it off violently. There are strings of elastic and shredded cotton everywhere, but nothing is actually attached to Gabriel’s body any longer. He’s perfectly, gorgeously naked, flat on his back, staring up at Drake.

“You’ve never met anything like me before,” Daemon hisses. I swear, it sounds like steam pipes, there’s so much pressure, such vicious intensity behind every word. “My name is Daemon. And I’m here to drag your beautiful ass back to hell with me.”

Gabriel is weeping! Jesus, Drake’s doing a mind fuck on this kid. He’s seriously terrified.

“Say my name,” Daemon snarls.

“Daemon,” Gabriel gasps, almost a whisper.

“Say my name!” Daemon barks louder, planting his right foot on Gabriel’s chest and staring down into his face. The grin stretched across his face looks maniacal now!

“Daemon!” Gabriel shouts through sobs. He reaches up, pleadingly stroking Drake’s calf. Gabriel’s legendary anaconda is fully engorged and also weeping.

Drake drags him up by the hair to a seated position, quickly kneeling behind him. He wraps his right bicep across the muscle cherub’s throat. With a sudden jerk, he locks down hard, making Gabriel’s tear-filled eyes snap open wide.

I can’t hear what Daemon is saying. It’s a low murmur, cooing, demanding directly into Gabriel’s ear as he locks down the blood flow to the Brit’s brain. Billy obviously wants to get the words on the record as well, because he’s climbing up to the ring apron and zooming in, as close as he can. Is Gabriel being commanded to start stroking his mammoth cock, or is he just being driven over the edge by the mesmerizing words of his opponent?

What the fuck ever! Gabriel’s starting to pound out his gargantuan member with both hands, and it’s truly epic! With Drake choking him out, it doesn’t take long at all for the cherub to explode. I don’t realize that my mouth is hanging open in awe until I notice that Drake is staring right at me, still bearing down on his fading opponent, but looking, fixed, right into my eyes.

A half a minute later, and Gabriel’s arms fall limply to the mat. His abs and pecs are coated in his own cum. Drake drops him to his back roughly and crawls on top of him, saddling into a schoolboy pin. He leans forward, his crotch grinding into the unconscious kid’s face, and slaps the mat. “One!” He takes a good, long time, face fucking the fallen angel enthusiastically, before slapping the mat again. “Two!”

Holy fuck! Holy fuck!

“Three!” Drake slaps the mat one last time before leaning back and flexing his beautiful, fresh biceps for Billy and the camera.

Holy fuck. Drake just turned heel.

——–Just the Beginning———-

Drake Reborn: Part 2

May 20, 2016May 22, 2016 wrestlebard1 Comment

In Drake Reborn: Part 1 you read about my picking up the pieces of a shattered Drake and trying to glue him back together. The plot turns to a grudge match of demons and angels and the making (or unmaking?) of a BG East wrestler.

——–

Drake Reborn – by Bard

Part 2

I flew home the next day, but we stayed in touch. Emails, texts, chats. He’d ask me what that reinvented, heel Drake would do. And I’d tell him. And then, unbelievably, he’d fucking do it! He was in the gym 5 days a week. He tossed out his boxer briefs and twink-tastic Banana Republic button downs. He started blogging again, fully giving voice to the iconoclastic, loud mouthed, fierce, trash talking troublemaker that I’d only hinted at. He sent me video clips of himself, practicing calling out BG East’s finest, insulting Kid Vicious, taunting Jonny Firestorm, telling Kid Leopard to kiss his ass. Yep. I totally got off to those videos.

And week in and week out, I couldn’t help but notice that Drake was looking sensational. He’d put on some sweet muscle before that train wreck with Trey, but damn. A little blogger-inspired reinvention looked fucking great on the kid. After a couple of months of Bard boot camp, I honestly wouldn’t have recognized him. Which is what inspired me to pitch The Boss.

Gabriel Ross was Drakes very first first opponent, back when he was an overly tanned, quiveringly anxious newbie a few years ago. Drake put some sensational hurt on the pint-sized muscle cherub, but in the end, Drake was on his knees and completely at the Brit babyface’s mercy. Who better for Daemon to face, to demonstrate that this is a whole new wrestler, than Drake’s original tormentor?

