Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Wet Newsmen

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I often think the producers at Good Morning America are geniuses. For example, they cast such epic hunks as Chris Cuomo as regulars, David Muir as substitutes, and smoking hot Matt Gutman and Gio Benitez as correspondents. Then there are moments when I’m convinced they are irredeemable morons, like when they passed over Cuomo to give George Stephanopoulos the anchor chair, and then again, last Friday, when they scheduled the entire on-air crew to do the ice bucket challenge on a day when Gio Benitez was not on set!

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For those just tuning in or paying woefully inadequate attention, Gio is one of the rising young stars in mainstream news media, propelled in no large part by the strain of the seams of his suit coats due to his massively bulging biceps. I mean, the kid is huge. I’m pretty sure we’ve never seen him directly adjacent to George because the handsome Greek would look like a 4 year old in comparison. The on-air personalities have been picking up on Gio’s obvious assets, such as when the women were fanning themselves after Gio’s segment on surviving rip tides, in which he poured himself into a skin tight water-t and board shorts. When Gio announced yesterday that he would be doing his own ice bucket challenge, they all chimed in by pointing out that they’ve frequently seen the challenge conducted shirtless, wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

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Gio did, indeed, permit himself to be doused in ice water, and you know for a fact I was studying that slice of heaven frame by frame for hours on end. The bodybuilding rookie made the fashion faux pas of wearing an albeit extremely tight but knit button up shirt. If you are unclear why this is a faux pas, go back to last Friday’s assessment of David Muir’s more seasoned and perfected ice bucket challenge, in which he wore a thin, white button up that instantly became transparent before water even managed to touch it.  Gio’s pastel green knit shirt remains stubbornly opaque, though it does instantly suck to his bulges and crevices alluringly. However, again, the rookie insists on pulling the soaked fabric away from his body, refusing to permit an unadulterated view of the topography in relief beneath.  Silly rookie.  Still, nothing can quite disguise those mountainous pecs (though there was something even more erotic about David’s nipples on full display), and check out the lat spread when Gio twists around! Holy shit, that back is massive! Honestly, a wrestling opponent would have to cinch on a bearhug seriously low, because most arms would simply not be able to reach around that circumference. And until that beef is stripped and standing toe to toe in a wrestling ring, the fullest potential of phenomenal Gio is going to go unrealized.  Speaking of which…

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… last my imagination had hold of them, Gio and David Muir were locked in an increasingly bitter wrestling tussle. You may remember it started all friendly like, but when Gio decides to try to rip David’s balls off, things get ugly. The savvy veteran manages to not only escape the cock and ball torture, but slaps the bulging newsboy down across his thigh in an OTK backbreaker, sliding his hand inside Gio’s trunks to start crushing the hunk’s balls in retribution. “Oh, fuck!” the junior newsboy shouts in pain. David’s hand squeezes and pulses furiously beneath the taught fabric, playing his colleague viciously. The kid’s big, thick pecs get an appreciative stroke from the senior anchor with his free hand. So much newsboy to get a hold of. Abruptly, David rises to his feet, unceremoniously rolling his opponent off his knee. He places his right foot in the middle of Gio’s wide back, shoving the rookie down to his face when he tries to lift himself up to his hands and knees. David lifts his arms and flexes his biceps, posing for nothing but the deep satisfaction it gives to preen and strut over top of the upstart muscle correspondent. “Stay down, fucker,” David snaps.  Gio disobeys, twisting to his side and grabbing his opponent by the ankle.  He sweeps David’s leg out from underneath him, dropping the senior anchor to his ass. The rookie launches himself on top of him, but David rolls to the side, letting his opponent’s momentum carry them over until it’s the senior anchor mounted on top in a schoolboy pin. Gio furiously struggles to unseat him, but David swiftly scoots forward, straddling Gio’s head.  He rolls to his side while lacing his legs together, dragging his colleague over with him until Gio’s head is trapped in a deep face-to-crotch figure-4. David grabs hold of the youngster’s hair and pulls Gio’s face hard against his swelling bulge. “That’s the smell of second place, kid,” David crows in his deep baritone. “Get used to it.”

That’s how I see it playing out, at least…

More than a Contender

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Naked Kombat’s August 13 release features the return of Jimmy “The Bulldozer” Bullet battling hardbodied hunk Nick “The Contender” Capra. Nick instantly sets me firing on all cylinders. Jimmy starts the pre-kombat interviews. This is the point at which the opponent is told to stand in the background silently, letting the fighter in the foreground answer the questions tossed from off camera. I don’t hear a word that Jimmy says because Nick is stealing the scene in an instant. He shifts from foot to foot. He looks down at his smoking hot body, clearly enjoying what he sees. Jimmy is probably trying to sound intimidating (not that I’m listening), but Nick’s perfect response is to roll his eyes and stare at the ceiling a while. Wordlessly, Nick’s body language communicates a well-formed, 3-dimensional character. He’s fucking proud of his tanned, hard body with hairy pecs and fantastic bubble butt, and he’s supremely confident, cocky even, in his chances with pale rider Jimmy. Not even the legendary Rusty Stevens managed to telegraph so completely the fully formed persona of a contemptuous heel before ever opening his mouth or slapping on a hold.

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When asked how they prepared for the match in the pre-kombat interviews, most NK pornboys say that they worked on cardio, lifted some weights, had a good breakfast. When it’s Nick’s turn to answer, he says that he worked pre-match preparation with his Jiu-Jitsu trainer. Um, Jimmy?  This is going to be a long day for you.  I had been titillated by Jimmy’s promise that he’d ride Nick like a pony in victory, but I’m not holding my breath now.

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I believe Nick’s claim to Jui-Jitsu training. Early on there are several moments where it seems clear that he’s barely restraining himself from delivering what would surely be knock out strikes, managing to stay within the low impact rules of NK. Thus hamstrung, Nick finds Jimmy keeping pace as they initially jockey for position. Jimmy is the first to manage to rip his opponent’s trunks off (which counts for NK points toward final victory). Nick occasionally looks like he’s focused more on form and finesse, which slows down the action. But soon enough, the match belongs entirely to Nick.

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Oil. I have a deep, lustful nostalgia for oil wrestling. I wish more contemporary homoerotic wrestling included soaking two hardbodied, fully aroused hunks in baby oil. NK still pull this device out on occasion, and I LOVE the look of these two hunks glistening under the lights. Nick is tanned, with hairy pecs. He’s dark and handsome. He looks like a Tony Soprano henchman who’d model for men’s cologne on the side. Jimmy is pale with a ginger beard and closely cropped dishwater blond hair. He’s long and hot and I’m sure my knees would go weak if he gave me second look across the bar, but damn it all if he doesn’t look merely mortal side by side with badaboom Nick.

