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The Best: Classics

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Honestly, I keep delaying writing this post because of the real possibility that, by the time I’m done writing, the lead will have changed yet again in the reader poll to decide between Mikey Vee and Ace Hanson. There have been more than a dozen changes in the lead over the past two days. It’s been close from the start. I thought Mikey was going to edge out the victory at the end of voting on day one. Then yesterday morning, the vote was tied when I woke up and checked the poll. Over the course of the day yesterday, Mikey kept trying to pull ahead, but Ace persistently clawed back to a tie over and over again. And lo and behold, this morning I arise to discover the classic, hard bodied muscle hunk to eek out the victory in the bitter, bitter end is Ace Hanson with 51.8% of the vote!

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Ace Hanson: The Best

I feel pretty certain that, should voting continue, these two beautiful badasses would be locked in a give and take, back and forth in perpetuity. And, on the one hand, I feel like that’s the perfect climax to this series. Yet, I feel like I need to call it, as arbitrarily as it may be, handing Playgirl centerfold, gay porn muscle god, and fucking brutally dominant homoerotic wrestling heel Ace the title. Tuck in and read David’s description of how he sees the match in the comments to the original post (back when Mikey was holding onto a lead). Personally, I think of this vote as the wrestling equivalent of two devastatingly vicious heels pulling out all the stops and just not able to put each other out. Both muscle gods defy belief by surviving finisher after finisher. Mikey tries to break Ace’s back and balls in a crotch claw torture rack, bouncing up and down and twisting his testicles. Ace screams and writhes, but he refuses to submit. After Mikey gives up on the torture rack, Ace battles back, scoops Mikey up and pounds him down in an OTK backbreaker, exacting revenge by beating the fuck out his bobbing cock and balls. Mikey wails, but won’t concede. When Ace flings Mikey off his knee with contempt, Mikey roars back into contention with a knee to the gut that bends Ace over, Mikey snapping his hugely muscled quads around Ace’s head, tugging his huge cock in excited anticipation, and then hoists Ace off his feet, suspended upside down, and delivers a spine tingling pile driver. Ace’s sweat soaked body twitches and spasms, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head. But when Mikey lifts and drops Ace’s right arm to confirm that he knocked him out, Ace’s tenuous hold on consciousness denies him the victory. A stunning jab at Mikey’s balls puts them both back at neutral, but it’s Ace who grabs the initiative first by sliding Mikey’s head between his tree trunk thighs and presses his tibia squarely across his opponent’s throat in a padlocked crotch pillow figure-4 chokehold. Mikey starts bucking and writhing in panic, clawing at Ace’s crushing legs, struggling futilely to reach behind him to land a last chance blow at Ace’s juicy cock, now fully erect and grinding into the back of Mikey’s head. Ace bats his hands away, squeezing Mikey’s throat even harder. “It’s over, mother fucker!” Ace barks victoriously. Mikey groans deep in his chest, no more than a trickle of oxygen permitting him to hold his grip on consciousness. Mikey’s hips rise off of the mat, his lower back arched, and he grabs hold of his own rock hard cock stretched toward the ceiling at the apex of his bridge. Ace laughs at his opponent’s utter humiliation, flexing his biceps like a boss as he watches Mikey jack his meat harder and faster. Mikey can’t help himself. He can’t stop himself. He’s never met an opponent like Ace before, who can take everything Mikey can give and still button Mikey up like an underclassman. Mikey shoots a jet of cum across his washboard ups, splattering his bulging pecs and chin. Mikey’s hips finally crash to the mat in exhaustion, seconds before he slips out of consciousness and remains blissfully unaware as Ace lifts and drops Mikey’s slack, cum soaked right hand three times to confirm the knockout and the victory.

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Thanks to everyone for voting, and thanks for the comments, particularly David’s fabulously sexy and extensive narratives. And congratulations to the classic homoerotic wrestling hunk champion who managed to swoop in in the end and claim the title of The Best!

