Not long ago I moved to a part of the country where, on bright, sunny summer weekends, I frequently see hand drawn yard signs advertising “Tag Sale.” I’d never heard this term before, but I’ve since learned it is equivalent to what I grew up calling a “Garage Sale,” (yard sale, rummage sale, etc., etc.). Apparently around here, when you’ve accumulated more stuff than you honestly have room to keep, you slap a price tag on it and call it a tag sale.
Nice and fashionable before getting turned naughty in Dark Knights 12
Along those lines, Ty Alexander recently told me that he has decided he simply has to do a serious culling of his notoriously massive wrestling gear collection. The Trophy Boy has been dishing out fashion advice and cataloging every piece of ass-hugging gear he can get his hands on since he was out of diapers. I have it on very, very good authority that Ty’s gear collection has a bedroom all to itself. So just imagine what it must mean that he’s run out of room and now needing to pare down in order to keep purchasing more.
So here’s your chance to do Ty a solid and score some Ty-approved gear to start your own collection with (it’s kind of like a sourdough starter). I’ve seen on Facebook that he’s trying to organize this superhuman undertaking by starting with singlets. Presumably, he will move on to his mammoth collection of square cuts, designer briefs, and jock straps. I don’t know if his personalized Trophy Boy copyrighted trunks and wristbands will be tagged. I’m pretty sure not everything you can see him wearing in the photos I’ve included in this post will be available (I’m just enjoying the excuse to post some of my favorite Ty fashions modeled by the Trophy Boy himself).
However, I will go out on a limb and say that I’d bet Ty would be willing to sell them laundered or not. For those Ty-Heads out there, I’d bet he’d even be willing to work up a sweat in them before packaging them up for you. If I were you, I’d ask for a photo of him wearing them to accompany your fashion purchase to verify that they have, indeed, housed his beautiful bubble butt. I cannot verify if that would cost you extra. Ask for the Bard discount.
In any case, contact the Trophy Boy directly about what may be on your holiday wish list by messaging him on Facebook or emailing him at Tyzander305@gmail.com.
An actual photo of Ty starting to sort a mountain of gear.Hands off these blush trunks. I’ve got dibs on these!
Context, please. Backstory. Character motivation. Story arc. One through line across my years of blogging has been harping on “the story” in homoerotic wrestling. I know I’m not alone. The publicly released custom bouts several companies have produced frequently hinge on more than just two hot bodies. They’re filled with gimmicks and plot twists and grudges and appeals to specific kinks, suggesting to me that I’m definitely not the only one that wants something more narrative than just two guys pro wrestling. It’s one thing to film two hot bodied athletes delivering pro wrestling moves in an otherwise empty garage. It’s something else, and something much more compelling, to tell a story with it. When there just isn’t any context, the burden is on us, the consumer, to make sense of why two pretty boys would go through the motions of acting out what would, in real life, be potentially crippling offensive maneuvers on each other.
Zach Reno adds scruff burn to the laundry list of indignities he treats Alex Oliver to
I’ve written some match descriptions for marketing homoerotic wrestling. I’ve taken the liberty at times to narrate something that didn’t make it on camera. I’ve never tried to mislead potential consumers. My sincerest goal is never to imply anything that isn’t evident or abundantly implied in the match. I just amplify, fill in details, speak to intrinsic motivations that are entirely consistent with, if not explicitly spelled out, in the video document. I watch about 10 times more matches for my personal entertainment than what I write for publishing as marketing material, and sometimes – a lot of times – I wonder to myself, but why is this happening?
“You’re going to rip me in half!”
I settled in just this morning to appreciate two of my recent crushes, Zach Reno and Alex Oliver, mixing it up for Cameron Matthew’s Wrestler4Hire. The match description should have been a warning to me. “When Alex Oliver ties up with Zach Reno, there are no pretenses. No claims of superiority. No nonsense. Just two ripped and rambunctious rasslers doing what they do best.” In other words, no context.
Zach brings 6’1″ Alex down to his level
On this blank slate of Alex and Zach going head to head in the ring is a sensational wrestling clinic put on by hot, hairy, entirely dominant Zach. On the topic of differentials, Zach stands a full half a foot shorter than baby smooth hunk Alex, and the little guy rips him apart from start to finish. Zach terrorizes him. It’s one long uncut take, which is a sensational novelty in this business in and of itself. And Zach kicks Alex’ marvelous ass every fucking which way and loose for 20 minutes.
Alex screams a lot
I’m into it, mind you. About 7 minutes in, Zach breaks his awkward silence and generously offers, “I can kick your ass some more, or we can call it even.” But, wait… what? Call it even? Call what even? What’s the context here? Why did they start this match? Why is Zach offering to walk away and “call it even?” What did Alex owe him that 7 minutes of totally humiliating corporal punishment makes “even?” Wait. What?
Little guy takes an assist from the ropes
“Fuck you,” Alex spits back. Huh? I mean, maybe he’s bitter for getting completely schooled by a hot little pro a half a foot shorter. Maybe? Maybe he’s snarling obscenities at his opponent (from flat on his back, gasping for air, and choke/weeping from his 6th or 20th submission he’s just given away) because Zach called him a pro wrestling wannabe pussy about 5 minutes before they charged into the ring to settle whether Alex is just a pretty pretender. But, wait, no, the match description says there’s no pretense. No context.
#AlexOliversAssForPresident
This match still gets me off. The warm up act is Alex Oliver’s ass. I’ve made considerable hay about Alex’ infinitely fuckable ass before. Now more than ever I’m promoting the hashtag #AlexOliversAssForPresident. His whole body is a work of art, of course. His meaty thighs, incredibly narrow waist, ripped abs, gorgeous, bulging shoulders. Someone who appreciates Alex’ aesthetics even half as much as I do has GOT to wrestle this stud, because I would donate a kidney to watch an opponent take him on for the sheer erotic thrill of possessing that body and planting a flagpole between those fantastic cheeks. But, that would be character motivation. That would be pretense.
Throttled good
Zach is pretty fucking amazing to watch working his craft like a master, but his bare handed chokes punch some buttons in me hard. I’ve been fixated on bare handed chokes for exactly two weeks now. Watching him throttle a ripped hunk a half a foot taller is damn compelling all on its own. He doesn’t need to get that nasty, of course. His bodyscissors, headscissors, Boston crab, camel clutch, abdominal stretch, full nelson, OTK backbreaker, dragon sleeper, and abdominal claw have, each and every one, pried weeping, choking submissions out of Alex. There’s no real reason for him to need to threaten to actual strangle this kid, but he does, and I’d love to know what drives Zach in that moment to be dissatisfied with completely owning Alex and so suddenly raging into bare handed strangulation. But that would be pretense.
Apparently it has something to do with Zach’s mouthwatering muscles
I’m picking on Wrestler4Hire now. But I do want to point out what’s missing before I finish by clarifying that this match gets me off. When Zach suddenly wipes the very real sweat off his brow (remember, no cuts, so that’s real sweat) and then flings it in Alex’ face, sweet fuck, that’s sexy. When Alex screams “You’re going to rip me in half!,” there’s something incredibly erotic about the genuine sound of panic in his voice. Zach is a bottle of ultra concentrated bad ass, and Alex is a barefoot, babyface hero who calls to mind the likes of a young Kevin Von Erich. And like Kevin, Alex has that headliner ass that someday, somehow, under one pretense or another, we have GOT to see laid bare.
I went to college at a very, very small liberal arts school with a very, very unsuccessful Division III football team. They sucked. A lot. Literally, years went by without a single victory. Not that I was involved in the program, but it was no secret that recruiting for the football team was a major bitch. No scholarships. No pro career prospects. Very little hope of ever tasting victory before they graduated or, even more likely, they’d burn through eligibility while hanging on by the skin of their teeth to skimming by in their academics and finally just walking away to dig ditches. Our football team literally shrunk while I was enrolled in college, each year’s freshmen getting smaller, while bigger players went elsewhere. My junior year, the football team recruited a wide receiver who was, I kid you not, 5’2″ tall. Thing is, though, he was fucking fast, with big, powerful thighs, an exceptionally stellar muscled ass, and gorgeous, Tom Cruise-ish good looks. Despite their abysmal record, I suddenly took an interest in football that year.
5’5″, 140 lbs Drake Wild bears down on 5’11”, 200 lbs Derek Fox in Pro Sex Fight 13
This pint-sized wide receiver with big league glutes and a baby face starred in many a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Just writing about him now is making me hard. There was just so much fabulous potential wrapped up in his tight, taut, petite jock body. In the never ending erotic wrestling tournament in my head, the little wide receiver inevitably got muscle bullied around the ring by bigger guys. I always pictured him getting picked up and thrown from corner to corner. Tall, ripped, cocky hunks (typically from our extremely successful and wildly popular basketball team) would, in the no holds barred wrestling matches in my collegiate imagination, deliver a barrage of high impact, high altitude power moves on him, gorilla presses, scoop slams, one-handed choke slams, spine-tingling suplexes that catapulted his magnificent, muscled ass from corner to corner.
5’6″, 160 lbs Denny Cartier breaks big 6’2″, 240 lbs Joe Robbins down to size in Catch Weight 2
Rereading my interview with Charlie Evans and perusing several of the comments to that interview remind me of that hot, gorgeous little wide receiver firecraker with a supremely fuckable ass. As I’ve mentioned several times lately, the difference in size itself became erotically charged for me. But far beyond just visuals, I crushed hard on the little stud because of the drama of a vastly undersized hottie audaciously running out onto the field and climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination (through the bottom two ropes, of course) and staring fearlessly up at the overwhelming odds towering above.
5’7″, 150 lbs Bolt stares way up at 6’2″, 265 lbs Brute in Custom Series 33 from Thunder’s Arena
I was relatively agnostic about my all-time favorite wide receiver’s win-loss record in his homoerotic wrestling career in my mind. Like the very best babyfaces, he was always dangerous and perpetually vulnerable at the same time. I distinctly remember him getting his jock strap ripped to shreds and having his rock hard muscle cheeks plowed hard by a particular, hot, muscled black power forward. I also have clear memories of him turning the tide on a certain aloof, blond, aristocratic shooting guard who was schoolboy pinned and force fed the beer can cock of the smirking, flexing wide receiver. Win or lose, he was a favorite object of my homoerotic wrestling imagination not despite his stature, but because of it. And not just because of his stature, but because of the inherent drama of an ambitious, earnest, hard working little stud throwing himself headlong at the big boys.