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As I’ve said many times before, I tend to fast forward through much of the NK sex rounds. But I pushed pause and rewind a lot this time. Nick wins by a landslide. I really was trying to pay attention to the final score, but there was Nick, fully aroused, pumped, and consuming my attention. He quickly grabs Jimmy by the head, forces him to his knees, and makes the loser start sucking his cock. Honestly, watching guys suck cock isn’t nearly as satisfying for me as an OTK backbreaker, for example, but fuck me, Nick is such a work of art I’m pretty entranced by this visual. He’s shaped like a comic book superhero. That glorious ass, narrow waist, and thick pecs cut a gorgeous profile.

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My speedometer hits 100 when Nick drags his prey up to his feet and lifts his right hand behind his head. Hungrily, eagerly, Jimmy starts licking Nick’s pit. If it was intended to be humiliating for the loser, Jimmy’s eagerness nips that in the bud. And my full-on identification with Jimmy here makes this a powerfully authentic moment, as he engages in unadulterated muscle worship.

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Part of the reason I fast forward through NK sex rounds is that they often read as so entirely scripted, but there’s something about the muscle worship vignette here that sells me hard. Jimmy goes to town with his tongue on Nick’s hot, hairy pecs. The closer he gets to Nick’s nips, the more eager Nick becomes, momentarily flipping the script as the winner commands, with a barest hint of pleading, for Jimmy to suck his nipples. Jimmy obeys, and Nick’s head rolls backward in ecstasy.

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Nick is grooving hard on having his nips serviced. He demands that Jimmy bite his nipples. When Jimmy really bears down on the mouthwatering feast, Nick groans. There’s a moment when they both appear transported. They both look like they’re consumed in total ecstasy. Neither pornboy would want to be anywhere else in the world at this moment. I buy it. I buy it. I buy it. What a sell!

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Nick insists on Jimmy eating his ass, which again could read as humiliation, but Jimmy is far too into it for that to be the text. And Nick’s ass is just too fucking munchable! 99 times out of a 100, I’d skip rimming, whether it comes to giving, receiving, or watching. But damn it all if this isn’t the 1 in a 100 scene, made so engaging by that super high quality ass and Jimmy’s gasping, voracious enthusiasm.

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Nick and Jimmy are both gracious and sweet in the post-match interviews, which somehow makes the total sell in the sex round that much more amazing to me. Awesome entry into homoerotic wrestling entertainment. And Nick Capra could OWN this industry if he wanted it. Here’s hoping!

Wet Newsmen

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Truly fanatical readers will remember that pretty much the first topical post on this blog was entitled “Wet Newsman” and featured big, beautiful Chris Cuomo in a tight white t-shirt getting soaked to the skin in a dunking booth on GMA.  I was hoping that was the start of much more gratuitous beefcake on morning television, because the sight of Cuomo’s thick, round pecs plastered seductively in that soaked t-shirt made so much bad news better.  You also know that I frequently chase my homoerotic wrestling imagination down newsboy rabbit holes, translating news desk beef into my fondest full contact wrestling scenarios. One hot hunk behind the news desk who has managed to evade my every effort to track down shirtless shots of is the new evening news anchor for ABC, shoulda-been-an-Abercrombie-model David Muir.  I think David may be feeling the heat from junior correspondent and bulging beefcake Gio Benitez releasing a shirtless shot a few months ago, because today Muir joined the rest of the GMA cast (David’s filling in for Stephanopoulos), in the so-called “ice bucket challenge” for ALS.  He’s not the first muscled newsboy to use the gimmick to tease his bulging pecs and pursed nips, but I’m not one bit less titillated that he went for it. As is prerequisite, he flexed hard in anticipation of the ice cold water, then just watch his shirt suck to his pecs and go transparent…

 

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I like to think that’s the face he makes when he’s rolled an opponent up in a small package and slapped down a gloating, taunting 3-count pinfall. While I’d still offer a bounty on a legitimate shirtless shot of this stud puppy, I will nevertheless soak in the sight of his hot pecs finally visible beneath the saturated transparency of his dress shirt. As I strongly suspected, David’s got a beefy chest. Which transports me back to that wrestling moment I wrote about a few days ago. You know, the one where I left off with a friendly tussle in the wrestling ring between good natured David and Gio turns serious on a dime, leaving David’s screams of anguish muffled with his face buried beneath Gio’s muscled glutes as the junior newsboy does his best to rip the senior anchor’s balls off.

David arches his hips high in the air, simultaneously trying to lift Gio off his face.  The effort makes the junior newsboy rock backward, but he rights his balance quickly and leans forward to avoid being unseated entirely. Even with his face buried in the beefcake’s ass,  David knows exactly where his opponent’s body is at all times. So as Gio leans forward, David lifts his left knee sharply, crashing viciously into the Gio’s face. The stunned correspondent releases David’s balls and cups his throbbing nose in shock. When he pulls his hands away, he sees blood. “You broke my nose!” the young hunk gasps disbelievingly. David takes advantage of the youngster’s shock to twist to the right, rolling his shoulder off the mat and tipping his opponent to the side. Gio rolls left, quickly climbing to his feet, but the veteran smoothly grabs Gio’s left ankle and sweeps his legs out from underneath him. Gio’s back hits the mat hard, and half a second later David is on top of him. The anchor grapevines Gio’s legs, yanking them wide. He pins Gio’s left arm between their torsos while wrenching his right arm hooked behind his head.  Holding Gio’s right arm locked in place with one hand, David uses the other to pound 3 brutal pec punches that make Gio’s heart skip a beat.  The kid gasps in agony, his jaw hanging open soundlessly as his head rolls backward. As David dismounts, he drags his junior colleague up by the hair with him.  Gio is wobbly on his feet. His left hand clutches his right pec, which still has bright red fist prints on it. Smoothly, David hooks his right arm between the stunned stud’s legs and hoists Gio off his feet, cradling his beefy bod momentarily across his chest before dropping violently down to his left knee, pounding Gio’s lower back across his outstretched right thigh. Gio wails like a wounded animal as his captor holds him bent backward across his knee. “So you like playing with balls, boy?” David snarls angrily. He slides his long fingers inside his opponent’s trunks, his hand slowly enfolding the youngster’s prominent bulge. David’s lightly hairy forearm flexes, and a half second later Gio screams.