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics – extra innings

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Woah. Before I went to sleep last night I checked the Be the Best poll, and Mikey Vee was in the lead, but Ace Hanson was hot on his heels. It seemed like a close battle all day yesterday, but it looked like Mikey was going to hold off Ace’s persistent push to take down the champ. When I woke up this morning, the poll was tied!  Fuck, this is the perfect way to pound out the climactic final match of this To Be the Best Classic homoerotic wrestling star competition. Even this morning, a few votes have teetered the title back and forth, like a wrestling match 25 minutes in, both hunks soaked in sweat, exhausted, stripped of their gear and hanging on desperately to their reputations as muscle hunk badasses.  Rather than call the match prematurely, I’ll keep the poll open a while longer to see if Mikey or Ace can open up a little distance and finally put away the last man standing in the way of final victory.

In the mean time, I thought I’d share some inspiration to see if it can sway any of you fence-sitters. First, here are just a few of the reasons Mikey Vee has been a force of nature in homoerotic wrestling for over a decade. He’s got the face of a Hollywood leading man, the body of a superhuman porn muscle top, and the serious-as-a-heart-attack sadistic will to dominate. But let’s face it, it’s that solid beef ass of his that sets Mikey apart from almost any opponent. Take a look at a few more angles of the defending champ, Mikey Vee:

Before you sign up for team Mikey, though, you should also take a look at Ace in all his glory. If you think he looks like a Playgirl centerfold, you’d be right. If you think he looks like a gay porn muscle god, you’d be right. If you think he’d be a fucking steel-core bulldozer as a homoerotic wrestler, you’d be right. Take a look at Ace’s bid to earn your vote as the Best of the Best:

Does that give you any more clarity about who you want to vote for? There are no losers in a muscle match up like this one. Well, except for the hard core muscle hunk who’s going to get beat down, worked over, dominated and humiliated into a could-have-been runner up. But absolutely everyone else, particularly you and I, are winners. If you haven’t already, vote now!

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

wrestlebard2 Comments

Flex’s magnificent muscles, gorgeous proportions, and porn-ready cock were not enough to knock Mikey Vee’s legendary muscle ass off of the BBB throne. The poll turned into the wrestling equivalent of a heel beatdown against a stubborn opponent unaccustomed to getting steamrolled. David once again narrated a ton of the action in the comments, and it’s a dizzyingly sexy, “full-contact” (to say the least) muscle massacre. Personally, I picture the climactic moment with Mikey’s naked ass smothering Flex, flat on his back, in the middle of the ring. Mikey hooks one of his opponent’s legs and folds him up, pinning him solidly and really planting his face deep up Mikey’s massive glutes. Of course, pins mean nothing, so Mikey grabs Flex’s battered balls with his free hand and twists hard. Flex probably submits, but there’s nothing but muffled grunts and whimpers from deep up Mikey’s cavernous crack. The grunts and whimpers finally grow silent. Still perched on his face, Mikey lifts and drops Flex’s right hand three times, confirming that the Can-Am gladiator is out for good.

So today is the final match in this round of the Battle to Be the Best, classics edition. There are so many more classic homoerotic wrestling stars who probably deserve a crack at the title, but with only one last spot, I’ve sweated over the choice of just one classic hunk to get the chance to unseat Mikey. Honestly, Mikey mowed through most of the classic hunks at BGE in his career, so I’m casting the net wider for the last contender. I’ve settled on giving this last shot to Ace Hanson aka Eric Reins of Thunders Arena and Can-Am/JetSet fame. Devastatingly pretty and deadly dangerous, Ace never made it to the BGE roster, which made a full throttle muscle match against Mikey merely hypothetical. So here’s his likely one-and-only chance to tap Mikey’s legendary ass and swoop in at the last second to claim the title of the Best of the Best.

On the left, BGE’s babyface beast Mikey Vee (5’11”, 185 pounds) vs. on the right, Can-Am & Thunders Arena’s beautiful badass Ace Hanson (6′, 220 pounds).

