A to Z and Back Again


The Yin Yang perfection of tag partners Cap & Zip

I continue to find Zip Zarella one of the most reliably entertaining and arousing wrestlers turning my crank in new releases these days. I love his body about 85% as enthusiastically as Zip does (which says A LOT). He has that kind of face that makes me unconsciously devoted to doing anything it takes to make him flash his boyish smile (seriously, anything, Zip). I love his combination of playfulness, dangerousness, and his unflinching nod to the gay gaze of a homoerotic wrestling audience.

“This bromance isn’t going to last long,” Coop predicts.

I was also an early adopter for Zip’s tag team partner Cap Landon as well. Charlie Evans’ new releases are just too far and few between to fully satiate my sexy, skinny boy moods, and Cap fills that empty space nicely. Zip and Cap seem to bring out the best in each other in Zip’s Spotlight. They’re posing their contrasting bodies, flexing their mouthwatering muscles and practically licking their lips with hungry excitement upon learning that they get to sink their teeth into a solo Austin Cooper. “Oh yeah, easy night to night, brother, two on one,” Cap purrs, flashing his compelling, superlean double bicep side-by-side with his partner. Astonishingly, Zip shares the mirror, perhaps seeing what I see, which is some awesome complementary aesthetics, with his pale partner making Zip’s beefy, tanned double-bicep that much more stunningly sexy. “We’re green, and we’re mean, baby!” Zip crows, turning to the side and checking out his meaty ass in the mirror (me too, Zip).

“It’s so hard!” Zip gasps.

Austin refers to their simpatico as a “bromance” when he struts his legendary physique into the ring and snarls at the earnest twosome determined to pick him apart. “What do we got, a couple of leprechauns here,” Austin asks rhetorically, critiquing their matching, shiny green trunks. “Here are some real muscles come up in here,” Coop smirks, pumping his own fitness model double bicep intending to swipe away all memory of Zip and Cap’s gun show.  “Moderate, at best,” Cap spontaneously disparages Coop’s legendarily hot muscles, not because Cap thinks his own muscles measure up, but as an almost intimate compliment to his partner’s heavy artillery. “You’ve got this,” Cap murmurs from the ring apron, with a little hero worship enthusiasm toward Double Z as Austin and Zip start to circle one another. “Your partner is fucking dead,” Austin growls at Zip as they crash their beautifully built physiques into one another.

“Your partner’s questioning me,” Coop snarls at Zip.

Coop is a fucking beast in this match. I wouldn’t say he’s full-on channeling his heel master alter ego Dr. Cooper, but the seasoned veteran muscleman gets a solid grip on the initiative and wrings a whole lot of anguish out of aspiring “body guy” Zip. Now, I have more than a passing familiarity with Zip’s work, so I’m not too worried that the ring savvy pro can weather the storm and come back strong. But Cap seems a little worried. When Coop shoves Zip’s lower back violently into a turnbuckle, Cap bitches from the ring apron, “Get him out of the corner!” When Coop scoops Zip up into about the third of an infinite string of near coital rear bearhugs, there’s a twinge of desperation in Cap’s voice as he pleads with his partner, “You’ve got to stop letting him do that to you!” Zip’s jaw hangs open, struggling to endure the crushing embrace. “It’s so hard,” Zip gasps, which is lovely double entendre considering Coop has hoisted him off his feet and Zip’s muscled ass cheeks are pinned against Coop’s crotch. “He’s so strong,” Zip concedes with more than a little bit of awe for his opponent’s power.

“You’ve got to stop letting him do that to you,” Cap advises his partner, unhelpfully.

If this were a straight up singles competition between Coop and Zip, it would be a great muscleman vs. muscleman contest. The wild card here is Cap, whose cheerleading for his partner and insults flung at their opponent is stirring the pot. “I”m showing him who Austin Cooper is,” Coop narrates his dominating performance for Cap. “Who’s that,” Cap snaps back with a lot of frustrated contempt. In a rage, Coop abruptly hoists Zip’s 205 pounds across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry in a stunning display of power. “Your partner is questioning me,” Coop says to Zip by way of explaining his growing motivation to break Zip hard. The more Cap spouts off from outside the ring, the worse conditions grow for Zip inside the ring. The 2-on-1 advantage suddenly seems to be backfiring.

Austin: “You want to see see  how strong I am?” Zip: “Sure!”

Coop hobbles Zip like a boss and then sends him scurrying to the corner to tag in his partner. You can tell his vicarious torture of Zip isn’t going to be nearly as satisfying for Coop as it will be to bear down on 140 pound Cap directly. While Zip is licking his wounds outside the ring (I volunteer to help you with that, too, Zip), Coop unleashes a clinic of power moves on the lightweight smart ass. Cap’s feet don’t touch the ground for many minutes at a time. Coop hoists him up across his chest with absolutely zero effort and, with a flourish, pounds him down into a violent OTK. Cap screams and squirms helplessly as his opponent impales his lower abdomen with deep elbow strikes. When Coop scoops him back up off his knee, standing back up with Cap cradled helplessly across his chest, he asks, “You want to see how strong I am?” Now, in the moment, I’m thinking that it’s a rhetorical question. But Zip is so entranced by Coop’s power (perhaps still lingering on the memory of just how “hard” that rear bearhug was a few minutes ago), Double Z can’t help himself but blurt out the answer, “Sure!”

