Victory is Mine!

Regular readers have heard me bitching and whining about my work life for years now. I’ve been wrestling with a bear of a job that leaves me underpaid and my labor generally exploited by others. However, I’m ecstatic to report that the mammoth project that has been weighing me down and distracting me from the great fun of posting more here and writing more homoerotic wrestling fiction has come to a thrilling conclusion. I took some vicious attacks along the way, but as of today, I have wrestled the mother fucker to his back, pinned his chin beneath my crotch, and slapped down a crowing, lingering, humiliating 3-count pin in the middle of the ring.

Shoulders pinned, leg hooked, crotch hovering at chin-level…

The size and scope of this exhausting victory cannot be overstated. I’m poised to start a new job in a few weeks, which will include an epic promotion and huge jump in compensation. I will be moving across the country in the mean time, so my availability to post around here will likely continue to be spotty. But life is good, gentlemen!

three, you son of a bitch! You’re ass is mine!”

Diverse Tastes – Guest Contributor Cage Thunder

While there are a lot of us armchair homoerotic wrestling bloggers, I’m the first to tip my hat to a blogger like Cage Thunder, who not only writes eloquently about his tastes and twists in wrestling kink, he’s also an all-in wrestler on camera for BG East. Through a series of correspondence between me and Cage Thunder, I will dare to reveal one thing that I’ve learned about the mysterious masked heel: he’s a class act. He has a delightful sense of humor that goes well beyond his gloating, clucking delight in humiliating one all-too-pretty pretty boy after another. He also has a remarkable depth to him that leads him to contemplate the alchemy of homoerotic wrestling kink with a fervor and meticulousness that very well may surpass even my own. So when Cage Thunder agreed to give me his take on the topic of “Diverse Tastes” as part of neverland’s summer series of guest contributors, I was deeply honored. So sit back and learn from a master who knows his wrestling kink from inside out and every angle a delightfully twisted wrestling mind and body can imagine.
The Turning Point
by Cage Thunder
BG East’s Cage Thunder

There is a certain moment in every pro wrestling match that, without fail, always grabs my attention. This moment never fails to get my attention and always make my dick stand up at attention.

I call this moment the turning point.

Bulldog Barzini savors the sight of Denny Cartier
reaching “the turning point” – BG East’s Fantasymen 28

A turning point is exactly what it sounds like—that definitive moment when you know that one of the wrestlers is finished— even if he isn’t being pinned or counted out or giving in a submission, and the match might go on for a while longer (and usually does). But that’s the moment when you know for certain who the stud is who’s going to have his arms raised in complete victory at the end of the match (or fall, if it’s a best-of situation).

I love that moment.

Muscle heel Kid Karisma drags muscle twink Christian Taylor
beyond the turning point – BG East’s Wet &  Wild 5

When I was growing up, professional wrestling was my porn. It still is, to a degree—only I rarely watch it on television, I satisfy my fetish with videos these days—but when I was a kid, it was a world I desperately wanted to be a part of. I greatly enjoyed the morality plays of pro wrestling matches, the struggle between good and evil, hero versus villain, rule-breaking versus following the rules. And like life, good didn’t always triumph over evil.

Cage Thunder soaks in the sight of his handiwork –
BG East’s Masked Mayhem 6

But professional wrestling was also one of the very few places on television in those days where you could see scantily dressed men sweating and heaving, clinching and coming apart, entwining their bodies in an almost erotic dance. And while I always wanted the nasty heels to be punished for their dastardly ways, I also loved watching the gorgeous ones suffer at their hands. With the advent of cable television and Ted Turner taking WTBS national into a self-styled Super Station, every Saturday afternoon from three to five p.m. Pacific times Georgia Championship Wrestling aired—and I fell in lust with a gorgeously built mullet-wearing muscle boy named Brad Armstrong.

The muscles and the mullet – Brad Armstrong
Oh, that ass. If I hadn’t already known I was gay, Brad Armstrong’s tight trunks clinging ever so tenaciously to those perfectly formed buttocks certainly would have done the trick.
Brad Armstrong’s inspiring ass in trouble
Brad was a good wrestler—a fan favorite, obviously, with his athletic ability, sexy body, and ‘aw shucks’ attitude. But he lost his matches more frequently than he won them—and week after week, I slowly came to realize that what was really turning my crank and getting my dick hard was watching some nasty ass heel put him through the wringer—watching him suffer on the mat, one foot bouncing up and down as his back arched and that ass, that oh-so-perfect ass, with his trunks creeping up bit by bit, up in the air.