Mikey Vee
Ace Hanson aka Eric Reins

In the ring, no rules, only a submission or knockout matters. One of these two magnificent musclemen can win the Battle to Be the Best. You decide by voting here, and comment below to describe the climactic end to this brutal elimination series.

Producer’s Ring: Cuomo vs. Champion

wrestlebard10 Comments
The News Division – Introduction
By Bard

Eli Brody didn’t get in on the ground floor of the News-Entertainment industry.  Eli knew what would sell based on whether it made him hard.  News seldom made him hard.  But when browsing some of his competitor Titans’ channels, he began to notice that they were raising the News-Entertainment industry to new heights with their latest talent.  Some of the latest crop of newscasters and reporters did make Eli hard, and he wanted to exploit this new “hard” news talent to their fullest potential.

So Eli contracted with some of the News-Entertainment Titans for a “reality” show featuring the testosterone-filled news talent in physical combat.  He had to bargain hard for the rights to their top talent, purchasing contracts for a limited 14-day stint with which to craft market gold.  Eli was forced to share more generously the potential profits with his fellow Titans than he would normally be willing to do on a venture like this.  But Eli had built his empire on just this sort of genre-crossing, and his gut, and his cock, told him that this was another winning combination.

In his Los Angeles network office, Eli smiled at his new contract-employees from behind his desk.  In two leather winged-back chairs directly in front of him sat his East Coast talent, Chris Cuomo and Chris’ broadcast partner Sam Champion.  Chris had sex written all over him, from his dark curly hair to his hard body to his massive hands.  Chris was in his traditional navy pin-striped suit and bright red power tie cinched up around his thick neck.  A Harvard trained attorney, Chris was plucked from the drudgery of the legal world when his Titan first saw him giving a statement to the press on behalf of a client he was defending.  The camera loved Chris, and Chris quickly felt the love of a loyal fan-base tuning in to see him read the news on the East Coast morning program.  Sitting in Eli’s office, Chris looked confident, but every so often his awkward, boyish grin revealed his nervousness.  His broadcast partner, Sam, was blond, blue-eyed, and softer than Chris, but he had a hardcore edge about him that Eli expected would blossom into a first class heel.  Sam was plucked from a local affiliate to join the East Coast morning program at the same time Chris started his broadcast career there.  Both men enjoyed an easy friendship on camera, but off camera, they were highly competitive, sometimes agressively so, with one another.  Sam came to Eli’s office in a casual pink polo shirt and brown slacks, looking like he was ready for a southern California vacation.

Standing directly behind the East Coast boys were Eli’s two recruits on loan from the Southern syndicate.  Rob Marciano and Thomas Roberts had been growing market share for their Titan for a couple of years.  Rob started as a weatherman, but was transitioning to anchor weekend news broadcasts.  Thomas was in the regular anchor rotation.  Both dark haired, broad and thickly muscled hunks looked nervous, with their suit coats in their arms and their ties loosened and shirts unbottoned at the top.  “I’m just not clear what we’re doing here, Mr. Brody,” Rob was saying.  “We’re in the news business.  We’re not fighters, or whatever you’re looking for.”

On a couch at the back wall of the office, Eli’s final two new contracts looked much more confident.  “Speak for yourself,” said Carter Evans.  “I’ve always loved wrestling.  Just because you’re about to get your ass kicked doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t ready for this gig.”  Carter was smaller than the boys from the East Coast and the South, but he and his fellow independent correspondent, Richard Engel, looked at ease.  Both Carter and Richard were freelancers, usually hired for short stints by whichever Titan needed a local correspondent to travel into some dangerous situation, most often when armed conflict broke out in a remote corner of the world.  Talent like the other four men in the room wouldn’t be placed in such jeopardy by putting them in harm’s way, so Titan’s hired from a pool of freelancers like Carter and Richard to go into tough spots and report, usually for just a few weeks at a time.  Their paychecks were therefore inconsistent, and all freelancers longed to get picked up by the big leagues, to earn an ongoing contract and be another pretty-face talking head on a regular basis.  Richard and Carter had jumped at the offer of a two week contract with Eli Brody, the immensely powerful West Coast Titan.  Both Richard and Carter wore jeans this day, along with sports coats and white button-up shirts open halfway down their chests.  They looked ready to scrap, like they had a confidence born from fieldwork and skills to improvise on the fly when needed to get out of a tight spot.