“Oh, this is embarrassing!”

“No, no, don’t say that,” Cap protests in a panic. Coop fulfill’s Zip’s wish by gorilla pressing Cap straight-armed overhead, and then draping the skinny boy’s body around his neck like a scarf. Zip is visibly impressed with the move. Abruptly, Coop flings Cap around his neck and, in one motion, violently drops him into a tailbone-trashing atomic drop. Fuck, it’s such a high impact move I sort of wonder if Cap’s prostrate got a little thrill from Coop’s knee impaling him. “Are you okay,” Zip asks his bromantic partner with sincere concern in his voice. Cap literally can’t answer, clutching his ass and writhing on the mat breathlessly. Coop rolls on relentlessly, yanking the skinny boy into a kneeling surfboard, positioning the hold deliberately for Zip to watch the torture play across his partner’s face. “Oh, this is embarrassing,” Zip confesses.

“Come on, tap out, BITCH!”

Look at me, turning myself on just trying to narrate this sexy, sexy bit of this match. Before I get further carried away, let me pan back and just say that I stand up and cheer when Coop basically insists on taking the both of them on at the same time. It’s a great bit of hubris-meets-instant-karma when team leprechaun starts to beat the shit out of him in tandem. Personally, I would have been profoundly satisfied to just watch Zip and Cap rip apart the legendary Austin Cooper and enact a perfectly synchronized muscle mauling. Coop has the elusive power to make me lust to see him dominate as Dr. Cooper, and yet crush like hell on seeing him plowed under as the babyfaced golden boy.  “You’ve got nothing, big man,” Zip crows, kicking him to the mat so the two of them can make Coop’s juicy ass jiggle as they stomp him from head to toe and back again. Zip snaps his gargantuan thighs around Coop’s gut, forcing the air out of his lungs, a second before Cap zip ties his legs scissored tight around Coop’s throat, refusing to allow the muscleman any chance of replenishing the oxygen in his lungs. “Come on, tap out, bitch,” Cap snarls in his face.

“My two, little, green bitches!”

That, in and of itself, is worth the price of admission. 140 pounder Cap Landon calling 170 pound fitness phenom Austin Cooper a bitch and, successfully, demanding that he tap out is all I need. It is not all we get in this match, though. Hubris-turned-instant-karma strikes again as team leprechaun celebrates a little too much, giving Coop the chance to rally. Coop demonstrates why he’s a legendary fan-favorite, starting to handle the both of them with power and precision. He isolates them in turn, seemingly feeding off of the reserves that he’s siphoning off of each of them.

“Stay here and think about what you’re going to do, you little bitch!”

You know from the DVD menu that Cap and Zip finish off this collection with a grudge match, so it shouldn’t be too much of a spoiler to reveal that all of that tag team partner love and mutual admiration comes crashing down around them as Coop manages to single-handedly dish out heaping helpings of humiliation. Blame rains down on everyone except for the man who rightfully deserves the credit for the undoing of team leprechaun.

This could have been such a lovely legendary ass kicking.

This could so have gone a totally different direction. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but honestly, the chemistry between Cap and Zip was a thing of beauty. I seriously wanted to see their post-victory love fest, Cap leaping into Zip’s big arms, hugging it out, slapping each other’s asses appreciatively. Cap as the Bruce Wayne’s ward and apprentice, hero worshipping the muscleman in this dynamic duo, could have been so right. Fuck, Cap being unable to restrain himself from treating Zip to an enthusiastic muscle massage as thanks for saving his bacon and captaining a successful campaign to fuck over a legend would have made such perfect sense.

This could have gone a totally different direction.

But alas, bitter betrayal as a set-up for a mismatched grudge match comes in a close second.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

Holy hell, Mike Columbo is on a roll! Mike’s second victory in voting was a total blowout. It’s the wrestling equivalent of an unmitigated squash, with handsome hunk Sebastien barely laying a hand on him. I love Alex’ description of the action, featuring Sebastien flexing and posing (“like all Thunders guys love to do,” Alex explains). No nonsense Mike interrupts to lock down one in a long, brutal, debilitating series of bearhugs. He throws him to the mat and boot stomps the living shit out of him, finally squatting low in a camel clutch and flexing a big, bulging bicep around Sebastien’s neck in a sleeper. Sebastien taps out in panic, but Mike knocks him out cold anyway (thanks for that, Alex!).

Alex also speculated that Mike may be unbeatable against any opponent outside of BGE, so let’s see if we can give Mike a more competitive challenge with some intramural action. Mike appeared on the same titles as Dom Zacarro, but as far as I can tell, never faced the Italian Dominator one–on-one. Dom is a full 45 pounds heavier and 5 inches taller than Mike, which will certainly count for something in the ring, with no rules and no ref. The muscleman who makes it to the next match will be the one to beat his opponent by submission or knockout. Can Mike make it three in a row?

