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What I Know

New blog post about how very very much I know about very little.

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The older I get, the more it occurs to me just how incredibly much I know about a very few things. For example, I was recently binging on old episodes of the BBC comedy “Would I Lie to You,” in which celebrities try to guess if each other is telling some far-fetched truth or just out-and-out lying. It’s fun British comedy of the sort of like. No one has to be bitterly insulted or degraded. They enjoy laughing at themselves as much as each other’s jokes. It’s clever and crass, and they swear and flip each other off (good-naturedly) in a way that would be banned from broadcast TV in the intensely repressed US. In one segment each episode called “This is My…,” they bring out some random person and three celebrities tell the story of who this person is to them. But only one of them is the real story, and the other team of celebrities have to figure out who is telling the truth.

So I was watching WILTY with some friends recently, and they bring out this drop dead gorgeous, super fit lean hunk for the “This is My” segment, and I immediately blurt out, “Holy shit, that’s Brit pro wrestler Terry Frazier!” And, yeah, I ruined it for my friends, because the real story among the lies was the (also hot) comedian Jack Whitehall told the story that this guy was Terry “Mean Machine” Frazier who was teaching him how to wrestle. The other team couldn’t believe it. They guessed one of the other stories was true, and still they were sort of not quite believing it when it was revealed that the guy really was a pro wrestler giving lessons to Jack Whitehall. To prove the point, Terry picks Jack up and bodyslams him to the set floor, and absolutely everyone loses their shit. Though, of course, I’m over here unable to stop myself from saying, “I told you so.”

What this demonstrated to me, other than that I have no problem smugly bragging about what I know to my mostly disinterested non-wrestling obsessed friends, is how remarkably much I know about a particular segment of professional wrestling. I have a somewhat encyclopedic body of knowledge specifically about wrestling for gay eyes, including most gay-oriented wrestling and those mainstream pro wrestlers who, let’s face it, are such gorgeous gay bait. Like Terry Frazier, who I have gotten off on countless times over the years from his Brit pro wrestling matches I treasure on YouTube. I’d pick him out of any crowd, and before watching WILTY, I never expected that the absolute lock I have on that bit of trivia would ever come in handy other than helping me satisfy the occasional itch for an intensely sexy, lean babyface twunk jobber to watch.

I’m sure that’s one of the big reasons I enjoy having gay wrestling friends. Like, if I’m in a mixed group and professional football comes up in conversation, I’ve got nothing to contribute. Hell, if most mainstream pro wrestling were to come up in conversation, which it really doesn’t that often in my non-gay wrestling friend circles, I still have precious little to offer. Unless Finn Balor or L.A. Knight or Josh Woods pop in the conversation, at which point I have to check the crowd I’m in to decide whether or not to reveal that I know the back catalog of gay-oriented wrestling companies so well that I can point out their underground gay wrestling-as names from back in the day.

But I feel like I finally get a little taste of what it might be like to grow up as a boy obsessively immersed in boy-things like sports stats that honestly bored me to death when I was, in fact, a boy. When I’m hanging out with gay wrestling fans, suddenly the embarrassing wealth of knowledge I carry around with me from the thousands of hours I’ve spent watching and writing about wrestling from a gay perspective turns into something useful. More than that, that shared body of gay wrestling knowledge connects some invisible dots between me and my wrestling-obsessed friends. Like, we don’t need to explain how we happen to be able to name every opponent Alexi Adamov wrestled in Who’s Next… we know that we all know because we spent delightfully hot and sweaty moments of profound pleasure watching them.

It brings to mind that powerful moment I wrote about from the Gay Wrestling History Panel I co-moderated at Wrestlefest about a year and a half ago, when I asked the wrestlers on the panel who they wish they’d have had a chance to wrestle from the past. And I swear all 150 of us in the room turned glassy-eyed and introspective as the wrestlers started shouting out names that strummed the nostalgic strings of lust in all of us. And, spontaneously, people in the audience began shouting out the names of their favorites, too. And after ever name, there was these deep, primal, corporate grunt of lustful acknowledgement. We’d all invested ourselves in experiencing and cataloging those private moments of pleasured appreciation, and when given the opportunity to all come together in one place and name them, those gutteral gasps and grunts conveyed something we’d shared all along, even if we’d never met each other before.

I used to spend a lot energy wanting to be the smartest person in the room. But these days, I know enough to know that on most topics, I’m seldom the smartest person the room. And at this point in my life, I’m really (really) okay with that. What I don’t know about auto mechanics or the NBA draft or pharmacology or quantum physics (or any number of things about which there are so many other people with such greater expertise than I have), it’s left me with so much room in my brain to store tens of thousands of pieces of titillating trivia about the subject that I spend so much time exploring and writing about here.

Mayhem

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Watching Watchfighters Rumble Match – Part 1 gives me so many vibes of being at a Wrestlefest. Actually, it specifically gives me vibes of being at Wrestlefest Canada. I swear I stayed in that hotel room! Well, I’m pretty sure it’s at the hotel I stayed at when I enjoyed attending WF Canada three summers ago. But the vibes are about a lot more than the accommodations. There’s this serendipity about the pop-up community that forms at a fest. My best analogy is to summer camp, where you look forward to getting thrown into this community of people outside of your regular life, and the proximity and shared interests and just everyone stepping outside their lives and into this chosen community creates this incredibly fun esprit de corps. The (no shit) 13 wrestlers who join Sir Dark’s rumble in WF Rumble Match – Part 1 all look like they’re having a fucking blast.

It was at Wrestlefest Canada I experienced my first of many group mat matches. The rumble has all of those elements, but bigger and more intense and with an even more out of control feel of a melee. The premise is, like a pro wrestling rumble, a new wrestler is added to the mix every so often, and wrestlers are eliminated when they submit. And that’s it. Like, that’s all the rules. So the wrestling drama depends entirely on the luck of the draw, pacing, and the fickle alliances and betrayals that play out depending on who happens to be on the mat at any given time. It’s absolute chaos AND it’s got this compelling momentum that I can’t take my eyes off of.

I’m tuned in for my favorites featured, of course. Sir Dark appears to be the mastermind of the mayhem, which, honestly, is so on brand. If you could bottle chaos, I think he’d guzzle it daily. He’s got this constant edge of unpredictability about him, I think showcased never more clearly than in his Wrestlefest Live match last February in NYC. But he’s souped up and riding the feral edge about him as this rumble starts up, but holy shit is he in there with the yin to his yang. Ethan Axel Andrews is the other wrestler to kick off the Rumble, and he’s more like a cruise missile. Their opening scrap against each other is one of the most intense of the next 20 minutes, which sort of makes sense because all their attention is on each other, and their both fresh and primed. Ethan is rolling, exploiting his size advantage for a bit when he latches on a leglock and threatens to snap the Dark one at the knee. Sir Dark screams at him with total bile and adrenaline, “Fuck off, NO!” Fuck, that guy rocks me.

Every minute (or so, the timing isn’t entirely precise), a countdown signals the arrival of a new wrestler to join the fray. In these raucous 20 minutes, favorite wrestlers of mine show up in the mix and I’m unable to stop myself from cheering at my screen. Mickey Knoxx comes in hot, flexing and strutting and wasting no time tearing into Feroce in a completely unfair double team with Demonflex. Isaac Andrews comes in looking gorgeous as fuck with his hairy chest and beard. Kayden Keller and Chase Addams turn the heat way, way up when they take each take their turns as the fresh man diving into the mix.

