It seems like several of us bloggers have been anxious for some satisfying tag team wrestling. Count this as the third of, thus far, three reviews that I’m aware of the first match in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 19. Joe published a straightforward match summary that catches the spirit and pace of the match. Like Joe, the antics had me laughing at times, though it seems as though the match may have stroked my kink a little more successfully than it did Joe’s. Alex was actually first out of the gate with an insightful review of the same bout. As Alex points out, this is a classically crafted tag team match full of respect and full throttle enthusiasm for old school tag team melodrama. I whole heartedly agree. It’s over-the-top, character-driven pro wrestling action, but over-the-top only as far as classic pro tag team wrestling (think at least 30 years ago) was over-the-top. So often, homoerotic wrestling products succeed precisely by bringing the camera in close and documenting the humanity (and obvious erotic text/sub-text) of pro wrestling in intimate detail. TTT19 pans back, paints with a broad brush, and successfully conveys a pro wrestling narrative that’s larger than life and perfectly on pitch for conveying heroes and villains, inflated egos and strained alliances, astonishingly high quality wrestling finesse and blunt force trauma.
First, let me give a nod to veterans in the ring. Both Christian Taylor and Ty Alexander have possessed the title of homoerotic wrestler of the month here at neverland in the past, and they both have earned a huge fan following. Ty is, over time, crystalizing into his truest self, I think, with TTT19 documenting his deepest, darkest descent to date into dangerous, raging, psychopathological self-infatuation. And Christian clearly stores a secret portrait of himself in the attic, because he is somehow fitter, younger, and prettier than ever (despite my being assured by insiders that this match was very recently shot). Ty does heel jobber to perfection, and Christian is the quintessential hot, hardworking, never say die babyface veteran.
Pairing each of these veterans with a fresh, raw newbie was a stroke of genius. To start with, I’ve had my eye on Charlie Evans for about 8 months, since first catching sight of him at MDW. In TTT19, he’s a fantastic sidekick to his superheroic partner. About 80% of the time, wearing stars and stripes gear is a very bad omen for BG East wrestlers, but there’s a cocky irreverence about the All-Americans that keeps me on the hook. The good guys start the action by interrupting their opponents’ endless selfie obsession and delivering a beautifully synchronized beatdown on the badboys (an extremely cathartic moment for me, frankly). But then I literally stand up and cheer when bantam weight Charlie executes a handstand monkey flip, flinging a stunned Trophy Boy out of the corner and instantly into Christian’s waiting crotch-ripping spladle. This is NOT going to be a flat-footed pushing and shoving match. This is fucking serious pro wrestling!
Ty’s newbie partner, Chase Addams, has also instantly put me on the hook. I despise him (in a good way) before he even climbs into the ring. The smirk. The duck face. That fucking annoying headband. Within about 8 seconds of showing up on camera, he’s completely embodied the rash, cocky, unsportsmanlike pro wrestling heel he is. His trash talk and running commentary nearly steal the entire show for me. The match pivots on Chase’s quick wit and character flaws, like when Team Vanity is isolating and working the fuck out of each of their opponents in turn, with Ty bearing down big time on Christian with a gorgeous dragon sleeper. Ty shouts over his shoulder to make sure that his rookie partner is documenting this magnificent moment on his cell phone camera, but Chase is busy adoring his own handsome face staring back at him instead. It’s also Chase who kicks off the sexy-as-hell device of demanding, mid-submission hold, to hear from his opponent whose submission hold hurts worse, his or Ty’s. I don’t know where Charming Chase came from or what pro wrestling school he purportedly graduated from, but he’s emerged as a fully formed pro wrestler who can pace a complicated match with impressive acumen.
Lest I make this match sound too, too straight, let me also say that both newbies in TTT19 are cranking my engine with both hands. There’s something sort of elven about Charming Chase, sort of kick-ass pretty, like Legolas ripping off his clothes and pumping out a most muscular to intimidate a foe. He’s lean and fit, but not whittled or swoll. On the one hand, I could picture some of the seriously big boys at BG East snapping the Charming One like a twig, but on the other hand, there’s a hard core center to Chase that makes me equally able to picture him cheating and stealing and clawing the fuck out of a big, muscle daddy’s balls to level the playing field. Like I said, that smirking, sneering, self-obsessed attitude makes me fucking hate this kid with relish, AND I’m pounding 5 or 6 out dedicated especially to him before I’m all done with this DVD.