…at least, that’s what I imagine….

Friday Fashion

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It looks like Polldaddy is back and playing nice with my blogsite, so let me return to the Friday Fashion poll that I attempted to post a couple of weeks ago. In June there was a lot of indirect attention paid to fashion in homoerotic wrestling new releases. In addition to the extensive fashion showdown posed by Chace LaChance and Mutant in MDW’s Oil Hunks 3 (in which Mutant won the match, but Chace won the runaway decision for he who wore it best), over at BG East hot gear was the very point of the viciously sexy battle between Drake Marcos and Ty Alexander in Babyface Brawl X. Prior to the match, Drake was apparently running his mouth (as he has a tendency to do, you have to admit), including bragging about the sexy lime green trunks he’d found to wrestle Ty in. Larcenous Ty, however, managed to sneak into the mat room when Drake’s back was turned and steal said trunks. Not only did he steal him, he had the audacity to wear them for their match, protesting that they were his all along and forcing Drake to don florescent pink and white trunks to start the battle for repatriation.  Before all is said and done, both babyface studs have worn both pair of trunks (and nothing).  In the mat competition, it’s Drake who manages to score his very first ever victory over a real live opponent, but in the battle for fashion, first for the lime green and then the pink and white trunks, who wore it best?

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Typically I order the competitors by who wore them first, but this is a contested issue this time. Let’s take a look at adorable Ty, because, at least, we saw him in them first on camera. His all-over tan contrasts nicely with the tight, lime green Calvin Klein briefs. Did he wear them best?
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Drake eventually retrieved his prized lime green briefs and, though momentarily wooed to pliability by a nibble on his ear lobe (I’m taking notes), Drake wears the hell out of the Calvin Klein briefs on his way to wiping the floor with his larcenous opponent. With that treasure trail leading down his flat stomach, pointing toward his swelling bulge, it’s not hard to see why Drake was so eager to compete in this lime green gear. But did he wear it best?

 

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Despite getting stripped and worn the fuck out, Ty managed to get his licks in, as when he smothered Drake with that pink pouch in a bitterly humiliating schoolboy pin (again, I’m taking notes). For the pink and white square cut Junk “Underjeans,” did Ty wear it best?

 

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Glistening with sweat and sporting thick thighs while staring down at the naked bubble butt of your opponent never looked bad on anyone. Drake’s flat gut and lightly hairy quads make the lines on these pink and white square cuts work beautifully, no doubt. But did he wear it best?

More Reveal

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Tommy’s is flattened and done for about 2.5 seconds into Bear Hugs 4.

I think I like the look of Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Tommy Johnson. I equivocate not because I’m indecisive on the point. Rather, Bear Hugs 4 doesn’t give us a lot of look at tortured Tommy. I mean, he’s there, the entire match. But from the moment he dives dramatically into the ring underneath the bottom rope, he’s crushed and pummeled and nearly swallowed whole by the massive mountain Tatum Riggs.

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Tommy’s got a nice ass that someone needs to get their hands on (’cause Tatum can’t seem to be bothered)!

Tommy spends ages and ages off his feet and crushed brutally in Tatum’s brutal embrace, so I can say definitively that I like Tommy’s hot, athletic little ass. Tyrannical Tatum does not, however, appreciate his opponent’s sweet glutes. If he did, he’d have bendt the kid across his knee, wedgied his underwear high up his ass to reveal more skin, and spanked his lily white butt rose red. This does not happen in this match, and that’s Tatum’s loss. More importantly, it’s our loss.

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I deduce that the match description that describes Tommy as “shredded” is accurate. I also like the way his cock hits the mat several inches ahead of his hips.

MDW describes Tatum as “shredded, if undersized.” He’s got pretty skinny legs, but I would agree that the glimpses we get of his torso suggest he is, indeed shredded. His abdominal and oblique muscles are defined, and his chest is sweet, lean, nicely shaped meat. I think I’d like to see someone spend some focused attention on his nipples, because amid his twisting and writhing and rolling up in a defensive ball, I believe his headlights look hot.  The pound of salami down his pouch also looks seriously tasty, even for a vegetarian like me. Tatum doesn’t pay them any attention, however. Fucker.

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Hot pecs, sweet nipples, and a cross between Bradley Cooper and Shaggy!? This kid could be a star!

Nobody asked me, mind you, but if I were writing the match description (or even better, the wrestler profiles that MDW has GOT to create to help us find the choicest cuts from their growing stable), I’d describe young Tommy as a homoerotic wrestling cross between Bradley Cooper and Scooby Doo’s stoner BFF Shaggy.  His wispy beard sans mustache gives him a whiff of the barely legal rule bender who tokes up between shop class and PE. That shaggy hair do, moderate length everywhere except a long, punk shock at the top front of his head, looks both haphazard and thoughtfully intentional at the same time. I think the kid is probably head-turningly handsome, but it’s just a fleeting impression I get, since he spends 96% of this match with his head down, face obscured, instinctively curled up in a ball to try to just survive the absolute mugging.  Tatum does not drag the tempting stoner up by his hair. He does not shove the kid’s face humiliatingly into the camera. He never pries the kid’s head backward by that hair-handle and force Tommy to flex his deliciously lean, albeit dwarfed in comparison to Tatum’s, muscles. Bastard.

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Even in total defeat, we don’t get a glimpse of the stoner stud in much detail…

I think I’d like a second date with road kill Tommy. I’m not positive about that, but I believe I’d like to get to know him better. The bulge in the front of his trunks that remains ample throughout his mugging certainly invites another look. The fleetest glimpses of his ripped abs draw my curiosity for more. His shocked pleading (“not so hard!”) as his rock hard body is crushed makes my jobberlust juices flow. And all of that anguish he sells, if paired with the stoner, leading man good looks I think he has, could be deeply satisfying in better light, from a different angle.

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…except for that tempting, taunting bulge!