———–

So here we are, me and Drake in a bathroom at BG East’s Boston-area facilities. BG East doesn’t “do” managers, so it took still more fast talking, negotiations, and, yes, flattery for me to be permitted to come along for the ride. Drake insisted on it, though. I think his internal image of his new wrestling persona may be a little more fragile than I thought. He’s still relying on me to reflect back to him this vision of a confident, cocky, balls out bad boy that he’s been trying on for the past 4 months.

The bathroom door flies open. “Let’s get a look at this Daemon,” Kid Leopard smirks, strolling in without knocking, of course. There’s just a momentary twitch across the Boss’ face, and I’m convinced that he’s surprised and impressed with what he sees. Drake looks sensational, and the solid black square cut trunks he’s pulling on are sexy as fuck. “Well, you’d better wrestle better than you look,” Kid Leopard snarls with contempt. His lingering look at Drake’s ripped abs tell an entirely different story.

On command, I’m following The Boss out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the BG East ring room. Jonny Firestorm is already there, setting up equipment with some hot twink I’ve never seen before. Kid Leopard barks at them to hurry the fuck up. Time is money. We’re wasting daylight. On and on, he rides them, and I’m pretty certain they’d be done a lot sooner if he didn’t keep distracting them.

I’m instructed to sit on a couch and remain abso-fucking-lutely silent. “The moment I hear a peep out of you,” Kid Leopard wags a finger in my face threateningly. “We’re making an unprecedented exception to let you watch. But if you fuck up the taping with so much as a sneeze, I’ll drag you by the balls out of here!” I acquiesce. It’s not as if I’m going to cross the Boss in his own ring.

A few minutes later, Kid Leopard is sitting on the couch next to me. Jonny and the hot twink (I’m told his name is Billy), work the equipment. Billy has a shoulder mount video recorder running, and Jonny has a wicked looking digital camera up to his eye when Kid Leopard suddenly shouts, “And… GO!”

A few seconds later, Gabriel Ross walks through the door. Holy shit, this kid is insane to look at! He’s shorter than I am, which is saying something, but good fucking God! He’s huge! I mean, I’ve seen his massively muscled-up body on camera before, but honestly, he’s breathtaking. His massive pecs shake a little as a walks to the ring and steps up to the ring apron. As he climbs through the ropes, I stifle a gasp at the full-on view of his magnificently muscled ass straining the seams of his tantalizingly tight trunks. They’re the same yellow swim trunks he wore in his first match with Drake. His glorious glutes bulge out over the top of them as he slowly walks barefoot across the ring, stretching his arms behind his back, hopping on the balls of his feet, warming up all of that gorgeous muscle mass.

Holy fuck, what have I got Drake into? I think to myself.

Jonny’s clicking that digital camera like a machine gun. Billy keeps crossing back and forth in front of me, clearly studying every juicy inch of the muscle cherub in the ring. It’s annoying, but I know that my unobstructed view is the last priority on anyone’s mind.

A minute later, Drake strolls through the door. He pauses on the short steps leading down to the ring room floor. Fuck, he’s pulsing with cocky confidence. He purses his lips and tilts his head to the side, staring at his opponent. “Time to settle up, Gabriel,” he growls. Walking to the ring and stepping up onto the ring apron.

“You again?” Gabriel asks, as if shocked. He’s not, of course. He knew who his opponent was going to be. But the feigned shock is just part of the story. “Didn’t I already beat your ass?” There’s something about a British accent that makes trash talk sound like poetry.

Drake climbs through the ropes and strolls in a circle around the ring. Gabriel backs away, keeping out of reach for the time being.

“That guy’s gone,” Drake coos almost seductively. “You’ve never met me. You’ve never met anyone quite like me,” Drake promises. My cock’s hard a granite.

They suddenly lunge toward one another, locking up by collar and elbow. Drake is half a foot taller than the muscle cherub. Gabriel struggles with those relatively long arms, until suddenly Drake reverses momentum, stepping backward and pulling Gabriel toward him. Off balance, the British babyface stumbles forward. Drake shoves him in the back of the head toward the ropes. Gabriel slams into the top rope awkwardly, bouncing backward and falling to his ass.