5’9″, 165 lbs Cody Cummings is jerked around by 6’4″, 220 lbs Zeke West in Mat Muscle Match 1
As I told Charlie, I continue to nurture a crush for David vs. Goliath homoerotic wrestling matches. I like big vs. little matches where the differential is massive, the odds are long, and the action is brutal. I love seeing audacious little studs hoisted over head and pounded into the mat. I love seeing them take every ounce as brutal an assault as any heavyweight and then keep peeling their battered, petite, bite-sized bodies off the mats and defying the big boys demanding that they submit in body and soul.
Fearless 5’10”, 132 lbs Billy Lodi is just barely bested by 6’2″, 206 lbs Mitch Colby in Catch Weight 6
While I don’t care for many matches in which one competitor is just furniture, getting moved and manipulated and owned effortlessly, a match in which a seriously undersized wrestler is defiantly sucking down a mountain of abuse is in a squash-class of its own for me. If the little guy walks in with his head up, clenches his jaw in the face of fate, and demands respect by just surviving a magnificent beating, I will so get off on that just like I did when I staged wide receiver getting his sensational ass tagged in the middle of the ring by that power forward.
5’7″, 150 lb Bolt momentarily schools 6′, 255 lbs Brian Cage in Ring Wars 21
However, I think my hardest David vs. Goliath fantasies flip that script with a vengeance. When the audacious little underdog battles back against the barrage of muscle and mass, now that is fucking hot. When he starts accumulating riding time on a thoroughbred 50 pounds bigger, my adrenaline pumps into overdrive. And when I pictured my pretty little wide receiver slapping down a big, cocky all-American who’s never tasted defeat before, when he wears the big boy the fuck out, slapping that beer can in Goliath’s shocked, humiliated face, then little David is fucking king of my world.
5’7″, 120 lbs Charlie Evans shoved into the ceiling by 5’8″, 175 lbs Morgan Cruise in Gorilla Press 1 by MDW
I hold heartedly agree with the implication of Charlie’s argument that every homoerotic wrestling roster needs the little guys. Ever roster needs the underwear models and the bodybuilders. Ever roster should have raw edged street punks and square jawed All-American heroes. They should all have daddy’s little rich boys and ripped, raging, beautifully endowed sex brawlers. The industry should invest in recruiting hard edged pros and hot, inexperienced nerds. It should put up flat footed pornboys and fierce, lanky, long-distance runners. Personally I’m longing for a snarling radical fairy doing battle with a white collar stock broker on the homoerotic wresting down low.
5’10”, 150 lbs Skrapper is crushed by 5’11”, 240 lbs Brook Stetson in Catch Weight 2
The homoerotic pro wrestling industry is as susceptible to the tyranny of the capitalist market place as anything else, of course, so I certainly understand when, occasionally, it seems like everyone climbing through those ropes looks and moves and suffers alike. But as someone who has watched a TON of homoerotic wrestling (not even counting that running channel in my imagination of round the clock homopro), I’m always longing for producers to fill those niches Charlie and I talked about. Tickle those erotic fantasies we didn’t even know we loved. Populate our screens and imaginations with the great diversity of dramas, bodies, races, ages, etc., that makes oppressively straight real life bearable.
Little 5’8″, 140 lbs Richie Douglas makes all the little guys proud against 6’1″, 170 lbs Goren Ford in Sunshine Shooters 8
And most definitely, gives us pint-sized baby face heroes audacious enough to climb into the ring with beasts a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier, and to tell us a compelling, seat of our pants, crotch-tugging homoerotic wrestling drama that reflects real life writ larger, more erotic, and completely improbable, but yet, speaking to our real lives.
5’10”, 156 lbs TAK is dwarfed by 6’3″, 240 lbs Freak in Mat Rats 63 by Thunder’s Arena
And now, excuse me. I need to go dig out an old college yearbook.
I’ve let a little distance grow between me and Thunder’s Arena lately. It’s not about the wrestling. It’s the business side of things. Thunder’s appears to have done an upgrade and relaunch of their membership site in the last year, but I kept getting billed for the defunct membership site that stopped getting updates months ago. For the most part, I sign up for membership sites for the photos to use in reviews here at neverland. So getting caught in an expensive new-and-improved loop of obsolescence left a vaguely bad taste in my mouth, and I just haven’t been paying attention to Thunder’s for a while as a result. The exact same thing happened to my relationship with Can-Am a while back.
Halloween Havoc 2016
I don’t know if Mr. Mike noticed the drift, but I unexpectedly received some gifts from Thunder’s a couple of weeks ago. It’s not like I’m NOT going to watch a couple of sensationally sexy looking hunks in minuscule gear throw each other around. And truth be told, reading Joe’s reviews of relative newcomer Scrappy has, indeed, left me wanting to sample his goods. So I sat down an opened my first and earliest Christmas present this year: Halloween Havoc 2016 – Scrappy vs. Santiago.
Those cotton briefs take me back to happier times
Scrappy takes the initiative first, hoisting a flat footed Santiago up into a standing full nelson. The effect is stunning and sets an expansive table for what we’re supposed to see in this match. Santagio, stretched out and flung from side to side, is magnificent to watch. He’s delicious, all tanned, tatted, high and tight with a closely cropped beard. There’s something about his blue briefs that give me a nostalgic hit of my youth. They remind me strongly of the first time I got naked with another man, he in his height of fashion Calvin Kleins. Like that that hot, sexy, fumbling young beauty from way back, Santiago’s cotton briefs are tight, but not suction packed. They hug his bulges without squeezing. They scream 80’s gay hook up to me in that way that turns me on with just the gentlest note of melancholy for brighter days. When Scrappy leans way back and lifts Santiago off his feet, the camera centered like a laser beam on Santiago’s bouncing crotch, I’m already fully engaged, identifying with Scrappy, and feeling that passionate excitement about the promise of getting to see and feel another man’s cock.
Santiago looks like he’s wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into.
The match is a mix of intensity and lack of focus. On the one hand, these boys work up a legitimate sweat. They are lifting and slamming each other, audibly pounding the air out of each other’s lungs in that way you just can’t quite fake. It’s a lot of catch and release, but the catches are held long and linger beautifully on the fully flexed, gritted teeth edge of muscle matching muscle. But, as I’ve said, it is catch and release. There isn’t a clear end in sight. The lack of context and the relatively lackadaisical approach to focusing with any particular interest on pins or submissions makes this feel just a little more like a photo shoot than a wrestling match at times. Scrappy and Santiago do a sensational job of generously framing each other’s gorgeous, hot bodies for the camera. But I’m not always certain what the fuck Santiago is doing there, in particular, other than looking so, so, so pretty.
Scrappy tops
What heat is generated is repeatedly sparked to life by Scrappy. He has that alluring quality of standing next to a man who is, arguably, more classically pretty, more symmetrical, taller, longer, harder, but that sparkle in Scrappy’s eyes and that eager, expansive grin across his face make poor Santiago blur into the background. Whereas Santiago is oddly quiet, Scrappy narrates on occasion like the cocky top dog. “Try to get out of there,” he taunts, squeezing his opponent’s hips between his pale, powerful thighs. “You can’t get out,” he smirks.
Fondling
Santiago occasionally rises to the occasion, however. He does, indeed, muscle his way out of those scissors, and suddenly it’s his turn to show off Scrappy’s hot body like the prize calf at the county fair. He squeezes the boy wonder’s body between his dark thighs, flexing and growling, leaning in a stroking, kneading Scrappy’s marquee pecs.
Scrappy fondles back
Occasionally I get the impression that these boys genuinely enjoy each other’s bodies, for which I’m incredibly turned on. Scrappy does latch on some nasty pec claws late in the game, but most of the match, both of them afford more a “fondling” attention to each other’s chests. There’s a faint hit of what could have been muscle worship here and there, with each stud taking turns cupping and caressing each other’s bulging pecs. Particularly Scrappy seems to be silently exploiting the intimacy. When he’s staring up at a crowing, flexing, humiliating schoolboy pin underneath his opponent, Scrappy just reaches up and drags the palms of his hands up and down the deep crevices etched in Santiago’s ripped torso. When he’s back in the driver’s seat, late in the game, Scrappy latches on a deep, grinding chokehold with one hand and delicately cups his free hand across the bulging mountain of Santiago’s right pec. There’s no strategic advantage. It’s something less than explicitly erotic. But it’s crazy provocative and somehow almost tender, which instantly skyrockets the homoeroticism for me.
Santiago pounds the back of Scrappy’s head
A few other catch and release holds stand out. Santiago’s cock pillow headscissors are intensely intimate. It’s not just the super close up camera angle peering down the ridged length of Santiago’s torso to get his view of his opponent’s head trapped helplessly between his inner thighs. More than that, it’s Santiago grabbing Scrapper by the chin and pulling back, while thrusting his hips forward, crushing his cock against the back of Scrappy’s head. If, on release, we’d seen Santiago’s erect cock head stretched and staining those now sagging cotton briefs, I’d be ready to nominate him a shocking HWOTM. But, alas.
Throttling
On Santiago’s side of the equation, I also get a little overheated when he quite literally takes his left hand and slams Scrappy to the mat by his throat. It’s violent. It’s a straightforward throttling. There’s a slight hit of angry frustration in it, demonstrating that he could, if pressed, dive headlong into seriously high jeopardy street fighting. But it’s just a hint. Catch and release.
“I don’t think so!”
But the marquee player here is Scrappy. His series of bearhug variations probably are intended to show off Santiago’s gorgeous physique, which they do, but Scrappy fucking sells it like a mother fucker. “You think you’re stronger than me!?” he demands mid bearhug at one point, pissed at his opponent using sheer muscle to power his way out of the last hold. “I don’t think so!” Scrappy crows, and no shit, his arms flex huge as he hoists the pretty boy off his feet and shakes him like a rag doll. I bet Santiago did think he was stronger than Scrappy. And, no shit, Scrappy disproves that misperception commandingly.
