Evoking Eli

Eli & Jake don’t stay in their singlets long in Mat Rookies 1

I got a message this morning from none other than 2-time homoerotic wrestler of the month and all around homoerotic wrestling stud extraordinaire, Eli Black.  It seems that Blogger was acting up (yet again) and not allowing Eli to post a comment to my recent post on “Making Jake…,” the a-b-c’s of Jake Jenkins in action.  Here’s Eli’s 2 cents on the subject (or, knowing Eli, let’s just agree that the value of his thoughts are priceless):

Hey I got a comment for your Jake Jenkins post! So, ok, it was all nice to give someone else the spotlight, but enough is enough! Eli Black is here to turn your frowns into cheers! I could totally write a book, nay, a bible on the Eli Black abc-to-z’s! 1) It’s Eli Black’s world, in case you forgot. 2) I’m the best there is, plain and simple, and 3) I will be until anyone else can beat me fairly! Finally, 4)(z) my picture perfect abs, followed by my amazing ass! Point proven!!!

The extensive rivalry and, at the same time, grudging respect between Eli and Jake has been extensively documented.  But it seems there’s a limit to the Eli’s willingness to let Jake soak up the attention!  Fuck, I love it when my favorite homoerotic wrestlers grab us by the ears and demand our total loyalty!

Eli puts Jake in his place!

As is my way, I absolutely have to parse out Eli’s comment in agonizing detail.  My first observation is that some smart-ass might try to point out that Eli seems to be confusing a-b-c’s with 1-2-3’s.  I, however, could easily picture me getting my ass kicked for being that particular smart ass, so I’m on board with any way at all that Eli wants to countdown his credentials to utter greatness!

“…Primus, meaning number one!”

I’m also compelled to point out that a wrestler who goes out of his way to trash talk even the mere musing of fans about other wrestlers is h-h-h-ot!  Damn it all, Eli’s ego alone could put a match-ending rear choke on most opponents.  For any poor bastard who hasn’t seen Eli in action, let me just assure you that his wrestling and MMA skills are every bit as devastating as his razor sharp wit and soul crushing banter.

Picture. Perfect.

And finally, I love a man who appreciates his own assets, and Eli’s put his finger on precisely why he’s got an army of homoerotic wrestling fans salivating like Pavlov’s dog the moment we hear he’s got a new release.  Picture perfect abs.  Truly amazing ass.

Truly AMAZING!

Point taken, Eli.  I still plan to continue the Making Jake series, but I’d be completely insane to miss the opportunity to also initiate an “Evoking Eli” series to review even more of the a-b-c’s (or 1-2-3’s) of living in Eli Black’s world!

Eli treats the rookie Namen to an up close look at his amazing ass!  Lucky son of a bitch…

Thanks for the read and the reminder, Eli.  We’re truly awed to have you here to turn our frowns into cheers!

Eli’s watching us to make sure we’re watching him. You’ve got my attention,  Primus! 

I Need A Hero

For those who may be growing a little tired of the Olympic Spirit series of homoerotic wrestling fiction around here, I’ve just posted a refreshing break from Olympic athlete fiction at Sidelineland. Alex has a new chapter in The Cave series, entitled “Meet the (sigh) Pink Punk.”  Alex has been an awesome contributor to the quickly growing collection of homoerotic wrestling fiction at Sidelineland. His Cave series, I now think, should have been filed under the superhero tab, because despite it being about the “performance” of gay themed/superhero themed wrestling, I’m more and more convinced that Alex is tapping quite directly into the melodrama and action that are at the heart of superhero comics themselves.

How far has The Bat fallen!?

And damn it all if he doesn’t find the hottest wrestlers to don a mask and appear on the PPV internet channel, The Cave! I’m still mulling how to classify the main antagonist in this new chapter of the Cave (babyface, heel, hero, villain, beauty, beast…?), but one thing I’m absolutely certain, that ass is going to be starring in my dreams tonight.

With enemies like this, who needs friends?!

If you’re not a member of Sidelineland, and if you enjoy homoerotic wrestling fiction, then sign up!  You can read all of Alex’ stories and many more from other contributors, including me.  And post your comments to the stories in the group listserv, because 99% of authors are more likely to continue to share what they write if they get feedback.  And in the interest of full disclosure, 100% of homoerotic wrestling bloggers make up statistics.  Enjoy!

Making Jake

Jake Jenkins – 5’7″, 155 lbs.
There are a few more Olympic round robins still to post, but in the mean time I’m starting a new series that’s been on my mind for a while now.  The concept is simple. The prep required is exquisite.  It’s inspired by the sell of a former homoerotic wrestler of the month and regular go-to hunk that never fails to turn me on.  These are the ABC’s of Jake Jenkins.  Just complete the phrase, “Making Jake….”  Here are A through E on my list.  If you have additional photos that illustrate more of the ABC’s of Making Jake, send them along!
Making Jake…
… asphyxiate.
Lean, mean, devastatingly handsome Jayden Mayne is sick and tired of being a whipping boy at BG East, and to prove it, he delights in making Jake asphyxiate.
… bend.

The combo of Jake Jenkins barefoot and in white trunks paired with Kid Karisma in black (and in the ring!!!) is nothing short of genius! Kid Karisma does a stunningly beautiful job of making Jake bend.

… cry.

Jake has gone back and forth with nasty grappler Ethan Andrews, and on more than one occasion the lean, mean Ethan makes Jake cry.

… drowsy.

Jake also has a running feud with the always dangerous 2-time homoerotic wrestler of the month and friend of this blog (well, he talks to me…), Eli Black.  In there’s jock strap matroom sweat bath for BG East, Eli turns all of Jake’s cocky swagger and sculpted muscle into so much mush when he makes Jake drowsy.

… elated!

Jake’s got range, mind you, and it’s not all about making Jake suffer.  Joah Bindao is a hot little package who certainly makes jake work, but when he’s racked, bulging, and helplessly across Jake’s soaking shoulders, Noah can’t help himself but make Jake elated!

…to be continued.

More Olympic Spirit

The crowds have already fled London, not the crowds of homoerotic wrestling fans in my imagination.  we’re back in the Olympic stadium again, as I imagine the competition that really counts for fans of hot, hardbodied, horny wrestling action…

Jamaica’s Usain Bolt – 6’5″, 210 lbs., 25 y/o

Usain “Lightening” Bolt sprints across the track and into the infield with a sense of destiny at his back.  The Jamaican sprinter was long ago dubbed the world’s fastest man.  In the track and field athletes’ wrestling ring, however gold has been harder for the world star to come by.  He has the attitude, the competitive drive, the will to dominate, and the raw power to make most any man submit, particularly when trapped between those world famous thighs.  But he’s been plagued with bad luck that’s kept the wrestling gold just out of reach.  The Bolt PR machine has been pumping out the propaganda for months leading up to this contest, though, convincing the world stage and especially his competitors that he’s unstoppable this time around. Oiled from head to toe, the ripped stud climbs into the ring wearing green and yellow speedos.

China’s Liu Xiang – 6’2″, 190 lbs., 29 y/o

Jogging across the track and into the infield behind him is Chinese mega-star hurdler Lui Xiang, wearing his signature red running shorts slit along the outsides up to his waistband.  Long and lanky, Xiang has stunned the world of wrestling track and field athletes for the past 4 years, not only winning gold at the highest levels of competition, but permanently crippling more than one opponent along the way.  He makes even the muscle men from the throwing events experience a shiver of fear when they draw him as an opponent.  If Usain has a claim to destiny, it will have to come through defeating the pride of China. Before Liu has finished climbing through the ropes, Usain is on top of him.  Forearms to the back drop the Chinese hunk to his hands and knees.  Kicks to his side topple him to the mat.  In a flash, Usain climbs up the corner turnbuckles to pump his fists in the air, already celebrating. The celebration is premature, however.  By the time he’s done grandstanding and hops back down to the mat, Liu has gathered his wits and swept Usain’s legs.  Liu delivers a barrage of elbow strikes, punches, knee drops and even a headbutt into the sprinter’s rock hard 6-pack abs.  Usain tries to capture the dangerous Chinese hurdler in his steel trap legs, but Liu wisely steers clear of the Jamaican’s infamous thighs.  Smoothly he scoops up the tall Jamaican in his arms and drops his lower back across his thigh, holding him in the OTK backbreaker in order to drive elbow strikes into Usain’s gut and throttle the Jamaican’s balls.  Picking him up off his thigh, Liu quickly drives his back down again, allowing the Jamaican to bounce off and tumble to the mat.  Liu takes a punch to the gut when he rolls his opponent to his back, but the desperate blow bounces off relatively harmlessly.  Grabbing hold of the Jamaican by the ears and pounding the back of his head into the mat a half a dozen times completely rattles Usain’s cage and leaves his head spinning as his opponent climbs back to his feet.  Lifting the Jamaican’s right ankle off the mat, Liu begins stomping vicious heel strikes into the inside of his knee, clearly intending to add Usain to the long list of world class athletes crippled by the devastating Chinese hunk.  Agony contorts Usain’s face as he reaches toward his quivering knee. Liu smacks his hands away and spits in his face.  Pinning the leg to the mat, Liu kicks his feet upward and bring is right knee swinging, crashing down into the side of the Jamaican’s throbbing knee.  Another quick handstand and knee drop makes Usain’s body jerk and spasm.  The stadium grows hushed, anticipating whether the Jamaican will submit before he suffers permanent damage.  A third handstand from Liu, as he prepares to drop the crippling blow to the vulnerable knee… but something goes terribly wrong.  His hands slide off of the Jamaican’s liberally oiled thigh.  Liu crashes to the mat on his chin, making the Chinese juggernaut see stars.  Just like that, the Jamaican steel trap falls, capturing Liu’s torso between the astonishingly long, devastatingly powerful, sculpted thighs of the Jamaican superstar.  Usain laces his ankles together and leans back on his elbows.  The crowd is hushed in astonishment.  Unbelievably, the Chinese legend screams in agony, but doesn’t submit.  Usain arches his back, adding a fraction more pressure to his body scissors. A long, anguished wail rises like a siren from Liu’s gaping mouth.  Usain licks his lips hungrily, watching his opponent pushed beyond human endurance between his crushing thighs.  Suddenly, Liu’s face twists. He gags and then coughs, blood spewing from his mouth.  Not only has Usain cracked his rib, he’s apparently punctured his lung.  The Chinese star slaps the mat in submission, gasping, gurgling, “give-give-give-give!”  In a flash, the Jamaican is on his feet, fists pumped in the air.  Before the medics can reach Liu, Usain stomps his right heel into the man’s broken rib cage, just making certain that he won’t be back in the ring anytime soon.

German Discus Champ Robert Harting – 6’7″, 280 lbs., 27 y/o

The sight of the biggest man in the competition sprinting into the infield brings the crowds to their feet.  Blond German giant Robert Harting is an astonishingly tall mountain of muscle.  Roaring at the crowd in the center of the ring, the superhuman discus thrower rips his shirt to shreds, pumping his bulging muscles and driving the homoerotic wrestling fans insane.  The pre-match shirt ripping is legend for the German powerhouse, and it’s also well known that if there’s one thing Robert can’t stand more than wrestling in a shirt, it’s leaving an opponent anything but butt naked and trembling in fear.  Once the shirt is shredded, the massive mountain of muscle wears nothing but his black square cut trunks molded to his massive muscle glutes and tree trunk thighs.

 Norwegian Javelin Thrower Andreas Thorkildsen – 6’2″, 200 lbs., 30 y/o

Norway’s Andreas Thorkildsen strolls cautiously across the track toward the ring, watching the freakishly huge German titillate the crowd by flexing his mountainous muscles.  The stunningly handsome javelin thrower is layered in thick, powerful muscle.  His gorgeous glutes are suction packed into skin tight red and blue pro trunks.  His body is gorgeously tan; his broad, meaty pecs bounce as he strides toward the ring. Although he’s massively built and incredibly strong, even the mighty Norwegian is dwarfed by the German beast standing nearly a half a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier. Based on nothing but numbers, things look bleak for the beautiful Norwegian.  Numbers, however, never win wrestling matches.  As they approach one another in the center of the ring, the big German looks like he’s moving in slow motion when Andreas lands a kick to his gut, twists him around by the neck and drops to the mat, slamming the back of the big German’s head into Andreas’ powerful shoulder.  Robert lands flat on his back, his limbs twitching.  Confidently, the handsome Norwegian pins his right shoulder to the mat with is knee and his left shoulder with both hands, lowering his crotch across the German’s dazed face.  “EN!” he shouts, slapping his palm to the mat.  “To!” he counts, slapping the mat again.  “T-” he doesn’t quite finish the count, and well before he slaps the mat a third time, the German muscle beast shoves his opponent off of him so hard that Andreas lands five feet away, flat on his ass.  The Norwegian beats his opponent to his feet easily, however, and before Robert can push himself off his hands and knees, Andreas shoves his hand between the big man’s legs from behind and grabs hold of the German bull’s balls.  With his free hand, he grabs Robert’s thinning blond hair at the back of his head, and astonishingly he drags the muscle man crawling around the ring humiliatingly. Positioning him near a corner, the Norwegian quickly climbs to the top turnbuckle, leaps high and drops his right knee into the small of his massive opponent’s back.  Robert’s hips slam into the mat.  More stomps and knee drops demonstrate Andreas’ world class focus as he pounds the German’s back relentlessly as minutes tick by.  The handsome Norwegian’s tanned muscles glisten with sweat when he finally steps back, hands on hips, and assesses the damage.  He catches his breath as he watches Robert slowly drag his massive shoulders off the mat. The giant German is clearly dazed, using the ropes to pull himself up to his knees.  Once he’s kneeling, facing the corner, Andreas pounces.  He wraps his left arm across his opponent’s throat from behind, grasping his right bicep in his left hand for leverage.  Like a boa constrictor, the javelin thrower flexes and squeezes tighter and tighter, pressing his bulging bicep squarely into Robert’s throat.  The stands begin to pepper with shouts of encouragement, evenly divided between cheers for the Norwegian coverboy and pleas for the German beast to escape.  Andreas’ smooth, tan arm is a stark contrast against the pale German’s blond five o’clock shadow.  Andreas cracks a grin, feeling the captured power of the muscle monster in his clutches.  The grin fades to shock when suddenly Robert shifts, pulling his right knee off the mat and placing his foot underneath him.  The crowds scream with excitement when Robert’s massive frame shifts again, and he jerks his giant body up to both feet, lunging low with the powerful javelin thrower clamped tightly to his throat.  Andreas struggles to squeeze harder on his rear choke, but the German’s neck is just too thick and corded with muscle.  The stadium gasps in awe as Robert slowly muscles his way upward, finally standing erect and lifting his opponent off his feet.  The Norwegian grows desperate, digging his knees into the big man’s kidneys, releasing the choke, and beginning to pound his right fist furiously into the German’s temple.  Robert lumberingly turns his back to the corner and takes two quick steps backward, pounding Andreas’ lower back into the top turnbuckle and crushing the handsome Norwegian with is mountainous body.  Like an avalanche, there’s no turning Robert’s momentum once he begins to build up a head of steam.  A shoulder block into the corner folds Andreas up so tightly that his gorgeous ass bangs into the ring post.  The powerful German scoops him up in a fireman’s carry over one shoulder, sprints across the ring and drives Andreas’ lower back into the turnbuckle, once again using his 280 pounds to flatten his opponent.  Three shocking one-armed choke slams see the Norwegian lifted off his feet by his throat, hung in mid-air in a stunning display of power, and then bashed on his upper back into the mat.  Andreas isn’t moving after the third choke slam, flat on his back.  Robert bends over him, straddling his legs, and peels off the red and blue trunks. It’s his signature move.  He’s stripped a dozen world class athletes naked in the ring, but even the jaded German giant seems seriously appreciative of the gorgeous body beneath him, sweat glistening in the stadium lights.  The otherwise tanned beauty is starkly pale underneath his bikini line.  Coiffed dark curls surround a beautiful, thick penis resting across the Norwegian’s massive right thigh.  The German kneels between his opponent’s legs and lifts Andreas’ knees off the mat. Rolling the handsome hunk up, he slowly lowers his hips as Andreas’ feet are pressed to the mat next to his head.  Perfectly mimicking a muscle pounding fuck, Robert flexes his ass and grinds his crotch against Andreas’ hole.  “Eins!” the mighty German pounds the palm of his right hand down to the mat.  “Zwei!” he pounds the mat again.  “Drei!” he counts his handsome opponent out of medal contention.  Climbing to his feet, he places his right foot on Andreas’ powerful pecs and flexes his right bicep for his adoring fans, holding his vanquished opponent’s trunks overhead in his other hand.

Before Liu Xiang hit the international track and field scene, track stars were just fodder for the throwing giants in the homoerotic wrestling ring.  Put a monster hammer thrower in the ring with a sprinter (or worse yet, a marathoner), and the runners used to seldom manage to even make it close.  But Liu Xiang has tamed all-comers over the past 4 years. He’d even severely sprained Robert Harting’s knee at the world championships just a year ago.  But with Liu out of the gold medal match, it’s anyone’s guess as to whether Usain can pick up the track star mantle, or whether the pendulum is about to swing back to the crushing power of the discus champ.

When the fastest man in the world sprints into the infield and dives into the ring, the crowd roars.  His ebony body shines with a fresh coat of baby oil.  He wears his yellow speedos, and he acknowledges the lauds from the stadium by pumping a “#1” sign over head.

The roar from the stands grows louder when the German mountain of muscle jogs into the infield and climbs through the ropes, instantly ripping to shred the fresh track shirt he’s donned for the occasion.  The muscleman is back in his black square cuts.  Usain is just a couple inches shorter, but at 70 pounds lighter, the Jamaican looks stick thin in comparison.  Robert quickly closes the distance, pursuing the sprinter to get the action moving, but Usain swiftly ducks out of reach.  The discus champ spends a full minute chasing the Jamaican around the ring, always two steps too slow to manage to catch him.  Robert’s frustration grows with the game of cat and mouse.  He stumbles, leaning his forearms against the ropes where a half a second earlier his opponent was standing.  A lightening fast heel to the back of Robert’s right knee drops the big man to his knees.  The Jamaican requires two sharp pulls on the German’s right ankle to finally pull the massive man’s legs out from underneath him.  Robert tumbles forward, his chest hanging from the bottom rope.  Usain suddenly plants his right foot on the German’s muscled ass and his hands on the top rope. He leaps high over the top rope and falls for what seems like forever, finally driving both feet into the back of his opponent’s head and smashing Robert’s face into the ring apron.  Dropping to the infield below, Usain pries the German’s face off the canvas to reveal that he’s crushed Robert’s nose into a bloody pulp.  The discus champ’s face is covered in red.  Usain pries his head up off the mat by his ears and then slams his shattered nose back to the canvas.  Swiftly diving back into the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope, Usain struggles to drag the German’s mighty carcass by the ankles back into the center of the ring.  Finally positioning him just so, Usain climbs the turnbuckles, turning to face the ring with his feet poised on the top ropes next to the corner.  He waits as the crowd screeches.  He waits as Robert drags his upper body off the mat.  He waits as the German manages to climb up to one foot, and then both feet, blood streaming from his chin down across his mountainous pecs.  When he turns, searching for his opponent, Usain leaps, stretching his long, lean body horizontally to the mat.  Usain’s right foot lands squarely across the smashed septum of the German, while his left foot catches the big man in the throat.  Usain lands on his side with a thud, quickly crouching to assess the damage he’s managed to inflict.  Robert is stumbling backward, but he reaches the ropes and rights himself.  Like lightening, the fastest man in the world bounces off the ropes on the opposite side and sprint into another flying drop kick, this time landing both feet squarely in the center of Robert’s chest.  Again, the German stumbles backward, but uses the rope to prevent himself from going down.  As he Robert pushes himself off the rope, Usain is already bouncing off the rope and flying through the air yet again.  The flying drop kick lands precisely on discus champ’s sternum, and though he reaches frantically for the ropes, this time the giant German drops to his ass.  The Jamaican quickly positions himself directly behind his opponent and shoves Robert’s head backward until the big man is staring up at Usain’s pendulous package.  The steel trap snaps shut around the giant’s temples.  Robert’s face disappears between the sprinter’s superhuman thighs.  The crowd goes wild when Usain flexes his biceps for them while crushing his opponent’s skull as if effortlessly in his standing head scissors.  The mighty giant tries to pry his opponent’s legs apart, but after a minute, even his massive muscles are no match for the deadly dangerous thighs of the champion sprinter.

Even as Usain is flashing a most muscular pose (which is nowhere near the league of the ferocious German), Robert taps frantically, signaling his submission. Usain quickly drapes himself in the Jamaican flag and strikes his signature pose, pronouncing himself the greatest Olympian of all time.

Fans are still debating the ballsy claim to world supremacy by the gold medalist when the tag teams begin to jog out of from underneath the stadium and into the infield.  First to the ring is the Norwegian heart throb, javelin thrower Andreas Thorkildsen, now dressed in very brief blue and red speedos that  are much briefer than Andreas’ stark white tan lines.

South African sprinter Oscar Pistorius – 5’11”, 170 lbs., 25 y/o

Gasps from the stands greet Andreas’ choice for a tag team partner for the finals. South African hottie Oscar Pistorius has been a hot topic on the circuit for a couple of seasons.  The sprinter who is a double amputee had to lobby hard to even attempt to qualify for the homoerotic wrestling competition.  Potential opponents complained that his prosthetic blades were fundamentally “foreign objects” that could be used as a weapon in the ring.  The handsome South African persevered, and with charm that has become in and of itself legendary, talked himself into the pool of potential wrestlers to go for gold.  He didn’t qualify for the individual round robin, but strolling out in green skin tight square cuts, he clearly caught the eye of Andreas to get the nod to join him for tag team glory.

Robert is battered, but back to redeem team Germany.

German finalist Robert Harting jogs into the infield next, ripping off his third shirt of the night as the crowd roars their encouragement.  His nose his badly damaged from his gold medal match against Usain, but the big mountain of muscle is back on his feet, dressed in his signature black square cuts, and flexing to make the fans scream once again.

German discus thrower Martin Wierig – 6’8″, 273 lbs., 25 y/o

Robert is quickly joined on the ring apron by his fellow German discus competitor and sculpted muscle man, Martin Wierig.  A fraction taller and just a few pounds lighter than his countryman, Martin pumps his biceps next to his partner who flashes a dizzying most-muscular pose for the screaming fans.  Side by side, the two massive beasts have terrorized the tag team ranks since they first teamed up 8 months ago.  At a combined weight of over 550 pounds, the German team is by far the largest team to compete in Olympic homoerotic wrestling competition.