This is Gabriel’s first ring match, as far as I know, and it shows. Drake is on him, dragging him to his feet and shoving those gargantuan pecs of Gabriel’s, sending the muscle boy slamming backward into the turnbuckle. He looks like he’s expecting to get the same bounce out of the corner that he got from the ropes a moment earlier. The agony twisted across his beautiful face suggests that he’s just learned the hard way that a turnbuckle doesn’t “give” the same way the ropes do.

When Gabriel steps out of the corner, arching his back in pain, Drake steps in front of him, turns, and reaches over his shoulder to grab the Brit by the back of the neck. The snap mare is smooth and sweet like honey. Fuck, I can’t help myself. I gasp audibly, just a little, when Gabriel finally lands flat on his back in the middle of the ring. Fortunately, the muscle cherub’s loud cry of pain drowns out my shocked pleasure.

Drake really does look like a new man as he’s instantly on one knee, the other knee digging into Gabriel’s spine as Drake wrenches his head backward in a sick chin lock. A deep, guttural groan comes from Drake. It’s eager and intense, like a grunt of pleasure mid coitus. My cock is throbbing in response.

He keeps bending his opponent backward until Gabriel is arched high across his knee. Suddenly, Drake pounds a vicious forearm across the muscle cherub’s big, bulging pecs, driving the Brit’s back down hard across his knee one more time. Gabriel cries out in honest to god agony before Drake lets him roll like a sack of potatoes to the mat.

Drake is breathing a little harder than I would have expected so soon. He has his hands on his hips as he takes a slow lap around his opponent’s crumpled body. There’s a missed opportunity here for him to press his advantage. When he finally leans over and grabs a handful of Gabriel’s hair, dragging him up to his knees, I can see it in the Brit’s eyes. That breather Drake took was just as beneficial to Gabriel. Suddenly, Gabriel drives up to his feet while he wraps his huge, muscled arms around Drake’s torso. With an animal grunt, the cherub leans backward, pulling his taller opponent off his feet briefly in a powerful bearhug.

There’s a cry of pain that gets stuck somewhere in the back of Drake’s throat as his mouth gapes open. Gabriel can’t manage to hold him off his feet for long. The height difference is just too much for him. When Drake’s feet touch the canvas again, he sucks down a sudden gasp of air. He starts to try to squeeze his hands between his torso and Gabriel’s crushing biceps. I’m relieved he’s still working through the pain, move and counter.

Neither I nor, clearly, Drake are expecting it when Gabriel suddenly sprints forward. Drake is again swept off his feet in that sensationally powerful bearhug. The Brit has built up some momentum by the time he’s pounding Drake’s back into the turnbuckle. The explosion of air out of Drake’s lungs is almost comical. “Ooooof!” If Drake didn’t suddenly choke on a sob of pain and collapse to his knees, it might have been at least momentarily funny.

“No,” Gabriel chuckles, staring down at the dazed stud on his knees in front of him, “now I distinctly remember you being right here once before.” He grabs the back of Drake’s head with both hands and shoves his face into his body. Even on his knees, Drake’s mouth comes mid-chest to the bulging muscle cherub standing in front of him. Gabriel smothers him there, deep in the crevice between his massive pecs. I can hear Drake grunting, struggling for air. He presses his hands against Gabriel’s hips, attempting to pry his face away, but the Brit holds him in place with a vice-like grip. About 30 seconds of pec smothering in, and Drake’s arms start to go slack. Oh, fuck.

Slowly, Gabriel drags Drake’s slackening face down his torso. Drake’s lips stretch and twist across the pronounced ridges of Gabriel’s abs. Down, down Gabriel presses his opponent’s face until Drake his hunched forward, his mouth pressed hard against the muscle cherub’s big bulge. Holy shit. HUGE bulge! Gabriel’s legendary cock is visibly growing right before my eyes. Well, most immediately, it’s growing right before Drake’s lips. Gabriel’s head rolls backward, his eyes closed, obviously getting stoked to the edge. Fuck, they look like both of them may very well ditch the wrestling and just start fucking. Not that I’d mind watching that. But…come on, wrestling!

