I’m a little surprised by just how much BG East rookie Fabrice turns me on. His build is severe. Not a lot of guys could wear 145 pounds on a 6’1″ frame and fail to look downright skinny to the point of starving. It takes me about 2 minutes into Gear Wars 5 to decide, but no doubt, Fabrice pulls it off for me.
Fabrice likes the look and feel of Ben’s big biceps
He’s an anatomy chart at that BMI, of course. But once I get over my initial skepticism about how his super lean build might perform in a wrestling match, there’s an unbreakable vibe to him. I stop worrying about what isn’t there, and start to really appreciate this kid’s aesthetics.
Ben’s appreciates Fabrice’s aesthetics, too.
Ben Monaco appreciates them as well. I knew he would, because Ben seems to never have met an opponent he wouldn’t want to fuck. The sexual tension always runs high in a Monaco match, and Gear Wars 5 is no exception. Delightfully, however, the homoerotic gaze first belongs to the lithe rookie. Fabrice arrives on the scene instantly infatuated with Ben’s muscles. He can’t keep his hands off of the veteran, stroking and palming the Canuck’s big biceps (fuck, Ben’s been working out!). For a few moments, I’m left wondering if Fabrice is done for before this even begins, because he looks like he’s gagging for it.
Fine art
I need not have worried. Ben is every bit as turned on by the rookie. There’s precious little dialogue, too little for my tastes because the character motivation is borderline opaque. But looking back from the tail end of this confrontation, it was always about one thing: who’s going to be in the driver’s seat once the post-match sex breaks out.
The rookie uses that gorgeous, long body to beautifully break big Ben
Not that we see any post-match coitus. This isn’t an X-Fight. But the heavy doses of body worship injected throughout the match are sexy as fuck. The erotic attraction is so thick that the competition part of the narrative veers dangerously off course on several occasions. But then, repeatedly, it’s Fabrice that slaps it back on course, typically by snapping those incredibly long luscious legs around Ben and squeezing until the beefy bear whimpers.
“Lick it. Lick it!”
This is a Gear Wars match, so be prepared for the initial gear, as sensationally sexy as it is, to get ripped off. In particular, the astonishingly tight tights on Fabrice are a marvel of modern technology, painted in place despite covering no more than 2/3rds of the beauty’s lovely ass cheeks while somehow managing to stay up. Ben’s red singlet is frankly utilitarian in comparison. But the playing field is evened out once they’re both stripped down to g-strings worthy of a Chippendale.
Ben momentarily forgets this is a wresting match.
Fabrice’s balls never quite manage to fit inside his pouch, and for that, I salute him. That’s quite a problem to have to contend with, balls too big to squeeze into your gear. Ben somehow seems not to notice. He does, however, clearly notice the amazingly fuckable ass on the rookie, as evidenced by him digging his fingers in deep and often. In his more vulnerable moments, Fabrice is forced to flex. Ben domineers over him, demanding obedience, taunting and teasing.
“Your turn to flex for me!”
But in the battle for the driver’s seat, Fabrice is more than capable of punching things into overdrive by grabbing the bull by the horns, or, in this case, the Ben by the balls. The match turns slowly throughout, momentum ebbing and flowing, both boys taking turns on top to feel out who really belongs there when all is said and done. Hardcore wresting fans may find the diversions into intoxicating muscle worship distracting. There are bearhugs and a beautiful camel clutch, and every stripe and variation of torturous scissors that 2 pairs of hot, punishing legs like these can manage. There’s wrestling enough to stoke my kink, but the drama is psychosexual more than anything. The decisive, final submission is all about that concession. The winner force feeds his opponent his bicep, hypnotizing him with every inch of his hot body stretched over top of the loser like a blanket.
Nice and snug
Welcome to our world, Fabrice. You’re a fine, fine addition to the diversity of talents and bodies populating homoerotic wrestling fantasies these days. I get the impression English may be a second language for you, but what you do on the wrestling mat requires no translation. When you shove Ben’s head between your legs and make him cry in crotch-to-face headscissors, your talking my language!
Further cementing my belief in homoerotic wrestling gods, YouTube decided to recommend I watch a video upload entitled Red Head Muscle Wrestler via BigBoy5604, via BG Enterprises, clipped from BG’s High Stakes Wrestling 4. Of course it’s no surprise that “red head muscle wrestler” is likely to be something I want to see, but what was a surprise was this red headed bodybuilder’s opponent: none other than recent neverland interviewee, Brook Stetson, aka, Brad Michaels from back in the day.
Red-headed bodybuilder Rip Stone in pink vs. military superman erotic wrestler Brad Michaels (aka, Brook Stetson) in purple
I reached out to Brook to ask him about the match. He said this fabulous blast from the past pitted him against Rip Stone. He also reported that this was for fuck stakes, and that Rip’s asshole was as beautifully inspiring as everything else about him. He also had to laugh at how young he was.
I love the feel of this “vintage” piece. There’s a hot authenticity about the mat scramble, the muscle testing, the grunting and vying for advantage. And, at the same time, how could these two gladiators not be fucking by the end of the match? You can spread the sexual tension with a butter knife.
On the one hand, someone who just doesn’t know shit about Brook might guess that he’s an underdog in this match. Rip looks like a comic book superhero, with insane proportions and crazy, thick, luxurious muscle mass.
Brook’s fans know he’s going to ride this for days on end!
On the other hand, this is fucking Brook Stetson! Sure, he wasn’t quite the phenomenally huge muscle master man of steel yet, but watch even this short 5 minute clip and you’ll see the same intensity, complete confidence, and tsunami will that has made him so amazing to watch all along.
Watching Brook ride the red headed bodybuilder from behind, you can see where Brook gets his wrestling metaphors from. Even as he’s grinding his crotch into Rip’s sensationally fuckable, ripped muscle ass, Brook presses his lips into those mountainous trapezius muscles. He looks like he’s leaning in to smell a gourmet meal, moments before tucking in.
Sizing up the cut of beef.
The way Brook’s hand lingers, palming his opponent’s lower abdomen, is fucking sexy as hell. His pinky rests right above Rip’s pink bulge. The position is far more possessive than punishing, communicating silently Brook’s roaring determination to earn this prize and then own it.
I’m also entranced by the glimpses of Brook’s face in this match. When Rip manages to muscle him to his back momentarily, cranking on a headlock and pulling that mammoth, granite carved chin of Brook’s into Rip’s juicy right pec, there’s a fleeting moment where the camera captures Brook staring up at the bodybuilder bearing down from above. In a split second, you can see both his sexual desire and raging competitiveness. You thought Michael Phelps eyes boring into the back of his rival’s head looked intense? Brook’s face shows that much will to win, with a heaping helping of carnal desire to fuck this muscle beast’s sensational ass as well.