Usain can’t wait to get his hands on more gold!

Gold medalist Usain Bolt sprints across the track and into the infield next, freshly oiled and pumped and wearing green and yellow speedos.  He leaps across the top rope and immediately begins posing for the roaring crowd.

Jamaican sprinter Yohan Blake – 5’11”, 168 lbs., 22 y/o

Immediately behind Usain is his partner, fellow Jamaican sprinter Yohan Blake, wearing identical yellow and green speedos.  When Yohan follows his partner in leaping over the top rope and flexing for the fans, Usain snaps at him and shoves him to the corner, demanding Yohan to take his position on the ring apron while Usain continues mugging for the fans.

Canadian sprinter Jared Connaughton – 5’9″, 174 lbs., 27 y/o

Even as the tag team competition is about to begin, legendary homoerotic wrestler Liu Xiang is being transported by ambulance through the streets of London to receive emergency care for his punctured lung.  As a result of his withdrawal from tag team contention, the final team captain is the scorching hot Canadian hunk who just barely missed qualifying for the individual gold semi-finals: Jared Connaughton. Jared sprints out from underneath the stands and across the track wearing a white thong with a red maple leaf stitched across his wildly swinging pouch.  The shaved headed, tattooed, muscle-butted beauty gives a wink and a one-sided grin as he blows kisses to the stands.  When the Canadian rocker coyly looks over his shoulder and flexes his gorgeous, striated glutes, the roar of the crowd is louder than its been all night.

Italian hurdler Emanuele Abate – 6’3″, 176 lbs.,  27 y/o

Jared’s hand-picked hottie to partner with for the gold sprints into the infield to join him. His choice surprises no one who’s followed track and field homoerotic wrestling for the past year.  After burning through a half a dozen tag team partners early in his wrestling career, he found just the right chemistry teaming up with Italian hurdler Emanuele Abate at the World Indoor Championships this spring.  The gorgeous twosome capitalized on the fact that the German team was knocked out of the tag team finals as a result of Robert Harting’s injury in individual competition, and the Canada-Italy connection outlasted the rest for a 2-on-1 showdown against Liu Xiang, once the Chinese superstar’s partner was knocked out cold and pinned earlier.  Although Xiang inflicted damage, Jared and Emanuele eventually neutralized the living legend, thrilling hardcore fans with a rare fuck-and-suck finisher in which Emanuele plowed the Chinese hurdler from behind while Jared force fed him his epic, pierced jackhammer.  The crushing defeat and all-in humiliation has been credited with deflating Xiang’s momentum and, based on the gold medal round robin tonight, possibly signaling the beginning of the end of his domination on the world scene.

Usain insists on starting the tag team mash-up.

There’s a scuffle in the Jamaican corner when Yohan begins to step through the ropes to start off the action.  Usain grabs him by the bicep and drags his teammate back to the ring apron.  There’s a heated exchange happening underneath the din of the crowd as the two hunks bark furiously in each other’s faces.  Finally, it’s Usain who climbs into the ring and pumps a double bicep for the crowd.  It’s his third match of the night, but the fastest man in the world is pumped and ready to go for gold once again.

Larger than life, Martin is predicting team Germany will be #1

When Martin climbs over the top rope he shoots a #1 signal to the crowd before turning and sneering down at his Jamaican opponent. Having demolished the German’s even bigger countryman, Usain rolls his eyes and begins to circle the towering muscleman.  Usain is still lightening fast, landing a sharp kick to the big man’s right hamstring and dancing away before Martin can counter.  They circle again, and again Usain shoots a sharp kick to Martin’s right hamstring before the big German can defend himself.  After another round of cautious circling, Usain feints another hamstring strike, making Martin flinch away defensively, but the Jamaican swiftly changes the trajectory of his kick, bending his knee and driving it viciously into the 6’8″ muscleman’s crotch.  Martin folds forward, his arms protectively placed over his crotch as he struggles to catch his breath.  Usain charges into the ropes and catapults back toward him, lifting his right knee into Martin’s powerful chest.  The big German stumbles backward, his right hand still clutching his balls and his left arm draped protectively across his chest.  The Jamaican takes a page out of his gold medal performance against Martin’s partner to quickly launch a second assault off the ropes, this time leaping into the air for a cross-body take down.  However, the Germans have clearly come prepared from the lessons Robert learned in his gold medal loss.  Martin is clearly not as winded from Usain’s blows as he let on.  Standing up straight and propping his right leg behind him, he easily catches the 210 pound Jamaican missile and cradles Usain across his chest.  Robert claps furiously from the corner, barking instructions at his young partner. The junior German partner takes a leisurely stroll around the ring with his captured prey. He walks slowly by his own corner, close enough for Robert to land a humiliating slap across Usain’s face.  The other teams call him over, so Martin carries Usain first to let Andreas and Oscar land cracking slaps across the gold medalist’s face, then to Jared and Emanuele’s corner.  Emanuele reaches over the tope to land a windmilling swat on the Jamaican’s gorgeous, oiled muscle glutes.  Jared then reaches over to grab Usain by the chin, bark in his face, and then drive a stunning, sharp fist into the gold medalist’s nose. Blood showers down from his broken septum as Martin strolls toward the Jamaicans’ corner, but turns away, tauntingly at the last second as Usain frantically reaches his hand toward his tag team partner.  Yohan doesn’t make any attempt to tag in, turning his back on his partner and crossing his arms across his powerful pecs.  Martin turns to the center of the ring and powerslams himself down on top of his opponent. Bouncing up to his hands and knees, Martin crouches over top of the Jamaican and soaks in the cheers from the stands for a moment before climbing to his feet, dragging a nearly lifeless Usain up by his ears, scooping him up in his arms again and crushing him with yet another 280 pound powerslam.  Usain’s twitching right foot is the only thing moving on the sprinter’s body.  Martin listens to his partner barking instructions in the corner before peeling off Usain’s speedo and tossing it to Robert as a souvenir.  Martin hooks Usain’s right leg, leaning his massive body overtop of the Jamaican and pinning his shoulders to the mat.  “Eins!” the German barks, slapping his hand to the mat.  “Zwei!”  he booms with another slap of his hand.  Usain’s eyes open wide, realizing how vulnerable he is.  He struggles to wrench a shoulder of the mat, but he’s buried beneath his behemoth opponent.  “Drei!” Martin shouts, counting Usain out and quickly climbing to his feet, his eye on Yohan.  Yohan slowly climbs through the ropes, eyeing the huge German warily.  Instead of moving to lock up with him, however, the Jamaican crouches on one knee next to his defeated partner.  He lifts Usain’s head in his left hand, murmuring to him beneath the din of the crowd.  When Usain’s eyes flutter open, Yohan suddenly lands a shocking punch to his partner’s right cheek.  The blow looks like it knocks the gold medalist out cold, but Yohan doesn’t seem to care.  He straddles his knees across his partner’s chest and rains down blows with both fists. Martin seems unsure what to do with the shocking intramural conflict between the Jamaicans, but Robert snaps him back into focus with instructions from the corner. He comes up from behind the oblivious Yohan, locks his right arm across the Jamaican’s throat, and lifts him off his feet, hanging from his throat in the giant German’s massive arms.  Yohan is out cold in a little over a minute, tossed to the mat and counted out.  The remaining two teams look at one another, silently questioning who will face the imposing Germans next.

Jared looks up at the giant German in awe

It’s Jared who climbs through the ropes next and stands with his hands on his hips, looking up at Martin towering nearly a full foot taller than the power-packed sprinter.  Unbelievably, the Canadian lifts his hands, palms toward his opponent, and challenges Martin to a test of strength.  The crowd roars, the Canadian’s fans warning caution and the German’s fans screaming encouragement.  Martin laughs heartily, rolling his eyes before reaching his hands in the air. Tauntingly, he dangles his hands overhead, out of Jared’s reach as the Canadian rolls up to his tip-toes.  Martin’s massive body is shaking with laughter when he finally lowers his hands and laces his fingers in between his relatively diminutive opponent’s.  The mismatch is a stunning sight.  Martin quickly presses Jared’s wrists backward and then uses his height advantage to lean overtop of the Canadian.  Jared’s face contorts in agony as he slowly sinks to his knees.  Abruptly, Martin swings their locked hands wide and wrenches Jared’s wrists backward from underneath.  The Canadian screams in pain as he quickly comes to his feet.  Upward, Martin presses as Jared rolls to the balls of his feet and then gasps to find himself being lifted entirely off his feet by his quivering wrists.  Martin leaves him hanging in mid-air for a half a minute, showing off his dominating power until the mighty German’s biceps begin to quiver with the effort.  Abruptly he swings their arms around again and presses Jared’s wrists down from overhead once more, driving the Canadian to his knees with a thud as a sheen of sweat breaks out across Jared’s shaved head.  Martin rolls his head backward and laughs again as Jared grovels on his knees in front of him at his mercy.  The thermos growing in Martin’s black square cuts tents his trunks.  Emanuele is pleading with his partner not to submit.  Jared leans into his opponent’s massive body, his cheek pressed against the growing bulge in Martin’s trunks.  Jared’s mouth, gaping open in agony, suddenly stretches around the head of Martin’s mammoth cock covered in only a distended stretch of black spandex.  His lips work furiously on what he can grab of Martin’s member, occasionally using his teeth to tease the raging erection.  Suddenly Martin’s face goes slack as his balls contract and pre-cum stains his trunks.  His grip slackens around his opponent’s fingers.  Jared’s hands find their way around his opponent’s hips to slide inside the German’s trunks and squeeze his massive cheeks.  Absent-mindedly, Martin laces his fingers on top of his head and ignores the screams of the crowd and his partner as Jared stokes him closer and closer to ecstasy.  Slowly, Jared peels Martin’s trunks down over his massive thighs, exposing the beast’s thermos cock surrounded by a thick bush of dark curls.  The moment Jared wraps his right hand around the head of the huge shaft, Martin cums, coating Jared’s pecs.  A second later, and Jared yanks the German’s ankles out from underneath him, dropping him in shock crashing to his back and ripping his trunks from his ankles.  A vicious punch to the giant German’s naked balls, and then the sweat soaked Canadian crawls on his knees to the nearest corner, tagging in Andreas.

Andreas stares down at Martin

The powerful Norwegian quickly steps through the ropes and stands overtop of Martin’s head.  He stares down impassively for several seconds, his massive tanned pecs bouncing eagerly as the roar of the crowd rises in anticipation. He bends over and grabs a fistful of the German’s hair, dragging him up to his knees.  Andreas lunges low and hooks his right arm through the German’s legs.  Grunting loudly, the Norwegian muscleman rises slowly to his feet, cradling the 280 pound discuss thrower across his powerful chest.  Andreas’ body shakes with the effort as he takes three short steps toward the center of the ring before hoisting Martin’s legs high with another grunt and slamming the massive man to his back again.  Andreas stumbles backward, clearly winded, his hands on his hips.  He doesn’t try to intervene when the long-limbed German stretches out his arm toward the nearest corner, tagging in an awaiting Emanuele.

Emanuele leaps over the ropes.

The Italian hurdler leaps over the top rope and sprints toward the  Norwegian with his right arm stretched out in preparation for a clothesline.  Not nearly as winded as he appeared, Andreas easily ducks underneath his opponent’s arm and instantly locks his powerful arms underneath Emanuel’s shoulders, cinching on a neck wrenching full nelson.  Andreas can’t help himself but smile as the Italian makes several failed attempts to muscle free.  Shoving him into Andreas’ own corner, Andreas grinds his hips into Emanuel’s ass as Oscar slaps the Italian’s face and shouts insults from across the ropes.  Jared climbs up on the bottom rope and shouts threats across the ring at the double team.  When Oscar reaches through the ropes and yanks the Italian’s trunks down to his knees, Jared bolts through the ropes to rescue his partner.

Jared is determined to muscle his way to victory.

The rescue attempt is short-lived.  Oscar signals to Andreas as soon as Jared is inside the ring.  Before the Canadian reaches them, the Norwegian releases the full nelson on Emanuele and turns to face Jared, his beautiful pecs bouncing eagerly once again. Oscar steps through the ropes to pound Emanuele’s face into the turnbuckle repeatedly while Andreas quickly gets the upperhand as he and Jared square off.  Jared’s head is snapped in between the Norwegian’s right forearm and his ribs, bent forward with his mostly bare ass on display for the adoring fans. Andreas grinds the headlock hard, his powerful upper body making the Canadian sprinter drop to one knee and wail.  Dragging him back to his feet, Andreas hip tosses him to his back.  Two fast elbow drops into Jared’s meaty pecs make the Canadian clutch his chest defensively, totally out of position to defend himself when the javelin thrower drives his right knee into his face.  The Canadian isn’t knocked out entirely, but his hold on consciousness in tenuous, and he doesn’t seem to notice when the handsome Norwegian hooks his huge right leg, rolls him up to his shoulders, and slaps down a ponderous, commanding three count.

Jared’s luscious pecs can’t save him from being counted out!

With a quick glance to confirm that the Germans are staying out of the fray, Andreas turns to his partner.  Without a word, Oscar yanks Emanuele by his hair out of the corner, spins him around, and sends him stumbling toward Andreas.  With a growl, the Norwegian hooks his big arms around the hurdler’s waist and hoists him up in a kidney bruising bearhug.  Oscar takes a seat on the top turnbuckle as he taunts the Italian, keeping a wary eye on the German corner.  Andreas is coated in sweat as he bears down on the bearhug.  His mighty pecs will not be denied, as second by second he wrings a louder wailing cry of agony from the lovely, lean Italian.  “I give!” he finally gasps, but Andreas squeezes a fraction harder. “Beg me!” he snarls in the Italian’s ear.  “Please, please, please…” Emanuele stammers, “please let go, please….”  Andreas laughs and drops him like a dead weight.  He backs his way into his corner, sliding between his partner’s thighs.  Oscar begins kneading his teammate’s massive shoulders and neck.  From across the ring, the Germans stare at them, ignoring the muscled bodies littering the mat between them.  Oscar’s hands slide down his partner’s sweaty pecs, massaging them and playfully pinching his nipples.

Robert challenges Oscar personally

Finally, big Robert Harting ducks through the ropes and points directly at Oscar.  “You!” he barks.  Andreas leans his head back and whispers furiously with his partner.  The debate lasts about 15 seconds,  but finally the South African sprinter hops off the top rope and steps in front of his partner.  It’s Andreas’ turn to shout encouragement and massage his partner’s shoulders as Oscar shifts from blade to blade, flexing his arms and psyching himself up.  Finally Andreas slaps him on the ass hard and ducks out of the ropes as Oscar begins to circle the ring, stepping gingerly over the fallen contenders.  Robert doesn’t bother stepping over them, slamming his feet into stomaches, heads, crotches… whatever.  When he thoughtlessly grinds his heel into Usain’s crotch, the Jamaican gold medalist’s eyes snap open in shock and agony.  He bellows a cry of pain and grabs Robert’s ankle.  It takes Robert no more than about 3 seconds to glance down in surprise and figure out who’s grabbed him and why.  In just those three seconds, Oscar flings himself into the ropes, uses them to catapult across the ring and leap through the air, clotheslining the German giant across the throat.  Already off balance and completely flat footed, Robert tumbles backward like a felled tree.

Oscar’s packing heat as he stares down at his opponent.

Oscar is on top of him in a flash, pounding a furious flurry of fists into the German’s face.  It takes just a couple blows for the sprinter to bust open Robert’s crushed nose all over again.  Oscar’s fists and Robert’s face are coated in blood within seconds.  Sliding forward, Oscar locks his thighs around his opponent’s head and falls to his side, squeezing him in a high and tight face to crotch headscissors.  His prosthetics suddenly snap perfectly together like a lock, and he leans back on his elbows, squeezing the discus champ in the temples and smothering him with his mouth shoved underneath the South African’s balls. Blood soaks Oscar’s trunks where the crushed septum of the German is gushing.  Robert lands a half a dozen sharp fists into his captor’s thighs, but his fists suddenly go slack.  His eyes roll into the back of his head as Oscar tugs at his own swelling cock through the fabric of his trunks.  Martin screams for his partner to remain conscious as Andreas shouts encouragement to Oscar.  30 seconds later and Robert is out cold.  Oscar climbs up to his blades and bends over the behemoth German’s waist, peeling off the massive man’s black square cut trunks and then stuffing him in humiliatingly in his mouth.

With his right blade resting on Robert’s slack pecs, Oscar flashes that heart melting smile at the crowd and pumps his index finger in the air.  “ONE!” the stadium shouts back as one.  He pumps two fingers in the air.  “TWO!!!” the crowd screams.  He pumps three fingers over head, but before the crowd has even started to recite “THREE!” Martin dives through the ropes and tackles the South African to his back.  Oscar instantly wraps his thighs around his naked attacker’s waist and slips his blades together in the locked position once again.  The pain makes Martin momentarily lean back and grimace, but he finally jabs his massive right fist toward his opponent’s face.  Oscar deflects the blow and grabs his wrist.  A left jab from the giant German and Oscar deflects it and grabs that wrist as well, effectively neutralizing him.  Martin’s rage is boiling over as his face turns bright red and he howls like a rabid animal. He leans backward, pulling Oscar’s shoulders off the mat and then driving him back down hard.  A second time, and Oscar loses his grip on the German’s left wrist.  Martin doesn’t get a third time.

Andreas shows that tag team gold is all about teamwork

Andreas’ knee flies into Martin’s left cheek.  As Martin’s head snaps to the side, blood flies across the ring from his split lip.  The big German is dazed as Oscar releases his body scissors.  He’s not quite tracking as it takes both Andreas and Oscar to drag the massive man to his feet.  But he seems to suddenly understand his predicament when the handsome Norwegian hooks his arm between the discuss throwers legs and, with a considerable effort and an assist from his partner, hoists all 273 pounds of him across Andreas’ shoulders.  Back on his blades, Oscar slaps the German’s face, taunting him.  The stadium is rocking with stomps and applause and screams as Andreas shakes and stretches the giant man draped backward across his powerful shoulders.  Oscar stands directly in front of his partner and kisses him passionately, one hand squeezing Andreas’ ass and the other sliding down the front of his blue and red speedo.  The two appear lost in lust until suddenly Andreas begins to claw savagely at Martin’s balls, even while continuing to make out with his partner.  The German screams incoherently at first, but finally whimpers, “I quit! Enough!” as tears stream down his cheeks.  Instantly Andreas shrugs his shoulders and sends Martin rolling off of him and crashing in a heap to the mat.  The gold medal winning tag team partners embrace, kissing deeply.  Oscar cradles the back of Andreas’ head in his right hand. Andreas’ hands slide down his partner’s back and underneath his trunks to squeeze the sprinter’s powerful glutes.  The camera flashes would blind the partners if they weren’t fixed entirely upon one another for a full minute of “private” celebration.  Finally pulling away, Andreas’ grabs Oscar’s hand and pumps them into the air in victory, their opponents littered at their feet.  The masters of the tag team track and field competition are the perfect, hot combination of both track and field hunks.

Gold medalist tag team: Norway’s Andreas Thorkildsen…
…and South Africa’s Oscar Pistorius.

More Olympic Spirit

As you’ll see, if you venture into the depths of this post, when I got to writing my homoerotic wrestling imagined vision of an Olympic decathlete wrestling competition, I was quite swept away. Decathletes have been wearing me out since Bruce Jenner (god rest his soul) turned me gay (not really) when he won the Olympics and appeared on boxes of breakfast cereal in 1976.  The all around demands of the decathlon have a way of carving out some of the hottest bodies on the planet.  And somehow, once they reach the level of Olympic competition, only the prettiest seem qualified to compete.  All that gorgeous beefcake! I honestly had no idea who would prevail in this round robin, which probably explains why I went into such detail in this post.  I’m simply infatuated with these guys, and I hope that this installation of Olympic Spirit isn’t too tedious for the casual reader.  In any case, thank GOD that they cleared out the mainstream fans after the closing ceremonies, because it’s time to fill up the Olympic Stadium with the most ardent homoerotic wrestling fans, install the pro wrestling ring in the infield, and let’s see what shakes out with world class decathletes go for gold in the imagined competition that matters much more to me (and you, I presume, if you continue to read).

American Trey Hardee – 6’5″, 210 lbs., 28 y/o

The Olympic stadium lights up with camera flashes as American hunk Trey Hardee jogs across the track and approaches the ring in the infield.  The lean blond hunk leaps up to the ring apron and steps through the ropes.  The roar of the crowd jumps a dozen decibels when he climbs up to the nearest middle turnbuckle to shrug his sculpted shoulders out of the straps of his red lycra singlet.  The tallest man in the competition, Trey spent the first few years on the world stage getting his skinny ass beat relentlessly, so he’s in London having packed on more muscle than ever before. His smooth upper body is ripped like an anatomy chart as he slowly peels the fabric down his torso, revealing inch by inch his sweet, golden pecs and rippled abs.  His newly ripped physique directly translates into a supremely cocky attitude.  Bare chested, the smooth stud flexes, bringing the fans to their feet.

Belgian Hans van Alphen – 6’3″, 203 lbs., 30 y/o
When Belgium decathlete Hans van Alphen jogs out from underneath the stands and across the track, the crowd hushes in anticipation. Trey points at him threateningly, towering above from the turnbuckle.  More heavily muscled than his opponent and with a light coat of dark hair across his massive pecs, the Belgian stunner sports square cut trunks, black in front and yellow in back.  When he reaches the ring and grabs the middle rope to hoist himself up to the apron, Trey leaps out of the corner and stands threateningly inside the ring, fists clenched, daring the Belgian beefcake to try to enter the ring.   Hans circles the ring slowly as Trey follows his progress. When he finally leaps up to the apron and begins to duck under the top rope, the American drives a forearm across his upper back, hooks Hans’ head underneath his right arm, and then grabs the waist of the Belgian’s trunks with his left hand. Lunging low, Trey hoists the shocked Belgian off his feet and suplexes him over the top rope and into the ring.  The hairy chested hunk slams to his back, and both men roll to their feet in a flash.  Hans gently rubs his lower back as the two warily circle the ring. They approach for a collar and elbow tie up, but at the last instant Trey ducks under the Belgian’s big arms, grabs him around the waist from behind, and snap suplexes the hunk, pounding his upper back to the mat.  Again, both wrestlers are on their feet in a flash, but Hans is a fraction of a second slower than his American opponent. After circling one another warily for a few more seconds, Hans lunges to one knee and sweeps Trey’s right leg. Holding him by the ankle, the Belgian lands a sharp heel strike to the American’s hamstring before Trey kicks free and rolls back to his feet, massaging his leg.  They continue to circle and trade lightening fast strikes, Trey focusing on quick knee lifts to soften up Hans’ gut, mixed with snap suplexes to wear out his lower back.  The Belgian clearly has his sights set on deflating the American’s wheels with kicks to his thighs and leg sweeps setting up more strikes to his hamstrings.  It’s technical wrestling, strategic and methodical, until Hans once again controls Trey’s right ankle after a leg sweep.  After three sharp heel strikes to the hamstring, the American’s attempt to kick free fails. Swiftly, Hans steps over the captured leg, twisting Trey to his stomach.  Hooking the American’s right ankle under his left arm, the Belgian sits back in a single leg crab that makes Trey pound his fists into the mat in frustration.  A scream of agony punctuates the mat pounding when Hans reaches his free hand down between Trey’s long, smooth legs and clutches at the American’s balls savagely.  The Belgian’s fans in the stands roar their approval, bringing a smile to Hans’ handsome face.   Slowly, Trey strains to lift his shoulders off the mat, pressing his upper body until the shift in his center of gravity makes the Belgian stumble forward. A half a second later, and the American kicks free and climbs to his feet, massaging his crotch and shooting daggers from his eyes at his opponent.  The tenor of the contest has turned distinctily personal.  Hans’ hairy pecs bounce excitedly.  A surprising head-on charge from the American pushes Hans into the ropes.  He’s quickly whipped off the ropes, sprinting across the ring and being catapulted back again.

