Uncategorized – Page 45

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 3

January 3, 2016 wrestlebard3 Comments

Original fiction, inspired by the erotic wrestling hunks of BG East…

…………….

(Continued from Part 2)

Abruptly, he climbed to his feet and walked over to my corner, shoving a finger in my face. “Fuck you, Bard!” he shouted. “I’ve taken your shit online for over a year, and I’m not taking your shit one more day.” He shoved me in the chest, backing me into the corner. My adrenaline was pumping overtime in the heat of the Cheshire Cat’s intimidation offense. The heat of the moment made my cock swell, pressing uncomfortably inside my tight trousers. I glanced outside the ring at the Boss, wondering if this was one of the wheels within wheels that made sense of why I’d been invited to “guest referee”: to be on hand for Kid Leopard’s protege to work out a little retribution on an unsuspecting blogger in front of his mentor. Drake towered over me, staring down his nose as I felt my face flush with the rising impulse to fight back, despite my “neutral” assigned role.

Not that I needed to. Trey’s long fingers suddenly appeared between Drake’s powerful thighs and wrapped around the Cheshire Cat’s balls like a vise. Drake’s knees buckled and knocked together comically as he gasped for air, slack jawed. All that rage and ruin in his eyes glazed over as he duck-stepped backward under the control of his opponent’s crushing grasp from behind. Trey looked over Drake’s shoulder and gave me yet another conspiratorial wink. “You said I can twist his balls right off, right ref?” the bronzed beauty asked playfully..

“Fuck yes!” I replied a little more enthusiastically than the ref probably should. Trey’s face screwed up in concentration which, judging by the effect on Drake, signaled still more pressure being applied to crushing the Cheshire Cat’s testicles. Drake dropped hard to his knees, doubling over and clutching at the claw latched onto his balls. Like a felled tree, he slowly collapsed to his side. Trey yanked his hand free from between his opponent’s legs and smiled down as he watched Drake writhe and wriggle in the fetal position.

I stepped forward, but stayed a couple of feet away. “Are you ready to submit already, Drake?” I asked, not because I thought in a million years that he’d submit just yet, but just to rub it in that he was getting fucked over good right now. “Fuck you!” he snapped back, in exactly the raging, wounded tone I’d expected.

I stepped back out of the way as Trey bent forward and grabbed Drake by the ankles, rolling him to his back. Spreading his opponent’s legs wide apart, Trey drove his naked heel hard into Drake’s crotch. The air exploded out of Drake’s lungs. The blow was so savage even my balls felt just a twinge of sympathy pains. I backed all the way into the corner and leaned against the ropes as Trey yanked his opponent’s ankles wide apart again and stomped viciously into his lower abdomen. By the screech of agony, I guessed that the head of Drake’s cock took a glancing shot from the blow.

Smoothly, Trey rolled his opponent over, stepping his left foot over the back of Drake’s legs and hooking his ankles under his arms. Wrenching his opponent’s legs backward into a Boston crab, the golden boy squatted low, cranking Drake’s lower back into a sick, sick angle. Fuck, that’s gotta hurt, I was thinking a half second before Drake screamed, pounding his fist angrily to the mat.

“Was that a tap out, Drake?” I asked, hurrying forward and dropping to one knee next to his handsome face. “You calling it quits, Drake Marcos?!” I shouted when he didn’t immediately answer me.

“Fuck, you, Bard!” he spat furiously, sucking down the pain. I stood and shrugged, “Wrestle on, then.” Impressively, the Cheshire Cat pulled his upper body up to rest on his elbows. Trey struggled to keep his balance, which allowed just enough give in the hold for Drake to crawl a couple of feet forward on this elbows and grab a rope. He pulled on the rope, twisted his body, and kicked hard all at the same time. Trey tumbled forward, gracefully rolling up to one knee.

As Drake dragged himself up to his knees by the ropes, I couldn’t help but enjoy the observation that sweat was already dripping from his forehead. Trey’s yellow singlet was also sweat stained where the fabric plunged so intimately into his ass crack. From the pressure in my crotch, I was pretty sure I was also just a little “stained” myself, but that was a fleeting thought as all my attention was riveted on the action unfolding before me.

Trey charged forward, reaching down to grab his opponent’s ankles again. Smoothly, Drake swept his left leg hard into the back of the golden boy’s knees, dropping Trey unceremoniously to his ass. With an astonishing burst of energy, the Cheshire Cat dove on top of him, sliding wetly to his side and locking his long, powerful legs around Trey’s midsection. I knew exactly what Trey meant when he bit his lower lip and his face flushed beet red. Those fucking legs are sensationally strong. And Drake knows it. Slowly, Trey fell backward to his elbows, fighting against the pressure rearranging his internal organs. Drake lifted his torso up onto his right elbow to bear down that much harder. A groan of exquisite agony escaped reluctantly from Trey’s lips. Bending sideways, Drake reached down and latched his left claw onto his opponent’s balls in revenge. That groan churning out of Trey’s chest exploded into a scream of panicked pain.