Just like it works at a fest, though, there are also these unexpected finds, wrestlers I don’t think I’ve ever seen before but once I do, I can’t take my eyes off of them. The fourth entrant is introduced as Mischief. He’s adorable, with this gentle giant feel about him as he strides onto the mat. And then, holy fuck, there’s nothing gentle about Mischief! The guy is grinning ear to ear the entire time, so transparently loving that uncorked chaos Sir Dark is serving up. Two things in particular about Mischief make me swoon. One is just how much delight he takes in muscle bullying a smaller opponent. No apologies. No giving a little guy a fighting chance. He just licks his lips and tucks in to the bite sized morsels with relish. The other thing that catches my eye and turns me on about Mischief is this go to move he has of buttoning an opponent up and just clamping his huge hand over the guy’s face and refusing to let the fucker breathe. He does that more than once, and it’s such a fucking BOSS move.

There are some other new-to-me wrestlers that instantly impress me. I’ve seen Feroce DeLeon on Watchfighters before, but I was not expecting just how much absolute abuse his hot body can soak up. I met Kevin Nova at that fest in Toronto a couple of years ago, and he’s buffed up and gotten super aggressive in a way that makes him fit right into this wild melee. I’ve followed Demonflex on social media for what seems like forever. We’ve had near-misses at scheduling a 1:1 for the two of us, and watching how much fun he has swimming in this chaos makes me want to make sure that meet up happens soon. Veneno is this tasty little masked scrapper who looks like he should get submitted super fast based on nothing but size, but there’s a short king under that mask who is taking on everyone and in the center of the fray at all times and holding his own like a terrier. For some reason I think I have seen Neil Rey somewhere, but I’m not placing him, but he’s fascinating to watch come in and join this big boy gang triple teaming the little guy on the mat at the time.

That little guy is the other new-to-me wrestler epiphany that caught my attention out of everything happening at once in the maelstrom. Honestly, I was worried about pretty boy B Sprite when he first showed up. I mean, this kid is pretty. Too pretty, and lithe, and lean, and he ends up in the turbulent waters right when there’s the likes of big, burly bad asses ripping into each other like Isaac and Kayden and Neil. I have to immediately reassess lovely B Sprite, though, when he doesn’t skip a beat, and half a second after stepping onto the mat he’s got a claw working on twisting Mickey’s balls off. Lovely B Sprite is fucking mean and skilled, and sure, maybe I’m just identifying with him because he goes after Mickey like he’s got blinders on.

Writing a review of the Rumble is a bit like trying to film it, I suspect. There’s just so many mini-dramas playing out, it’s impossible to see them all in one viewing. Actually, it’s impossible to see them all upon repeated viewings, because the camera misses some of the action on one side the mat while documenting the grappling on the other side of the mat. Like, I’m not sure what drove terrier-like Veneno to actually submit, because the camera and I were enthralled with watching Kayden lift Mickey by the balls, cradling the wailing Canadian across his chest, and then slamming Mickey down in a brutal gut buster. If you like clean edges and drawing within the lines, the Rumble may not be for you, because it’s super raw and spontaneous and messy. And I’m convinced every single one of those wrestlers is having an absolute blast because he loves wrestling, and he’s exhilarated by the chaotic brew Sir Dark is serving on tap.

I’m going to towel off and settle in for the Rumble part 2, now. I had no idea this was exactly the international wrestling drama I needed to take my mind off the end times!

Priceless

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Bruno from AbsArt released a video almost exactly a month ago announcing the launch of his own channel on Watchfighters, Bruno Extra. Bruno says that he plans “to go bigger and harder” there, sharing “more spicy content,” although he assures us that he’ll happily continue working with the AbsArt team as well. There’s definitely a demure edge to AbsArt. I mean, it’s sexy as fuck and fits entirely within the boundaries of erotic content that turns me on. The creativity and production quality at AbsArt continue to make it a standout in homoerotic content as far as I’m concerned. I haven’t watched even a small fraction of the (holy shit) over 1,400 videos they’ve posted to date, but their brand is about insanely hot bodies with world class, sculpted abdominal muscles getting punished. I’ve primarily sampled their wrestling-featured content, a bit of their muscle worship fare, and just little of their all-in scenario-based fantasies set in the world of soldiers, spies, and organized crime. They showcase their mind blowing fitness physiques with the eye of someone who knows exactly what turns me on, displaying nearly every inch of oiled up muscle on their top shelf talent. Nearly every inch. There are just a few inches that don’t seem to make it into the otherwise boundlessly creative homoerotic fare at AbsArt. Bruno Extra offers to uncover those last impressive inches for us.

The price point on Bruno Extra videos jumps a lot more than the Euros-per-minute rates of AbsArt and more than most of the homoerotic content I buy. Honestly, as instantly hungry I was for seeing Bruno (and friends) in truly all of their glory, I debated back and forth the price tag that includes a fully-monty mark-up. I actually rewatched Bruno’s intensely sexy wrestling match against Armin for AbsArt a few times again before concluding just how much I wanted to see what those minuscule yellow briefs of Bruno’s barely managed to cover. Finally unable to resist any longer, I pulled out my wallet, among other things, and slapped down the cash to own a bigger, harder, and spicier look at the phenomenal talent of Bruno.

What the title of “Bruno – creepy owner lurks and attacks in rented apartment – cum” lacks in finesse, it makes up for in truth-in-advertising. The plot centers on Bruno renting an Airbnb apartment from “creepy owner” Andrew. What makes Andrew creepy is that he has hidden cameras in his apartment that he uses to watch an unsuspecting Bruno. Whatever reluctance I might have to buy into the genuinely creepy pretense disappears when Andrew shows up in the video with his phone in one hand, watching Bruno over the hidden cameras, and Andrew’s cock in his other hand pounding one out. I’m not sure how I feel about the “creep” in this story literally saying what I’m thinking as he marvels at Bruno’s magnificent physique and he jerks on his thick joystick. “Some nice fucking muscles right there,” Andrew purrs with this Bond villain accent that, on its own, could probably get me off. “Look at that,” Andrew marvels as Bruno strips to underwear and gets in a light workout in the living room, “getting real pumped up with those push-ups!” Andrew starts stroking faster when Bruno makes to tug off his underwear. “Yes! Take of your fucking pants,” the creepy landlord channels exactly what I’m thinking (again, I’m not sure how I should feel about that). “Yeah, good boy,” Andrew says breathlessly as he watches/we watch exactly what Bruno was referring to in terms of “spicier content.”

I’ve mentioned a few times recently the curious value-added for me to shower scenes. So, imagine my pleasure when Bruno takes a long, slow, soapy shower that makes me melt. And talk about fucking inches… fuck, Bruno’s cock is nothing short of a work of art! There’s no angle, no feature, no detail from head to toe on him that is anything short of physical perfection. I was already solidly a fanboy, but, holy fuck, I am in awe of what must be incredible genetics, phenomenal conditioning, and likely a touch of divine intervention to craft a man this beautiful. And that’s without me mentioning what I’ve referred to before as his “luscious, sweet-as-honey ass.” Fuck, yes.

The plot device to this scenario hinges on Bruno being carelessly messy, and owner Andrew possibly having a stitch of OCD. The potato chips all over the couch and the dirty dishes and half eaten food Bruno leaves on the table interrupt Andrew’s jerk off session watching on from his hidden camera. In what could be considered an overreaction, he pulls out a handgun, strips to a red thong, and sneaks back into the apartment once Bruno is asleep to teach the hard-bodied cherub a lesson. The final 2/3rds of the video is the curiously intense confrontation between Andrew and Bruno, with neat-freak Andrew equally torn between wanting to punish the messy young renter and wanting to possess him. That’s really where I know that I’m definitely NOT like creepy lurker Andrew, after all. I’m solely here for the possession. Bruno can be as messy as he wants, as far as I’m concerned.