Scrappy starts to tug
Before the match is half over, this is all about Scrappy for me. After gut wrenching the bigger man upside down and slamming Santiago’s head into the mat repeatedly, Scrappy returns the favor from earlier by flashing his magnificently peaked biceps in the stunned stud’s face. When Santiago drags himself up to his hands and knees, Scrappy slaps that ass hard, laughing. “You best stay down,” he taunts with a rural, mid-South twang. “I don’t know if you can handle it,” he smirks, even as he’s absent-mindedly, excitedly grabbing his cock through his briefs and tugging hard.
For just a moment, Santiago channels me.
In the end, this match satisfies on the weight of two last pieces of evidence. One, Santiago grabs Scrappy’s ass on a couple of occasions. Now, I’m not talking about incidental contact. This isn’t grabbing a strategic handhold in order to lift and carry, for example. No, for no other apparent reason than Scrappy’s ass is just that fucking sensational, Santiago digs his fingers into this kid’s lush left cheek and just holds that magnificent muscle for a second. Fuck, yes, that needed to happen.
Scrapped
And finally, out of nowhere, Scrappy sleepers the pretty boy out cold. It wasn’t always particularly competitive, but watching Scrappy’s adorable face morph into the biggest, toothiest, proudest sexy smile I’ve seen in a long time, I rewrite the entire 20 minutes to be, in retrospect, about bragging rights and victory. His mouth hangs open in delight, flexing, staring into the camera as he crows. “Scrappy got a win today, boys! Scrappy got a ‘W’!” And for acknowledging us “boys” watching, and for referring to himself in the 3rd person, and for making me believe that he’s genuinely pleased to score a victory, I’m both rewinding to watch some favorite moments again, and convinced that I am a big, big Scrappy fan.
For over six years I’ve been anointing Homoerotic Wrestlers of the Month to celebrate the new release additions to the homoerotic wrestling canon and, hopefully, help promote a lively, creative, innovative industry. In that time, there have been 68 award winners. A select few have been repeat HWOTM title holders, and a very rare breed of wrestler has managed to earn the title on three different occasions. Today, I call up one more fine example of homoerotic wrestling greatness to take that 3-peat title and lord it over the rest of the wannabes. Winner of homoerotic wrestler of the month for a sizzling hot performance in a new release in the month of October is…
I’ve already reviewed in detail what I think works so well about Wet & Wild 8, so I’ll just reiterate a few points about why Christian continues to tantalize and fascinate me. First, Christian turns heads. He’s just so fucking pretty that rookie beefcake Calvin Haynes is, quite literally, licking his lips with excitement at discovering that he’s alone with the dazzlingly handsome veteran. Calvin strategically maneuvers his magnificent physique in between Christian and the Florida sun he’s attempting to bathe in until he gets his attention. Calvin has been casing the joint inside and out for a couple of minutes to verify that the BG East South compound has been temporarily abandoned by everyone else in town at the moment. “Looks like we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Calvin says with just a little excitement shining through, despite the rookie’s obvious attempt to look cool. Christian lets that hang in the air for a few pregnant seconds, peeling his long, luscious body off the chaise and getting up in the muscle rookie’s face. He fucking towers over him. “What are you going to do about it?” Christian asks, flaunting that extravagant sex appeal that’s so obviously already turning Calvin on.
Using every inch to his advantage
The BG East website says Christian is 6’2″ tall. I’m sure they’re right, but I walk away from every Christian Taylor match remembering him as even taller. The way he wraps this long, lean limbs around Calvin accentuate his incredible reach and flexibility. He looks like an anatomy chart painted a mile long. Beefy Calvin dwarfs him in muscle thickness, and still it’s that luxurious expanse of Christians gorgeous, smooth, pale body stretched out, squeezing, flexing and bearing down that slaps the big, bulging rookie into the background.
Dangerous and vulnerable
I also love Christian’s vulnerability. In a homoerotic wrestling universe with so many huge bodybuilders sucking the air out of the room, Christian is both delicate and dangerous. He’s clearly an athlete. “You’re stronger than you look,” even muscle rookie Calvin has to admit. Christian confesses he’s been a competitive swimmer, perhaps explaining the tide-tipping advantage he rides to the end of the pool portion of Wet & Wild 8. But Christian also suffers. Inevitably, he sucks on some agony, particularly when he’s outmuscled and tossed around by the likes of Calvin Haynes and his big, hard, hairy pecs. I believe the teeter-tottering balance of power in this match because Christian sells suspense. He takes punishment like a studied pro. AND he can deploy his long, strong, gorgeous muscles to convincingly milk some humiliation and begging out of an amorous muscle stud like Calvin.
“Not a bad view.”
Christian is always a contender also because he effortlessly dials up the homoeroticism in every match I’ve seen him. It’s not just that moment that he grabs the rookie by the hair and drags his beefy ass out of the pool saying, “Come with me, big boy. We need to take this somewhere else.” It’s also his generous offer to towel off the competition, getting a more appraising angle on those “tree trunk” thighs and meaty pecs of the rookie. Christian then hands Calvin a towel and holds open his arms, inviting a payback towel down, “if you don’t mind.” The enthusiasm in Calvin’s reply speaks to the devoted fan following Christian has earned for years. “Not at all, not with that body!” Calvin gushes, slowly pressing the terrycloth across every long, long inch. Slowly, he drags the towel down the length of Christian’s torso. Calvin squats low, dabbing off every drop of water down the mile long legs in front of him, letting his face linger right in Christian’s ass. “Not a bad view,” the rookie coos. Fuck, we can go a long, long time between seeing homoerotic wrestlers appreciate each other’s bodies. It’s about fucking time someone was absolutely gagging for Christian Taylor’s gorgeousness.
“You like that?!”
The last third of this match is a foreplay wrestling session on a bed inside the BG East compound. My heart pumps extra hard as the camera hovers so close by. The boys start grinding, squeezing, plowing into each other. Big Calvin slides Christian into bodyscissors, crushing the veteran’s lean torso and grinning ear to ear at the sound of his loud, cracking slaps pounding down into Christian’s ass. “You like that!?” Calvin asks. It’s a rhetorical question. Homoerotic wrestlers ask each other this question about 30 times per match (I’m estimating, here). It’s a question asked in order to make a statement (i.e., you’re fucking hating this!). It’s intended to humiliate, to defy a wrestler’s masculine impulse to underestimate his agony, to not show his vulnerability. It’s meant to make a statement, not to be answered.
“Actually, I do.”
But the icy cool veteran answers anyway. “Actually, I do.” And fuck. I’m chuckling and so turned on and completely sucked into the careening sex play this is turning into because Christian Taylor doesn’t just like to wrestle. He doesn’t just enjoy shoving his tongue down another hunk’s throat. He convinces me all over again that he is turned on precisely because of the wrestling, because of the precise dosage of pain and punishment, give and take, domination and submission, power and beauty.
“Mmmmmmmm, you’re sexy.”
Not to belabor that same point, but there’s a moment where the furious sprint to the finish is just about to take them hurtling right over the edge. Christian has the momentary advantage, which at this point simply means that he’s literally on top and at the steering wheel of the careening bus. He stretches his super long, smooth, sexy self out over top of Calvin and slowly flexes his glutes, as if in slow motion grinding his swollen cock into the muscle rookie’s raging erection. Calvin is blinking rapidly, like he’s a little lightheaded, which considering the vascular redirection happening in his cock, makes sense. He hungrily laps at Christian’s nipples. Christian dives down and kisses the rookie’s mountainous biceps. Harder they grind, with the camera (i.e., you and me) right up in there, practically close enough to feel the inferno heat of their fully aroused bodies working up friction. Christian thrusts his hips forward, crushing their cocks together, as the veteran bends his long neck forward to suck aggressively on the rookie’s nipples. “Mmmmmm,” Calvin groans, eyes closed, completely under Christian’s spell, “you’re sexy!”
“Not so bad yourself.”
“Not so bad yourself,” Christian murmurs as he slides to the other pec and starts going to town on Calvin’s other nipple.
Intense, obvious, full-on mutual admiration.
While I’m instantly a fan of Calvin Haynes, particularly that magnificent ass and the hot ink, this match is a perfect example of what almost no one does as steadily, convincingly, and successfully as Christian Taylor. That body. Those eyes. That coverboy jawline. And an unblinking long-distance race to an unabashed erotic conclusion hits every homoerotic wrestling kink button I’ve got. I’d say the third time is a charm, but with Christian Taylor, every time is charming, deep down sexy, and incredibly satisfying. He could easily become the first 4-peater in the HWOTM annals with the quality and quantity of homoerotic wrestling he puts out there. In the mean time, he takes a step forward and joins the rarified ranks of three-time award winners, and becomes around these parts, once again, my Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.
Christian Taylor – October, 2016 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month
My favorite part of writing this blog for 7 and a half years has been getting to interview some of the sensationally sexy stars of homoerotic wrestling. I’ve had to conduct most of those interviews remotely, so it’s a particularly rare treat when geography and timing line up for me to sit down for a face to face with a wrestler willing to let me toss a barrage of questions his way. Just such a fantastic alignment of circumstances recently occurred, and I sat down with an audio recorder and super lightweight rising pro wrestler Charlie Evans. I’m not sure if the transcript captures just how much fun I had. Charlie had me in stitches, and like Charlie says, what you see is what you get with him. So when he says, “jeepers” or “son-of-a-beeswax,” there isn’t an ounce of irony in his voice. And that makes this “scrawny” ginger phenom massively charming, adorably engaging, and a three-dimensional pro wrestling character in a category all his own.
Bard: Charlie, thanks for agreeing to meet with me and chat on the record. I know a lot of wrestling fans are interested in learning more about you. You mentioned to me earlier that you’re a big fan of indy pro wrestling, even more so than mainstream pro. Who are some of the indy pro wrestlers than you like?
