“Centerpiece this!”

Holy crap! It’s been a month since I had a chance to post anything. Time flies when life is full and busy.  I have managed to squeeze in a little time writing a few match descriptions for the new release of BG East’s catalog 128. So even if you don’t know it, you very well may be reading some of my writing in that format. As so often happens with big pauses in my blogging, I’m now facing a backlog of intentions and plans.  I’ll do my best to backfill, but hot new wrestling releases wait for no blogger.

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Superhuman Mitch Colby

With that in mind, I want to describe the sweat soaked pleasure it was to watch one of my longstanding obsessions climb into the ring again in the new release of Ringwars 29: Steeped in Sweat. Honestly, all it took was watching Mitch Colby stretching before the match to get me dizzyingly aroused. Over the years we’ve seen Mitch in various states of fitness. There is no version of him that fails to turn me on, mind you, but in RW29, he is mind bogglingly gorgeous, primed and pumped, tanned and toned, with mile wide shoulders and an impossibly narrow waist like Clark Kent at a day at the beach.

 

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You can afford to be chill when you look this hot!

There’s something coolly majestic about Mitch.  I suppose if you look like he does, and you’ve hammered your rockin’ muscles so sweetly out on your 6’2″ frame, you can afford to be chill as fuck. He’s self-possessed and confident, this side of cockiness. I always get the impression that Mitch wants a challenge. He gets a little contemptuous if it’s too easy. Mitch appreciates serious competition. He wants to prove himself.

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Jobe Zander and the Centerpiece

“Serious” is not a word that jumps to the front of the line when Jobe Zander struts into the ring room. Fuck, I hate this guy. And by hate, I mean, fuck, I ache to see someone beat the living shit out of him and strip him naked. He’s always a contender for biggest bulge in the business. And he enthusiastically puts his most prominent feature forward in every match, calling attention to “the Centerpiece,” and taking every opportunity to shove his massive package in an opponent’s face. Jobe is loud and over the top and almost comical, which is clearly his modus operandi. He struts and barks and presents himself almost as a caricature of the narcissist pro wrestler, invariably disarming his opponent who struggles to take him seriously.

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Jobe uses Mitch as a doormat

Do NOT fail to take Jobe Zander seriously! Mitch learns what most of Jobe’s opponent’s learn. Underestimate him at your peril. He takes it to the beach body beefcake with authority, and I love watching Mitch struggling to dig himself out of a hole. Even before the low blows and dirty tricks take over the narrative, Jobe quickly outhustles my fitness model infatuation and works him over like a boss.

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Jobe has him exactly where I want him!

As is almost always the case, inexplicably, it’s Jobe who’s first to attack his opponent’s balls. I’ve got all sorts of feels about watching him claw the fuck out of Mitch’s bulge. First and foremost, just getting a feel of what Mitch is packing is a vicarious thrill. In particular, this reach through the legs from behind with a subtle twisting chaser is as if I’m remote controlling Jobe. Mitch, with his glistening, superhuman muscles quivering in agony and whimpering, is a work of art. But I’m also rolling my eyes at this move because you know, for a fact, what happens next when Jobe, possessing arguably the most massive crotch in competition, flings open the door of crotch attacks.

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“What’s wrong, can’t take your own medicine?”

That shit just got real, now, didn’t it, Jobe? I’ve been taken to task before for crushing hard on a classic babyface disciplining a vile heel. But I can’t help it. Sometimes I want to see an earnest, magnificently muscled jock slap a loudmouth cheater down and make him regret it all. I know, I’m such a mark. When I’m pounding one out in ecstasy watching Mitch make the previously cocky bad boy weep and beg, I don’t give a shit. These two hunks can manipulate me any way they want.

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Inspect the Centerpiece

Jobe make SUCH a huge deal of his HUGE deal, it’s no wonder that, yet again, this match really becomes all about “the Centerpiece.” He shoves it in Mitch’s face. He demands that the hunky heart throb pay homage to the legend that is straining the seams of Jobe’s pouch. “The tide has turned, Mitch the Bitch,” Jobe snarls down atop the schoolboy pin, smothering Mitch in his ball gag. “I’m the Centerpiece here,” he monologues like a Batman villain. “Nothing can stop me now!”

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“Centerpiece this!”

It turns out, a 6’2″ fitness competitor in the best shape of his life can, actually, stop Jobe Zander. Mitch milks the babyface retribution to perfection. He scolds Jobe mercilessly for his greed and self-centeredness. He punishes him brutally, employing all of those stunningly gorgeous muscles to accomplish the task of dominating and destroying this quite serious competition. It’s not as if it had to go this way. It’s not as if Mitch is, by his nature, hell bent on humiliating and bullying an opponent. He’s just cashing that check that Jobe’s been writing all along, piling on complete domination to not just beat him, but to disprove every taunt and brag and unnecessary act of poor sportsmanship along the way.  “How about that for a Centerpiece,” Mitch demands to  know, resting his balls on Jobe’s chin and anointing his own big bulge the new title holder.

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Mitch SCREAMS!

There are a lot of familiar components to this match, if you’ve watch many of Jobe’s more recent bouts. But there are a few delightful innovations in this pairing that I have to mention. One such innovation is that Jobe makes Mitch scream. I mean, really scream. Mitch typically is the type to screw up his face and put a cork in it when he’s suffering hard. Agony paralyzes and gags him most days. But when Jobe really cranks on his balls, crushing and twisting and dragging him around the ring by them, Mitch lets loose with some crotch tingling screeches of pain. Fuck, I love that chink in the muscleman’s armor.

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Peekaboo

The other notable part that I want to mention is all the trunk pulling. It’s like Mitch knows how much I’ve been wanting someone to finally rip Jobe’s trunks off and show us what the heel has been teasing for years now. That doesn’t quite happen, despite my longing. Nor does Mitch bend him over the top rope with Jobe’s anaconda in his hand and Mitch’s manhood up Jobe’s round ass. But both wrestlers give us peekaboo glimpses of the underworld, dragging each other around by a fist full of trunks and showing off just a little of the astonishing beauty both men criminally cover up with their gear.

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Sexiest bearhug of the year?

Mitch’s bearhugs are sexy as fuck. If watching his gargantuan deltoids flex and swell as he crushes his wailing opponent suspended a foot off the ground doesn’t get you off, then it is a complete enigma to me why you would read this blog.

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Babyface revenge

This match pushes a ton of my buttons, so if we share any buttons, I recommend you tuck in. My infatuation with magnificent Mitch has only grown with his latest display of his power and beauty. If the wrestling gods ever bother to hear our prayers, then please, oh PLEASE, let’s see Mitch pit his mouthwatering muscles again another longstanding infatuation of mine, Scott Williams. That would be the headliner match to the “Masters Division” matches I’ve been fantasizing about for so long now.

The Charm Offensive

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Chase shows off his Bard-endorsed ass

You only have to be casually familiar with this blog to know that I’m a major Chase Addams fan. I literally sponsored his first custom, signature trunks. It makes me feel a little like a part-owner of his hot ass when he wears the tight, gun-metal gear with the words “Charming as Fuck” stitched across his backside. I didn’t contribute to the shiny purple version of those same trunks that he wears in his new match for Florida Fights 7: Pride-Aftershow, but I still feel like I’ve got a proprietary claim on his derriere.

