Author: wrestlebard

I'm a gay man with an active imagination.

Tan Lines

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I got my first dose of serious springtime sunshine this weekend, and I soaked it up like a sponge. Having recently moved from a place where April showers are followed by more May showers, it’s quite a joy to see what spring can really do to people who’ve been literally snowed under for 4 or 5 months.

Aaron Tanner and Rik Jammer show their tans in Nasty Sex Fights

Of course, with sunshine and warmth comes hot boys who simply need to expose as much of their beautiful skin as possible. Temperatures on the rise in the atmosphere equate to my internal temperature stoked hot and heavy with a sudden wealth of eye candy everywhere I turn.

Dan Melino’s massive bod and luscious tan lines in Frisco Fights 2

Personally I avoid too much sun. After a few too many bad burns in my youth, my doctor advises me that pasty-white is the perfect shade of hot-bodiedness for me. That doesn’t, however, prevent me from happily spectating that rite of spring that is the public display of skin with the implicit, if not explicit, purpose of marketing oneself for warm-weathered sexual activity.

Eduardo rocked the erotic tan line hardest in All American Oiled Trio Bash

I’ve always had a special kink for tan lines in homoerotic wrestling as well. There’s something extra intimate about the pale pattern of a skimpy bikini to mark where a hardbodied hunk sunbathed in his speedo before getting his gear peeled off in the ring. The implication of modesty (he didn’t tan au natural) coupled with seeing a wrestler stripped naked in combat gives me value added arousal for the sexy reveal.

Jimmy Dean’s thong tan-lines in 

Is it me, or are their fewer tan lines in homoerotic wrestling? Perhaps it’s the public health campaign to keep us from tempting the cancer fates by staying in the shade (as my doc has done). Then again, there are the beautifully tanned hardbodies for which there’s no tan line because they slip into the privacy of the tanning booth with nothing to leave a line.

Kyle Bradford’s newsmaker-tanned ass in Make Me Submit

A hot, lickable tan line still gets my blood boiling a little faster, though, with a sweet scent of innocence defiled coupled with a strong whiff of nostalgia. So if you’re going to worship the sun with your pumped muscles bare and beautiful, I just hope that you apply the SPF liberally to blunt the worst of the effects, and wear your speedo, because the pale imprint of your gear left over once your opponent has ripped and stripped you naked is incredibly sexy!

J.T. Sloan’s picture perfect tan line in Fantasy Fight 10 vs. Dave Russell

Heat

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Reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy: 5’10”, 145 lbs Skrapper

My pornboy favorite rankings have been stagnant for a while.  When Naked Kombat went down, the need for a separate pornboy category from the non-pornboy homoerotic wrestling favorites seemed less important to me.  Now that NK is back and I’m back paying attention to them, I’m guessing there will be new pornboys capturing my fancy and shaking up the ranks.  Mr. Intense, aka BG East’s Skrapper, has held the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy forever, though I’m hoping the likes of someone like babyface sadist Vance Crawford might give Skrapper a run for his title.  The heat that dude-meister Skrapper generates, however, is incredible, and even when no on (on camera) is losing a load or two by the end of a match, Skrapper’s mastery of a homoerotic wrestling opponent is nothing short of scorching.

Scorching Jake Jenkins: 5’7″, 155 lbs.

Did someone say scorching?  Holy Mary Mother of God, have you seen that “little fucking monkey” (lovingly dubbed so by Kid Karisma) Jake Jenkins in mouthwateringly low rise Calvin Klein briefs!?  His mat match in Sunshine Shooters 6 against Skrapper presents Jake as insanely sexy as we’ve ever seen him, somehow stoking my fires a tad more for eventually wrestling in nothing but his tighty-whities soaked through with buckets and buckets of sweat.

