No one seemed to notice that I totally blanked out on reviewing the votes from Friday Fashion a week and a half ago. Or else you were just to polite to say anything. Regardless, I wanted to state the obvious: Wade Cutler was one stunningly sexy wrestler in a vintage red singlet! Wade pulled 77 votes, more than 50 votes ahead of second place Devon Cade, and 60 votes ahead of 3rd place Nick Veloudis (who I’ve got to spend some more time with!). Interestingly, although Corey Evans tied with Devon the week before in the same gear, hunky Corey faded to a very distant 4th place finish. All these numbers to say that homoerotic wrestling fans continue to have a major crush on one of the sexiest muscle boys to get ripped, stripped, and jacked off in the wrestling ring, Wade Cutler. Oh, and of course, on the mat, in Fantasymen 8, he wore it best!
Author: wrestlebard
PSA – Newsboy Challenge


After I swooned over every captured still of Gio Benitez muscling his way through the surf on Good Morning America on Tuesday, several of you let me know you’re with me. Turns out, a random Twitterer’s mind went to the exact same place mine did: evaluating how pumped Gio compares with Italian Stallion Chris Cuomo:
Fuck and yes! I love that Cuomo, who is a notorious muscle stud, gets called out publicly on behalf of the young pup Gio. Of course, when I read, “the competition is heating up,” I’m picturing muscles soaked in oil, gym bodies stripped to speedos, and a brutal beefcake beach battle of balls out homoerotic wrestling. Now that Chris is on a competing morning show at CNN, I wasn’t sure if he’d even be allowed by corporate to acknowledge that Gio exists. Well, apparently he is, and he did:
See what he did there? Chris feints with self-depracating praise, then slips in that Gio is a novice compared to the veteran newsboy. And just to drive home the point of who would win the “competition,” Cuomo points out emphatically that Gio is a fucking lightweight compared to him. Competition? I’d squash that anklebiter like a fucking bug! Sweet, I thought. But no way Gio’s handlers would let him dip his toes into the newsboy trash talk pool, right? Wrong:
Baby beefcake Benitez climbs into the ring like an upright, earnest babyface, giving his props to the well-known muscle monster Cuomo. Aw, shucks, I’m just honored to be in the same Tweet.

Let’s recap. 43 year old, 6’2″ dynasty spare Chris Cuomo not only periodically and cruelly teases muscle fans with his shirtless fishing exploits, he also writes a column for Men’s Health and is currently video documenting a provocatively named kick ass workout regime with multiple clips of him pumped, sweaty, and working his giant body with a hot, handsome stud trainer barking in his ear. Cuomo says his ideal weight is 210 pounds of rock hard mountainous muscle. He says that he isn’t an MMA boy, but he’ll “try a 5-minute fighting circuit to disturb my metabolism.” I know of a lot of opponents who’d give a left nut to be on that circuit!

I haven’t uncovered any guesses about Gio Benitez’ height or weight, so I’m totally making this shit up when I say he’s 5’10” and a ripped 185 pounds. He turned 28 about 7 months ago. His official ABC bio says that he’s fluent in English and Spanish, and was the first journalist to shoot a segment entirely on iPhone, which is pretty much crap info when you consider that they’ve left out his vital statistics like chest and bicep measurements. His Instagram suggests that the boy wonder likes muscle tees and completely unbuttoned polos, form-fitted to his mammoth pecs and struggling to contain his bulging biceps. He’s not nearly as smooth and confident on camera as Cuomo, but he’s come a long way since his GMA debut about a year ago. Unlike Cuomo’s omnipresent naked torso, and despite his most obvious assets, ABC has yet to unleash full-on Gio shirtlessness. I assume they’re waiting for a desperate sweeps week.


I say liberally baby oiled beach wrestling in South Beach, Chris in a speedo and Gio wearing a posing strap. Entirely televised by both CNN and ABC, with special referee weatherman-turned-celebrity gossip monger Rob Marciano. What are the highlights of that action and who wins? You make the call in the comments.