There are some hot beats as Bruno awakes to the terror of being held at gun point by the hungry apartment owner. Andrew makes Bruno flex for him. Andrew peels Bruno’s underwear off of him. He climbs into bed with him and strokes and strums Bruno’s rocking hot body and pounds his six-pack abs. He orders Bruno at gun point to go to the living room so he can tie the indignant, gorgeously naked hunk to a chair and pour baby oil over his body. Apparently, Andrew’s OCD doesn’t preclude his upholstered chair getting baby oil on it. Or cum.

As I mentioned, I was swooning over Bruno’s magnificent cock already, but it still took me by surprise just how stunningly beautiful it is when he’s oiled up and stroking himself hard. I catch myself holding my breath as Bruno beats himself off, awed by just how gorgeous he is, how gorgeous this moment is, how beautiful it is to get to enjoy an all access pass to Bruno’s extras. I don’t know if Bruno learned to be any neater the next time he rents an Airbnb (perversely, I hope not). I’d loved to have seen just a bit more of Andrew, to be honest, because the glimpses we get of his hugely muscled glutes free ranging in that tiny red thong strike such a hot compliment to Bruno’s carved marble physique. I get how the lack of consent in the scenario is value added for a lot of fans, but strictly speaking, it doesn’t actually add anything to what’s turning me on. Also, the gun play is a bit distracting for me, as I live in a country with out-of-control gun violence slapping me in the face daily. But all of those notes are honestly secondary to the biggest takeaway for me from this video.

What I’m left with, after I’ve toweled off and re-hydrated, are a lot of thoughts about eroticism, nakedness, and porn. To be clear, this video is soft core, but sure, it’s art that emerges from the market demand for sexually gratifying content (as IG called it when they recently censored a recent GIF I tried to post of guys spanking, before banning me for three days for the offense). There is a pendulum swing toward prudishness sweeping a whole lot of public discourse these days. Adult content laws are being passed under the pretense of “protecting children,” while clearly intending to stifle the artistic expression of the erotic as something presumed to be shameful for everyone. It’s patently ideologically-driven and cynical, often championed by the same people who, when their party isn’t in power, will lament the “nanny state” and government overreach into the personal lives and decisions of autonomous adults. It’s a flashback to Augustinian morality in which the physical body and its pleasure are lashed to pseudo-religious shame, valorizing self-denial as virtuous and the experience of corporal pleasure (not to mention the pursuit of the experience of corporal pleasure) as inherently subhuman.

I have no expertise in marketing, but I have to guess that the Bruno Extra team would net more from a lower price point. I feel like I have a little expertise as a long-time observer and commenter on the homoerotic wrestling market to be able to say that I’m certain there are a lot more Bruno fans out there who’d love to watch this video than can come close to affording it. But on the other hand, as I think about existential threats to artistic eroticism, and particularly threats to the availability of homoerotic content, I’m left wondering what it’s worth at this particular moment in history. What’s for sale at Bruno Extra is gorgeous and arousing and a stunning exploration of the aesthetics of beautiful bodies and the power those bodies have to evoke pleasure, particularly in the hands of talented and creative folks like the team behind Bruno Extra. I don’t know who can or can’t afford it, but I’m left pretty convinced that it’s priceless.

Bigger Body Count

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So at the start of summer, I enjoyed the much anticipated arrival of Joey Mason to the UKWH roster, taking on the institution, Tim World. As the summer is coming to a close, I’m delighted to discover their rematch, Joey Mason v Tim World – Summerslam on Joey’s WF channel. Sequels can be tricky, right? As beautifully explained in Scream 2, sequels have to deliver more than the original. Well, T-World and Joey deliver exactly that, and it’s hot and compelling homoerotic wrestling!

There’s no mention of their first match in the same ring, which feels like a missed beat to me. There’s nothing about Joey coming back for revenge. Their first match (delightfully) was not a squash, but at the end of the day, T-World used, abused, and humiliated the new kid hard. But still, both boys’ egos struggle to fit into the UKWH ring from the start. One of the themes this match is pinned to is contrasts. Joey taunts Tim for being a little soft around the middle. Honestly, T-World is fucking gorgeous, and he doesn’t have to excuse anything about his physique, despite him insisting he’s “on a bulk.” But there’s a stone cold truth about it when Tim fills the camera with his hot, beefy double bicep pose and smirks at you me when he says, “That’s what a real man looks like! That’s what they want to see!” Paradoxically, Joey delivers an ice cold truth shower as well when he shoves Tim out of the way and flashes his ultra lean baseball biceps, snarling, “Nice chunk of meat right here! They always love a younger boy!” So part of the thesis is this contrast of size, strength, build, and age, all of which adds sweet texture and dimension that I love to this rematch.

In terms of a sequel needing more elaborate drama, T-World explains that this is going to be a “forfeit match.” I’ve never heard of the term, but apparently it’s a submission match for stakes. Tim imperiously announces that the stakes are, in sequence, muscle worship, foot worship, pit worship, and ass worship (aka “stinkface”). Honestly, I’m agnostic when it comes to elaborate match rules like this. The tried and true through-line to what turns me on is hot wrestling, so the extra plot points are neither here no there for me. However, they give this match some added momentum and direction that weren’t there the first time these hotties wrestled. And genuinely, they seem to motivate Joey and Tim, especially when it comes to which of them is getting smothered up his opponent’s ass. But before I go there, let me just point out what I think is the most obvious and value-added innovation to this rematch. In under three minutes, both wrestlers are naked and remain that way for the remaining 23 minutes.

Fuuuuuck! There’s just a certain itch that only balls out naked wrestling can scratch. It feels to me like we’re living in a pendulum swing toward body and sex shaming in the world today, and I’m so here for these two hot studs pretty unselfconsciously holding the stage, pounding and prying and squeezing each other with every hot inch of them on display. T-World’s snarling condescension and muscle bullying just land differently, and beautifully, with the both of them being stark naked. Joey’s marble-gargling trash talk, and his delivery on his promises to humiliate this big, bad bully, just dial the volume up to 11. Both wrestlers are wicked hot in their own way (see my comments above about contrasts). It’s like T-World’s cock is carrying on its own monologue through much of this match as he visibly gets hard the longer he dominates his opponent. But holy shit, the total scene stealer here is when, just a couple of minutes after Joey loses his briefs, T-World scoops him up in a bearhug and parades him around the ring. Holy FUCK! I know I’ve heaped mountains of praise on Joey’s ass before, but seriously, this bad boy’s glutes are a work of ART!

Like the first time they wrestled, this is (delightfully) not a squash. They each score falls and revel in the accompanying aforementioned stakes along the way. There’s a lot of “whinging” as T-World derisively calls Joey’s bitching and moaning about being forced to linger long, muscle worshiping Tim’s naked bod. However, it’s not like either of these guys fails to enjoy himself. While T-World bitches about the smell of Joey’s feet, he fucking makes OUT with Joey’s right foot like Joey’s toes have been dipped in Swiss chocolate. And although Joey seemed skeptical about the “stinkface” round, he sure seems to take a whole fucking lot of pleasure smothering Tim’s face way, way up between those magnificent cheeks of his. As do I… fuuuuck, as do I.

There’s a fifth fall, in which the “winner” of this scorching hot rematch treats the out-hustled loser to a reprise of all 4 prior falls, and it’s rawer and more aggressive and hungrier than anything that’s happened before between these two in either match. If T-World is passed over for the much anticipated new James Bond (he’s got my vote), he’s still got to have condescending muscle bully roles galore in his future. And if I had any doubt that Tim “likes” wrestling the way I do, the performance of his cock raging hard with excitement when he’s rolling over his opponent has certainly put that to rest. But seriously, I feel like Joey Mason could own homoerotic wrestling some day. Not yet, but some day, maybe. Like countless rookies before him, he has a tendency toward inconsistent and overdone sell. He’s got a shit ton more to learn about wrestling, pacing himself, and maintaining momentum. And sure, T-World isn’t exactly wrong when he tells Joey, “You need a meal, mate!” But if all those chips fell into place, and he kept that astonishingly hot ass of his in the perfectly pristine form it’s in today, Joey Mason could have this entire industry in his back pocket.