MDW has always had a heavy hand on the mugging side of homoerotic wrestling. They revel in the squash, which I can absolutely get into, mind you, but which I know leaves many wrestling fans flaccid. But I sort of like the face value of Bear Hugs 4. I can groove on the idea of the star quarterback picking out the sexy stoner in the school cafeteria and demanding to make the handsome, well-hung punk suffer in private. I can get stoked by an outmatched mugging like this. But I long for a lot more reveal. I long for Tatum to have a reason for bullying hot stuff Tommy Johnson. If he’d just stroke the kid’s hot abs once (bully turns out hot for hot stuff Tommy), the story would instantly be a bestseller. Or hell, if he just argued that the kid looked at him wrong in algebra class, it’d be a genuine narrative to grab hold of. And speaking of reveal, and this goes for anyone producing homoerotic wrestling, give us a chance to see the studs, to get to know them, to fall in lust with them. Give us better camera angles, better wrestler positioning. Hell, make my fondest fantasies come true and give us some pre-match testimonial time with the boys, a la old school On Top Productions scenarios, to give us the tenor of their voices, the measure of their confidence, the depth of their dreams.  And if you’ve got a hot, ripped piece of smoked meat who just might possibly be the best cross between Bradley Cooper and Shaggy, let me see that mug! Let’s see him with a heavy-lidded cocky smirk. Let’s see his features preening with confidence. Let’s see his handsome face suddenly contort in fear and anguish. Let’s see the tears track down his cheeks.  I think I’d like to see Tommy Johnson again, preferably with my hand shoved down his trunks, but even short of that, I want to see more. Literally. A lot more.

Making Jake

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Jake Jenkins has captured the hearts and stoked the crotches of countless homoerotic wrestling fans in the past few years. His charms are both obvious and subtle. He’s gorgeous to look at under any circumstance. But he’s also prolific and varied in his delivery of wrestling drama. So I’ve strolled through the many splendored thing that is JJ’s wrestling filmography and finally arrived at the really tough part of the alphabet. Some of these final entries in Making Jake are weak, I’m the first to admit. But cut me some slack. The options for descriptors that start with the letter X are x-tremely limited.  From U to Z, here’s my take on Making Jake…

jakeunconcious…unconscious. Perennially dangerous and with inexhaustible tenacity, many opponents have been simply stunned by the energizer-bunny quality of Jake. Even when you’ve got him down, just try counting him out. With the muscle and the body awareness he’s got, he’ll slip out of your fingers 9 times out of 10. What’s an opponent to do to once and for all not just put, but keep him down? An elite few know you very well may have to make Jake unconscious!

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…vertical. Jake fans know that his athleticism is second to none. JJ flies. He does handstands. He flips and twists and slams and stomps. He’s perfectly balanced between grace and brutality. That goes for both pitching and catching. Opponent’s can do astonishing things with JJ’s incredibly fit, flexible, agile, compact muscle body because he’s in such incredible shape he can take astonishing beatings and live to tell the tale. For example, Jonny Firestorm managed to contort JJ’s body into positions and shapes I’ve never seen before, each one more breathtaking and beautiful than the last. There’s something just awe inspiring about watching that moment when an expert heel doesn’t just control Jake’s body, he doesn’t just hold JJ’s life in his hands, he makes Jake vertical.

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…wet. I’ve got a major thing for wrestlers that work up a heavy lather of sweat, and Jake can definitely get there. When droplets make his muscles twinkle and his bulges glisten, Jake is transported into another realm, joining a pantheon of immortal gladiators demanding to be worshipped as celestial beings. As Ethan Andrews proved, JJ also looks damn good with a bottle of water poured onto him in the middle of the ring, piling humiliation onto defeat. Thankfully it’s never come to this, but it just wouldn’t be a full on JJ match if his opponent didn’t make Jake wet.

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…x-rated. Okay, so here’s where you must cut me slack, because I know full well that Jake’s wrestling filmography is PG-13, at best, and that’s only if you have a fundamentalist Christian prude on your ratings board. True, JJ did dally briefly under another name in some full frontal solo work for a beefcake company, but formally speaking, that wasn’t “Jake.” But thank the wrestling gods JJ has been wrestled out of his singlets and trunks on just a few occasions, leaving him in nothing but a sweat soaked jock strap. The briefest glimpse, barely more than innuendo, of his exposed hole exponentiates JJ’s overall homoerotic sexiness across the board. There’s not an inch of him that doesn’t deserve awed worship, but there’s something just for gay wrestling fans when a match makes Jake x-rated.

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…yelp. I’ve said it before, but let’s review it again. Jake is a cool customer. He’s got a sharp wit and a razor tongue, but the quantity of what comes out of his mouth in a match is perpetually restrained. He sells pain most often silently, or at most, with anguish welling up behind a wall of ironclad self-control. So it’s a special treat when an opponent not only drives Jake to the edge of busting through that wall, but managed to squeeze just right and make Jake yelp.

jakezealous…zealous. Jake embodies many different characters. At Rock Hard Wrestling he started as a brutal heel. At BG East, he’s been a beautiful babyface, a stern initiator and a stunned jobber in various combinations. There’s something achingly hot, though, about Jake as a valiant jock, as certain in the virtue of hard work as he is in the scales of justice tilting his way in bringing victory as reward for his earnestness. On just a couple of occasions, JJ has flashed that wide-eyed, broad smile, wrapped himself in patriotism, and flung himself face first into harm’s way trusting in the rightness of his convictions to weather the storms of dirty tricks and dastardly deviousness hurled back at him. That earnestness is misplaced, of course. This is professional wrestling we’re talking about. But there’s something deeply evocative when a certain gear choice, or a particular partner, or specific opponent manages to make Jake zealous.

Well there you have it. I struggled to select among many excellent option for most letters of the alphabet in attempting to capture the range and depth of Jake Jenkins, so I may very well go around the circuit all over again some day.  But first, there’s a certain 3-time homoerotic wrestler of the month who has his own parallel series that I need to pay attention to. Now that I’ve found Eli Black’s most recent work at UCW, I’m obsessed with exactly what it is that evokes the enthralling essence of Eli.

Muscle Newsbreak

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The race to titillate consumers of news with hotly muscled newsboys seems an ill-kept secret. I suspect we have been socially programmed to find men with baritone voices as the most trustworthy sources of information, and I know for a fact we are profoundly socialized to prefer pretty, fit people, even when the context of their beauty is meaningless to their function. So having big, juicy pecs and peaked biceps that strains the seems of your shirt sleeves has no bearing on the validity or importance of the news they deliver, and yet it’s no accident that news media are dominated by such hot, sexy hunks.  It’s also no accident that these hunky journalists work it hard. And as a result, it should come as no surprise at all that they inspire an imaginative homoerotic wrestling kink consumer like me to fantasize about throwing their fine asses into a wrestling ring and watching the upright studs go from earnestly selling trustworthiness to all-in erotic professional wrestling.  And they keep fueling my fantasies with hot muscle teases.

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Chris Wragge flexes in a wet t-shirt.