PSA – Gio Benetiz Gets Wet
In the interest of public safety, I’m afraid that Gio Benitez has to re-shoot this segment for Good Morning America. I know that I’m not alone in being unconvinced by his demonstration of the dangers of rip tides. That shirt and those baggy trunks he’s wearing were clearly weighing him down as he swam in the surf, exaggerating the threat of a rip tide. If Gio had done this segment shirtless and in more modest trunks, I feel confident he’d have muscled his way right through that rip tide without breaking a sweat. I, for one, refuse to believe in the dangers of rip tides until Gio Benitez goes back to south Florida, strips down (in HD slow motion) to nothing but a tiny speedo, and does this entire demonstration all over again. If Gio truly cares about public safety, he will make this happen, and he’ll send me photos of him flexing those gargantuan biceps, bouncing those juicy pecs, and I’d pay double for an extended video of him bearhugging that hottie lifeguard who, let’s face it, despite acknowledging how much of “a grown man” Gio is, still questions Gio’s masculinity by “rescuing” him. Then, when Lara Spencer clucks, “and speaking of ripped!” about Gio’s hot body at the end of the segment, it’ll really mean something.








*Events and dialogue reported here may not exactly conform to what actually happened.
Chuck Champ – Your Call
My Netflix account is only about 4 months old, but it’s earned the subscription fee back several times over. For example, I’ve been binge watching Chuck, which I sort of lost track of when it was originally airing around the middle of season 2. The casting director needs an honorary homoerotic wrestling award for packing so much wrestling fantasy meat into one production. In a lottery-style homoerotic wrestling tournament, in which competitors draw names for their opponents in an elimination competition, who would end up in the final round, what genre of homoerotic wrestling, and who would be the Chuck Champ? I know how this celebrity homoerotic wrestling fantasy plays out in my mind. What about you? Comment with your take…








Friday Fashion
I love a hot battle between gorgeous hunks! Last week’s Friday Fashion poll is a perfect case in point. Babyface boy-next-door Greg Michaels pulled a respectable 25% of the vote, but it was a dead heat as of this morning between Corey Evans and Devon Cade, with 37.6% of the vote a piece. That means in answer to the question “Who wore it best?,” we’re left with a resounding indecision! Now, normally my prescription is to have the top vote-getters thrown into a ring, naked, with the gear in question to be donned by the hunk who makes his opponent his bitch. This week, however, I have a different possible tie-breaker. Since I posted last week, I’ve tracked down another 3 homoerotic wrestlers who ALSO wore this “vintage” red singlet in smokin’ hot action. So let’s see how Corey and Devon fare in the face of this new pack of hunks. Five worthy hunks. They all wore it, but who wore it best?





Obeying the Golden Ruhl

Marcus Ruhl cements his standing as my favorite Naked Kombatant these days with his new release match against mammoth Mitch “The Machine” Vaughn. Both of these majorly beefy hunks are incredible specimens. Marcus’ ass and legs leave me breathless, and watching them pump and grind at work is phenomenally entertaining. He comes into the match with a 2-2 record, while Mitch is angling to keep his 2-0 record undefeated. Mighty Marcus comes across a bit of an underdog, with noticeably shorter reach and the tide of momentum seeming to favor Mitch. Just look at the size of Marcus upper arms and let that sink in: he’s an underdog!

Mitch hands Marcus his insanely sexy bubble butt in round 1 of Kombat. The Naked Kombat points pile up 15-7 in Mitch’s favor. Marcus is on his back and struggling under the mountain of muscle most of the duration, and he taps out pretty early on from the devastating effects of fingers up his crack (which at NK gets points and, surprisingly, a submission in this case). Gorgeous, tanned, mouthwateringly muscled Marcus is looking in serious jeopardy of tipping into the 2-3 category.

Round 2, the jockstrap round, is fast and furious. There’s no point tally after that round, but I’m estimating that Marcus made up some, but not all, of his early deficit. Mitch looks tired. Well, they both look like exhausted behemoths, but Marcus looks a tad fresher.