Eyes on the prize
Can-Am has been selling the BG Enterprises catalog for several years now, but High Stakes Wrestling 4 appears to be one item from the catalog that they haven’t re-released yet, either in DVD or On Demand format (that I can find). Thanks to BigBoy5604, we get a brief clip of this vintage slice of gold, but I’m hoping Can-Am shoves Brook/Brad and Rip to the top of the cue to make this available again. Because it looks sensational, and I’d pony up to watch Brook take that fantastic muscled ass.
Muscle Domination Wrestling fans take note that you’ve got just about 4 days left to take advantage of a special offer from the MDW boys. Specifically, VIP Members can purchase any new release from Season 20 of MDW and get any match from seasons 1-18 for free. Get a double return on your investment, no limit.
Cal Bennet gives Kevin James side eye
You may want to consider Oil Hunks 7 from the current season to get your qualifying bonus material. Bearded muscle monster Kevin James makes his debut in an oil stakes muscle match against the illustrated frat boy, Cal Bennet.
Arm wrestling challenge? You’re gonna lose, fratbro.
“All right, man, you look pretty good,” Kevin acknowledges right off the bat. Immediately, I like this guy, and not just because his upper arms are significantly bigger around that Cal’s neck. There’s still plenty of machismo ego management in this match, but I seriously appreciate it when an incredibly built, beautiful wrestler acknowledges that his opponent looks good. See, your masculinity remains in tact, and your gay audience gets to hear out loud what we’ve been thinking all along!
Test of strength!? You’re gonna lose, fratbro!
“You don’t look bad yourself, man,” Cal rumbles in those bass tones that barely register on the spectrum of sound audible to the human ear. “You look pretty solid, too.” Nicely put, Cal. Return the compliment, but so vastly understate Kevin’s superhuman physique as to effectively insult him with faint praise.
Tan lines are super sexy
Cal is barely wearing the smallest patch of cheetah print cloth imaginable. There’s barely a thread visible disappearing down his crack. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but Cal brings to mind again that special allure of tan lines. The fratbro pin-up boy has clearly been wearing board shorts and nothing else this summer, leaving his upper thighs and lightly furry ass cheeks pale and oh, so pretty.
Fuck fashion. Just look at those GLUTES!!!
In what must be some sort of cruel rite of initiation at MDW, Kevin is sporting that bewildering super high cut singlet that I cannot imagine would look attractive on absolutely anyone. I’m pretty sure it comes from the same line of sportswear that Olympic gymnasts order from, and, of course, I’m talking about the women’s team. That said, the one thing that this unfortunate fashion statement says again and again is, “Look at that gargantuan muscled ass!” I don’t get the gear, but then again, if this is as close as I ever get to seeing Kevin’s ass naked, all right then.
Cal does not like to lose.
The wrestling is sparse and mostly all about strength. Cal loses in arm wrestling, both right and left handed. He’s pissed about it, though, really now, can he not see that Kevin’s upper arms are each big enough to qualify for their own zip codes? “Let’ see if those muscles are real or fake,” Cal spits bitterly. He challenges Kevin to a “full body” test of strength. And once again, he loses. Will Cal never learn?
“How’s that strength now, big guy?”
Yes, Cal learns! When the actual wrestling starts, he immediately drops the rookie with a blow to the balls. “How’s that strength now, big guy?,” Cal taunts, climbing on from behind for a choke. Kevin’s face flushes dark, dark red. Sweat breaks out across his forehead. “Go to sleep big guy, go to sleep.” There’s something powerfully compelling about seeing someone Kevin’s size really sell getting sleepered out cold. It’s exactly like Cal says, what was the use of those hours and hours (days, years) in the gym? All that intimidating, crystal carved muscle mass. All that cocky bluster. And then there he is, limp as a rag doll, out cold/hot, completely vulnerable. If only he was competing against someone with the good sense to take full advantage of that superhuman physique playground.
Your muscles don’t mean shit unconscious
There’s a sudden camera cut for Kevin to wake up. Back on their feet, he’s pissed about the cheap shot. A little wiser, Kevin charges. They jockey for position, mostly struggling to grab hold of something they can keep hold of with so much fucking muscle bulging and flexing. Kevin muscles him to the mat and takes a sleeper from behind. “Who’s the winner now?!,” the beastly rookie snarls in his ear. Cal writhes and struggles, but slowly, surely, finally goes limp. See my comments above about the missed opportunities that a real audience pleaser would’ve pursued.
Beautiful fratbro laid out.
For the final fall, Kevin has blessedly changed into sensationally skimpy black posing trunks. As they go for the decisive 2 out of 3, it’s clear neither hunk is exactly a natural wrestler. The collar and elbow takes minutes, because they’re sorting their shit out, trying to figure out how to make an offensive move, self-consciously uncertain about how to pull the trigger. It’s entirely about muscle and mass. Kevin tries to cinch in a chicken wing, but no shit, Cal’s taut muscles are too much for the big man to pull back far enough to lock in (I really buy this, making me think Cal really, really needs to work on flexibility, or someone is going to seriously break this boy).
“What’s the matter? You can’t lock it in?”
If it’s all about muscle and mass (and like I said, it is), then it should come as no surprise that the doe-eyed illustrated fratbro goes down hard. It takes a while, in part because Kevin is struggling to actually apply another sleeper. Cal simply tucks his chin, and no harm, no foul, the only thing going for the rookie is him, bearing down like an avalanche on top of his lighter opponent. At one point, Cal is on all fours and Kev is still struggling to seal the deal of this elusive sleeper (harder than it looks eh, Kev?). Suddenly, he climbs on top of Cal’s back, and it is quite a sight to see! All that mass of this ripped muscle monster entirely riding the sexy young punk struggling not to collapse underneath the weight.
Avalanche!
Eventually, Cal goes all the way down and that gargantuan forearm finally starts actually grinding into his throat. The fratbro struggles to pry a little airspace between Kevin’s vice and his carotid, but fuck no. Give him a humungous weight advantage and an extra 10 minutes, and the massive rookie can pull it off. “Shhhhhh,” Kevin whispers seductively in Cal’s ear. “That’s right,” he coos, as Cal’s arms go limp. He cradles the kid’s head, pulling him into his massive pecs for just an extra couple of seconds, feeling the hot stud totally under his control.
Feels good, eh, Kevin?