Brad’s trunks creeping up his ass as he suffers humiliatingly in the ropes

And I also came to the conclusion that I preferred watching Brad suffer rather than being dominant in a match—which made me stop and think.

Brad Armstrong where he did his best work: on his back,
feet pointed at the ceiling, and his opponent copping a feel of that rocking ass!

And I realized the truth is I wanted to fuck him—in other words, I wanted to dominate him and make him submissive to me. I wanted to beat him down, make him call me sir, and when that hard muscle ass arched up in the air, I wanted to reach down and peel those green trunks off him, lube up my cock, and ride him while he bucked and writhed and moaned.

And called me “sir.”

I’m frequently accused of being a ‘body fascist,’ and nothing could be further from the truth. I actually like all kinds of men, in all shapes and sizes—what I am actually attracted to, more than anything else, is a particular attitude that a lot of wrestlers seem to have. (This is why I generally don’t give a shit about watching gay porn—very few gay porn stars have that ‘certain something special’ that gets my dick hard, and let’s face it—if you’ve seen one fuck scene, you’ve pretty much seen them all. Ty Lebeouf is a gay porn star who is one of the exceptions—and he is exceptional, although I’d much rather watch him climb in the ring.) A wrestler can have the most gorgeous body you’ve ever seen, and a huge bulge in the front of his trunks—but if the attitude I like isn’t there, he just leaves me cold. (I won’t give examples, out of respect.)

Porn star Ty Lebeouf: Ready to Wrestle?

The wrestlers I like—the ones that make me open my wallet and spend my hard-earned money buying their videos—have that attitude. It’s not something that’s quantifiable or definable; someone either has it or they don’t. And there really isn’t a rhyme or reason to my attraction to them. They can be a muscle twink, like Christian Taylor, or a hot little muscle heel like Kid Karisma, or a stocky brute like Bulldog Barzini, or a beautiful babyface who has crazy mad ring skills but always loses—like Alexi Adamov.

Cage Thunder revels in dragging babyface Alexi Adamov
well past “the turning point” – BG East’s Masked Mayhem 2

I like heels because the only way someone can ever fuck me is if they dominate me. And I do like being dominated. I like being forced to submit, I like being forced to scream out a submission or call my foe “sir”—and if he can beat me down that way, I’m his for the taking and he can do with me as he pleases. The thought of being worked over like that by a Bob Orton or a Stan Hansen or any number of studly heels who might not have the body beautiful you’d see on the cover of a gay porn magazine turns me on as much as the thought of beating down some beautiful babyface/jobber does.

A heel who could have made Cage Thunder cry, “Sir!”

For me, that’s the answer to why people enjoy seeing pretty muscle boys just get the shit kicked out of them. Because we want to dominate them, we want to fuck them, and the wrestling match we are watching is a kind of pornographic dance of domination and submission.

Cage Thunder has his way with a puddle-on-the-mat, Jobe Zander –
BG East’s Masked Mayhem 8

And I love, love, LOVE the turning point—when the heel begins to simply toy with his opponent for our viewing pleasure.

Cage Thunder conquers, strips, and toys with Lobolito –
BG East Masked Mayhem 3

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a DVD to watch.

Now, aren’t we all dying to know what gorgeous-bodied and huge-bulged wrestlers leave Cage Thunder limp!? Like I said, however, he’s a class act who isn’t one to crush-and-tell. For this fantastic glimpse into precisely the moment, the attitude, and the acts of domination that make his dick stand up at attention, neverland is honored to have guest contributor Cage Thunder push the pause button and share his thoughts with us!

Rookie Delight

I’ve been harping on the notion that homoerotic wrestling may be going to the same well too many times, putting it in danger of growing stale and uninteresting. I can be such a nagging bitch sometimes, can’t I? Just one more blogger who’s ass is firmly planted in the back seat and still trying to drive. Someone needs to give me a knee to the gut, then a headscissors until I just about pass out, followed by a commanding, hard drop across the knee into a prolonged over-the-knee backbreaker (can I suggest Rafe Sanchez would make a good disciplinarian for me?). Sitting here, all smug and certain of myself, it dawns on me that there are actually a lot of new faces showing up in homoerotic wrestling in the past few weeks. I’m not above retracing my steps and giving credit where credit is due. So today, I just want to celebrate a whole lot of new faces that are instantly making my blood pump faster. 