Round 3 is an oil round, and I just about lose my self-control just watching golden Marcus slather baby oil across every inch of himself. Massive hunks like these sometimes get seriously ponderous and half-assed around this point in NK, and with the oil making it nearly impossible to get a hold on each other, these studs could be excused if they’d dialed it down from their round 2 pace. But fuck no! It’s a chess match, mind you. It’s not a blitz of throws and holds and scrambling non-stop. But it’s move and hold, attempt and counter, muscles straining against mighty, massive muscles relentlessly. Damn, damn, damn that oil round is a feast!

The match is called early because Mitch takes a scratch to an eyelid. Nearly 420 pounds of combined muscle, but it’s a scratch to the eyelid that stops this titanic confrontation cold! There’s a life lesson in there, I’m sure. The powers that be at NK decide the match is close enough to the end to just tally the points to that point and crown a winner. Remember, mighty Marcus ended round 1 with an 8 point disadvantage. Once the oil is washed off and Mitch’s eye treated with Neosporin, the final points are announced. Mitch: 24 points. Marcus: 26!

Round 4 at NK is the “sex round” in which the winner gets to dominate and call the shots, which 19 times out of 20 is the least arousing round for me. Watching Marcus own this power hitter, though, is pretty fucking sweet. There’s a ton of attention paid to Marcus’ ass, both by Mitch and by the camera. And then there is, by far, the most engaging moment in the match: the post-match testimonial in which both gladiators honestly, almost shyly comment on the experience and give each other kudos. That devastatingly handsome, Clark Kentish earnestness on Marcus’ gorgeous face melts into a beautiful, adorkable smile as he admits that his opponent was nearly too much to handle. Holy crap, I’ve got a gargantuan crush on that guy!
Sorting Out Asses and Dicks

When I think about how I present myself online, I think about this blog. The depths of my confessionals in the well over 1,000 posts I’ve composed over the past 5 years pretty much leave me feeling naked (and hungry). So when someone approaches me in a different online format, who has clearly never read the pages of this blog, it’s always a little disorienting. “You into wrestling?” someone asks on Facebook. Seriously? I mention BG East or Can-Am on Twitter and someone asks, “What’s BG East?” Whaaaaa?
So today’s post explaining the do’s and don’t’s of chatting me up on Facebook and Twitter is probably pitched to the wrong audience (because, obviously, you’re reading this blog). However, after several cease and desists and “unfriending” (aka, “fuck off, bitch”), I thought I’d just clarify how I manage who I am and how I socialize in the most misnamed technology in history: social media. First of all, I am an unapologetic gay man. If you try to strike up conversation or ask me to accept you as a “friend,” but you appear to be presenting yourself as a straight man, into just women, with a total lack of style and a frequent use of homophobic slurs, I will ignore you. Some of my closest friends are straight guys, mind you, but my quota of token straights in my life is filled at the moment. Same goes for the boobulous women complementing me on my abs. Wrong tree.
Now, an overt nod to wrestling in your profile or chatter is a major plus. Assuming you’ve made it through the first round of exclusion criteria above, I almost universally acknowledge those who approach me with an explicit connection to wrestling. The gay guys who approach me who seem to hold no fascination for wrestling tend to have about a 0.50 probability of me ignoring them. Which side of that coin you fall on probably depends on whether I’m already inserting you into a wrestling fantasy of mine by looking at your profile photo. Yeah, it’s all about me.

Speaking of which, regular readers of this blog know well that I’m a major fan and booster of hot asses and succulent dicks. Honestly, I’ve dragged you all along on quite a few rounds of “Name that Ass” and “Name that Cock,” so it should come as no surprise that I love asses and dicks. I’m still planning a revival of the “Name that…” games at some point, because, let me repeat, I love asses and I love dicks.

That said, metaphorical asses and dicks frequently make it through my initial two rounds of exclusion criteria above, and then get my boot later on. What qualifies one as a metaphorical ass who I don’t have time for? Rabid, right wing, Tea Party, misogynist, internalized homophobic, guns in every hand but save fetuses at all costs, racist, anti-immigrant bullshit qualifies one instantly as the sort of ass that I have no time for. That’s right. You may be gay and a wrestling freak, but if you shove your politics in my face and I find them abhorrent, I’ve moved on. I’m fine with you believing your wing-nuttery, but I’m not about to see it in my feed on a regular basis.