For example, take a hunky, 6’3″ news anchor with thick, hot pecs who douses himself in ice cold water to show off his physique in a wet t-shirt for charity. Of course, the bitter cold makes him “involuntarily”‘ flex his hot body. Chris Wragge is bringing awareness to something, but I don’t think it’s primarily ALS. Not that I’m complaining.

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David Muir flexes in a black polo.

Studpuppy on the rise David Muir has just recently planted his hot ass in the anchor’s chair of ABC Nightly News, propelled I’m sure in part by the compelling work he does such as when he spotlighted an African American ballet dancer a few days ago. Apropos of nothing, he chatted with her in the summer sunshine, showing off his tan in a short sleeve black polo. His arms stay bent the entire time, coincidentally showing off his meaty biceps. And when the camera catches him just right in profile, check out his perky pecs bulging to sweetly.

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Hot anchorman pecs!

Online commenters have noted the chemistry between David and rising star correspondent Gio Benitez, who’s been a major infatuation of mine lately. Gio gets fluff pieces like being sent to interview the ankle biter with a dearth of humility who charmed everyone (but me) by prattling on on live television news about a week ago.  However, Gio makes more than the most of this nonsense by wearing a supertight yellow button up shirt that shows off his gorgeously bulging torso. The seams on his shirtsleeves deserve an award for managing to hold as he bends his arm to hold the microphone in front of the kid’s face, coincidentally flexing his bicep for the camera. At one point he looks put out having to squat low (was it a leg-day, Gio?) to get down on the rugrat’s level, and as he leans forward the buttons down the front of his shirt nearly pop open, giving a half a dozen glimpses of the hot mass flexing underneath. The repeatedly interrupted toss back to  the anchor’s desk totally screws with David Muir who keeps thinking the piece is over.

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Gio Benitez flexes in a supertight yellow button-up.

The gentle pranking between Benitez and Muir makes me picture the two of them sparring in the ring good-naturedly, muscle hunk Gio taunting and teasing the upperclassmen star anchor desk quarterback. Gio dominates an initial test of strength, powering David submissively to his knees. David battles back to his feet, not about to be humiliated by the freshman, and breaks the hold with a kick to Gio’s lower abs. They laugh off the physical tension building between them as step back, give nods of respect, and then lock up again. Gio quickly hip tosses David to his back and drops an elbow across the handsome hunk’s sternum. David struggles to reinflate his lungs, but still manages to suddenly snap his long legs around Gio’s head and squeeze some hot, painful grunts from the youngster. The tanned Muir flexes his hot thighs as they bulge around his opponent’s skull for half a minute, until the youngster gathers his wits and kicks free.  They laugh good-naturedly again, but there’s more wariness, more caution, more ego just beneath the surface. They lock up again, but Gio quickly snaps his gargantuan right arm around David’s head and cranks hard, dragging the side of the Muir’s handsome face across Gio’s ridged obliques. Smoothly, the veteran counters, slipping free and wrenching that massive right arm of Gio’s behind his back in a hammerlock, making the kid defensively rise to the balls of his feet and gasp in pain, his meaty pecs bouncing. David quickly transitions to a headlock, and instantly follows with a hip toss, holding onto Gio’s head as they slam to the mat.  David presses hard, shoving the kid’s face into his right pec. Gio attempts to kick free, but his skull is wedged way too tight. He’s seeing stars with the pressure bearing down on his temples. He pushes at David’s side, trying to force a break, but the headlock is cinched in like a vice. David taunts the kid a little, leaving it unclear whether it’s good natured teasing or some alpha dog psych out. Apparently Gio takes it the wrong way, because his right hand abruptly locks onto David’s balls through the fabric of his trunks.  The anchorman screams and falls to his back, his hands instinctively stretching down to gently, pleadingly cover Gio’s claw. The muscle kid crawls up to his knees and pulls upward, dragging David’s throbbing hips off the mat by the crushing claw locked onto his testicles. Gio crawls across David’s body, facing his opponent’s feet and still holding the claw tightly, now squatting across the anchorman’s upper chest. Slowly he sits down, his big, hard glutes settling smotheringly across Muir’s sputtering mouth. Gio leans back farther, making David bridge higher into the air, a scream of angry protest muffled beneath Gio’s bubble butt.

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Newsboy powercouple.

At least, that’s where my mind goes…

The Defending Champ

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The Portrait of Z-Man.

Early on in his tenure with BG East, Z-Man was pretty much a cheap buffet. Anyone with a hankering to chew on him a while was stepping up, picking him apart, and serving him cold. He’s come a long way since then, and an even longer way from his even earlier start at Thunder’s Arena. Victory is far from assured when facing down Z-Man these days. There’s a welcome suspense, as he pushes opponents to their limits and firmly stakes out his ground as much more than a pretty face. One thing that hasn’t changed one iota is that ridiculously sexy body of his.  There’s clearly a portrait of him aging in an attic somewhere, because Z-Man is supernaturally and unwaveringly perfected across his entire storied career. It’s little wonder that BG East fans gave credit where abundantly due and awarded him Best Body of 2013. His conditioning is astonishing in both power and aesthetics.

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Kip Sorell for your consideration for Best Body.

What of that description can’t be said about relative newcomer Kip Sorell, though?  True, Kip is still at that early stage in his career when he’s getting his muscled ass handed to him unfailingly, but truth be told, he’s probably on par with Z-Man’s aptitude at the same point in his career.  If anything, Kip’s boyish face could possibly be even a shade more leading-man quality. His skin tone is a perpetually, lusciously dark mocha compared to Z-Man’s silky smooth latte. Without taking an ounce of respect from Z-Man, an objective observer could very well honestly be persuaded that Kip is sporting a percentage less body fat, displaying his phenomenal physique with crystal clarity and severe cuts compared to Z-Man’s more graceful curves. But there’s certainly one thing that describes Z-Man that simply doesn’t apply to Kip: Kip has never been voted Best Body by BG East fans.

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The pose off is highly contested, but it’s hard to argue with those deeply sculpted, tanned abs of Kip.

So the narrative pretty much writes itself when Z-Man and Kip come pec to pec in Ring Hunks 2.  They both are in awe of the sight of their own bodies flexing back at them in the mirror.  They’re both firmly convinced of their physical superiority in power and proportion, body part by body part. They’re both supremely stunning, gorgeous specimen’s of physical conditioning and muscle aesthetics. There’s no way that these two egos, so deservingly fed by encountering few as perfected as they, were going to wrestle for anything other than bragging rights for whose body is truly best.

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Whose bicep bulges biggest?