A little “training”
Jake has a notoriously steady hand on the rudder when he wrestles.  He looks like a chess master through most of his matches, as much as a seriously dangerous powerhouse muscleman who, as Skrapper learns, can wrestle, punch, and kick with equally devastating results.  Skrapper spends the first half of this match chipping away at the cool as ice exterior on lovely Jake.  Having lured him to the mats for some “training,” he instantly and literally knocks Jake on his heels with the surprise that he wants to box.  It takes approximately a blink of an eye for Jake to recalibrate and start unloading a semi full of bell ringing strikes with fists, feet, knees and elbows.
Skrapper may not have gotten the memo that Jake is also an MMA fighter!
Bit by bit, Skrapper keeps chipping away, not giving Jake a moment to breathe, not a second to recover when he gets the wind knocked out of him.  Slowly it dawns on Jake that this isn’t about “training” at all.  As Skrapper starts both dominating and humiliating the “little fucking monkey,” Jake starts to lose his patience.  “What’s your problem, dude!” he snaps angrily when Skrapper stays on the offense well past the point of “practicing” a hold.  Between Skrapper and Jake, I suspect there may be more utterances of the word “dude” in this match than any other in the history of homoerotic wrestling.  I could find that grating, but I don’t.  Not for a second.  Because like Jake, I just don’t have time to catch a breath or be bothered by anything.  Skrapper sucker punches and pounds and squeezes his way inside Jake’s guard and underneath Jake’s flawless skin, and right around the time sweat is pouring off of both of these boys’ bodies in streams, Jake is seriously pissed off and I’m completely turned on.
I’d pay good money to trade places with Skrapper at this very moment!
The baggy shorts come off pretty quickly, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods.  More than 5 minutes with Jake Jenkins in anything more than very low-rise briefs is a crime against all that’s right and good in this world, as far as I’m concerned.  And fuck, Skrapper!  Damn!  He’s no muscleboy, mind you, but he’s seriously fit, toned, and does a mighty fine job of making his own pair of athletic-fit Calvins stretch at all the right seams.  Their two well-lubricated bodies sliding and squeezing all over each other is somewhere between a religious experience and insanely masterful art.  Skrapper’s face and hands go places I’d give a kidney to go, and the more moisture their bodies generate, the more I swoon at the sound of hard, muscled bodies slapping wetly into each other… and the mat… and the walls.
I don’t know what you call this, but I call it sexy as hell!

Skrapper’s got a tiger by the tail when he’s finally succeeded in provoking Jake, but damn it all if the skrappy one doesn’t hold onto that hot, hot piece of tail with precisely the fearlessness and tenacity that propelled me to lustfully anoint him my top of the pack pornboy wrestler.  I don’t know what the technical term is for this combo acrobatic/yoga/little-fucking-monkey move that Skrapper manages on the muscleboy, but he plants Jake’s handsome face into the mat, folds his legs at the knees, and pries the rest of Jake’s shiny body upward, slowly cranking Jake’s back arching backward.  Damn, that needs to be mounted and framed and hanging on my wall!

Skrapper messes with the bull…

I never, ever count Skrapper out until he’s been unconscious for at least a minute, and Jake figures that lesson out for himself eventually.  The skrappy one’s tenacity and endless reservoir of momentum and sheer nerve sincerely appear to stun his gorgeous opponent.  But tenacity and nerve, in the end, aren’t nearly as stunning as Jake Jenkins provoked, unleashed, and just plain fucking fed up!  The can of whoop ass he opens up as Skrapper keeps peeling himself off the mat and charging headlong into the buzzsaw is breathtaking.  Just ask Skrapper right about the time that sweat-soaked Jake Jenkins plants his luscious ass down on Skrapper’s sternum, his hefty package lodged sweetly in Skrapper’s cleavage, and Jake breathes deep and pumps out a double bicep in victory.

Is he finally down for good!? 
Chalk up another victory for that little fucking monkey!

By the end of this match Jake, Skrapper, AND I need a shower, and I can think of one easily solution to that problem!

Lusts of My Life [Guest Blogger: Alex]

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So I know I wrote that my lusts are usually low profile, but that’s not the case for this one. Mike Columbo. I mean, he is one of BGE’s big stars and has been in tons of videos. However, the reason I like him may be unique. Tarzan. Yes, Tarzan is why he was one of the first guys I gravitated to.
Now, I admit that if I were casting a Tarzan, Mike Columbo wouldn’t be my first choice. So how does my brain relate the two? Here’s my explanation:
My favorite Tarzan is Gordon Scott. Mike Columbo taps directly into my lust for him. Big chest. Narrow waist. Big muscles. Haircut. Face. Scott isn’t a classic, long-haired Tarzan, but when I saw his movies on TV, I was quite young and wowed. In fact, he might be the first ever lust of my life. So Mike Columbo drafted off Scott. The fact that his matches consistently delivered made him an immediate must-buy for many, many years.