This match follows ALL the rules of a sensational sequel, and then some. I *feel* like there’s got to be a line around the corner waiting for their turn to bend Joey over the knee and spank that naked ass like T-World does in this match, and/or get pounded into a corner and smothered deep between those perfect globes. I’m keeping my eyes out for whichever turns up next.

Main Course & Dessert

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I’ve been seriously impressed with Killian Ocampo. As I’ve mentioned before, that combination of boy next door beauty along with a powerful physique built to punish will always catch my eye. Lately, I’ve been deep into old World Championship Wrestling and Mid South Wrestling videos on YouTube, enjoying that nostalgic bump from watching matches I saw as a kid when they originally aired. Killian has an aesthetic that would’ve fit seamlessly with the likes of 80’s wrestling hunks like old school Jeff Jarrett, the Von Erichs, Tommy Rogers, and Jeff Gaylord. It’s not just what he looks like in still frame, though. I love Killian’s fire, too. He exudes attitude and character that take up more than his fair share of the wrestling ring. He’s hungry and aggressive, and fuck, he wants to beat the shit out of six-pack abs wherever he finds them.

In Undagear 41, he sets his sights on the award-winning six-pack on stunningly ripped Kal Connor. Kal’s conditioning is just mind-blowing. He’s perennially in peak form. Honestly, if you’re studying for an upcoming anatomy and physiology exam, just pull up Kal’s pics and take a crystal cut tour of the human musculature on display without an ounce of body fat. Don’t get me wrong. Kal’s got a beautiful face that’s perfectly poised at the border of cute and handsome. But I can’t take my eyes off of that fucking incredible body! Yes, this is the phenom who won the awards for Best Body and Best Abs in his debut year with BG East. He wrestles fierce and mean, but if you look up the term “heel bait” in the dictionary, you’re going to find a photo of Kal. Big, mean heels are just lined up to fuck up that super fine physique.

But Undagear 41 reads like a super intense babyface brawl. I was totally expecting Killian to be the one to bring the heat in this match, but Kal’s out to defy expectations. He instantly starts pumping on a side headlock, and Killian looks about as surprised as I am that Kal’s taking charge. Killian has to fight his way to the starting line in this match, but once he does, he gets some of that hot, mean offense in, instantly targeting Kal’s top shelf abs, of course. Kal patiently takes a solid beating, waiting for a break. Just as he’s getting whipped from corner to corner, that break comes when he reverses a whip, catapulting a clearly astonished Killian and pounding him hard into the corner. Maybe Killian’s rethinking his tunnel-vision offense on Kal’s abs as the anatomy chart takes revenge on Killian’s gut. Solid punches and kicks pound the air out of Killian, and then smooth as a silk, Kal executes a gorgeous, spine-bruising suplex. Hell, yes, this is a fucking wrestling match!

The character of this match really evolves around two elements for me. One of those elements is Killian’s journey. The babyfaced strongman’s cocky swagger gets chipped away until he’s sputtering and screaming like a kid suddenly reconsidering the wisdom of trying to bully a rival. Kal goes for his knee in with this vicious laser focus that’s just devastating. Killian’s pleading wail of agony is fucking compelling, as his knee is draped over the middle rope and his opponent starts wrenching the joint to shreds. Killian gets pushed down so hard that I’m just about ready to believe this may be the first time we see Kal deliver a shockingly unexpected squash. But fuck, no, do NOT count out Killian! I love the drama of him roaring back into contention, and then delivering an almost unhinged, brutal beatdown to make it clear he’s not about to be the rung on anyone’s ladder up the ranks. Killian’s signature move continues to be gut busters, and he dishes out a dozen or so of them on Kal’s proud abs in a way that leaves me breathless.

Killian’s screaming, sniveling pleas from 15 minutes earlier are thoroughly forgotten around the time he has Kal trapped between his tree trunk thighs, rearranging Kal’s internal organs in crushing side scissors. It’s strength versus strength, with Killian’s massive quads pitted against the Best Abs at BGE for the past two years. It would be super sweet and sexy drama if it were just Killian crushing the screams out Kal. But when Killian starts twisting at the waist, slamming his trapped opponent back and forth, there’s just no doubt who’s the fucking boss here.

The other element of this match that can’t be unseen is the image of both of these gorgeous hunks getting their trunks ripped off, and thank the homoerotic wrestling gods, they’re wearing nothing but thongs underneath. Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s two sets of delicious glutes! I cannot emphasize enough the climactic reveal of the final five minutes of this match as these exhausted, ego-bruised babyface hunks tear into each other with their phenomenal asses out. Like their physiques in general, the showcase of their asses is a gorgeous study in contrast. Kal’s ass is solid muscle. Like everything else on him, his glutes are rock hard, functional, and sculpted. Kal’s rump is main course fare, whereas Killian’s ass is more like a mouthwatering dessert. I’ve commented on Killian’s ass (adoringly) before, but I haven’t seen this much of it. And fuck, the reveal does NOT disappoint. This is bubble butt perfection, thick and clawable, stacked like too many library books on the top shelf of Killian’s huge thighs. Fuck, if you put a gun to my head, I don’t know that I could decide which beautiful ass I’m turned on by more. I’d have to study them in person, up close. You know, a really hands-on inspection… probably with other body parts involved as well.

With so much hot wrestling and gorgeous babyface beauty, I’d be tempted to repeat my overused conclusion that everyone’s a winner in this match. But, fuck, no. One of these HOT-assed hunks definitely loses hard, destroyed and disrespected, literally trampled over like a doormat. The resolution of the wrestling drama is deeply satisfying, as far as I’m concerned, in a way that leaves me seriously hungry to see both Killian and Kal in future matches, preferably with those stunningly gorgeous asses out and those bulging egos and fierce wrestling skills put to the test again. And again. And I feel like both of those thongs, unwashed, could go for a pretty penny at auction.

Therapy

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Holy shit, what got into Zach Reno!? I’ve seen him wrestle hard and mean in the past, but seriously, he’s tearing through opponents like a wood chipper lately at BG East. Not that I’m complaining, but, damn! The boy is fucking intense! Like, what exactly did Tanner Vonn say to get that level of brutality to pour out of Zach like a flame thrower in Barefoot Babyfaces 2?

The dialogue in this match doesn’t exactly nail down that motivation, but reading between the lines, it sounds like Tanner called into question if Zach can really handle himself against Tanner’s size advantage. And, admittedly, it’s an impressive size advantage. BGE lists Tanner with a 3-inch advantage in height and 30 pounds in weight, which feels about right, though Tanner seems to tower even taller over Zach. I had the pleasure of getting to see Zach from my front row ringside seat at Wrestlefest Live in NYC last February, and honestly, it caught me a little by surprise just how compact he is. I’d guess 5’8 might even be a slight exaggeration. Right around the time he was tossed out of the ring and basically into my lap, I literally had the thought, “Damn, this hard bodied boy is just about my size!” And, I am not 5’8. But Zach was a fucking terrier in that live match against Sid Shaw, and no shit, he’s even more rabid as he’s dragging Tanner to the ring in Barefoot Babyfaces 2. Seriously, Zach is working some internal shit out when he’s hoisting Tanner’s HOT body up across his chest and pounding the hard bodied hunk’s abs into the ring post in the first minute and a half of this match. I’m not sure if this is in lieu of psychotherapy, or possibly if this is some brilliant therapist’s idea of a CBT homework assignment (the “other” CBT), but fuck, I’d swear Zach’s got glaring psychic wounds he’s working out at poor Tanner’s expense.