Charlie: So I’ve always been drawn to the size difference matches, big versus little, David versus Goliath. And I’ve always liked the high flyers. Growing up, Rey Mysterio was easily always my favorite. So I’ve always been drawn to the same kinds of wrestlers on the indy scene, like Nate Wings, Ryan Kidd, Zack Sabre, Eli Everfly. Them against the big guys.
Bard: So who are the big guys that you like?
“Son-of-a-beeswax!”
Charlie: Son of a beeswax (laughing, trying to come up with names). Terex, Brian Cage. Anytime you have the big giant guys versus the small, high flyers, that’s what I’ve always been drawn to because I’m a smaller guy, and I always thought that maybe I could take on some of the bigger guys.
Bard: I like it! And you and I have talked about this, that I think that is a cool angle.
Charlie: Before I got into this I always envisioned myself as the glorified jobber type. You know, I like seeing squash matches or whatever, and I figured that’s going to be my role. I never realized how hard wired my personality was. I’m not a pushover, and I do NOT like being humiliated in the ring. I do NOT like getting my ass kicked. I like to fight back with 110% of everything I’ve got, and I did not envision that to be the case before I started.
Bard: I think that’s awesome. I think that makes for good wrestling from a fan’s perspective.
Charlie: Especially since you start off thinking, oh, I’m going to be a jobber. And then snap, almost instantly, no, that’s not going to be me.
Bard: In the moment, I’m getting more into this.
Charlie: Right, it’s like, all right, I’m going to have a fifty-pound weight disadvantage, or a hundred pound disadvantage, and I am going to fight back with every ounce of strength, speed, agility, what have you. I’m not going to fight dirty, because I’m too nice for that. But I’m not going to give up. I’m not going to quit.
Charlie opens up a can of whoop ass on Chase Addams in TTT19
Bard: I think that’s fantastic. So thinking of you in the fight, getting provoked, getting competitive in the moment, I’m picturing your BG East debut in Tag Team Torture 19.
Charlie: First, I’ve got to say, that was one of the best AND funnest matches of my life, and I could not have been happier that that was my BG East debut. That was a kick ass match. I loved that one.
Bard: Nice! So I’m thinking of that opening sequence in that match. It’s both you and Christian Taylor, but you sort of go ballistic in that.
Charlie: Yeah! You know we get some good roll up pins, atomic drops, and I get to debut the Ginger Snap.
Bard: Tell us about the Ginger Snap.
Charlie: Oh, the Ginger Snap. First, you’ve got to brand everything, so that’s my first “patented” move. And that’s running handstand headscissors that flips the guy right across the ring. I kind of use my speed and size and stuff. You know, it can backfire though. I’ve been powerbombed a couple of times doing it.
Bard: I could see that.
Charlie: But you catch them off guard, and booya!
Charlie worked extra hard to make his tag team partner proud
Bard: Nice! Well it looks amazing. It’s very cool to watch. And it’s sort of along those lines of a real small guy who could probably easily be underestimated, who then pulls off something that is really devastating. It’s really cool.
Charlie: Just be on the look out for some other moves, like Ginger Bombs.
Bard: Excellent!
Charlie: Now, you’re going to have to wait to see what those are. You’ve got the Ginger Splash. I’ve been saying I need to go away from the “ginger” aspect.
Bard: I don’t know why. I don’t think you do.
Charlie: Yeah, well, I’ve been overruled on that one. I figured I could at least go with “scarlet” every now and then, but the ginger thing is sticking.
Bard: (laughing) Good! So, a tag team. Does that increase the competitiveness, the “I need to fight more, I need to pull my weight?”
Christian Taylor inspires tag team loyalty
Charlie: Oh gosh, yes. I’m a good guy, so I’ve got to be looking out for my partner. And when you’ve got Christian Taylor in your corner, that certainly helps.
Bard: Absolutely.
Teamwork!
Charlie: He had my back. I had his back, and the opponents didn’t really have their own backs.
Bard: They did not have each other’s backs, which was definitely the tale of that match.
Charlie: Oh, they were a bit of a mess. And you can quote that.
Bard: (laughing) They were a significant mess. I think they, well, at least one of the two of them would probably agree with that.
Charlie: Maybe (sounding doubtful).
Bard: So, over at MDW I haven’t seen all of your MDW releases.
Charlie: Oh my gosh!
Bard: I know, I feel bad about it. I was trying to do my homework beforehand, but I didn’t get to see everything. But my first introduction to you was actually your MDW work as… wait, it’s not the Riddler. What do they call him?
Bard: Riddle Man! Your Riddle Man takedown of Superman in the form of Damien Rush. Which was another example of you maybe picturing yourself as ending up a jobber in this business, and then your opening match…
Charlie: … I not only get to kick some ass, but I get my heel side on.
Bard: Yes! Was that fun?
Charlie: Yeah, I mean, when you get to portray someone like the Riddle Man, you kind of get to tap into your darker side a little bit. A side you might not be aware exists. But, yeah, anytime you can get Damien Rush’s ass…
Bard: Yes. It’s a nice ass to kick.
Charlie: It is.
Bard: And you spend a little bit of time paying attention to his ass in that match. Which I admire immensely.
Squeeze that super ass!
Charlie: Oh? I was not aware.
Bard: No? You spend, well, Riddle Man spends pretty extensive time going back and forth between trying to decide in the long run which is the best angle to go at him, from the front side or the back.
Charlie: That is right. He gave me a lot to work with.
Bard: (laughing) He does!
Charlie: Yes, both front and back. I had to give equal attention to both.
Bard: Yes, super sexy match, and again, I’m a big fan of Damien’s ass, so you gave it some hands on treatment there.
All hands on deck
Charlie: Yeah. What can I say? The Riddle Man really, really wanted to work that ass, in-between bashing some balls.
Bard: Absolutely. Anyway, fantastic to watch, very pleasing.
Charlie: And as a chatterbox, Riddle Man, he’s also a bit of a chatterbox. He had to be working with both riddles and puns on the fly. So I don’t think I stopped talking once during that entire match.
Bard: (laughing) And is that true to you?
Charlie: That’s true to me, though I’m not usually so mean! To all of the sudden on the fly realize that you have to fill up 20, 25 minutes of riddles and puns, yeah, it’s a challenge that I hope I rose to.
Bard: I think you did fantastic with it. I was recently having conversations with a couple other people about how much dialogue is too much, that kind of thing, and I’m pretty much always big on clever, on-point dialogue being a huge asset to a match. Not just sort of blabbing for blabbing’s sake, by any means.
Charlie: Well, you can’t be the Riddle Man without asking a few questions, including questions that don’t have any answers, but that give you a fantastic excuse to lay on some punishment for “wrong” answers.
Bard: Absolutely. Very good. So, most recently what I wrote a review about your most recent MDW appearance, which you did get a chance to see this review, as I remember, correct?
Charlie: I loved it.
Bard: Nice!
Charlie: I love them all. They’re always fantastic to read.
Bard: I’m incredibly honored to hear you say that. So as you probably read then, I’m a long time fan of Steel Muscle God, and I thought when MDW got him on this side of the pond, that that was a huge coup. And while I’ve enjoyed watching him, I still say he’s a little wooden, he’s not really like a natural wrestler, it doesn’t seem to me. But he’s got such attitude all of the time, that he makes it incredibly engaging.
Charlie: And he’s got those steel muscles that kind of make up the difference.
Bard: Exactly. So then, most recently, you come strolling out and find him in the ring at MDW, and get to spend about 20, 25 minutes with him. And I feel like I needed to say this isn’t exactly a wrestling match, but an incredibly compelling 20 to 25 minutes. How was it for you?
Charlie: Well, first it’s a little bit like a blur.
Bard: (laughing) Fair enough.
Charlie: What can somebody say when you take on Steel Muscle God? You are probably going to get your ass kicked. You’re a little bit in awe of the size and definition.
Bard: And you mention at the beginning, when he catches you…
“Cleaning the ring”
Charlie: I was cleaning the ring.
Bard: (laughing) Yes, you’re cleaning the ring, coincidentally with his sweaty shirt stuffed in your face.
Charlie: You know, he left it there lying on the ropes and I was just trying to be a good fellow wrestler…
Bard: (laughing) I saw that. I saw that. But you mentioned at the time, as you’re explaining why you’re there, you mention that you’re a fan. Had you been a fan? Are you familiar with his stuff?
Charlie: Oh, yeah! I was a fan of Steel Muscle God. Anybody who’s seen his work is probably also a fan.
Bard: He’s got a lot of fans.
Charlie: It doesn’t take much to become a fan of Steel Muscle God. So yeah, it was surprising, seeing him in the ring. So I did what any fan would probably do in that situation.
Bard: Right. Grab his shirt. And smell it.
Charlie: Yeah, and then maybe try to get out of there before he gets his hands on you, yeah.
Bard: (laughing) Fair enough. So along those lines, I was struck by the five senses of that match, because it starts with you getting caught smelling the shirt. Tell me about smelling the shirt.
Charlie: Oh, boy. It was definitely all Steel Muscle God.
Bard: He said he was recently back from the gym.
Charlie: Yeah, I could tell.
Bard: Good stuff?
Charlie: Oh yeah, great!
Bard: So let’s keep going. I have to say, I’m always a little enthralled with his accent. So the sound of this match…
Charlie: His grammar structure is always a lot of fun.
Bard: I love his English. It’s like, there’s never anything technically wrong. It just isn’t the way that I’d expect to hear someone say it. But he’s fluent, so it’s very cool. So, as a fan, is there anything sound-wise that struck you from that time you spent with him?
When Steel Muscle God speaks, people listen.
Charlie: Well, he’s very commanding.
Bard: He is!
Charlie: He tells you to do something, and you kind of have a hard time resisting doing it.
Bard: I got that impression.
Charlie: And if you don’t listen, he’s got the size and the muscles to make you listen.
Bard: Absolutely. And speaking of the size and the muscle, you got some up close time spent with those muscles. So let’s talk about the tactile nature of what turns into a muscle worship session. Anything that you can share?
“You can understand why this person gets his way.”
Charlie: The first time I felt the muscles and the strength I was outside the ropes and he grabbed me and literally just chucked me into the ring. It’s almost as though throwing 125 pounds is just no big deal for Steel Muscle God. Who woulda thought? And then from that point on, I resisted at first, but he kind of just pounded through it. And then when you’re actually feeling those muscles, you can understand why this person gets his way. He is a VERY solid individual.