So do you see the resemblance or am I crazy? Post your thoughts in the comments!

Back for More

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It looks like NK is back to their old production schedule, and I’ve been missing hard more pornboy mat competition, so I’ve rearranged my porn budget and signed back on.  Their newest match makes me a satisfied customer already.

Hayden “the Swank” Richards – 6′, 185 pounds

“I’m Hayden ‘the Swank’ Richards, 6-foot tall, 1 and 0… What I think about my opponent is that he’s a big bitch, and he has a lot of tattoos.  And I know these big guys; they wear out easily…. When I win, I’m going to toss his little bitch ass across the mat and fuck him hard and make him wish he never came to Naked Kombat.” Hayden’s handsome, boy-next-door material.  His reported 10 pound weight advantage looks bigger to me, just eyeballing the two of them.  He’s not carrying the muscle mass his “bitch ass” opponent is, but speaking of asses, Hayden’s got a world class one!

Jeremy “Stonewall” Stevens – 6′, 195 pounds

“I’m Jeremy ‘Stonewall’ Stevens, 6-foot, 195 pounds, and my record is 1 and 1…. What do I think about my opponent? I think he looks like an oversized baby and I should probably put him down for a nap…. When I win, I’m going to teach this little man a lesson, shove my cock down his throat and really show him who’s boss.”  He’s blond and tanned.  He’s got scruff and tats, and incredibly beautiful pecs.  He looks like precisely the rough trade type to take a particular delight in spoiling a pale, pretty boy-next-door.

Swank says his plan is to ride his bigger opponent out and then blow past him in the 3rd round when Jeremy has exhausted himself.

NK is filmed this week in a club in Sacramento, clearly when patrons aren’t around.  However, there’s a row of spectators matside watching, including a couple of pornboys in NK gear, clearly waiting their turn to hit the mats.  Regular readers know how much I love erotic wrestling in front of a live audience!  The lucky boys at mat side cheer both boys on, clearly hungry for a competitive match.  The catcalls and whistles of appreciation for particularly humiliating moves sweetens the pot considerably for me.  Hayden says his strategy is to let his bigger opponent wear himself out in rounds 1 and 2 and then blow past him in round 3 for the victory, but clearly that’s just psych-out bullshit, because he’s all over Mr. Pectacular like a swarm of bees from the moment the first round starts.

Round 1: Hayden’s purported game plan of sitting back and letting Jeremy tire himself out was a ruse.  He’s ALL OVER Stonewall!

Hayden comes across as a bit of dick, I think.  Jeremy taps out early, complaining of a tweaked shoulder.  When the action resumes, Hayden instantly starts wrenching on said shoulder and repeatedly going back to full nelsons to work on the injured joint.  Hayden is the first one to strip his opponent out of speedo, but Jeremy returns the favor almost instantly.  I get the impression both of them were pretty eager drop the pretense of trunks, anyway.  The idea that “the Swank” was going to get outmuscled by his bigger opponent and then hope to wear Jeremy down over time quickly flies out the window.  Hayden’s faster, more skilled, and astonishingly outmuscles the big man over and over, powering his way to a 23-8 lead in NK points.  Jeremy smiles embarrassedly and looks up at the ceiling is shock.  That was supposed to be his round.  Muscles pumped from the round 1 action, suddenly Hayden doesn’t look so small or outclassed by Jeremy’s big muscles.

The jockstrap round goes a little better for big, beautiful Jeremy… not a lot, but a little.

One thing I love about NK is that you can watch the sweat slowly coating these hard hunky bodies as they huff and puff and work their asses off.  The boys are soaked by the end of round 2, the jock-strap (briefly) round.  Jeremy does little better than his first round efforts, standing at 21 points to the Swank’s 40 points.  Hands on his hips, sucking down air, the boy-next-door Hayden looks like one cocky, sexy bastard.  There’s no other way around it.  That pre-match testimonial suggesting he was prepared to get outmuscled in the first two rounds while Jeremy slowly tires out was all bullshit to misdirect his opponent.  “Stonewall” looks clearly demoralized and there’s still another round to go!

Hayden watches icily as Jeremy breaks face before round 3.