On the left, defending champ Mike Columbo (5’7″, 175 pounds) vs. on the right, Dom “the Dominator” Zacarro (6′, 205 pounds).

Vote here, and comment below to share your take on how the victor comes out on top.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

The match up between Paul Perris and Mike Columbo was the fan poll equivalent of a major league squash. In fact, I’d say Paul probably managed to execute a front face lock and worked in the splits, but otherwise Mike thrashed the fuck out of him pretty much from start to finish. I’m calling it a totally dominating victory for Mike with smothering face-to-crotch headscissors making Paul pass out from the pain and lack of oxygen.

Can Columbo keep it going in day 2 of competition? I believe his next challenger, Sebastien, was a contemporary of Mike’s, but as far as I know they never literally faced one another (in fact, I don’t think either of them competed outside of their respective promotions). I can’t find stats on Sebastien, but I most definitely got off on watching him wrestle often, so from memory I’m sure he was at least 4 inches taller than Mike.

On the left, defending champ, BG East muscle man Mike Columbo (5’7″, 175 pounds) vs. on the right, Thunder’s Arena heart throb Sebastien (at least 5’11”, ??? pounds).

In the ring, by submission or knockout only, no rules, no ref, which classic beauty wins? Vote here, and comment below to describe the holds or moves you imagine would make the difference.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

One element that I find missing in the broad spectrum of homoerotic wrestling content is a tournament. Rock Hard Wrestling took a stab at some mini-tourney action with their King of the Ring series. I wasn’t following RHW closely at the time, but it seemed more a king-of-the-hill scenario than an elimination tournament, though. Naked Kombat did a treatment of an elimination tournament in their Summer Smackdown Tournament a few years ago when I was following them closely, but as I remember, they seemed to lose the thread (like, somehow a singles competition turned into a tag team championship match?). My impression is that the way independent homoerotic wrestling is produced makes a through-story, like an elimination tournament, tough to coordinate. But still, I always think the thrill of a championship belt and the inherent character motivation of a tournament would make typical homoerotic wrestling fare that much more compelling.

So I’m admittedly borrowing liberally from others on social media who have posed “who wins?” pairings for voters, as well as past reader polls here on this blog, to construct my own homoerotic wrestling battle to the best. The theme for this series is the classics, speculatively pitting wrestlers who made it big 15-20 years ago against one another in head to head, no holds barred battles. I’m picturing these matches in the ring, no refs, with the winner determined by knockout or ultimate submission (a final concession when the loser can’t continue, or can’t face the humiliation of continuing).  So pins are great, and all, but not explicitly the point.  In the spirit of most of the homoerotic wrestling industry, no other rules really matter, but unlike a lot of homoerotic wrestling, winning does matter.

So here’s my first pairing of classic competitors who, as far as I know, never faced one another.

On left, classic Can-Am superstar Paul Perris (5’10”, 185 pounds) vs. on the right, BG East fan favorite Mike Columbo (5’7″, 175 pounds).

Which classic young muscle stud emerges victorious? Vote here, and comment below how you see this match up unfolding.

Producer’s Ring: Pitt vs. Faris

The Focus Group – Brad Pitt vs. Sean Faris


Brad Pitt was making movies when Sean Faris was in diapers.  Both men generated a lot of buzz from fight movies, Brad 10 years before Sean.  When Sean’s film hit bandwidth, he talked a lot of smack, including insisting that he could kick Brad’s ass.  “He’s, what, 20 years older than I am? Hell, does he still have all his original joints?”

Eli Brody had made a lot of money from Brad’s films, and he expected to make a lot of money from Sean’s.  But Eli was not pleased to have one member of his talent pool publicly trashing another.  It wasn’t good for the bottom line.  Eli sat in his office with a cocky Sean slumped in the chair in front of his desk, looking like he’d just been called into the principal’s office.

“Your media relations suck, Sean.  The way you’ve handled yourself in the past year has made me question if you’re film quality.  A recurring role in a daytime soap opera might be more your speed at this point in your career,” Eli chided.

Sean was furious.  “What the fuck!?  I’m golden and you know it!  I have to have two bodyguards to keep the girls from ripping me apart when I walk down the street,” Sean bragged.

“Girls are certainly one component of a winning market strategy,” Eli conceded.  “But I’m not bankrolling any more film projects for you without some clear evidence that you can draw the size and diversity of audiences I need to justify my investment.”  Sean sulked bitterly.  “You will be in Seattle at this address tomorrow” Eli handed him a card.  “You’ve got something good.  My instincts tell me that you can be a big star,” Eli said, grabbing his crotch beneath his desk.  “But I will not stake my fortune or political power on a not-ready-for-primetime punk.  I’ll be pulling together a focus group and mixing you up with someone else from my talent pool.  Come ready to show some passion and win over some new fans, or don’t come at all.”