Once Kevin rouses his fallen prey, Cal sounds all sportsmanly all of the sudden. With good nature, he concedes as Kevin insists that the loser oil up the winner’s gargantuan physique. “For the record, I give it to you, you won fair and square, man,” Cal acknowledges, pouring baby oil onto Kev and rubbing it in. It’s such a twist of attitude, I honestly expect Cal to punch him in the balls again. But he doesn’t. He takes his medicine like a big boy.
“Make them look pretty.”
“That’s right, show off the muscles,” Kevin demands. “Make them look pretty.” I’m thinking that’s a tall, tall order. Kevin is many things. Magnificent. Terrifying. Overwhelming. Mouthwatering. But it would take a whole lot more than a bottle of baby oil to make this bearded behemoth qualify as “pretty.” Cal does his best to comply, though. Well, perhaps not exactly his “best.”
Cal doesn’t venture far below the collar bone.
Tragically, Cal only slicks up Kevin’s upper back, arms, and chest. I think if he really respected Kevin, he’d have been on his knees and obediently lubricated those tree trunk thighs and behemoth muscle glutes. Kevin does take the suggestion to show off some mandatory poses for the camera, and you, and me (thanks for the suggestion, Cal).
Miles and miles of lats!
“So… carry me off the mats, or what?,” Cal asks. Again, thanks dude. Cal makes sure the rookie victor hits all the mandatory notes that make this homoerotic. Who’d have thought it would be fratbro Cal mentoring a newbie into the business like this? Our little boy is all grown up!
Cal’s best side.
The victorious rookie hoists the beautiful loser over one shoulder, giving us one last lingering look at Cal’s gorgeous ass before Kev takes his trophy off camera.
Beauty and the Beast
In summary, Oil Hunks 7 is light on wrestling and perhaps a little skimpy on the oil, for my tastes. I’m still hankering for a retro early-90’sish full on oil wrestling match someday. This isn’t that. But I like the tone. I love the genuine admiration expressed between the two hunks. I’m intrigued by the sheer magnitude of Kevin James. If you like your wrestlers with acres of rippling back muscles and a sick, crazy tapered V to a glorious, ripped set of muscle glutes, Kevin probably needs to be at the top of your watch list. If you’re like me and simply cannot help yourself but be wooed by a blue-eyed, aesthetically marvelous, impetuously tattooed fratbro with a silky, sub-basement bass voice and possibly the most fuckable ass currently in play, then Cal in that cheetah print thong, walking the newbie through his paces even as he loses spectacularly, is like catnip. Now if we could only see a scenario like this culminate in sincere, full sell muscle worship, even a raw rookie wrestling bout like this could approach perfection.
It takes a big, ballsy man to wrest the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month away from a 4-way tie like last month’s winners. Happily for all of us, there are plenty of big, ballsy homoerotic wrestlers, and perhaps none as big, ballsy, bulging, blond, blue-eyed, and buff as July’s homoerotic wrestler of the month…
With all-American grade A beef like Biff, a post explaining how he earned the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month practically writes itself. This is Biff’s second time claiming the title, and it’s little wonder he also owns the distinction of being voted by fans as BG East’s 2015 Best Debut. He put out 3 brand-spanking-new BG East matches in July, constituting his first (of many, hopefully) Wrestler Spotlight collection. Many neverland readers need no convincing to hail the reign of Biff. He locked up an army of eager fans from the first moment we saw him barely one year ago. It’s been a rocky road for the flag bedecked beefcake, and perhaps never rockier than in the brutal 3 matches of his Spotlight collection. But win (rarely) , lose (often), or draw (never… this is BG East, after all) , it’s hard to deny that Biff embodies exactly the boyishly handsome, magnificently muscled, classically beautiful qualities of a chart topper babyface.
Kelly King put big Biff DOWN!
I’ve already discussed just how much I enjoyed the phenomenal Biff-bashing in the opening match of his Spotlight. In fact, the dazzling, dastardly performance of prettyboy heel Kelly King nearly made me drop Biff from title contention for HWOTM, just like Kelly choke slammed big Biff to his back with absolute authority. If there had been only this one match to consider, truth be told, I’d be lifting Kelly’s hand in victory right now. Not that Biff didn’t sell like a mother fucking champion. I buy many times over the absolute devastation and brutality of Kelly in large part thanks to Biff’s sensational sell, and doubters need only watch this match to be convinced that pro wrestling is a full contact sport for serious athletes. I’m certain that Biff’s alabaster smooth muscles were seriously black and blue the day after this match, and the only flaw in the perfection of this pairing is that I was not invited to massage away the aches and pains from Biff’s oil soaked muscles as he recovered. But again, I have to say, the revelation and commanding turn on for me was falling in lust with Kelly King.
Masked Menace carves up Biff like a turkey.
Fortunately for Biff’s prospects for winning the title of HWOTM, he showed up twice more. His mat match against another rising infatuation of mine, Masked Menace, is my second favorite bout in the compilation. Menace brings something I don’t think we’ve seen before from one of Biff’s opponents, namely, a carnal appreciation of Biff’s stunning beauty. It isn’t over the top. It doesn’t have to be, as far as I’m concerned. But the two things Menace enjoys most in life, clearly, are the feel of a pretty boy’s bulging muscles and the sensation of making a muscleboy his bitch. The first camera break in this match comes only after about 5 or 6 humiliating submissions get milked out of the beautiful headliner. I love Masked Menace’s momentum, his certainty, his precision. I love how he excitedly rips Biff’s singlet off, hungry for more skin, raging to peel the muscleboy down to the slimmest vestige of modesty. I also love the give and take in this match. Biff is out-hustled and outwrestled by his smaller opponent, but unlike the other two matches in this collection, he fights back.
“This is what we call a wrestling match right here!”
In fact, Biff gets seriously pissed by his opponent’s repeated punches, and he climbs on top with pupils dilated and lips curled. “This is what we call a wrestling match right here!,” he snarls furiously, sick of the fists pounding into his abs, pecs, groin. “NO HITTING!,” he spits through clenched teeth, using all of that muscle mass advantage to nearly pop his opponent’s head off his neck in a vicious full nelson.
Suck on that, Biff!