They start round 3 naked, on their knees, and fully erect.  They’re both sporting gorgeous, comparably sized cocks. Jeremy looks like he’s trying to summon some mojo, staring into his opponent’s eyes with renewed intensity.  Hayden stares back icily, barely contained contempt glimpsed from behind partially lidded eyes.  Just before the whistle blows to start the action, Jeremy’s game face breaks.  His feet twitch nervously, and a shit-eating grin breaks across his face.  It’s like he’s asking, “All fun and games, right?”  Hayden is like stone statue, pounding on the big stud’s battered ego before their bodies even touch in round 3.

Jeremy finally gets in position to use his weight to his advantage, crushing Hayden beneath his balls.

It’s Hayden whose pace slows in round 3, but he’s still more than up to the task of putting muscle-beauty Jeremy on his back, spanking his ass, and roughly stroking his cock until the big man groans.  It’s much more competitive, once the Swank is slowing down, but in the end, Jeremy can’t tally more than 36 points, not managing to rack up in 3 rounds what Hayden banked in the first two.  With a total of 49 points, the Swank goes undefeated.  “Down on your knees, bitch!”

Hayden can’t keep his hands off Jeremy’s meaty, hairy pecs.

Hayden force-feeds the muscleman his cock, controlling the pace with a handful of Jeremy’s dirty blond hair.  This is much less about domination than most other NK matches I’ve seen (new direction, or just a feature of Hayden’s victory lap?).  While the wrestling is what satisfies me, I will say that watching the Stonewall straddle the victor’s hips, slide Hayden’s cock inside, and ride him with such gusto that those lovely pecs bounce hypnotically is sweet icing on an already tasty cake. Hayden clearly enjoys not only the feel of his cock up the loser’s ass, but the feel of Jeremy’s hot, hard muscles in his hands as he strokes and squeezes the big man appreciatively mid-ride.

Single-leg cradle fuck.  Hell.  Yes.

Suddenly Hayden throws Jeremy off of him, flings him to his back with a single-leg cradle, and shoves his cock back inside in a very hot homage to the wrestling kinksters watching.  There’s a bit of trash talking, but Hayden enjoyed that sex way too much to convince me that he’s anything but in awe of the feel of the banished pornboy he beat.  After slapping down his victory load across Jeremy’s chest, he stands, plants his foot victoriously on Stonewall’s tasty pecs, and demands that the loser release, which Jeremy is clearly happy to do.

The winner at his cocky, shit-eating grin.  Well done, boys!

In the post-match interviews, victorious Swank marvels that the point spread was merely 13 points.  What a cocky bastard!  Asked at what point in the match did Hayden realize that he was definitely going to win, he thinks for a second and then says it was definitely the moment he walked in the room, saw his opponent, and thought, “oh, well, I may have to work for it.”  Jeremy concedes in his interview that he was completely surprised that his opponent was such a “strong little fucker!”

Boston on My Mind

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I’ve been struggling with wanting to post something, but not wanting to disrespect the victims and survivors of the Boston marathon bombings by being as frivolous as is my default here at neverland.  I’ll keep this brief, so as to not get too distracted from my main point, which is my affection and respect for Boston at all times, and most poignantly over the last couple of days.  The time I enjoyed spending there taught me some lessons about Boston and Bostonians.  For example, I come from a metropolis where people are fastidious about braking for pedestrians.  Not so, Boston.  They’ll run you down in a heartbeat, crosswalk or no.  I learned that it’s not that they are contemptuous of pedestrians.  They do not wish them harm.  It’s simply that they trust that pedestrians are tough and savvy enough to know better than to cross a street in front of oncoming traffic.  It’s certainly not that they aren’t looking out for each other, but rather they count on each other to be smart and exercise common sense survival instincts.  In the time I’ve spent in Boston I witnessed a lot of honking, a good deal of yelling, and a fearlessness about casual confrontation.  I also enjoyed random Bostonians striking up friendly conversations with me about my tattoos, why I was there in the city, if I knew about the best places for connoli (none of these things would ever occur in my uptight and icy hometown at the time).  Unlike other places I’ve lived, I found Boston not at all shy, not reserved, neither in swearing at you for being in the way or shooting the breeze with you about where you got your ink.