Hans tries to catch his breath

Trey’s right knee catches the Belgian in his lower abdomen, sending him sommersaulting in mid-air and landing with a crash to his back.  Stomps make the handsome hunk bounce of the mat.  A handstand turns into a swinging knee driving into the Belgian’s lower back.  Hans arches on his side, his face contorted in agony.  Shoving him flat to his stomach, Trey hooks the handsome Belgian’s arms across his thighs and pries backward on his chin, sitting low in a camel clutch.  The American’s fans roar to life as he shakes Hans from side to side.  “Give it up!” he demands, but the Belgian is nowhere near empty.  Two solid minutes of the spine wrenching camel clutch, and then Trey flings him to the mat in disgust and stands up, his spandex tenting impressively, stretched across his crotch.  Before Hans manages to climb up to his hands and knees, Trey drags him up to his feet by his hair, hooks his right arm between his legs, scoops him up and immediately slams him down on his lower back.  Hans bridges high, his aching back arching in agony. Perfectly positioned, Trey grabs the Belgian’s black and yellow trunks and jerk them off his legs. Trey swings the trunks from his fingers and winks at the fans who stomp and scream. He tucks the trunks in the waistband of his tights and turns his attention back to his naked opponent, taking aim and dropping to his side, intending to drive his right elbow into his opponent’s lower abs. The Belgian rolls away, resulting in Trey pounding his elbow into the mat and then quickly clutching it in pain.  Hans rallies quickly and drives his knee in between Trey’s shoulder blades.  The American drops to his back, and seconds later Hans laces their legs together and drops to his back in a tight figure-4 leg lock, threatening to snap Trey’s right knee.  The American wails, pounding his fists into the mat.  The naked Belgian leans back on his left elbow and watches his opponent squirm and writhe, his right hand absent-mindedly stroking his big, veiny cock surrounded by a thick bush of dark hair.  Flexing his thighs, the Belgian makes Trey scream as his knee is hyperextended dangerously.  “You are just too pretty,” Hans growls, pumping his quads and making the blond beauty scream louder. Sweat glistens across Trey’s tanned, smooth body as every muscle tenses.  The American’s knee looks disturbingly out of alignment, but minutes into the crippling leg lock and he still refuses to submit.  Hans’ erection is more than a handful as his opponent suffers exquisitely.  Frustrated with his opponent’s resolve, the Belgian hunk finally unhooks the leg lock and crawls overtop of Trey, lowering himself stretched out across the American and slowly pumping his hips, sliding his erection between their sweaty bodies.  “Submit to me now,” Hans coos, “and I’ll let you where my gold medal while I fuck you all night long.”  With a look of awe, Trey stretches his face upward until their lips meet.  The Belgian drives his tongue deep into his opponent’s mouth. Trey slides the palms of his hands up and down the mighty Belgian’s broad, muscled back. His fingers trace down the corded muscles forming a deep ridge down his spine, until the Americans squeezes Hans’ lightly hairy, powerful glutes with both hands.  With his hands on Hans’ hips, he slowly begins sliding the Belgian up and down his body, Hans’ raging cock squeezed tightly between them.  The pace quickens, until abruptly Hans wrenches his mouth away from Trey’s lips breathlessly. His jaw hangs open dumbly; his eyes roll into the back of his head. A cry somewhere between pain and ecstasy explodes from his chest as he rolls his shoulders upward, leaning on straight arms over his opponent, and shooting a load across Trey’s golden pecs.  The look of shock across Hans’ face, streaming with sweat, is complimented by the victorious smile stretching across the American’s face. With a grunt, Trey rolls on top, pinning the backs of the Belgian’s hands to the mat.  Hans attempts to muscle himself free, but he’s spent and the American is just too strong.  Trey laces their legs together and forces the naked Belgian spread eagled. With his left forearm he begins choking him while throttling the decathlete’s deflating cock with his right hand.  Hans bucks his hips off the mat desperately, but he gets nowhere.  His cock begins to swell again in Trey’s hand even as his airway is choked off. “Good boy,” Trey coos.  “That’s what I love about world class athletes!”  Hans’ eyes roll up into his head as Trey begins pumping the Belgian beef in earnest.  “Submit!” Trey shouts. “No, no, no…” Hans mumbles.  “SUBMIT!” the American demands louder, but the Belgian just shakes his head, his eyes drooping as his balls begin to contract.  Abruptly Trey stops stroking his opponent and Hans’ eyes snap open wide. “No!!!” he shouts desperately, “don’t stop!”  Trey squeezes the head of his opponent’s cock tightly and growls into his face, “Submit!”  “I-give-don’t-stop-I-give-don’t-stop…” Hans repeats over and over as Trey obliges, pumping the raging cock until the Belgian lets loose with another explosive finish, this time coating his own hairy pecs.  20 seconds later, and the American’s forearm chokes the big Belgian out like a light, the look of ecstasy still stretched across his slack face. “One!” Trey slaps the mat next to his opponent’s head. The crowd joins the count at “TWO!,” and at the shout of “THREE,” Trey climbs off his opponent and pumps his fists in the air, his singlet stretched taut over his massive erection.  The camera flashes from the stands are blinding, just as the screams of adoration are deafening as Trey takes a minute to soak in the love.

Trey mugs for his adoring fans

Trey personally supervises the medical team as they gently place Hans on a stretcher and walk him toward the locker rooms.

Czech Roman Sebrle – 6’1″, 192 lbs., 37 y/o

15 minutes later, the roar of the crowd again greets another competitor. Veteran Czech decathlete, Roman Sebrle strolls confidently across the track and into the infield to climb into the ring.  The oldest competitor in the tournament, he’s starkly handsome and draws stunned gasps as the crowds see his gear.  He’s wearing a classic posing strap made famous in the old AMG wrestling videos of the 50’s and 60’s.  He stands in the center of the ring impassive, his muscles relaxed, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, somehow astonishingly fierce for being so thoroughly calm and cool.

German Pascal Behrenbruch – 6’5″, 207 lbs., 27 y/o
Roman is giving up 4 inches in height, 15 pounds in weight, and 10 years in age to his competitor who comes sprinting across the track and bounding into the ring to the roar of the crowd.  German decathlete Pascal Behrenbruch  is long, blond, stunningly smooth and tanned.  He wears metallic gold bikini trunks that don’t nearly cover the expanse of his hard, athletic ass.  For that matter, his golden pouch is inadequate to keep his shaved balls under wraps as well, particularly as the beautiful goldenboy climbs up the turnbuckle and pumps his right fist in the air to get a rise from the crowd.  Apparently, the German is unaware of the risks involved in turning your back on your opponent, because he never sees Roman slowly stroll up from behind and drive his right fist straight up between the German’s outstretched legs.  The long, lean goldenboy’s knees buckle, but before he falls the powerful Czech quickly hooks his right arm between Pascal’s legs.  He drapes the German’s toned body backward across his broad shoulders.  The stands erupt, a nearly riotous mix of outrage and elation as the Czech muscle man yanks down on Pascal’s legs and neck, bending the gorgeous boy’s back around his neck.  Pascal’s screams are high pitched and frantic.  Roman bounces on the balls of his feet, parading his prey across his shoulders for the viewing of the raging crowd shocked by the speed with which a world class competitor, a semi-finalist in the Olympics, is completely incapacitated and utterly humiliated.  Roman shows off in the center of the ring, doing leg squats with his 207 pound German barbell racked like dead weight across his shoulders.  The Czech adjusts his grip, yanking down on Pascal’s chin with one hand while sliding his other hand underneath the German’s metallic gold pouch to crush his testicles.  The German writhes and kicks, flailing his arms, but it takes no more than a half a minute more before Pascal’s screams of submission are heard punctuating the disbelieving gasps from the crowd.  It’s the fastest victory in homoerotic wrestling Olympic history. The Czech beast simply shrugs his shoulders and lets Pascal roll off, tumbling in heap to the mat behind him, as Roman pumps his fists and roars at the crowd.

Roman flexes in victory!
Pascal doesn’t know what just hit him.

With the camera flashes exploding throughout the stadium, Roman turns, rests his hands on his hips, and stares down at prone Pascal. As the German begins to move, pushing his shoulders off the mat, Roman squats next to him, helping the humiliated athlete sit up. He pats Pascal’s back consolingly, murmuring something into his ear as the crowd continues to rumble in aftershocks from the shocking defeat.  Pascal nods in response to Roman’s assurances, swallowing hard and getting his bearings. Leaning on the Czech’s broad shoulder, Pascal unsteadily climbs to his feet.  Roman lifts the German’s hand in the air, and the show of sportsmanship generates appreciative applause from the crowd.  Pascal leans heavily on the Czech as they slowly make their way to the ropes.  As the bashed German begins to duck through the ropes, suddenly Roman locks his arms around the goldenboy’s narrow waist from behind, lifts him off his feet, and drives Pascal’s head and shoulders backward into the mat in a vicious suplex.  Screams of protest and a low rumble of boos from the stadium greet Roman as he climbs back to his feet and pumps his fists in the air once again, spitting on the humiliated German.  Dropping to one knee, he grabs Pascal’s bikini at the back and rips the minuscule fabric apart at the seams.  He stuffs the golden fabric in the German’s mouth, making the now naked hunk gag. The Czech strolls slowly but directly out of the ring, hops down to the infield, and walks at a leisurely pace toward the the locker room, waving his hands over head, intentionally misinterpreting the rumble of boos from the stands to be cheers for him.

Fantasy hunk, Trey Hardee, is ready to claim Gold for the US
When Trey Hardee comes trotting into the infield 30 minutes later, the stadium is rocking and ready for the gold medal contest.  Climbing gingerly up to the ring apron and ducking through the ropes, the American competitor is draped in an American flag. As he jogs around the perimeter of the ring, he pulls off the flag, revealing his tanned, sculpted torso. He’s wearing his singlet again, the shoulder straps peeled down to his narrow waist.  As the cameras flash and the crowd roars, he backs into a corner, draping the flag over the ropes and awaiting the arrival of his opponent.
The disgust from the crowd sounds like music to Roman’s ears.

A wary show of sportsmanship.

Long minutes pass before Roman Sebrle finally strides slowly across the track toward the infield. The chorus of boos that greet him are deafening. Smiling brightly and waving at the stands, the Czech acts as if the ire emanating from the stadium are lauds. His gorgeous glutes are all but completely bare as he strolls to the ring in his classic gay flick posing pouch.  Climbing up to the apron, he looks warily across the ropes at the American.  Seeming satisfied that Trey will permit him to enter the ring unmolested, the Czech ducks through the top two ropes and climbs inside. The world class decathletes stare at one another, motionless for nearly a minute as the tension in the stadium swells.  Chants of “Trey! Trey! Trey!” begin to pulse underneath the general din.  Finally, Roman extends his right hand toward his opponent and slowly begins to walk across the ring toward him.  Trey pushes himself out of the corner and approaches his opponent warily, slowly extending his hand.  The crowd screams words of caution at the American goldenboy as the two athletes grasp hands and shake.  With a quick jerk, Trey pulls Roman forward and reaches around him, embracing the Czech muscleman in an intimate embrace. Roman returns the hug. The crowd is hushed in anticipation, but the show of sportsmanship seems to unfold without an ulterior motive. They step backward, still shaking hands, and then suddenly Trey yanks his opponent toward him again and clotheslines the Czech savagely across the throat.  Roman slams to his back and takes a half a dozen lightning fast stomps to his chest and head within seconds.  Every homoerotic wrestling fan in the stadium is on their feet and screaming.

Trey goes on the offensive.

The Czech is stunned, but hardly down for the count.  He rolls away from the American and up to one knee smoothly, rubbing his throat.  As he climbs back to his feet, the two men begin to circle, both clearly respecting the danger they face. A collar and elbow tie up positions the powerful athletes to test their strength and balance.  Suddenly pulling the American close, Roman lifts his right knee into Trey’s crotch, making the American drop the clench and clutch his balls.  A forearm to the handsome American’s face flings him to his back, followed quickly by a Czech elbow drop to his gut.  Stunned but relatively fresh, Trey rolls away and up to his feet, one hand testing his bashed nose and the other adjusting his crotch.  Roman gets back to his feet, and the two circle one another once again.  They move toward one another for another collar and elbow, when Trey grabs the Czech’s right wrist, ducks underneath his arm and twists Roman’s arm behind his back.  The American’s height advantage works to his favor as he pries the forearm up the middle of Roman’s back, forcing the Czech to rise on the balls of his feet.  Smoothly, Trey releases the arm and captures his opponent by the neck, hip tossing him to his back and maintaining the headlock as both men crash to the mat, Roman flat on his stomach and Trey sitting by his shoulder.  Trey pries his opponent’s neck backward until the Czech groans, and then the American reaches back with his free arm and snags Roman’s right ankle, pressing it down across his left ankle and pulling the Czech strongman’s knees off the mat.  A few years ago and the lean American wouldn’t have had the power to make this hold count, but today he’s able to fold Roman’s back up sharply. The chant of Trey’s name continues to rise from the stadium. He leans back, spreading his long legs wide, his mastery making his tights tent.  “I’ll rip your fucking head off!” he shouts, but the Czech refuses to submit. Two minutes roll by in the excruciating assault on the Czech’s back, as both men break out into glistening sweat, but Roman defies the potential finisher.  Finally Trey releases the hold, dropping Roman’s head and sliding to his back. Catching Roman’s ankles against his crotch, the long American leans forward and grabs his opponent from behind by his chin, folding his back backward again and making the Czech wail.  “I’m going to break you in half, old man!” Trey barks threateningly, but again Roman refuses to submit as the back breaking hold grinds his spinal column, chants of “Trey! Trey! Trey!” pulsing from the stadium.  What was a sprint for the Czech in the first round has become a marathon of torture in the second, as Trey milks one hold and then the next, sliding forward and slapping on a sweaty camel clutch, then dropping knees into the Czech’s lower back on the way to spinning around and locking Roman’s ankles underneath his arms and sitting back in a boston crab.  The minutes crawl by for the Czech, as the offense belongs exclusively to the American for another ten minutes of back torture. The Czech seems to be nearly out on his feet when Trey drags him  up by his chin, scoops him up in his arms, and drops his lower back across the American’s thigh as Trey goes down to one knee.  He rolls the back-battered Czech off his knee only to drag him to his feet again, bend him backward with his left arm wrapped across Roman’s throat, and drop to one knee again, bending the big Czech backward and choking him at the same time.  The stands are roaring, but when Trey slides his hand down the length of his opponent’s lightly hairy torso and inside Roman’s dripping wet pouch, the noise is deafening.  The cock claw finally gets a rise out of the generally impassive big Czech, who rouses from semi-conciousness to wail deeply, his back arching in agony off of his captor’s thigh.  The wail makes Trey chuckle.  “There we are,” he says, satisfied.  “That’s where it hurts deep down!”  His forearm flexes as Roman’s pouch writhes.  “This is it, old man,” he announces.  “Time to announce your retirement and put you out to stud, big boy!”  But although the Czech thrashes in the backbreaker and cock claw, he refuses to submit.  Frustrated, Trey finally dumps him to the mat and stands up, hands on hips, sweat dripping from brow.  His powerful pecs heave as he catches his breath.  Both this match and his semi-final match have turned out to be tests of endurance, and although few men in the world could claim his level of fitness, the minutes ticking away under the stadium lights are clearly taking their toll.

His opponent, more 10 years his senior, appears even worse off… until Trey bends forward to drag him off the mat and suddenly finds the Czech’s right claw latched to his testicles.  As Roman slowly stands up tall, Trey’s shoulders slouch forward as he clings to the Czech’s forearm with both hands.  A deep roar of boos from the crowd washes through the stadium. The young, handsome American seems to shrink as Czech savagely twists his claw, dropping Trey to his knees.  Shoving Trey in the forehead, Roman sends the hunk falling to his back.  Quickly grabbing both of Trey’s ankles, the Czech spreads his opponent’s legs wide and drives his heel into his balls, making Trey’s shoulders levitate off the mat as shock and agony contort his face.  Savagely, the Czech drops to his knees, driving his forehead into his opponent’s crotch.  Trey’s hips bounce off the mat and he twists to the side, pulling his knees up to his chest with his hands clutched protectively around his pounded balls.  Pools of sweat cover the center of the ring. Streams of it pour off of the handsome Czech’s brow.  He takes his time catching his breath and clearing his head, but his opponent continues to writhe and jerk in agony.  Climbing back to his feet, Roman grabs Trey’s ankles again and lift his legs off the mat.  The American begs him to spare his balls further insult, pleading, nearly crying in desperation.  With expert precision, the Czech bends Trey’s long left leg and laces their legs together, locking on a vicious figure-4 leglock with precisely the same placement that nearly broke the American in his semi-final match.  Roman arches his back and bridges, lifting his upper body off the mat and resting on his hands. The added pressure on Trey’s knee makes him scream, incoherently at first, but then the clear wail of words escape his mouth. “I-I-I-I G-i-i-i-ve!!!!”  The Czech releases the hold and kneels next to his conquered opponent, pumping his fists in victory, as the chorus of boos from the stadium rain down on him.

Gold medal for the Czech!
30 minutes go by as the homoerotic wrestling fans in the stadium are treated to slow motion replays on the massive screens, documenting the key moments from the individual rounds.  When the screens go black, a fresh wave of enthusiasm washes through the stands as they see Trey Hardee trotting back out of the locker room, clearly favoring his right knee.  He waves in response to the outpouring of support, but the once invincible American champ is clearly humbled heading into the tag team competition.

Trey is looking to redeem his individual match loss.
Once again, Trey wears his skin tight red singlet with his shoulder straps hanging from around his waist, the American flag draped across his bulging shoulders.

American Ashton Eaton – 6’1″, 181 lbs., 24 y/o
Ten seconds behind him comes his American teammate, Ashton Eaton, wearing a matching red singlet.  He’s also left his shoulder straps off, displaying the long, lean muscles that have made him the rising new star on the world stage.  As they take up position behind one of the corner posts, the two are strikingly handsome and clearly fan favorites.

Belgian Hans van Alphen
Next to come sprinting out of the locker room and into the infield is the Belgian beauty, Hans van Alphen.  He’s cleaned up and rehydrated from his semi-final humiliation at the hands of Trey, and he’s somehow reclaimed the black and yellow trunks that he lost to the American.

Brit Daniel Awde – 6′, 181 lbs., 24 y/o
For the team competition, Hans has reached across the channel to team up with the Brit wild child, Daniel Awde.  Known for his high flying outrageous risk taking, Daniel has been a wild card on the homoerotic wrestling decathlete circuit.  When the punk rock fanatic lands on top, he’s devastating. When the high risk moves don’t pay off, he frequently knocks himself out of the competition.

Roman Sebrle
When gold medalist Roman Sebrle saunters across the track and into the infield toward the ring, his reputation proceeds him.  Every fan is on his feet, booing and hissing at the vicious champ.  Food and cups are thrown onto the track after him in disgust, but the Czech champ remains above it all, smiling confidently.  For his tag team appearance, he’s dressed only in his signature posing pouch, leaving his gorgeous, lightly hairy glutes bare.

Mihail Dudas – 6’2″, 198 lbs., 29 y/o
Roman has teamed up with the Serb heart throb, bodybeautiful Mihail Dudas.  Mihail’s success on the circuit has been limited, but his ego seems to only exponentially grow regardless of whether he’s on the medal stand in the end.  He’s powerful, vicious, and has been mentored by the gold medalist for the past year, making him simply more of everything that comes natural to him: powerful, merciless, cocky, underhanded. He sports red square cuts with the outline of white palm prints accentuating his astonishingly bubbly muscle butt.
Pascal Behrenbruch
The humiliated German wrestler, Pascal Behrenbruch, is the captain of the final team in the 4-way gold medal match.  The look on his face as he strides across the track toward the infield communicates with crystal clarity.  He’s back to redeem his shockingly pitiful showing in the individual competition.  His smooth, tan body is oiled; his muscles are pumped; and he’s replaced his destroyed golden trunks with a more modest baby blue speedo.

Latvian Darius Draudvila – 6’2″, 198 lbs., 29 y/o
When Pascal’s teammate comes jogging across the track into the infield after him, the gasps from the crowd are audible.  Pascal has passed over his long-time tag team partner, a fellow German heath throb and world class contender, and selected Latvian muscleman Darius Draudvila to join him in his corner. Darius is a long-time world class competitor, but has had only limited success in the ring, making his selection by Pascal that much more mysterious. As he leaps up to the ring apron in a matching baby blue speedo, Pascal grabs him by the back of the head and plants a possessive, lingering, wet kiss, perhaps solving the mystery.
Mihail starts for his team.
Ashton is out to redeem team USA

Kicking off the action, Mihail and Ashton climb into the ring and begin to circle one another.  As they approach one another, the Serb feints as if to go for a collar and elbow but then drives a vicious right hook into the American’s crotch.  Ashton doubles over, setting him up for Mihail’s signature bulldog, driving him face first into the mat.  Roman claps and cheers for his “boy” as the stands roar their disapproval.

Cocky Mihail flexes for the fans.