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Someone has GOT to dick slap that grin right off of Kirk’s face!

Regular readers also know of my strong feelings about Kirk Donahue, Chase’s opponent in Florida Fights 7.  I hate that guy. I mean, he’s also a sexy little fucker with incredible wrestling chops that I respect the hell out of. But there’s just something about his heavy lidded, smirky, smart ass, saccharine-sweet earnestness that leaves me with an insatiable desire to watch him get thumped and plowed under hard, again and again. Happily for me, BGE wrestlers keep delivering that sweet dish over and over, smacking the cutesy off of Kirk’s freckled face and making the cocky indy pro weep like a little bitch.

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Trevor Read, how the FUCK did you blow this!?!

And then, somehow, Kirk pulled off a stunning upset victory in front of the live audience at Wrestling with Pride. I don’t know Trevor Read, but I’d like to. So sexy. Gorgeous to look at, but the bitter edged, fiercely confident heel attitude he wore in his match with Kirk was what really made me want to slap one of those front row fans to the curb to get an up close look at him. He looked like he was on his way to delivering the public humiliation that Kirk so abundantly begs for. But then, what the fuck, Trevor choked to that annoying little stud puppy! Fuck, Trevor. Just… fuck.

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Hands full

So apparently riding high on that shocking babyface victory, Kirk accepted a challenge from Chase Addams that same weekend back at BGE central. The stakes were high when I tucked into this Florida Fights match. Because if this was signaling Kirk’s ascension, if his freckled face and gargantuan bulge are going to start racking up serious victories over the likes of my boy Chase, then I am going to be SO pissed.

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Chase tested hard

Honestly, I wondered if Chase might be biting off more than he could chew. He’s shared his origin story with me in different contexts over the past couple of years, but the narrative remains the same. Chase is, largely, a self-taught pro wrestling prodigy. He transitioned from fan to competitor by perfecting submission holds on the lucky son-of-a-bitch friends who would let him tie them up in knots, and then later on in the underground gay wrestling scene in St. Louis. Don’t get me wrong, Chase regularly leaves me awestruck and tongue tied by the vicious, gravity defying stunts he pulls at the expense of his opponents. He’s serious as a heart attack. But testing out his moves against a seasoned pro like Kirk, albeit a perennial jobber, seemed risky to me. If Howdy Doody has, in fact, turned over a new leaf, I could certainly see things going south big time for the Charming One.

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Kirk having his way with my boy

Kirk clearly has wind in his sails as they sink their claws into each other. The action is ferocious and almost faster than the eye can follow. Kirk’s been doing this longer and much more often, and he looks annoyingly cocky as he curls his upper lip and dives in. The near-submissions fly with abandon. At one point, Kirk cinches Chase’s arms brutally behind his back and flips overtop of him, bridging high and grinding Chase’s handsome face into the mat viciously while attempting to rip his arms out at the shoulder. Holy fuck, that monster bulge at the apex of Kirk’s bridge defies belief.

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Kirk whines like a bitch

The suspense is thick from start to finish, as they trade momentum back and forth, but I’m reading the tea leaves when Chase rakes Kirk’s eyes to escape from that bulge-tastic bridge. “You cheating son of a bitch!” Kirk whines petulantly. Right then, right there, my anxiety on behalf of my boy Chase settles down a bit. Chase is eager to show off his submission skills, but he’s also enthusiastically ready to piss on the conventional rules of sportsmanship and fair play. And Kirk is, ridiculously, shocked and irritated. The odds just tilted dramatically in my (Chase’s) favor.

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You’re fucked now, Howdy Doody!

My hunch is seemingly confirmed when Chase exploits Kirk’s foot stomping, whiny little bitch moment to clamp down one of a billion arm and wrist locks he has in his quiver and wrenches Kirk’s fingers sickly backward. Fuck, Kirk’s screams of panicked agony turn me on. Howdy Doody with the monster package taps out to give Chase the first submission.

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Look at those sexy as fuck legs!

They work like berserkers tearing through holds faster than the eye can follow. Despite my early intuition that this is Chase’s match to have, Kirk evens the submission count with a viciously deep Boston crab. Back and forth they trade submissions, with neither one able to pull away, until the count is 3-2. Then 4-2.  Then 5-2. Kirk keeps fighting, mind you, but Chase absolutely outclasses him. The more withered Kirk gets, the meaner Chase grows. Watching his profound pleasure taking ownership of this hot bodied indy pro who thought his victory of Trevor Reed was signaling a new day for Howdy Doody is so sensationally satisfying. And by satisfying, I mean an incredible turn on.

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The Will Breaker

I stand up an cheer when Chase locks down the Will Breaker and Kirk’s desperate screams echo off the warehouse walls. The self-taught phenom quite literally hangs this seasoned indy pro submission star out to dry. When Chase deigns to let him back down to the ground (after soaking in the dulcimer tones of his opponent’s countertenor screams of anguish) the Charming One lingers, crouching over top of Kirk’s wasted body. He strokes Kirk’s sweaty back possessively. Chase’s obvious admiration for his beauty makes me feel like I can admit that, sure, Kirk’s fucking hot. If Chase would just peel Kirk’s trunks down, bend him over his knee, and spank his alabaster ass fire engine red, I just might be ready to set aside my perennial enmity toward Kirk Donahue.

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Chase gets ready to crawl on top and knead the dough

Sadly for everyone, I still hate that guy. This match, though, I love. Chase, seductively stroking Kirk’s tightly muscled back, I enjoy. Chase’s insanely long, smooth legs tied in crushing knots all over his opponent’s overwhelmed body, I lust for. A gut check story of a self-taught prodigy testing his mettle against a privileged, impeccably trained, abundantly seasoned pro and making Kirk his bitch, I adore.

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The trunks say it all!

 

Skinny Does It

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Charlie Evans

If you know me at all, you know that my tastes cover a range of wrestlers and wrestling. Lately, I’ve been keying off a lot on skinny boys. I love audacious skinny wrestlers who instantly make fans wonder out loud, “What the fuck is that guy think he’s doing climbing into the ring?!” I like them when they look breakable. Tantalizingly vulnerable, but with a fierce core of tensile steel and inexplicable fearlessness. Within the genre, I like them cute as buttons, with bright eager smiles and pinchable cheeks. Thus it surprises no one with a passing familiarity with my tastes in wrestlers that little Charlie Evans keeps reeling me in.