While the bombings will undoubtedly leave a lasting impact on Boston and the rest of us, I have to think that there’s something fundamentally bostonian that it is tough as hell, practical and pragmatic, unafraid of confrontation, and not at all reticent to reach out to a stranger with genuine interest and friendship, that no assholes with explosives can make a dent in.  And I can think of nothing more appropriate than for said assholes to be identified and dropped on the streets in South Boston just after the bars close.  I’m not a fan of state-enacted executions of criminals, but somehow I don’t seem to have a problem with the idea of some man-on-the-street Boston justice in this case.

To my Boston-based friends and family, know that we’re thinking about you, hurting with you, and knowing that “terror” is the furthest thing from your hearts.

And at the risk of devolving into the frivolous, here are just a few of some of my favorite examples of “Boston justice,” courtesy of my very favorite Boston-area based homoerotic wrestling producer…

  

Make Me Feel It!

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Another fine year has passed for me, and a new one is beginning today.  Birthday’s rock.  Love them, and not just because of the corporal punishment aspect of getting a swat on the ass for each year.  I’m treating myself to a day of doing absolutely nothing, so I’ll make this post brief.  Thanks for the well-wishes and offers to slap down a spank or two (or 42) or even the occasional offer of some birthday headscissors or an OTK backbreaker.  You all are damn sweet, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything… except possibly one of these guys below wailing away at my ass.
My pick last year for Spanker-in-Chief, Kid Karisma, gets his award winning ass tanned by Mike Martin in Sunshine Shooters 5
Missing my wrestling pornboys lately, so I’m back to enjoy watching swoonworthy Vance “The Vice’ Crawford slap down the spoils of victory on a bent-over Cameron Kincade.
Classic tormentor Dino Phillips relishes the sweaty slap of his hand on Peter Bishop’s trapped ass in X-Fights 11

Jeremy Stevens sets up shop all over Jessie Coulter’s muscle ass in Naked Kombat’s recent Muscle Match.

Possibly the sexiest pairing of asses includes Big Sexy smiling down at Cameron Mathews’ angry red ass as he wails away in Rough and Ready 21.

Beating the Odds

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There are varying opinions about mismatched opponents in homoerotic wrestling.  I get the argument that the intoxicating heat of the competitive premise can suffer when there is, or appears to be, little chance of an outmatched wrestler holding his own, much less taking possession of his opponent’s.  Not infrequently, however, I have a sweet tooth for an apparent mismatch, for the tale of the tape that suggests there is no spread big enough to make this worth a bookie’s time.  Just that first glimpse of some plucky hunk staring down (more often up) extremely long odds can grab my attention with both hands.
Brian Baker stares down his nose at goldenboy Austin Cooper 

The long-odds wrestling match jumped front and center in my attention recently when I clicked through to the preview of my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, 5’9″, 170 pound Austin Cooper, trying not to have to strain his neck to look up at the stunningly handsome face of his young rookie opponent, Brian Baker (different one), who towers over him at 6’4″ at weighing in at an athletically lean 205 pounds.  I’m downloading this promise at this very moment, inspired largely by the promise of seeing what Coop can do with the rook’s seriously lovely ass and long, tattooed torso.  The online match description telegraphs (or, rather, painstakingly details) that not only does Coop tame the towering stud, but he humiliates Brian in a two-fall squash despite the 7 inches of height and 35 pounds of weight advantage the rookie comes in with.  Please tell me Coop draws out the schooling just as long as his lovely pupil’s body is!

Drake Wild has his hands full taming massive muscle beast Tyler St. James

In the way the universe does sometimes, I was fresh off of getting all breathless over Coop and Brian Baker when I stumbled across more tantalizing preview pics of Can-Am’s first catch-weight version of a Pro Sex Fight.  Men.com reports that the sweet, hot punk Drake Wild is 5’5″ and 140 pounds, which explains why he looks absolutely dwarfed by Tyler St. James, who Men.com reports is 6’2″ and 240 pounds of insanely thick muscle.  That’s 7 inches and, I kid you not, a reported 100 pound difference, which is instantly translated into a sweaty brow and gasps of lust to see controlling the big man handily.   Fuck, that’s hot!

Gorgeous giant Paladin makes even notorious heel Jonny’s eyes grow wide.