It’s all about competition.  When the pose off leaves both studs declaring contested victory, they turn to more objective measures.  The fastest to 10 push up contest ends in a draw, so they stretch out their fine bodies in the middle of the ring for an old fashioned arm wrestling match. To Z-Man’s shock, Kip wins.  Fiercely, Z-Man demands a best 2 out of 3.  Ego swollen as massively as his muscles, Kip smirks and agrees. The formula of strength and endurance swings Z-Man’s way for the 2nd fall.  Now both boys have egos both bruised and stroked.  Fall 3 decides it, and the decision is Kip’s! He knew his “functional strength” was superior all along. Z-Man flies into a rage all over the younger stud’s stunning bod.

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Let’s start with those vaunted abs…

I admit to deeply enjoying Z-Man in the driver’s seat. Now that he’s (mostly) gotten that shit-eating grin under control, he’s amazing to watch suck down the moment with everything he’s got. It’s his idea to revisit the body part by body part comparison that they’d contested during the pose off, and systematically, muscle by muscle, destroy Kip.  He starts with the abs. I had to agree with Kip that his dark tan gave him a definite edge in core definition, but then again, I have to agree with Z-Man, once he’s down ripping, stomping, punching and all around annihilating Kip’s gut, that you can’t argue superior abdominals if you’re too wasted to even flex them.

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My advice to Kip for next time: open your eyes and grab hold!

Kip gets some licks in here and there, and I’m adamant in believing he’s GOT to develop his offense to move his wrestling career forward. He stuns Z-Man early on and rolls the Playgirl centerfold up, unforgivably closing his eyes with Z-Man’s bulging crotch trapped a couple inches from his face. I long to see Kip sell more danger, so seeing him controlling the veteran ever so briefly is promising. Even if Kip spends forever in jobberville, I’m a big proponent of everyone, even the most fated jobber, being able to sell that he “could” win, even if he never does.

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The lower back stop on the train to muscle destruction.

But this story is for the winner of the Best Body of 2013 to tell. Z-Man viciously wrenches a screeching submission with his claws dug deeply in his opponent’s gut. The pecs fall into focus, and lovely Kip’s chest looks like shredded beef with Z-Man tearing him apart muscle fiber by muscle fiber.  The pace and the impact pick up considerably when Z-Man targets Kip’s lower back. High flying slams and my favorite, over-the-knee backbreakers sell with authority the systematic destruction of Kip’s spine. Z-Man shows fans what they love when two muscle hunks wrestle, displaying Kip’s battered, dominated physique to perfection like serving up a gourmet entree. Kip suffers. Screams a little, which turns me on deep, deep down.

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Z-Man drives home his point while snapping Kip off at the knee.

Z-Man attacks the legs. Tortures the arms. As testimony to how far he’s come, I barely notice that he’s been driving he bus almost the entire way, maintaing focus and pace, controlling the narrative, pushing the story of Kip’s body part by body part destruction forward with a mature self-restraint that allows us to savor each and every moment.

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Z-Man gets in one last squeeze of all of that tenderized Grade A beef.

You can stick a fork in Kip well before Z-Man’s done with him, which is even more homoerotic in my mind. Z-Man toys with the outmatched kid. He seems to genuinely enjoy the feel of control and manipulation, driving Kip to the edge of terror and then letting him crawl back again. When Z-Man’s finally done with him, he hangs him outside the ring from the middle rope like soggy laundry.  Kip’s phenomenal physique is nothing but raw nerves now.  Z-Man tortures him a little more, but finally puts him out of his misery with a sleeper.   Still hanging there limply, Kip is subjected to a rematch of that pre-match pose off.  Z-Man flexes and then compares. Kip isn’t anywhere near consciousness, much less flexing his hot muscles, so no one is left to argue that Z-Man’s muscles are bigger, more beautiful, and unarguably more deserving of BG East’s Best Body honor.

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Who’s biceps are bulging biggest now, bitch!?

This is one hot, sexy match between two of the most honed physiques currently competing in homoerotic wrestling anywhere. There’s character development and drama. If we lined up Z-Man fans and Kip Sorell fans in a row, the wait list for a copy of this match would surely stretch from the BG East mothership outside of Boston to BG East South (where this was taped) in Florida.

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These have got to be two of the frontrunners for 2014 Best Body!

But when it comes to the nominees for Best Body of 2014, will it still be Z-Man on top?  Will 2012 winner Rio Garza come back to rip the title back from Z-Man’s hands?  Or will one of the other stunningly hot bodies populating BG East put Z-Man in his place, kneeling at the feet of some other specimen of overall physical perfection?

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But if Best Body is won by decimating your opponent’s physique, Z-Man has some ghosts to face down still.

Who’s Your Daddy?

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In the interest of full disclosure, let me be clear that daddy/boy culture is foreign to me.  I respect the hell out of it, but it isn’t mine.  I know that I get the language wrong when I try to speak it. I definitely do not get the rich nuances that guys within the culture thrive on. From the outside, there’s something that seems static about it, too rote, too sedimented to fully engage my homoerotic imagination. But like I said, I respect the hell out of it, and I’m happy to take a hit off it from time to time for the less nuanced allure that even I can jones on.

Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Daddy’s Home release strikes that chord in me.  I’m certain that their are daddies and boys who will enjoy this (and critique this) with a much more nuanced and appreciative eye than mine.  But even a tourist like I can suck down this local fare and enjoy myself.

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Matt Thrasher nips home for a quick “lunch.”

One kink that Daddy’s Home instantly tweaks is the eroticism I love when one guy is fully clothed and the object of his lustful attention is naked, or like in this case, nearly so.  In baggy khakis and a sky blue button up dress shirt, Matt Thrasher comes home from work for a quick “lunch” and instantly pushes my buttons. The contempt that pours off of him onto skinny boy Theo Devair is rich with subtle undertones of lust, physical domination, and ownership. He rolls his eyes at baby boy Theo doing bicep curls in the wrestling ring wearing nothing but a zip-crotch leather thong and a medallion hanging from his neck.  He bullies his way into the workout to show the lightweight how to work a pump. With a knowing smirk, Theo calls salt-and-peppered Matt “old man” and questions what he could possibly know about it.

Cocky, handsome Theo keeps prodding. He’s smooth, fay and delicate in contrast to the stubbled, thick masculinity of Matt. His provocation sounds less like an honest challenge and more like a well-worn opening plea to be dominated and controlled. Matt seems reasonable enough, so perhaps he needs a reason to need to whip his boy into line. Smooth, pretty Theo gives him what he needs to work up a head of steam and effortlessly slap the youngster down to the mat.