My physical arousal for Charlie Evans takes me just a little by surprise. He’s so insanely lean, absolutely whittled down to an anatomy chart with a shock of ginger hair. I frequently key off on wrestlers with more mass, usually more muscle size, sometimes just more size overall, but Charlie carved out his own space in my wrestling lusts. I momentarily worry for the bantam weight when Team Vanity is double teaming the shit out of him. There’s a delicate veneer on Charlie that looks like it very well could shatter, strung up in that tree of woe with Ty’s knee grinding the Trophy Boy’s entire bodyweight down into Charlie’s balls. But the ginger babyface sucks down the punishment like it’s Diet Coke on ice. Screaming, sure, but the gritty undercoat on Charlie turns me on hard as I slowly grow to trust that those ultra lean limbs aren’t going to snap under his opponent’s assault. He’s also got a seriously above average ass on that lean, lean frame. And when he gets just a little giddy with the thrill of reigning down punishment on his narcissistic opponents, damn, I’m nursing a major hard on and just a little bit of a crush.
Alex and Joe have done a great job of outlining what this match attempts and accomplishes, so I’ll just call out a couple more moments that stick with me and make me enjoy this match so much. I don’t know if it a”double armbar suspended backbreaker” is the most poetic way to describe the hold that Chase wraps Christian up in, but whatever the fuck it is, it makes me gasp. Christian looks like a twist tie. There are about two dozen ways this sculpture could come crashing to the ground in a miserable heap, but it doesn’t, and Chase makes this work like a seasoned pro. And fuck, it looks like it hurts!
I also love, love, love this breed of All-American babyface heroes who despise their self-obsessed opponents just a tad more than they are devoted to following the rules. They signal their contempt very early, right after the opening salvo in which they slap Team Vanity down like bitches. Christian and Charlie high five each other for a job well done (thus far, at least), and they spontaneously peel out of their Stars and Stripes board shorts to battle the rest of the way in sensationally brief Stars and Stripes speedos. Why do they take their board shorts off? It isn’t really clear, but I read this moment as a direct challenge to the “pretty title” that Team Vanity seem to have already awarded themselves. Just to drive home the point, Charlie and Christian (the heroes, let me remind you), grab their opponents’ cell phones, tug at the top of their speedos, and take selfies of their own cocks, just to remind Chase and Ty after all is said and done just how much the All-Americans were packing in this match. It’s a similar vibe to the completely illicit double teaming that Christian and Charlie inflict on Ty, with a gorgeous face-to-crotch smothering headscissors by Christian with a Boston crab chaser by Charlie just to make the humiliation and agony that much worse. It’s audacious. It’s rude. It’s completely gratuitous and self-congratulatory. And I could seriously back this brand of postmodern babyface heroes!
There are just a few things that would have perfected this match that much more for me. For one, all those selfies… fuck, I’ve said it before and, sadly, I’ll probably say it again, publish those fuckers!!! And I’m not (just) talking about the cock shots of the All-Americans (though, yeah, that would be major value added). I think when they bring multi-media into the narrative, it would be so sweet to download those pics and make them part of the promotion. Dial up the immediacy and authenticity by sprinkling in some of those very shots of Chase and Ty duckfacing, of the All-Americans screaming in submission, of the ultimate losers flat out cold and helplessly documented.
Another missed opportunity here is that this is a Christian Taylor match with no kissing. Christian is the reigning kissing king at BG East, and I’m slightly bitter that all of the self-congratulations the All-Americans enjoy doesn’t include a liplock for lucky, lucky Charlie.