Sean knocked on an unmarked door in a back alley behind an anonymous brick building.  A massively muscled blond hunk opened the door and waved Sean in, instructing him to change clothes in a dressing room at the end of the hallway.  Sean walked down the dark hallway past door-less, dark rooms with groans coming from inside.  Men stood in the hallway wearing nothing but towels around their waists, looking Sean up and down as he walked to the end of the hall.  At the end of the hall, Sean found the empty room where he was supposed to change clothes.  The only thing there for him to change into was a white towel.

Eli walked up as Sean was frozen, the towel in his hand, uncertain of what to do.  “You’ll need to take your clothes off, wrap that around your waist, and then follow me.”  Sean looked uncomfortable, but pulled off his training jacket, sweatpants, and tennis shoes, and stepped out of his boxer briefs, turning away from Eli.  He wrapped the towel around his waist, then turned and followed Eli down the hallway.  ” Continue reading “Producer’s Ring: Pitt vs. Faris”


Watching Drake Marcos stretch out before his Masked Mayhem 13 match reminds me all over again how much he turns me on. His handsome face. His pouty lower lip. His long lean torso. And those legs. Fuck, those legs. They’re just so pretty and punishingly strong. Trust me, Drake’s long, meaty legs can squeeze the juice right out of an opponent.

Like me, Gold Shaft likes what he sees.

I’ve mentioned before my opinion that Drake is an epic underachiever on the mats. He’s been trained by the best. He’s got a short fuse against bigger opponents who try to bully him. It’s magnificent to watch him clench his jaw and shift into overdrive to battle back from a deficit. Drake has this raw, fiercely competitive edge to him that belies his well-earned reputation as a powderpuff jobberboy. Every time I settle in to appreciate a new Drake match, I’m wondering if this will be the breakout moment when finally lives into his potential as a vicious, erotic badass.

Fastest knockout in BGE history?

So I’m lusting over Drake’s legs and fantasizing about that long-awaited heel turn when Gold Shaft silently steps onto the mat behind Drake. It’s like a horror movie, with me yelling at the screen, “Turn around! He’s right behind you!” Gold Shaft admires the view a few seconds, which makes me love him more than ever (which is saying a lot). Gold Shaft likes what he sees, and Drake doesn’t even realize he’s already pinned between my gaze bearing down on him from the front and Gold Shaft’s gaze locked on from behind. And then just like that, Gold Shaft snaps his right arm across Drake’s throat from behind, pulls him to the mat in a padlocked sleeper, and peers around Drake’s head to soak in the sight of Drake’s handsome face going slack. Holy fuck. The fastest victory in BG East history? Possibly.

Gold Shaft rouses Drake to face his humiliation.

Fuck, Gold Shaft is pretty. Sure, the mask exponentiates his erotic allure, but that body?! I don’t quite understand how none of his opponents ever seem to lick his honey dipped muscles from head to toe. I feel like Pavlov’s dog, salivating uncontrollably at the sight of him. When it comes to Drake, part of his attractiveness is how he doesn’t quite seem to recognize how hot he is. But as for Gold Shaft, he knows exactly what a sexy mother fucker he is, and every flex and stretch and angle is dripping with erotic beauty. The way he possesses Drake, slack in his arms, stroking his torso, sliding his hands inside the front of Drake’s briefs and massaging his cock, is entrancing. He feels entitled to lick his opponent’s face and mount him, shockingly slapping Drake to consciousness again.

Make a wish!

For his part, Drake suffers like nobody else. The pathos streams off of his twisted, twitching body in waves. I’m sure it’s what keeps him chained to jobberhood, but nobody wrestling today sells his own jeopardy anywhere nearly as compellingly as he does. There’s a bitter panic pulsating off of him when he’s trying to suck air into his lungs with Gold Shaft’s figure-4 choke almost pinching his windpipe closed. Drake’s muscles spasm involuntarily when his opponent throttles his crotch violently. He has no poker face. When he’s getting buried under, every muscle fiber and choking gasp of air communicates clearly that he’s on the edge of terror and genuinely fears for his safety.  Drake goes there in this match and every match, because facing down his own panic and potential humiliation is dizzyingly sexy, and Drake loves erotic wrestling just that much to dance on the precipice of his own horror and degradation.


Perhaps Drake’s jeopardy and terror are what turns Gold Shaft on. Maybe it’s just stroking and humping and tasting his opponent’s sweet body under his control. Whatever it is, mere minutes into the match, he’s working hard to keep a lid on Drake’s bitterness coming to a boil. He cranks hard on a side headlock, smashing Drake’s cheek against his smooth chest. He’s on his knees on the mat, pumping viciously, Drake groaning in pain, and there’s Gold Shaft’s golden shaft stretching excitedly out of the top of his white trunks. We’ve seen his beautiful, erect cock come to bear in past matches, but there’s something so sincere and earnest about the appearance of the head of his cock rising like a periscope. He hasn’t touched himself. He’s just so entirely turned on by wrestling Drake that his cock refuses to be contained. I so fucking love watching wrestlers who are experiencing the same erotic thrill I am.