The young Serb flexes his right bicep as he shoots a cheesy, toothy smile toward the stands, pointing at his muscle. “Look at this gun!” he shouts at the crowd, who drown him out with boos.  When the din dies down, the Serb grabs his crotch and tugs at it. “I’m packing more heat than the rest of these chumps can handle!” He throws his head back and laughs.  His grandstanding is remarkably premature, however, as he’s given Ashton plenty of time to gather his wits and climb to his knees behind him.  Hooking his arms around the Serb’s waist, Ashton lifts him off his feet and then drops him down across his outstretched right thigh, bashing the Serb’s balls and bruising his tailbone.  Mihail is launched forward, landing on his stomach in humiliation, to the roaring cheers of the crowds.  Trey commands his teammate to tag him in, which he does obediently.  Sliding his right foot up between Michail’s legs, he presses against the boy’s bruised balls, making the Serb’s hips rise off the mat and inspiring applause from the stadium.  Trey drags him by his ankles to the center of the ring and twists him to his back.  His eyes riveted on Roman watching helplessly from the corner, Trey pries wide the Serb’s legs and begins methodically stomping his heel into the boy’s balls as the crowds pick up the count.  At “10!,” the American abruptly drops to his knees and pounds his forehead into the Serb’s crotch, bouncing up to his hands and knees to stare furiously at Roman watching from the outside.  Mihail isn’t moving, almost certainly blacked out from the pain, but Trey refuses to count him out.  Instead, with his eyes never leaving Roman’s handsome face, he steps across the ring and tags in Pascal.

Pascal has something to prove

Pascal leaps across the top rope and squats next to Mihail’s head, staring across the ring at Roman.  He rouses the Serb with sharp slaps to his face as Mihail’s eyes flutter open.  The German drags him to his feet by his ears and shoves him back into the ropes.  Pascal traps his arms in the ropes and pounds his fists into his opponent’s abdomen.  After a couple minutes of the mugging, he drops to his knees and yanks the Serb’s flashy red square cuts off his lightly hairy legs.  Pascal shows the trunks to Roman, sneers at the Czech gold medalist, and then stuffs them into Mihail’s mouth. Leaving the Serb trapped in the ropes, Pascal strolls across the ring and tags in Hans.  The Belgian sprints into the ropes opposite Mihail, is catapulted off of them and leaps across the ring, splashing his body into the helpless Serb.  A quick tag to the American corner and Ashton is back in, clawing the Serb’s smooth pecs.  All of the competitors appear united behind the singular purpose of brutalizing the naked Serb.  Ashton tags in Darius who uses his big, bulging shoulders to spear the trapped hunk. Darius quickly tags in Daniel who completes an acrobatic back handspring on his way to leaping high and driving his elbow down into the Serb’s battered pecs.  Roman barks at Mihail, pleading with his protege to resist the temptation to submit.  With his arms bound and his mouth stuffed with his own trunks, it’s not as if Mihail could submit if he wanted to.  10 minutes into the one-sided brutality and Trey tags back into the action.  He finally releases Mihail’s arms from the ropes.  The Serb instantly collapses in a heap at Trey’s feet, spitting the trunks out of his mouth.  Dragged back to his feet by his hair, Mihail gasps when he feels the American’s long, powerful arms wrap him up from behind in a neck wrenching full nelson.  Trey turns Mihail to face his partner, suffering out of arms length, tormented helplessly in front of the gold medalist.  He endures the torment for a full minute, but when the powerful American begins to shake him side to side, Mihail wails, finally forming the words, “I submit!” Roman’s shouts of encouragement to his partner fade as the writing is on the wall: this has turned into a 6-on-1 against the unpopular champ.

Roman is determined to beat the odds

Flinging the Serb violently to the side, Trey sends Mihail rolling underneath the ropes to the ring apron.  Darius hooks his toes underneath the Serb’s shoulder and sends him rolling the rest of the way, tumbling off the ring apron to the infield.  Trey pumps his fists and roars his challenge at the gold medalist.  Slowly, deliberately Roman climbs through the ropes, cautiously keeping his back to the corner as he leans on his knees and glares at the hunk he crushed so humiliatingly 45 minutes earlier.  Trey approaches; they tie up in a collar and elbow.  The American backs the gold medalist into the corner and quickly drives his knee into the pouch of the Czech’s posing trunks.  A hip toss out of the corner sends Roman sliding on his ass into the center of the ring as the stadium roars encouragement to the beautiful American.  Dropping behind the Czech, Trey presses his right knee between the champ’s shoulder blades as he pries Roman’s muscled arms backward.  Roman’s lightly hairy chest stretches painfully as he clenches his eyes tightly, breathing through the pain.  Ashton and Hans shout their encouragement from their respective corners, while Pascal demands to be tagged in.  The American remains focused on exacting revenge on the Czech’s hard body. Abruptly dropping his arms, Trey grabs the spandex fabric of his right shoulder strap and stretches it over Roman’s head.  He chokes the Czech with the shoulder strap, bending Roman backward across his knee.

Pascal just can’t wait to get his hands on Roman!

The Czech’s attempts to pry the strap from this throat slowly weaken. His arms sag to his sides, as he looks like he’s losing his last grip on consciousness.  Unable to resist getting his own revenge for the Czech’s devastating humiliation, Pascal suddenly dives through the ropes and shoves Trey, sending both the American and the Czech tumbling to mat.  In a flash, all 7 remaining contestants are in the ring in a decathlete muscle melee.  Pascal goes to work on Roman while Darius fends off the approach of Hans and Daniel.  The German drags the gold medalist up to his hands and knees, kneels at his side, and reaches his right arm between the Czech’s legs from behind and claws at Roman’s balls.  Roman roars in rage and agony as his hips rise in his opponent’s control.  Controlling the Czech from behind, Pascal directs Roman unsteadily to his feet and then quickly drapes the gold medalist backward across his shoulders. He bounces Roman on top of his shoulders while yanking the gold medalist’s cock and balls out of their pouch.  He yanks so hard on the Czech’s balls it looks like they’re about to rip off; the gold medalist wails and flails.  Darius has managed to fend off the attack of both Hans and Daniel for the moment, locking up the Belgian beefcake in a side headlock while circling away from the stalking Brit.  But he’s out of position to defend his partner once Ashton has done a quick wellness check on Trey and then turned his attention to Pascal.

A stunning heel to the back of Pascal’s right knee drops the German violently to his knees.  Roman rolls backward off of his shoulders and curls in a ball behind him, clutching his testicles. The American takes a wide stance and wraps his right forearm across the German’s throat from behind.  Clutching his left bicep in his right hand, Ashton flexes and quickly presses shut the flow of blood to the blond adonis’ head.   Pascal’s eyes roll into the back of his head as he slips into unconsciousness.  Dropping him to his back, Ashton slaps down a decisive three count to signal that the German is out of the competition.

Darius wails like a wounded animal when he sees his partner kicked unconscious to the infield.  Distracted, he fails to see Trey back on his feet, positioning himself carefully behind him, and then leaping high into the air.  The standing drop kick catches the Latvian muscleman squarely between the shoulder blades. He lunges forward, losing his grip on Hans’ head, and running nose-first into Daniel’s swinging elbow.  Blood gushes down across his lips as he collapses on his knees and elbows.  Ashton joins the fray to drop his leg across the back of Darius’s head, smashing the bashed hunk face first into the mat.  Daniel straddles Darius’ legs and yanks the Latvian hunk’s baby blue trunks off, pressing them to his nose and inhaling deeply.  Trey stands nearby, his hands on his hips, instructing Hans to control Darius’ right ankle and Ashton to grab the hunk’s left ankle.  The boys obediently do so, flipping the Latvian to his back on Trey’s command.  Daniel needs no instruction to instantly schoolboy pin Darius’ shoulders to the mat and dig out his own British beef, shoving his excited head into the Latvian’s gaping mouth.  Darius grunts in desperation, his mouth full of the Brit’s excitement.  Trey takes a leisurely stroll around the triple-teamed competitor before placing the ball of his right foot on Darius’ shaved balls, pressing them firmly to the mat.  Darius’ muffled wails rise an octave in panic.  With four men holding him down, he’s completely immobile. Trey finally taps Daniel on the shoulder from behind. “I think he’s trying to tell us something.”  Daniel reluctantly slides his now fully-engorged cock out of the hunk’s mouth, and instantly the Latvian screams, “I give!!!”

Hans flexes his devastating muscles

Somehow the boys have managed to forget that the dangerous Czech is still in the ring and going for another gold.  While they’ve been working over Darius, Roman has rallied his strength, caught his breath, and climbed to his feet.  The crowds begin to scream in panic to warn the others, but the remaining competitors mistake their cries of warning for praise for their exquisite manhandling of the Latvian.  Roman slides his thick thighs out of this posers and sneaks up behind Trey.  A half a second after Darius submits, Roman wraps the sweat-soaked fabric around the American’s throat and drags him backward, as the Czech backs defensively into a corner.  Daniel remains gleefully ignorant of what’s happening as he dick-whips Darius’ face, but Ashton and Hans are cautiously approaching the two gold medal finalists.  Roman frantically twists the fabric in his hands, making Trey’s face blanch as the American drops weakly to his knees.  In a flash, Hans dives overtop of Trey and drives his shoulder into Roman’s upper abdomen. As Ashton drags his partner out of the way, Hans yanks Roman out of the corner by his right wrist and sends him sprinting across the ring.  Roman’s back crashes into the far turnbuckle, and a moment later Hans his whipping him out of that corner and sending him crashing into the opposite corner.  A third whip into the corner sets up the Belgian to charge in afterward, lunging low to spear the gold medalist in the abdomen, but the Czech manages to lift his right leg at the last moment and let Hans’ momentum sending him chin-first crashing into Roman’s heel.  The blow whips the Belgian’s head backward violently. He crashes to his back with a bang, lying motionless. Gasping, the sweat-soaked, the Czech drops to his knees and crawls over top of the Belgian hunk, slapping down a 3-count and knocking him out of the competition.

Trey screams for Daniel to stop playing around!
Daniel lusts for making somebody suffer

The Americans are on their feet and screaming at Daniel to toss Darius out of the ring and focus on Roman.  Ashton grabs the naked Czech and drags him off of Hans, pulling him on his hands and knees into the center of the ring.  Daniel is finally back on board having disposed of his Latvian plaything.  Trey barks instructions as Ashton applies an immobilizing full nelson on the Czech, stretching his torso vulnerably.  Daniel starts using the gold medalist as a punching bag, landing a barrage of fists that slap wetly into the muscled core of the Czech.  The smile stretching from ear to ear testifies to the Brit’s joy at bullying the veteran bruiser.   Abruptly the Brit stops the pounding to grab Roman by the chin and spit in his face. Trey barks commands for Daniel to resume the beating, but the Brit takes a moment to slide his tongue into the Czech’s gaping mouth.  Ashton and Trey are both barking furiously at the Brit now, and Daniel pulls away reluctantly. “Okay!” he snaps at Trey angrily.  Cocking his fist next to his right ear, Daniel takes aim for a savage jab into the Czech’s nose.  As his fist shoots forward, the exhausted Czech slides downward, lubricated by streams of sweat, slipping out of Ashton’s full nelson.  Daniel’s fist connects with Ashton’s chin, knocking him to his ass as his eyes roll up into his head.  Trey angrily shoves Daniel in the pecs, screaming at him, which only serves to spark the Brit’s short fuse.  Daniel ducks low, wrapping his arms around Trey’s waist and lifting the American off his feet before spearing him to the mat.  The Brit lands a barrage of fists to Trey’s handsome face as he straddles the American’s waist.  Ashton is fighting to hold onto consciousness, unable to come to his partner’s defense.  Daniel beats the shit out of Trey for over a minute before he feels the hot, sweaty bicep wrap around his throat from behind.  Roman kneels behind him, falling backward and pulling Daniel on top of him in a rear choke.   A minute later, the Czech tosses the once raging Brit to the mat and slaps down a 3-count to signal he’s out of the competition.

Roman’s gorgeous body glistens as he climb to the top turnbuckle.

The Czech is still facing a 2-on-1 showdown, but his odds have improved considerably from earlier in the match.  Both Americans are sitting up, trying to clear their heads, as Roman has already reached his feet.  His sculpted, naked body glistens in the stadium lights.  His chest heaves as he struggles to oxygenate his overtaxed muscles.  Like the champ he is, however, he fights through his exhaustion to stumble to the nearest corner and climb slowly, unsteadily, to the top turnbuckle.  The Americans are oblivious as they both struggle slowly to their feet at the same time, bending foward and resting their hands on their knees as their lungs heave.  The stadium is screaming warning at them, but they have no idea where to look.  Roman crouches, poised on the top ropes, waiting.  As they stand up straight and turn toward Roman’s corner at the same time, the Czech leaps off the top turnbuckle, catching both American’s across the throat with a double clothesline.  All three men slam into the mat and lie there motionless for nearly half a minute as the stadium seems close to a riot.  Slowly, Roman drags himself overtop of Ashton, pinning the American’s shoulders to the mat.  Ashton’s eyes snap open in surprise and he tries to lift his shoulders, but Roman counts him out relying on gravity to keep the exhausted American flat on his back.

Trey cannot believe it’s back to just him and Roman!

The Czech has been defying odds and expectations all night long, and despite the ill-will he generated from the fans earlier, a growing contingent are slowly picking up the chant of his name, signaling their hard-won support.  “Ro-man! Ro-man!” a minority in the crowd pulses as both Trey and Roman struggle to peel themselves off the mat for the final submission or count out.  Shockingly, it’s the iron-willed veteran who makes it to his knees first.  Roman lunges on top of Trey, shoving the American to his back and slapping down a quick 2-count.  The powerful American throws his opponent off of him before he can be counted out.  Once again, Roman beats him off the mat and pins Trey’s shoulders down, hooking his right leg this time.  Again, he manages to slap down a 2-count, but Trey kicks free of the cradle and lifts his shoulder before he’s counted out.  Frustrated, the Czech climbs, stumbling, to his feet and begins to drag Trey up by a fistful of hair.  Before the American makes it to his feet, he manages to yank Roman’s feet out from underneath him, dropping the Czech to his back.  Trey slides around to straddle the Czech’s face, folding Roman’s legs upward and hooking the gold medalist’s ankles underneath his arms.  Roman’s exposed, lightly hairy ass glistens with sweat as the stadium roars still louder.  His face is pinned underneath Trey’s muscled ass.  His legs are spread eagled and folded up over his head.  He tries to kick free, but the crowd joins the American in finally, exhaustingly, counting out the Czech muscleman.

Trey celebrates an exhausting, tag team victory!

Hans quickly dives back inside the ring and helps both Ashton and Trey up to their feet, lifting the American’s hands in the air in victory.  As the team gold medals are handed into the ring, it’s Hans who takes the liberty to drape them around the champion’s necks.  The stadium crowd roars their approval, having witnessed tonight both the shortest and the longest homoerotic wrestling matches in history.  The celebration continues for several minutes.  Beneath the roaring din of the crowd, Trey leans over and shouts something into Hans’ ear.  The Belgian beefcake blushes and then nods.  Bending forward, he peels off his trunks and tosses them into a corner. His big Belgian cock is already semi-erect.  Taking himself in hand, he strokes himself fully erect as Trey and Ashton surround him.  Trey squeezes his ass and Ashton delightedly pinches the Belgian’s nipples.  When the three men step away to stand side by side again, Trey’s gold medal is hanging proudly from the Belgian’s rod.  The camera flashes are blinding as the roaring stadium celebrates world class Olympic-quality homoerotic wrestling.

Team Gold Medalists: Americans Ashton Eaton and Trey Hardee
Hans van Alphen gets to wear gold, after all!

Olympic Spirit Newsbreak

Gold medalist wrestling gymnast, Great Britain’s Louis Smith

The final rounds of my homoerotic wrestling fantasy from the Olympics are still to come, but for today let’s recap the standings and review some related news.  First, the medal count as it stands today:

German team wrestling gymnasts are still gloating over their smoking hot gold medal performance.
Italian Fabio Scozzoli owns 1/2 of the gold medal for tag team wrestling swimmers.

Tied for the lead are the hometown boys, Great Britain, sharing the top spot with the Germans.  Since it’s my imagination, I can award half-golds to Italy and Brazil, because I tossed Fabio and Marcelo into the ring together despite being from different countries. It’s my imagination, after all.

Gold medal wrestling swimmer, Michael Phelps, showers off after owning punk ass Ryan Lochte!

Yesterday was also a gold medal day for neverland.  QueerMeNow included the Olympic Spirit series in their list of the softcore pornification of the Olympics (woo-hoo!).  Thanks largely to that upstanding referral source, this blog had more than 4,700 hits yesterday! Thanks, QMN for introducing homoerotic wrestling kink to more of the main stream gays.

German cyclist Robert Forstemann is looking for more hunks to crush with his monster quads after winning wrestling gold.

The Olympic Spirit series has generated a lot of positive feedback. Thanks for that! I was just discussing with another author how the default with homoerotic wrestling writing (and other writing, for all I know) is no feedback, good or bad, which is hard not to interpret as bad.  I assure you that a little praise goes a long way, especially with my woefully weak ego strength!

This is Henrik Rummel not excited… just imagine…

In addition to the excitement of our very own homoerotic wrestling Olympics, some of the Olympians have been making mainstream news for all the right reasons. Take this extremely entertaining tid bit (or should I say, tid monster) from the rowing mens-4 podium, in which American Henrik Rummel has been seen (over, and over, and over again thanks to YouTube), packing a spare oar in the front of his skin tight trunks.  Hilariously, Henrik (who seems to have an extremely hot sense of humor), has publicly assured the world of two key facts: 1) he didn’t stuff his trunks AND 2) that’s not an erection. The boy assures us that he’s just that fucking big even when flaccid. Rock on, Henrik! If I’d known the tools you bring with you, there’s a good chance you’d have been a semi-finalist in my homoerotic wrestling imagination!

Danell Leyva consoles himself after losing the gymnastics wrestling gold medal by publishing pics of his world class physique.

Further news that has delighted me is seeing American gymnast Daniel Leyva  everywhere on the net and in most instances shirtless.  It seems that Danell gets his kicks by sending pics of himself naked/nearly so to people (okay, reportedly he sends them to women… whatever) that he doesn’t know.  Call me Brenda and put me in your cue, Danell!  An over-the-shoulder mirror shot of your naked ass could easily earn you a rematch with Louis Smith!

Matthew Mitcham enjoys taking an intimate shot at/with Danell.

Clearly, you and I aren’t the only gay men with a crush on (or a desire to crush and/or be crushed by) exhibitionist hunk Danell.  The only openly gay male athlete competing in London (if you don’t count equestrians… which I don’t… someone can convince me that equestrians are athletes if I see evidence of their athletic bodies naked), Australian diver Matthew Mitcham seems to have been very pleased to cuddle close with Danell for a pic in the Olympic village.  Mattie tweeted this shot with the status “Boom! Just bumped into Danell Leyva in the dining hall!”  Keep booming and bumping, Mattie!  Somehow, I’m guessing Matthew would like me to forward the ass shot that Danell texts me.

Out, sculpted, powerful, flexible… Matthew Mitcham is an instant contender for gold.

Speaking of Matthew Mitcham, I’ve had a couple of requests for specific divers to show up in an all-divers homoerotic wrestling fantasy round robin.  Initially, I’ve resisted this because I’m helplessly writing more and more detail with each competition, and diving just wasn’t in my top tier of sports to feature.  But between ogling Matthew and having a reader strongly recommend a close up feature of Troy Dumais’ massive package, I’m working them into circulation.  When it comes to homoerotic anything, however, I’m just putting the field on notice: it doesn’t require much imagination at all to figure that adorable Mattie is inherently world class.

American hunk and Greco Roman wrestler Ellis Coleman (r) makes Matt Lauer beg.

The final news in this wrap up is a fluff piece (so to speak) from this morning’s Today Show.  Newboy hunk Matt Lauer and weatherman Al Roker have made quite a schtick out of having Olympic athletes demonstrate their expertise at the expense of Lauer and Roker’s dignity.  Today, the Today Show boys hit the mats to learn about Greco-Roman wrestling (yes, my homoerotic wrestling radar just alarmed!).  This spot introduced me to one of the most adorable faces I’ve seen in London, American wrestler Ellis Coleman and his heart-melting dimples.  The schtick plays stripper music as Coleman and his heavyweight teammate peel out of their warm-ups and adjust their junk in their skin-tight singlets.  Ellis is paired up with Lauer to show him some moves.

Matt Lauer a few years back, showing off a hairy, hunky beach bod.

Lauer asks why Ellis is known as “the flying squirrel,” and in response, without a word, the world class wrestler leaps over the newsboy’s back, slides down to his feet, hooks his arms around Lauer’s waist and hoists him off his feet in an inverted reverse bearhug, looking for everything like he’s inches away from piledriving the anchor.  Lauer screams like… a… bitch, begging for Ellis to let him down.  Holy fuck!  Ellis’ rocking, lean body is every inch matched by a fantastic pro-ready personality.  Near the end of the bit, he effortlessly hoists Lauer off his feet and drapes the newsboy across his shoulders. When Lauer doesn’t seem to be feeling it enough, the Olympic hottie bounces up and down and yanks down on the big anchor’s trapped body until Lauer is, yet again, begging in humiliation for Ellis to let him go.  A newsboy and an Olympian wrestling fantasy?!  This piece has “Bard” written all over it!

Gorgeously handsome Ellis surrounds himself with shirtless hotness.

The piece also immediately propels adorable Greco Roman wrestling hunk Ellis into the lead to compete in a homoerotic wrestling wrestler fantasy in the near future.  It took just about 30 seconds of screen time to convince me that Ellis is ready for the big time. I haven’t yet scoped out his competition, but I have to think a wink and a flash of those dimples could make the difference between gold and also-ran in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.  Look for more from gorgeous Ellis soon.

Ellis grabs the homoerotic wrestling world’s attention!

Seeing the Lights on the Ceiling

I resist the strong temptation to select homoerotic wrestlers of the month as a lifetime achievement award.  Some work horses in the business have been consistently wrestling high quality matches for the long haul, but for my of-the-month title I try to consider only the matches released within the past month.  Cameron Mathews (listed also as Cameron “Matthews”) has been starring in inspired homoerotic wrestling matches for over 7 years since he debuted with BG East, including 25 matches in the ring, on the mats, in the gazebo, and in two of his own Wrestler Spotlight compilations. I’m not sure exactly when he started wrestling with Thunder’s Arena, but he’s appeared in an astonishing 25 matches for them, as well.  15 Cyberfights, 3 Can-Am matches, and directed and starred in 4 “East Coast” battles distributed by Can-Am.  This incredible list doesn’t even broach the subject of his mainstream indy pro wrestling resume (mostly because there’s just too many matches to count, but also because it’s fundamentally a step to the right of where my primary tastes lie).  If I ever start awarding lifetime achievement awards, Cameron is obviously an instant favorite!  But in the of-the-month head-to-heads, July 2012 was the month that Cameron twist-tied the competition around the ring post and came out on top as far as entertaining me hardest.