But in the end, Masked Menace has his way with Biff. The crotch-to-face headscissors may be the closest we’ll ever see to Biff sucking dick (but I’ll hold out hope anyway), and Menace milks it like the gay wrestling kink avatar he is. The hip swiveling face pin underneath the masked master’s cock may be the second closest we’ll ever see, as the wasted beefcake helplessly takes it on the chin (and across the lips) while his opponent does slow, quiveringly sexy push ups overhead. Biff’s writhing and wriggling clearly turn Menace on (I’m right there with you, MM). The masked master strokes his own hairy pecs, and he flexes excitedly overtop of the battered specimen at his feet. His Boston crab has Biff choking and weeping in submission, until Masked Menace drops one leg and uses his free hand to claw the living fuck out of Biff’s testicles, for no good reason, just to hear the bruising muscleboy scream. And he does. Fuck, this is sensational wrestling, and the objectification of Biff’s battered, conquered body by a smaller, older opponent is lush.
Guido hangs Biff out to dry
Biff’s brutal beating at the hands (and knees and elbows and boots) of Guido Genatto is breathtaking. I’ve been struggling with watching pro heel Guido lately, and I’m not entirely sure why. I’d like to see some more variation in his matches, true. Watching him steamroll one opponent after another has felt a little redundant. But I’ve sucked down similar performances of other favorites without growing tired. I think Guido’s brand of heartless viciousness needs a live audience, though. There’s something perplexing about his rage, about his gratuitous violence, that I think would make more sense if he were explicitly playing to the roars of a crowd. In any case, he does to Biff what he does to most everyone, namely, deliver a one sided beatdown peppered liberally with withering trash talk. For someone who, reportedly, has big, big pro wrestling dreams, this is surely exactly what Biff needed, because if he still wants to climb into the ring after getting muscle massacred by a monster like Guido, then I think Biff is going to go far.
On behalf of fans of Biff’s luscious ass, thanks for that, Guido!
I don’t remember ever getting to see as much of Biff’s mouthwatering glutes before, as we do when Guido nearly rips his trunks apart at the seams with a savage wedgie. For that, I’m deeply grateful to Guido. But this match is really all about Biff, with the blond bombshell selling the mother fucking life out of his beatdown. He screams bloody murder. He whimpers and wails. “No more!!! NO MORE!!!,” Biff weeps pleadingly. He’s such a gorgeous slab of beef that Guido literally sinks his teeth into the mountainous trapezius muscle of the muscleboy next door. “Sometimes, you just gotta take a bite!” Guido explains. And I totally understand.
Mouthwatering
Biff is delicious. He’s gorgeous standing still. With his signature stars and strips and military cut, he’s the perfect July pin up boy for a homoerotic wrestling calendar. I never tire of watching him, despite his repeated humiliating failures thus far in almost all of his matches. Nay, not despite, but perhaps because of his failures, I can’t wait to tuck in each and every time he shows up wearing next to nothing but that crotch warming, earnest smile. He embodies the promise of hard work and fanatical attention to training and aesthetics, and therefore his terrified beatings, screaming in panic, weeping in agony, impotent and owned by one opponent after another, is hypnotic to watch. Well, hypnotic and incredibly sexy. I’d love to see more offense from him. I’m living for the day he seriously gets to muscle bully some new flavor of prettyboy rookie who knows as little about pro wrestling as Biff did the first day he showed up at BG East. In the meantime, set off some fireworks, stand at attention, and salute the flag, wrestling fans. Biff Farrell is unquestionably my homoerotic wrestler of the month.
July 2016 Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month: Biff Farrell
MDW’s Tank is a naughty, naughty boy. When silver fox muscle daddy Matt Thrasher shows up, having accepted the job of showing Tank a few things about wrestling, the bulging rookie is anything but gracious. “You look like my father,” Tank sneers at Matt’s salt and pepper whiskers. “You know what? ‘Father’ was too good. You could be my grandfather!”
“You look like my father!”
If there’s a bulging young rookie in need of some humbling respect at the hands of a magnificent, more mature, more experienced muscle daddy like Matt, I’m all in. Daddy’s Home 6 is not the first time my heart has started pounding to see Matt Thrasher climb into the ring in street clothes. Fuck, I love the look of him so much. I’d be thrilled to see a masters competition among the rare breed of homoerotic wrestler old enough to be the average industry competitor’s father. But what I’d really lose my shit over would be to see daddy Matt team up with some other seasoned beefsteak like Shane McCall (or the elusive man of my dreams, Scott Williams!) to tag team terrorize pretty boys two at a time.
“…show you how to respect!”
Anyhow. As I try to reel my homoerotic imagination back in, let me just appreciate Matt’s stone cold reply to Tank’s ageist taunts. “So?” Matt asks, flexing his mountainous bicep in Tank’s face and owning the fact that he’s aged to absolute perfection. “I might just not want to train you after all,” Matt mutters, slowly pacing around his “trainee” and giving those gargantuan glutes a long, lingering stare. “I might just want to give you a beat down and show you how to respect.” The shit eating, self-conscious grin on Tank evaporates as he gets up in Matt’s face. With total seriousness, he snarls, “I’d love to see that happen.”
Rookie desire
And the genius of Daddy’s Home 6 is that I believe him. There’s a transparent cellophane wrapping of aggressive ego defense and intentions to measure up whose is bigger, but what I’m really getting off on is how much I buy that this big, bulging meathead who is clearly completely ill prepared to pull off anything of note by way of wrestling, deep down (somewhere around that pendulous package of his) wants a muscle daddy to take him by the scruff of the neck. Not that he’ll just roll over and take it. Not by a long shot. He doesn’t want to give. He wants to have a muscle daddy milk the submission out of him. It’s not that he wants to be owned. It’s that he wants to be conquered.
The ring trips them up.
I’m not sure what is up with a couple of production aspects of Daddy’s Home that I feel like I have to mention. First, the mat. There’s about 4 inches of foam tucked underneath a black cloth that continually trips the wrestlers. From start to finish, speed plays absolutely no part of this match because the boys have to step gingerly just to avoid getting tied up by the odd ring cover. The other notable production detail that distracted me was the camerawork. On the one hand, there are some fabulous close ups. The camera lingers long and hard on ass cheeks and bouncing pouches. The lens brings a sensational sexual tension to the bout, adoringly framing Matt climbing onto Tank’s prone body and pounding his crotch deeper and deeper between Tank’s mountainous ass cheeks. Love that. Then, as if camera guy is suddenly using his free hand to whip out his dick and start jacking off (not that I’d blame him), the camerawork suddenly goes still. The wrestlers shift position, but the camera doesn’t, leaving an awkwardly long shot of Matt’s knee, and nothing else, before the camera suddenly points toward the ceiling a couple of seconds and then comes back to its senses. Not sure what the fuck was up with that
Get used to this position, Tank.