Bard: He looks it!
Charlie: He’s got a well earned name. It felt hard as steel. Biceps all the way down to the legs. There was no give or take in the muscle. He is one of the hardest individuals I’ve ever met, and no pun or innuendo intended.
Bard: Understood. Along those lines, as much as I was impressed with him as always, I have to say I was really fascinated and giving you tons of credit for using almost every opportunity to get another feel of another angle on him.
Charlie: Well, he brought me in there, so at that point, all bets are off.
Bard: True enough. And he wasn’t exactly hating it along the way, clearly. I was really pleased with how he was getting into the pleasure of being worshipped.
Charlie: I think he may have smacked me around when I resisted a little.
“Ooooooooo!”
Bard: This is true. But even when he snaps you up in a bearhug early on and you’re sort of resisting and pushing back, and I’m thinking I’m not reading into it, that you’re enjoying the feel of his pecs in your hands. Would that be fair to say?
Charlie: Uh, they were pretty good pecs (laughing).
Bard: (laughing) And then, my favorite moments from the match have to be you in those standing headscissors. In which case your hands aren’t stopping moving the entire time, up and down his legs.
Charlie: And funny thing is, if he told me to do that, I probably didn’t hear, because my head was being crushed between those steel thighs.
Bard: It looked like it!
Charlie: So that was all me getting touchy feely.
It helps to be bendy.
Bard: I was a little worried about your neck in the face-to-crotch, the upside down standing headscissors. I was thinking, that can’t be comfortable, and he had you hanging there for quite a while.
Charlie: Well, I’m very bendy.
Bard: Which would come in handy.
Charlie: It definitely helps. But it was like being in a steel vise.
Bard: So we’ve done smell, sound, touch. Now, I didn’t know, but my sense was that there are several moments when he’s shoving your face into his muscles, biceps, chest, lots of that. And I don’t have a great camera angle on it, because, trust me, I was pausing, reversing, pausing reversing, that kind of thing, but my sense was that you might have gotten a little bit of a taste. Can you say anything about that? What does Steel Muscle God taste like?
Charlie: Oh, boy, yeah, my face was shoved pretty much all over.
Bard: It was!
Charlie: You know, I’m probably going to let the viewers’ imagination run with that.
Bard: Oh, no! Denied!
Different tastes
Charlie: (laughing) Sorry. You know, he might have different tastes for every part of his body, is all I’ll say.
Bard: Oh!? That’s a little provocative. All right, I’ll take it. And then finally the sight. He is just a pretty, pretty man. And like I said, you pretty much had a close up on every single angle of him. Anything you can say about the sight of him? What it is to take in the sight of him that close?
Charlie: Well, first, one of my biggest advantages that I think I bring to the table in a match, is that I make anybody look pretty damn good next to me.
Bard: (laughing) Really!?
Charlie: Yeah, his size, his muscles, I’m guessing everything looked even more impressive next to little me.
Bard: Huh.
Charlie: And then up close and personal, he’s not somebody you’d want to pick a fight with in a bar or on a wrestling mat or pretty much anywhere, because you’re probably going to get your ass kicked. And up close and personal, that’s just an inescapable fact.
Nailed it.
Bard: I hear that. So, in that last face-to-crotch, the bendy-required move near the end there, I was just trying to picture as I was reviewing that for the blog, and I was thinking you’re looking up. Your head is between his thighs. Great position. So his crotch is right in your face. He’s got sensational abs, big, round, hard pecs, and he was staring down at you, insisting that you look up at him. What was that sight like?
Charlie: Well you pretty much just nailed it.
Bard: (laughing) I’ve placed myself sufficiently in the moment?
Charlie: Yeah, you pretty much nailed it. It’s just one, two, three, four. You’ve got that package, right above your face, pretty much eclipsing everything else. But then you see the outline of that six-pack, or eight-pack, or whatever you want to call it. And those big, giant, mountainous pecs, and then that cocky, very alpha look, staring down at you just pretty much making eye contact and telling you, “you want to look everywhere else, but you look at me right now.”
Bard: Like I said, I thought that was very compelling, and since you said you read the blog post, you kno what I had noticed that he’s looking for your friends to join you next time. And I just wanted to clarify that I’m willing for us to be considered friends, just so you know.
Charlie: (laughing) I have lots of buddies who got very, very jealous, and would love to meet Steel Muscle God, but I will absolutely put you at the front of the line.
Bard: Nice! I appreciate that! Good, well then maybe this interview will see the light of day.
Charlie: (laughing) There’s got to be blogger perks.
Bard: I’ve been doing it for, what has it been, six, seven years? Eight years now?
Charlie: I think you’re due.
Bard: I’m due for some blogger perks!
Charlie: You’ve put in your time. I think it’s time.
Bard: (laughing) That is so funny. I appreciate that! You mentioned you making opponents look good. What do you mean by that?
Charlie: I want to carve out a niche. Every roster needs a little guy. And I want that spot. I want to be the go-to little guy in any roster I’m on.
Bard: I think that’s fantastic, and I agree. I like that, the sense of there being something particularly engaging about a size differential, you looking uphill, and then battling uphill. I think that’s very cool. I’m interested in the idea, though, that you make someone else look good. Do you not like the way you look? Do you think guys are just looking at your opponent and thinking “that guy’s hot,” because he’s in the ring with you?
Charlie: I think you’ll find a lot of wrestlers have body image issues.
Bard: I’ve gotten that impression, sure.
Charlie: Personally, you will never find me raving about the way I look. It’s one of those things where anyone who looks in the mirror is going to see flaws in themselves. You have to have enough self-awareness to take a step back and go, even if you might not care for your own personal appearance, other people might. And now that I’ve been out there on the scene for a little while now, the feedback has been fantastic, and for a kid like me, it definitely makes it easier to keep putting yourself out there when you might not have the highest opinion of your look, but you seem to be picking up fans left and right.
Bard: Yeah! Good.
Charlie: But like I said, I’m perfectly content to be the little guy. I don’t want to become some jacked muscle beast. That is horrifying to me. In fact I keep trying to lose a little bit of weight here and there, and everyone is telling me I’ve got to put on 5 or 10 pounds. But I personally think you’ve got to play up the size difference. That’s my one big advantage. You stick me next to a middle weight, and they look like a heavyweight. You stick me next to a heavy weight, and they look like Godzilla.
Bard: Right. And like I said I think there’s a ton of potential in those differentials. There’s a ton of cool potential on the side of a middle weight who can hoist you up over their head, when they can’t necessarily do that with most opponents.
Charlie: Absolutely. Let’s just say a lot of wrestlers don’t necessarily break a sweat when they’re tossing me around. And now one of my go to functions sometimes behind the scenes, I’m pretty much a living, breathing wrestling practice dummy for some of the guys. If we have to be planning matches, some logistics, you don’t necessarily want to tire the wrestlers out. So, let’s send in Charlie. You aren’t going to tire anyone out. They can practice some suplexes, powerbombs, gorilla presses. Make it look good, and then they can kick ass for somebody a little bigger. I’ve got lots of talents and uses in this business.
Bard: (laughing) Very cool! I’m not going to let you go on your body quite yet though. What kind of feedback do you get? Have you got fan feedback? Do fans of Charlie Evans reach out and tell you, “I like what you did?”
Charlie: Yeah, and I don’t always know how to respond. I have a very hard time seeing it. I never even liked my red hair growing up, but now I kind of love being a ginger.
Bard: Oh, wow! Of course, I bet you get feedback on that.
Charlie: Yeah, I’m kind of like a unicorn on the wrestling scene. There’s not a lot of small, twink-like gingers running around. So I’ve got the little guy space carved out, and now I’m trying to make inroads and claim my top ginger status. I know there’s another contender by the name of…
Bard: …Kid Karisma. Yes, I love that you’ve got your eye on the top ginger title. And I will agree with you from your summer match with Blaine that regardless of how that match turned out, I don’t think he made inroads into legitimately claiming top ginger status.
Who is the gingeriest of them all?
Charlie: Not even close. But Kid Karisma, though, he’s got a shot.
Charlie thinks Kid Karisma “has a shot”
Bard: (laughing) A shot? Yes, he does!
Charlie: And there might be enough space for the big giant muscle bodybuilder Kid Karisma and little old me over here.
Bard: I would hope that you don’t always stay on opposite sides there.
Charlie: Oh?
Bard: I would love to see that match up. Have you ever thought about a ginger-on-ginger Kid Karisma match?
Charlie: What about a tag team?
Bard: Ahh! Fantastic! See!? My gosh, the ginger moves… you couldn’t stop naming ginger moves.
Charlie: The Ginger Express. We’d just be kicking ass!
Bard: I think that would be golden!
Charlie: I think it’s time for the gingers to rise up, you know?
Bard: Yes. Yes. So fans like the ginger.
Charlie: Oh, they love it apparently.
Bard: Fans like the lean, small guy thing.
Charlie: I call myself scrawny, but they think I’m more lean.
Bard: Anything else fans rave about?
Charlie: Apparently I come across as very earnest in the ring. I wear a lot of expression on my face.
Charlie: I’ve got this kind of wide-eyed thing, I either wear a smile or I’m screaming in pain. And apparently, they do like how expressive I can be.
Bard: Absolutely. I’ve referred to that as presence. When wrestlers are present in the moment, and I get the impression they’re not thinking about something else, they’re actually experiencing this moment.
Charlie: I have a laser focus in my matches, on my opponent and what is coming at me.
Bard: I can see that.
Charlie: You know, what you see when I’m in a match, that’s me. That’s just 100% Charlie. There’s no filters or anything.
Bard: That’s how you come across. How many of your fans have mentioned your ass?
Charlie: (laughing, turning red) Ohhhhhh.
I’m not the only one who’s a fan of Charlie’s ass
Bard: I’m not the only one. No chance.
Charlie: Well, you know, this is an uncomfortable topic, because I know a fellow wrestler who has a very high opinion of his ass.
Bard: Uh-huh?