Cameron claimed the title and wrapped it up in a bow.
Sporting an astonishingly sexy body that’s miles away from this long, lean, even skinny days as a rookie, Cam owned my adoration for teaching fitness model goldenboy Austin Cooper to think twice before he climbs into the ring with an indy pro veteran.  While true, Austin ends up with his boot planted on Cameron’s chest, pumping out a victory flex, I’ve got eyes and ears and a hard-on primarily for the power, beauty, and above all, the story telling of my homoerotic wrestler of the month, Mr. Mathews.

Cam’s the man making Austin flinch in anticipation of his next beating
Warming my heart and turning me on even harder, I got a message from Cameron about a day after awarding him the title.  Like Cage Thunder last month, Cam thanked me and not-so-subtly pointed out that “it’s about time.”  Knowing that he’s reading neverland only cements my infatuation and loyalty for Mr. Mathews.  His willingness to join the conversation and grant me a brief interview demonstrates that he’s not only a hunk, not merely an outstanding ring wrestler, not just in possession of a world class ass, but he’s also a gentleman who’s got his fans in mind as he does his thing.  Here’s a glimpse of what’s going inside the head of the reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Cameron Mathews.
——–
Cameron Mathews – Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month
Bard: Thanks for agreeing to take some questions for neverland readers on the occasion of being selected as the reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month! Finding out that a favorite wrestler reads my blog fills me with both excitement and dread. If there’s anything I’ve written about you in the past that’s pissed you off, I apologize! Now, I know you’re busy, because you’ve got to be the hardest working wrestler on the planet! I only halfway track your live pro wrestling events, but with the amount of airtime you’ve had on DVD and internet wrestling sites, it seems like you’re wrestling 24/7! What keeps you focused and getting your butt back on the road for your next match?

Cameron gets creative all over Austin’s back

Cameron: I think what keeps me going with wrestling is that it is fun. Even when I have a “bad” match I still have fun. I enjoy being creative. I enjoy being the first, or one of the only people who can do things. I like learning. There’s always something to learn and always something to improve on…or try doing differently.

Bard: Very cool! Your creativity and innovative spirit is clearly evident to me! Speaking of butts (see how I worked that in so smoothly?), yours generated a collective gasp, sigh, and then several grunts from the legions of gay wrestling fans the first time we saw you wrestling for companies like BG East, Thunder’s Arena, and Can Am. Do you wrestle any differently when you know that your audience is primarily gay, as opposed to when you’re doing shows in front of (presumably) straight audiences?

That….. ASS!!!!!

Cameron: Ha-ha on the smooth transition. The matches in front of a live audience have to be more varied than the studio matches due to time restraints, audience attention span, and other factors. Pro matches are expected to be exciting and quick, especially on television. With a studio match you are able to tell a better story. More drama. More detail. I prefer longer matches.

At least on camera, Cam gets “impolite”
with fitness star Rio Garza.

Bard: Me, too! I love a good story and lots of drama in wrestling, and I think you’re one of the best at doing just that. I’m guessing that you must be good to work with, because you’ve worked with pretty much everyone and they seem to keep asking you back. Based on that premise, I’m also deducing that you’re a genuine professional, in the best sense of the word, and you probably don’t often talk shit about other wrestlers. So I won’t ask you to name any names… just tell us some backstage dirt on some of the boys you’ve worked with. You’ve wrestled everyone!

Cameron: I try to be a polite when I’m in new places. I am actually probably the one you hear stories about [laughing]. I am passionate about wrestling. As for the other guys, that is their business. There are guys out there that I do not get along with. Both in pro and studio. I try to remain professional and polite. It doesn’t always work.

Bard: Very diplomatically stated! Surely you can name some names when it comes to who’s been the best to work with. I interviewed Lon Dumont a year and a half ago, and he certainly speaks highly of you. Do you strike up any real friendships with other wrestlers in the crazy busy schedule you keep?

Cameron and Big Sexy stay in touch.

Cameron: As for some people I’ve become friendly with, Big Sexy is a good friend and badass fighter. Lon was my first real pro wrestling trainer when I was 14. He’s actually helped get me in shape. Coupe from Thunders is a great guy. Zman is always fun to be around. Always smiling and wanting to try crazy wrestling ideas. Jonny Firestorm is probably the person I most relate to. Just really started to chat and hang out with him more often. Aryx Quinn and I stay in contact. He’s always traveling North America. I enjoy all the guys who run the products. They are all unique and smart men.

Bard: Good to hear! That’s a diverse collection of guys that you’ve connected with. So your physique in your newly released match with Austin Cooper for Babyface Brawl 2 is astonishing! Not that you haven’t always been a stunning looking specimen, but damn! Have you been on a new diet or training differently lately? Do you see the transformation in yourself that so many fans have been appreciating?

Lon Dumont whipped Cam’s muscles
into shape (and charged him for the privilege!)

Cameron: Like I mentioned, Lon worked with me on a diet and workout plan. Even charged me! I actually got “too lean” so I stopped doing the diet. Well-worth the price though. He is extremely talented.

Bard: I seem to remember from Lon’s first BGE match him explaining, “I don’t just give this away for free.” Apparently that goes both for flexing and for training! I’m sure you hear more than you can stand from fans and critics about what they want to see more of from you. Armchair critiques (and I freely admit I’m one of the worst offenders) seem to have a never-ending stream of opinions about wrestling and wrestlers. From your side of the equation, though, what would you like to see or hear more of from fans of wrestling? More praise? Less pirating? More appreciation for the athletes, the injuries… what would you wish for fans to “get” more about the work that you do?

Cameron: I’ve been wrestling professionally for like 12 years now and I just read from a blogger that I was “green.” He reassured everyone who read that I had lots of potential and was good. I’ve been told I am good. I’ve been told I suck. I’ve been told I am good…all in a few weeks by different pro wrestling “names”. If I suck, tell me why I suck. I’ve always disliked hearing that there was nothing that I could’ve done better…because that was a lie. With that being said, if you don’t like me tell me what I can do better. If I’m good, tell me you like it. I don’t know what people like. I know what I’d like to do or expect to see…or not expect to see. It’s all trial and error.

Bard: That sounds like a healthy and extremely mature attitude. I’ll take that as my cue to keep reviewing and critiquing (and praising!) your work. Like I said when I named you reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month at neverland, I love your sense of humor, your rocking body, your awesome sell… you’re a star, which makes your willingness to take a few questions from me an absolute thrill for me. Is there anything else that you’d like to say to your gay fans out there that have been dropping me notes over the past few days telling me that it’s about goddamn time I recognized you as homoerotic wrestler of the month?

Cameron: I received a text from Al in New Jersey to check out the blog. I read the article and looked at the sidebar but didn’t really “catch on” until the end. It was very cool to be given that honor…and it only took 7 and a half years to do it [laughing]. I actually texted Lon about it.

Bard: Well, in my own defense, I’ve only been blogging for 3 years, and I’ve only been naming homoerotic wrestlers of the month for 2 years. But your point is well taken and something I’ve heard frequently from your fans in the past couple of days. It’s about time you got your well-earned honors!

Cameron: As for my fans, whether gay, straight, bisexual, transgender, asexual or undecided…I just am glad that I have been allowed to live the dream of being a pro wrestler and seeing the world. I don’t think I could’ve done so much had I not been exposed to wrestling, both pro and film. So thank you for letting me see the lights, even if they are on the ceiling.

Bard: I’m a huge fan of wrestlers being exposed! And I’m officially a huge fan of yours. Thanks a lot, Cameron!

Joshua Goodman is hell-bent on giving Cameron more exposure!

Cameron: I’ll also be opening a new site sometime but thats neither here nor there. Thank you again.

Bard: I look forward to hearing about the new site!

More Olympic Spirit

Medal Contender and hunk Peter Reed represents team GB in Olympic rowing.
Rowing. Kayaking.  I know almost nothing about these sports… other than the fact that their athletes seem inevitably to develop absolutely gorgeous pecs and shoulders! I’m also pretty sure that there are paddles involved, which could totally heat things up! So, I know that big boys with powerful pecs race one another in their little boats. People hand out medals. Olympic dreams are made or crushed.  That all sounds fine, but it’s what happens in my homoerotic wrestling imagination after these waterboys are done with their races that fires me up. When the boys climb off of the podium, let’s clear the docks, assemble the ring, and restock the stands with homoerotic wrestling fans. Time to flex those pecs for all the right reasons!
Australian Sam “Spock” Loch – 6’2″, 193 lbs., 29 y/o
The first semi-final match (in my imagination) begins when Australia’s Sam “Spock” Loch jogs out of the boathouse and up to ringside as the roar of the crowd reacts to the Princeton educated hunk. The quirky, hardbodied hottie hops onto the ring apron, waving to the cheering crowd.  He slides his thumbs inside his solid yellow square cut trunks and pulls the front away from his lean lower abdomen, looking inside and then feigning mock surprise as he looks up at the crowd. “That’s a mighty big hammer, mates!” he shouts. The crowd roars it’s approval, screaming to see the Aussie’s hammer. He winks, tugging the trunks low, slowly revealing his closely cropped pubes and the thick base of his cock. The screams of the homoerotic wrestling fans in the stands reaches a fevered pitch. Sam halts his strip-tease, shaking his head and waving his finger.  “Naughty, naughty!” he mouths. The spectators sounds like they’re about to riot until the Aussie turns his back to the crowds, facing the river, slides his thumbs to his hips and slips his yellow trunks down. His meaty glutes flex and relax, flex and relax. When he pulls his trunks back up and steps into the ring, waving at the stands, Sam has the fans in the palm of his hand.
Czech Vavrinec Hradilek – 5’6″, 168 lbs., 25 y/o

By the time the Czech kayaker Vavrinec Hradilek comes jogging out of the boathouse, all eyes are still on his Aussie opponent who continues to flex and wink at the crowds. It’s only when he reaches ringside and leaps onto the ring apron that the Czech hunk grabs some attention. Vavrinec wears a navy blue speedo that calls attention to his gorgeous bubble butt and lean, narrow waist. He’s an astonishing 8 inches shorter than his opponent, but he looks unimpressed as he leans on the ropes and examines Spock. The Aussie laughs at the petite pounder staring at him from the ring apron.  He waves the Czech in, and as Vavrinec joins him inside the ring, Sam flexes a double bicep pose, sticking his tongue out at the kayaker. Vavrinec immediately turns to the crowd and shows the fans a side-by-side comparison, flexing his huge guns. The Aussie laughs again, staring down his nose at his opponent as he turns to the side, grabs his right wrist, and twists his torso, flexing his powerful pecs and flashing his bulging right shoulder.  Vavrinec quickly strikes a matching side chest pose.  Their physiques are stunningly similar, but on Vavrinec’s smaller frame the muscle mass looks that much more massive.  The crowd seems to begin to divide their allegiance, a loud contingent clearly turned on by the fearless Czech fire plug flexing pose for pose.  Sam places his hands around the smallest part of his waist, flexes his pecs and shoulders, and spreada his astonishing wide lats.  Vavrinec immediately does the same, taking note of the fan support swinging his way.  The massive Aussie moves faster than anyone would’ve guessed. In a flash, he steps behind his opponent, slides his long, powerful arms underneath the Czech’s arms and locks on a steel cage full nelson. Vavrinec instantly grimaces in shock and pain as he’s lifted off his feet. His neck is pried forward by Spock’s massive hands laced around the back of his skull. The petite kayaker kicks his feet as he dangles a half a foot off the mat, inspiring laughter from the Aussie’s fans.  Sam strolls slowly around the ring, displaying his power and dominance as his opponent hangs helplessly.  After minutes of neck wrenching domination, Spock walks his captured opponent to a corner and slams the kayaker’s face into the turnbuckle, maintaining his full nelson.  Vavrinec is dazed as he’s hoisted back in the air and walked to the next corner, where his face is once again slammed into the turnbuckle. Spock makes the full circuit, introducing the Czech’s face to every corner. Blood gushes down Vavrinec’s lips from his smashed nose.  Spock walks him to the center of the ring and flings him to the mat in a heap.  The Aussie rewards his screaming fans by placing his right foot victoriously on the crouching Czech’s shoulder and flexing his biceps.  Vavrinec slaps his foot away furiously with one hand as he wipes the blood from his mouth with the other hand.  The big Aussie grabs him with two handfuls of hair, dragging the dazed hunk up off the mat. Slowly, Vavrinec rises, defensely clutching at his opponent’s wrists.  Spock pauses briefly from lifting the Czech to grind his crotch in the captured hunk’s face, but then drags him the rest of the way to his feet. At his full height, Vavrinec is staring at the patch of hair between his opponent’s sculpted pecs. Spock holds his palm out at the top of the Czech’s head, slowly lifting it to the top of his own head. His fans roar with laughter as the big Aussie shrugs and winks at them, humiliating the “little” kayaker.  The Aussie suddenly wraps his long, powerful arms around his opponent’s waist and lifts him up in a crushing bear hug.  Vavrinec’s legs hang limply, his feet a half a foot off the mat.  The Czech’s head rolls backward as a scream of pain explodes from his mouth. Spock shakes him, and Vavrinec groans as his knees rise and squeeze the  Aussie’s hips, relieving a fraction of the pressure from the bearhug.  The crowd hushes as Spock’s voice rises above the din. “Give it up, little man!” The Czech roars in agony, but no coherent words come from his mouth. “Come on, mate, just give up. Give it up, and I’ll let you suck on my big hammer.”  The Czech rakes him across the eyes, causing Spock to drop him and stumble backward. An upper cut to the Aussie’s package doubles Spock over. The Czech grabs him by his cheeks and shouts in his face, “Let’s knock you down to size!” He hooks his right arm around the back of the Aussie’s neck and abruptly drops to the mat, driving Sam downward in a face plant. The big Aussie bounces off the mat and rolls to his side, clutching his face, as the Czech climbs back to his feet, wiping away more blood still pouring from his nose. An elbow drop to the back, a handstand knee drop to the kidney, a barrage of stomps… the Aussie is flailing under the furious flurry of blows. Kicking him to his back, Vavrinec drops to his knees straddling the big man’s chest and facing Spock’s feet in order to drive a dozen loud, slapping jabs into the big man’s ripped abs. The crowds are hushed in awe of the sight of the big man getting pummeled by his relatively petite opponent.  A break in the gut punches gives Vavrinec just enough time to wipe more blood from his chin before the Czech digs the fingers of both claws into the Aussie’s bright red abs.  Sam yells in pain. His hips rise off the mat as the big man’s long back arches high.  Vavrinec’s fingers dig past the first joints as he claws deep into the muscle.  Spock’s hips buck and swing, trying to jerk free off the talons ripping into his midsection.  Twisting his shoulders to the side forces the Czech off balance.  Vavrinec rolls off, climbing quickly to his feet. He grabs the dazed Aussie by a couple handfuls of hair and drags him up to his knees, crushing Spock’s face into his crotch in revenge. Dragging him the rest of the way to his feet, the Czech slides behind him, locks his right arm across the front of his throat and hooks his left leg over the Aussie’s powerful left leg. Twisting Spock’s body sideways, the Czech wrings out the big man in an agonizing ab stretch.  “What now, big man!?” Vavrinec shouts. “What now, mate!?” he mocks. His free left arm windmills around and pounds a sharp fist into Sam’s stretched abs, making the big man’s body spasm.  The muscleman kayaker drives two more fists into the Aussie’s quivering abs. Sam looks spent, until a sudden growl of rage roars from his clenched teeth.  His torso flexes, and suddenly Vavrinec rises off his feet. Spock tosses him over his hip and slams him to his back.  Before the Czech can rise to his hands and knees, Spock drives his right knee into his temple.  Vavrinec sprawls to the mat, flat on his stomach, barely moving.  The Aussie’s fans roar to life to see their man back in possession of the momentum.  Sweat pours off his body as he leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he struggles to recuperate and catch his breath.  The roar of the crowd seems to energize the Aussie, who rises and flexes a fierce most muscular pose, growling like a wild animal.  He drags his opponent off the mat, hooks his right arm between Vavrinec’s legs from behind, and hoists the kayaker up across his broad shoulders. The Czech groans he’s paraded around the ring like a trophy, draped helplessly in Spock’s grip.  Coming to a halt in the middle of the ring, facing the stands, the Aussie lifts his arms, signaling he wants to hear more from the fans. They roar even louder, rising to their feet as one and stomping.  The cocky smile returns to Spock’s face as his tongue wags roguishly to the side.  Repositioning his hands, one on the Czech’s right thigh and the other across his neck, the Aussie slowly presses his opponent off his shoulders. His arms quiver a bit, but slowly he powers his opponent straight-armed overhead as the stands roar.  Vavrinec is helpless, hanging vulnerably nearly eight feet in the air.  Spock’s face flushes red. His arms quiver with effort.  Abruptly, he takes half a step backward as the Czech plummets, his lower back landing squarely across the Aussie’s bent right leg.  Vavrinec bounces entirely off the Aussie’s thigh, but Spock shoves him back down with his left hand across the Czech’s thigh and his right hand across his throat.  “Give it up, little man!” Sam roars. Vavrinec shakes his head furiously.  The Aussie slides his fingers down the Czech’s rippled abs and inside his navy blue speedo. Vavrinec gasps, clutching frantically at his opponent’s wrists.  When Spock’s fist balls up inside the fabric, squeezing the Czech’s testicles in his claw, Vavrinec screams. “I GIIIIIIVE!!!”  Spock dumps his opponent and rises to his feet, his arms raised in victory as he acknowledges the roaring crowd.  It takes him 5 minutes to quiet them down, but finally he’s able to make himself heard. “And now, mates, it’s time to drop the hammer!” The crowds grow hushed as the Aussie drags his beaten opponent to his knees in the middle of the ring. He slides his yellow trunks down, hooking them beneath his balls. His hammer swings side to side, dangling directly in front of the Czech’s dazed face.  Spock is impressively long, but it’s his girth that makes everyone gasp.  The Czech struggles to wrap his lips around it.  Lots of choking and gagging accompany the shouts of encouragement as the Aussie slams Vavrinec’s face into his lower abdomen.

Canadian Adam van Koeverden – 6′, 187 lbs., 30 y/o
Once the post-match action concludes and Sam generously helps his exhausted opponent back to the boathouse, the second semi-final begins.  Canadian flag bearer, kayaker Adam van Koeverden, jogs to the ring to the welcome of an impressed crowd. Adam’s meaty, lightly hairy pecs bounce with each footfall as he approaches the ring. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, his body sculpted and tan.  He wears solid white pro trunks.  He entertains the fans silently, making his pecs bounce, alternating side to side, as his big white smile entrances many in the stands.
Britain’s Peter Reed – 6’6″, 220 lbs., 31 y/o
His opponent gets a more enthusiastic reception as the crowd rises to their feet. The British fans shower their local hero, Harvard rower Peter Reed, with swooning adoration.  He’s half a foot taller than the Canadian kayaker, incredibly long and lean, sporting brief blue trunks with the union jack stretching around his powerful ass. He steps over the top ring rope, his eyes fixed on Adam as he slowly circles the ring. It’s another contest of contrasts. The Brit not only has a half a foot of height on his opponent. He’s also about 30 pounds heavier, all of it nothing but muscle.  Adam grins at the big man cockily, but the Brit’s face is deadly serious. Adam quickly lunges to one knee and secures a seemingly effortless single leg take down on the big Brit.  Peter is flat on his back as the Canadian controls his right ankle. Abruptly, the Brit rolls up on his shoulders, extending his legs and swinging his left leg around, catching the ball of his foot on Adam’s chin.  Adam stumbles backward, releasing the ankle and gingerly moving his lower jaw to assess for damage.  Peter quickly hops to his hands and knees as his opponent circles to the right, respecting the Brit’s reach advantage.  Charging across the distance between them, Peter catches the Canadian off guard with a low shoulder block, lifting him off his feet and pressing his back into the ropes. Suddenly, the Brit whips Adam off the ropes and sends him sprinting across the ring, catapulting off the ropes on the other side. The long Brit lifts his right foot high, delivering a straight-legged stomp into the Canadian’s powerful pecs. Adam slams to his back, clutching his chest as the hometown crowd is on their feet and cheering.  The big Brit straddles his opponent, bends forward, and digs his fingers into the sides of the kayakers thick pectoral muscles. Lunging low, Peter savagely drags Adam off his back and to his feet as the Canadian yells like a wounded animal, gripping the Brit’s wrists.  Up, up, up the Brit drags him until Peter suddenly lifts Adam off his feet, stretching his arms straight overhead as the Canadian hangs suspended from vicious pec claw.  The Brits in the stands stomp their encouragement. When Peter’s arms start to quiver with the effort, he turns, takes three long strides to the nearest corner, and slams the Canadian’s back into the turnbuckle with his claws still sunk deeply into his pecs. “Submit!” the Brit demands.  “Fuck you!” the Canadian roars back.  “You’re going to respect me, boy!” the Brit barks back, dragging him by his pecs out of the corner, lifting him off his feet again, and then slamming the Canadian to his back, his claws never disengaging.  “Say, ‘I submit sir!'” the Brit demands, his face hovering directly overhead.  “Say it, boy!”  Adam suddenly spits in his opponent’s face.  Peter releases his pec claw and sits back on his heels. He looks stunned as he hips the saliva from his cheek, looking at it in the palm of his hand as if he’d never seen the stuff before. “You did not just do that!?” the Brit sputters, half a statement, half a question.  Adam rolls to his side and rises to one knee, kneading his numb pecs warily.  Peter climbs to his feet, towering over his opponent with fury rising.  “We definitely need to teach you some respect, boy!” He reaches for his opponent, but Adam is on his feet and jostling for position.  The resulting collar and elbow tie up is a complete mismatch, as the Brit quickly backs Adam into the ropes again.  Another whip off the ropes sends Adam sprinting across the ring and catapulted off the ropes on the opposite side. Peter rushes forward in a clothesline attempt, but the Canadian easily ducks underneath and bounces off the ropes again.  Peter has quickly spun and attempts a second clothesline, which the Canadian deftly ducks and bounces off the ropes yet once more.  A third failed clothesline attempt sets the Brit up for Adam’s brutal knee lift into his gut.  The Brit collapses, dropping to his knees, already in a fetal position before he hits the mat.  Adam climbs on his back in a flash, carefully sliding his right arm across Peter’s throat and locking on a rear choke.  Peter rises upward, shocked to realize his vulnerable position.  Adam’s choke is tight and secure, and the Brit instantly struggles for air.  One foot at time, Peter pulls his feet underneath him and powers himself upward with his opponent locked across his back. Adam’s knees are locked around the Brit’s narrow waist as Peter stands erect and pries at the arm around his throat.  The protests of the hometown crowd drown out whatever it is that the Canadian is whispering in his opponent’s ear as Peter stumbles in aimless circles around the center of the ring.  Slowly, the Brit stumbles backward into a corner, driving Adam’s lower back into the top turnbuckle, but the Canadian remains locked in place, whispering non-stop in his opponent’s ear.  Peter stumbles out of the corner and back to the center of the ring, his knees quivering.  Adam extends his legs straight, lacing his ankles together in front of his opponent as he continues to choke him and whisper in his ear.  The crowd grows hushed, and some of Adam’s words rise above the din. “Tie you down with them…” he whispers.  “… spank it until you come…  make you scream… make you beg for more…” the Canadian coos.  Peter’s knees buckle and the big man drops.  His knees hit the mat with his opponent hanging from his back and throat.  As he slowly falls to his face, Adam slides to the side, his choke still locked on tightly. Peter’s hands claw at the mat. His shoulders rise a few inches off the mat, but then he slams back down, his face turning blue. Peter’s feet kick at the mat pointlessly as his body shakes, sliding into forced unconsciousness with Adam continuing to whisper, “… slide it in slow at first… pound your ass… fucking tears come down your cheeks….”  The crowd is silent on their feet as Peter’s body stills.  Finally, Adam releases his choke and rolls the big Brit to his back.  Hooking one of the rowers incredibly long legs and leaning back, his hairy underarm stretched across the Brit’s face, Adam slaps down a leisurely, grinning 3 count.  When Adam climbs to his feet and pumps his hands in the air in victory, there are several boos mixed in with the cheers.  The Canadian winks at the crowd before bending over and slidding the union jack trunks off of his unconscious opponent’s long, lean legs.  The boos are silenced when Adam spins the trunks on his forefinger over head, his other hand cupping his ear, challenging the crowds to cheer louder.  He finally flings the trunks toward his loudest cheering section and then jogs back to the boathouse.