What qualifies one as a metaphorical dick that I can’t stand? There are a few signals to me that someone is a dick. “Hey fucker, I’m going to beat your ass and you’re going to take it,” is a pick up line that does not work for me in the sphere of social media. Buy me a couple of drinks, strip your rock hard body down to a jock strap, and serve up some sweet trash talk and sure, you’re back to being the sort of dick I love. Come on way too strong and insist on dominating without a basis of consensual amiability, and you’re coming across to me as the sort of dick I don’t have time for. Another signal of a distasteful dick is trashing people I care about and respect. Bitchy take downs and critiques of the bodies of homoerotic wrestlers in the business, for example, merits a “see ya,” from me. Thoughtful critiques of the homoerotic wrestling industry are lovely, but one-dimensional flaming of a particular company or product is just dickish.

I don’t tend to respond much to “hey, stud, let’s cyber wrestle.” That doesn’t usually merit a delete from me, but I’ve said way too often that my dance card is full up at the moment. It comes close, but typically doesn’t quite cross the line when someone asks to share pirated homoerotic wrestling products. Again, if you read the pages of this blog, you know that I’m a big, big booster of the industry and want it to thrive and prosper. Intentionally pirating copyrighted material is awfully damn close to dickishness that I don’t have time for. You probably won’t get deleted, but I’ll try to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.

Want to chat about your favorite homoerotic wrestler? Want to comment on dicks and asses (the good kind)? Want to steer me to a new company or product because you’re fucking love it to pieces and think I will too? Let’s virtually socialize! Care to offer a different opinion or take me to task because you think I’ve missed some essential hotness in my meanderings and musings? Love it. Be classy, gay, and within the brotherhood of homoerotic wrestling fans, and let’s connect. The other type of asses and dicks, keep moving.
Double-Booked
Whoever is at the front desk in the hotel where Damien Rush and Muscle Master Kevin are staying, he’s one of us. How do I know? Because he’s apparently intentionally double-booked these two hot, hairy, pumped up studs in the same suite, both of them desperate for a (private) dip in the in suite hot tub.

This newest season on Muscle Domination Wrestling is featuring a noticeably beefier version of Muscle Mast Kevin. He’s not as cut, but sporting a whole lot more meat on those bones, accompanied by a lumberjack beard and a felonious disdain for sharing. Or taking turns. Though I wish this scenario was settled with the two hunks agreeing to share the more than ample hot tub. Naked. Alas.

Anyhow. In Zzzzzzzz 3, Damien Rush showed up for his dip in the bubbles wearing a wrestling singlet. His hairy pecs bulge out the top. His huge shoulders are mapped with pulsing veins. And he’s not having any of it when MMK tries to muscle in and intimidate pretty Damien out of his already paid for suite.

Muscle Domination Wrestling fans know that MMK has a fuse about 2 millimeters long, so no one but a newbie will be shocked that he opens a can of whoop ass on Damien in the blink of an eye. Happily for us, MMK’s carefully channeled rage immediately lighted upon the perfect solution to this conflict: they both need to get wet together. Of course, MMK’s version of this scenario has his hands wrapped around Damien’s throat as he dunks the stud.

Damien is begging for mercy in less than 2 minutes, which I have to admit, is turning me on. Hairy, hunky, hot as fuck Damien is overwhelmed and ready to submit so fast, I would’ve thought I’d sort of hate the stud for caving so quickly. But the muscle torture angle of this confrontation is provoking me to a surprising degree, and MMK’s relentlessness paired with Damien’s speedy decision that he is in (quite literally) over his head captivates me.

This is one of MDW’s genre-straddling productions that runs the risk of leaving some of its intended audience feeling frustrated. There is some wrestling, but the space outside the tub is extremely limited, and the range of combat that can happen inside a hot tub is somewhat abbreviated as well. The physicality is almost entirely devoted to choke fans, as MMK’s hands are wringing Damien’s neck non-stop. Those with a drowning fetish (not me, but I’m not judging) will also find the action inside the tub a pleasure. Looking for hot, hairy muscleboys straining and flexing? Check. But if your core fetish is a couple of hunks in a pro-wrestling ring bouncing off the ropes, flying off the corners, and scooping and slamming the fuck out of each other, this will be, at best, kink adjacent. What the match lacks in scope, however, it makes up for in intimacy. The lighting is surprisingly good for the limitations of the setting, and the camera man has got to be plastered to a wall, the view is so extremely up close.