Apparently there’s something in the water these days, because BG East’s latest catalog also boasts one of those inspiring apparent mismatches with the 5’5″ and 160 pound version of Jonny Firestorm, staring up at the chart topping beauty of 6’6″ and 210 pound Paladin in the 3 Stages of Jonny.  The online match description explains that Jonny’s been sent on a mission to cut the 6 and half foot giant down to size, but even Jonny and those magical forearms can’t prevent the man 50 pounds and over a foot taller from taking the first fall.  It’s never a good idea to count out Jonny, or his forearms, prematurely, and yet again another “little guy” beats the odds, and his massive opponent, to a pulp.

Every ounce of Cybertron’s 65 pound weight advantage threatens to break babyface Ronny Pearl in half

And then there’s the case of 5’8″, 185 pound Ronny Pearl, who I mentioned so adoringly yesterday, encountering 6’2″ and 250 pound wrecking ball Cybertron in Ringwars 21.  Compared to the previous 3 mismatches, Ronny’s “only” staring down a half a foot height difference (and, yeah, a 65 pound weight disadvantage).  Nevertheless, Cybertron demonstrates what “odds” are all about, capitalizing on every inch and ounce of superiority to crush the flowing-haired rookie with more brutality than I’ve seen in a match in a long time!

Big Sexy isn’t about to let even two opponent’s kick his fine, fine, FINE ass!

And if we’re counting numbers and assessing odds, Thunders Arena has posted a couple of new matches recently the devolve into 2-on-1 double-teams.  In Rough and Ready 33, peroxide punk Izzy was due to star in one of those totally outmatched features, though how much smaller he is than 6′, 205 pound Big Sexy is a mystery because he’s not listed yet in their roster (which seems ominous for his future).  Regardless, 5’8″, 156 pound Python apparently steps in to help little Izzy out, wrapping those superman arms around Big Sexy’s throat and turning the tide.  However, this is Big Sexy we’re talking about.  Worse for the double-team, it’s Big Sexy bigger, sweatier, and more beautiful than ever, demonstrating that it’ll take a lot more than 2-on-1 for the likes of these boys to ever best the likes of Big Sexy.

Butt-to-butt-to-butt, Tak and Coop work over Braden Charron’s luscious muscles.

On the flip side, you’ve got twink of my dreams, Tak, getting more than he bargained for when he tries to work his twink-dominator magic on the bulging muscles of body beautiful Braden Charron in Rough and Ready 34.  Braden is reportedly only 5’8″ and 155 pounds (really!? with that ass and those pecs, that astonishes me), whereas Tak is 5″10 and about the same weight, but even at the outset this looks like a mismatch for lean fratboy Tak.  When things go decidedly not his way, fellow goldenboy Frey (aka, homoerotic wrestler of the month Austin Cooper) steps in to go butt-to-butt with his buddy Tak in delivering a lick-lippingly sexy double-team dose of humiliation on the bubble-butted beauty Braden.  Braden stared down the odds stacked against him (and on top of him, and all around him) and learned the hard way that they’re “odds” for  a reason.

Coop’s got the towering rookie right where he wants him.

Mismatches, long odds, David and Goliath… sometimes the little guys surprise us.  Sometimes they don’t, and yet still delight us.  However the contrast, the conventional wisdom turned on its head, is very frequently a provocative element in homoerotic wrestling that sorts me out just right.

Honey-Dipped

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BG East’s Ronny Pearl is a compelling character. I’m insanely in love with his look. He’s solid as granite, with classic proportions that bring to my mind images of Steve Reeves from his Hercules movies. But rather than a 1960’s vibe, Ronny exudes a very strong late 1980’s, very early 1990’s mainstream pro wrestling look, with the armbands tied around his bulging, vascular upper biceps, flashy and relatively demure pro trunks, and matching knee pads and boots. From behind he’s got a classic V-shaped back, pointing like an arrow at a mouthwatering, more-than-a-couple-handfuls of sculpted, muscled ass. Of course the hair is nothing if not transported directly off of an 80’s heavy metal guitarist. He’s already told a story that fascinates me before his opponent, fucking unbelievable freak of nature Cybertron, strolls up to the ring.

I’d buy a Ronny Pearl Muscle Showcase DVD in a heartbeat (hey, why don’t we ever see those anymore?!). Fuck, if he was in the market, I’d pay to slather him in honey and lick every bit of it off his naked body. He’s got a face that balances equal parts “beautiful” and “handsome,” with lips that I can think of no other word to describe other than luscious. Honestly, I’d pop a load just watching Ronny pump up his muscles, stretch his stunning body, and run through some drills in the ring, which the camera watches him do lingeringly to start his debut match on Ringwars 21. He’s sold me within seconds.