Honestly, I swear, the whole scene was so sensationally hot that I completely forgot my job. “Fucking ref!” Drake snapped angrily at me. “Ask him if he’s done now, you bastard!” It took me a few seconds to come to my senses, but sure, I crossed the ring and leaned over Trey’s screwed up face. “Are you ready to submit, Trey?” I asked, most definitely not wanting to hear an affirmative answer. Biting his lower lip so hard I was afraid he’d bite right through, he shook his head violently side to side.

“No love, Drake. Wrestle on,” I said, backing toward a corner. Drake’s wrist twisted as he wrenched violently on the golden boy’s distended pouch, bulging between his clenched fingers. Trey screamed again, louder this time. “Ask him again, ref!” Drake demanded angrily. I ignored him. Trey knew how to make this all come to an abrupt end, and me asking him again wouldn’t change anything. “Ref!” Drake shouted at me again. “You fucker!”

A solid, pointed jab to Drake’s gut gave Trey enough room to suck down some air. Another flailing gut punch made the Cheshire Cat’s ankles pop open. Trey rolled to his side, freeing himself from those vile scissors. Drake quickly rolled up to his hands and knees, his left arm wrapped protectively across his tenderized lower abdomen.

Drake dove across the distance between them, but Trey rolled with the momentum. They tumbled across the mat until Trey came to a halt mounted atop his opponent’s chest. Swiftly sliding forward, he pulled on Drake’s head and rolled to the side, snapping his ankles together and bearing down in crotch-to-face headscissors. If I were watching this at home, I’d be preparing to push pause and rewind right around that moment. Drake’s lips pressed involuntarily against his opponent’s ample yellow pouch made me hard as granite. The golden boy pulling on his opponent’s hair, squeezing his flexed thighs in waves of skull crushing pressure was almost too arousing to resist unzipping my trousers then and there. Suddenly, I noticed The Boss’ camera trained on me, I’m pretty sure zoomed right in on my tented crotch. Watching him watching me watching them for someone else to watch us all. Fuck, this whole scenario just turned insanely meta.

Trey’s whimper of pain drew my eyes and The Boss’ camera back to the real story. No shit, Drake was biting his opponent’s balls! Trey’s legs popped open as he rolled to his back, the Cheshire Cat’s teeth still latched to his testicles through fabric of his singlet. I had no idea Drake had that level of rage bubbling up inside of him! Even as he let go of his mouthful of tasty agony, he hooked Trey’s knees with his shoulders and rolled the golden boy up. Prying his opponent’s legs apart and pinning Trey’s feet to the mat on either side of his head, Drake had the pretty boy pinned squarely to the mat.

“Count him out!” Drake snarled at me, but I was already dropping to my stomach, checking that, indeed Trey’s shoulders were square to the mat. “One!” I slapped the mat hard next to Trey’s head. “Two!” I barked. Suddenly Trey’s entire body coiled and uncoiled violently like a spring. Drake tumbled backward as the golden boy dragged himself to the nearby ropes to begin pulling himself off the mat. I had only reached my hand and knees when Drake charged into me, grabbing me by the throat with his right hand and dragging me to my feet. “What the fuck was that!?” he shouted into my face, spit flying. “You call that a count!?”

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 2

January 2, 2016January 3, 2016 wrestlebard2 Comments

Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction, the product of my homoerotic wrestling imagination inspired by the sensationally sexy wrestlers Drake Marcos, Trey Dixon, and Kid Leopard Happy New Year, readers!

………..

(Continued from Part 1)

…………..

I might be embarrassed to admit I jerked off to nothing more than the text of that email, but I know you, dear reader, popped wood just now, too. Trying to look cool, I managed to restrain myself exactly 13 minutes before replying to Kid Leopard’s email with a concise, definitive answer: Hell, yes.

Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. If you’ve seen even half as many Kid Leopard matches as I have, you’d also be suspicious of any completely unsolicited, gratuitous, too-good-to-be-true offer of an unearned gift from the most diabolical character in homoerotic wrestling history. As we sorted out the details and travel arrangements, I nursed a thoughtful skepticism about what ulterior motives might be hidden behind this offer of a wrestling fantasy come true. But I’m pretty sure that I provide the Boss’ business one of the most prolific and enthusiastic sources of free advertising in the form of over 6 years of lovingly blogging about the sexiest homoerotic wrestling I’ve ever seen, most of which has been produced by Kid Leopard. I’ve even written a lot of the match descriptions you read of new wrestling products on the BG East website, taking nothing more than some advanced review copies of the DVDs as compensation. So sure, I knew there was much, much more than met the eye when I boarded the plane for south Florida. But of all the ways this could go terribly wrong, I honestly thought I was too much of an asset in the Boss’ business portfolio to get screwed over too much.

The last time I walked into BG East’s Florida facilities, I was all sorts of nervous about the prospect of getting schooled by a hot young pro homoerotic wrestler. This time, I was feeling significantly less pressure, but no less excitement. Drake met me in shorts and a t-shirt at the front door with nothing but a contemptuous snarl. Without a word, he turned and walked toward the ring room. I chuckled as I followed him, perversely pleased to see that our last encounter was still festering inside the Cheshire Cat. “Clean the ring!” I heard Kid Leopard bark angrily as I walked through the door. Drake seemed to sulk as he grabbed a bucket and a mop and climbed up to the ring apron, starting to sanitize the mat reluctantly, but obediently.