Regardless of what isn’t in this match, by the end of it all, I’m a little more infatuated with every single one of these battlers. I love the story, and I’m thrilled with the action. There’s an unapologetic and out loud vibe throughout the match, and I’m not just talking about Chase’s face getting shoved into his partner’s ass. These are 4 hot boys who convey a genuine love and respect for pro wrestling and gay fans. I can’t wait to see more of Charlie and Chase. I never fail to be entranced by Christian. And I love the ever growing dangerousness of the Ty that makes his Trophy Boy narcissism many times more multi-dimensional.
Brook: I try to do a split work out, four days on, one day off. I’ve really been concentrating on my cardio lately so it’s five days a week. Now cardio can of course be various things from running to throwing down on the mat, I try to keep it creative.
“Now,” Daemon growls from whatever pit of hell he’s possessing Drake’s body. “Take… off… your… trunks.” Gabriel groans incoherently for a while, rolling to his side. I’m not sure if he’s even registering what’s been said. But he must, because he reaches down with both hands, hooking his thumbs inside the top of his trunks and slowly dragging them down his massive thighs. He’s got a heather jock strap on underneath.
Drake drags him up by the hair to a seated position, quickly kneeling behind him. He wraps his right bicep across the muscle cherub’s throat. With a sudden jerk, he locks down hard, making Gabriel’s tear-filled eyes snap open wide.
What the fuck ever! Gabriel’s starting to pound out his gargantuan member with both hands, and it’s truly epic! With Drake choking him out, it doesn’t take long at all for the cherub to explode. I don’t realize that my mouth is hanging open in awe until I notice that Drake is staring right at me, still bearing down on his fading opponent, but looking, fixed, right into my eyes.
“No,” Gabriel chuckles, staring down at the dazed stud on his knees in front of him, “now I distinctly remember you being right here once before.” He grabs the back of Drake’s head with both hands and shoves his face into his body. Even on his knees, Drake’s mouth comes mid-chest to the bulging muscle cherub standing in front of him. Gabriel smothers him there, deep in the crevice between his massive pecs. I can hear Drake grunting, struggling for air. He presses his hands against Gabriel’s hips, attempting to pry his face away, but the Brit holds him in place with a vice-like grip. About 30 seconds of pec smothering in, and Drake’s arms start to go slack. Oh, fuck.
Slowly, Gabriel drags Drake’s slackening face down his torso. Drake’s lips stretch and twist across the pronounced ridges of Gabriel’s abs. Down, down Gabriel presses his opponent’s face until Drake his hunched forward, his mouth pressed hard against the muscle cherub’s big bulge. Holy shit. HUGE bulge! Gabriel’s legendary cock is visibly growing right before my eyes. Well, most immediately, it’s growing right before Drake’s lips. Gabriel’s head rolls backward, his eyes closed, obviously getting stoked to the edge. Fuck, they look like both of them may very well ditch the wrestling and just start fucking. Not that I’d mind watching that. But…come on, wrestling!
Clearly, I had a better time than Drake did, because the stud went ape shit all over me 4 months ago after I had the distinct pleasure of refereeing a fabulously sexy match between him and the goldenboy Trey Dixon. Okay, sure, suffering the humiliation of not only getting strung up helplessly in the ropes, but having the ref accept an invitation to join in the fun was probably overstepping things. A bit. But holy shit, the Pearl Harbor job he did on me afterward was over the top. Seriously, I always thought big D was secretly enjoying my good natured ribbing as much as I. Obviously, I was mistaken, because the kid nearly ripped me to pieces.
It was Kid Leopard who suggested I give him some gratuitous glam shots after it was all said and done, so I acquiesced (have YOU ever tried telling him no?!) and let him tape me as I hoisted the limp sack of potatoes up and tied him hanging from the ropes. Again. Mmmmm, fuck. Totally at my mercy. Naked. Cold sweat glistening on his gorgeous body. He deserved to get messed with more, for taking himself way too fucking seriously and taking it out on this novice wrestler’s body. But I just slapped him around a little for the Boss and taunted him for the camera and whatever private customer had wanted to see the two of us in the ring at the same time (hello, I’d love to know who was the fan who custom ordered that little bit of heaven!).
Sidelineland 