Charlie: And he doesn’t like competition.
Bard: I think I know what wrestler you’re referring to (laughing).
Charlie: And so when I’m getting complimented on mine, someone is feeling a little threatened.
Bard: I could see that. I would have thought that whole thing might have already been put to rest by the match record thus far, but no?
Charlie: He might not take win-loss records as an accurate commentary on his ass.
Bard: Fair enough.
Charlie: Honestly, I never had too much of an opinion about my ass.
Bard: Interesting!
Charlie: Yeah, but fans do seem to like it. So, you know what, I’m going to throw myself into contention for best ass. For the fans.
Bard: As one of those fans, I think that’s fantastic. I’m whole-heartedly in support of that. I think there are lots of fine qualities to different types of asses, and I think you definitely should own that, that you’ve got an ass that attracts attention.
Charlie: I will say, I don’t know for what reason, but a lot of wrestlers in the ring tend to like giving me massive wedgies. Or spanking my ass. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed that.
Lining up to get their hands on that ass
Bard: And for that, your fans are thrilled.
Charlie: I mean, my entire ass is on display. And that is not how I go into the matches, but boy, it is happening more and more frequently.
Is Ty feeling threatened?
Bard: I’m going to watch for that because I think that is something to watch for! So, how do you describe your wrestling style?
Charlie: I would like to think I’ve got speed and agility to my advantage. One of the other things though is my pain tolerance is through the roof. I am tougher than just about anybody my size. I have taken some insane beatings, from some of the biggest guys on the scene and you’ll never hear me complain or whine about any of the bumps or bruises or welts that I walk away with, and there’s been TONS of those! So my stamina, my endurance, my toughness in the ring are definitely some of my biggest advantages. And I’m trying to ramp up my high flying abilities.
Bard: Nice!
Charlie: Yeah, so in the future look for more hurricanas, flying headscissors, splashes. I want to be someone who jumps on the ropes and jumps all over the place and catches everyone off guard.
Bard: Fantastic.
Charlie: Literally throw my entire HUGE body weight at my opponent and catch them off guard. Or maybe they’ll just catch me. Who knows?
Bard: I will definitely look forward to that. And in underground wrestling circles, that’s definitely a rare breed, so I think that’s definitely awesome for you to have your eye on that.
All wrapped up
Charlie: I like to use a lot of submission moves that use my weight to my advantage. Like I already said, I’m pretty bendy, so I can literally wrap myself around an opponent, and they have to support my entire bodyweight as I’m cranking on their arms, their necks, their legs what have you, so it’s kind of the double edged sword.
Bard: Very good! Any wrestlers that you haven’t wrestled yet that you would enjoy, that would be on your list of “that would be a fun match?”
Charlie: Anybody on the online wrestling scene?
Bard: Yeah.
Charlie: I’d love an official match against Jonny Firestorm. He’s kicked my ass a few times behind the scenes. He’d be a phenomenal opponent. He’s a master of submission moves and he definitely knows how to throw out a beating. But maybe there’s a slim chance I could catch him off guard.
Bard: Nice!
Charlie: I would love to test my mettle against somebody like Brute Baynard or Guido.
Bard: You’re a brave, brave man.
Charlie: Maybe even a two-on-one match.
Bard: (laughing) Wow!
Charlie: I mean, with strictly enforced tag team rules, I’m not going to put myself too far out there and say I could take them both on at the same time, but maybe, that may be another match that I wouldn’t mind.
Bard: I think that’s fantastic, particularly since we’ve just seen Jonny and Brute and Guido in a 3-way match that for the most part ends up being a 2-on-1 that then goes into a melee. And Jonny got pretty much bulldozed, I have to say.
Charlie: Sure, and those two guys could pick me up and toss me back and forth like a bag of potatoes.
Bard: But you’d enjoy it?
Charlie: It would be fun.
Bard: That says a lot. I think we’re getting to know Charlie Evans.
Charlie: I think people underestimate Charlie Evans. So. Any other wrestlers that I would love to take on… You’ve got Kayden Keller. A little bit of a force of nature.
Bard: And another big guy.
Charlie: Yeah. I have a tendency to want to challenge myself against the best. Oh, and any time a certain Ty Alexander wants to try to take me on in a singles match, I’m game and maybe we can put other questions to rest.
Bard: I think between the outcome of your tag team match this summer, and between the potential that Ty could possibly even be said wrestler who we were referring to earlier as someone who really prefers to hold the best ass accolades all to himself, I think that could be a sensational grudge match.
Charlie: I will neither confirm nor deny that he was who I was referring to.
Bard: (laughing) Excellent.
Charlie: I’ve actually got a long list of guys, because I’m going to be around for a while, and I’m going to want to take on everybody. But another person is Drake.
Charlie: Your buddy Drake. Generally I like to pick a fight with the big guys. But Drake’s been around, and he’s shown his chops. I’m a little threatened that maybe he could take a beating maybe almost as well as me. So I would kind of like to throw myself at him and see what the outcome might be.
Bard: Well, from first hand experience, let me just say he can definitely suffer. He suffers like a champ, in fact. And, because I feel for the guy, you know… take it easy on him.
Charlie: Oh? (laughing) I’ll keep that in mind.
Bard: (laughing) Good.
Charlie: We’ve already talked about Kid Karisma. So I’m just kind of going through the whole Rolodex of wrestlers, you know.
Bard: So who would Riddle Man like to size up in the ring based on their ass? Because we know Riddle Man is into that.
Charlie: Really? He wasn’t more of a ball person?
Bard: (laughing) He was back and forth. And I do think in the end he went for the balls as the primary target, but based on my own interest in Damien’s ass…
Charlie: All right, who would Riddle Man want to take on? Well, first, Bat Stud. Come on, now. That has to happen.
Bard: Yes. That and your muscle worship release recently, I would just have those on back to back, back to back constantly.
Charlie: Now I’m trying to think if I could cross the fed. I will say this, I’m a big comic book fan and into company crossovers. So, I think there would be a lot of potential for there to be inter-federation fights and challenges, and let’s leave it at that.
Bard: That’s fair. You have been wresting for a while, but you’re fairly new. Your first MDW match has been out just about a year. And then the 2 matches from BG East this summer. So fans are still getting to know Charlie Evans. So anything else about Charlie Evans, not just as the wrestler, but what would fans want to know about Charlie the human?
Do NOT apologize for that!
Charlie: I know wrestlers aren’t supposed to talk about how nice they are. We’re supposed to project a very tough, take no prisoners visage. But I am one of the happiest go lucky people you’ll ever meet. You’re not going to see me doing a lot of cheap shots. Maybe in desperation, but if I did, I’d feel really, really bad about it. I’m somebody who, if I lay out my opponent, I kind of have to fight the urge to offer him a hand back up before the match is even done. That’s something I’m working on.
Bard: (laughing) I think you’ll need to work on that. A pro wrestler who feels guilty along the way seems like a formula for disaster.
Charlie: How can I not feel bad when I’m kicking someone’s ass who’s 50 pounds bigger than me, and they’re taking a beating from the little guy. You know, you’ve got to feel bad.
Bard: I’m not sure “bad” is how I’m feeling when I’m watching you do it, I have to say. But whatever intra-psychic thing you’re dealing with in the moment, I guess I have to honor that what’s coming out on screen is pretty damn entertaining.
Charlie: Another thing, I will always push myself to get better. I would like to show my fans and fellow wrestlers that every single year you can see improvement. New repertoire of moves. Better physical fighting condition. Hopefully an even more impressive win record, although I’m doing pretty okay for my size as a newbie right now.
Bard: Absolutely!
Today’s grunt work for tomorrow’s marquee dreams
Charlie: And I’m in this for the long haul. So hopefully the fans are okay with that, because I’m kind of hoping to stick around for as long as I can.
Bard: When we start to see more of those wedgies happening, I think fans are going to be just fine with that, just so you know. And I appreciate you taking the time to let me pepper you with questions and get into a little psychoanalysis here and there and get to know you a little bit better.
Charlie: Well, how could I ever, ever not help out one of my favorite bloggers?
Bard: You’re too kind. And I’ll believe it when I get the invitation to be one of your friends when SMG is in town next.
Charlie: You keep writing amazing reviews, and I will make that happen.
I’ve had my eye on adorable little Richie Douglas from day one. Cute as a fucking button and smooth as a baby’s bottom, Richie is the boy next door I had a raging crush on all my life. His opening forays into BG East competition had a distinct lamb to the slaughter vibe about them. Austin Cooper seriously ate him for lunch, and the EPIC beatdown he took at the hands and boots and pecs and fucking every last inch of Lane Hartley was almost (almost) hard to watch, it was so brutal. But like so many homoerotic wrestling fantasymen, little Richie was phenomenal to watch for the visual feast of sugary sweet, innocent muscle massacre, but I was starting to put him in that sad category of wrestler whose wrestling is “gay” mostly because I’m watching it, rather than anything he says or does in a match.
Mat scramble
I stand corrected. After watching Richie face big, gorgeous Goren Ford in Sunshine Shooters 8, I have had to reclassify lovely Richie into a whole new category. No longer fresh meat. Not lamb to slaughter. And not rigid straightboy all buttoned up and carefully chaste amid the low down, musky eroticism of the homoerotic wrestling universe. No, Richie is none of those things. What he is, is a compact cock tease with a no longer secret fetish for red lace undergear and making a big, muscle hunk suck his balls.
Goren digs in deep
You read that right. There’s an unflinching erotic scrapper with boatloads of amateur wrestling cred and an achingly prettyboy jock body all wrapped up nice and tight in that suction packed wrestling singlet. And in Sunshine Shooters 8, gorgeous Goren quite literally unwraps all of that and introduces us to the sexiest little erotic bon bon who’s been hanging out right underneath our noses all along.
Gorgeous Goren Ford
I popped my cork all over Goren’s Dark Knight debut a while back. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. And he shows up out of nowhere and slaps down one of the sexiest daddy domination matches I’ve seen in a longtime. In contrast to Richie, Goren burned up the mats and scorched my retinas with his overt, sensationally secure, firm but gentle (well, not really gentle) boy taming of notoriously petulant pretty boy, Ty Alexander. Who the fuck does that? Who just shows up on day one of their homoerotic wrestling career, gets naked, looks like a Greek god, and physically and psychologically dominates an industry veteran into being his boy toy? It was a rhetorical question, but the answer is Goren Ford, that’s who.