“Your Titans and I agree that you may not have been used to your fullest potential yet,” Eli smiled.  “For the next two weeks, you’ll live together in a house in Malibu.  Your lives will be filmed 24/7.  And you will compete with one another for both an individual grappling title and a tag-team title.  Winners of each match will get sizeable bonuses, and champions at the end of the show will be rewarded even more handsomely.  You may not like it, Rob, but you’re mine for the next two weeks.  I suggest that you put your game face on and get ready to please the fans.”

Eli’s closed his eyes for a moment, as an electric wave raced through his body.  This was going to be a ratings bombshell.  He was as hard as a rock.

Cuomo v Champion

by Bard

The six newscasters-turned-wrestlers arrived at the set, a mammoth beachfront house in Malibu.  There was immediate tension between Carter Evans, the independent correspondent, and Rob Marciano, the rising star from the Southern syndicate.  Carter seemed to sense a weakness in Rob, and he was ready to push his buttons.

“This is bullshit,” Rob was complaining to no one in particular as they dropped their luggage inside the front door.  “I did not sign up for this.”

Carter sneered at Rob.  “Your ass belongs to your Titan, dip shit.  You sold your body to him, so you’re his.  He sold your body to Brody, so I guess now your actually Brody’s.  But don’t worry, soon your ass will be mine.”  Carter raised his eyebrows up and down and licked his lips, taunting Rob.

Rob took a step toward Carter with his fists clenched, but Thomas Roberts put his hand across Rob’s broad chest and stood between the two of them.  “We’ve got to make the best of a bad situation, Rob,” Thomas spoke low, soothingly.  “Let’s just ride this out and see what happens.”

As all six of the talent walked through the entry way and into the posh living room, a large plasma screen came to life on the wall above the fireplace.  Eli Brody, the West Coast Titan and producer of this venture, smiled from the screen.  “Gentlemen, the cameras are on, so welcome to ‘The News Division,’ in which you star as competitors.  We’ve already sold more bandwidth than we originally anticipated necessary for this broadcast, so there is an eager audience tuned in to see what you can do.”

“What are the rules?” asked Chris Cuomo.  “What’s going to happen next?”

“Good question, Chris,” Eli responded.  “We’re going to give the fans what they want, right off the bat.  Our first match will take place this afternoon, on the beach.  You’ll find your fight-wear in your rooms upstairs.  Your rules are to secure a submission from your opponent, however you can.  No leaving the beach until someone has submitted.  Other than those rules, what happens next is up to you.  Our first match will be a singles competition.  Our online chatters that are already tuned in have voted to start off with a friendly match between you, Chris, and you, Sam.  Be dressed in one hour and ready to wrestle on the beach.”  The screen went blank, and the boys stood still, stunned for a moment.  Slowly, silently, they moved off to find their designated rooms and get their heads ready for the first match.

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An hour later, all six men were on the beach.  Rob, Thomas, Carter and Richard stood in speedos and tank tops at the bottom of the stairs winding down the cliffside from the house to the beach below.  Chris and Sam were walking out onto the otherwise deserted beach.  Chris wore the tight, navy blue speedo that he found in his room an hour earlier, with a white tank top that had to stretch across his broad chest. His skin seemed to soak up the California sun, turning a dark Mediterranean tan by the second.  He had dark, curly brown hair.  His shoulders were broad and round, and his arms were well-muscled and vascular.  His thighs were relatively slender, but corded with muscle born of distance running.  Sam was dressed in an emerald green speedo and a sky blue t-shirt.  Sam was slightly shorter than Chris, with pale Nordic features and blond hair.  Sam was fit, thickly muscled but less defined than Chris.