“Well if it isn’t Bard!” The Boss shouted, grabbing me by the hand and shaking it with uncomfortable pressure. It wasn’t the first time we’d met. I’d spent several awed hours with Kid Leopard and some of the back office boys a few years ago when I had an opportunity to make a pilgrimage to BG East’s main campus outside of Boston. “Of course, you’ve met this little punk already,” he hooked a thumb toward Drake, who was doing his best to ignore us.

We waited another half an hour for Trey to show up. According to the Boss, Trey had been showing up later and later in direct proportion to the number of fan letters he receives. Prima Donna or not, I was tongue tied and star struck when he strolled in and flashed those baby blue eyes at me briefly. Literally, I was a little weak in the knees just catching sight of one of my wrestling infatuations in street clothes. Kid Leopard gave him a cursory dressing down for his tardiness, but critical comments seemed to bounce off of the bronzed stud unnoticed. Soon enough, the Boss sent both wrestlers to the back rooms to get into ring gear and get this show on the road.

I’d received no instructions about what I ought to wear as guest referee. I can think of no more than about 3 matches that I’ve seen BG East bother with a referee, so this was sort of uncharted territory. I pulled a pair of black trousers and a white t-shirt out of my backpack and asked if Kid Leopard approved. “No,” he said with his customary bluntness. Without explanation, he left me alone in the ring room for a minute before returning with a stretch poly white and black vertically striped referee shirt in hand. “Wear this,” he said without any interest in my opinion. Not that I expected Kid Leopard to express a lot of interest in my opinion. The shirt was a size “small,” and I, dear reader, am not. “Go on, Mr. Abs,” Kid Leopard smirked, referencing my online avatar. “Squeeze those muscles in nice and tight.”

My shoulders and upper arms strained the seams, but I managed to slip into the skin tight top. It clung to my abs and molded across the expanse of my pecs. The Boss nodded approval with a smirk. I unbuttoned my jeans and slid them off with Kid Leopard watching appraisingly. Fuck, standing there in boxer briefs with the leading legend of the homoerotic wrestling industry watching me strip made my cock throb. My heart was pounding in my chest as I slipped on the tight black trousers I’d brought with me. “Mmm-hmmm,” The Boss grunted passing approval. “That’ll do just fine.”

While we waited for Drake and Trey to return, Kid Leopard filled me in on the background of this match. It was a special request match for a wealthy fan. The wrestlers were custom ordered, and, to my surprise, so was I. “He insisted,” Kid Leopard assured me. “Trey and the punk, in the ring, no-holds-barred, with blogger Bard as guest referee.” Setting aside the momentary swelling I got from the ego stroke of being in someone’s fantasy line up, I asked what, exactly, you need a referee for in a no-holds-barred wrestling match. “To declare the winner,” The Boss snapped impatiently, clearly bored by my ignorance. The match would be recorded by none other than Kid Leopard himself, for just one pair of eyes to ever see.

When Trey and Drake were ready, Kid Leopard ordered me to climb into the ring as he pulled a small handheld camera up in front of his face. “All right, kiddies, make this a good one!” he shouted. Trey strolled into the ring room first. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Kid Leopard announced from behind the camera, “arriving at 5’10” and 155 pounds, Golden Boy Trey Dixon!” My jaw dropped to the floor. Trey wore the matte yellow wrestling singlet he rocked so sensationally in Gear Wars 4. Holy fuck, it was painted on and edged into every sensationally sexy crack and crevice of his insanely fit body. Honestly, there’s not a spare ounce of anything on his shredded physique. I had to adjust my cock pressing at a painful angle in my tight trousers before Trey had even hopped up to the ring apron. He ducked underneath the top rope and turned to the camera, flexing a double bicep and pursing his lips seductively. Barefoot, bronzed, dirty blond and blue eyed, he was sexier in real life than on video, and I for one would not have been able to imagine him being any sexier than what I enjoyed of him on video. He flexed and preened as Kid Leopard zoomed in on his stunning display of muscle and beauty. When Trey finally concluded the pre-match muscle show, he turned and strolled confidently across the ring, subtly, almost too quickly for me to catch, giving me a sly wink as I openly stared at him. He hopped up and sat his muscled ass across the top turnbuckle in the next corner to the right of the one in which I stood.

Drake marched into the room with an unmistakable chip on his shoulder. He wore that sexy white singlet with blue and black trim that he sported in Mat Scraps 2, at least until Ray Naylor ripped it off of him and used it to choke him. His pale skin and hairy chest were a stark contrast with his perfectly smooth, bronzed opponent. His lightly hairy legs were noticeably thicker than when I’d felt them squeezing the air out of my lungs a year earlier. Barefoot and babyfaced, Drake’s sweet ass stretching the seat of his white singlet made my cock twitch with the tactile memory of feeling those glutes squeezed in the palm of my hands. Today, the Cheshire Cat refused to spare a half second for a flash of that handsome smile that always turns me on. He also didn’t waste a second for the camera. “And now arriving ringside,” the Boss announced, “at 5’10” and 165 pounds, the Cheshire Cat of wrestling, everyone’s favorite jobber, Drake… Marcoooos!” Drake visibly bristled at being announced as everyone’s favorite jobber. He slid underneath the bottom rope and backed warily into the corner opposite his opponent, refusing to tear his eyes away from anything other than the Golden Boy.