Sam “Spock” Loch pumped for the gold medal match
Gold medal contender Sam “Spock” Loch is the first out of the boathouse 30 minutes later.  The crowds are on their feet, chanting, “Spock! Spock! Spock! Spock!”  The smile stretching across the Aussie’s face demonstrates his delight at being the crowd favorite.  Hopping into the ring, the big Aussie flexes his biceps, lingeringly kissing each one in turn.  He’s wearing his yellow square cuts again. 

Pecs oiled and primed, Adam van Koeverden is ready for action
The chanting breaks apart when Sam’s opponent comes sprinting out of the boathouse.  There’s desperate commotion from the stands as the Canadian reaches ringside. He’s naked. His lightly hairy bulging pecs are oiled, as are his powerful thighs.  His long, gorgeous cock dangles, slapping from one thigh to the other as the kayaker climbs onto the ring apron, laces his fingers behind his head, and flexes his stunning torso for the raging fans.  Spock seems thrown off his game as all eyes are fixed on his flexing opponent.  The big, cocky grin fades into a grimace of fury as he suddenly sprints across the ring and slams a pounding forearm across the back of the neck of his opponent, still standing on the ring apron.  Adam is sent flying off the ring apron, landing in a heap on the dock as the Aussie ducks through the ropes and leaps down next to him.  A moment later, Spock scoops his naked opponent up across his chest, swings the Canadian’s feet high and bodyslams the canuck to the dock.  Adam’s back arches high in agony, his perfect cock flopping from side to side at the apex of his impressive bridge. Sam grabs him by the base of his balls, his long fingers stretching around the base of the Canadian’s cock.  When he squeezes, the Canadian gasps, frozen in his high bridge.  Dropping to one knee, Spock slams his free fist into his opponent’s stretched abs, driving the kayaker’s back slamming to the dock, still holding firmly onto his cock and balls with his other hand.  Rising back to his feet, the Aussie pulls on Adam’s captured crotch and pries the Canadian’s back off the dock again, bridging high under his opponent’s control.  Again, the Aussie drops to one knee and drives his fist into the Canadian’s gut, sending Adam slamming to the dock once more.  When Spock climbs to his feet again and begins prying Adam back up by his cock and balls, the Canadian pleads, “No, no, no…. NO!”  Helplessly, he bridges high once again. Sam pulls hard, stretching the Canadian’s shaved junk dangerously. “I’ll rip it off, mate!”  Adam rolls up to his toes and fingertips, wailing, “No, no, no, no, no!!!” Again, Spock drops to one knee and drives a pounding fist deep into the kayaker’s gut. The hush of the crowd is barely contained at the sight of the naked brutality. “Rip it off!” a desperate voice screeches in a distinctly Aussie accent.  “Break him!” a Brit voice shouts.  With the crowd as completely under his control as his opponent, the Aussie climbs back to his feet and drags Adam up to his knees by his hair.  Lunging low, he wraps his huge arms around the Canadian’s waist and hoists the naked wrestler up in his arms in a crushing bearhug.  Adam’s head rolls backward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he hangs in the Aussie’s clutches.  Charging toward the ring corner, Spock drives Adam’s upper back into the metal ring post.  Releasing him, the Aussie steps back as Adam sinks to his knees, his eyes shut tight in agony.  Spock hops up to the ring apron and pumps his fist in the air as the crowd roars their approval.  Teasingly, he tugs the top of his trunks down. The lower he pulls, the louder the crowd roars.  As Adam is crawling away from the ring post on his hands and knees, Spock suddenly leaps from the apron and drives a double fisted hammer into the center of the kayaker’s back.  Adam slams to his stomach on the dock, his right hand stretching to his lower back trying to reach the point of agony.  Seconds later, the Aussie is straddling his hips, bending low and shoving his arms around his waist.  Dragging him off the dock, Spock lifts his opponent upright in a naked rear bear hug.  He pumps his hips into the sculpted glutes of his naked opponent, making the crowd swoon.  Despite the punishment (or perhaps, because of), Adam’s cock is swelling with excitement, slapping his thighs from side to side as his opponent strides toward the crowd to give the fans an up close look at his complete, humiliating domination.  Beads of sweat drip from the kayaker’s nipples.  After parading his prey before the crowd, Spock walks him back to ringside in the rear bearhug.  Flinging him against the ring apron, the Aussie shoves Adam’s head down to the mat, bending him across the ring apron and sliding the palm of his other hand down the Canadian’s sweaty lower back and lightly hairy muscle glutes. “I hear you like a good spanking!” the Aussie shouts, enlisting laughter and encouragement from the crowd. Pulling the palm of his hand back, he drives it cracking down on the kayaker’s wet cheeks.  Adam’s body jerks in surprise. Kneading the bright red glutes in his hand, Spock groans, “Oooo, this sweet thing is going to be all mine!” Dragging his head off the mat by his sweat soaked hair, the Aussie pulls him away from the ring briefly and then shoves him forward, sending him rolling underneath the ropes and, finally, inside the ring. The match is, for all intents and purposes, over, but the Aussie drags the Canadian across every inch of the ring, battering him with bodyslams over and over.  Adam has no fight in him when the Aussie leaves him groaning in the middle of the ring in order to turn to the stands again. He points at his trunks and then lifts his hands, inquiring what the fans want from him.  “Take it off!” The chant is quickly picked up. “Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!”  He teases them, pretending not to understand, but finally he smiles brightly and bends forward peeling the sweat soaked yellow trunks over his long, massive thighs.  Stepping out of the trunks, he twirls them over head and then tosses them into the stands.  A fight breaks out where they land.  He turns to his opponent, still barely moving flat on his back in a pool of sweat. The Aussie drops to his knees at Adam’s head and walks his hands forward, stretching out overtop of the Canadian’s body.  His hips sag as Spock drops his hammer across Adam’s lips. The roars are deafening as Spock’s hips grind back and forth, his glutes flexing as he drags his hard-on across his opponent’s face.  Finally he slides forward, pinning Adam’s massive shoulders underneath his knees and leaning back, sitting his rock hard ass squarely across the Canadian’s face.  Hooking Adam’s right leg and folding him up, Spock leans backward and pumps his fist in the air as the crowd roars.  “One!” he shouts, slapping the mat. The crowd picks up the count, “two!  three!” Spock keeps slapping the mat as the crowd continues to count to a humiliating, decisive 10 count pin.  Rising to his feet, the muscled Aussie glistens in sweat, his erect cock bobs up and down as the gold medalist bounces on the balls of his feet, soaking in the adoration of the crowd.
Gold medal winner Sam “Spock” Loch shows that rowers have legs, too!
Aussie rower Tate Smith – 6’1″, 203 lbs., 30 y/o
A half an hour later, the teams beginning jogging from the boathouse. First out, gold medalist Sam “Spock” Loch leads his Aussie teammate, Muscleman Tate Smith.  They sport Aussie Bum trunks, Spock in yellow and Tate in green.
Adam van Koeverden has his sights set on team gold now
Bearded bruiser Mark Oldershaw – 6’1″, 207 lbs., 29 y/o

Following them to the ring is team Canada. Hands together and raised over their heads, a winded Adam van Koeverden is joined by his Canadian teammate, kayaker Mark Oldershaw. They wear matching white briefs with red maple leaves across their crotches.

Naked teammates Peter Reed and Steve Williams – 6’3″, 220 lbs., 36 y/o
Team Great Britain sprints from the boathouse next.  Peter Reed is followed by his teammate, muscle hunk Steve Williams.  Both tall rowers wear matching blue speedos with union jacks across their sculpted asses.
Vavrinec Hradliek pumps his upper body with a quick run
Czech badboy kayaker Jan Sterba – 6′,  181 lbs., 31 y/o
The fourth team competing for the gold is Czech semi-finalist Vavrinec Hradilek joined by his countryman, Jan Sterba.  They both jog warily to the ring, wearing tiny, navy blue trunks and taking up position in the last remaining corner.
First into the ring is Aussie Tate Smith oiled up and rarin’ to go!
Canadian Mark Oldershaw wants a piece of the action!
First into the fray are the Aussie Tate and Adam’s teammate, Mark.  The Aussie rower and Canadian kayaker are remarkably evenly matched, but Mark seems particularly determined to work out some vengeance on the Aussie team.  The initial collar and elbow pushes Tate into the Canadian corner. With Mark pressing the Aussie’s chest into the corner, Adam lands three rapid rabbit punches to the big man’s kidneys from behind. Across the ring, Sam demands a halt to the double team, but the Canadians ignore him. Mark lands three sharp knee lifts squarely between the Aussie’s legs. Adam drags the sagging Aussie back up by his hair and clamps on a rear choke from behind the corner.

Muscle stud Sam “Spock” Loch, poised for a pounding

Spock is through the ropes and across the ring in an instant to rescue his teammate.  He spins Mark around and drives a right hook into the Canadian’s lower abdomen.  Mark folds up, clutching his gut, even as Spock drops to his back dragging the back of the Canadian’s head down with him.  Planting his feet on the Canadian’s thighs, the Aussie lifts him off his feet and flips him, sending him soaring halfway across the ring. The free for all is too much for the Czech adrenaline junkies to resist.  Vavrinec and Jan dive into the ring and join the melee.  As Spock turns to free his teammate from Adam’s choke, the Czechs drag Mark, stunned and disoriented, to his feet.  Vavrinec whips him into a sprint by his right wrist, sending him flying into the ropes. As the Canadian bounces off the ropes, Jan soars, the balls of his feet landing squarely across Mark’s chin.  Mark’s head snaps backward and drops to the mat, the back of his skull striking the canvas before any other part of his body.  His eyes roll up in his head even before the Czech’s kayakers begin dropping machine gun leg drops, one instantly falling across his throat and chest after the other. 

In the Canadian corner, Adam gives up the rear choke on Tate to fend off a jab to the chin by the gold medalist.  Tate sags to the middle turnbuckle as Adam climbs through the ropes to go toe-to-toe with Spock in a rematch from their gold medal match.  Both powerhouses eye one another ferociously, fists clenched, muscles flaring, until the Czech pair land simultaneous, side-by-side flying drop kicks to the back of the gold medal winner. Spock flies forward as Adam swiftly ducks to the side, leaving the Aussies to collide in a heap in the corner behind him.  For the moment, the Czechs seem ready to ally with Adam, as Adam scoops up Sam and throws him to the docks over the top rope.  The Czech pair rolls Tate out of the ring as well.  Adam leaps from the ring apron to pursue Sam as the Czechs crouch, poised on the ring apron, waiting for Tate to climb to his feet.

Finally the Brits can’t resist staking their claim in the melee. Peter and Steve climb through the ropes and drag Mark back up to his feet.  Peter whips the dazed kayaker sprinting into the ropes. Catapulted back, Steve soars, landing yet another drop kick into the canuck’s powerful pecs and flinging him to his back with a bang.  Peter hoists the battered canuck to his feet and locks on a steel trap full nelson, leaving Mark’s ripped core wide open for Steve to use him like a punching bag.  The big, dominant Brits pound the living shit out of the bearded Canadian. When Steve takes a step back from the pummeling for a breather, Peter releases his right hand and shoves it between Mark’s thighs, grabbing hold of the canuck’s balls and lifting him off his feet. Dropping to one knee, the towering Brit drives Mark’s bashed midsection down across his outstretched thigh.

Adam on the docks, landing a barrage of stomps to Sam’s back when he hears his partner scream.  The Canadian flies underneath the bottom rope, back into the ring to rescue his teammate.  Before he Canadian reaches his feet, however, Steve’s right hand is wrapped around his neck, lifting him off his feet, and slamming him to his back.

Outside the ring, the Czechs have waited for Tate to climb, dazed, to his feet. Vavrinec leaps for a cross body tackle, but the big Aussie rower catches him in mid-air.  Unfortunately for the Aussie, Jan is a half a step behind his partner, landing a drop kick into Vavrinec’s back that lifts Tate off his feet and sends him sprawling to the dock with Vavrinec landing hard on top of him.  The viscious Czech semi-finalist grabs Tate by the ears, pulls his head off the dock, and then slams the back of his head into the wood decking.  The big Aussie is out like a light, as Jan sprawls on his stomach next to Tate’s head to slap down the 3-count that knocks half of team Australia out of the competition.  The Czech’s seem to have momentarily forgotten about the other half of team Australia, however. Spock is back on his feet and charging like a bull.  He picks Vavrinec up by the back of his neck with one hand and flings him off of Tate.  Jan tries to roll out of reach, but the long arms of the Aussie rower snag the second Czech by a handful of hair.  Spock locks his long right arm around Jan’s neck and bulldogs the Czech, face first to the dock.  Jan’s eyes spin as Spock wraps his arm around his throat and begins to choke him into unconsciousness.  At the same time, the long, lean rower wraps his legs in a figure-4 around Vavrinec’s throat lying nearby.  In a minute, both Czech’s are choked out, counted out, and stacked like cordwood by the ferocious gold medalist.

Mark enters the fray to crush the gold medalist

The Brits are in the middle of dragging the Canadians to their feet when all four men in the ring see the raging Aussie hop up to the ring apron and leap over the top rope, roaring with fury.  The gold medalist is stunning, sweaty muscles bulging, veins popping out, rage curling his lips.  He strikes such an imposing figure, he’s instantly targeted by all four of the remaining competitors.  Peter dumps Mark to the mat and locks up the Aussie in a collar and elbow.  It’s just a distraction, though, as Steve and Adam momentarily cooperate to stalk the dominant Aussie, approaching from opposite sides.  Peter controls Sam’s upper body long enough for the other two to grab his ankles.  In a flash, Sam is twisted  over, flat on his back, with Peter stretching his arms overhead and Adam and Steve each holding an ankle, spreading his legs wide.  A few seconds later, Mark is on his feet, catching his breath, and assessing the situation.  With the champ splayed out so vulnerably, the Canadian leaps directly over top of him and drives his knee down into the muscled Aussie’s rock hard abs.  Sam’s body jerks violently, but his limbs remain held down as Mark straddles his hips and drives a barrage of fists into this gut.  “Stuff the fucker!” Adam shouts to his teammate. Mark winks back, slides forward, tugs his big-headed cock out of his trunks, and shoves it in the Aussie’s gasping mouth.  “I’ll show you how to drop the hammer, fucker!” the Canadian snarls.  Mark leans forward on his hands, raising and lowering his hips as he shoves his cock in and out.  Sputtering and gasping with the slab of Canadian bacon choking him, Sam coughs out, “I give! I give!”

Peter Reed has the muscle, but does he have the fire?

Instantly, team Canada and team Great Britain glare at one another.  The Brits are by far the fresher team.  But Adam’s victory over Peter in the semi-finals has left the big Brit wary.  The crowd is hushed as all four men crouch, poised to pounce over top of the fallen Aussie.  As if a gunshot went off, everyone charges.  The initial scramble pits Mark and Steve rolling for advantage on the mat while Peter and Adam are locked in a test of strength on their feet, their fingers laced together and their chests pounding into each other.  Peter has the clear advantage in height and weight, but Adam seems to have his number.  The Brit stumbles backward and then drops to one knee as Adam twists his wrists.  Sweat pours off of them in streams as Peter slowly rolls to his back, Adam pinning the backs of his hands to the mat and straddling the Brit’s chest.

Adam is one powerfully build muscle man!

Peter’s teammate fares better in the scramble. Steve ends up straddled on Mark’s back, wrenching the Canadian’s left arm up his lower back.  The bearded kayaker grimaces but refuses to give.  When Steve climbs to his feet, yanking upward on the captured arm in one hand and prying Mark’s right ankle up at the same time, the Canadian’s groans rise an octave. Three quick heel stomps to the Canadian’s arched lower back make him wail, and when Steve drops to his ass, bending his opponent backward around his feet jammed into his lower back and pulling on the captured arm and ankle, the canuck finally gasps, “I submit!”

Steve is on his feet in time to see his partner flat on his back, hands pinned over his hips, clearly under the spell of the Canadian grinding their crotches together.  Adam screeches with fury when Steve drags him off of Peter by his hair.  The powerful rower drags the canuck to his feet and stretches him out in a shoulder wrenching full nelson.  The crowd is roaring as the Brits are in control of the double team, with Steve screaming at his partner to pummel the last remaining competitor.  Peter climbs to his knees, stroking his fingertips across the bulges of the Canadian’s muscled torso.  The Brit’s speedo is filled beyond capacity, the head of his cut cock sliding out the top of his trunks near his left hip. He tugs Adam’s briefs off and clutches the white fabric, inhaling the canuck’s scent deeply. Steve is screaming at him to put the canuck away, but he’s fixated on the swollen cock dangling in front of him.  Hungrily, he slides his tongue from the tip of Adam’s cock up to the base, making the Canadian shiver. Lifting the cock, he rests Adam’s balls on his tongue, lapping at them gently and making precum dribble from the kayaker.  Steve is screaming, shaking Adam back and forth, but Peter grabs him by the hips, opens wide, and slides the Canadian’s cock inside his mouth. Adam’s body tenses as he’s worked on.  A minute and a half later, he jerks, his hips lunging forward, still hanging suspended Steve’s full nelson.  Peter sucks him dry, as the Canadian hunk groans. When Peter slowly rises to his feet and plants his lips across Adam’s gaping mouth in a passionate kiss, Adam goes limp.  The crowd hushes in anticipation as Steve shakes the Canadian from side to side. Weakly, wasted, the Canadian concedes, “I submit.”  Peter and Steve flex for the hometown crowd gone wild.