Goren muscle bullies the pretty boy
So Sunshine Shooters 8 is a promising pairing from the start. Chaste, ripped boy next door gets interrupted while running drills for his upcoming wrestling tournament by older, wiser, Greed god and erotic savant. “If you want to practice, you can practice with me,” Goren smirks when Richie bitches about having reserved the mats. Big Goren pulls off his t-shirt and flexes those lean, meaty pecs in the boy’s face.
“Come on, submit.”
Goren is no amateur wrestler, though. He’s the first to admit it. So when little Richie repeatedly outhustles him and takes him to the mat, no one is shocked. However, when Richie slides into a schoolboy pin and starts to taunt the proven whip cracker, I’m a little surprised. “Come on, submit,” Richie smirks, staring down. “No fucking way, man!” Goren refuses in disgust, “not to a little guy like you.”
“This little guy’s kicking your ass right now!”
“This little guy’s kicking your ass right now,” Richie smirks, dialing the sexy up to 11. “What do you got to say to that?” Goren has a lot to say, mind you. He’s almost half a foot taller and over 30 pounds heavier, even ripped to the bone like he is. He muscles his way out of several jams and uses all of that superior size and strength to bulldoze the sensational pretty boy underfoot. He still looks new to the wrestling game, but that same calm, overpowering, hungry expertise in bending a hot boy to his will comes shining through time and time again. Big bad Goren makes little Richie hurt. A lot. And then he gives the squirming jock a little breathing space to decide if he’s ready to willingly be big Goren’s personal plaything. Chaste Richie stubbornly refuses. He rejects the erotic overtures. He denies the ripped muscle god bearing down on him the satisfaction.
Richie goes there!
It’s all going according to plan, I’m thinking, right up until the moment that little Richie has the big man all snug in headscissors. The little jock looks over his shoulder and smiles, clearly enjoying the sight of Goren’s face crammed nice and tight up next to Richie’s munchable ass. And then he reaches down and rips the baggy shorts off the big man. “You don’t need these,” Richie smirks, suddenly using them to choke him. It’s playful, but deliberate. It’s overtly sexual and all about the erotic domination. I don’t think Richie is going to be able to translate that move to his upcoming amateur wrestling tournament.
Richie smothers him.
So that’s eyebrow-archingly sexy new stuff from Richie. I’m liking it even more when he schoolboy pins the big man again and quite deliberately shoves his crotch in Goren’s face. It isn’t just dominating. It’s not a playground nohomo move. It’s erotic and hungry and sexy as hell.
“So you like shoving your balls in another man’s face?”
“So you like shoving your balls in another man’s face?” Goren says once he’s eaten crow, submitted, and been taunted by the hot little jock bouncing on his feet in front of him. It’s a fair question. I totally expect chaste little Richie to shrug it off and keep this RHW-straight laced. “Maybe,” Richie smirks. What the fuck?! Richie just said that, maybe, he likes shoving his balls in another man’s face!!!
“Maybe.”
Goren does not need an engraved invitation to turn the burner to high. He shoves Richie to the wall and playfully toys with the kid’s singlet, tugging it down. Richie just smiles and lets him. All the way down. Little Richie Douglas just leans back and lets Dark Knight Goren peel his singlet off him, all the way down to red lace briefs.
“Why don’t you find out?”
“I wonder what else do you like,” Goren says, playing with the kid’s sweet pecs and taking a hands on measure of the heft of the package hanging between Richie’s thighs. “Why don’t you find out?” Richie teases.
Back to the trough
I just was not expecting this. This is so not a narrative built around the battle between lasciviousness and chastity. This isn’t that familiar morality tale about dabbling on the dark side and getting trapped in hedonistic flypaper. Richie wants it. More than that, he’s ready for it. More than that, he’s a fucking sensational at taking the heat and zinging it right back at the amorous Greek god. Goren flings the kid to the mat and climbs on his back, grinding his crotch into those aforementioned munchable ass cheeks. Far from any gay panic defense, Richie works his way on top and slaps down another schoolboy pin on the big man. And now in those seductive red briefs, little Richie slides forward and smothers the Dark Knight with his balls.
Little Richie’s all grown up!
At the risk of repeating myself, I was NOT expecting this. Goren opens wide. He sticks out his tongue and laps at the low hanging fruit in his face. He turns his head to the side and slides his tongue slowly up Richie’s smooth inner thigh to the base of his balls. And not-so-chaste-afterall Richie just smiles down and shoves his hips forward another fraction of an inch.
Little kicks big’s ASS!
The visuals in this match are stunning, and I don’t just mean the two eye-poppingly pretty bodies stripped down to next to nothing. I’ve been writing often about that extra kick I get from size differentials, from starkly mismatched bodies bearing down on each other. 6’1″ Goren muscling his way all over Richie’s 5’8″ fantasy body makes me swoon. And value added still is little Richie Douglas absolutely turning the tables on the Dark Knight and physically, psychologically, and sexually dominating the big man like the unabashed homoerotic scrapper he obviously was all along. He works the big man convincingly. He owns him with speed and skill, but really puts him away with that big, bulging pouch repeatedly shoved into his gaping mouth. It’s a big vs. little scenario where sensationally sexy little grabs the bull by the horns and makes this big, muscled beauty his own.
Suck on that humiliation
“See you in the showers,” Richie says over his shoulder as he saunters that bon bon ass out of the mat room. It isn’t a salutation. It isn’t a sportsmanly gesture of respect. It isn’t any reference to water under the bridge, the way it might look like in print. It’s a command.
“See you in the showers.”
And Goren shakes off the ass kicking he just took and trucks his magnificent, muscled ass right after little Richie Douglas.
I’ll get back to what this blog is about tomorrow after attempting to catch up on a serious lack of quality sleep, but I don’t think I’ll be able to refocus on the subject you and I know and love so much without making at least some reference to the U.S. presidential election yesterday. I have long-winded reflections and extensive descriptions of my personal angst over the outcome, and then I have the more succinct version: well, fuck me.
Trey Dixon’s eyes pried open to witness the spectral visage of Thrash ripping him apart in Masked Destroyers
I hope everyone had a shocking Halloween. I’m also hoping to get another photo report from our favorite homoerotic wrestlers who delight in dressing up and showing us their costumes. In the mean time, I was mulling over a topic I’ve touched upon tangentially in the past, that seems particularly relevant this time of year: terror.
I should confess I’m a terror movie junkie. I tend toward the mind-fuck variety of horror flicks, particularly the sacrilegious, but the raw, mass body count movies are also on my list. I like the extra heavy heart pump they inspire. Even when I know the outcome, I can feel the blood pulse harder through my veins when I’m watching good, terror inducing entertainment
Kip Sorell pleads with the audience to call the police, because he’s getting mugged in Demolition 20
So it’s a short hop to thinking about the element of terror in homoerotic wrestling entertainment. Just like in a good horror flick, terror is a delicate ingredient. You can’t throw in too much, too soon, or the escalating adrenaline drops from habituation. On the other hand, too infrequent, too improbable (hello, Paranormal franchise, I’m looking at you) and the heat doesn’t have time to reach a boil. And under or over sold, and the whole suspension of disbelief comes crashing down in a heap.
Muscle Match goes dark with open, vicious, bare handed strangulation
But in homoerotic wrestling, when done right, it’s incredible value added for my tastes. When a brave, cocky, impenetrable stud throws himself into the fray, gets outmatched, gets convinced that he could very well get broken, broken into, or crippled for life, the unfolding drama is sensationally arousing to me. He’s got to believe he’s going to make a respectable showing to start with. And then, incrementally, he’s got to be dragged to the despairing, horrifying truth that he’s getting owned, and his opponent is just nasty enough to seriously jeopardize life and limb. And then, that juicy, potent psychodrama has to play out on his face, in his eyes, in the rising octaves of his screams and choking sobs.
Austin Cooper is terrified by what’s Bobby Horton is about to do to him from behind in his Wrestler Spotlight 3
When done right, I get that same adrenaline pump I do when I’m watching fine horror. That, paired with hot, hard bodies and the inherent eroticism of grinding, crushing, dominating wrestling, and I’ll swing for the fences every time.
Riddle Man (aka, Charlie Evans) monologues like a supervillain about what he wants to do with SuperStud (aka, Damien Rush) and his marvelous ass in Super Men 4.4.
Interestingly (for me, at least), I occasionally stumble across this ethical dilemma in seeking out terror-rich homoerotic wrestling fare, when I come across the implicit threat of rape. On the one hand, rape is not sexy. In real life, it’s vile and destroys lives. I don’t enjoy it, and don’t get aroused by it in gay porn. Frankly, it creeps me out. On the other hand, in addition to being terrorized by threats to life and limb, homoerotic wrestling terror at least occasionally drifts into the psychodrama of sexual violence. Threats that revolve around “what I’m going to do to you when I’ve beaten you to a pulp,” start down that path. Hell, every so often there’s the pretty explicit dialogue about how a victor will fuck his cowed conquest like the spoils of war. And, all that I just said on the first hand notwithstanding, I fucking get off on that.
Trent Diesel sizes up the ass he just bought and paid for in his Naked Kombat bout with Gavin Waters
Of course Naked Kombat pretty much is all about sexual domination as the spoils of erotic wrestling. But there’s an implicit contract in the fighter’s opening introductions. They’re signing up for this. They know the stakes are win or be fucked, so it’s more like high stakes gambling than actual rape. The loser my not enjoy it, but the bitterness and brutality are mostly about the humiliation of the loss, not about being involuntarily fucked. And the more recent post-match testimonials almost always make explicit that the everyone involved had a grand old time.
Rusty Stevens and David Taylor made me forget they were being held at gunpoint in Wrestle Bait.