Drake makes his tormentor suffer

My take is that this is not a squash. Drake is a tough mother fucker who can give opponent’s twice his size a full dose of hurt, so he gives Gold Shaft a serious run for his money. In fact, there’s a lush, tit-for-tat revenge sleeper just a few minutes after his own shocking undoing out of the gates that momentarily strokes those hopes of mine that Drake may harness all of that sensational wrestling skill and competitive drive to drag an opponent kicking and screaming to the edge of terror that he knows so intimately. But soon enough, Drake starts getting buried under, submitting as much to his own demons as to his opponent.  Gold Shaft knocks him out again and again, possessing Drake’s vulnerable body repeatedly, and then slapping him back to his living hell. It’s not a full on squash, but Drake should definitely be in the running for jobber of the year again.

Total control

The standing headscissors submission tops me off magnificently. Drake’s trunks violently wedged up his quivering ass are sensationally sexy. Gold Shaft mounting his unconscious victim from behind, thrusting his shaft grinding victoriously between Drake’s cheeks, is everything right about homoerotic wrestling. Gold Shaft is irrepressible. Drake is desperately struggling to uncork that vicious sadist he’s got bottled up inside. Everyone is turned on, especially me.

Tied up with a bow

Producer’s Ring: Craig vs. Bale


Readers may think that they know this world.  Many of the names may seem familiar.  You may think you’ve been to the places mentioned.  But you haven’t.  Because this world exists a half-blink to the left of the world you live in.  In this world, mass media have outgrown the confines of national boundaries or legal regulations.  Broadcast television has spun off multimillion dollar closed-circuit, membership-only channels that cater to the tastes of niche markets worldwide.  The internet mobilized so quickly in the 1980’s that it quickly outpaced bricks-and-mortar political and economic institutions to reshape the world into a place where the virtual and the real blend and blur, where democracy elects regional leaders through virtual social networks, and where those leaders are replaced the moment their poll numbers fall below 50%.  The political economy is one instantaneously responsive unit, with the Titans of the entertainment industry commanding power never seen before in history, based on their ability to give the people what they want, what they lust for, what they demand.

In this world, Eli Brody is a Titan among Titans.  He cornered the gay entertainment market in the early 90’s with gay broadcast entertainment and membership channels devoted to the varied tastes, erotic and otherwise, of gay men.  Generating an immense capital base from his gay entertainment empire, he subsequently emerged as one of the top five titans of the teen girl entertainment genre, benefiting from considerable crossover between the two markets.  Riding this wave of market success, Eli rose to the political top of the culturally dominant West Coast North America region in 2004.  He has remained the top industry and regional political leader for the longest consecutive tenure of any Titan in postmodern history.

Eli Brody stays behind the camera, but he’s nothing if not camera-ready.  At a modest 5’8″, Eli crafts his body daily through swimming, weight training, and private grappling sessions.  He keeps his dark hair just long enough to show his natural curls.  His piercing brown eyes peer from an angular face with a square jaw and strong chin.  The public never sees Eli without a West Coast casual business suit, but his tailored suits frame a strong, slender torso with a broad chest and shoulders.  His trousers are amply filled with his thick thighs.  Eli is an object of lust not only because of his carefully crafted physique and good looks, though.  Eli exudes the power he possesses.  Men and women are drawn to him because he commands and controls; he is a postmodern Titan managing the personalities that people tune into, deploying the faces and the bodies that the world consumes.  “The talent” maintain a popular following and political economic power of their own, but it is Eli that makes the talent, breaks the talent, and gives the people whatever they, and he, want.


The Focus Group – Daniel Craig vs. Christian Bale


The last movie theater in North America closed in 1995.  Streaming internet and home theater technology put sticky floored theaters with skyrocketing ticket prices out of business.  The “film” industry had become a high-rollers’ club for entertainment industry Titans like Eli Brody.  TV series and low-budget made-for-TV movies vied for marketshare with lower-salaried talent, lower-tech effects, and writers that tended to recycle through one body of plot lines every thirteen years.  On the other hand, the “film” industry deployed stars that commanded a mass audience of devoted fans, tech-intensive sets and effects, and cream-of-the-crop writers who recycled plot lines with slightly more originality.  Big budget films streamed across the same bandwidth as TV, but sponsorships and audiences could make or break a Titan with one film.

Eli Brody had seen fellow Titans destroyed by poorly chosen money-pit films.  Eli had a knack for picking winners, though.  Specializing in the gay male and adolescent female demographics, Eli produced a handful of films each year that invariably made money and built the fortunes and careers of elite talent that could deliver what the viewing public demanded.

Daniel Craig was an English actor who Eli discovered toiling in the European Region TV circuit.  Eli immediately saw Daniel’s potential and offered him a project contract for more money than Daniel had ever seen.  Daniel learned quickly to trust Eli’s guidance.  Their partnership transformed Daniel into a “box office” champion who had his audiences eating out of his hand.   Under Eli’s tutelage, Daniel’s body was toned, he was effortlessly confident, and he could make his audiences orgasm with a flash of his bright blue eyes.

Although Christian Bale was six years younger than Daniel, his film career was longer.  Once a child star, Eli saw Christian as a young adult and began throwing him some projects.  Christian first made it big with the adolescent female demographic, but with Eli’s urging, Christian put on muscle, took off his clothes, and hardened the cocks of a loyal gay male audience.  With each new hit, Christian listened less and challenged Eli’s career advice more and more.