Then the part-man, part-machine muscle beast lustful sadist Cyberton rings the bell, climbs into the ring, and beats the living shit out of him! Ronny toughs it out beautifully early going. He’s literally picked up off his feet and hurled like a sack of groceries across the ring, but the fierce young hero peels himself off the mat, pounds his gorgeous pecs to psych himself up, and charges back into the mountain of a man staring down at him. When he makes the superhuman villain come to a grunting halt with a gorgeous side headlock, there’s a little moment of pure heaven. The babyface squeezes with such earnestness, such delightful intensity, grinding the masked heel’s face into that pumped, puffed up pec. He even owns the giant for a while, dancing out of reach of several counters and deftly slapping that muscle-popping side headlock back on, jerking his head to the side to whisk the stray strands of his long, curly locks out of his face. The classic hero ventures a subtle, self-satisfied smile for beginning to tame the superhuman/inhuman beast.

The total quantity of offense Ronny puts on the board turns out to be relatively token in the grand scheme of things, because Cyberton is not about to be denied. To say that the masked villain’s offense is devastating would be the understatement of the year. He pounds and pummels, slams and slaps, wrenches and racks my honey-dipped babyface hero with a relentlessness that is awe-inspiring. Seriously, this match makes me cringe like few pro wrestling matches do for the sheer quantity of brutality. Cybertron laughs a lot, too. It’s a creepy, deep, bass laugh that comes from a comic book (and is sold beautifully). But it’s Ronny’s storytelling that keeps me gasping and fully aroused from start to finish. Ronny’s earnestness, his determinedness, his pec-pounding self-psyching-up roars start to cave under the onslaught. He grows quieter at first, bouncing off the mat with his face twisted in agony, sucking down the suffering in silence, struggling to steel himself against hopelessness. A little farther down his path of destruction, and he’s gasping loudly, the guttural sounds of shock and self-doubt popping out of his lungs almost involuntarily. But it’s when Ronny has stared too long into the face of despair that I absolutely go insane for him, when his grunts turn to pleas, and his pleas rise an octave, and his anguish turns to wails of desperation.

It’s hard to tell if the sounds coming out of his mouth are actually asking the question, “Why?!!!” but that question (with it’s many exclamation points) is delivered nonetheless with crystal clarity in the arch of his back as he twists his tormented spine off the canvas after still another airborne bodyslam. His gorgeous, full lips go thin as his jaw gapes open wide, his face twisted in sobbing terror and exquisite agony. If the man-machine gave him enough time to breathe between body-crushing, high impact, strength move after strength move, I’d be tempted to expect to hear Ronny submit about 50 times in this match. But he doesn’t, whether because his brutal opponent never grants him enough air in his lungs to form the words, or because this beautiful, babyface, rookie hunk is just that damn deep-down tough, I can’t say for sure.

His long locks pop loose from his hair tie and begin to plaster to his face and back with copious sweat born of terror. His wrestling mag coverboy good looks are pounded into one long series of ugly torments. By the time Cyberton is done with him, Ronny is a pile of wasted muscle and hair in the middle of the ring, motionless, crushed in body and soul, and escaping to the nightmares of his unconsciousness which could never be as terrifying as the waking nightmare of being “welcomed” to BG East by Cybertron. This valiant, sincere babyface rook was clearly a complete fool to have bothered showing up, and an even bigger fool to have resisted the temptation to sprint out of the ring at his first glimpse of Cybertron’s approach.

And I absolutely love him for it! I desperately hope we see him take another stab at ring glory, because he’s completely captured my imagination (particularly stretched out like a turkey dinner in a sickeningly sweet spine cracking over the knee backbreaker!). I have to guess this was not exactly what Ronny Pearl had in mind when he pictured his triumphant debut at BG East, but it’s an incredibly compelling passion play that elevates him to the standing of a doomed hero of a classic Greek tragedy. And I hear that a honey-dipped tongue bath from an amorous blogger does wonders for the aches and pains of an epic pro wrestling ring spanking….