But there are some truly fantastic elements to Daddy’s Home 6 that make up for the odd missteps mentioned above. I’ve already alluded to Daddy Matt’s propensity for dry(ish) humping Tank’s virginal ass cheeks. A lot. And fuck me, it never gets old. Tank may have big bulging muscles, but he’s got the stamina of a tsetse fly. So when he repeatedly finds himself face down, ass up, and mounted from behind, his tanks are on empty and the muscle daddy beatdown completely has it’s way with him.
“What’s not to like!?”
At one point, Matt’s mounted him just right, and starts slamming his crotch down over and over into Tank’s vulnerable cheeks. “I bet you like that, don’t you!?,” Tank attempts a weak ass, borderline homophobic verbal defense, as if liking pounding a muscled ass like Tank’s is a bad thing. And then here’s another element of this match that thrills me. Matt replies, “What’s not to like? A big, dumb kid with a pretty little ass, crying from my beating? What’s not to like?” Every varsity football star should get his ass spanked blood red and humped relentlessly, just so a homoerotic wrestling muscle daddy like Matt can pop that machismo balloon just like that and put it right there on the table. Yep, Tank. Beating your fine ass, humiliating you 5 ways to Sunday, and repeatedly simulating/practicing power fucking you senseless is, indeed, something Matt Thrasher likes. A lot. And so do I.
That ass is angry red!
The last bit I’ll mention about this match is the spanking. I’ve talked about spanking before, and I’m on the record as being slightly dubious of it as a sellable wrestling offense. Humiliation? Icing on the cake? Sure, I love it, mind you. But the use of spanking as a debilitating offensive maneuver stretches even my larger-than-normal homoerotic wrestling imagination.
Matt digs deep
Until now. Holy fuck, two thwacks into it, and there’s a bright red welt exactly in the shape of Matt Thrasher’s big, meaty hand rising like a blood moon across Tank’s lily white cheeks. And the spanks keep coming, and fuck, I can’t help myself but flinch at the deeper, darker shade of red, beginning to turn a bruised blue, imprinted on the rookie’s ass. Matt spanks him for days, interspersed with occasional deep tissue massage as the veteran digs his fingers deep into that ass just screaming for it. About 9 minutes in, once again flat on his stomach and getting swatted incredibly hard across his butt, Tank is flinching and writhing, and he whimpers, “No… more… no more!” And holy shit, I believe every word of it.
“Who’s your daddy!?!?”
And, happily for you and me and Matt, there are 11 more minutes to go in this rookie beatdown. The drama starts to hinge on the ultimate Daddy victory, as Matt insists that Tank must say the words, “You’re my daddy!” Like I said, Tank isn’t giving the milk away free. He spits out profanities and insults instead. Even in a single leg cradle, with Matt’s big, bulging crotch pressed provocatively against the rookie’s lightly hairy hole, Tank growls, “Fuck you, old man!”
Tank takes it like the manboy he is
Frankly, I was prepared to be underwhelmed by Tank. But there’s something incredibly sexy about his deep bass voice, and juxtaposed against (and all wrapped up within) Matt’s hot, sweaty, hairy muscles, Tank’s baby smooth body has me hungry for more. But the superstar of this match, and the very best Daddy’s Home matches I’ve seen, is muscle daddy Matt Thrasher. One of these days, I want to see one of Daddy’s boys show up to his next match with big Matt holding the leash, giving orders, coaching him through mastering his own muscle boys.
Daddy’s home!
“You’re mine now,” Matt crows near the end of Daddy’s Home 6. “And you’re pretty excited by the prospect, aren’t ya?” The question is purely rhetorical.
“You’re pretty excited by the prospect, aren’t ya?”
I suppose we can call this a Throwback Thursday post, because it’s not like I’ve seen Andy Sutton in anything new in over 15 years. Recent conversations about bodies and types left me lingering on memories of picking lithe, lean Andy out of a crowd of big, beefy, Venice Beach type muscle boys in a couple of Canadian Muscle Hunk Wrestling collections by Can-Am. I ponied up for the likes of Bart Tyler, Skip Roberts, and Peter Ravell, but it was luscious, long-haired, Tiger Beat-looking Andy who pretty much won my heart.
After he wrestled in the ring in CMHW 11 and CMHW 13, he anchored Can-Am’s conceptual art piece called Bodystrokes Vancouver. He was a bit bigger in Bodystrokes, a little more muscled out and defined, but that same raging youth timbre made my chest vibrate and my crotch swell.
Andy gives and takes against big Harley Michaels in Canadian Muscle Hunk Wrestling 11
Andy makes me think of so many achingly young studs I’ve known who emerged into manhood on the momentum of easy muscle gains. Hyped up on late adolescent testosterone, they can eat tons of crap, completely not take care of their bodies, but then hit the gym and 15 minutes later they’ve got juicy pecs and abs. It’s no wonder punks like that, full of cum and convinced that they’re destined to star as the action hero in the movie of their life, run headlong into a homoerotic wrestling match with aggression and ferocity far exceeding their raw assets.
Co-worker Tom bullies little Andy at his own peril
Not that I’m trying to suggest Andy didn’t have fantastic assets. True, he was cute as a button, and that long, long hair was screaming for opponents to drag him around by it (and they did). But despite often being around the range of 30% smaller than his opponents, I was infatuated by his lean, economical ass. His pecs were beautiful, but barely enough to sink your claws into, but his ripped abs were phenomenal.
The raging young stud literally rips his tormentor’s chest hair out by the roots!
In the final scene of Bodystrokes, Andy plays a subcontractor on a construction site. I don’t really remember the narrative, but average Joe (by pornboy standards, as in lean, flat chested, and every bit a fuckable meat pie) Tom Spence shows up in overalls, clearly looking for a fight. The blue collar vibe struck an authentic chord in me, as if rip ‘n’ strip Can-Am All Star Andy could easily have been a painter by day, fending off bullying by older co-workers intent on claiming this long haired pretty boy as their bitch.
Andy’s ego and refusal to back down lead to clipping shoulders with Marco D’Salvo, which, of course, leads to rip ‘n’ strip wrestling.
If anything, I suppose in pro wrestling perspective, Andy was simply a babyface. As I remember, he won some, lost others. But much more than that was that compelling character, constantly being underestimated, coming sprinting out of the emerging manhood gate with a chip on his shoulder and near superstitious belief that sheer will power and his newly minted muscles can overcome any obstacle. That crashing wave of rage and bluster, trying on the big boy trunks for the first time and determined to fill them out overabundantly, made me crush on young Andy hard.