Can-Am has come pretty close to explicitly centering a narrative on wrestling as pretense for sexual assault. Their Wrestle Bait release made me check my political correctness credentials a few times, for example. The plot, as I remember, is that a sadistic jail guard (Jobe Zander) gets his psychojollies off on forcing inmates to wrestle for fuckstakes and freedom. Jobe literally holds a gun to their heads and coerces them to strip, beat the shit out of each other, and then have the winner force fuck the loser. If they don’t fight hard enough, he threatens to shoot them. So, guns turn me off. The threat of watching someone get shot turns me way off. The implication that the losers in each Wrestle Bait match are getting fucked against their will tugs at my conscience. But despite myself, even as I question my moral compass, I’ve pounded out dozens of times to that shit. In my defense, it was the first time I ever saw Rusty Stevens or David Taylor.
Logan Vaughn’s terror is evident once Lane Hartley plants him spread eagled in the ropes and gets into position to place kick his balls for a field goal in Hunkbash 15
But I don’t have to have boundaries crossed for the terror ingredient to spice up my favorite homoerotic wrestling fare. It’s the terror itself, rather than any questionable-consensual sex act, that’s the common thread. So when it dawns on one gasping hunk that he’s got no shot of winning, and in fact has a very good shot at spending a few nights in the hospital, and that recognition visibly washes across his face… fuck. When a sniveling pretty boy literally tries to flee the scene, crawling on his hands and knees in a primal effort to distance himself from his natural predator, I’m so sold. When he chokes and quivers on the fear, when he weeps and begs, abandoning all pretense to dignity, when he out and out screams because he’s certain he’s about to break for real, that will top me off every time.
Carter Alexander sells terror like a motherfucker in Great Outdoors 2, though I think he’s mostly just terrified Kid Karisma will stop pulling his hair (he likes that).
So today, I salute the homoerotic wrestling scream queens who toy with my moral compass and somehow shove their hands right down my pants by selling out and out terror as a device for propelling a wrestling match to a screaming, pleading, magnificent conclusion.
Reigning scream queen, bar none, Drake “don’t call me jobber” Marcos realizes the Trophy Boy may very well castrate him in Three-Way Thrash 4.
Kirk Donahue got off on the wrong foot with me. After debuting in exactly one match in 2014, near the end of that year, no less, somehow, he popped up on BG East’s ballot as a contender for Best Butt of the year. As you might have noticed, I am a devoted student of homoerotic wrestlers’ asses. I keep toying with the possibility of bringing back my Name That Ass game that entertained me so much a while back, but then I remember how almost no one ever actually wins that game because no one is as obsessed with cataloging the idiosyncratic beauty of wrestlers’ asses as I am. So when I say that Kirk Donahue’s nomination for Best Butt of 2014 was out of the blue, this is someone who knows of what he speaks.
Fuckable? Sure. But a top 5 ass!?
At the time the nominations were published, I had some harsh words for Kirk’s sweet cheeks. I pretty much impugned his moral character, speculating about who he had to fuck to weasel his skinny little ass onto one of the most hotly contested categories in the Besties. I mean, he was up against Kid Karisma, Cameron Matthews, Austin Cooper, and Gabriel Ross. Because Kirk took that fifth spot, we didn’t even have the option of voting for Brad Barnes, Connor Cross, Rio Garza, Ty Alexander, Chace La Chance or Cal Bennett. Out of nowhere, this Howdy Doody babyface with, admittedly, a very nice body and, undeniably, outstanding pro wrestling experience, shoves his lean, welterweight glutes in our faces with nothing but the wrong end of an obliterating debut squash and that shit-eating grin on his face to show for it.
I’ve got an axe to grind with Kirk Donahue
For that reason, I took an instant disliking to Kirk Donahue. Not like I never want see him in the ring, but the disliking that makes me really, really want to see him get the living shit beat out of him over and over again. When it comes to people I love to hate, there may be no one higher on that list than ridiculously cute, lean, earnest, dimple chinned, freckle faced Kirk. Back when he was first nominated I proposed that whoever wins the category that year should make it his mission to bend Kirk over his knee and pound his boy-next-door butt until Kirk confesses who he fucked to get on the nominations list. Cameron Matthews managed to wrest the title from 2-time winner Kid Karisma that year. I think both Kid K and Cameron should sort out these suspicions of poll rigging with a 3-way thrash all over Kirk’s tight little ass.
Zach Reno is all man
In the mean time, we get to see what hirsute beefcake Zach Reno can do with one of my favorite whipping boys in Babyface Brawl 4. First of all, Zach’s look instantly gets me hard. I’m still hoping to see Zach’s personality match the stunning glitz and glam of his sensational physique and magnificent fur. In the mean time, his gorgeous muscles and out of control curly split ends are still sufficient to raise my hopes (and other parts of me) that Kirk may be about to suffer hard.
Zach takes charge
Zach comes on strong to start this match off. Maybe too strong. When he brashly declares that he is the best wrestler ever, I start to worry that this magnificent, hairy chested dreamboat may be writing checks he can’t cash. His match record is pretty dicey thus far. He may want to review the tape of his crushing beatdown at the mercy of Kid Karisma’s muscles before he lays too bold a claim to invincibility. Too cocky? Maybe, but when he scoops up Kirk and slams his overachieving ass to the mat hard, I’m wanting Zach to pull this off so hard. “I told you these are arms of steel, bro,” Zach smirks, pumping out another sensational double bicep. Fuck, I’m wanting him to rip Kirk apart.
With arms that huge, Zach very well may be able to rip his head off
I love the drama in this match. The story establishes the long-evident fact that both Zach and Kirk have an impressive pro resume. It’s tit for tat repeated reversals of fortunes early going. Zach scoop slams Kirk. Kirk scoop slams Zach. Zach suplexes Kirk, goes to the well for a second dip, and Kirk thwarts him, reversing with a nasty suplex pounding Zach’s lower back hard to the mat. There’s a strong whiff of the possibility of Kirk using this match as a formal credential check, showing that he may look like a 19 year old upstart in way, way over his head, but he actually has top quality skill and grit packed into that super tight, baby smooth body. Right around then, my resentment is rising, because I’m still wanting to see him spanked hard. “Seems like anything you can do,” Kirk smirks, “I can do just as well.” Zach looks pissed. And dangerous. “That’s your opinion,” Zach retorts. “And your opinion sucks.”
Crush him, Zach!!!
Like the perfect contrast to the steady diet of squash matches I’ve been sucking down lately, this babyface brawl has me genuinely guessing almost all the way to the end. Just when I’m whipping mine out, feeling certain that Zach is going to slap this upstart son of a bitch to the ground, Kirk keeps fighting back. If I wasn’t hating on Kirk so bad, I’d have to admit, he’s fucking amazing, getting outmuscled repeatedly and using polished skill and sensational speed to zero out any advantage. But when he gloats about it, when he rubs it in and curls his adorable upper lip in that “I’m-a-big-boy” sneer, fuck, I scream at Zach to stop fucking around and make this punk cry like a fucking baby!
Make him weep, Zach!!!
This shit gets nasty in a hurry. Note to self: do not taunt Zach Reno while he’s still got gas in the tank. There are several moments when I think he very well may be successful in his obvious attempt to rip Kirk’s head off and, presumably, piss down his neck (okay, that last bit was all my idea, but fuck, Zach is angry). Despite my cheers, Kirk keeps clawing his way back into contention, and he dabbles on the nasty side of the tracks as well. When he’s riding a wave of fury, he drags one of Zach’s legs over the bottom rope and stomps on his sweaty inner thigh, working on doing serious damage to my fantasy man’s knee. When that doesn’t cripple him, Kirk immediately ties down a figure-4 leglock that makes Zach openly weep and beg, his torso twisting and flopping and flailing futilely. “Oh, Jesus, STOP!” Zach screams in total humiliation, tapping out. “How are your legs feeling?” Kirk taunts, giving Zach about 3 seconds to catch his breath before snapping back on yet another figure-4 crippler.
Zach puts the boy in his place
I’m very happy to report, however, that Zach finally holds onto the momentum and picks apart the cocky varsity boy man. There’s a sick, sick, sick knee to the face that’s sold so well that I’m half expecting to see some teeth fall out of Kirk’s mouth. When Kirk starts to try to pound his way free, Zach finally cuts that shit short with a rake to the eyes and a stomp to the throat. They’re both dripping with sweat, crazy sexy, gorgeous as fuck bearing down on one another with total, raw, never-say-die grit. But Kirk’s bluster and speed and pro skills don’t amount to much when his knees are wobbling out from underneath him.
Like a fucking baby!
Zach almost tickles himself by how devastating his bulldog is off the top turnbuckle on the battered babyface boy. He looks almost as excited as I feel to see Kirk flat out and motionless in the middle of the ring. “You’re really knocked out, bro!,” he laughs. He does push ups over top of him, pumping out a moot 10 count. Turning and flexing for his own pleasure, his mirror image glistening and pumped and smiling back at him so proudly, he’s fucking magnificent in victory. “Too bad I knocked you out before the show started,” he gloats, flashing his bulging, hairy pecs, pumping his thick, veiny, peaked biceps. “You’ll have to watch it on tape,” Zach laughs, driving home the most devastating justice of all, that all of Kirk’s big boy pro dreams and overestimation of his place in the pecking order just got schooled on camera.
Muscle and hair prevail
Ohhhh, fuck! I don’t know if Kirk has taken the opportunity to watch the magnificent muscle show that played out over top of his defeated carcass, but I’ve watched this scene repeatedly, and between Kirk getting what’s coming to him and Zach looking like the full grown fantasy man to beat, those last twenty seconds get me off yet again.
Zach Reno should do gay porn
Honestly, Kirk is incredibly impressive. Under different circumstances, I’d probably be a big, big booster of his. But I’m still pretty incredibly turned on by watching him force fed brutal domination and vicious humiliation in homoerotic wrestler purgatory. I’ll be willing to forgive him, the moment I see him do body shots by licking salt off of both Kid Karisma and Cameron Matthew’s world class, iconic ass cheeks. And in the mean time, Zach Reno’s stock just spiked for me. Vicious looks good on him. Frat boy grown up, with power and skill that even takes him by surprise is a juicy, sweet part that I hope we see Zach grow into more and more.
Sidelineland 