Daniel was slated for a pet project that he had negotiated when he filmed his last cocktease blockbuster.  Eli humored Daniel’s insistence on taking some “high art” roles now and then, just so long as Daniel maintained his market power with major revenue projects.  Christian had grown interested in the art-film, though, and he had given Eli the ultimatum to give the part to him, or else Christian would shop his talents elsewhere.

Eli resisted.  “Daniel can draw his audience along with him on this project.  I’m not sure you can pull that off,” Eli countered.

“What the fuck are you talking about, E?!” Christian raged, his Welsh inflection apparent only when he was angry.  “I could be wearing a dress and still make the boys cum!”

Eli filed that idea away, then offered Christian a shot at the project.  “I can pull together a focus group to test the audience response to the two of you.  I’ll give this to you Christian, if you can win over the focus group.  If not, I pick your next project for you with no input, no right of refusal.  You do it my way.  Do we have a deal?”

Christian smirked and shook Eli’s hand.  “I’ll destroy that old man,” he said cockily.


Christian arrived at an unmarked alley entrance to an anonymous brick building in Seattle.  A hugely muscled blond man in a t-shirt and cut-off jeans opened the door when Christian knocked.  He waved Christian in, instructing him to follow the hallway to the right all the way to the end and enter the last door on the left.  “Change out of your clothes and to get ready for the fight.  Someone will come for you,” the doorman said.

Christian had no idea what sort of fight he was in for.  Coming into the business as a child star, Christian had managed to pick up productions without screen tests or focus groups as a young adult.  Despite being new to the need to really compete for a role, he was beginning to get a picture of the focus group he had to win over.  As he walked down the hallway, naked men with towels wrapped around their waists were milling about, going in and out of rooms, looking Christian up and down.  Christian found his dressing room and entered, noting that there was no door.  The room was empty except for a towel lying on a bed.  Christian pulled off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, stripping down to his jeans.  Christian looked at himself in a mirror on the wall.  He was in top form.  His aggressive weight training and cardio schedule had left him shredded, practically zero body fat, with tightly layered muscles.  Christian peeled off his jeans and wrapped the white towel around his white Calvin Klein briefs.

A knock at the door frame startled Christian.  He jumped and turned, to find Eli standing dressed only in a towel, leaning against the wall.  Eli had a carpet of short, dark hair across his chest and in a fine line down the center of his rippled abs.  Eli crooked his finger, beckoning Christian out of the room.  Christian walked into the hallway, and Eli placed his hand across Christian’s shoulder, directing him down the hallway as Eli explained what was about to happen.  “You’ll be fighting Daniel in a small arena.  Your focus group will watch, and I advise you to take note of the feedback that they give you.  I’m no longer the one you need to win over, Christian.  They are.  Secure a submission from Daniel any way that you can.  Once the match is over, we’ll poll the focus group to see how they felt the two of you did.”

Eli brought him to a halt at a closed, unmarked door.  Eli opened the door, and firmly pushed Christian through.  Christian found himself in a dark, narrow hallway.  About 10 feet in front of him, he saw light and an opening into another room.  Christian walked out of the dark hallway and found himself in a small room, about 15 feet square.  The walls were painted black and the floor was covered in wall-to-wall black gym mats.  About 10 feet up the walls, Christian could see a balcony surrounding all four walls, filled with men in towels.  As they caught sight of Christian, a low cheer arose, as some of the men applauded over a rumble of conversations.  The room felt damp and hot, a musky smell of sweat and sex hanging in the air.

The crowd on the balcony erupted into raucous shouts and applause suddenly, all eyes seeming to fix all at once on Christian.  Confused, Christian waved at the men and smiled.  He jumped with a start when a warm hand touched his shoulder.  Turning suddenly, he found that Daniel Craig had just walked up behind him from the same hallway by which Christian had entered.

Daniel was a couple of inches shorter than Christian, but more thickly muscled and a little heavier.  Where Christian was all shredded muscle, Daniel looked more like a longshoreman, or perhaps a pornstar playing the part of a longshoreman.  Daniel’s arms, shoulders and chest were huge.  His waist was not as narrow as Christian’s, but his abs were a rock hard wall of tight muscle.  A dark blond trail of hair extended downward from his bellybutton, disappearing beneath the towel wrapped around his waist.  Daniel’s ample butt stretched the terry cloth, and the bulge at his crotch suggested Daniel was packing something impressive from the front as well.

Laughter and cheers mixed from the balcony, as Christian flinched away from Daniel in surprise.  Christian walked backward to the to the center of the room, Daniel following him, holding his gaze.  Daniel spoke calmly to Christian, “Don’t worry kid,” he said in his English accent.  “I won’t embarrass you… unless that’s what they demand.”  Daniel nodded at the men on the balcony, who cheered wildly.