All that said, perhaps it comes as a surprise that Tanner is the one who secures the first submission in this match. Zach looks like he is absolutely eating the muscle hunk for lunch, when suddenly Tanner turns the tables. Now, it’s Tanner interrupting the crashing waves of Zach’s rage by locking the hot little terrier up in a full nelson. In this big bro’ bully move, Tanner spins him in that full nelson. The centrifugal force lifts Zach’s feet, and fuck, he looks even smaller than he did when they started. Those 30 pounds and 3(+) inches are crashing down on Zach like an avalanche. And fuck, all that steam pouring off of him while he squirms and screams in Tanner’s sexy-as-fuck bodyscissors is sensationally hot on so many levels. Cocky confidence and a terrier-like determination don’t always manage to equalize more obvious disadvantages a smaller wrestler like Zach has to contend with.

But then again, bigger doesn’t always translate to an advantage. Take Tanner’s gargantuan bulge, for example. Better yet, I’ll take his bulge. You just sit back and watch. Fuck, that oversized luggage is just too huge a target. Zach stops the big man in his tracks with a kick to those pendulous balls, and holy shit, the terrier is back with a vengeance. He slaps on super hot headscissors that slide down across Tanner’s throat into a choke. Tanner’s flopping around like a fish out of water, locked up tight and writhing, possibly regretting getting in some bully action on the hot little hunk. If he wasn’t regretting it before, Zach reaching down, pinching Tanner’s chest hair between his fingers, and ripping it out by the roots almost certainly does the trick. Like, handful after handful. Fuck, Zach is vicious as fuck!

A hot little punk who turns out to be the serious bully is a sweet plot twist! He absolutely demolishes Tanner. Like, everywhere. All over the ring. He ties the hard bodied hunk in the ropes. He fucks him up in the corners. I particularly enjoy seeing him drag Tanner up by the trunks, giving the sexy stud a hot schoolyard wedgie that shows off Tanner’s gorgeous ass. Zach is literally strangling Tanner in a way that starts making me worried I could get called to testify at the trial. I buy every single second of it when Tanner is getting those proud pecs of his chopped in the ropes and he’s begging like a bitch, “P-p-p-please!!!”

The psychological warfare is rich and spicy in a way that adds sweet, layered sexiness to this battle of babyfaces. Like, at one point Tanner’s on the mat, with Zach holding his legs up by the ankles and threatening to stomp the shit out of his balls. Tanner’s been whittled down to a raw nub at this point. He’s been terrorized hard and relentlessly for so long, all it takes is for Zach to rest the sole of his boot on Tanner’s huge bulge and threaten to crush his balls. Just the threat, like not even stomping on him, and Tanner is screaming what must be his fourth or fifth submission. If it wasn’t sold so convincingly, it might be gimmicky, but holy fuck, I buy the terror turning big Tanner into little Zach’s sniveling hunk bitch.

Tanner’s not done, though, and I LOVE a match with suspense. Tanner works on crushing Zach’s skull like a melon in crotch pillow headscissors. All I can think as I’m watching Zach writhe and scream is fuck, that’s one huge, cushy pillow for the back of Zach’s head. I think this probably reads like a squash to most fans, but it’s these little twists of fate, even these little turnings of the tide that keep me dialed in and loving the drama of professional wrestling with a homoerotic bent.

And speaking of my homoerotic bent, this match pushes my buttons delightfully. The humiliating disrespect is just delicious. Like, when Zach is yanking on Tanner’s trunks, crushing Tanner’s balls and wedging his hot, meaty ass. I mean, sure, it’s Tanner’s balls squeezing out of his trunks as Zach is jerking on them, but it’s the hairy chested pretty boy getting owned that dials this into what turns me on. It’s not just Tanner’s balls popping out, but it’s especially the fact he can do absolutely nothing about it.

I honestly don’t know that Tanner did to deserve this. But I hope he keeps doing it! And if this isn’t therapy homework assignment for Zach to work out his demons, please, oh, please, do NOT let Zach see a therapist now. He’s doing JUST FINE as he is!

“You Just Admire Now!”

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Not long ago, I was chatting with a friend about muscle worship videos. While wrestling is, by far, my primary kink, I occasionally get a taste for some hot muscle worship. I think it dates back to coming across some old black-and-white AMG clips years ago that included completely out-of-context scenes of one scantily clad hunk looking awestruck and euphoric as he reaches out and touches the flexing biceps of another thonged muscled man with the tentativeness of someone tapping a stovetop that may, or may not, be hot enough to burn. There’s this titillating blurred line between explicit and implicit eroticism in good muscle worship, just like in the hottest wrestling. When it’s good (for me, at least), there’s this almost demure quality to muscle worship, as a worshiper rides the ebb and flow of obvious erotic pleasure with his finger tips, thumbs, and palms, while straddling this cheeky line of plausible deniability. I was mentioning to my buddy that not all muscle worship fare lands for me, though.

Sometimes, I know why, and sometimes I don’t know why a muscle worship vid doesn’t quite push my button. There are some essential elements to the genre for my tastes. The muscle hunk being worshiped needs to be excessively hot. Like, I need to feel that awe deep down inside of me, to buy the passionate awe of the worshiper. It hits the sweet spot for me when there’s a contrast of passion, with a worshiper barely able to restrain themselves and the object of worship enigmatically almost (almost) disinterested. There’s a quality to the touching that has to be there, as well. Occasionally, I come across (or fail to cum across) a disappointing example of the genre where there’s missing authenticity to how a worshiper is putting his hands on the one worshiped. I suspect some of what I’m indicting involves gay-for-pay hunks going through the motions, but without genuinely feeling it from the inside out, the purported worshiper looks more like he’s hanging drapes than erotically revering the stunning physique of a muscle god. I’d give examples of muscle worship misses, but it’s my policy not to call out products that I don’t like and just focus on promoting what I enjoy.

But I’m happy to be able to call up BG East’s new release Wrestleshack 35, and its very enjoyable play on elements of playful muscle worship blended beautifully with hot mat wrestling. The casting is instant drama. On the one hand, you’ve got Dio Characi (have I mentioned I got to talk with him in person last February at Wrestlefest NYC?). Dio has never been coy about his erotic interests. The Brazilian beauty always shows appreciation for his opponents’ hotness. Like clockwork, he is regularly turned on by a hotly muscled body standing in front of him, often reaching out unbidden before a wrestling match starts to cop a gratuitous feel of hard flexing muscles. As I’ve documented extensively, I think Dio, the 2022 Best Body winner, can easily belong on the receiving end of slack jawed muscle worship, which honestly makes it that much hotter when he gets that gleam in his eye and that tug of hungry delight at the corner of his mouth when he comes face-to-face with another worship-worthy muscle god. Like Chace LaChance.

Is it Mandela effect, or am I correct in remembering that Chace was one of the early Best Body BGE award winners? That’s not included in his pedigree on his profile, but I would swear that he topped that chart at least once. In any given year, he easily merits being a contender for the title. Fuck, his body is 100% classic physique coverboy! We’ve had the privilege of watching Chace grow up before our eyes in front of the BG East cameras, emerging from a cocoon and slowly spreading his wings into this stunning specimen of gorgeous aesthetics and superhero proportions. Unlike Dio, I have no idea what does or does not turn Chace on, though. His deep catalog at BGE and elsewhere veers decidedly on the side of merely implied eroticism. Many opponents have turned their lustful gazes on Chace, but he’s remained the straight man in the drama, not flinching at the erotic gaze of opponents, but staking out his investment squarely in the territory of testing his muscles and skills in defense of his ego.

