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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.

“Don’t Make Me Hurt You”

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I’ve been blogging about Austin Cooper for exactly 14 years. Literally, this is the 14th anniversary of my innaugural post featuring Coop when I first caught sight of him in the early days of Rock Hard Wrestling. I’ve spilled a shit ton of virtual ink marveling at Coop’s wrestling skills, larger than life character development, and, of course, he’s wicked hot muscles. He’s got to be one of the most prolific wrestlers in the wrestling-for-gay-eyes corner of the industry, appearing for multiple producers up and down the U.S. East Coast. In everything I’ve seen him in, there’s something hardcore and constant about him. He’s casually aggressive, with sadistic mean streaks even when he’s totally serving up babyface. I’ve always had this impression of Coop as right at the edge of where cocky turns into arrogant, never more so than when he really started relishing ripping less experienced wrestlers limb from limb and going full-on heel. But since he showed up back at BG East, serving up huge cuts of brawny beef, there’s this almost live-and-let-live vibe to start his matches off that’s just so down to earth and casual. I mean, he’s got even more a bulldozer feel about him, but in Backyard Brawls 19, when he offers Dio Characi the opportunity to just walk away after muscle mauling the beautiful Brazilian for just a couple of minutes, not shit, I think he’s sincere! It’s almost like he’s a little worried for Dio and doesn’t want to hurt him more than he has to. Fuck, I remember when Coop gave Leo Tomasi a bloody nose and laughed in Leo’s face about it. These days, I feel like he’s almost saying to dazzlingly pretty Dio, “Don’t make me hurt you.”

But, oh fuck, he hurts Dio a lot before this is all said and done. Of course, I’m well on may way to spilling another shit ton of virtual ink over my obsession with Dio Characi. Have I mentioned I met him in person at Wrestlefest NYC last February? Yeah, I know. I drop that treasured fact into pretty much any and every conversation that I possibly can. Dio doesn’t accept Coop’s offer to walk away, of course. In fact, the increasingly skilled, strong, and stunningly agile babyface beauty doesn’t just effectively counter, he gloats. “I have to admit, you’re pretty strong,” Dio says with that mischievous grin on his cherubic face as he stitching together a simultaneous hammerlock, choke, and ankle lock. “But I am, too.”

Dio likes to pop big bad heels in the nose and give them everything he’s got, to see if they can put a hurt on him. And he puts up a serious fight against this seasoned wrestler with so many years more experience and so many pounds more muscle. Honestly, Dio on offense is one of my favorite things these days. He follows up a headbutt to Coop’s testicles with a sneering ball claw on the stunned brute. He’s got this Bond villain laugh that’s hardwired directly to my cock, as he delights in shocking another big, bad, more experienced opponent. His crotch pillow headscissors make Coop’s stunned face turn a seriously deep shade of purple. One of the sexiest still frames in Backyard Brawls 19 is Dio mounting his opponent in a schoolboy pin, clawing the fuck out of those extra meaty pecs Coop wears these days, and then twisting on the veteran’s nipples like he’s trying to dial in Cleveland. Holy shit, he even sits on Coop’s face, gut punches the veteran, and literally spanks Austin’s legendary ass! Holy fuck, I swoon.

There are a lot of other candidates for sexiest still frames, though, and most of them feature Coop provoked far beyond any empathy or concern he might have had about not wanting to hurt his adorable opponent earlier. His Boston crab on the astonishingly flexible Brazilian serves up Dio’s athletic ass to perfection, just about to completely squeeze out of his trunks. The series of bearhugs Coop applies, turning from belly-to-back to belly-to-belly and back again, shows off every mouthwatering, aesthetic muscle on the suffering babyface. Similarly, Coop’s surfboard provides this dazzlingly hot tour of the Brazilian’s stunning body that was, just 15 minutes earlier, literally doing a round off back handspring across the yard.

Fourteen years later, Austin Cooper has evolved from one of the (literally) inaugural ripped rookies into one of the most accomplished veteran muscle heels on record. Approximately 50 matches into his BG East catalog (!!!), and I’m guessing at least that again for other companies, he’s made an indelible mark on the industry and shaped the homoerotic wrestling fantasies of a generation. And, holy shit, he leaves an indelible mark on Brazilian It-Boy Dio Characi in Backyard Brawls 19.

Heels & Heroes

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I’m excited to announce that I’m collaborating on a new venture in homoerotic wrestling fiction! The quick version of the announcement is that I’ve partnered with my long time collaborator, AR, to publish a pro-wrestling-turns-erotic serial, pairing his gorgeous wrestling graphics with my penchant for prose. The Heels & Heroes series explores the fictional world in which the Global Wrestling League recruits the best pro wrestling talent from around the world to produce classic, high production value pro wrestling drama week after week for a globally televised audience. What happens in the ring is already boundary-obliterating stuff, but the series also explores what’s in the heads, in the locker rooms, and behind the curtains. And as you might imagine if you’ve ever read a word I’ve written before anywhere, erotic domination and sexual gratification are the raison d’être and raison de faire underlying everything that makes wrestling so compelling (as far as I’m concerned). For $5 a month, subscribers get access to weekly updates including graphics and text documenting the global superstars of wrestling battling it out, scheming and scrapping, preening and plotting, and putting their beautiful bodies on the line for glory and a shot at gold. Back-Stage-Pass holders ($10/month) get additional exclusives, including even more magnificently crafted images of the action, even more pros-in-private NSFW graphics, and exclusive access to polls and future storyboards to weigh in on what happens to whom, and just how raunchy these hard-bodied gladiators are going to get.