Christian lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Daniel’s powerful waist.  Daniel lifted his arms as Christian approached, allowing himself to be captured in his opponent’s embrace.  Christian squeezed tightly and lifted Daniel up off the mat, taking advantage of his extra height and pressing his face against Daniel’s mounded pecs.  Daniel allowed himself to be held for several seconds, clearly unaffected by Christian’s bearhug.  Daniel smiled up at the balcony, giving them two thumbs up.  The men howled in laughter.

Daniel stretched his arms out straight to the sides, then with a snap, he brought his fists together, boxing Christian’s ears sharply.  Christian yelped in pain, dropping Daniel to the floor and backing away, holding his ears and wincing in pain.  Daniel lifted his arms victoriously and waved at the crowd above.  Turning his back on Christian, Daniel blew kisses at a group of men cheering particularly loudly behind him.

Christian rushed forward and ripped the towel away from Daniel’s waist to humiliate him.  The balcony erupted even louder in applause and cheers, as Daniel turned slowly to face Christian, smiling slyly, completely naked.  Daniel rubbed his chest with his left hand while rubbing his right hand down his abdomen and grabbing his thick cock and balls.  Daniel’s crotched was shaved except for a small crescent of hair, framing the base of his cock in short, dark blond curls.  Christian stood watching, stunned, as some of the men above dropped their own towels and started rubbing themselves.

Nervous sweat trickled down Christian’s ribs as he sized Daniel up.  Daniel was almost certainly stronger, and he seemed to know what these men liked.  For the first time, Christian began to doubt that he could win this thing.  Angrily, Christian darted low to Daniel’s side, wrapping his arms around Daniel’s neck as he came upright to stand behind him.  Christian pulled Daniel’s towel, still in his hands, across his neck, drawing it taught, choking Daniel savagely.  Daniel clawed at the towel, his face quickly growing dark red.  Daniel fell to his knees as Christian towered above and behind him.  Christian placed his right knee in the center of Daniel’s back, leveraging his weight backward to choke Daniel harder.  The balcony grew quiet, watching intently, listening to Daniel’s choked grunts .

As Daniel’s left hand continued to claw at the towel around his neck, his right hand flicked behind his back.  He latched a hold of Christian’s towel, still wrapped around his waist, and tugged it loose.  Christian’s towel fell to the floor, and a chorus of “boos” erupted from the balcony.  Catcalls rained down on Christian, telling him to “drop the under-roos, kid!”  Christian realized that his decision to retain his underwear was costing him with the crowd.

Christian released his choke on Daniel and awkwardly pulled down his underwear.  The balcony was filled with competing jeers and cheers, as Christian bared his ass, doubled over to draw his underwear off his feet.  By this time, still red in the face, Daniel had spun around on his knees in front of Christian.  With a savage look in his eyes, Daniel grabbed Christian’s ankles before he could get his Calvin’s off.  Daniel pulled Christian’s feet out from under him, dropping him on his now bare ass.  Daniel ripped Christian’s underwear to shreds, then used the strips of cloth to bound Christian’s feet.  The crowd hooted and hollered their approval.

Trussed up by the ankles, Christian tried to squirm away from Daniel.  Both men had broken out into a full sweat in the heat and musk of the arena.  Daniel pursued his opponent, grabbing Christian’s ankles firmly and standing up, pulling Christian’s legs up off the mat.  Daniel lifted Christian and spun him around in circles by his ankles, helpless.  As the room spun, Christian’s eyes rolled upward into his head, a wave of nausea washing over him.  Finally, Daniel slammed Christian on his back in the middle of the room, breathless and dizzy.

Christian kicked to try to free his ankles from their bonds.  Daniel reached down, squeezing his left hand between Christian’s sweaty thighs and cradling Christian’s neck in his right arm.   Scooping him up in his arms to rest horizontally across his chest, Daniel paraded Christian around the mat, kneading his round ass with his left hand.  Daniel came to a standstill in the center of the room, and a hush fell upon the crowd in anticipation of what Daniel might do next.  With a loud grunt, Daniel hoisted Christian high up on his upper chest, then dropped him powerfully, driving Christian’s back down across his outstretched knee.  Christian screamed out in pain, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Daniel used his right hand to pin Christian’s chest in a savage over-the-knee backbreaker.  Then Daniel grabbed Christian’s cock in his left fist, massaging.  Christian’s dick responded immediately, swelling, growing thicker and longer under Daniel’s manipulation.  Christian groaned as Daniel jerked him semi-erect.  Then savagely, Daniel gripped Christian’s cock and balls tightly.  Christian screamed, his hands darting forward to try to pry Daniel’s left hand away.  Daniel squeezed harder, “tut-tut”-ing at Christian.  Grunting fiercely, Daniel pulled upward on Christian’s trapped cock and balls, lifting him off his knee a fraction, and then driving him downward to the mat.  Christian’s back arched away from the mat in pain, Daniel’s left hand still maintaining his brutal cock claw.

Both men were covered in sheets of sweat now.  Still maintaining his control over Christian’s crotch, Daniel leaned over Christian’s face and shook his blond hair, showering him with sweat.  The balcony hooted in approval.  Then Daniel swung his right leg over Christian’s prone body, straddling his chest, facing Christian’s crotch.  Daniel’s right hand joined his left hand in squeezing Christian’s cock and balls.  Christian screamed in desperate pain, arching his lower back.  Christian’s arms were pinned beneath Daniel’s thick legs, and Daniel’s ass was directly in front of Christian’s face.