Andy’s ass was as pretty as everything else about him
I hope Andy eventually opened his own contracting business. I especially hope he kept working out and didn’t fall prey to the misconception that his superhuman metabolism would perpetually make it possible for him to down a large pizza all on his own and still look like the Greek god Hermes. And though his wrestling resume was far too small, I hope he kept wrestling.
Biff Farrell stars in his own Wrestler Spotlight collection
BG East catalog 114.2 dropped just before the end of July, and check out the crotch-stirring, heart melting coverboy shot of the bulging, blond beauty Biff Farrell on their webpage. I believe that is the complete and official entry for “boy next door” in the OED.
This is where hours at the gym and a sense of fair play will get you.
There’s a lot of love in this relatively small decimal point of a catalog. I’m sure I’ll talk about much more of it as I soak it in, but let me just start by saying Biff Farrell is making a hard, hard, hard to refute case for climbing up from the runner-up spot this year and grabbing the title of top babyface with both hands. From start to finish in all three matches in his Wrestler Spotlight feature, Biff wears the stars and stripes of your bulging, blue-eyed beefcake babyface dreams. I thought Biff was cottoning on to the temptations of the dark side in his magnificent work against Joe Mazetti in The Comeback 2. But Biff is back to being earnest as hell, with a full throated commitment to believe in hard work and will power as the antidote to any underhanded shenanigans from pro wrestling opponents. In other words, big Biff gets sliced up like the tasty side of beef he is.
“I like the respect.”
Again, I’m sure I’ll have plenty more to say about other matches, but let’s start at the very beginning (a very good place to start). I’ve not appreciated Kelly King the way that, clearly, I should have. Fuck, he’s knee-wobblingly pretty, paired with a strong hit of ball-clawingly dastardly. What a fucking sensational combination! Before the action starts, Biff acknowledges Kelly’s extensive knee brace. “I thought we were going to have a match today, but by the look of it, it looks like your knee is bothering you,” he expresses human decency and natural concern. “It’s all right,” Kelly shrugs, warming up, leaving it a little unclear whether said knee may be just a bit tender by the look his stretches. Biff gives credit for his opponent’s grit to work through the apparent injury, and he promises to “take it easy” on the knee. They shake hands, all sportsmanly. “I like the respect,” Kelly states, appreciating Biff’s sincere concern and sense of fair play.
“What do you say, punk? That knee feel fine, eh?”
Biff, Biff, Biff (smh). Holy fuck, does Kelly beat the living shit out of him. Right out of the gate he nearly snaps him off at the elbow in a nasty armbar, forcing Biff bent forward gingerly. “What do you say, punk, huh?” Kelly demands, his voice dripping with contempt. “The knee fine, eh?” he asks. “I… I guess so,” Biff chokes on the pain.
“How does that brace feel?”
With the studied expertise of an experienced pro heel, Kelly opens up a ton of distance right off the bat. He’s half a step faster and looks about twice as confident as he takes possession of big Biff’s bulging body. He goes for early submission holds with deliberateness and a strong sense of inevitability. But when the tough babyface repeatedly refuses to give, Kelly slams him to the mat and sadistically grinds the metalwork of his knee brace digging deep into Biff’s throat. “How does that brace feel?,” the heel smirks.
“Your the dumb one who decided to get into the ring with me!”
I realize I’ve already said this, but I have to repeat myself here: Oh, fuck! How many ways, how many times can a heartless pro heel exploit the foreign object of hard plastic and metal wrapped around one knee to fuck up his opponent? I lose count. Straight up enhanced knee lifts to the gut. Knee drops across the throat, pecs, limbs, back, etc., etc., etc. “How does that knee brace feel now?” Kelly laughs at one point, dragging this dazed slab of beef off the mat to kneel at his feet. “You’re so cheap with that thing!” Biff protests weakly, on his knees, staring at his opponent’s crotch. “You’re the dumb one who decided to get into the ring with me!” Kelly laughs, abruptly swinging his leg wide and pounding the brace into Biff’s beautiful face. Biff’s head snaps to the side sickeningly a fraction of a second before he flies limply across the ring.
Kelly is wondering if you’re liking what you see.
It’s a mauling, don’t get me wrong. But it has more of a feel of a 2-on-1 handicap match than a strict squash: Biff versus Kelly and his knee brace. All of Biff’s gorgeous, extravagant muscle and beauty is absolutely put through the meat grinder, and as a fan of Biff’s gorgeous, muscled bubble butt, I’m enthralled with the way Kelly shows off the babyface from every beautiful angle.
“You…You’re the man!!!” …. “Sweet.”
But my all time favorite moment of this match comes after Kelly has driven Biff past the point of despair, full speed ahead into sheer panic. Repeated neck breakers make big Biff scream, “Oh, God!” and tap out over and over again. So Kelly ties him up nice and tight, his left arm pinned behind him in an armbar, his right arm similarly twisted up behind him and sandwiched snugly, high up between Kelly’s meaty thighs. “Too bad you can’t tap out now,” Kelly laughs out loud, adamantly refusing to acknowledge Biff’s screams of submission choked through tears of agony. “Who’s the man!!!?” Kelly suddenly demands. “Tell me who the man is!!!” he orders, leaning in to listen for complete humiliation to come dripping off of Biff’s lips. Our doomed hero holds out while, but finally, pleadingly cries, “You’re the man!” And then this sublime look of visceral pleasure washes over Kelly’s face. As if surprised by just how much pleasure it gives him to hear Biff’s terrorized submission, the heel whispers, sincerely, “Sweet!”
“Ah, yeah, that’s pretty!”
One of the other aspects of this match that catches my attention and leaves me wanting to see more like this is Kelly’s interactions with the camera. Unlike mainstream pro, we don’t often see either opponent in a homoerotic wrestling match really acknowledge, in the moment, the camera crew (or the audience, for that matter). I get why. There’s an intimacy and immediacy about it, when wrestlers tuck in as if this is some private grudge, as if no one else in the world matters. But at a couple of points, with Biff wailing and kicking and rolling in agony at his feet, Kelly stands up and flexes for the camera, literally instructing the crew on the best angle to document his magnificent domination. “Get a shot of that!,” Kelly demands, flashing his tanned, bulging double biceps that put all of Biff’s muscle to shame. Later, he’s literally standing on Biff’s face, leaning across the top rope with a leisurely smile for the camera. “Ah, yeah, that’s pretty!” he plays to the camera as if chatting with me and you on this side of the screen.
Kelly is smiling right… at… you!