Now, for the longer version of the announcement, I want to share a little bit of how fun this has been to work on and world-build for the past 12 months. First of all, I want to acknowledge that there is already a lot of incredible homoerotic wrestling art (graphic and text) out there. AR and I spent a ton of time, including several start-overs, multiple recasts, and literally hundreds of hours brainstorming, storyboarding, rendering graphics and writing and rewriting text, most of it focused on trying to create something novel and engaging. I think we’ve landed on a sweet spot that adds something creative and constructive for a homoerotic wrestling audience that likes to read. If I had my way, this would be 90%+ AR’s graphic art on showcase. The guy’s ability to convey narrative with nothing but a graphic blows my mind daily. However, if AR had his way, this would be 90%+ my written words, getting into and getting stoked hard by inside-out/outside-in details that only omniscient point-of-view fiction can provide. We’ve basically had to arm-wrestle over striking a balance that captures the best of what our unique collaboration has to offer.

Homoerotic wrestling in serial format has long been on my wish list. I’ve had three different potential producers of homoerotic wrestling videos approach me over the past 16 years to ask what I thought would be something fresh that a new company could provide to claim a novel niche in the (already saturated) market. Every time, I’ve said what I think is missing is plot. Of course, there’s some sensational storytelling happening within a lot of homoerotic wrestling videos (not in all of them, of course, but in a lot). But the nature and scale of how homoerotic wrestling is produced has just not permitted the world-building and story telling that can come from a serial format, with the plots of matches stitched tightly together, extending suspense and intrigue beyond the bounds of any one-off video. I’ve had established producers explain it to me, and I totally get it. They hire talent and film batches of matches a few times a year. Pulling off a multi-video, multiple match story arc like BG East’s Contract Series is wicked challenging to do for many reasons, including having reliable access to wrestlers committed to come back for multiple shoots. It’s just an entirely different beast to craft pro wrestling drama in a small shop format than, say, a mainstream pro wrestling federation employing wrestlers for one or more shows a week, where they can light slow burns and explosive feuds, where shocking betrayals have the context of multi-match histories, where wrestlers can be ranked and what happens in one match shapes the starting point for another match that will take place in the near future. I still think there’s more room to build on clever narrative like the Contract, or Grudge Match 6, or cocky heel partners in Tag Team Torture 19 turning on each other after a stunning loss. But one of the itches we’re scratching with Heels & Heroes is week-to-week, match-to-match development of the narrative, even tracking the drama and personalities after the cameras are off and wounds need licking (yum).

I’ve confessed many times over the years that I’m a bad capitalist. So, this is my first time marketing something having to do with my labor for monetary compensation (as far as writing about homoerotic wrestling). Honestly, I don’t think I’d be attempting this now if this weren’t a collaboration with someone I trust and whose creativity inspires me the way AR’s does. We really don’t have a business plan here, or strong sense of the tastes and demands of the market. What we do have is a lot of creativity and enthusiasm, and a product that delights us and turns us on. Anything we earn from Heels & Heroes will serve to offset some technical costs of continuing our creative endeavors, and keep us accountable to continuing to build the H&H world that we’ve grown to enjoy so much.

Check out teasers on the Heels_and_Heroes IG account, and if you’re interested in checking out the hot, sweaty, high impact, erotically charged pro wrestling universe of the Global Wrestling Ring, find us on Patreon!

Bard’s World

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This is my periodical post reminding everyone who spends any time here on the blog that what you find here at Sidelineland is just my personal musings on what turns me on about homoerotic wrestling. I’m about to celebrate the 16th year of this curious little sideline of mind, and it has remained just my personal take on wrestling and wrestling-adjacent topics (which reminds me I ought to write more on current hot celebrities who I wish wrestled). From time to time, I have been treated to some free videos from producers to whet my appetite to write reviews, but no one sponsors what I write. No one endorses my opinions (other than Scott when I talk about how incredibly hot he is). This is just my 1,745th post sharing my personal opinions and tastes and often ill-informed takes on the fascinating and titillating world of wrestling for gay eyes.

Scott agrees with me every time I mention how hot he is.

I’m prompted to remind you of this fact, despite how obvious it seems to me, because sometimes new readers stumble across Sidelineland and misunderstand what they’ve found. This isn’t journalism. It often isn’t even particularly well written, though occasionally I string together prose that I’m a little proud of. I don’t speak with any particular authority, and I don’t claim that my insights reflect anything other than my personal biases and tastes. So, when someone criticizes my opinion or perspective, I think that’s totally fair game. In fact, I get a kick out of comparing notes with legitimate homoerotic wrestling fans who see things differently than I do from time to time. So you don’t get instantly hard at the sight of Dio or Mitch or Lon or Rusty or Scott? I find this fascinating, because I do SO fucking much. I have, on many occasions, had my gaze turned on someone who hasn’t pinged my radar, to discover something hot and new introduced to me through the avid fanaticism of another wrestling fan. I’ve also had fans do their best, but be unable to quite get me into the particular wrestler or sub/uber-fetish that they’re devoted to. Thus I’m just a traveler alongside of those of you who are so fanatical about gut punching or feet (you know you are).