Frankly, I expected a pro wrestling match to be more scripted than this, but I took the bull by the balls and decided to call the competitors into the middle of the ring to give them a lay of the land. They were almost exactly the same height, about 4 inches taller than I am, bumping pecs and staring angrily into each others eyes. “This is what you’ve got to work with today,” I explained, looking up at them. “There are no fucking rules.” I said with a smirk. “Trey, you want to twist his balls off, go for it,” I said with a chuckle. “You want to pull his hair, be my guest. You want to tie him up in the ropes, and take my word for it when I say that’s fun to do with Drake, so, make it so, big boy.” Drake tore his eyes away from his opponent to stare down at me indignantly. Trey also glanced at me with a wry grin. “The winner,” I continued, “will be the first to pin his opponent’s shoulders to the mat for a count of three, or make his opponent tap out, or force a verbal submission. I’d say, ‘fight fair,’ but in this case, fighting fair is for chumps. So…,” I paused for comedic timing and stared back at Drake glowering at me, “…fight fair, Drake.”

Trey chuckled as he turned and strode back toward his corner. I backed quickly out of the way, just in time for Drake to attack his opponent from behind. He closed the distance in a sprint and swung his right knee savagely into Trey’s side, before quickly grabbing the back of his head and charging toward the corner. Trey’s beautiful face was pounded viciously into the top turnbuckle. The bronzed beauty’s knees buckling underneath him made me question if this match might just be over before it started.

Drake was like a dog with a bone. As Trey sagged to his knees, the Cheshire Cat pounded the golden boy’s face into the middle turnbuckle. When Trey collapsed flat out on the mat, Drake mounted his back and pounded his face into the mat. Holy fuck, I’d never seen Drake so vicious or in such total control.

(Continued in Part 3)

Happy New Year 2016 – Part 1

January 1, 2016January 3, 2016 wrestlebard10 Comments

My tradition for many years was to publish some original wrestling fiction here at neverland to ring in a happy New Year. Now, most of the wrestling fiction I’ve written has starred known homoerotic wrestlers, celebrities, male models, etc., but for my New Year’s canon I always indulged in writing myself into the narratives. Making quick work of one of my New Year’s resolutions, I’m posting a new homoerotic wrestling scenario here over the next few days in serial format. While everyone involved in this narrative is a real life hunk, let me just clarify that this is a work of fiction. Fans of any of these fine men, cut me a break. It’s all imagination and fun (for me). If your homoerotic wrestling imagination makes you picture this scenario completely differently, don’t send me your hate mail, just sit your ass down and write (and share!) your own original wrestling fiction! And most importantly, have a happy New Year, wrestling fans!

To be honest, no one was more surprised by the outcome of my wrestling match with Drake Marcos than I was. Well, Drake was obviously shocked senseless to find himself on the bitter end of an ass whooping by a mere blogger. But with precious little wrestling experience, I fully expected a homoerotic wrestling pro like Drake to take me to school. The handsome industry insider was famously tutored in the harshest realities of hardcore, low down, balls out grappling by none other than The Boss of BG East himself. Drake wears his spine tingling apprenticeship at the hands of nasty, nefarious, notorious classic heel Kid Leopard like a badge of honor. Seriously, he can’t shut up about being the protege and heir apparent to the living legend. He had me pretty well convinced that I was essentially climbing into the BG East ring with Kid Leopard himself, and as a long-time fan, I’m not ashamed to admit I was entirely intimidated and, perhaps, just a little terrified.
I’ve documented that match elsewhere, so I won’t rehash too many of the glorious details. Well, I can’t help myself but savor at least some of the details again here. Suffice it to say that the first two thirds of that late night session in the BG East ring presented me one of the steepest learning curves of my life. Full disclosure, the Cheshire Cat (as I’m fond of calling him) is significantly younger than I am. He’s also taller. And, as I mentioned, he’s more experienced. So it should be little wonder I was out-hustled and punished hard by Drake as the night wore on. Not that I wanted to be anywhere else in the world than stroking his sensational thighs as they crushed my body. He’s long and lean, but the kid’s got incredibly strong (and sexy) legs. True enough, I was choking on the pain, but reaching around and grabbing that meaty ass, staring down that shit eating grin permanently stretched across his handsome face, I was hardly disappointed with my pro wrestling ring initiation thus far.

The lid was completely blown off, however, when I managed to muscle my way free from yet another bear trap. In an upper body comparison, I’ve got the Cheshire Cat beat bad. So although it took some work, I finally broke free and slipped behind the young pro. I may not have had any significant pro wrestling experience, but when it comes to being intimately familiar with the size and scope of the BG East catalog, I’m fucking world class! I’d studied every Drake Marcos match publicly available. I watched this cocky kid going down in flames time after time, and one thing that even a casual homoerotic wrestling scout will tell you is that Drake Marcos gets off on getting choked. Slipping my big bicep across his throat, I tightened up slowly. And right then and there, I was convinced that this whole match had just taken a 180 degree turn. I knew I had the cocky pro all buttoned up the moment I saw his cock crawling up his lower abdomen, stretching the pouch of those tasty, tight pink briefs.