Peter flexes in victory

Team Gold: Great Britain

More Olympic Spirit

Happily, I’ve read at least two pieces on the crime that it is that men’s beach volleyball players don’t show the same quantity of skin as the women.  This conversation surprises me primarily because the proposed remedy to equalize the sexes seems largely focused on the men wearing less rather than the women wearing more. Just goes to show that mainstreamers are recognizing what we’ve known all along: world class athletics is about sex. Of course in my imagination, it’s all about homoerotic wrestling.
A frequent collaborator sent me pics of some outstanding beef that leaps and strikes on the beach volleyball court. Now that sounds like my kind of muscle man! And more importantly, it sounds like just the sort of inspiration for some fictional homoerotic wrestling. Sure, mainstreamers are lusting after their Olympic bodies, imagining walking these boys off the court, perhaps showering them off, and then fucking and getting fucked. You and I know the real sexy drama to exploit these beach badboys the best. Bump, set, spike, and then fill the beach volleyball stands with homoerotic wrestling fans, set up the pro wrestling ring, and let’s see these tallboys throw down.
American Jake Gibb – 6’7″, 209 lbs., 36 y/o
The first semi-final round match features fierce hardbody, American Jake Gibb, sprinting through the sand and diving underneath the ropes, sliding into the ring on his long, lean torso and then hopping to his feet and flexing for the fans.  Gone are the pointless sleeveless t’s and shorts hanging down to his calves. Jake’s in the briefest navy blue trunks that speedo makes. He’s oiled up, stripped down, and ready to bring home gold for the US in these homoerotic wrestling games in my imagination.
Canadian Martin Reader – 6’7″, 214 lbs, 28 y/o
There’s a collective gasp from the homoerotic wrestling fans packing the stands, as they see stunning Canadian volleyballer and model, Martin Reader, sauntering slowly through the sand. The gorgeous canuck is wearing white boxer briefs, which under other circumstances could be considered a serious fan foul, but an inspired Martin has soaked in the shower moments before stepping out of the locker room, resulting in his underwear transparently clinging to to long, luscious bod. The fans get a look at his cock, framed in a tightly coiffed ring of pubes, as clear as day through the transparent fabric, and Martin is the instant fan favorite. His arms hang loosely at his sides. There’s just no other way to describe his slow approach to ringside: he’s sauntering, allowing each step to enlist more roaring cheers from the crowd. He climbs up to the ring apron, staring impassively at his opponent. Jake rolls his eyes looking unimpressed, but that fools nobody. The Canadian leaves no one unimpressed. When he swings his left leg over the top rope, the 6’7″ Canadian continues to move slowly, deliberately. Jake, on the other hand, sprints to the ropes, grabs the top rope in both hands, and yanks upward, racking Martin’s balls. Groans of sympathy from the stands accompany the long, slow-motion fall of the Canadian into the ring, clutching his throbbing balls. Jake is vicious in the opening minutes of this match, following up the low blow with stomps to the Canadian’s head. Martin doesn’t know what to protect, until suddenly Jake has him by his ankles, spreading him wide, and spiking his forehead into Martin’s crotch. Jake drags his breathless opponent to his feet by his hair in order to bash the big man’s face into all four of the top turnbuckles before dragging him back into the center of the ring. Martin’s knees begin to buckle, but Jake quickly steps behind him, locks his arms around his waist, and lifts him into the air. It looks like a suplex, as Jake leans far backward, rolling Martin high up his chest. But Jake switches momentum, driving him down in front of him. Martin’s balls and tailbone crash into Jake’s bent knee, and the Canadian bounces forward, falling flat on his face clutching his crushed crotch. Climbing to his feet, Jake inspects his work as he catches his breath. The sight of the tanned, toned Canadian rolled up on his side with his hands holding his balls makes Jake have to adjust the pouch of his trunks.  The fans, who’ve been largely stunned to silence to this point, begin to shout encouragement to the big beautiful Canadian. Jake roars at the stands, flipping a double handed middle finger salute and screaming, “Fuck you all!”  The provocation brings the fans to their feet, screaming back. Distracted by the crowd, Jake still keeps one eye on his opponent as he shouts profanity into the stands. When Martin manages to pull himself up to his knees and elbows, Jake gives him his full attention again. He drives his knee into the back of Martin’s head, sending the Canadian sprawling flat on his stomach, his limbs quivering. Jake circles him, hands on hips, his ripped abs pumping as he breathes heavily, watching Martin slowly pull himself up to this hands and knees. Straddling him, Jake leaps into the air and then drops his tailbone hard into the big man’s lower back. Again, Martin collapses, flat on his stomach.  The determined fitness model pulls himself back up twice more, both times with the same result: Jake’s tailbone crashing into this lower back.  The stands are pulsing with the chant of Martin’s name, which seems to inspire the Canadian to pull himself up to his hands and knees once more. This time, Jake laces his finger underneath Martin’s handsome chin and sits down hard. Martin’s hips sag to the mat as Jake leans backward, cranking on his neck and defying the crowd to keep encouraging his opponent. “This pretty boy is fucked!” The crowd stomps and claps in time, chanting Martin’s name defiantly, drowning out the American’s taunts. Big Martin seems to battle back from the brink of unconsciousness. He presses his hands against the mat and pulls his knees underneath him.  Jake lifts his hips and drops his weight down onto the Canadian’s lower back again. Martin’s hips slam to the mat, but he’s immediately pulling himself up to his knees again. Jake cranks harder on his chin, leaning backward to add pressure. Suddenly, Martin pushes his upperbody off the mat. The momentum sends both wrestlers backward. Martin lands on Jake, briefly knocking the air out of the American. He rolls off and manages to make it to his knees before Jake rolls to his feet. The American charges toward his opponent, but freezes when Martin suddenly wraps his massive mitt around Jake’s pouch. The crowd roars with excitement as Martin rises to his feet. Nose to nose, he bares his teeth in a primal growl as Jake rises to the balls of his feet, gently holding his opponent’s wrist. Martin smiles, nodding his head up and down as he sees the look of panic in Jake’s eyes. Martin’s right arm flexes, his muscles shining underneath the stadium lighting. Jake’s shout of pain inspires a roar of taunts from the stands. Martin’s left hand reaches out and wraps around Jake’s neck. Jake gasps as Martin suddenly lunges low and lifts him, straight armed overhead, holding tightly to his balls and neck. The crowd chants Martin’s name as he slowly turns in a circle in the middle of the ring, displaying his power for the fans. From the dizzing height, Jake finds himself abruptly slammed to his back with such strength that the American’s body bounces a foot off the mat. Jake can’t breath as the Canadian hooks his left leg, pins his right arm with Martin’s long legs, and presses Jake’s left shoulder to the mat with his right hand. Pinning the stunned American to his back, Martin lowers his hips, pressing his crotch against the American’s face. “ONE!” Martin screams, pumping one finger into the air. “TWO!” the crowd joins him, picking up the count as Martin pumps two fingers.  “THREE!,” they roar, as Martin flexes his left bicep in victory.
Switzerland’s Sascha Heyer – 6’8″, 229 lbs., 40 y/o
The crowd is still on their feet 20 minutes later when Swiss beefcake, Sascha Heyer jogs to the ring. He’s the biggest man in the tournament, and his long, powerful body glistens in baby oil as he climbs over the top rope in a tiny red speedo with the white Swiss cross stitched to his crotch.  Size freaks lead the screams of adoration, which seem to make Sascha blush as he waves to the crowd.
Netherlands’ Reinder Nummador – 6’4″, 194 lbs., 35 y/o
The crowd seems to be irrevocably on Sascha’s side when his opponent, Dutch hottie Reinder Nummandor jogs to the ring and climbs through the top two ropes. At 6’4″, the Dutchman is long, tanned, and gorgeous, but he’s simply dwarfed by his towering opponent. His skin tight orange square cut trunks cling to his sculpted body, outlining his cock which is already swelling with excitement and stretching underneath the fabric toward his left hip. The two contenders circle one another warily, bringing the roar of the crowd to an anticipatory hush. The collar and elbow tie up appears to be a mismatch, as Sascha uses his superior size to push the Dutchman back into the ropes. Sascha holds him against the ropes for several dominating seconds, and then warily releases his hold. Reinder cautiously does the same. As Sascha begins to step backward for a clean break, Reinder suddenly reaches out and pinches the Swiss beefcake’s nipples. Shocked, Sascha smacks his hands away and backs quickly away, looking pissed. Reinder pushes himself off the ropes, and the two circle one another briefly before locking up by collar and elbow again. Once again, Sascha’s size inevitably sends the Dutchman stutter-stepping back into the ropes. Once again, Sascha initiates a clean break off the ropes, but as he takes a step backward, Reinder’s left hand shoots out and strokes the big man’s Swiss pouch. Sascha furiously smacks the hand away and slaps the Dutchman’s face. Suddenly, Reinder has him by the neck and trades places, rolling Sascha back into the ropes and pinning him there with his forearms pressing against his chest. Sascha holds his hands up, calling for another clean break, but Reinder has other plans. Suddenly grabbing him by the back of the neck with both hands, Reinder yanks Sascha’s head down. Rolling to the balls of his feet, the Dutchman plants his mouth across the stunned Swiss hunk’s lips. Sascha plants the palms of his hands against Reinder’s chest, but he doesn’t immediately push him away. The Dutchman’s kiss seems to momentarily distract him as their tongues wrestle in Sascha’s mouth. Abruptly, the Swiss hunk shoves his opponent away with such force that Reinder trips and falls to his ass in the middle of the ring. Sascha dives on top of him in a flash, lacing his legs and pressing Reinder’s legs open wide while pinning the Dutchman’s shoulders to the mat underneath his huge hands. The Swiss hunk stares down furiously into his opponent’s face, but seems confused when Reinder lustfully shouts, “Yes!” The Dutchman slowly slides his hands up Sascha’s bulging arms and strokes the big man’s powerful pecs.  The crowd screams for Sascha to count out a pinfall victory, but when the Dutchman kneads his nipples with his fingers again, his jaw drops open dumbly, clearly distracted. Reinder licks his lips slowly, and as if obeying a command, Sascha lowers his upperbody down and locks his lips on top of his opponent’s.  Reinder’s hands quickly reach around Sascha’s waist and slide underneath his trunks. His hands squeeze the Swiss hunk’s ass.  Sascha groans, and a moment later the Dutchman has rolled him over to his back, lips still locked together, his right hand now gently massaging the white cross of his opponent’s pouch while his left hand cradles the Swiss hunk’s neck.  Some in the crowd shout for Sascha to snap out of the spell his opponent has woven, but most are hushed as they watch the seduction. Sascha’s hands claw deep into the Dutchman’s glutes, both men grunting loudly. The passion continues to mount, when slowly Reinder’s hips slide to his opponent’s side. At no point do his lips leave his opponent’s hungry mouth, but his right hand slowly slides down Sascha’s thigh and around to the back of the big man’s knee. Sascha seems not to notice as his opponent hooks his leg and pulls it upward, rolling Sascha’s shoulders flat on the mat. With his left hand, Reinder slaps the mat over Sascha’s head, still sucking face fiercely as the crowd yells back, “One!”  Again, Reinder slaps the mat and the crowd shouts, “Two!”  As the Dutchman’s palm raises for the three count, Sascha’s eyes snap open. Before he can be counted out, he shoves Reinder’s chest, sending the Dutchman flying off of him. The crowd roars to life again, shouting their encouragement for the Swiss rally. They both reach their feet at the same time, but Sascha’s reach advantage manages to lock the Dutchman’s head against his side, Sascha’s incredibly long arm wrapped around his neck. In a flash, Sascha drops, driving Reinder’s face to the mat. The Dutchman clutches his nose as he rolls to his side. His opponent leaps on top of him and shoves his shoulders to the mat. The Swiss hunk straddles his waist, his left hand pinning Reinder’s shoulder to the mat. His clenches his right fist and cocks it next to his ear, taking aim. Almost faster than the crowd can see, he drives a vicious strike into the center of the Dutchman’s chest. Reinder’s mouth falls open dumbly as his eyes roll up into his head, his heart skipping a beat. Stroking the Dutchman’s chest briefly, Sascha cocks his fist again next to his ear and in a flash spikes another heart stopping punch. Reinder’s body spasms, his mouth continuing to hang open soundlessly.   Again, Sascha cocks his fist, but before he can land another punch, Reinder slaps the mat frantically, unable to voice his submission. The crowd roars its approval, even as Sascha smiles broadly, leaning down and locking on one last lingering victory kiss.
Sascha goes for gold
Martin’s marvelous muscles
A half an hour later, the gold medal contenders make their way through the sand, back to the ring. It’s two of the biggest, fittest, most powerful strikers in the competition: Swiss pounder Sascha Heyer and Canadian coverboy, Martin Reader. Both hunks wear the gear they wore in their semi-final matches. Sascha sports a brief Swiss flag emblazoned red speedo. Martin’s tight white boxer briefs are newly soaked and almost entirely transparent. There’s no clear fan favorite, though Martin seems to inspire a slightly louder roar from the stands. The collar and elbow tie up in the center of the ring is, all in itself, stunning. Muscles flex and bulge. They lean into one another, pressing their legs and pushing with their arms to muscle one another backward. Sascha makes the Canadian hunk take a stutter step backward, but Martin quickly squelches the momentum and brings them to a stalemate once again. Frustrated, they abruptly shove each other away and circle, carefully examining each other’s incredible physiques for any possible weakness. A second collar and elbow has the same results: a 2 minute long flex and jostle with no advantage to either man. As they approach for a third standoff, abruptly Sascha windmill’s his right arm and savagely chops at his opponent’s neck. The power behind the spike drops Martin to his knees in an instant. Sascha wraps his insanely long left arm around Martin’s neck and pins the side of his head against his ribs, dragging the canuck to his feet. Another windmill right fist pounds into the fitness model’s muscled back, directly between the shoulder blades. Martin’s knees buckle to the mat, but he’s quickly dragged back up, his head still locked tightly against his opponent’s ribs. Yet another windmilling spike to his back drops the big Canadian again, and this time Sascha releases his head, plants his right foot on the Canadian’s bulging right pec, and kicks the stunned competitor to his back. The Swiss hunk kneels between his opponent’s knees, leaning forward, pinning his right shoulder to the mat and cocking his fist for a heart stopping punch to the chest. When he strikes, Martin’s left hand shoots up defensively, deflecting the potentially crippling blow. Frustrated, Sascha cocks his fist again, but as he strikes, Martin grabs his wrist and holds tight.  Sascha tries to pry his arm free, but when he leans back to use his left hand to pry Martin away, Martin’s right arm wraps around the back of his neck, dragging him down on top of him.   The clinch is tight and the scramble if desperate. Martin’s knees press into Sascha’s hips.  Sascha drives a sharp punch to the Canadian’s kidneys with his right fist. Martin slides his knees up his opponent’s torso and then stretches, sliding his opponent down his sweaty body. Sascha throws another punch, but Martin is holding him too close to generate any momentum. Sascha’s face is crushed against Martin’s massive pecs, and as Martin again slides his knees upward and stretches, Sascha’s face slides down his opponent’s soaked body, coming to a halt with his nose pressed against Martin’s navel.  When Sascha pulls his right fist back to try to land another blow, Martin swiftly lifts his leg over Sascha’s right shoulder.  Sascha’s chin is buried low against his opponent’s crotch, and he’s growing desperate.  His left hand jerks free from Martin’s hold and swings, but it’s exactly what Martin wanted. In a flash, the Canadian’s left leg hooks over Sascha’s shoulder and his ankles lock behind the Swiss hunk’s back. Sascha’s face is smothered against his opponent’s soaked crotch. When Martin laces his fingers behind Sascha’s neck and pulls, the Swiss hunk has no unobstructed airway left. Martin arches his back, rolling up to his shoulders, adding powerful torque to the back of the big hunk’s neck.  The noise from the crowd is rising in anticipation.  Sascha climbs to his knees, then shockingly pulls his feet underneath him, his back stretched forward with his opponent’s 214 pounds dragging him down by the neck.  He’s got seconds left before his oxygen-starved muscles give out. The crowd gasps as Sascha wraps his arms around Martin’s legs and manages to lift the Canadian’s shoulders off the mat about a foot before dropping him crashing down to the mat. Martin’s suffocating scissors hold rock steady, and 20 seconds later the Swiss competitor’s knees buckle to the mat. He slaps Martin’s legs, submitting in a growing panic, but the Canadian doesn’t let go. Sascha’s fists slap and strike at his opponent’s legs wildly, but another 30 seconds pass and his arms begin to go limp.  Martin flexes his quads, and a half a minute later, the Swiss hopeful is completely unconscious.  Disentangling himself from his fallen foe, the Canadian climbs to his feet and wipes the sweat from his eyes. His briefs are tented, his mammoth cock hanging heavily at a 45 degree angle to the floor. The fans scream for their Canadian gold medalist.

Team USA – Gibb and Rosenthal
The tag team medal competition features four fierce pairs. In one corner stand semi-finalist Jake Gibb and his American partner, Sean Rosenthal.  Jake’s sporting his briefest of navy blue speedos, and Sean wears complimentary red trunks.

Team Netherlands – Shuil and Nummador

In the opposite corner from the Americans is the team from the Netherlands, led by semifinalist Reinder Nummador. His partner, in matching orange square cuts, is long, lean pounder, Dutch star Richard Schuil.

Team Switzerland – Chevallier and Heyer

A third corner is home for Swiss teammates Sascha Heyer and Sebastien Chevallier. The Swiss beefcakes sport complementary brief red speedos. Sascha’s Swiss cross is stitched across his crotch. Sebastien’s Swiss cross is emblazoned across his bubble butt.

Team Canada – Reader and Binstock

Opposite the Swiss are gold medalist Martin Reader and his Canadian teammate, Josh Binstock.  Martin has foregone his soaking wet white underwear, and the two studs are dressed in matching white thongs with red maple leaves across their low slung pouches.

Sebastien Chevallier – 6’4″,  196 lbs., 25 y/o
Josh Binstock – 6’5″, 218 lbs, 31 y/o

The first two to face off are Sebastien and Josh. A collar and elbow tie up results in Sebastien backed slowly but surely into the Dutch corner. As Josh pins him against the turnbuckle, the Dutch team exploits the opportunity. Reinder is on his knees, pulling on Sebastien’s hips and gently biting at the Swiss stud’s bubble butt. Richard gently strums Sebastian’s ribs and obliques with his fingers.  When Sascha steps a foot into the ring, threatening to intervene on his partner’s behalf, the Swiss team step away. Suddenly, Josh hooks his right arm underneath Sebastian’s left arm and hip tosses the Swiss hunk into the center of the ring. With one eye warily on the 6’8″ giant looming nearby, Josh grabs Sebastien by the ankles, laces his right leg around his opponent’s left leg, and falls to the mat locking on a knee-breaking figure-4 leg lock.  Sebastien rises to a seated position in panic, begging for the Canadian’s mercy. Josh spits in his face, which is just too much for Sebastian’s partner to stand. The giant hunk roars into the ring and lands a heart pounding heel strike to the center of Josh’s chest. Martin is halfway inside the ring to counter the dirty doubleteam, but Sascha retreats to his corner quickly.  Josh and Sebastien are both winded, struggling for their feet. It’s a race against time as they focus on their corners.  Josh lunges across the corner and tags Martin in. Martin sprints across the ring and grabs Sebastien by the hair before he can make contact with his partner’s reaching hand.  Martin drags Sebastien on his hands and knees back to the center of the mat, scoops him up and bodyslams him hard. He repeats the devastating maneuver two more times.  Hands on his hips and strolling slowly around the battered Swiss beauty, Martin surprises the Dutch team by suddenly slapping Reinder’s hand.

Reinder reluctantly enters the fray

Before the Dutch wrestler knows what’s happened, Martin yanks him, stumbling, through the ropes, scoops him up, and bodyslams him squarely on top of Sebastien. As the Canadian retreats to his corner, it’s Reinder’s turn to play beat the clock, struggling to gather his wits about him and reach his corner before Sebastien can rally.  Once again, Sebastien is nearly to the safety of his partner when Reinder makes the tag and Richard sprints across the ring, obstructing the Swiss tag and dragging Sebastien’s nearly limp body on his hands and knees back to the center of the mat.  Richard drops to one knee next to his opponent and slides his right hand inside the back of the Swiss hunk’s trunks. Sliding in his arm up to the elbow, Richard reaches between Sebastien’s legs and clamps his fingers around the base of his balls.  Sebastien has been brutalized by all three opposing teams and this is well-past the beautiful Swiss hunk’s breaking point. He wails his submission as Richard sticks out his tongue and winks at Reinder, cheering from the corner. Reinder’s cheers turn to shouts of warning, but Richard still doesn’t see Sascha’s huge foot driving into the side of his head.

Sascha’s back with a vengeance

His arm is still buried deep inside of Sebastien’s trunks as he crumples to the mat.  Furiously, Sascha yanks Richard’s arm away from his partner and cradles Sebastien’s head in his lap, begging his partner to show a sign that he’s okay. The scene, however tender, leaves Richard enough time to stumble to the nearest corner, tagging in Jake from the American team.

Jake has a go with the Swiss pounder

Jake approaches the remaining Swiss competitor, but stops in his tracks when Sascha locks his furious gaze on him.  Rising to his feet, Sascha begins to close the distance with Jake as Sebastien crawls in the opposite direction to exit the competition.  Backed into the ropes, Jake shoots a foot at Sascha’s groin as the big man approaches, but Sascha easily deflects the blow.  He yanks on Jake’s right arm, catapulting the American across the ring and bouncing off the ropes. As Jake sprints back, Sascha clothesline’s the American directly across the throat. Jake does a complete sommersault in mid-air, landing with a bang on his back.  Sascha drags him back to his feet and sends him whipped into the ropes once again. This time, the fierce Swiss bruiser leaps into the air and stretches every inch of his 6’8″ body horizontal to the mat to land a devastating drop-kick to Jake’s sculpted upper chest. The American is thrown down violently to his upper back, his head bouncing off the mat sickeningly. He doesn’t move as Sascha crawls over top of him, hooks his leg, and slaps down a slow, domineering 3 count.

Sean Rosenthal – 6’4″, 194 lbs, 32 y/o

Sean quickly dives into the ring, but comes up short when Sascha leaps to his feet to meet him.  The Swiss beefcake has all the momentum and a burning rage that sends a chill down all of the remaining competitor’s spines.  As Sean circles warily, sizing up the challenge, Sascha charges without warning.   He backs Sean into the now-empty American corner and then quickly whips him across the ring. A split second after Sean’s back slams into the top turnbuckle, Sascha’s body is landing from a wild leap, crushing him into the corner.  As Sascha steps back, Sean crumples to the middle turnbuckle, his eyes sagging.  Sean’s got nothing to fight against the raging Swiss as he’s dragged by his hair out of the corner. Before he has his bearings, Sascha is behind him, his big arms laced underneath Sean’s arms and his hands locked together at the back of Sean’s head.  The full nelson is locked on like a vice. Sascha lifts him off his feet and shakes him like a rag doll. Sean endures for no more than half a minute before screaming his submission.  When Sascha flings him to the mat, Sean crawls to his partner and drags Jake to safety outside the ring.

Sascha has single handedly taken out the American team like it was nothing. He looks at the remaining teams, his gaze alternating, challenging, between the Canadians and the Dutch. It’s all the same to him.  It’s Reinder who climbs through the ropes to join the fray and sets up a rematch of the semi-finalists.  He winks at Sascha, and somehow the Swiss hunk seems stung. He winces, blinks rapidly, and then refocuses, the intensity returning to his face.  They circle one another briefly before pounding into another collar and elbow tie up. This time Reinder manages to move the mountain. Sascha’s strength is waning, and the smaller man backs him up until Sascha’s back leans into the Dutch corner. Recognizing the danger he’s in, Sascha tries to escape, but Richard has dropped to the sand outside the ring and has hold of the Swiss hunk’s ankles.  The Canadian team isn’t about to protest the dirty double team, and the Dutch scrappers have their way with the big man.  Richard yanks on his ankles, dropping Sascha to his knees. Reinder shoves his crotch into Sascha’s face.  Richard is back on the the ring apron, on his knees, yanking down the front of Sascha’s speedo and stimulating the swelling Swiss beef.  Sascha’s fight seeps out of him like a pin bursting a balloon. Almost mindlessly, he works Reinder’s cock with his teeth and tongue through the fabric of the orange squarecuts. When Richard has him near orgasm, the Swiss pounder admits defeat and submits. The Dutch team drops him and kicks him out of the ring.  Josh is in the ring in an instant, but Reinder’s attention is squarely on him. There’s no surprise attack.  As they circle, Josh is careful to stay out of arms reach of the Dutch corner.   Josh has just a slight height advantage, but he’s clearly wary of the handsome young Dutchman.  As well he should be.  With lightening quickness, Reinder drops to one knee and sweeps a leg. Josh is on his back, folded in half, with his opponent straddling his face. His shoulders are pinned underneath Reinder’s knees, and the Dutchman counts out a decisive 3-count pin.

Martin poised to pounce

Martin dives into the ring and charges. Reinder isn’t quick enough to get his feet, and the gold medalist levels him with a clothesline. Josh crawls from the ring as Martin is already dragging the Dutchman back to his feet by his hair. He scoops him up across his powerful chest, flings his feet into the air, and slams him to his back.  Again, Martin drags up him up his hair, but as he moves in for another scoop, Reinder punches his balls.  Martin gasps, but holds on. He still manages to scoop his opponent up in his arms, but he’s clearly winded as he slams the Dutchman to his back.  Clutching his balls, Martin bends over and winces.  He doesn’t see the foot until Richard has delivered the soccer kick to the bridge of his nose. Martin is flat on his back and seeing stars.  The roar of the crowd somehow seems to make it harder for him to focus his vision.