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“You need to learn some respect!’

Commandingly, Matt starts slapping Theo’s lily white ass, leaving bright red handprints. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you,” Matt says knowingly. “You need to learn some respect.” Theo cringes and grunts, but hardly argues with the obvious truth of those words.  Matt controls the boy by roughly manhandling him by the scruff of the neck like an errant puppy. “Tell me who’s boss!” daddy Matt demands, rolling Theo to his back and schoolboy pinning him. Theo stares up lustfully at Matt’s muscled, hairy chest partially visible underneath his half-unbottoned dress shirt.  Matt obligingly strips off his shirt and flexes his biceps. “You’re nothing next to me,” he growls. Theo eagerly kneads the muscle daddy’s belly and pecs.

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Matt bulges beautifully!

Perhaps Theo is clearly enjoying himself too much. Matt smacks his hands away and begins to choke him. “You need to learn some respect!” he snarls through gritted teeth.  His arms are thick and veiny. Again, the fact that he’s still in his khaki’s somehow turns me on even harder. Theo grimaces in the blatant choke, given something other than his daddy’s powerful body to have to pay attention to. Matt only decides to climb off after the boy obediently repeats the obvious truth, “You’re the man!”

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Matt planned ahead this morning, figuring a Nasty Pig jock strap would be called for come lunchtime.

Matt promptly strips off his khakis (slapping Theo with his belt for good measure).  He’s wearing a black Nasty Pig jock strap underneath.  The idea that daddy Matt goes to work, planning ahead for fun and games when he comes home by wearing a jock strap, intoxicates me. He’s big and muscled, lightly hairy pecs and thighs echoing his Alcide Herveauxesque salt-and-pepper beard and closely cropped haircut.  Matt has a big tattoo across his right upper arm.  His nipples are awesomely delicate positioned so aesthetically on his bulging pecs. His eyes never break their hold on Theo’s gaze for a moment. That fixed, fierce gaze is incredible. That’s what I’d give my firstborn child to see more of in homoerotic wrestling.

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Matt gives just a taste of what Theo is aching for.

He straddles his boy on his knees once again and flexes.  Theo can’t help himself but run his palms up and down that awesomely erotic, muscled belly. He’s enjoying it too much again. Matt shoves the boy’s face in his crotch, then rolls him over and stomps on his back, slaps his ass some more, rubs his face into the mat while humping Theo’s ass.  “Yeah,” he growls deep and breathy, “who’s your daddy?” Not that there was ever any real question.

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Lunchtime!

Soon, hungry Theo is on his knees at his daddy’s feet. Matt tugs down his pouch and wordlessly Theo wraps his lips around the big man’s cock. Again, watch the eyes. Matt stares upward, clearly trained to be held in Matt’s gaze. He pleasures the muscled hunk because he is silently being given permission, no, being commanded to do so with that fucking hot gaze. Have I mentioned how much I’d like to see more eye contact in homoerotic wrestling?  Big Matt let’s the boy work his rod awhile, but soon enough goes back to spanking Theo’s ass, demanding the boy say the words, “You’re my daddy.”  More ass humping. More cock sucking.  Matt’s getting sweaty, not because there’s been any heavy lifting, but because quite obviously his heart is pumping hard.

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Muscled Matt glistens

Theo works the big man’s cock with a studied expertise.  I get the impression pretty much anyone with a cock would have no choice but to respond to his technique, but I’m also left with the suspicion that he specifically knows exactly what his daddy likes.  The two are paced beautifully, working in concert to strum Matt’s rod harder and harder.  It’s all about Matt, but he permits his boy the indulgence of stroking his big, hard muscles as he services his daddy’s cock. Sweat pours down from Matt’s forehead.  Whatever pretense, whatever staging, there’s an honesty that his physiology cannot disguise. He’s getting worked hard.

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Cock pin to START with.

Neither of these two want things too easy, though.  Before Matt can get topped off completely, he throws Theo back to the mat, mounts him and humps his face.  Matt rips off Theo’s leather thong and humps his naked ass, clearly turning both of them on even harder.

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Grinding hips, bulging muscles, veins flush with a racing heartbeat

Matt wants his boy to show him some well-earned respect, so they finally tussle.  It’s like wrestling, but Theo’s willingness and enthusiasm for every ounce of Matt’s offense makes this something essentially different. A reverse bearhug, side headlock, full nelson, trampling, ball claw… the physical domination is more performance art than combat.  The “winner” was self-evident from about the 00:05 mark of this video.  “Daddy’s right all the time, isn’t he!?” Matt demands with his hard cock cradled snugly between Theo’s cheeks.

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A handful

Matt continues to offer and then take away his big, juicy cock, frustrating and tormenting Theo. Like binging on the Halloween candy, the boy would feast for days on it, but Matt dishes it out tauntingly.  Theo scarfs down everything he’s offered but always is left wanting more.  Matt takes both of their aroused cocks in one massive hand and starts pushing them toward the edge of the cliff.  “Tell daddy how much you like that!”  “Oh, daddy… OH, DADDY!”

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Now that’s a cock pin!

Face fucking, muscle worshipping.  Matt gets off but leaves his boy’s balls blue.  Daddy grabs his clothes and smiles, satisfied. “All right.  Back to work,” he mutters, leaving he ring.

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Daddy worship

The most genuine element of wrestling in Daddy’s Home is the ring. Otherwise, this is about 85% a part of the MDW domination catalog, not the wrestling side of things. That said, even a laser focused homoerotic wrestling kinkster like me can enjoy this drama.  Matt is incredibly hot. Over the top. I’d pop my cork for a straightforward homoerotic wrestling match to include even a tenth of the chemistry between these two. I’m nobody’s daddy, and I’m certainly not anyone’s boy, but this is a fine place to visit from time to time.

Vote Early, Vote Often

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kk
Vote Kid Karisma!

I’m starting my campaign here and now to promote Kid Karisma for the Best Body of 2014 award. Holy shit, have you SEEN him in Undagear 22?!  I’ve lost it just watching him warm up before Ray Naylor even strolls into the mat room. Wrestling Arsenal should be interested to take note of Kid K’s Doreanse designer underwear, considering his recent musings on the color baby blue on a wrestler. Karisma’s award winning ass has never looked as muscled and hot not even close to being squeezed into that fabric. And the ballast in his low-hanging pouch jostles and jiggles hypnotically. The separation of his pecs is incredible. There’s a ridged chasm running down his sternum that astounds me. I have no idea what he gets up to under the sheets, but if pec frot isn’t on the menu, then that chest is going to waste.