Once I knew just where to apply pressure, I played the Cheshire Cat like strumming a guitar. I felt the heat pulsing off of his body, straining underneath me. He was hating it. And he was loving it. He tried to pry arm away from his throat. Not that I couldn’t easily thwart him, but I swear I could feel it in the way his body sagged against me that despite himself, he didn’t want to be free. He wanted to be in my control. He wanted to get dragged to the edge of consciousness. There were spurts of reluctant fight writhing in my arms, but the writing was on the wall. Drake Marcos was all mine.
Again, the photographic evidence of the fun to be had with a barely conscious, completely crushed homoerotic pro wrestler at your mercy is available elsewhere. Hung like dirty laundry from the ring ropes and turnbuckles, I snapped pics with my phone to savor later, and to document for the homoerotic wrestling world the precipitous fall of a rising pro wrestler. Dragging his hot, sweaty body to the middle of the ring, I claimed one last trophy: a close up photo of those pink briefs ripped off his sexy body and shoved down his throat.

The best way to silence Drake’s trash talk.

Again, no one should be surprised that after everything was said and done, Drake’s bruised ego desperately tried to spin his humiliating defeat. Online, he claimed my pics were photoshopped. One minute, he was trying to convince his astonished army of fans that this crowing blogger had chloroformed him. The next minute, he was arguing that his split personality betrayed him, and all my pictures were nothing more than evidence that he wasn’t in his right mind around the time he was getting tossed around and tapped out.
I admit it. Watching Drake wriggle and writhe on the line was irresistible. I didn’t need to poke him. It wasn’t necessary for me to rub it in, publicly humiliating him in front of all his wrestler buddies and adoring fans on social media. I didn’t have to have such fun at the Cheshire Cat’s expense. It was just such a fucking pleasure.

The Boss and his Vice President’s of Pain when I met them during my BG East Pilgrimage in 2012.

Fast forward about a year. I was actually starting to feel sorry for Drake just a little, watching him struggle to come up with some new excuse for how his sweet ass got owned by a blogger. But the biggest surprise of all was getting that email from Kid Leopard, the Boss himself, inviting me to take my infatuation with all things homoerotic wrestling to a whole new level. My besting of his protege clearly hadn’t gone unnoticed. My raging crush on yet another BG East hunk, Trey Dixon, also had not escaped the Boss’ attention. So the Boss had an offer he knew I would be completely incapable of refusing: be a “celebrity” guest referee in a no holds barred ring match between Drake and Trey.

(Continued in Part 2)

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Year

December 31, 2015December 29, 2015 wrestlebard5 Comments

Hopefully we’ll have an opportunity to vote on the BG East year end Bestie awards soon. In the mean time, I made my own selections of the wrestlers that grabbed me hardest month by month (I skipped a couple months because life just keeps me from it every so often). My homoerotic wrestler of the month title is a difficult call to make most months. I’m turned on by so much of the fine new releases that I enjoy on a regular basis. But of the matches I’ve seen, the HWOTM title gives me a short list of the wrestlers I enjoyed most over the year.

Not that these are necessarily my top picks of the year. There’s probably some way to do a statistical analysis on the between group versus within group variances (Jose can probably tell us). Some months may present a tighter, higher caliber field than others to choose from, so a “loser” on any given month might have beat the fuck out of a winner in a different month. But I think my top wrestler in a new release in 2015 is guaranteed to be among the 10 HWOTM I called out this year, even if the runner-up might not be.

Anyhow, statistics and logic problems aside, before I can talk about the 10 HWOTM title holders in 2015, I need to anoint a December title holder. It’s a day early, but I’m going ahead and calling the competition for which wrestler turned me on hardest in a December new release. The last piece of the puzzle and the reigning HWOTM as we move into the new year is…

0106_lg

…big, bulging, buff, beautiful, blond, babyface, blue-eyed beefcake, Biff Farrell.

Biff turns thoughtful sizing up the competition.

Frankly, it was a very close call as to whether it was Biff or his opponent, the titular character in The Comeback 2: Joe Mazetti, who turned me on hardest. Joe gets the nostalgia vote, and he sensationally sells the story of a classic heel who can’t, despite his best intentions, turn over the new leaf he so much longs to. Just the thrill of getting to see Joe looking so fucking huge, fit, and fierce is incredibly satisfying, much less getting to see Joe wrestle like he never left the ring in the first place.

Biff savors the taste of making a man suffer between his thighs.

But Biff narrowly rips the title out of Joe’s hands the moment he drops the heel daddy with a sucker shot to the gut and lords it all over a writhing, wriggling Joe, laughing and sneering with Joe’s nogging crushed like a tin can between Biff’s gargantuan thighs. This is a whole new Biff. This is a hungry, brutal, vicious Biff, with a big, bulging sadistic button sticking out and snarling Joe punching that button with abandon.