Stop hurting Dio! …. [note: please do NOT stop hurting Dio]

Honestly, I love comments here on the blog, and on social media. Last February at Wrestlefest NYC, I just about wanted to cry every time someone walked up to me to tell me that they read the blog and appreciated it, because I honestly had no idea 16 years ago who might care about anything I had to say, much less agree with it, and even much, much less get engaged in the conversation to eagerly disagree with it. Just so fucking cool, honestly! I don’t take it for granted for a second.

I was shocked the first time I heard someone tell me they didn’t get off on Mitch!

There are just a few guardrails on that here at Sidelineland. Obviously, I can’t prevent anyone from wanting to a pick a fight (not talking about the good kind of fight that ends up naked in a wrestling ring). Trolls are going to troll. That hasn’t changed in 16 years. But here, on the pages of my own blog, there are a few low blows that aren’t tolerated. One category of comment that’ll get you banned is talking shit about homoerotic wrestlers. You don’t have to like the wrestlers I like, or the matches, or the producers I favor, but anything that smacks of personal attacks on the men who wrestle for the enjoyment of others will get your comments deleted and your opportunity to comment here shut down. Body shaming, personal insults, homophobic slurs, going out of your way to try to take a dump on a match… basically, if it feels like you’re just here to tear down, that’s not what Sidelineland is for. The other, rarer reason someone gets banned is a personal attack on me. I actually put up with a lot more shit trying to shame me for my opinions than I’ll put up with slams on the people putting themselves in front of a camera and wrestling for the entertainment of others. But I do have limits, particularly here in my house, on this platform I’ve been constructing one post-in-the-dark after another.

Despite my blatant lobbying and pandering to voters, Lon Dumont has never won a Bestie Award.

This does beg a thorny question, however. When is trash talk a personal attack? I mean, fuck, I’ve literally recorded a podcast episode paying homage to how hot trash talk can be in a wrestling match! One wrestler insulting another to get under his skin, to light his fuse, to assert psychological dominance is a treasured part of the pro wrestling canon, as far as I’m concerned. So, I sort of get it when fans start throwing around insults that feel akin to the snarling trash talk quite a few of us enjoy from super hot wrestlers doing their thing. However, if you aren’t actually wrestling or setting up a hot wrestling premise for a motivating grudge to fuel your next (literal) match, then you dumping on a wrestler who’s had the balls to wrestle in front of a camera for your entertainment doesn’t make you a heel. It just makes you a dick. And you have every right to be a dick. Just not in the comments on this blog.

Damien likely isn’t a nepobaby, but he is indisputably hot as fuck!

One last distinction I want to make is how much I love kayfabe. I love the pretense. I love it when wrestlers are all-in, selling not just the holds and the suffering, but the world-building of villains and heroes battling it out in the ring (or on a mat, or in a motel room, or literally absolutely anywhere else). If you’ve read anything I’ve written, you likely know how much I love storytelling, and in particular, I love the narrative of brutal, hot, intense wrestling drama. I also love pulling back the pretense and talking with wrestlers about their actual lived experience of being part of the world-building as a character in a homoerotic wrestling drama. And, fuck, it can get confusing. I have sometimes had extensive conversations with wrestlers before conducting an interview with them, as we both decide if this will be a shoot interview or in character. There are few wrestlers out there where the two overlap so much as to make the matter moot, but most of them are not the larger than life sadistic heels or virtuous babyface heroes or hapless and horrified jobbers that they may portray. Nine times out of ten here on the blog, when it’s just me sharing my thoughts, I’ll enjoy living in that world they’ve built, though. I’ll heap scorn on Damien Rush as a beefcake nepobaby (though I strongly suspect he did not, literally, grow up with a trust fund). I’ll complain about the brutality heaped upon the cherubic beauty of babyface hero Dio Characi. I enjoy playing into and playing with and amplifying the narrative as a way of respecting kayfabe and appreciating the hot wrestling drama it delivers us. I sincerely have nothing but slack-jawed awe and respect for all of the wrestlers I’ve featured here on the blog. And on just a couple of occasions, when I’ve had a wrestler take issue with something I’ve said, I’ve diligently amended what’s published here, because pissing off or insulting the hot hunks I crush on in wrestling is the opposite of my intention.

Rusty was another of my passionate fixations that someone wasn’t shared by everyone.

On a related note, just a heads up that I’m moderating all comments for a while (even those of you who are long-time commenters). Don’t take it personally, please. When the comment section cools off a bit, I’ll put it back to normal. But in the mean time, if it takes a beat longer than usual to see your comment post, be patient. And know that I love what you have to say (unless you never see your comment posted, in which case you’ve been banned).