——–to be continued——–

Drake Reborn: Part 1

May 19, 2016May 20, 2016 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I must admit, it was satisfying when Drake Marcos authored a piece of homoerotic wrestling fiction to concede the bitter truth he’d been denying for over a year: a certain blogger had, indeed, owned him in the ring. In some twisted art imitating life imitating art (ad nauseam), Drake’s last chapter in our tag team writing effort left him precisely where I’d had him IRL a year and a half ago, hanging like a Christmas goose from the ring ropes. So charmed was I by his implied confession, that I was inspired to take the tag and author still another chapter in “Drake Marcos: Larger than Life” homoerotic wrestling saga. And in yet another art imitating life imitating art imitating life imitating art iteration, let me just be clear, the following really is how I’ve seen the the grinning grappler all along.

_________________

Drake Reborn – by Bard

Part 1

“We don’t do rematches,” he interrupted me.

“Look, Boss, this is different.” I switched the phone to my other hand. “This isn’t a rematch, because I’m talking about a whole new Drake. He’s…”

“I don’t want to hear that name again, blogger boy,” he interrupted me again. “I refuse to waste another minute on that waste of space.”

I felt my throat tightening with frustration, but I intentionally kept my voice even. It never pays to raise your voice with Kid Leopard. “What if I told you that I had a fantastic new recruit? He’s young, fit, and hungry for competition. And best of all, he’s got the finest pedigree you’ve ever seen. Ring experience, mat experience, erotic experience, and extensive one-on-one training with the best wrestler in the business.” I didn’t know if the Boss would see through the flattery. He’d taken a personal interest and put Drake through the ringer on countless occasions when Drake first arrived at BG East. That was also what seemed to piss him off most, all that time and effort “wasted on a simpering jobber,” as he’d put it earlier in the conversation.

For the first time in the phone call, the Boss didn’t interrupt me, so I continued. “This new kid is 5’10, 155 pounds. He has long, punishing legs and disarmingly handsome face. Let’s call him… Daemon.”

“Demon?” He snorted, unimpressed.

“Daemon,” I repeated, spelling it out. “It’s Latin for ‘divine fate.'”

“Daemon what?” Kid Leopard snapped. I had him on the hook.

“Just Daemon. No last name.”

“Sounds boring,” the Boss muttered, but I could hear it in his voice. He was almost ready. “What’s in this for me?”

“Other than a sensational new wrestler to sell the shit out of?” I asked.

He snorted with contempt. “Dime a dozen, blogger boy,” he snarled.

“If Daemon fails to impress you, he’ll scrub your toilets for a week,” I started.

“A month.” Kid Leopard interrupted. “What else?”

“And… I’ll write all of your product copy for the next BG East catalog,” I offered. I’ve been writing match descriptions for the BG East website for years. The Boss always asks me to write more than I have time for, so I know this tempts him.

“The next 4 catalogs,” he demanded. I had him.

“Deal.”

It had been just over 4 months since things took an unexpected turn between me and

drakeoutsouth — The aftermath of our first blogger vs. wrestler face off.

Drake Marcos. For my part, things hadn’t changed all that much. Fuck, I’m a major Drake booster from way back. I am now every bit as much a fan of the Cheshire Cat as I ever was, despite the little drama that went down at BG East South 4 months ago. He’s a handsome stud with equal parts personality, body and passion for wrestling that I respect so much. I continue to count it as one of my very favorite moments getting to climb into a ring for the first time and have Drake initiate me into harsh realities of pro wrestling. Somehow, it hadn’t occurred to me how deeply wounded I’d left the Cheshire Cat that first time, when I played the game a little better than he expected, and my initiation ended up with him out cold, at my mercy, and extensively documented with photographic evidence.

drakevtrey Clearly, I had a better time than Drake did, because the stud went ape shit all over me 4 months ago after I had the distinct pleasure of refereeing a fabulously sexy match between him and the goldenboy Trey Dixon. Okay, sure, suffering the humiliation of not only getting strung up helplessly in the ropes, but having the ref accept an invitation to join in the fun was probably overstepping things. A bit. But holy shit, the Pearl Harbor job he did on me afterward was over the top. Seriously, I always thought big D was secretly enjoying my good natured ribbing as much as I. Obviously, I was mistaken, because the kid nearly ripped me to pieces.