So, when Dio strides into the wrestleshack (looking sexy AS FUCK as always), the salacious grin that stretches across his face when he sees Chace stretching out on the mats says everything. “Okay, I can see a bunch of muscles here,” he says like a hungry man stepping up to an all-you-can-eat buffet. “Those muscles look tight,” he observes, immediately copping an uninvited feel of Chace’s mountainous right bicep. “Damn, they’re pretty big,” Dio undersells, even as his roaming hands disclose a lot more unqualified appreciation for Chace’s mouthwatering body. Chace can’t stop himself from flexing and stretching his massive muscles even as the Brazilian helps himself to digging deeper and deeper into Chace’s luxuriously thick pecs.

“I thought this was a wrestling match,” Chace observes dispassionately. “But I guess someone will have to give me a little muscle massage. Does that feel good to you?” The answer is written all over Dio’s cherubic face, and in the intensity of his palms pressing into the powerful pecs, and in his light grunt of pleasure. But in that cheeky way Dio has, he damns with relatively faint praise. “Pretty much.” Under the pretense of helping Chace stretch out his magnificent muscles, Dio slides his hands across the muscle hunk’s body and snakes his arms underneath Chace’s pits, ostensibly to palm those pecs again, but then suddenly, he snaps on a full nelson. “I’ll show you how to stretch,” Dio says with that little devil gleam in his eyes.

I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it again. Dio in the driver’s seat sends me places! Fuck, he manhandles Chace hard, and I’m here for it. Double hammerlocks wrench on the big man’s massive shoulders and puff out Chace’s bulging pecs for more hungry groping. Body part by body part, the Brazilian punishes and then possesses his opponent’s sensational physique. He wrenches on the big man’s knee and lower back in a single leg crab, keeping one hand free to slide his palm up Chase’s inner thigh. He’s got Chace begging with bitterness thick in the back of the muscle hunk’s throat, and it’s lush and so hot. With that diabolical, light chuckle of his, Dio caresses the big man’s chest with open lust, demanding the battered muscle god flex for him. And Chace does. “Are you happy,” Chace asks angrily pumping his biceps on command. “More than happy,” Dio enthuses, leaning in to stroke the muscle man’s upper arms and hungrily sniff Chace’s sweaty pit.

Chace catches his breath and hits his second wind in time to catapult sexy Dio across the shack. And holy hell, Chace serving up revenge muscle torture is almost as intoxicating to me as having Dio in the driver’s seat. Having jobbed so many times and suffered so magnificently at the hands of a career and half-long line of heel opponents before, a more seasoned and skilled Chace is a thing of beauty. His bodyscissors wring the sweat out of Dio’s pores. The Brazilian’s head just about disappears when it gets trapped between Chace’s massive quads. Again and again, Chace punishes Dio and then shoves a flexed bicep in the Brazilian’s screwed up face. “Want some biceps now!?” I think Chace thinks he’s teaching the sexy cherub a lesson, but Dio’s answer is to open his lips wide and start sucking on those massive peaks of Chace’s. “I don’t know if you’re enjoying this more than I am, now,” Chace says with a bemused chuckle.

The things is, I think that’s a real question. I mean, on the one hand, Dio shows his cards from start to finish. Dio doesn’t exactly mind getting punished while he’s getting to grope and lick and sniff everything Chace shoves at him. The answer to Chace’s question on the surface of things is OF COURSE Dio is enjoying this more. But, to my delight, I think the answer is more complex than that. Because, I don’t know if Chace would admit it, but there’s no fucking way he’s not getting into getting worshiped with the single-minded focus of this hungry Brazilian. He’s got Dio in a schoolboy pin at one point, just lording his magnificent muscles over his crushed opponent, and having clearly established that Dio wants to stroke, grope, taste and smell every inch of him, Chace smiles down and flexes some more. “You just admire now,” he orders his supplicant. And, I swear, Dio and I say at the exact same time, “Fuuuuuuuck.” And we’re both meaning the same thing. This is fucking hot as hell, and holy shit, I seriously think Chace is getting into being slack-jaw-worshiped just as much as Dio is enjoying doing the worshiping.

There’s a bit of suspense along the way of this 27 minute sweat-fest in the wrestleshack, but whoever is on top, the muscle worship theme rings true and persistently from start to finish. The passion and personalities just keep driving this back to those elements of hot muscle worship that I crave most when I’ve got a hankering for it. That, along with hot, mean, sexy wrestling, make me a huge, huge fan of this match. I’m a long-time fanboy for Chace, and (I know I hide it well), I’m infatuated with Dio (I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but I actually talked to him for a few minutes in person at Wrestlefest NYC last February). And the pairing of these two gorgeous crowd pleasers, along with the perfect complement of a ravenously hungry muscle worshiper and a muscle Adonis almost startled to discover the pleasure of being worshiped, is absolutely sensational.

“Let’s wrestle! Non?”

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I was nursing a little crush on Mickey Knoxx from before I ever laid eyes on him. I bumped into him on social media, through friends of friends, and saw some of his comments before I’d done my due diligence and tracked down what he looks like. Even then, before he’d taped his first match with BG East, before I’d seen him throwing down on Watchfighters, he was just so effortlessly earnest. He loves wrestling. He loves being a wrestler. And now that he’s wrestled several times for BG East, and on Watchfighters, and been a headliner for the Wrestlefest NYC Live show, and I’ve enjoyed the opportunity to chat with him a little one-on-one, he seems more transparently earnest to me than ever. Mickey always seems up for whatever is about to go down. He perpetually fully expects to have fun no matter how off the rails, brutal, or raunchy things are going to play out. In fact, the more so, the better. So, when Mickey walks out of his hotel bathroom in BG East’s Wrestlefest 5, and he checks out his sensationally hot body suction packed into sensationally hot silver trunks, and he starts trying to plead, cajole, trash talk, and/or intimidate his way into inciting one of his four friends hanging out to wrestle with him, it just rings so true to Mickey. Five hot homoerotic wrestlers hanging out at Wrestlefest… why in the fuck is nobody wrestling Mickey looking as delicious and raring to go as he does!?

There’s an art imitating life imitating art wall of mirrors going on in his match. It’s the fifth installment in BG East’s Wrestlefest series that they’ve been producing for over 30 years now. It ticks off pretty much all of the boxes of the genre that BGE pioneered so magnificently. There’s an intensely hot and sweaty wrestling match that plays out in front of an audience of wrestling peers who cannot restrain themselves from cheering, jeering, and on a few occasions joining in the action. But, this is ALSO a Wrestlefest match in that it was recorded at Wrestlefest NYC this past February. Those cheering, jeering, and interfering wrestling peers on the sidelines in Wrestlefest 5 are all legitimately Wrestlefest NYC attendees. So, the spontaneity of this hotel match has an extra authentic feel to it. So does the exhaustion of several of the wrestlers on the couches who are just too fucking tired for Mickey to provoke into a match (some of these guys wrestled literally several dozens of matches over the course of 4 or 5 days in NYC).

Mickey’s potential opponents lining the walls of the hotel room have all appeared here on this blog within the past year or so. Beau Jordan, Denzel Dixon, Bobby Carter, and Isaac Andrews are all super hot wrestlers in their own right. Bobby has been on fire for a few years now, including starring in two of his own BG East releases also recorded at Wrestlefest NYC. Beau, Denzel, and Isaac all have their own unique brands and styles that I think would be sensational value-added to BG East. But after getting shot down by everyone, Mickey refuses to take no for an answer from Isaac, literally grabbing him by an ankle and dragging the bearded hottie onto the wrestling mats in the center of the hotel room.