“Too intense for you?” MMK asks Damien as the gasping hunk is sputtering and choking water out of his lungs. Damien worries that MMK’s real design is to literally kill him. It’s not a snuff bit, so don’t worry (or, sorry to disappoint, however it is you take the news). Damien is still alive by the end of the 16 minute session. Unconscious, sure, but alive, as MMK flexes over top of him, water dripping of his beefy bod as he explains that everything is an object lesson, and this lesson is for anyone who dares to defy him when he makes a move to take anything (ANYTHING) that may appear to belong to someone else.

Me? I’ve got a thing for wet musclemen. So despite Damien’s hot bod being submerged in water (and thus out of sight) for most of the session, there’s enough hot, hairy, handsome man meat on display to stroke that side of me that gets a little weak in the knees at glistening, soaked studs. What would have topped this off with a cherry would have been Damien subserviently bathing his muscle master (with or without his tongue… I’d have been okay either way). But there’s a bluntness about MDW that remains true in Zzzzzzz 3. The homoeroticism is primarily what you and I bring to the viewing, though the impulse to film two hunks having it out in a hot tub is, quite obviously, pitched our direction.

Friday Fashion
Let’s get back to some Friday Fashion fun. There’s a particular pair of complimentary singlets that have been worn OUT by about a dozen wrestlers. One singlet is red, the other blue, and they’re referred to at least a couple times on the BG East website as “retro.” Today, let’s just assess who wore the red singlet best. Now, I’ve found at least 2 more hot hunks who’ve worn this gear in addition to the three studs featured here today, but I haven’t sussed out the identities of the 2 mystery men yet. If I can, perhaps we’ll have a round two to determine who wore it best.
I believe it was devastatingly sexy Corey Evans who may have worn it first in the inaugural Matmen release, setting the bar extremely high in his match with pretty boy Jesse Tyler. Greg Michaels also donned the “retro” red singlet as he headed face first into the buzz saw that is Nick Archer in Mat Hunks 3, and then again pressing his bad luck against Eric Ford in Ringwars 9. And finally (for today) handsome, horny Devon Cade dared to wear the same gear (to start with) in his sizzling Undagear 13 match against my fantasy stripper gram stud, Jonah Richards. This singlet has been soaked through on the way to victories and losses, but when it comes to the aesthetics of fashion and form, who wore it best? Vote below.



You Say It’s Your Birthday?
Precisely 5 years ago, I sat down and started to compose my first posts for neverland. Five years!? It’s incredible to look back and consider the distance traveled, the friendships made, the haters ignored. I remember tracking site visits to the blog back then and getting a rush of excitement if there were more than a couple of dozen page views in a day. These days, the average is between 1,500 and 2,000 per day, and we’ve had about 350,000 page views in total since I migrated the blog here to WordPress about 10 months ago. I won’t lie to you, there are days when I wonder what else I could possibly write about my take on homoerotic wrestling that I haven’t already written before. I’m also pretty sure I’ve repeated myself dozens of times on most topics at this point. But just like my obsession with homoerotic wrestling, something about documenting the heart of what turns me on keeps pulling me back to the pages of this blog. Thanks to everyone who has commented over the years. A huge thank you to the producers of the finest homoerotic wrestling who have granted copyright permission to repost their photos on the pages of this blog. My deep gratitude for the many wrestlers who’ve been willing to sit down for interviews, for guest bloggers who’ve posted their perspectives here at neverland, for brother wrestling bloggers who broadcast more of the diversity of tastes and follies than any one of us could ever manage to cover alone, and to everyone who has been kind and classy enough to drop a good word, a note of encouragement, or just to continue the fascinating conversation that I’ve had (mostly with myself) for the past 5 years.
Now, somebody needs a spanking, and I think it’s me!