This could easily be overdone. It could get way too self-conscious, easily a bit hokey. Rock Hard Wrestling has played with pulling down the 4th wall, mostly successfully, but I just don’t think I see that often at BG East. But I’d like to see more, more acknowledgement of the audience, more interaction with the camera’s eye view. Get us right there in the ring with you. I fucking love how Kelly pulls this off subtly, and as dazzlingly pretty as coverboy Biff is, Kelly’s charisma and eye contact make me swoon for him by the time this is all over with. He’s got a classic lusciously pretty, bad boy profile, and the way he plays with the camera sells like he knows exactly how much you both hate him and absolutely worship him for being a vicious prick.
Bad boys fucking rule!
To those who’ve already been Kelly King fans awhile, scoot over, because I’m climbing on that bus. He can break whatever rules he wants to, just so long as he keeps winking at me and chatting me up right in the middle of brutalizing another beefy babyface.
So, sure, it isn’t Friday today, but I’m late reporting the decisive outcome of the last Friday Fashion poll. Pulling in more than 59% of the vote, spanking both of his contenders handily, the winner is clear. You know those distinctive red trunks with the black side panels and stylish extra black stripes?
Stone has not really been on my radar before now, but doing my research for this Friday Fashion poll has convinced me that I need to remedy that oversight. That adorable babyface with an epic chin like that is striking. His insanely ripped torso is breathtaking, and I’m infatuated with his luxuriously hairy legs. But definitely, a strong selling point is his ability to wear those trunks like nobody else!
Jonny wants you to enjoy those trunks from every angle!
Somewhere I seem to remember hearing that the curly haired cherub is an experienced indy pro wrestler. Still, I think no other opponents are going to treat that gorgeous body quite like BG East heels do, and, on average, his BG East fans have got to love his work more than the straight up pro fans by a factor of at least 20.
Licked.
I’d like to propose an entirely new genre for homoerotic wrestling, in which we slather wrestlers in maple syrup and the loser is the one who gets licked clean first. Furthermore, I nominate ripped stud Stone to inaugurate what would be this barnburner of a new series.
A dish served hot.
In the mean time, congratulations are in order to Stone, because although it appears he has had a rough time of it in the BG East ring thus far, when it comes to those sexy red trunks, that gorgeous round ass, and that tasty, tantalizing bulge, no one else came close.
“You gave up twice!” Chase Addams shouts accusingly.
“You got knocked out of the ring!” Ty Alexander shouts back defensively. “It was 2-on-1. What was I supposed to do?”
Feelings are hard between recently divorced tag team partners
The sequel to the opening match of BG East’s Tag Team Torture 19 is anomalous. On the one hand, I think it’s a risky move putting a singles match on a tag team compilation. A tag team wrestling fan is probably writing a scathing Yelp review somewhere right at this very moment. On the other hand, what BG East may have sacrificed by straying from the genre, they make up for by their commitment to the integrity of the narrative. The action picks up the following morning after Chase and Ty have gone down in a flaming pile of brutal humiliation to the All-American babyfaces Christian Taylor and Charlie Evans.
“Do you see what you did!?” Ty demands. “Ooo, that does look awful,” Chase replies unsympathetically.
Team Vanity was tragically short-lived. Like so many forces of nature that run hot and bright, they burned out spectacularly, felled by the athleticism and patience of the All-Americans (and their own raging egos). I was disappointed to hear Ty and Chase report that Team Vanity was done for good. Not surprised, but disappointed. After watching the nasty grudge play out in their TTT19 part 2 showdown, its hard to imagine how they’d ever be able to bury the hatchet. Unless it’s buried in each other’s back.
Partners turned opponents
There are several active ingredients to this tag team reckoning. Both Ty and Chase are nursing bruises that were inadvertently delivered by each other in their battle with the All-Americans. Ty points out the swollen welt on his face credited to an errant blow from his newbie ex-partner. Chase bitterly notes his busted lip, split open by a misfired elbow drop from Ty. The All-Americans had them chasing their own tantalizing tails at several points in the tag team conflagration, using their own impetuousness against them to set up the ultimate and complete destruction of Team Vanity.
Ty lands a cracking slap on the rookie’s pale pecs
In addition to the bitterness of getting pounded by one’s own tag team partner, swollen, delicate egos give nice momentum to start off the singles sequel. “I was carrying the whole team the entire time!,” newbie Chase disavows all responsibility for their humiliating defeat. Ty is momentarily, uncharacteristically speechless in the face of the rookie’s audacious accusation. Finally, the Trophy Boy delivers the pointed retort that was inevitable. He lands a cracking smack across Chase’s handsome face so hard that the rookie spins like a top.
Great minds think alike
The third active ingredient to this match is a raging, aggressively intense furor to outwrestle one another in order to demonstrate the previous point, namely who carried whom in the doomed tag team outing. Here’s where the wrestling gets interesting, as far as I’m concerned. To start with, the shattered pieces of Team Vanity are perfectly evenly matched. Ty delivers a cracking slap to the newbie’s baby smooth chest. Chase bullies the veteran into the ropes and smacks down an answering slap to the Trophy’s Boy’s bronzed pecs. There’s an extended scramble, momentum crashing and back and forth like waves on the shore, until abruptly Chase wraps his thighs around Ty’s head in deep, tight scissors. Seconds later, Ty manages to catch the newbie’s head between his legs, and the two of them crank on each other with a vengeance in 69 headscissors. Synchronized and bearing down in matching holds, both boys start to whimper. Abruptly, they both hit the wall at the same time. They both submit simultaneously, leading to an immediate argument as to who submitted first.
“I’m fucking Ty-rrific!”
I love the idea of tag team partners who are each other’s toughest opponents precisely because they know each other so well. It takes me back to this blog’s banner fantasy man, Tommy Zenk, facing down Flyin’ Brian Pillman after their tag team came crushing to the ground under the weight of Pillman’s heel ambitions. It’s a stretch to pull off this narrative with a newbie debut. You have to believe that Team Vanity has been working behind the scenes, practicing and preparing for their one and only pairing, and thus learning each other’s strengths and weaknesses, starting to resemble each other in style and form like an old married couple. The way that go at each other like cats and dogs, though, I buy it.
“Newsflash!”
Like the tide itself, although there are ebbs and flows, the match slowly progresses one direction. The tasty newbie is on a roll, impassioned by a self-righteous mission to scrape Ty off the bottom of his shoe. When the Trophy Boy telegraphs one too many splashes into the newbie’s body hanging in a corner, Chase abruptly puts and end to that with a nasty boot to the chest. Charming Chase puts on Ty’s vest and mocks his moments-ago-partner. “Oh, look at me,” Chase singsongs with contempt, “I’m Ty, and I’m walking around with my ass exposed because I think my ass is the best thing that’s ever happened.”Chase jabs a finger in Ty’s bruised face. “Newsflash!” the rookie snarls in his own voice now. “It’s NOT!”