First, and possibly most promising in my book, is Angelo Blanco from BG East’s just released Masked Mayhem 7. So perhaps we can’t call him a new “face,” since he’s masked, but I swear I’ve never seen that long, lithe, sweet and sweaty body before… and I’d remember it. Masks are inherently erotic to me, so Angelo Blanco’s debut in a mask would already be a sweet centering of homoeroticism even if his nicely packed crotch didn’t keep getting in the way in his hard, nasty mat tussle with Skull. His cock seems to be nearly as distracting (and impressive) to him as Joshua Goodman’s is to Mr. Joshua. Angelo Blanco is not exactly a muscleboy, but he’s fantastically fit, oozing sex, clearly turned on by the match, and I’d beg on my knees for the opportunity to get squeezed between those legs and run my hands across that sweaty chest.

I’ve already composed a gushing ode to the new face at Rock Hard Wrestling, Travis Storm, so I won’t belabor the point too much here. In this batch of rookies, Travis runs a close second in my hopes to see him in many, many more matches. He’s a good ol’ Southern boy with great timing, sweet salesmanship on both ends of the stick, and an ass in need of a lingering spanking (and I have two hands free as soon as I finish this post).

I’ve only recently been taking a fresh look at Thunders Arena, so I’m not always clear who are the new faces and who are the faces who are just unfamiliar because I haven’t been keeping track. But I think #3 on my list of new faces I’m lusting after in the current homoerotic wrestling line up is Thunder’s muscleboy, Edge. Cam Mathews is once again the high class hottie pushing another hunky rookie into muscle dominating stardom. I’ve just watched a preview, but his bull dog on Cam, smacking the top of the jobber’s head hard onto the mat, makes my head hurt a little and my crotch tingle a lot. If this battle took place in the ring, I’d pop a blood vessel.
Again, in order of who I’m hoping to see more of or fantasize about facing off with myself is BG East’s Gino Gotti in Gazebo Grapplers 11. It seems a little dangerous to beat the crap out of someone named Gotti, but I’m with Kieran Dunne here when it comes to a focus on  laying this hot Italian stud out and making him cry out in pain. It sounds like Kieran is way to up is own ass to be bothered noticing the astonishing rookie specimen that he’s picking to pieces, which is a crying shame. I’m rooting for someone with better taste to make their introductions to Gotti next.

Again, you’ll forgive me if I’ve got the wrong end on this, but I believe Thunders Arena’s gargantuan muscleboy, STL, is another rookie bringing something new to homoerotic wrestling. There’s something both stunningly handsome and fresh-out-of-diapers about STL’s face that makes its placement on top of that thick, astonishingly powerful body deceptive. I’m captured by the image of me in an STL bearhug, squinting through my tearing eyes directly into his kid-next-door face, and being crushed between his hydraulic arms and those hot, sweaty, beefy pecs.

The last in this current line up of rookies who deserve credit (and their producers who deserve my apologies for overgeneralizing about the unimaginative state of the industry) is the enigmatically named D Fuller, appearing in BG East’s just released Big and Beefy 6. At six feet tall and listed at 215 pounds, this is another massively packed babyface. I’m not sure which gods D should be cursing for being fated to make his ring debut (hooray for fresh ring meat!) again Bulldog Barzini. Even a rookie the size of D would have to be the underdog against the beatdown alpha dog, Barzini. The preview pics of this match ignite a recurring fantasy in my mind of me at ringside, watching the big boy rookie beatdown in person, and at the moment that D is battered, subdued, and and stretched vulnerably and helplessly in Barzini’s clutches, the Bulldog gives me a nod and invites me into the ring for a closer look. D is bitter at the added humiliation, but he’s defenseless as Barzini immobilizes him as I appreciately kick the tires, stroke the upholstery, and take a long, deep whiff of that new rookie smell.

So I’m duly corrected by the evidence at hand. There are some delightful, inspiring, sexy new faces keeping me aroused and my imagination fully engaged in the current options in homoerotic wrestling. Full disclosure, I’ve only seen Angelo Blanco’s match and Travis Storm’s match in its entirety of the rookies mentioned above (which probably accounts for why I rank them #1 and #2 in my lusts and fantasies… I recommend them both). But if the rest of these new boys stick around long enough for my wallet to catch up to them, I’ll be happy to tell you more about what I find.