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Charlie uses guile and deception to take Gunner from behind

I also like my skinny boys with a chance.  So, in Catchweight 9 when Charlie camps out underneath the BG East ring to sneak up on Gunner Baer from behind as the big muscle boy flexes and stretches, I’m cheering him on. Charlie leaps up on that broad, muscled back of Gunner’s, squeezing the big man’s torso between his legs and clamping down a blindsided sleeper gambit.  He takes the muscle boy completely by surprise. As Gunner stumbles around for several seconds struggling to catch up with the chess match, I have fleeting hopes for a revenge of the nerds bout. With this uncharacteristic flash of foul play, perhaps Charlie is finally taking my longstanding advice to grab the wheel with both hands and swerve recklessly into the heel lane. Fuck, just how satisfying would it be to see a skinny boy instantly outsmart his preening, homecoming king, jock opponent and sadistically pry his luscious body apart in retribution for every towel snapping, homophobic bullying that the genetically gifted bodies take such pleasure in doling out during our compulsory education. Okay, perhaps that says more about me than about Charlie or Gunner.

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“Really? This is what they sent?”

Tragically, my unrequited longing to see Charlie’s heel turn continues unabated. Big Gunner reaches over his shoulder, grabs Charlie by the back of the neck, and easily, with one hand, flips the lightweight cheater head over heels. “Really? This is what they sent?” Gunner asks, giving voice to what countless fans have said upon seeing an ambitious skinny boy like Charlie dare to accept a match with a muscle armored hunk like Gunner.

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Face of a cherub, body of a beefcake

I’m still undecided what I think of Gunner Baer. I mean, don’t get me wrong. He’s unquestionably fuckable. He has a teen angel thing going, with a stunningly gorgeous, delicately featured face atop a hypermasculine, thickly muscled, beautifully proportioned body. My question is not whether Gunner is a sexy mother fucker. Give me a bottle of lube and a couple of hours, and I’d muscle worship the fuck out of big Gunner Baer. The jury is still out for me as to what to make of him as a homoerotic pro wrestler. In his debut match, he was squashed like a bug by Flash LaCash, and he made a compelling case as a doe-eyed muscle jobber. Watching his musclebound pretty boy dreams get trampled under foot was seriously hot. This time out, though he’s large and in charge. He’s contemptuous and sadistic. He’s far more fallen angel than teen angel. I’m not sure which side of Gunner Baer I’m left wanting to see more of. And of course, that, in and of itself, is seductively sexy for me.

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Nothing but a thing

As for this match, holy fuck, Gunner beats the living shit out of little Charlie. There’s almost not suspension of disbelief necessary in this match.  The only doubt you’ll need to dismiss is whether Charlie could take the amount of abuse he takes without broken bones, internal injuries to vital organs, and multiple concussions to show for it. As Charlie has pointed out to me, the trade off for staring down long odds every time he climbs into the ring is that fans will be treated to some of the most visually stimulating feats of lopsided strength available. There’s something just sublime about a fully extended, unending gorilla press. When Charlie gets tossed out of the ring, big Gunner follows his befuddled prey, picks him up, hoists him straight-armed overhead with barely an effort, and then overhanded flings him over the top rope, flying back into the ring to land about 10 feet away.

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“I’m… a little… BITCH-BOY!”

Gunner relishes the psychological dominance every bit as much as his physical dominance. “Say, ‘I’m a little bitch-boy,'” Gunner demands of Charlie before he’ll free him from a spine-damaging Boston crab. Charlie obeys. Prying his body in all the wrong ways like a twist-tie, Gunner refuses to accept another submission until Charlie cries out, “I’m a girly-man!” Flinging him to the mat, Gunner flexes his gargantuan biceps in Charlie’s slack jawed face. “Look at these 20-inch pythons,” Gunner crows. “You thought you could beat this?! I’m a Greek god!”

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“I’m a Greed god!”

While my deep longing to see this skinny boy upend his bully and spank Gunner to tears is unsatisfied, I think I’ve got reason to hold out hope. In every conversation I’ve had with Charlie, he’s saccharine sweet IRL. My relatively colorful use of profanity has, quite literally made Charlie blush (of course, he’s such a ginger that’s not hard to do). Charlie literally, unselfconsciously uses phrases like, “oh, golly,” and “son of a beeswax,” fastidiously eschewing all coarse language in a way that seems astonishingly genuine and habitual. So when big Gunner snap mares Charlie so hard the ginger levitates about a foot off the mat on the rebound, it’s a little shocking to hear Charlie shout, “Goddam it!”  Gunner hooks Charlie’s left knee behind his thick, jock neck and stands up, dangling Charlie off the ground by the straining, snapping tendons and ligaments in his knee. Abruptly, Charlie screams out, “Damn it! SHIT!!!”

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“Damn it. SHIT!!!”

It seems to me like the wear and tear of BG East action very well could accomplish what my powers of persuasion have been unable to. Dudley Do-Right Charlie Evans is resorting to openly cheating to try to level the playing field with the muscle hunks he’s forced to face in the ring. His virginal mouth is now driven to coughing, screaming fits of profanity. His earnest faith in hard work and fair play are already corrupted. His values have been compromised. And he’s persistently a serious student of the science and art of professional wrestling, learning new holds and moves by the minute. So yeah, I’m still hopeful to see this skinny boy finally snap, in a good way. Scratch an undersized gay kid with a lust for wrestling and there’s GOT to be a subterranean volcano of anger, frustration, and unresolved grudges bubbling just beneath the surface. One of these days, little Charlie Evans is going to climb into the ring with a contemptuous, musclebound, captain of the football team, Greek god of an opponent and fuck him up on behalf of all of us who were ever shoved into the lockers, wedgied, taunted and tormented back in the day.

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“Say ‘I’m a little red-headed bitch!'” Gunner demands. “Say, ‘I’m worthless!'”

Feel the power of the dark side coursing through your veins, young padawan.

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Pride and Joy

I’ve been giving a lot in the give and take of balancing my wrestling infatuation with my day job. Not only has it taken a bite out of my opportunities to watch new wrestling, I’ve also not been keeping up with the other excellent bloggers covering the scene. So who’s covered Jonny Firestorm and Ty’s Wrestling with Pride match? I definitely defer to the judgment of eyes on the scene, but this is my take from this side of the screen.

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Transformed Ty

Okay, this is fucking sexy. To start with, Ty is full on, well into beefcake territory at this point in his incredible physical transformation. It’s hard to connect the dots between his beefy, muscular, cover boy body in the Wrestling with Pride ring and his skinny, smooth, boyish vulnerability just a few years ago. Ty’s sell has always struck me as right at that line between compelling and camp, but when he struts to the ring at Wilton Manor, smirking, winking, inviting the gay crowd to appreciate his hotness, that thoroughly Ty character of his perfectly hits the sweet spot.

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Leather daddy Jonny grabs the momentum

 

Ty’s possession of the pretty boy role is only that much more locked into place when Jonny arrives with his hot and hairy bear daddy belly, wearing a leather harness. I don’t know how many of the fans in the live audience follow BG East quite like you and I do, so it’s hard to tell if they recognize the set-up of, historically, one of the company’s most prolific babyface jobbers squaring off against, historically, one of the most lauded badass heels in the business. If they did understand the historical context, they might have expected a squash. If they did expect a squash, they were sorely disappointed.

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Ty fucks up the infamous heel!