Martin’s long, gorgeous body

When he’s clear headed enough to realize what’s happening, he finds that the Dutch team has stripped him naked. He’s on his back, his head resting against Richard’s crotch as the Dutchman tightens on a figure-4 choke.  At the same time, Reinder has Martin’s left leg locked between his legs, and Martin’s right leg stretched in the other direction in control of Reinder’s left hand. The leg split is excruciating, but the pain morphs into ecstasy as Reinder works the Canadian’s picture perfect cock with his free hand. Ecstasy, agony, Martin’s body quivers and shakes in panic.  Ecstasy, agony… and then the gold medalist is out cold.  The Dutch release their holds, straddling the Canadian’s body as their lips meet over top of their beaten opponent.  Team gold: the Netherlands.

Team Gold: Netherlands!

More Olympic Spirit

The Buzz of the 2012 Olympics: Robert Forstemann’s monster quads (r)
Did you see the leg Tweet from London that’s rocked the world? German road cyclist Andre Griepel dropped trou next to German track sprinter Robert Forstemann to compare world class quads. Griepel has won stages of the Tour de France. Stick your head between those puppies and I bet he’d have you screaming for mercy in seconds. But Forstemann’s quads are fucking HUGE! Anything you stick between those beasts isn’t coming back in one piece! Obviously, a road cyclist probably shouldn’t challenge a sprinter to a quad-off… unless his real motive is to get his pants off of him (mission accomplished!). Perhaps more provocatively, this pic demonstrates that even among world class athletes in the Olympic village, each of their bodies likely representing hundreds of thousand (if not millions) of dollars worth of private and public investment, when it comes right down to it, boys will be boys. The real question these boys want to know when they show up with the best athletes in the world? Who’s is bigger?
I’m the first to admit that I don’t follow competitive cycling. I have no idea if thighs that would make a juiced pro bodybuilder weep with envy necessarily translate into gold medal track cycling. But I do know one thing: a homoerotic wrestling competition starring these monster quads would pack the stands with the likes of you and me!

Sir “Golden Thighs” Chris Hoy – 6’1″, 200 lbs., 36 years old, 27″ inch thighs!
Once the IOC awards their medals, let’s get the vanilla crowd out of the velodrome, set-up the pro wrestling ring in the middle, and line up the boys of spandex for a no-holds-barred round robin for national pride, personal glory, and bragging rights.  For the first semi-final, former Olympic champion and legendary monster quad king, Sir Christopher Andrew Hoy (MBE), jogs to the ring in mid-thigh length spandex bike shorts with the Scottish flag emblazoned across his massive muscled glutes. Dubbed by the British press as Sir “Golden Thighs” (I kid you not), the powerhouse Scot has been bringing the competition to its knees on the track. Now it’s time to see how he does in the ring!

Teun Mulder – 6′, 198 lbs., 31 years old

Approaching the ring to face Sir Christopher is the Dutch phenom, Teun Mulder, dressed in mid-thigh orange spandex biker shorts. He pumps his fists into the air as he stands at ringside, staring defiantly up at his heavily favored opponent. Sir Chris grins back, points at his golden thighs, and flexes them, giving the Dutch underdog a wink.

The initial couple of minutes are a game of cat and mouse. The supremely cocky Scot stalks the Dutchman with that cold, steely grin, as Teun dances around the perimeter of the ring, delaying the inevitable lock up. Diving to one knee, he takes a surprise single leg that drops Sir Christopher to his mouthwatering ass. A couple of lightening fast heel strikes to Chris’ hamstrings reveals Teun’s strategy for coming out on top: incapacitate the golden thighs! Sir Christopher didn’t get inducted into the Order of the British Empire for his winning smile, though. As Teun repeatedly focuses on picking away at his powerhouse upper legs, Chris muscles his way out of each predicament before the Dutchman can mount a sustained offense. Teun goes for a single leg once too often, landing him flat on his stomach with the pride of Great Britain riding his muscled ass and cinching on a cross face chicken wing. Teun quickly becomes Chris’ plaything. He’s repeatedly dragged up by the hair and then dropped to his knees with a gut busting battering ram of a knee lift.  “You like being on your knees?” The Scot chuckles. Shoulder blocks and knee lifts in the corner leave the Dutchman breathless and quickly approaching helpless.  Chris drags him back to the center of the ring by his hair, Teun crawling on his hands and knees, before snapping his golden thighs around the Dutchman’s ears and prying his arms straight upward, behind his back, until the back of Teun’s hands press together. The pride of Netherland wails, muffled and humiliated between the big Brits quads, but he doesn’t submit. The Scotsman finally drops Teun’s arms and wipes the sweat from his brow before flashing a double-bicep to the roaring crowd of homoerotic wrestling fanatics filling the velodrome. He lets the Dutchman’s head go free, but seconds later Teun is screaming on the mat, Chris’ golden thighs squeezing his ribs as Sir Hoy laces his ankles together and leans back on one elbow, admiring his world class physique. He flexes a bicep, ignoring the Dutchman’s screams of submission. Teun screams his submission. It’s over, but Sir Christopher doesn’t give a royal fuck. “Say you submit, ‘Sir Christopher!'” he barks at the Dutchman. “Say it!” he snaps when Teun doesn’t immediately respond. “I… submit, Sir Christopher…” Teun gasps.  You’d think that was enough humiliation, but no.  The next 5 minutes are a loudspeaker message delivered to his future competitors. Sir Chris can squeeze those tree trunks long and brutally hard. Teun’s limbs flop in agonized desperation as he wails and weeps, even as Sir Chris shoves his hand down his own shorts, grabs his Scottish beef, and wrestles it to a raging erection stretching long and thick toward his hip. The 3 ribs that crack in the Dutchman have him screeching like a wounded animal for only a minute before he passes out from the pain. Then, and only then, Sir Chris relents, rises to his feet, pumping his fists overhead, and giving the Dutchman a contemptuous kick in his damaged rib cage.

Sir Golden Thighs advances to the gold medal match

The crowd roars frightfully as Sir Christopher Hoy flexes for their enjoyment. When he places his hands on the top of his striated, mammoth muscled glutes and flexes them, the stomping in the stands shakes the entire building. Even after Sir Chris retires to the locker room and the medics scoop up the broken Dutchman, the crowd continues to roar insatiably.

Robert Forstemann – 5’8″, 198 lbs., 26 years old, 32″ thighs!

When the German phenom, Robert Forstemann comes padding slowly toward the ring, they are hushed almost in an instant. Walking up to ringside, fans can’t restrain themselves from reaching out and touching his beasts.

Thrill of a lifetime, as a fan gets up close and personal with Forstemann’s thighs

One worshipper is on his knees, begging the German to let him measure them. Robert looks down at him with a sneer, puts his hands on his hips, and then nods. The fan gasps. His eyes flutter. He leans in, his lips pressing against the bulging quads. Robert plants the palm of his left hand across the worshippers face and shoves him away, continuing his trek to the ring. He’s peels off his skin tight lyrca top once in the ring, leaving him wearing only black and yellow square cuts straining to stretch the circumference of his thighs.

Robert’s upper body is nothing to scoff at, either!

The sight of Robert’s naked torso makes the crowd gasp.  Quadzilla is packing beef above the waist, as well!

Big Dawk – 6’1″, 216 lbs., 21 years old

The lucky bastard who clearly has the cards stacked against him in this draw is New Zealand’s own Eddie Dawkins, or, as he insists on being called, Big Dawk.  When Big Dawk climbs into the ring, he stares down at the German phenom from a 5 inch height advantage. Somehow, the term “advantage” seems inappropriate to describe the Kiwi’s position as the match begins. A collar and elbow tie up results in Big Dawk lifted off his feet and thrown backward into the corner turnbuckle several feet away. He charges at a roaring sprint back toward his superhuman opponent, only to be caught low around the waist, lifted off his feet, twisted in mid-air and pounded crashing to his back with the German crouching overtop of him. Dawk momentarily has no oxygen in his lungs as his mouth gapes open. Robert kneels on one knee, straddling his opponent’s neck, and yanks the Kiwi’s head off the mat by his hair, shoving Dawk’s gasping mouth against the German’s crotch.  The crowd is enraptured with the German’s dominance. A scoop up followed by a ring-shaking body slam back to the mat results in Dawk’s lower back arched high off the mat in agony and the crowd clapping.  A whip into the ropes, Dawk sprinting out of control back toward his opponent, and a vicious elbow to the throat leaves the Kiwi flailing on his back, clutching his throat, choking for air, and the crowd clapping even louder.  Robert once again scoops his opponent up in his arms, cleans Big Dawk up to his collarbone, and then  jerks his human barbell straight-armed over head, parading in a slow circuit around the ring to treat the entire Velodrome to the stunning sight of his power. The clapping rises, punctuated by stomps and whistles, then suddenly silences when Robert slams his opponent back to the mat. The crowd is hushed as the big German strolls hands-on-hips leisurely around his opponent, who’s rolled into the fetal position in the center of the ring, completely at his mercy. Fans scream their requests. “Head scissors!!!” “Pile driver!!!”  But the German acknowledges no one but the groaning mass of battered muscle at his feet. He drags the wasted Kiwi up off the mat by his hair, grinding Big Dawk’s handsome face in his swelling, sweaty crotch once again with the Kiwi on his knees. Then up by his ears, Robert muscles the knee-buckling Kiwi to his unsteady feet. He releases Dawk’s ears, and instantly the Kiwi starts to sag back to his knees, but Robert catches him around the waist, locking his bulging arms around Dawk’s waist and lacing his fingers together in the small of the Kiwi’s lower back. Dawk’s height advantage makes the hold look unlikely at first, but the German has done an expert job of quickly softening up his back, and although his legs are clearly his strongest weapon, Robert’s bulging shoulders and biceps are no less world class than the rest of him. He leans back slightly, squeezing the bearhug tightly and rolling Big Dawk up to the balls of his feet. Dawk groans, his head rolling backward. Robert leans back farther, eliciting a shout of agony from his opponent, whose knees instinctively rise to Robert’s hips and squeeze, trying to lift him out of the most painful position and lessen the backbreaking agony. Robert squeezes harder, his face buried in the big man’s sweaty chest, and Dawk wails. Suddenly he swings left and right, over and over, and the Kiwi’s arms flail limply at his sides like a rag doll. The Kiwi lasts another half a minute of torture with the crowd screaming and roaring their encouragement to the German, and then Big Dawk screams, “I give!,” patting frantically at the German’s mountainous shoulder. Robert flings him to the mat and flexes a double bicep to the insane roar of the crowd. Holy fuck! He didn’t even bother really using his monster quads to completely squash Big Dawk!

Robert looks toward the locker room to see what all the commotion is about.

There’s a sudden change in the tenor of the roaring crowd. From the aisle leading to the locker room, there’s almost a desperate pitch that rises from the stands. Robert drops his arms and looks in the direction of the fevered pitch. Sir Christopher Alexander Hoy is jogging slowly down the aisle toward the ring, looking like he’s ready to eat the German phenom for lunch.

Sir Golden Thighs doesn’t wait for the gold medal match to start.
The Scot leaps up to the ring apron and leans against the top rope. He holds his arms out to his sides, clearly challenging the German to settle the gold medal competition right here, right now. It seems hardly sporting, since Sir Chris has had some recovery time, while Robert is coated in sweat and standing overtop of his crushed semi-final opponent.  Sir Chris knows full well that the cocky German isn’t about to back down from a direct challenge in front of this crowd.  As the Scot ducks inside the ropes, Big Dawk is crawling as quickly as he can for the ring apron to steer clear of the clash of titans about to explode.
Sir Chris is pumped and ready.
Robert isn’t about to back down from a challenge!
This battle has been brewing for years. In track cycling competition, these competing quadzillas have been clean as a whistle, but it’s been no secret behind the scenes that there’s no love lost between them. Recently when asked about Sir Chris’ popular title as Sir Golden Thighs, Robert laughed, peeled off his pants, flexed his monsters, and sneered, “Then these must be platinum!”  When told about the slight, the Scot promised to “melt that bitch down and sell him for scrap, then!” As they begin to slowly circle the ring, warily keeping their distance at first, the lust pulsing from the stands is palpable. Robert is breathing heavily, his semi-final match just moments behind him. Sir Chris bounces on the balls of his feet, looking decidedly fresher. A quick collar and elbow tie up and Robert is uncharacteristically backed slowly into the corner by the bigger man. Sir Chris sneers down at him, releasing his hold and slapping his face humiliatingly before backing away. Enraged, Robert charges like a bull out of the corner, catching the Scot with his shoulder, lifting him off his feet, and driving him all the way to the opposite corner. The German spears him against the turnbuckle, folding the Scot in half. Grabbing the ropes, he launches his power packed body like a battering ram, using his leg strength to pummel Sir Chris’ lower abdomen with a dozen shoulder blocks as the crowd picks up the count excitedly. When he finally backs cautiously away, Sir Chris falls to his knees, clutching bright red gut. Robert clenches his fists and roars, quickly echoed by the roaring crowd of fans in the stands. When he approaches to continue the offense, the kneeling Brit slams his fist into his balls. Robert’s jaw drops open dumbly. He crumbles to his knees, clutching his testicles. Sir Chris rises to his feet, smiling and nodding to the screaming fans. Spreading his golden thighs in a wide stance, he grabs the back of the young German’s head and crushes Robert’s face into his crotch. The Scot’s cock begins to swell as he pumps his hips, grinding his crotch into the German’s stunned face.  The crowd seems to be turning, beginning to chant, “Sir Chris, Sir Chris!” He nods his acknowledgement to them, but quiets them with one hand signaling for silence. The din almost instantly disappears in anticipation. Shoving the back of Robert’s head downward, he slides the German’s head between his golden thighs and clamps on his gold medal vice around the kid’s ears. No one escapes from those thighs! The roof of the velodrome is nearly blown off as the crowd reacts. Sir Chris flexes his double biceps in answer to the worshiping din of the nearly apoplectic crowd. The German phenom kneels clutching at the Scot’s crushing muscles clamped to the side of his head. Sir Chris milks the moment for several minutes, playing with the crowd, flexing, smiling, winking. Finally, he lifts his forefinger to his lips, signaling for silence, which the obedient crowd responds to in an instant. “Ready to submit?!” Sir Chris shouts at the broad, muscled back kneeling before him. There’s no reply. “I said, ready to submit, you fucking shit!?” Placing the palms of his hands along the outside of his quads, he squeezes that much harder. Robert’s body shakes. His knees rise off the mat and then fall back down as his hands reach around to the back of the thighs capturing him, trying to pry his head free. “Say you submit, ‘Sir Christopher!'” the Scot demands. “Say you submit, Sir Chri…” His words are choked off as the German suddenly pulls his feet beneath him and squats low. With a grunt, Robert presses upward, lifting Sir Chris off his feet, his golden thighs still wrapped like a vice around Robert’s head. The sheer power and pluck of the determined German seems to turn the majority of the crowd back to his side. They cheer for him, pleading with him not to submit. He squats low, his opponent draped across his back, but slowly presses up to stand fully erect. Sir Chris hangs upside down from his opponent’s back, his legs squeezing as hard as they can, but losing position as he slides slowly down his sweaty opponent. Prying at the slick hamstrings clutching at his temples, Robert suddenly pops his head free, and Sir Chris drops in a heap behind him.  Robert is dizzy, still dazed from the brain crushing leg scissors, but Sir Chris is clearly demoralized. No one has ever failed to submit to his leg scissors before! When he climbs back to his knees, he pleads for mercy from the German, whose fierce, fixed gaze makes the Scot’s blood turn to ice. Robert unleashes a brutal attack. He sends Sir Chris corner to corner, splashing down on top of him each time. A whip off the ropes and a knee to the crotch evens the score for the raging German, as Sir Chris flips over entirely in mid-air, crashing to his back and clutching his throbbing crown jewels. As Sir Chris is already nearly out of it, Robert rips the Scottish flag spandex shorts off his body by the seams and throws them into the crowd, causing a near riot at ringside. Dragging the Brit to his knees, he steps his monster quads around Sir Chris’s head and flexes, a tit-for-tat standing head scissors. Sir Chris flails, his screams muffled deep between the mass of muscle locked onto his head. Robert rewards the fan following with an upper body muscle show, flexing his biceps, displaying a massively thick lat spread, pumping out a most muscular. Finally he drops his arms and the crowd again grows hushed in anticipation. The German bends forward, locks his arms around his opponent’s waist, and hoists the former champion to hang upside down, vertically, Sir Chris’ head still locked immovably between the monster quads. Gracefully, the German drops to his knees, spreading his legs and driving the top of his opponent’s head into the mat. Sir Chris bounces and then crumples in a heap, not moving. Robert rolls him to his back, pins his face beneath his crotch, and hooks the Scot’s right knee, folding the big man up and pinning his shoulders to the mat. With his free hand, Robert slaps his palm down as the crowd slowly counts to 3. Robert continues to slap, and the crowd quickly picks up the count to 10. The German continues slapping, and the excitement in the crowd continues to rise as the count reaches 20.  He kneels, his opponent’s face between his legs, and pumps his fist in victory.

Muscles from head to toe!
The tag team competition for track cyclists happens no more than 30 minutes later, so it’s a wonder that both Robert and Sir Chris make it back to ringside for yet another match. Team competition is nothing like 1-on-1, though. The 3-way battle features favored team Germany, led by gold medalist wrestling champ Robert and his big, bruising teammate Stefan Nimke. They sport matching black and yellow square cuts.
The German team in the locker room celebrates Robert’s victory by stripping his rock hard ripped torso, led by tag team partner Stefan Nimke (r)!
Team GB has a clearly winded Sir Christopher Hoy looking for revenge with his teammate and protege, Jason Kenny. Sir Chris has replaced his lost trunks with matching Union Jack square cuts identical to Jason’s gear.

Team GB is ready for some satisfaction.

The final team to make the medal round is from New Zealand. Big Dawk is back, this time with teammate Simon van Velthooven.  They sport green speedos, and as they take up position on the ring apron behind their corner, Big Dawk is feverishly whispering instructions in his partner’s ear.

Big Dawk is looking for redemption.
Handsome Simon is seriously focused on the competition at hand!

The opening match-up is a proxy grudge confrontation between the big German, Stefan and Sir Chris’ protege, Jason.

Nimke is nearly as massive as his teammate!
Sweet Jason looks ripped and ready for a fight.

Stefan dominates the smaller man handily. He backs him into the German corner and drives 3 breath-stealing knee lifts into the kid’s abdomen before tagging in gold medalist Robert. Having already been victorious in 2 matches this evening, Robert looks as fresh as clean laundry. He pummels the kids’ chest with pounding forearms that drive Jason down until he’s sitting on the middle turnbuckle. Then the German claws underhanded at Jason’s lean pecs, lifting the kid back to his feet. Sir Chris screams encouragement and instructions from across the ring, but his junior partner is getting mauled by the Germans. Another tag, and Stefan is back in, brutalizing Jason’ lean abs. Fists, knees, a couple of sharp stomps with the big German holding onto the ropes for balance and leverage. Sir Chris is nearly beside himself screaming for the Germans to let his protege out of the corner. Stefan pauses from delivering a series of knee lifts, allowing Jason to sag back down to the middle turnbuckle, in order to flip the GB champion a middle finger salute. The insult enrages the Scot, who dives through the ropes and charges across the ring. Big Robert is there to head him off before he can rescue his partner.  A kick to the lower abdomen doubles Sir Golden Thighs over, setting him up perfectly for Robert’s arm around his throat, dropping to the mat and bulldogging the Brit. The fans are on their feet. Stefan wraps his big hands around Jason’s throat and lifts the kid straight-armed into the air. Jason kicks and gurgles, hanging by his neck from the powerful German’s hands.  In the center of the ring, Robert takes advantage of his stunned opponent to rip off Sir Chris’ trunks for the second time tonight, once again nearly causing a riot as he flings the shreds of fabric into the stands. Sir Chris is shaking his head, rising to his hands slowly, when Robert leaps into the air, stretches his massive right leg out parallel to the mat, and drops his leg directly onto the back of Sir Chris’ head. Sir Chris’ face smashes to the mat, blood shooting out like a fountain from the Scot’s busted nose. Stefan heaves Jason across the ring, sending the kid skidding to a halt on his back next to his mentor. Stefan is on him in a flash, though, grabbing his waistband and shredding the Union Jack trunks off of him in one powerful jerk. Flinging the fabric into the crowd, Stefan drags Jason to his knees by a handful of hair as Robert does the same to the nearly unconscious Sir Chris. The German’s apply identical sleeper holds, kneeling behind their battered opponents so that the Brits can watch each other being destroyed.  Sir Chris watches in horror as his partner goes slack in front of him. 20 seconds later, he’s joined him in la-la land.

Flinging the Brits to the mat in disgust, the Germans stand and turn to the as-yet completely silent New Zealand corner. If they thought their humiliation and destruction of team GB would inspire fear in the Kiwis, they were mistaken. Eddie and Simon are already sprinting across the ring by the time the German’s have turned around. The Kiwis deliver simultaneous, side-by-side clotheslines that drop the German’s flat on their backs. The lighter Kiwis don’t pack as much power as their remaining opponents, but they’re fresh as daisies compared to the Deutchers soaked in sweat and dazed on the mat. Eddie concentrates on sweet revenge, stomping heel strikes all over Robert’s massive muscle body. Simon concentrates on dismantling Stefan, similarly stomping and dropping knees into the big man’s groin. They don’t give the Germans even a half second to recover, eventually dropping to their knees and pounding their fists into the quivering cores of the German powerhouses. Side-by-side, the Kiwis schoolboy pin their opponents and pound their fists into the fading men’s faces. The stunned Germans are close to knocked out when Eddie calls a halt to the mugging. Barking instructions to Simon that no one else can hear over the eardrum splitting din of the crowd, they scoot backward, down the bodies of their opponents, and yank the German’s trunks down their gargantuan legs. Eddie goes to throw Robert’s trunks into the crowd, but then stops, sneering at the screaming fans, shaking his head and then tucking the trunks into his own waistband to hold onto as a souvenir. Simon does the same, and the Kiwis drag the German’s up to a seated position by handfuls of hair. Kneeling behind them, they lock on sleepers identical to those that the Germans had just used to dispatch the still unconscious Brits lying nearby. Robert is knocked out first, followed about 15 seconds later by a helpless Stefan.  The Kiwis pump their fists into the air to roaring cheers, jeers and boos from the nearly rioting crowds of homoerotic wrestling fans.  Team gold goes to New Zealand!

Big Dawk brings home some gold after all!
Simon flexes his guns as he stares down at the limp bodies of the outmuscled competition.