False Modesty

Purportedly, the ancient Greeks wrestled naked. Somewhere between then and now, modesty set in and wrestlers found the need for gear. So the point of gear is modesty, covering up the “private parts,” keeping the swinging ball and chain in check. So when a wrestler finds his gear yanked, there’s something delightfully transgressive about it.
It’s generally the hard hunks like Marcus Bagwell getting some serious exposure with a trunk pull. Anyone might find a handful of nylon helpful in the ring, but somehow it’s the gorgeous muscle studs with fantastic bubble butts who seem to find themselves on the receiving end of trunk pull overexposure. I’m not complaining.

Wrestling Arsenal points out that some pros particularly proud of their posteriors clearly work in getting bare assed as part of the routine. Eddie Atlas here is captured in a moment of overacting, but it’s not like we’re critiquing him for an Oscar, now is it? We’re focused with a tunnel vision thrill on Eddie’s naked, very round ass. Dude on his back could almost certainly have found a more effective way to power-bottom, but again, I’m not complaining.

There’s undoubtedly utility in a trunk grab in many cases. In what is theoretically a pure man-vs-man competition where your only weapons are your bodies and your brains, gear can be an effective illicit addition to the arsenal. But even more satisfying in my book is the trunk pull for no purpose other than humiliation.
Stoney Hooker draped across his opponent’s knee finds his trunks wedged up to his kidneys, all the better to slap his sweet white ass like the man-child his is. This hardly moves the match any closer to a pinfall… not complaining…

Sprinkle some homoeroticism into your wrestling kink, and the gear grab moves from the implicit sexuality of wrestling to explicit sexuality.
Kid Leopard models complete ownership of his opponent with one hand yanking him up by his hair and the other hand lifting him by his jobber-white trunks. By the look on his face, this jobber is ready to cry out his submission. Knowing KL, the jobber’s humiliating defeat will not come one second sooner than it absolutely needs to.

In the over the top homoerotic scenario, playing with the modesty of the wrestling gear is like foreplay. It’s the glimpse of what’s hidden, the hint of things to come. BG East classic brawler, Jose, packed a cock that defied belief. When he (frequently) battled naked, his flailing python was jaw dropping (which is the appropriate position). In TagTeam Torture 1, with one my favorite finishers of all time, Jose and Cruze are thrilled sadists relishing every second of their humiliation of earnest babyface skinny boys, Patrick and Sean. When Jose backs Sean into the ropes and yanks his trunks to get better leverage on some ab pounding, Sean’s modesty is momentarily defied. It’s all foreplay, though. Just wait a few minutes, and the teasing trunk pull will be revealed as downright demure compared to what await Patrick and Sean. Again I say, one of my favorite finishers…

I really resent the muscleboy cockteasers. I’ve mentioned before how my unrequited lust for Joshua Goodman’s opened package irritates me. At least the powers that be give us glimpses of all that we’re missing with the talent that clearly doesn’t want to share (selfish bastards). Despite some nice, hard nudes of Justin Pierce available on the net, he never shares his full glory with us in the ring. Bulldog Barzini thoughtfully treats us to a glimpse of the goods, though, yanking so hard on Justin’s trunks they look like they’re about to snap (if only). It’s hardly as if Bulldog needs to resort to dirty tricks. He’s on his way to decimating the prettyboy hardbody without really needing to break a sweat. But Bulldog is a true, thoughtful gentleman who keeps us in mind as he not only beats the crap out of Justin, but humiliates him and ridicules the false modesty of his wrestling trunks.
One of the worst muscleboy cockteasers has got to be Brad Rochelle. Again, there are nudes of Brad to be had, but in the ring he guards his bits and baubles fiercely. That doesn’t stop his brutalizers from reminding us all that despite remaining covered up, there are wonders just under the covers. Sid takes a play out of KL’s book, dragging suffering Brad up by a handful of hair and a fistful of trunks, giving us the unsatisfying hint of Brad’s beautiful bare butt. So now I’m complaining… but I’ll take what I can get (particularly if it’s more Brad, please).

Gear is about modesty. It’s a concession to the repressed, body-hating culture that’s constantly trying to convince us that very specific geography of exposed skin is distasteful. Certain square footage of the human anatomy must be disguised and covered in order to make the rest of the human anatomy socially acceptable, we’re taught. So the tug at the trunks, the yank of the tights, the fistful of gear that exposes the naughty bits is a sweet moment of transgression, when particularly those of us who love the male body can flip the bird at every attempt to take the erotic out of the gorgeous male form.