All Mickey really has to do to bait the hook is flex his mouthwatering muscles tauntingly at Isaac. One of the wrestler-spectators chirps, “are you going to wrestle, or just show off?” Was that Bobby? Honestly, whoever it was, I need to smack him in the mouth, because I’d enjoy watching Mickey show off his beautiful bod all day long. Isaac can’t resist the gravitational pull to join in the show, peeling off his shirt and showing off his hairy-chested hotness. The wrestlers watching from the sidelines are impressed, but, yeah, egging them on to start the serious action.

Isaac is bigger than Mickey, and he exploits that fact often. It’s about 6 seconds after the first collar and elbow lock-up that Isaac manhandles Mickey to the mat and shoves the pretty boy’s face under his armpit, snapping on an opening dragon sleeper. An OPENING dragon sleeper!? Oh, fuck, Mickey, this isn’t looking good. Although, both of the wrestlers are looking gorgeous as hell. When Mickey’s mesmerizing eyes and pretty face are buried in Isaac’s pit, I’m able to refocus and seriously check out Mickey’s competition. The last time I saw Isaac Andrews, he was the one punching up by picking a fight with Wrestlefest NYC Live Heavyweight Champion, Tarz Lando. He’s bigger now, but he’s still handsome as fuck, with that full beard and with those eyes nearly as hypnotizing as Mickey’s. Isaac’s got that same naughty vibe that I found so irritatingly endearing when he literally bit Tarz in their match. It’s less like Isaac gets off on inflicting pain, and more like he gets off on infuriating an opponent. He’s way less badass bully, and more sneering big brother. With Mickey writhing and wriggling in that dragon sleeper, Issac strokes the pretty boy’s hot muscles and tauntingly pinches Mickey’s nipples, and again, I’m fascinated by this energy. He just wants to make Mickey mad.

And, he succeeds. At one point, Mickey digs himself out of another deficit and comes up cocked and ready with a sucker punch to suck the wind right of Isaac’s sails. Mean Mickey is just fucking delicious for my tastes. He knees Isaac in the gut and shoves the bearded naughty boy into face-to-crotch headscissors. He plays to the audience, flexing for the the boys on the couches in this teasing way that seems to sway the doubters who’ve been jeering him from the start. He puts those luscious muscles to good use, manhandling Isaac into a kneeling surfboard and doing his best to rip the naughty boy’s arms out of their sockets. Mickey fully turns the skeptics into believers wringing an astonished submission out of his opponent, finally redirecting all that sideline chirping to start crashing down on Issac.

“I’m going to fuck you up,” Isaac snarls, coming off a whole lot less naughty and a whole lot more raging bull. So, sure, Isaac was fucking dangerous when he was just playing around. Now that he’s pissed, and his ego has been bruised in front of the rest of the guys, he kicks his aggression into a higher and hotter gear. Fuck, he abuses Mickey relentlessly! Those shiny silver trunks Mickey is so proud of get peeled right off (I’m NOT complaining about the view of Mickey’s ass in a thong, mind you). He let’s the audience members get in some licks, including some gut punches and then shoving Mickey’s trunks down his throat. One of the hottest highlights of this furious hotel match is when Isaac slams Mickey down and traps the pretty boy in standing headscissors with Mickey’s skull hanging over the edge of the bed. Fuck, that’s hot.

The boys must both think so as well, because the intense aggression melds with erotic passion as they start making out mid-punishment. That intoxicating recipe of wrestling domination, and the both of them getting turned on, makes me swoon.

The winner soaks in the lauds of his peers, but the trophy taking hits a sweet spot for me. A post-match private moment in the bathroom ends with these hard wrestling hunks turning all that heat they worked up into sucking face, getting naked, and making out in the shower. Fuck, I am SUCH a major fan of a post match shower!

Welcome to the BG East catalog, Isaac Andrews! I hope we see you bring that mischievously naughty hairy elf hunk energy to many more BG East matches to come. And if Mickey Knoxx’ stunningly sexy ass doesn’t make it onto the Best Butt ballot again this year, I am launching a full-scale investigation… and awarding him my own golden glutes award next time I see him.

“Big Mouth, Weak Back”

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UKWrestlingHub describes their match #178 as “the best of British muscle boys.” I’m instantly hooked by the pairing of Joey Mason, who I not long ago fell in lust with, and T-World, who I’ve crushed on from afar for quite a while now. I’m an American English speaker from birth, but I NEED fucking subtitles to catch even 50% of what Joey says. Other than “fuck,” which he says approximately 87 times over the course of the 16 minute match. There’s got to be some relatively subtle class politics playing out between these two based on their very different accents, but my expertise is limited to watching Gavin and Stacey and the Catherine Tate Show, so I think it mostly goes over my head. That said, T-World’s diction is crisp and dripping with condescension, while Joey’s is… literally unintelligible with notes of clearly-on-the-edge-of-pulling-a-knife out at any moment. Just to be clear, there’s no knife. And no subtitles. Just 16 minutes packed with some intense wrestling drama and the aforementioned 87 (or so) “fucks.”

Okay, in all honestly, I did understand more of what Joey had to say… but I had to listen to it a few times. It was worth the work, because his trash talk is fucking hot! T-World struts in like he owns the place, and sneers down his nose at the UKWrestlingHub newbie, Joey. “So, they said you were the new kid,” T-World says, with an emphasis on “kid.” “Right,” he rolls his eyes dismissively. “I didn’t realize we were running a creche.” This American watching quickly confirms through online sources that “creche” is what I’d call a nursery, and T-World just called Joey a snot-nosed child. And, honestly, I get it. Joey looks young and ripe for spoiling. Those union jack trunks are sensational in showing off a seriously hot bod, but, sure, but he’s a total babyface. Joey snarks back something that sounds like he’s gargling marbles, but when I watch it again a few times, it turns out he said, “Yeah, ready to fuck the shit out of you. Show you who’s the bad boy here!” And, fuck, yeah, the extra effort to translate it is worth it. Dialect aside, Joey’s trash talk game is fierce and seriously turning me on.

You know what else is turning me on? The back and forth battle of mean boys in this match. T-World looks like a candidate for the next Bond, frankly. Seriously handsome, sweet, meaty pecs, thickly muscles thighs. The syrupy buckets of condescension he pours out make me want to see Joey sit on his face and smother him with that union jack so valiantly stretched across Joey’s meaty ass. However, damn it all if T-World doesn’t heel seriously satisfyingly. When he’s wringing suffering out of the babyfaced newbie like a sponge with a long, mean Boston crab, I can’t help but enjoy the slow, cruel pace of it. Once again, Joey has that haircut so sharp you can cut yourself on it, and T-World dragging the boy up by a handful of it is lush. He hoists Joey high off the ring in a luxuriously long bearhug that shows off the star of the show (in my opinion), Joey’s munchable ass, and I’ve just go to sit back and appreciate it. T-World’s self-congratulatory snark and superiority are so fucking annoying, but fuck it all if he doesn’t heel like the “real champ” he repeatedly points out that he is.

The only other time I saw Joey wrestle he jobbed relentlessly, so I was sitting up and cheering to see him battle back against T-World’s size and experience advantages and put a hot, sexy hurt on 007. Joey’s got some sweet, hot-bully potential right below the surface as he manhandles his smart-mouthed opponent in a belly-to-back bearhug. Even T-World admits to being shocked by the kid’s power. Joey’s camel clutch is cocky and vicious, but he’s in the saddle for the real offense, which is his relentless dirty-mouthed, marble gargling trash talk. “So, you’re a little fucking bitch boy,” he snarls at the back of T-World’s head, who’s not exactly in any position to argue with Joey. “That’s all you are, right? Cry like a little fucking bitch, you little fucking pussy!” So, yeah, I still say it was worth rewinding and studying the audio to tease out that hot, sexy, take-no-prisoners trash talk from the new kid. True, he lets’ T-World get up without wrenching a submission out of the pompous asshole… but, he sadistically stomps T-World right back down when the pretty boy starts to try to climb up to all fours and finally defend himself against this mean, ripped, ridiculously cute newbie.