A Man Named Suh [Guest Blogger: Alex]

wrestlebard1 Comment
Pro football players have become pro wrestlers many times. Brian Pillman, Goldberg, Mongo McMichael and Lex Luger were all pro players before there were wrestlers. I’m sure there are current examples, but I feel like it’s less likely to happen these days, especially with anyone prominent. And it probably shouldn’t happen, because there are too many talented wrestlers in the system. It wouldn’t be fair to them. Still, the second episode of a little cheesefest on ABC called Splash sure got me thinking about the potential of one: Ndamukong Suh.

For those who don’t follow the NFL, why Suh? He’s 6’4″/307-lbs with a beefy body. And he has a penchant for being a heel. In the past two Detroit Lions’Thanksgiving games, Suh has made news by stomping a player who was down (2011) and delivering a low blow to Houston QB Matt Schaub (2012).

So when I flipped by Splash and saw him come out of the back in his robe, strip it off and hand it to the lovely valet, my brain could only think “HEEL”. I could imagine that all playing out with him jogging to the ring, instead of the diving board.

 

 Cage behind, bloody nose … yeah, wrestler

Sweaty after a long match?

Unrealistic that he’ll ever be a pro wrestler, much less a heel? Of course, but he’s still a beefy dude with an attitude and a fondness for stomping and low blows. Yeah, definitely sign him up.
What say you? Yay or nay?
–Alex

Get Well Soon

wrestlebard15 Comments

My reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, Lon Dumont, has been guaranteed entertainment for me from the first moment I saw him strike a mouthwatering side chest pose in the BG East wrestling ring before setting the standard for forced-to-flex matches. When I scored neverland’s first wrestler interview with Lon 2 years ago, my infatuation with this polished pro wrestler-turned competitive bodybuilder-turned homoerotic wrestling star merely intensified. I discovered that Lon is an incredibly thoughtful, even philosophical man with strong opinions about masculinities, being an object of lust, and the timeless lessons of Rocky. When Lon also revealed his compassion and passion for rescuing/being rescued by shelter animals, I was pretty much done for. The only question left was whether this is the sexiest, or just one of the sexiest hunks haunting my wrestling fantasies. At the moment, this beautiful baritone body beautiful bad ass is firmly in the “sexiest” category.

Sadly, Lon recently had emergency minor surgery when his appendix flared up. Of course, even minor surgery feels major when it’s your rockhard abs that are getting sliced into. This unwelcome intrusion into his health equation comes at a particularly inopportune time, namely as he’s starting to zero in on some bodybuilding competitions this spring. Word is that Lon is on strict doctor’s orders to avoid strenuous exercise (particularly anything requiring he crunch his washboard abs) for another 3 weeks or so.

If it were me, I’d be kicking my feet up, sucking down comfort food, and happily leaving my abdominal muscles fallow, enjoying the excuse to skip a few weeks of tending to the more apparent health of my body while my insides heal. I’ve never been one to seriously enjoy working out. I do it, and I feel better physically and self-esteem-wise for it. However, it’s something that always requires being put on my to-do list, rather than something that I look forward to. I get the impression, however, that Lon is a different beast altogether. He seems to have his physical conditioning (all aspects, including working out, psyching up, and dieting down) down to a near-exact science. He whittles down every spare fat cell to oblivion through a systematic and, it appears to me at least, obsessive infatuation with carving up his body like a master builder. Handing over that masterpiece to a surgeon to, more literally, carve open and sew back up again, seems like quite the exercise in giving up control for a physique artist like lovely Lon.

Personally, I’d like to offer my help in nursing Lon back to health, including any assistance he might need in bathing, dressing, and undressing. I can’t imagine that his surgeon should have any objection to a full-body, well-oiled massage, as long as I steer clear of his lower abdomen. While I wait by the phone for his call to take me up on my offer, perhaps you’d like to pass along your get-well wishes (and any additional offers of home health aid). I know that he periodically checks in here at neverland to stay abreast of what his number one fan (that’s me, and don’t you forget it!) is musing about when it comes to Lon’s most natural habitat of all – the homoerotic wrestling ring. So if you aren’t already directly in contact with Lon (and I, for one, am always ready to be in direct contact with Lon… particularly in contact with is pecs), drop him a get-well note in the comments below.

Sincerely, get well soon, Lon. And let me know if I can be of any “assistance.”