Fuck, I LOVE the give and take in this match! Ty’s infamous narcissism (he does, after all, have the words “Cocky: Suck It” printed across his ass) is sensationally tasty when paired with his quickly developing ring skills. He absolutely takes it to leather daddy Jonny. There are many moments when I actually feel just a little sorry for Jonny getting fucked up and humiliated, after such a dominant career as a sadistic heel, in front of this live audience. Ty is a mean mother fucker, asserting a classically heel mix of beautifully executed wrestling and vicious, underhanded rule breaking. I’ve told Ty that I’ve longed to see him become an unmistakably dangerous competitor after serving such a long sentence in prettyboy jobber purgatory. He’s been emerging into adulthood in several matches I’ve seen over the past 9 months or so, but never as commandingly and persuasively as in this match.

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The mighty have fallen!

And I know that there are plenty of fans who completely disagree with me, but I find a badass heel with strong notes of vulnerability one of the sexiest things ever. I love seeing Jonny struggle. I love seeing him have to fight for it. Hard. I love seeing this irrepressible head of steam he’s generated over the course of his career, plowing into, over top of, and through countless opponents like a tidal wave, sputter and stumble. Don’t tell Jonny, but frankly, I’m turned on incredibly by the sight of him suffering hard. My vote for Top Heel a few months ago joined a majority of BGE fans in catapulting Kayden Keller over top of Jonny for the first time, and for me, it’s because Kayden has perfected the seductive allure of a vulnerable heel. Jonny’s performance at Wrestling with Pride, however, could make me rethink my vote come January of next year. There’s not a thing less “heel-like” for those moments when Ty is fucking him up. I don’t subscribe to the philosophy that being a heel and executing a squash are intrinsically linked. Jonny repeatedly and convincingly turns the tables on the babyface challenger, and in entirely Jonny-style, he does more than his share of fucking his opponent up as well. But honestly, the suspense of not knowing which badass beauty is going to pull it out for the adoring gay crowd in attendance makes this bout so succulent for me.

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Everybody digs deep in this match

Ty’s ultimate downfall in this match is not due to any character flaw or inadequacy on his part (and thus I love this match so much more than many matches earlier in his career). He’s a completely legitimate contender who grabs his burly opponent by the balls (literally… and the ref’s balls, for that matter), and battles to the wire in a compelling bid for victory.

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Boys to Men

And he comes up just short. And the ghosts of Christmas past come to haunt his beefcake body laid bare (well, thonged) and wasted at Jonny’s feet. I love the cameo at the beginning of the match when Ty bitches about his ex-tag team partner turned tormentor, Chase Addams, who’s been invited to give color commentary over the PA. I pop my cork at the end of the match when silver fox fantasy-daddy Shane McCall climbs in to perform the post-mortem on Ty. If you don’t follow these two on FB, you may not know that Ty has continued to talk trash at Shane ever since Shane laid waste to Ty back in his twink days. There’s a lot of value added for me seeing Shane in street clothes, mount Ty’s ass, pry him into a camel clutch, and cinch on a dog collar and leash.  Please revisit my comments earlier about the gaping hole in homoerotic wrestling that needs to get filled by the likes of hot daddies like Shane (preferably going pec to pec for the daddy championship title against man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams).

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Kieran Dunne gets a swat in

Collared and crushed, Ty is served up to the front row fans in the most generous moment of Wrestling with Pride. Jonny parades his trophy-boy in front of the fans, inviting them to spank Ty’s pride and joy bubble butt. A few of them seriously get into it, which makes me less bitter toward the ones who momentarily balk at the opportunity to put a hand on Ty’s vulnerable ass shoved in their laps. The public humiliation and fan-participation-spanking again harkens me back to my favorite live wrestling match (in which Shane also makes a post-match appearance!). It also almost makes up for no one (NO ONE!?) accepting Elite Eliot’s invitation to check his gorgeously packed pink trunks for weapons in that earlier match.

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Ty lives to regret getting “Suck It” printed on his ass

I feel like there was a tragically missed opportunity to have Chase join Shane in doling  out some satisfying Ty humbling. For that matter, can we just consider the magnificence of a Chase & Shane (Shane & Chase?) tag team? I can’t think of a sexier daddy-boy wrestling partnership since BBW slapped the dog collar on Shane and they showed up in the same corner to pry apart and ball gag another daddy-boy tag team to victory.

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Sexiest pin of the night?

Well done Ty and Jonny (and Shane, and Chase) for making this match multifaceted and engrossing. So many moving parts could, I’m sure, have sent this train flying off the tracks. Instead, this was the sensationally gayest, hottest, most homoerotic match of the night. And this was Wrestling with Pride, so that’s saying something!

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Crowd Pleaser

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My first thought upon seeing a promotional poster for Wrestling with Pride was how much I was desperate to see Zip Zarella (2017 Debut of the Year winner) and Elite Eliot square off against one another with a crowd of horny gays cheering them on. I knew from social media and the BG East Arena galleries that the homoerotic wrestling gods heard my prayers and pitted these two gorgeous pros against one another at Wilton Manors. Therefore I nearly blew a gasket under the rising pressure in my crotch as I waited for BGE’s insta-release of the Wrestling with Pride matches for catalog 126 to arrive in my mailbox, barely a couple of weeks after the live show.

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Leather cub Elite Eliot

I’ve got so much to say about all of the matches, but I confess that I started by cuing up Zip and Eliot, so I’ll start my obsession with Wrestling with Pride there. Although this is the first glimpse we’ve had of Eliot wrestling under the BGE banner, this stunningly handsome blond beefcake has made a name for himself among the homoerotic wrestling crowd at W4H. The production quality is higher for the Wrestling with Pride DVD than Eliot’s matches that I’ve streamed on W4H, and I have to say I am just that much more impressed with (aka turn on by) him. He struts out from backstage in dayglow pink trunks and a leather cub black vest.

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Eliot Eliot invites the gay fans to appreciate his muscles

Eliot’s ass is EPICALLY magnificent. He knows his audience, pausing just as he starts to make a move to remove his vest, playfully building tension as we all hold our breath waiting to see his muscled torso laid bare.  There are woots of appreciation, but I am yet again cursing the fates that prevented me from being there for the live show, because Eliot’s physique deserves a whole lot more loving than what the boys at Wilton Manors gave him. I’m crushing hard on his new, colorful tats. His touch o’ honey tan is perfection with his blond head of hair and all of those ripped muscles.

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Zip wants to sink his teeth into his competition

In this match, Zip is transparently the heel. He arrives with his hot body almost entirely covered in a black cape, as the ring announcer explains that Zip is convinced that he’s a vampire from Transylvania. This is homoerotic wrestling, though, so the fans aren’t shy about giving Zip at least his share of the love as he does a Stevie Nicks spin in the middle of the ring before taking off the cape. Obviously, Zip knows his audience, as well. He bounces his gorgeously tatted pecs at his opponent provocatively. The crowd signals their approval. “Hell yeah,” Zip smirks at how being appreciated for being so bad feels so good. “What you got,” he questions his opponent’s aesthetic appeal.