Biff is such an impressive hunk of man. It’s a joy, and just a little relief, to see his personality come through as 3-D as his bulging, beautiful muscles do. True, the Comeback king puts the buff kid out cold before all is said and done, but it’s that contemptuous, sadistic streak shining through in Biff’s riding time that makes me take a 2nd, 3rd, and 4th look at him as officially graduating from the ranks of the rookies. He plays with and plays off Joe’s larger than life delivery. Gorgeous as fuck, built like a brick house, and now with character complexity and suspense, Biff came on way, way strong to finish 2015.

Biff Farrell is the total package and my homoerotic wrestler of the month.

So somewhere in the pack of my 2015 HWOTM winners, there must be a homoerotic wrestler of the year (HWOTY). I know these are my picks, and it’s all about who turned me on month to month, but seriously, I want to know. Who do you think should be neverland’s HWOTY? Just to warm up for the BG East Besties, vote below for the neverland homoerotic wrestler of the year.

February 2015 – Jonny Firestorm in BG East’s Fan Fantasy 2

March 2015 – Stefan Ramos in Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Six Pack Bash 7

April 2015 – Lon Dumont starring in BG East’s Wrestler Spotlight: Lon Dumont

May 2015 – Marco starring in Thunder’s Arena’s Mat Wars 47

June 2015 – Marco Carlow starring in BG East’s Undagear 23

July 2015 – Ty Alexander starring in Jonny Firestorm’s Custom Combat

August 2015 – Logan Vaughn starring in BG East’s Florida Fights 5

October 2015 – Kayden Keller starring in BG East’s Ring Releases 2

Frey Eagle TV - 8 of 200.jpg — November 2015 – Eagle starring Thunder’s Arena’s exclusive Black Friday release of Frey vs. Eagle

December 2015 – Biff Farrell starring in BG East’s The Comeback 2: Joe Mazetti.

A Year in the Life

December 30, 2015December 29, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

With 2015 coming to a close, it’s time to reminisce. I published 100 posts this year, and readers added up an astonishing 493,000 page views in 2015. Most readers (by far) find their way to the home page of neverland, tracking the most recently published posts from day to day. Fascinatingly, the second most viewed page was the About neverland page, which sort of warms my heart because it’s text intensive (so you weren’t just chasing pics) and, well, all about me and my philosophy of blogging. By far the most popular pic clicked on this year was of hot, hairy chested Damien Rush crunching out a most-muscular pose with his masked undoing hovering ominously in the background.

vlcsnap-2014-01-09-09h52m35s222 — Damien’s most muscular grabbed readers most.

Readers also clicked most on my review of the Gazebo Grapplers 17 match pitting jungle boy Lorenzo Lowe against hot jobber Tim Messina. You also seemed to be as infatuated with the pulse pounding 2015 debut of big, bulging, beautiful, blond, blue-eyed beefcake Biff Farrell, clicking directly through to my adoring review of his introduction to the homoerotic wrestling audience in Lon Dumont’s Wrestler Spotlight DVD. Of course, these stats are systematically biased toward older posts (you’ve had less time to rack up clicks on December posts, for example). Which makes me think that my September review of Hunkbash 15, although only the 3rd most viewed blog post of the year, may actually turn out to be the hotttest click over time. And I can certainly understand why. I’ve nearly worn out my DVD of Logan Vaughn’s divine, titanic thighs squeezing every ounce of resistance out of every inch of supplicant-in-training Trey Dixon. There are tastes du jour and then there are exquisite, timeless dishes that we’ll be savoring for years to come, and I have to believe that Trey crushed into sweaty, slack jawed worship at the bare feet of Logan is going to be a keeper.

Neverland readers originate from across the globe. English-speaking United States, the United Kingdom, and Canada are, in order, the top ranking origins of the most readers. Germany comes in fourth place with over 13,000 page views, edging out Australia. France, Japan and Mexico round out the top 8 countries of origin of homoerotic wrestling fans checking out the latest here at neverland.

Click-throughs reveal what I’d expect. I spend most of my time reviewing BG East products, so little wonder that over 14,000 of the click-throughs this year were of readers checking out the source material at BGE. Most of the other click throughs were to brother bloggers like Wrestling Arsenal, Inner Jobber, Beefcakes of Wrestling, and Ringside at Skull Island. I do have love for more than BG East, of course, so I’m glad to see there were over 2,500 click throughs checking out source material at Can-Am, over 2,500 to Cameron Matthews‘ site, and over 1,800 to Muscle Domination Wrestling.

david2 — The moment I get my hands on (a pic of) David Muir shirtless, you will be the first to know!

Those of you using search engines to find your way to these pages typically know what you’re looking for, most of the time using keywords “sidelineland” or “neverland wrestling.” Fascinating me to no end, the next most common search engine keyword earning a click to neverland is “David Muir shirtless.” Google it, and sure enough, neverland is ranked #1. Again, consider my heart strangely warmed by the newsboy love that clearly many of you share with me. Those of you searching for a particular wrestling crush sending you this way were most likely to be seeking out Lane Hartley or Lon Dumont.

gio — Favorite moment #5: Gio plays for our team!