A horn sounded from the house behind them, and the boys knew that the tournament had begun.  Chris smiled awkwardly at Sam.  “Are we really going to do this?” he asked with a boyish grin.

“Let’s give them a show.  Who knows, this may make you an even bigger star than you already are,” Sam said, holding out his hand for a gentleman’s handshake to start the match.

As Chris reached forward to shake Sam’s outstretched hand, Sam simultaneously grasped hold of Chris’ wrist, tugged Chris forward into him, and lifted his foot to plant a solid kick into Chris’ midsection.  As Chris doubled over, stunned and gasping for breath, Sam straddled Chris’ head between his legs and squeezed.  Chris moaned in pain and fell to his knees, grasping Sam’s legs and trying desperately to pry them apart.

Sam gave an evil grin as he glanced up at the house on the cliff, where he presumed the cameras were placed to capture the action.  Bending down, with Chris’ head still wedged between his knees, Sam grabbed the back of Chris’ tank top and yanked it up.  Quickly releasing his opponent’s head, Sam pulled Chris’ shirt upward, drawing Chris’ arms straight up in the air.  But rather than removing the shirt completely, Sam wrapped the white fabric around Chris’ wrists, tying them together.  Sam stepped away from his trussed up opponent to admire his handiwork.  Chris knelt on the sand, his entire head still red from being squeezed, with his hands held limply in front of him knotted together with his own shirt.

“Well, at least one of us will have a rising star after this,” Sam said to Chris who was kneeling in front of him.  Sam reached down and grabbed a handful of Chris’ curly dark hair by the roots.  Just as he began to pull Chris upward by the hair to get him to his feet, Chris lunged forward, head-butting Sam in the crotch.  An “ooof!” sound came from Sam’s mouth as his breath came rushing involuntarily out of his lungs.  He doubled over, crossing his legs to protect his vulnerability, and reaching down to massage his stunned cock and balls.

“You fucking bastard,” Chris said low and angrily as he climbed to his feet.  Chris tried to pry his hands free from the fabric that bound them, but when he saw Sam begin to stand up straight again, he decided he couldn’t allow his opponent any more time to recover.  Taking a few steps backward, Chris stopped, gauged the distance, and then ran forward.  He leapt into the air, feet first, planting a solid drop kick across Sam’s chest.  Sam was knocked off his feet, landing on his ass in the sand several feet backward.

Chris jumped on top of his dazed opponent, straddling him with his powerful legs.  “You fucking punk,” he growled.  Then still with his wrists tied together, he landed a series of double fists across Sam’s face, sending Sam’s head whipping left and right as the blows beat down on him.  Sam’s face was turning purple from the prolonged beating, and blood was dripping out of his nose when Chris finally stopped pounding.  Wrapping his bound wrists behind Sam’s neck, Chris yanked Sam’s upper body forward.  At the same moment, Chris shifted to the side, sliding his right thigh beneath Sam’s body and trapping Sam’s chest between his legs.

“No!” Sam shouted in pain as Chris began to squeeze.  But when Chris laced his ankles together, leveraging his leg and core muscles into a mighty crush, the air came out of Sam’s lungs in a “whoosh!”  With his mouth gaping open and his eyes wide with fear, Sam tried to yell out, but he had no air left to make a sound.  Still yanking Sam’s neck sideways with his bound wrists, Chris simultaneously squeezed with his legs and abs, and pulled forward with his bulging arms and shoulders.  Chris’ own face flushed with the massive exertion, as he leaned forward, placing his face inches from Sam’s gasping, open mouth.  All his muscles quivering, Chris held Sam trapped for a full 30 seconds, twisting and crushing his body with all his might.  When Chris’ muscles finally fatigued and he could flex them at full strength no longer, he relaxed while holding his opponent still in place.

