I confess that Steel Muscle God (SMG) continues to be a sentimental favorite of mine. I remember the first time I caught glimpse of him. Someone had captured a brief clip for YouTube of SMG doing a private cam show, dressed in a sensationally tight wrestling singlet and glasses (I swoon). In his eastern European accent, he flexed and snarled and promised to dominate and destroy any wrestling opponent with his godlike muscles. I wasn’t the only one to discover him and click “like.” His fan following grew, motivating a personality driven SMG muscle worship site. Oh, yes, and inspiring a series of fictional wrestling scenes that I wrote for this blog, featuring him in a magnificent muscle battle against another European cocktease muscle man.
Back near the beginning of my SMG infatuation, I offered to pitch in to buy him a plane ticket to the US to hook up with one of our domestic producers of homoerotic wrestling products to really polish him to a blinding shine. Muscle Domination Wrestling teased just that a while back, producing and publishing MDW stamped wrestling videos starring SMG. But they were contract pieces. SMG was still in eastern Europe, facing, albeit sensationally sexy, local talent there. But my way back fantasy of SMG hopping a plane and landing in the US for an all-American welcome to homoerotic wrestling stardom just came true. MDW brought him here (and I didn’t even have to pay for his plane ticket!), and he’s now available for viewing in Super Men 5.
“That prick will definitely get what he deserves,” and angry Batman Super Bat Stud murmurs to himself, his sense of justice tweaked. SMG is cast as the dark knight, driven with a passion for justice that frequently shoves him right over the edge of vigilantism. He’s in the MDW garage ring, in painted-on black trunks and boots. He flexes and monologues, like any good self-righteous superhero does, before donning his Bat Stud cowl and sucking down a little liquid courage to really pump himself up for facing the reigning bad boy in Gotham Boston, the Riddler Riddle Man.
“Looking for me, Bat Stud?” Riddleman arrives, laughing ominously, as if he knows something the impressive Bat Stud doesn’t. Morgan Cruise has managed to yank the Riddler tights onto his massively muscled frame without ripping it to shreds, which I think proves that he is, indeed, superhuman. The last Riddle Man to don that suit was somewhere around half the man Morgan is. The sheer mass of Morgan’s out of control curly locks could probably pin Charlie Evans for a 3-count. I’m bitter that Morgan’s hairy body stays entirely suited throughout this match, but fans of muscle-stretched lycra will probably find this value added.
“You’ve been doing your shenanigans for a long time, but you need to be brought to justice!” Bat Stud snarls threateningly. Bat Stud with an eastern European accent instantly grabs me right at the base of my balls. That mouthwatering ass of his squeezing out here and there from the confines of his too tight trunks doesn’t hurt matters, either.
I argue that MDW is the leading company in producing narrative-driven homoerotic wrestling, and particularly for that distinction, they keep me on the line. In this case, Riddle Man has spiked Bat Stud’s shot of courage that he downed moments before donning his mask (SMG fans will appreciate the homage to his muscle worship site gimmick of sucking down tonics that do all sorts of things like turning him into a giant). Bat Stud is weak, helplessly bullied by the boy in green.
“I’m going to drain you!” Riddle Man promises, manhandling the masked muscle man with relish. “I’m going to suck out all of your power, all of your strength, and I’m going to make it mine. And I’m going to get my hands all over that body!” Here’s the other strong suit that MDW brings to the table lately. Some (not all) of MDW’s roster unflinchingly charge headlong into the explicitly homoerotic text that their audience enjoys. Some other companies are still producing matches as if the homoeroticism, the muscles dominated, the implications of physical intimacy and sexual foreplay aren’t on our minds. Of course, some other companies are specializing in wrestling-as-sexual-foreplay, with seemingly every wrestling narrative rushed through in order to set up two hot pornboys fucking each other’s brains out. MDW is one of just a couple that I can think of that charts a middle way, dabbling here and there in explicitly sexual content, but for the most part, dialing up the homoeroticism by simply overtly acknowledging erotic lust as a factor in the wrestling narrative. Not that I don’t get off on some g-rated fratboy, mainstream pro imitation hot bodied wrestling matches. And not that I don’t saddle up frequently for enjoying full, fuck stakes pornboy grappling foreplay (I usually don’t linger on the fucking). But I really appreciate the respect MDW (and BGE) are giving their audiences, at least at times, by just treating our lust as something other than their dirty little secret.