It’s a back and forth battle, which is SO in my sweet spot, although I know there are those of you who can never get enough squashes. So, buyer beware, this is NOT a squash. I’m pretty sure T-World’s cunning, size, and blind certainty of his own superiority are going to pull this out, but Joey, despite suffering like a fucking champ, keeps this seriously interesting to the end. Even when Joey’s writhing and wailing in agony, he’s making threats that make my crotch twitch. “Wait till I get out,” Joey gargles. “You’re fucked boy! You’re so fucking fucked, I promise you right now!” He doesn’t submit. Sure, he’s got an edge of pleading in his voice, but he demands T-World let him go from 007’s camel clutch like T-World may have just poked the bear cub one too many times. Still, draped over the bottom turnbuckle with T-World bouncing his ass on Joey’s lower back, it’s hard to see how this new kid is going to pull off the upset. “Big mouth,” T-World delivers his withering assessment of Joey’s prospects at UKWrestlingHub. “Weak back!”

I’ve got to study the transcript more to discover how much more turned on Joey can make me with his nearly incomprehensible trash talk (I suspect it’s a lot more). But let me just wrap up by saying both of these wrestlers are sensationally hot to look at, and they’ve got seriously compelling personalities on full display in this match. The wrestling is somewhere right on the border between pro and back alley brawl, and I fucking love that formula. I know I said this last time I reviewed Joey in a match, but sweet fucking wrestling gods, this skinny-fit pretty boy has got a magnificently compelling ass, and I hope it lures more of the Best of British Muscle Boys to sign up for a go at him!

My Go-To

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I recently mentioned BG’s Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4 to a friend. When he hadn’t heard of it, I searched for my review of the match here on the blog, and to my genuine shock, I didn’t find anything. I still half-expect that there is a post buried somewhere in the past 16 years of blogging, because, honestly, Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4 features pretty high up there on my list of all-time favorites. If I’m stuck on a dessert island with only a handful of videos to watch forever, I think it might even be on that short list. In case I have actually managed to somehow never review the scorching hot contest between Talvin Demachio and Rocky, here are a few of my thoughts about why I continually circle back to Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4 these 24 years after it was originally produced.

First of all, Talvin and Rocky are perfection. After the match is over, in one of the hottest, casual, unscripted shower scenes ever, the two of them confess that they both maintain their stunning physical fitness on a steady diet of Burger King and McDonalds, which I believe only goes to show how winning the genetic lottery and being young and active can overcome a whole shitload of poor choices (for a while). This is one of those cases where both wrestlers absolutely enthrall me in equal measure. Rocky is taller and leaner by a fraction, but they’re both gorgeously muscled babyfaces. Interestingly, in that post-match shower scene, the conversation reveals that Rocky is as infatuated with Talvin as I am, begging to be Talvin’s boyfriend. “We’d have such great sex, and I’d let you be on top the whole time!” This comment will not surprise you after you’ve seen what Talvin’s packing.

You wouldn’t necessarily know how ready Rocky is to settle down from the super sexy and intense wrestling match that just had, though. You might guess that both guys are down with just how sexy this is going to get based on the slow, comprehensive oil down they give each other before the action starts. Honestly, it’s 20 minutes of the hour and eight minute video, and there’s not a wasted second to the intensely intimate application of baby oil across both bodies. Rocky is already hard well before Talvin finally spares a little baby oil for Rocky’s cock. And holy hell, Talvin’s white briefs turn totally transparent after Rocky pours practically an entire bottle of baby oil all over him, and Talvin’s huge, thick cock is trying it’s best to slither right out of those briefs as Rocky slicks up absolutely every inch of him. It’s been years since I watched this for the first time, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t make it past the oiling scene on my first pass before needing to take a break and re-hydrate.

It looks like it could be a mismatch when the boys get on their knees and start to wrestle. Rocky’s reach and size advantage seem like they could button up Talvin’s thick, sculpted, compactly muscled body. There’s about half a minute of testing each other where Rocky sports a shit-eating grin like this is all going to be a walk in the park. And then Talvin tackles him to his back, takes a side headlock, and makes him hurt just enough to wipe that shit-eating grin off. I don’t know what sort of wrestling backgrounds these two had, but in under a minute, Talvin’s got Rocky spladled and choked, and suddenly Rocky just doesn’t look so big.

The recipe of competitive and erotic elements approaches perfection for my tastes. The boys are groping and grinding, giving each other wedgies in order to get their hands on those magnificently sculpted glutes. But then one of them will suddenly get serious and overcome the challenge of being overly lubricated to lock on a punishing hold that makes his opponent whimper and writhe. Talvin milks the fuck out of magnificent face-to-crotch headscissors, and while, sure, I don’t think Rocky is entirely hating it, Talvin fucking CRANKS on the lucky fucker’s skull hard. Rocky’s body scissors manage to suck the momentum right out of Talvin, though, flexing Rocky’s gorgeously thick thighs and rubbing in the domination in with some cocky alligator rolls.

The most seriously suspenseful battle is all happening inside Rocky’s head, though. All scrappy Talvin has to do is slide his oil slicked body onto Rocky’s back and grind his cock against Rocky’s crack, and Rocky just loses it. At one point, when the briefs are still on, Rocky has been fucking fiercely holding off Talvin’s offense, until the moment Talvin mounts his ass, wraps a huge bicep across Rocky’s throat, and nibbles on Rocky’s ear. Holy shit, you can pretty much just watch Rocky melt into a pool of baby oil and body fluids.

Rocky is forcibly separated from this gray briefs about 36 minutes in, and holy shit, see all my comments above about physical perfection. Less than 2 minutes later, Rocky returns the favor, and what was already a sensationally erotic battle for top turns that much more sensual. The wrestling turns meaner once they’re naked, until about 15 minutes after they’ve both lost their briefs, one hungry but frustrated hunk taps out with a mouthful of delicious cock and his left arm about to get ripped out of his shoulder joint in a viciously brutal hammerlock.

This match is just absolute alchemy as far as I’m concerned. Someone should do a forensic analysis on the exact doses of competitive wrestling and erotic passion, the beautifully paced back and forth battle to dominate, and the precise proportions of foreplay, frenzied wrestling action, and stunningly endearing unscripted chatter in the post-match shower.

For those counting, before all is said and done, there’s a lot of dick whipping and forced cock sucking, passionate humping and grinding that I completely buy, before the winner claims his prize and fucks his opponent’s gorgeous ass 4 different ways. I’m less about their fucking, but I am all about their fuck stakes firing them both up to battle past the impediments of baby oil and a camera and work their gorgeous bodies in a bid to dominant one another for right around 35 minutes of wrestling action.

Can-Am has been selling BG Enterprise matches for a while now, but I can’t find Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4 in their catalog, sadly. A web search pulls up other places purporting to sell all or clips from this classic match, but I seriously recommend enjoying the whole thing if you can find it. This makes me wonder who is keeping an archive of this sensational canon of homoerotic wrestling, where 24 years after filming, a gem like Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4 is considered a rare gem to lay your hands on. And don’t get me started on reactionary politics trying their best to make dystopian Margaret Atwood fiction into a blueprint of repressed sexuality and hypocritical “modesty.” Talvin Demachio and Rocky are fucking beautiful in this one hour and 8 minute capture of them in the prime of their youth, reveling in their bodies, reveling in each other’s bodies, riding the perfect wave of homoerotic wrestling tension into mutual sexual gratification in which everyone is a winner. It’s gorgeous and provocative and something to be celebrated.