Daniel leaned forward onto his hands, still locked on Christian’s crotch.  Daniel extended his legs straight backward, his body planked above Christian’s head.  Daniel began doing push-ups over his opponent, his triceps and chest straining.  As Daniel dropped low, he rubbed his cock around Christian’s face .  Then he pressed his body up, leveraging his full upper body weight onto Christian’s trapped crotch.  Again, Daniel dipped low, pressing his swelling cock, across Christian’s face, then up again.  Up and down, Daniel pressed.  The crowd counted the push ups eagerly, “…eight!  …nine! …ten!”

Daniel pulled his knees forward again to straddle Christian’s chest, releasing Christian’s bruised, swollen cock.  With both hands, he dug into Christian’s vulnerable abdominal muscles with savage claws.  Digging his fingers in and pulling the muscles apart, Daniel elicited a pained scream from Christian.

After a torturous minute, Daniel released the abdominal claw and spun around to straddle his opponent’s midsection, now facing Christian’s head.  Daniel massaged Christian’s sweaty, tight pecs for a moment, as Christian gasped trying to catch his breath.  Then savagely Daniel clawed at his opponent’s pecs, the fingers of each hand digging into the sides were the muscle met the rib cage.  Pressing his thumbs into the meat of each pec, Daniel pulling upward.  Christian screamed, frantically trying to pry Daniel’s fingers away from his chest.  Christian arched his body, trying to buck his opponent off of him.  Daniel simply dug his fingers deeper and pulled harder.  Daniel leaned forward, maintaining his pec claws, placing his mouth a fraction of an inch away from Christian’s trembling mouth.  “Submit!” Daniel said commandingly.  Christian closed his eyes and shook his head no.

Daniel pulled his feet underneath him, then pulled Christian off the mat by his trapped pecs.  Christian’s face was contorted in pain, tears flowing down his cheeks, as Daniel dragged him to his feet.  Daniel pushed Christian backward into the wall, pressing his body into his claws digging into Christian’s chest.  Then Daniel grunted loudly as he lifted his arms upward, sliding Christian’s sweaty back up the wall by his trapped pecs.  Daniel’s arms locked, fully extended, suspending Christian’s body more than half a foot off the floor.  Christian winced silently, his mouth hanging open and his eyes squinting shut.  “How does that feel?” Daniel asked, almost sounding like he sincerely wanted to know.  “It looks really painful.  Submit now and I’ll put you out of your misery.”  Christian’s eyes remained closed, tears squeezing out the corners, but he shook his head no.

Daniel shifted his center of gravity, pressing his full body weight onto his right hand.  Releasing his left claw, Daniel watched Christian’s right pec spasm and twitch involuntarily.  Then Daniel thrust his left hand against Christian’s balls, squeezing tightly.  Christian screamed in pain, then cried, “I submit!”  Applause broke out from the balcony, as a chant of “Dan-iel!  Dan-iel!” erupted spontaneously.

Instead of releasing his grip, Daniel dipped his left shoulder low.  Peeling Christian away from the wall, Daniel lifted him over his head by his clawholds on Christian’s left pec and balls.  Daniel locked his arms straight over his head, and walked slowly to the center of the room, balancing his victim carefully overhead.  Christian was sobbing in pain, sweat pouring off his body in streams onto Daniel’s powerful body below him.  Daniel held his opponent overhead until his own body began to fatigue, his muscles jumping and wobbling with the strain.  The crowd continued chanting, “Dan-iel!  Dan-iel!”

Finally, Daniel dropped his decimated opponent downward.  Christian fell helplessly, then crashed violently, his weakened stomach folding across Daniel’s outstretched knee.  Christian bounced upward, and Daniel shoved him forward.  Christian slammed to the mat and rolled over twice, then lay motionless, groaning deliriously.  The crowd was howling, near hysterics.

Daniel kneeled on one knee next to Christian’s head lying on the mat.  He stared down silently for half a minute, then leaned his head low, his lips again a fraction away from Christian’s mouth.  “The next time you try to steal my role,” Daniel growled lowly, “I’ll fuck you until you split in half.”

Daniel jumped to his feet, stomping his foot onto Christian’s startled midsection.  Daniel flexed his right bicep for the adoring crowd, while his left hand massaged his semi-erect cock.


After Daniel and the crowds exited the arena, Eli had to carry Christian cradled in his arms back to the dressing room.  Eli waited with him for 30 minutes before Christian was able to sit up on the bed, his head clearing and every inch of his torso throbbing in pain.  As Christian pulled his jeans and shirt over his still wet body, Eli reported “You definitely have a following. Although your performance was significantly harmed by your showing up in your underwear, there was nearly universal approval of the way you endured your suffering for a nice, long time.  As I expected, though, 95% of the focus group identified Daniel as both the winner and their favorite.  So he’ll keep his project.  And about your claim that you could draw an audience even if you were wearing a dress…”