Sam gasped as his chest exploded outward.  As soon as he had a chestful of air again, he croaked, “I submit!”

“That’s right you give, you little fucker!”  Chris shouted back in his face.  Pulling his wrists out from behind Sam’s neck, Chris drew his left knee up to his own chest and planted his foot in the side of Sam’s torso.  With one mighty kick, he sent his colleague rolling over and over across the sand.  Chris got to his feet, his body sweaty and half covered in white sand. His abdomen extended and contracted rapidly with his deep breathing.  Staring at the house on top of the hill, he raised his bound hands above his head in victory.

The other boys at the bottom of the stairs looked on in silence, sizing up what may lay ahead for them.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

wrestlebard1 Comment

It was another decisive victory and an anointing of a new champ in the Battle to Be the Best. Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro’s designs on being legend-killer-in-residence didn’t stand a chance against the legendary brutality of badass Mikey Vee. The voting was brisk, but it was the wrestling equivalent of some solid back and forth in the opening moments, before Mikey kicked it into overdrive and plowed big Dom under hard. Read David’s blow by blow in the comments section of the poll (note, not the comments of the blog post, but rather the poll itself), featuring ball pounding, Dom tied in the ropes, and Mikey milking out sweet revenge for Dom’s brutal humiliation of Mikey’s tag team partner. Like David, I picture the final moments of this brutal muscle battle naked. Dom is fading fast, his gargantuan muscles twitching in exhaustion. Mikey has to work just a little to wrangle Dom’s massive physique, but finally manhandles the Dominator into an abdominal stretch. Dom whimpers in agony, until Mikey slides his hand down Dom’s sweaty, twisted abs and grabs Dom’s huge Italian sausage (David’s term), wringing it out and eliciting a yelp of panic from the big man. Dom is toasted, but refuses to pass the title on. Mikey throws him down to the mat, hooks Dom’s ankles under his armpits and squats his epically muscled ass into Dom’s lower back, applying a sick Boston crab. Big D screams like a bitch, sucking on the pain no more than 10 seconds before slapping the mat repeatedly and screaming his submission. Mikey smiles with satisfaction, but releases only Dom’s right leg. Still trussed up in a single leg crab, Mikey reaches down through his legs with his left hand, slowly wrapping his fingers around the base of Dom’s big, battered balls. “And this is for disrespecting my boo, Mike,” Mikey growls, twisting D’s balls as the former champ screams and weeps.

We’ve reached the penultimate match-up in this Battle to Be the Best, and Mikey Vee looks about as strong in the polls as he is in the ring. Thus far the BG East boys have completely dominated the competition, but I feel like it would be an injustice not to give one of Can-Am’s most dominant, legendary classic stars his shot at an extramural upset. Tom Flex had one of the sexiest bodies and, in particular, most sensational cock’s to make an appearance in a wrestling ring. I think of this as a battle of aesthetics and grace (Flex) squaring off against brute force and viciousness (Vee). What do you think?

On the left, defending champ and BGE’s babyfaced beast Mikey Vee (5’11”, 185 pounds) vs. on the right, Can-Am’s aesthetic athlete Tom Flex (6’1″, 205 pounds).

Mikey Vee
Tom Flex

In the ring, no ref, with nothing but a submission or knockout standing in the way of one of these classic homoerotic wrestling stars advancing to the final match to determine who is the Best of the Best. Vote here, and comment below the sexy details playing out in your imagination.

 

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

wrestlebard2 Comments

Dom Zacarro defended his claim to be the best, and his reputation as a legend killer, by pulling out a decisive victory over Mark Wolff. It’s the wrestling equivalent of a match that starts out competitively, but then about halfway through Dom starts steamrolling Mark until he’s in total control. You’ve got to read David’s blow-by-blow on that match in the comments. So fucking sexy! The OTK backbreaker beating the fuck out of Mark’s six-pack abs and double-fisted manhandling of Mark’s monster cock, alternating cock-punching and jacking him off, is what technically puts Dom over. But his post-victory tagging of Mark’s bulging pecs with Dom’s celebratory ejaculation is a sweet, sweet touch.