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Action so close you could taste it

So, of course I’m hard before there’s barely a hint of wrestling. I’ve begged for more openly homoerotic wrestling fare in front of an audience. The gay gaze, the call and response with the crowd, it all kicks a hot match-up like this into overdrive. Unlike in a straight-up pro match, everyone in the room knows that these fans are turned on by what they see. They beg openly for a pose off before things get too serious, because they just want to savor the sight of these young, hot muscles. And they want to interact with these fantasy hunks. They want Zip and Eliot to respond to their hoots and hollers. They want them to acknowledge that they know that they’re being sexually objectified. These two stunning athletes wrestle in indy pro rings all the time in traditionally homophobic contexts, but here and now, this is so sensationally gay.

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Like Eliot, I simply can’t believe the ref won’t grab that ass

Heels at BG East tend to always have a home field advantage. And I have extensively documented just how much of a fan I am of Zip Zarella. But even as the ref is checking the combatants for any illicit tricks or cheats, Eliot earns my (and I believe, the crowd’s) status as sentimental favorite. The ref pats Eliot down at the hips. He checks each white boot for any hidden weapons. And as the ref starts to walk away satisfied, Eliot turns his sensational bubble-butt toward him and insists that the ref confirm that he’s not hiding any unfair advantage in the back of his trunks. When the son-of-a-bitch ref balks (what THE FUCK is your problem, ref!?!), Eliot bends over, shoving his ass the ref’s way and demanding that the official put his hands on one of the hottest set of cheeks I’ve ever seen (seriously, KK, watch your back!).

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A move reminiscent of my favorite live wrestling event, Wrestlefest 2 (Rochelle vs. Donovan)
Proving the point that pro wrestling refs are absolutely useless, the ref does not follow Eliot’s instruction to cop a feel. But Eliot’s all-in, unblinking commitment to the homoerotic moment makes me foreswear my longstanding, slack jawed infatuation with Zip and start screaming at my screen significantly louder than any Wilton Manors fans for #TeamEliteEliot.

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Zip works over the fan favorite

Eliot further evidences his understanding of his audience by demanding that they decide, “Who’s got the better body?” Zip and he take turns showing off a double bicep pose for applause. It’s hard to tell on the DVD, but the fans seem pretty evenly divided in their enthusiasm. I give the edge to Eliot’s lickable muscles, but that’s just me. Zip suggests an archer pose flex-off to settle the tie, but when it’s Eliot’s turn, Zip delivers a forearm smash to the back of the head. Because he’s a bad ass cheater who likes to suck the bodily fluids (reportedly, blood) from his victims.

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Eliot poses for a fan

The wrestling veers into comic relief at times, which breaks the mood here on my end of the screen, but appears to be thoroughly enjoyed by the cheering fans in the seats at ringside. Zip repeatedly flees the ring and sprints through the audience to escape Eliot’s determined rage pointed his direction. The chase scenes go on a tad too long, with too much ham. At one point, Zip “hides” in a seat next to the luckiest fucker on the planet who happened to plant his ass next to the open chair. Eliot can’t find him for a few seconds. It’s hijinks. It’s silliness. Despite the proximity, STILL no one thinks to check the back of Eliot’s trunks for weapons.

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Face plants so hard they make Zip’s ass cheeks quiver

The action in the ring is too brief, but tasty. Zip tries an elbow drop as a sucker shot to Eliot’s back as the babyface starts to follow him back into the ring. Eliot demonstrates that he has both the brains and the brawn, ducking out of the way and letting Zip’s offense backfire on him. The best action sequence for my tastes happens when Eliot grabs a handful of Zip’s long locks and face plants him repeatedly into a turnbuckle to knock the pretty off of his babyboy face. The crowd joins in the count. It’s vicious and humiliating. But what makes this my favorite moment is watching Zip’s beautiful butt shimmy and quiver each time his face makes impact with the turnbuckle. Seriously, this has got to be a leading contender for best camera work of 2018.

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Eliot abuses Zip’s ass often

My second favorite action sequence involves two series of loud, echoing, cracking slaps that Eliot delivers to Zip’s clenched ass cheeks. The spanking somehow redeems the somewhat juvenile silliness elsewhere in the match. It feels a little like Zip overplayed the suspension of disbelief, and Eliot’s stinging cracks on his ass are the suitable punishment. And, who the fuck am I kidding? I fucking LOVE seeing Eliot repeatedly put his hands on his opponent’s ample, athletic ass cheeks.

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“Zip sucks! Zip sucks!” the crowd cheers the vampire.

Eliot’s straight legged high kick boot to the face when Zip comes sprinting off of the ropes is my third favorite moment in the action. There are a couple of reversals of fortune after that bone crunching impact, but that’s really the move that sells the finisher for me. When Kid Leopard made the ring introductions, he reported that Zip had a 35 pound (or so) weight advantage over Eliot, which I can pretty much believe. But Eliot’s standing boot heel to the chin drives home the point he’s been making all along. On this night, in front of this crowd, competing for the Pride Center, Elite Eliot is the stronger, faster, and smarter hunk in the ring.

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Crotch-tingling, hip swiveling double bicep pose

I have no idea what either Zip or Eliot’s sexual orientation is, and, to be clear, there’s no explicit sexual heat exchanged between them (well, other than Eliot’s delight and spanking Zip’s ass). But for earnestly insisting that the ref examine his ass, and for that profoundly sexy go-go boy hip swivel and double bicep pose combination, I am hereby issuing Elite Eliot his honorary gay card, which he can redeem for unlimited free drinks at my local Pride festival, and a two-handed ass cheek examination from this blogger anytime (and everytime).

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New Kid

I’m often off script. I misread babyfaces as heels. I’m distracted by the dialogue and overlook the plot. I key off on embellishments and fail to appreciate the fundamentals that make a wrestling match solid. I’m sure that’s what happened when I watched Leopard’s Lair 6.

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KL pulls out “the good stuff” to gear up Blaine Janus

The fundamental facts of LL6 are abundantly apparent. First of all, titular Kid Leopard makes an appearance, and nothing signals imminent danger quite like having The Boss get personally involved. KL arrives ringside to personally task Jonny Firestorm with helping Blaine Janus successfully transition from a mat wrestling standout to a serious ring wrestler. The wheels within wheels are clearly spinning. “You be nice to our nice Canadian friend here,” The Boss shoves a finger in Jonny’s face emphatically. “Show him some moves, how to take bumps, how to use the ropes, the usual corner to corner stuff.”

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Blaine has never looked tastier!

Blaine looks just about the prettiest I’ve ever seen him. He’s beautifully tanned and sensationally fit. The Boss picks out the perfect pair of baby blue trunks to bring out the Canadian beauty’a icy eyes. In contract, Jonny’s unfamiliarity with a razor and his bear daddy belly serve the same purpose as those magnificent baby blue trunks. Blaine is just that much prettier, that much more aesthetically perfected, his lean, smooth, coverboy torso that much hotter for the contrast to Jonny’s slipshod personal grooming and over-indulgence at Dunks. Without question, there’s a game afoot as KL gives Blaine white wrestling boots that were apparently, previously promised to go to Jonny. But then, The Boss turns to Blaine and ominously promises that Jonny will take good care of him. “Aren’t you Jonny,” KL asks his favorite choreboy, “you’re going to take real good care of him!”