As for my favorite moments of 2015, one of the most fabulous reveals that I celebrated on the pages of this blog was my current top newsboy crush, Gio Benitez, coming out to his adoring public via Instagram photos of sunning his magnificent muscles next to his then-boyfriend Tommy DiDario. When he then documented his Paris marriage proposal via social media, getting down on one knee (Tommy said yes, of course!), a newsboy homoerotic wrestling lover champion tag team was born in my imagination. Every time I see Gio’s gargantuan biceps straining the seams of his suit coats as he reports on GMA, I no longer need to imagine what those hot, bulging muscles look like shirtless, thanks to Gio sharing the wealth and proudly showing off his, and his fiancee’s fabulous muscles in 2015. I’m still waiting for my wedding invitation.

One of those little moments that probably blew right past most readers but tickled my crotch just right this year was a snarky little exchange I had with none other than BG East Boss himself, Kid Leopard back in February. In my relentless pouring over and critiquing the nominees for BG East’s 2014 Bestie Awards, I adamantly announced that Kirk Donahue did not deserve to be in the running for Best Ass. You know what a smart ass I am, so of course I poured it on thick, speculating that the eventual winner of the category ought to bend Kirk over his knee and spank that adorable, yet not outstanding ass until he confesses who he fucked to get the nomination. Well, my smart assedness earned me a firm, slighty chiding message from Kid Leopard, who I assume is nominator in chief, explaining that I was completely off base in my disregard of Kirk’s award worthy butt. Getting a virtual slap on the wrist from the Boss both tickled and aroused me so much that I promptly published a public service announcement clarifying that, with additional persuasive evidence offered by the Boss, Kirk’s ass is totally nominatible. Of course, I was still a smart ass. And I still say Kirk’s ass is sensationally fuckable, but nowhere near deserving of a top 5 ranking in the exceedingly hot field of BG East butts. But anytime Kid Leopard calls me into his office to slap me around a bit, it’s going to be on my list of favorite moments.

character_study_joe_lally_014_1 — Aussie fashion model Jarrod Scott inspired my homoerotic wrestling imagination this year.

My third favorite moment of 2015 was a little self-generated pride and joy I felt in getting my ass back to what really started neverland in the first place: writing homoerotic wrestling fiction. In August I took the flimsy excuse of Details Magazine identifying their top 31 male models, to write up a first round of homoerotic pretty boy wrestling fiction. I have yet to complete the tournament, though Sean O’Pry, John Halls, and Jarrod Scott more than ably earned their way into the semi-finals. What may not have been as apparent on your side of the screen was the pleasure I had in getting back to exercising my homoerotic wrestling imagination. I’ve gotten back to the keyboard several times this fall, and I anticipate 2016 getting me back to the online homoerotic wrestling fiction publishing business again. I’ll keep you updated.

12202024_1728558944044918_825688879_n — Super sexy Drake “Blogger Bait” Marcos, Ty Alexander, and Kayden Keller.

My second most favorite moment in blogging this year was the feast of homoerotic wrestler Halloween costumes I got to enjoy, and share, in early November. Ty Alexander, Kayden Keller and Drake “Don’t-Call-Me-Jobber” Marcos partied hearty on Halloween this year and gifted you and me some hot shots of their sensationally sexy superhero costumes. By way of introducing himself to me, and by extension, you, adorably hot red-headed rookie twink Charlie Evans also sent some shots my way of his Iceman costume for Halloween this year. As soon as homoerotic wrestling studs send me unsolicited (or at least, lightly solicited) photos of themselves roaming the real world, I’m aroused and the moment is indelibly etched onto the list of most memorable moments.

0106_lg — Man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams

My top, very most favorite moment in blogging for 2015 took place in the comments section. Casual readers may not think to check the comments, but you do so at the risk of missing hot gems every so often. Such was the case when I posted one of my long, adoring, full throttle fanboy infatuation pieces on my long-time homoerotic wrestler crush, Scott Williams. Scott shared his appreciation that his fans are still gagging for it, assuring us that he is “still keeping in shape and wrestling privately here in Boston and when I travel…always will love it and will always make you proud on the mats or in the ring!” He signed his comment “Sending bearhugs – Scott Williams.” I have since seen glimpses and snippets of evidence (follow the likes of Ty Alexander on FB, and you’ll see what I mean) that Scott is, indeed, still climbing into the ring, and he remains incredibly, profoundly, astonishingly sexy fit still today. I think it’s a crime against homoerotic wrestling fandom that Scott is keeping his wrestling work out of the publicly consumable sphere these days, and I think you should, at this very moment, send an email to BG East pleading with them to convince this classic hunk to cum out in a new release in 2016. In the meantime, that virtual bearhug from one of my longest running wrestling crushes still keeps me warm at night.

0213_lg — Scott takes full possession of favorite moment #1.