I’ve heard from readers predicting that big Dom may be unbeatable, which is fascinating when you consider his all-too-brief tenure in homoerotic wrestling. Calling him a legend killer is major inspiration for fan favorite legends to nip Dom’s ascendency in the bud before the Italian muscleman’s ego can swell as big as his gargantuan muscles. BGE’s Mikey Vee is the next classic fan favorite to step into the fray, both to be the best and to take revenge for Dom’s humiliation of Mikey’s former tag team partner, Mike Columbo. Mikey’s tenure in homoerotic wrestling is long, storied, and utterly dominating, but he’s stepping into the ring with Dom in his early career incarnation, with a full head of hair, granite carved torso, and truly legendary, luxuriously muscled ass.

On the left, defending champ Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro (6′, 205 pounds) vs. on the right, the babyfaced beast Mikey Vee (5’11”, 185 pounds).

Dominic Zacarro
Mikey Vee

No rules, no ref, just muscled bodies and a pro wrestling ring and a battle for a submission or knockout. Vote for who you think emerges victorious, and comment below to describe the victorious finisher.

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

wrestlebard1 Comment

Has voting ever been this sexy? Holy hell, the match up between Mike Columbo and Dom Zacarro was close from start to finish. Watching the returns come in was the wrestling equivalent of a seriously competitive back and forth beatdown, which is my favorite type of match. Check out the comment from reader David for a dizzyingly hot description of some crotch abusing viciousness that he pictures characteristic of a near draw like this turned into. Now that I’m calling the match victory this morning, with Dom owning 55% of the vote, I’m endorsing most of David’s narrative, particularly both Mike and Dom forcibly stripping each other naked and  viciously brutalizing each other’s balls. Both musclemen drive each other to the brink of submitting, but just can’t quite wring it out, until Dom digs into deep, sweat soaked reserves to shockingly scoop Mike up across his shoulders in a torture rack. Dom claws Mike’s throbbing balls and bounces on the balls of his feet. Mike screams like a wounded animal, trying to choke down the panic and desperation, but he finally weeps out a disbelieving submission. Unceremoniously, Dom dumps him off his back, tugs his swollen cock excitedly, and then pumps out a glistening double bicep. Just to piss off all of you Columbo fans, Dom drags his victim bent over one knee and relentlessly spanks Mike’s legendary muscle ass beet red as the former champ weeps in humiliation.

Dom is the classic, sexy beast to beat now. Upending a legendary fan favorite like Mike is epic, so nothing short of another legend in homoerotic wrestling would make sense for Dom’s next opponent.  We’re turning back to the ranks of Can-Am’s stable of industry-defining classic hunks to tap Mark Wolff to step into the ring and see if he can cut short Dom’s claim to be the best of the best.

On the left, defending his bitterly fought title as the reigning champ, BGE’s Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro (6′, 205 pounds) vs. on the right, gay porn pin-up muscleboy Mark “Don’t Call Me Blake” Wolff (5’10”, 200 pounds).

Dominic Zacarro
Mark Wolff

In the ring, no ref, no rules other than claiming victory by submission or knockout. Vote here who you think cums out on top, and comment below to describe what you see as the victor’s climactic finisher.

A to Z and Back Again

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The Yin Yang perfection of tag partners Cap & Zip

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

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

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

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“It’s so hard!” Zip gasps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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“Oh, this is embarrassing!”

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

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“Come on, tap out, BITCH!”

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

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“My two, little, green bitches!”

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

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

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

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This could have been such a lovely legendary ass kicking.

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

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This could have gone a totally different direction.

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

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

wrestlebard1 Comment

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

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

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

Mike Columbo
Dominic “The Dominator” Zacarro

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

The Battle to Be the Best: Classics

wrestlebard2 Comments

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

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

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

Mike Columbo
Sebastien

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