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“I seem to be a fast learner, eh?”

So the moving parts are rife with drama and suspense. When Jonny starts to show Blaine some pro moves, the Canadian dazzler is a quick study. Too quick, perhaps. When it’s Blaine’s turn to give the moves a try, he rapidly masters them and adds a little gratuitous improv. “I seem to be a fast learner, eh?” Blaine congratulates himself for making Jonny whimper in a demonstration camel clutch. The suspense builds as we are led to anticipate the first diabolical reveal of this match: is Blaine a ringer who will deliver the shocking break-up message that I’ve long suspected The Boss has written to Jonny, or is Jonny yet again KL’s tool to crush the ego and dreams of another would-be babyface hero?

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“Are you going to put this in our repertoire of moves,” Blaine asks.

The tutorial busts out into all out brutality soon enough, which is no surprise. Blaine uses all of those sun-kissed muscles to put some sweet, uncharacteristic hurt on BGE’s recently dethroned Top Heel. The scoop slam prelude to a leg nelson pin is enough to make me believe that KL has been coaching Blaine in private in order to kick his lazy choreboy to the curb.

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The tug of fate

But alas, now on full alert, Jonny mounts a comeback and fucks Blaine over. And over. And over.  Jonny’s single leg crab and ball claw chaser makes Blaine scream in submission repeatedly. Jonny is the sadistic crowd pleaser once again by ripping Blaine’s baby blue trunks off, shoving them down his throat, and then wedging the Canuck’s tight white undagear super high up his beautifully bronzed ass cheeks. Most of the match is essentially an upperclassman squash as darling Blaine is sorely abused, and disabused of the notion that he could replace Jonny as KL’s new favorite. The submissions are uncountable and largely ignored. Jonny isn’t satisfied until he’s knocked Blaine out cold with a DDT and then dragged him weeping back to consciousness with a whimpering ball claw.

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“I told you to teach him, not to kill him, for Christ’s sake!”

The second, upfront fundamentally sensational plot point happens when The Boss arrives back at the ring room. “Jonny, what the fuck have you done? I told you to teach him, not to kill him, for Christ’s sake!” KL looks royally pissed off. Jonny looks seriously nervous. Blaine looks quietly relieved. When The Boss climbs into the ring, there’s a rising certainty that senior level violence is about to bust out, and by the look of panic in Jonny’s eyes, he’s clearly wondering if he’s finally disobeyed his master one too many times.

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“I hope it wasn’t too intense for you.”

KL coddles Blaine, gently helping the wasted beauty up off the mat. “I hope it wasn’t too intense for you,” he consoles the Canadian’s bruised ego. Sensing his favored status in serious jeopardy, Jonny yanks on Blaine’s shocking blond hair in preparation for another beatdown, but The Boss smacks him away angrily. “Cut it out, for Christ’s sakes!” KL reprimands his unsettled choreboy. “I don’t want you to do stuff like that.” The Boss pulls Blaine away protectively.

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“Cut it out!”

“That’s for me to do!” KL snaps with his infamously evil grin. In a flash, he bulldogs the dazed pretty boy, knocking Blaine out cold face first into the mat. It’s so sweet. The suspense is relieved in a rush of sadistic pleasure. Jonny retains his ambivalent hold on the position of The Boss’ favorite choreboy heel. Their two twisted souls savor the delight of lording over another exposed, overly ambitious, would-be rock star broken into beautiful pieces at their feet.

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“That’s for me to do!”

That’s the story, really. And it’s lush and masterfully told. It’s paradigmatically Leopard’s Lair material. As I look back, I can only admire the sly subtleties with which they have toyed with my expectations and taunted my secret longings. But that’s not what I saw the first time I watched Leopard’s Lair 6.

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Blaine brought a boy toy with him.

Rewind the tape back to the beginning, when Kid Leopard strolls into the ring room with Blaine, barking orders at Jonny. Walking in the room behind them is, unremarked upon, Rafael Valmor, shirtless and in long shorts and a cap.  When KL walks Blaine over to the corner of the room to hand pick the tastiest gear for him, Blaine playfully punches at Rafael’s washboard abs. There is, for the briefest moment, a wink and smile exchanged between Blaine and Rafael. It’s intimate and blindly trusting. Although left completely unexplained, I can see no other explanation than that at some point after Rafael scored a sensational debut upset in his Undagear 18 match with Blaine, the lingering, sweat soaked victory kiss Rafael planted on Blaine blossomed into off camera romance.

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The start of the romance?

After KL has selected Blaine’s gear and instructed Jonny to take real good care of Blaine, The Boss makes his exit from the ring room mysteriously explaining, “I have my own project to attend to.” With a commanding lift of the chin toward Rafael, KL asks, “Are you ready punk?” With that sensational earnestness that has made me a Rafael fanatic from the start, he enthusiastically replies, “Yeah,” and follows the Boss out of the ring room to leave his boyfriend to contend with the bear daddy choreboy.

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I’m clearly not the only one who fell instantly in lust with Rafael’s ass.

It’s scraps, I know. It’s barely interpretable as innuendo. I’m supplying a lion’s share of the details to connect these dots, but holy fuck, when Rafael turns his back to the camera and follows The Boss, his magnificent ass steals the show.

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“Come on in here kid, and let me show you something.”

Push fast forward again. Jonny has brutalized Blaine. The Boss has feigned concern, only to DDT the Canuck out cold. Jonny is literally applauding Kid Leopard’s double cross (triple cross? just cross?). “Come on in here, kid,” The Boss calls to Rafael who has followed in to stand ringside. “Let me show you something,” KL beckons to him. What the fuck is going through Rafael’s head at that moment!? I’m completely infatuated with this, of all the moments in this match. The suspense-laden plot to this point fades in comparison to my anticipation of what Rafael Valmor is about to experience, as he steps into the ring to see up close what’s become of his boyfriend. Is Rafael about to be treated to the same fate? Is The Boss’ obvious lustful attention driven by how tasty Rafael’s ass is, or by KL’s insatiable hunger to fuck up pretty boys?

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“You can have the honor…”

“You can have the honor of pinning him,” KL offers Rafael, pointing at his slumbering, defeated Prince Valiant at their feet. The bright, eager smile on Rafael’s gorgeous face makes my cock swell with excitement. He looks like he just laid eyes on the presents under the tree in the wee hours of Christmas morning.

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“Let’s record this for posterity.”

“No!” Jonny interrupts insistently. Again, this secondary (tertiary? primary?) plot thickens with suspense as all of Jonny’s hard work appears to be handed over to a beautiful bon bon who was literally not even in the room, much less lifted a finger to earn the victory. Then, with a smile, Jonny suggests that The Boss yank the long shorts off of Rafael, and so permit his newest pet the privilege of planting that mouthwatering ass of his on his boyfriend’s face wearing nothing but lilac briefs.