“This is NOT happening!” Bat Stud groans in shock. Our superhero is accustomed to outmuscling his opponents. The vigilante hunk is used to flexing and sneering in the faces of rule breakers on the way to manhandling them right to jail. But his spiked tonic is making him raw meat for Riddle Man to torture mercilessly.
“Getting my hands all over these muscles, I must confess, I’m pretty excited,” Riddle Man confesses, again cementing my allegiance in the match to the forces of evil and injustice. He strokes SMG’s torso. He slaps his ass. At this rate, whether on camera or off, I’m pretty sure Bat Stud is going to be getting his hot ass fucked for days just like Super Stud did to a red-headed twink Riddle Man not so long ago. SMG suffering long!? SMG dominated and humiliated, provoked and possessed!?! Oh, fuck, yes.
Long-time fans of SMG will not be surprised when I reveal the spoiler that Bat Stud miraculously, inexplicably (okay, so plot holes abound in MDW’s enthusiastic efforts to produce narrative-driven homoerotic wrestling) regains his super strength. Riddle Man’s punches to SMG’s rock hard core bounce off harmlessly (except for bruising Riddle Man’s knuckles). Bat Stud spends the last third of the match bullying and preening. He backs Riddle Man into a corner and beats him to his knees.
“Wh-wh-what are you!” Riddle Man stutters, in a direct quote from the 1989 Batman movie, proving yet again, as if we needed further proof, that MDW is masterminded by the sexiest pack of muscle nerds to dabble in gay wrestling. What he is is a decent nod to the dark side of the Batman franchise, the vigilante who starts to get a kick out of not just bringing badboys to justice, but bullying them first, dominating and terrifying them. This is a superhero who clearly is starting to get off on the highlight reel he’s recording in his head of making a hot, beefy, (too) hairy muscle hunk like Morgan Cruise cower and quiver and beg.
“You win, Bat Stud! Send me to prison!” Riddle Man pleads for reprieve, begs for straight up justice under threat of the boundary crossing vigilante who’s starting to enjoy this delivery of corporal punishment too much. How far might a steel muscle god in black go, with revenge on his mind and a growing sexual taste for turning muscle bullies into fuck puppets?
Okay, that last bit is mostly me extrapolating the juicy homoerotic wrestling narrative that Super Men 5 seeds. And, of course, that’s a skill I’ve learned after decades of enjoying the homoeroticism of wrestling, having learned how to take the barest thread of a storyline and add all the sexual heat and lustful intent that I need to to feed my homoerotic wrestling kink. MDW doesn’t make me work so hard, though. They know it’s me (and you) tuning in and getting turned on, and they aren’t embarrassed to appreciate their audience for exactly who we are.j
Now, if I may make a request, let’s see SMG face Matt Thrasher in a Daddy’s Home episode, because I’ve been waiting to see SMG bent over some muscle daddy’s knee and spanked into weeping submission for years!
A little while later I woke up, groaning, bound once again in the ropes, my mouth stuffed with the soiled and sweaty trunks of both myself and Bard. Tears of shame filled my face as I writhed in the darkened arena, trying to spit out the gear only to realize the ring tape wrapped around my head, keeping them in.
I stripped down and pulled my gear selection from the locker, the singlet 
damn good. The bright yellow of his selected singlet complemented his Socal goldenboy tan quite well. But still…I don’t see what they see in him. I patted my throbbing cock as Trey pulled his singlet straps up and threw me a wink as he bounded out the door as we heard the Boss emceeing our announcements despite not knowing (or more likely, caring) if we were even close to being ready.
Sidelineland 