The rookie knows how to use the ring.
I love the bitter rookie out to make a name for himself by crushing his former mentor. He’s relentlessly vicious, making Ty bend near the breaking point in the face of his fury. With Ty’s throat perched across the middle rope, Chase sits on Ty’s back, pinching off his windpipe sadistically. The potential brilliance of the punishing rookie is his dissatisfaction with good-enough. With studied precision, he slides through the ropes and ends up hanging upside down by his ankles wrapped around the back of Ty’s head. With the Trophy Boy suddenly seriously getting choked out, Chase locks hold of Ty’s right arm with an armbar, letting gravity and the ropes fuck up his former partner 5 different ways.
Ty drives home some upperclassman lessons
From the moment I saw Ty debut two or so years ago, I’ve been commenting on the Trophy Boy’s deceptively expert ring skills. His shenanigans and ego have been increasingly getting in his way of chalking up match victories, but any opponent who underestimates Ty’s capacity to drop a bucketload of hurt does so at his own peril. His boot to Chase’s rookie balls makes the newbie scream. That sets up Ty’s gloating, taunting figure-4 leglock, cranking the shit out of the tendons and ligaments in Chase’s tortured right knee. When Ty hangs his partner in a tree of woe, he goes back to work driving his entire bodyweight down onto the crushed testicles of the wailing, wounded animal hung up in this trap. Ty gets treated like a joke a lot in the fan-o-sphere. People perpetually remember only his narcissism and lapses in judgment (and his ass). Once again in this break-up match, he demonstrates that whatever else he may be, he’s a pro wrestler with a whole lot of punishment to dole out.
The new kid already knows a thing or two
But as is so often the case, Ty falls prey to his defenselessness in the face of his own image. Just when he owns the rookie, lock, stock and barrel, Ty whips out his mobile phone to photo document his moment of glory. So enthralled he is with his reflected image staring back at him, he doesn’t notice Chase slipping free from the tree of woe and abruptly crushing the Trophy Boy’s balls into the ring post.
“ESPECIALLY THE FACE!!!”
A lot of newbies wouldn’t necessarily know how to exploit a moment like this, but Chase sinks his claws in deep and never lets go. From the ring apron, he leaps over the top rope and pounds a double boot stomp into the small of his opponent’s back with authority. It’s Ty’s turn to get hung out to dry in a tree of woe. As Chase starts grinding his boot, Ty screams, “Not the face! NOT THE FACE!” And right here is where Chase grabs me by the balls, shouting right back, “ESPECIALLY THE FACE!!!”
The handsome rookie has the last word
The finisher to this match is breathtaking. Chase clearly favors a punishing armbar throughout the match, and he grabs yet one more, bending Ty forward. Suddenly, the rookie lifts his left foot, pressing it into his opponent’s jaw. He drops to his back, pulling on the armbar, until Ty’s face comes crashing down helplessly into the sole of Chase’s boot. Out. Fucking. Cold. And I buy it. In fact, I feel like I ought to fire up a Kickstarter campaign for Ty’s dental work, because holy hell, that finisher looks like he surely had to lose a mouthful of teeth.
Never get enough of that ass getting spanked!
So again I say, when Ty and Chase assured me that there was not going to be a reunion tour for Team Vanity anytime soon (as in, anytime), it was a disappointment, but not a surprise. I have to admit I get a lot of satisfaction watching a fresh out of the box rookie quite literally spank Ty’s all-over-tanned ass. As a well-documented fan of the Trophy Boy, please understand, I love his work. But I also love that his work continues to feature that overgrown ego getting smacked down with authority again and again.
Ty’s muscles, like his ego, just keep growing.
And regular readers know that I especially love a remarkable debut, and Chase Addams’ (unprecedented?) two-fer to introduce himself to BG East fans is delightful. He has long, lean lines and a smart mouth that I think could make him a big time player. I’m anxiously looking forward to what (who) is next up for the budding rookie badass.
I’m calling it. Last week’s Friday Fashion poll appears to have tested loyalties. A couple of readers commented that they caught themselves by surprise with their votes. When it comes to those pink and lime green square cuts making their rounds of the locker room at Thunder’s Arena, the real competition turned out to be between Big Sexy and Vinny. But when push came to shove and you had to pick just one, 48.5% of you broke just one way.
Big Sexy wore it best.
Little wonder that Big Sexy is pulling down victories so long after formally leaving the homoerotic wrestling scene. He was, for quite a while, the premiere franchise player for Thunder’s Arena, combining devastating mat skills, a made-for-pro larger than life attitude, and a phenomenal rock-‘n’-roll body.
Although others subsequently donned these pink and lime green square cuts, it’s hard not to see what the plurality of Friday Fashion voters saw in declaring that he wore them best. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand ties, Big Sexy’s ass is one of the very best in wrestling anywhere, at anytime. The quarter panel alternating colors on these trunks look custom made for Big Sexy’s fabulous, massively muscled glutes, accentuating that size, shape, and mouthwatering aesthetics of his athletic ass cheeks. I’m sure many voters were appreciating other angles that convinced them that Big Sexy wore it best, but as for me, I can’t tear my eyes away from the absolute perfection of his ass.
In any case, congratulations, Big Sexy, wherever you are. You are missed, but almost 49% of us still agree that you wore it best!
I noticed a different pair of trunks stretched across the fine forms of three different wrestlers (that I could find, at least), to lift up for your consideration for today’s Friday Fashion poll. No guarantees that I’ll keep Friday Fashion resurrected long, but now that I’m back into it, let’s have some more fun.
Bobby Burns
BG east slid at least 3 lovely, lean wrestlers into a certain pair of red and black pro trunks. I believe it was Bobby Burns who may have worn them first, taking a beating from Caleb Brand in Ring Rookies 1. He sported them again in Ringwars 18.
Perry Pearson
Perry Pearson later fished these small, simple classic cuts out of the BG East closet for Matmen 20. He stands out in this field as the only wrestler to make them mat gear.
Stone Whitman
Much more recently, it’s been Stone Whitman’s ripped body working to make these curve accentuating trunks all his own, originally a while back in Knock Outs 1, and then again earlier this year in Submissions 10 getting worked over by Jonny.
All three hunks wore them. I think they each make them work in remarkably different ways. But in your opinion, who wore it best? Vote below.
Sidelineland 