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Welcome to the family, Rafael.

Honestly, during my first read through of this match, what finally topped me off was watching Rafael drop to his knees, mounted triumphantly across his (let’s face it, former-) boyfriend’s chest, and flex his pretty little baseball biceps as Jonny slaps down a three-count pin for him. The Boss is snapping photos of the scene from every angle, capturing that delicious moment when a smolderingly sexy pretty boy betrays his hot bodied lover without hesitation.

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What’s love got to do with it?

Rafael fucking gets into it! He punches Blaine in the gut. He gets up and plants a socked foot across his ex-lover’s face humiliatingly, smiling for the camera as Jonny joins in with a boot pressing into Blaine’s crotch. “Oh,” Kid Leopard groans with pleasure from behind the camera, “you boys make me proud!”

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Employees of the Month

Rafael isn’t credited as a wrestler in Leopard’s Lair 6, but fuck it all if he doesn’t, actually, score the final, decisive pin fall. He’s on camera for all of about 2 and a half minutes, but here I am, obsessing about his appearance in this tale of sick and twisted fate. I want to know what, exactly, KL was doing with Rafael during those 20 minutes that his boyfriend was getting royally fucked up by Jonny. Was is physical seduction? Were there promises made to prime Rafael to smile so brightly as he dropped his impeccable ass down across his boyfriend’s chest and sucker punched him?  Based on all TWO of his matches to date (which add up to an undefeated 3-0 record at this point), I’m entirely ready to believe that Rafael Valmor could very well be as turned on as the rest of us are by the homoeroticism of wrestling, which could easily make him the perfect, imprintable, insatiable consort to the Emperor of Agony himself.

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Kid Valmor?!

I know, I know. I’ve clearly missed the point of Leopard’s Lair 6. But the lingering thought that leaves me hard is whether or not we will get to enjoy more of this gorgeous bon bon that The Boss so suggestively refers to as “Kid.”

Olympic Spirit

“Last call, bitches!” Johnny Weir barks into the microphone, standing spotlighted in the middle of the ring. “Our final match of this, the first evening of competition features a 5’10” and 198 pound stud from Coventry, England.  The 29 year-old goes by The Deliverer to his fans, but he’s going home empty handed unless he can claim the belt in this competition. Welcome to the ring Joel ‘Be Afraid’ Fearon!”

Joel

The crowd roars to life as Joel sprints from backstage, flying down the aisle, and diving under the bottom rope to slide into the ring. Wearing black ultra briefs and black boots, he jumps to his feet and climbs the turnbuckle, flexing for the screaming fans. He mimes placing the championship belt across his washboard abs.

“His opponent is 25 years old, hailing from Sydney, Australia. At 5’9″ and 205 pounds, his friends call him Haydos, but you’re going to just know him as Mr. Banana Hammock. Welcome to the ring Hayden… Smith!”

hayden

The Aussie bobsledder bursts out from behind the curtain bouncing on the balls of his bare feet. Wearing his signature swimwear in banana yellow, his ample package bounces in the designer pouch. He jogs at a leisurely pace down the aisle, hopping gingerly up to the ring apron to give the fans a full view of his beefy, hairy legs and muscled ass. He’s barefoot, with a sun-kissed tan beneath his lightly hairy pecs. After he ducks through the ropes, his eyes slowly wander up and down the glistening, smooth muscles of his massively built opponent. Hayden’s right hand absent-mindedly slides down his own washboard abs, following his furry happy trail until his fingers wrap firmly around his package and shift the ballast.

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Referee Jake Dalton calls the wrestlers to the center of the ring as Johnny Weir stands very close behind, reaching around to hold the microphone for him. “All right gentlemen, you know the rules.” Joel and Hayden stare blankly into each other’s eyes, their massive pecs almost touching. “Advance to the next round with a 10-count non-response, a submission, or a 3-count pin,” the ref explains. “Do what it takes, or just go home!” Hayden and Joel back their way to opposite corners as Johnny retreats from the ring. The ref signals, and the bell rings twice.

The battling bobsledders start to circle cautiously. Deliberately, they spiral to the center of the ring and lock tightly into a collar and elbow position. Both heavily muscled men push and pull, testing strength and balance. With a grunt, the Aussie yanks hard, pulling Joel off balance enough to clamp a bulging side headlock on and back the Englishman into the ropes. Two astonishingly fast knee lifts pound viciously into Joel’s muscle-armored lower abdomen. Winded by the blows, Joel doesn’t mount a defense as Hayden pulls him away from the ropes and delivers a lightning quick suplex. The Aussie bounces off the mat in an instant, smiling, calculating, allowing Joel to more slowly peel his throbbing lower back up and into a low, defensive crouch. Again, absentmindedly, Hayden rearranges his bouncing package.

Once again they circle briefly before colliding into another collar and elbow lock up. Another contest of power and balance ensues, but comes to an abrupt end when Joel stomps the heel of his black boot viciously into his opponent’s naked toes. Hayden yelps in pain, pulling his injured foot off the mat. Instantly, Joel dives forward, clotheslining his hobbled opponent across the chest. Hayden slams to his back with a loud bang. Quickly, Joel mounts him in a schoolboy pin, yanking on the back of Hayden’s head to smother the Aussie’s face in his crotch. The crowd applauds appreciatively.

Joel tilts to the side and extends his gargantuan, smooth thighs, sucking the Aussie into  smothering face-to-crotch headscissors. The English hunk laces his ankles together and leans back on his left elbow, treating the fans to a cocky, celebratory right bicep flex. A first trickle of sweat beads down the deep valley between the black bobsledder’s massive pecs.

Most of Hayden’s face is buried between his opponent’s inner thighs clamped around his head, but nearby fans can hear his grunts as the Aussie pulls himself up to his knees, lifting his opponent’s hips off the mat. Joel arches his lower back, evoking a sharp gasp of pain as he crushes Hayden’s skull with a fraction more pressure. However, the fierce Aussie drives forward, rolling Joel to his shoulders.  The ref is on his knees nearby, but as Joel grasps his opponent’s head in both hands, his shoulders pull forward out of the pin. Hayden’s huge, hairy thighs quiver with power as he presses forward, folding his opponent in half, still struggling for air with his mouth and nose buried deep. Suddenly, the Aussie pulls his left leg back, arching his lower back, flexing his magnificently meaty glutes, before swinging a sharp, pounding knee into Joel’s exposed lower back.

The Englishman’s face twists in pain as a shocked grunt escapes his clenched jaw. His headscissors pop open, and instantly Hayden slides around, hooking Joel’s left leg and planting the Banana Hammock logo printed across his ass on Joel’s gaping face. Folded over, with Hayden sitting on his face, Joel’s shoulders are squarely pinned to the mat as the ref suddenly slaps his hand down. “One!” The Aussie smiles, as the ref pauses, and then slaps his hand down again. “Two!” As the ref lifts his hand and pauses briefly, Joel kicks hard with his free leg, dislodging his opponent just enough to pry his right shoulder off the mat and break the count.