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Ray Naylor attempts to look unimpressed. Kid Karisma is unconvinced. I’m unconvinced.

Like his muscles, Kid K’s ego continues to swell bigger and bigger. “Who the fuck are you!?,” he spits contemptuously when Ray arrives.  Ray seems put off his game in an instant. There’s an awkward moment of silence, and finally Ray growls back, “Who the fuck are you, tough guy?”  Karisma belittles and taunts him like a tidal wave.  Karisma offers to shake Ray’s hand. Ray instinctively reaches toward the offer of sportsmanship. Karisma slaps him in the face.  There’s an instant of rage on Ray’s face, but Karisma is already distracting him again with another onslaught of intimidating trash talk, placing his hands behind his head and flexing his superhuman physique to add to Ray’s shock and awe.  He points at the BG East logo and declares, “I fucking run this shit!”  Ray flatly snaps, “You won’t by the end of this match.”  Kid K flexes his Himalayan-esque right bicep. “The last time I checked, I probably will.”

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Round 1, the pose off, goes to Kid Karisma in a landslide.

They do a side by side pose off.  Ray is ripped like my junk mail, but holy shit, he looks like a famine victim in comparison to the massive, meaty thickness and proportions of Kid Karisma. Ray can pretend to be unimpressed all he wants. There’s no way he isn’t in awe of the living sculpture flexing back at him. And I am not imagining things when I see a look of lust momentarily wash across the lean stud’s face. I’d say that Ray is just lucky to get an up close look at Kid K’s physical perfection, but I’m pretty sure the quick lick of Ray’s lips says it already.

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“What the fuck were you saying about my legs!?”

Ray is incredibly dangerous on the mats. Just ask Drake Marcos, who I’m certain is still paying chiropractic bills after their match ages ago.  His height and reach advantage are not to be underestimated, because he knows what to do with them. When Kid K screws around and doesn’t even try to start with, Ray soon enough takes the hardbodied hunk to the mat and crushes his ripped gut in body scissors.  “What the fuck were you saying about my legs!” Ray snarls angrily.

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Kid K hoists and carries Ray effortlessly and often.

Some physique stars strut into BG East and mistakenly think that gorgeous muscles will overcome wrestling skill (ahem, Kip Sorrell).  However, Kid K is the paradigmatic example of what happens when you combine mouthwateringly gorgeous muscles, a boatload of experience, and an absolute certainty in his fate to dominate. Whatever Ray throws, Karisma muscles free and twists the lean stud into knots. I’ve never seen anything quite like when Karisma holds Ray suspended off the mat, upside down, pulling upward on Ray’s legs while holding his head trapped tightly between Kid K’s ankles.  The stretch on Ray’s helpless body is phenomenal. Honestly, I’m convinced Kid K could have ripped him in half if he wanted to.  But it’s so much more fun for everyone, especially Karisma, to catch and release in order to humiliate his opponent in more ways.

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Kid Karisma wants nothing more than Ray Naylor in a rage.

Ray spends days off of his feet. Karisma hoists him into the air over and over, fireman’s carry, lifts, suspended in bear hugs. Ray is tough and experienced, mind you, so getting manhandled seriously pisses him off. Which seems to be exactly Kid K’s point, over and over. He wants to get a rise out of him. He wants to poke and provoke him.  He wants the stare down Ray’s adrenaline rush and fury, because nothing less could possibly stand of chance of being any competition.  Not that Karisma thinks that Ray has any chance of being actual competition.

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Kid Karisma knows 12 ways to destroy an opponent from this position.

There are several innovative moments that makes me gush for Kid K all the harder. He’s nearly ripping Ray’s head off in a camel clutch. The stud is clearly moments away from submitting (or breaking). Karisma let’s go of Ray’s chin with his left hand, still in total control cranking back with his right, but with his left reaches back and snags Ray’s flailing right foot.  Karisma muscles it upward and forward, applying unbelievable torque to Ray’s lower back.  The sublime ecstasy on Kid K’s face says it all as he closes his eyes and rolls his head backward, feeling the moment of total domination and, clearly, grooving almost as hard on it as I am. When Ray holds out, Karisma releases his ankle and grabs hold of a fist full of Ray’s hair, yanking backward still harder. The veins in Ray’s forearms bulge as his entire body above the waist flushes dark red under the strain.  Yeah, he gives.  Of course he gives.

 

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Ray’s goes where I’d pay a premium to follow.

At one telling point they’re locked together, Kid K’s head trapped hard between Ray’s knees, Ray’s ribs crushed between Kid K’s gargantuan thighs. Karisma’s ass hovers in front of Ray’s face.  Ray starts spanking that award winning ass.  These two trade spanks A LOT throughout the match, and Ray’s ass looks like ground beef before the end. But in this moment, Ray pauses, stretches his fingers wide, and just feels the mass and power in the palms of his hands. If you’re going to get crushed and brutalized by Kid Karisma, for god’s sake, get a long, lustful feel of those glutes and legs!

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Kid Karisma feels the sweet thrill of victory right… there.

There’s ball crushing and brutality spilling over the edges everywhere, but in the end, Ray is flat on his back in a pool of both of their sweat (and quite a few of Ray’s tears).  He’s had his last submission stomped out of him relentlessly. Kid Karisma stands over top of him, straddling his body, flexing, preening, crowing.  Ray’s hands reach up and subtly stroke Karisma’s left leg perched on top of Ray’s chest. Whatever the rage, whatever bruised egos were involved, I think Ray would have to concede that getting crushed and humiliated by Kid Karisma has its upside.  What Ray nor I could have seen coming, though, happens in the final 30 seconds of this match. As the camera lingers on Ray’s drenched, battered body, suddenly Kid K’s feet come back into frame. And then his sweat soaked designer baby blue underwear plops damply across Ray’s mouth. The camera snaps upward just in time to watch Kid Karisma’s naked backside strolling from the mat room.  Maybe it was a last, gratuitous gesture of humiliation, or maybe it was the sexiest gift Kid Karisma has ever bestowed upon an opponent. As far as I’m concerned, it was both!

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Moments before the undagear comes off.

There are myriad reasons Kid Karisma continues to reign as my favorite homoerotic wrestler, and pretty much everyone of them is captured to perfection (like Ray Naylor) in Undagear 22.

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While I don’t have a BG East approved pic of Kid Karisma’s magnificent ass leaving the mat room in Undagear 22, I do have this Christmas present from Kid K from 2013. You get the idea.