I just didn’t know he had such a delicate ego. I know it now. When Kid Leopard climbed back in the ring to tape the blogger-versus-wrestler grudge re-match, Drake put me through the fucking ringer. Not that I didn’t score some satisfying riding time of my own. For my first match ever recorded, I was pretty proud of myself. The seasoned pro pushed me to edge repeatedly, but I refused to give. It’s true, I was completely at his mercy there at the end, but then that whole bruised ego factor came back into the picture. So sure, I apologized on command, with my spine nearly snapping in the Cheshire Cat’s rack. But with his ego assuaged, Drake forgot all about the fact that I DIDN’T FUCKING SUBMIT! As he monologued for the camera like a Saturday morning supervillain, it was nothing but a thing to pull my shit together and choke the grandstander out cold.

drakeropessouth It was Kid Leopard who suggested I give him some gratuitous glam shots after it was all said and done, so I acquiesced (have YOU ever tried telling him no?!) and let him tape me as I hoisted the limp sack of potatoes up and tied him hanging from the ropes. Again. Mmmmm, fuck. Totally at my mercy. Naked. Cold sweat glistening on his gorgeous body. He deserved to get messed with more, for taking himself way too fucking seriously and taking it out on this novice wrestler’s body. But I just slapped him around a little for the Boss and taunted him for the camera and whatever private customer had wanted to see the two of us in the ring at the same time (hello, I’d love to know who was the fan who custom ordered that little bit of heaven!).

I asked Kid Leopard if we should rouse the kid, but he snorted with contempt. “I’m done with that piece of shit,” he muttered. “Lock the place up once you’ve showered off,” he instructed me, tossing me the keys to the kingdom and strolling out of the building without a second glance. After a long, hot shower, I couldn’t help myself. There Drake was, literally snoring as he hung from the ropes, still locked up tight. He was so fucking pitiful. And sexy. I untied him and roused him from the sweet escape that was sleep.

He was a broken man. Not literally, mind you. Trey Dixon had just about ripped his balls off, and I had choked the kid out cold, but physically, he was still entirely intact. The nasty bruises across his back and legs were already turning from dark red to a greenish black, but everything was still attached and functioning. But he was a ghost of a man. I led him to the showers, and he just stood there, staring blankly at the wall. I finally stripped back down and climbed in with him just to clean him off. It would’ve been super sexy, except that he was just plain hollow inside. He’d snapped, and no praise, no prodding, no playful taunts or challenges got even the smallest rise out of him. I got him dressed and dropped him off at his place, but he was sleep walking through the front door without a word.

I’ve always been a sucker for lost lambs. I was supposed to be on a plane home the next day, but I postponed my return trip to check in on the boy again. He answered the door, looking marginally more aware than when I’d left him the night before. But he was still mostly MIA, in spirit if not in body. I finally got him talking. He was aimless. Humiliated to be turned out by his mentor. Ashamed to show his face in the wrestling ring ever again. Woe is me, woe is me…

Fuck, what a Debbie-Downer. I told him to pull his shit together and stop whining. It somehow seemed like that just made him shrink even more. I assured him his best days were ahead. Get back up on the horse again. Lost the battle, not the war. Seriously, I was completely out of cliches, and they bounced off like he was bullet proof glass.

He only made eye contact when I started describing how I saw him. Not “the Cheshire Cat of Homoerotic Wrestling.” True, I’d given him that moniker early on in his BG East career, but that’s not what I saw in my mind’s eye the first time I saw a photo of Drake. Before I’d ever exchanged an email with the kid. Before I’d seen him step foot on a wrestling mat, and long before I ever had the pleasure of seeing him climb into a wrestling ring. Before I got to know the frustrated jobber he became, I pictured him as a smart, savvy, sexy-assed heel.
drake

He perked up when I told him that I used to picture him as a lean, mean, balls to the walls erotic sadist. Clearly, Drake never pictured himself that way before, but he was a blank slate now. He was in the throes of a soul wrenching existential crisis, and seeing himself through my eyes, reinvented in the depths of my twisted imagination, something took root. There was a glint in his eye and a determined clench to his jaw, and I could tell that the picture of himself as a fully formed, gay wrestling fan’s vision of a devastating psychological and physical wrestling dominator was taking on a life of its own where his delicate ego strength use to live.