Frustrated, Hayden captures Joel’s free leg, hooking both ankles under his armpits and leaning backward, completely smothering the Englishman’s face up his crack. The ref slaps the mat again. “One!” With a primal grunt, Joel flexes his world class hamstrings and ripped abdominal muscles, irresistibly pulling his opponent forward, off his face, and sending Hayden somersaulting head over heels and sliding under the ropes, halfway onto the ring apron.

Both wrestlers scramble to their feet quickly, but Hayden is half a step quicker. Just as Joel pulls himself off his knees, the Aussie’s right knee connects with a sickening crack across his opponent’s right cheek. Joel is flung back to the mat, clutching his face and groaning. Hayden doesn’t skip a beat, grabbing the Englishman by his right wrist and dragging him dazedly to his feet. Extending the captured arm locked straight, Hayden twists on the wrist, forcing Joel bent forward with a sharp scream of pain. In one, smooth motion, the Aussie steps over his opponent’s shoulder and leans his ass down onto Joel’s shoulder blade. Pulling viciously backward on his fingers, Hayden locks his hairy thighs around Joel’s captured arm and steadily increases the pressure threatening to snap his opponent at both the elbow and wrist. The ref drops to one knee next to Joel’s face and asks if he’s ready to submit. Joel waves him away, not trusting himself to open his mouth to respond verbally.

Hayden cranks on the pump handle for over a minute, drawing out anguished screams of agony but no submission. Finally, stepping back over the tortured arm, the Aussie gives it a violent twist. With his ligaments and tendons on the verge of snapping, Joel flips in mid-air, falling with a wet slap to his sweaty back. A half a second later, Hayden is pinning Joel’s arm to the mat, doing a handstand over top of him before powerfully driving his right knee into Joel’s quivering bicep.

The Aussie climbs off. Joel rolls to his side, defensively clutching his assaulted arm hanging uselessly from his shoulder socket. With the wind at his back, Hayden indulges in a few seconds to catch his breath. Joel hasn’t even begun to pull himself off the mat, though, when the Aussie grabs him by his right wrist again and drags him to his feet mercilessly. An Irish whip sends the English hunk sprinting into and then bouncing off of the ropes. Leaping astonishingly high, Hayden’s flatfooted standing drop kick places the balls of his bare feet bashing brutally into his opponent’s collar bones. Even as Joel’s lower body continues its forward momentum, his upper body is violently flung backward, slamming him hard to his upper back. Sensing the Aussie building up a head of steam, the crowd begins to pulse with excitement, calling for a finisher.

Joel valiantly pries himself off the mat, shaking his head and cradling his injured arm to his side. As he pulls himself up to his hands and knees, Hayden darts behind him, leaping to stand poised on the top turnbuckle like the figurehead at the prow of the ship. Joel is oblivious to his opponent’s whereabouts as he weakly pulls himself up to his feet. As Joel turns slowly around, looking for the danger he can sense from the rising shouts of anticipation from the crowd, Hayden walks across the top rope with perfect balance, leaping high and landing a soaring, barefoot drop kick to Joel’s chin. The Englishman is lifted off his feet and sent flying backward, landing in a heap in a corner.

Hayden indulges in a quick victory lap, pumping his fists over head and soaking in the adoration from the bleachers. Sweat glistens across his world class muscles, underneath the blond hair on his legs and torso. He smiles brightly, coming to a halt directly in front of his opponent, seated dumbly with his lower back propped up against the bottom turnbuckle.

Hayden reaches down and grabs Joel’s face in both hands, pulling him out of the corner and off his ass. Suddenly he freezes. A squeal of pain is ripped from the Aussie’s pursed lips. The crowd hushes as Joel climbs to his feet, the fingers of his left hand wrapped around his opponent’s balls and twisting viciously. Joel flexes his massive, veiny arm muscles, making Hayden rise to the balls of his feet and whimper, tears streaming from his eyes. As the Aussie fights crippling panic, Joel catches his breath, regaining his composure. He windmills his right arm gingerly, working out soreness and reassuring himself that there are no serious injuries.

Joel backs the Aussie all the way across the ring to the opposite corner. Hayden gasps in surprise when his lower back contacts the turnbuckle. Releasing the ball claw, Joel smoothly twists and drops to one knee, grabbing his opponent’s head from across his bulging shoulder and delivering a snap mare, slamming Hayden’s back into the middle of the ring. Hayden starts to roll to one side defensively, but Joel grabs the Aussie’s ankles and climbs to his feet. Hayden begs like a bitch, “No-no-no-no, please,” as his opponent pries his thickly muscled, hairy legs wide apart. Gingerly, at first, Joel places the heel of his right boot on top of his opponent’s balls. “Please, no, please!” Hayden cries, holding the palms of his hands up in supplication. Joel looks up from his opponent, peering into the bleachers, his head tilted slightly to ask the crowd’s opinion. A raucous chorus of screams erupt. The pleas of mercy for the Aussie’s pendulous balls are indistinguishable from the appeals to crush the pretty boy’s testicles. Joel’s eyes return to his opponent’s pleading face beneath him. With a smile, the Englishman’s lifts his boot briefly before stomping his heel down hard.

Joel flings Hayden’s ankles away. The Aussie curls into the fetal position his hands clutching his throbbing crotch. The English beefcake stomps his boot heels into his opponent’s wide, muscled back, into his huge, hairy thighs, into the back of his head. Hayden writhes and spasms in response to each brutal strike. Dropping into a schoolboy position, Joel pins Hayden’s shoulders underneath his knees and jabs hard punches into the Aussie’s tear-streaked face. Sweat glistens across the English stud’s gloriously thick pecs. Hayden’s face grows slack, clearly losing his hold on conscious thought.

Joel straddles his opponent on his hands and knees, looking down at the Aussie’s battered face with pleasure. Crawling backward down his opponent’s supine body, the Englishman hooks his fingers into the top of Hayden’s Banana Hammock and drags the trunks down Hayden’s legs. The Aussie’s lush, thick cock wags side to side and his mammoth balls tense as Joel strips him naked.

The crowd is nearly apoplectic with pleasure and anticipation. Joel climbs to his feet, twirling the yellow trunks over head teasingly before flinging them into the bleachers to inspire a collateral fight among the fans. Another lap around the Aussie’s naked body gives the Englishman the breather he needs to bend forward and drag Hayden’s limp, muscled body off the mat. Squatting low, Joel hoists his naked opponent across his huge shoulders in a torture rack. Pulling on Hayden’s chin with his left hand and clawing his huge balls away from his body with his right hand, Joel shakes and bounces him across his back until the ref confirms the Aussie’s screams of anguished submission.

The bell rings three times signaling the end of the match as the crowd roars their approval. Joel leaves his vanquished opponent draped across his magnificently muscled shoulders as he allows the ref to hoist his right hand upward in victory.

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Round 1:

Steve Langton (USA) def Jesse Lumsden (CAN)

Pita Taufatofua (TON) def Chris Mazdzer (USA)

Sven Kramer (NLD)  def Denny Morrison (CAN)

Joel Fearon (GBR) def Hayden Smith (AUS)