———to be continued————-

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

May 16, 2016 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I have a few more reviews planned for recent wrestling releases, but I’m prepared to lay the laurel leaves across the handsome brow of one particular wrestling stud who, in my humble opinion, put up the hottest, most provocative, most entertaining homoerotic wrestling appearance in an April release. In a field of truly outstanding contenders, just one wrestler showed me something not only new, but something downright inspired. My homoerotic wrestler of the month is…

…Rafael Valmor.

Even Kieran can’t help but get a little handsy with Rafael.

I won’t reiterate all of the points I made in my review of Rafael’s Fan Fantasy match against his long-time muscle crush, Kieran Dunne. A few points, however, deserve mentioning again.

Rafael is infatuated with sweaty, bulging, beautiful hunk Kieran. Well, I’m sure it’s entirely possible that he’s not, in real life, but in Fan Fantasy 4, I believe him. There’s a genuineness about him, a raw, open-faced honesty that drips with veracity. It’s not that I expect to see Oscar-award winning acting in my homoerotic wrestling, but anytime a hunk sells me as hard as Rafael does, I’m fully engaged, delighted, and charmed.

So Rafael brings clearly drawn character, which is enough to put him at the head of the pack in most random samplings of homoerotic wrestling. But he also tells a story. Kieran, of course, tells it, too, but if there’s a narrative voice in this drama, it’s Rafael’s. I watched Magic Mike XXL recently, and I was reminded of the allure and the limits of eye candy. I had the same reaction to the first Magic Mike. All those gorgeous bodies, stripping and dancing, will haunt my dreams for weeks. But, fuck. No goddamn plot. No dramatic tension. Incredibly weak motivation, and a story that can be summed up comprehensively in 5 words (“Strippers reunited to strip again”). Seeing Joe Mangienello’s naked ass and watching him tie some fawning fan up in a sling and simulate growling sex to a Nine Inch Nails soundtrack sends me diving deep into my own homoerotic wrestling fan fiction of Joe in the wrestling ring. But that’s just it. I’ve got to add the storyline.

In Fan Fantasy 4, adorable Rafael provides all the back story, dramatic tension, and quest narrative necessary to turn this into so much more than eye candy. His fawning devotion for Kieran lures the narcissist into agreeing to wrestle (well, that an a wad of cash). But living the fantasy isn’t just thrilling for Rafael. It also inspires a passion that takes both him and Kieran by surprise. The curly haired cherub sucks down more punishment than Kieran can believe because Rafael is living the dream! When he shyly asks to feel what’s like to have Kieran trapped in his headscissors, the once in a lifetime opportunity to see Kieran’s face turning beet red, staring up helplessly at his number one fan, turns Rafael into a gloating, flexing, swelling lottery winner. The two of them, both Kieran and Rafael, have unleashed a beast that neither of them quite expected, and the unexpected is always value added for me in homoerotic wrestling.

Lest I short sell the more obvious delights of Fan Fantasy 4, let me acknowledge that Rafael’s body drives me insane with lust. At the surface, it’s a classic mismatch of big, bulging meat against lithe, lean twinkie. But as much as I also adore Kieran’s big, juicy, muscled ass, I cannot take my eyes off of Rafael in this match. I’ve documented in the pages of this blog extensively the truth that I get turned on by a wide variety of bodies. Most certainly on that list is a curly haired, 5’9″, 145 pound, bronzed, stunningly beautiful Latino heartthrob with a perfect ass.

By the time this match is over, I’ve invested a couple of hours and quarts and quarts of bodily fluids. I’m praying to the homoerotic wresting gods that next up for Rafael is his own Eve Harrington fawning fan whose knees quiver at the sight of his insanely sexy trail and piercing, dark bedroom eyes. In the mean time, make room on the throne for the mouthwatering hot, taut ass of my new reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month.

Rafael Valmor: Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month, April 2016

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