So, 2016. I’m hoping it’s a year for getting back to what has been the most fun for me over the past 6 years. Be it resolved that I will publish homoerotic wrestling fiction in the coming year. Be it also resolved that I will snag some fresh new wrestler interviews, because the lack of interviews in 2015 was, in retrospect, tragic from my perspective. I’ve also been not-so-subtly angling for an opportunity to be your Every-Joe-Fan at an honest-to-the-homoerotic-wrestling-gods taping of a match, and I see no reason why 2016 shouldn’t be the year that that invitation doesn’t show up in my mailbox. Those are a few of my hopes and dreams for the New Year. Hope yours is hot, sweaty, and includes some OTK backbreakers.

Poser Pounding

December 29, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

0304_lg — Van Skyler debuts in the ring.

Clearly, I was pretty damn enamored with BG East’s recent release of Gut Bash 11. I’ve fawned over the BG East debut of Chet Chastain’s IRL tag team partner, Brice “Big Mamma” Moore. I loved Lon Dumont’s rookie wrecking of adorable Carlos Ortega so much that it put Lon back on top of my rankings of favorite homoerotic wrestlers. And now I need to complete the trifecta with a loving treatment of the third match, starring Van Skyler’s ass making it’s pro ring debut.

Yep, the rest of him is in this match as well, and there’s so much sizzling hot sexiness of every square inch of Van. His heavily lidded bedroom eyes and lush, thick lips… his stunning arms, torso, and legs… starring in his sophomore match, Van is a star in the making, as far as I’m concerned. He’s dizzyingly pretty, paired with magnificent muscle quality and quantity. Everything about him adds up to HUGE potential in this business.

0320_lg — We are indebted to you, Flash LaCash.

But… That……….. ASS! When Flash LaCash peels Van’s sweat soaked body off the mat by the back of his trunks, giving the rookie a tight, wet wedgie, I’m convinced that this kid could own this industry. And making me love him just that much more: he doesn’t bother trying to dislodge his trunks from his crack. Let that glute roam free range, Van. You are a nascent homoerotic wrestling god.

0330_lg — Flash LaCash is pretty. There, I said it.

I was lukewarm on Flash the first couple of times I saw him, but he’s done significantly more than grow on me in the mean time. I waffled back and forth on his 70’s-forward stash, but fuck me if the full beard he’s sporting in GB11 doesn’t pound the lumbersexual button I had no idea I possessed. Flash is that provocative combination of card carrying, devastatingly dangerous badass attached to a heart meltingly handsome, dare I say, beautiful face. Those eyes, staring deep into my soul with a mischievous twinkle, could get me to do all sorts of boundary crossing. I suspect most fans aren’t as wooed as I am by Flash’s cred as a babyface, but it wouldn’t be the first time I zig when the rest of you zag.

I’d warn you that I’m about to deliver a spoiler, but is there anyone on the planet with eyes to see these two side by side and still be surprised that Flash squashes the stuffing out of Van? It’s the classic tale of the pretty boy with so many abundant assets lovingly crafted in the gym, getting pulverized by a pro who hates pretty posers. Of the 3 matches in this collection, this is truest to the gut bash format. Determined to terrorize the poser right out of the ring for good (the homoerotic wrestling gods forbid!), Flash is brutal and relentless. His genuine contempt for gym bunnies who think two peaked biceps and a 28″ waist are sufficient to earn you a shot in the wrestling ring inspires a muscle bashing focused almost exclusively on the rook’s coverboy abs.

0348_lg — Van sucks on it (his own sweat-soaked sweat sock, that is).

Van takes the beating with equal parts grit and suffering such that I’m hopeful for the pin-up boy’s future in the business. He sells it, and in the hands of such a totally dominating pro heel, his grade A beef is served up juicy and rare.

So much sweat. So much muscle. Such a fabulous contrast of experience, look, style, and appeal. I’d love to rip a plaid flannel shirt off Flash and rub baby oil all over every bulging inch as I stare, enthralled, into his riveting eyes. But I’m just saying that Van Skyler’s ass needs it’s own Wrestler Spotlight. I also think it needs a blogger sitting ringside, because I am very, very eager to get to see this dazzlingly beautiful boy shake off the freshman jitters and shock and awe some more appreciative opponents with that world class moneymaker of his.

0322_lg-1 — Van is in position to be a major player in 2016. Please.

Santa’s Little Helper

December 25, 2015December 24, 2015 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I got this tasty bit of holiday cheer from Ty Alexander, aka, Santa’s Little Helper. Like Ty, I hope all of you who are celebrating Christmas have a happy one, filled with hot, mostly naked homoerotic wrestling studs!

Tug on Superman’s Cape

December 23, 2015 wrestlebard1 Comment

Damien Rush has never been less able to squeeze his bulging muscles inside this suit!

“Riddle me this, Super Stud: what is black and green and in your gut?” Simple, naive, gullible as shit Super Stud is stumped. He looks inward, trying to solve the riddle. Riddle Man relieves the suspense by driving his black and green walking stick viciously into the super hero’s rippled abs.

How in the fuck could adorable, skinny little red-headed rookie ~~Charlie Evans~~ Riddle Man possibly execute a salacious squash all over incredibly built, bigger and bigger every time we see him, ~~Damien Rush~~ Super Stud? A kryptonite plated walking stick, kiddies. That’s what levels the playing field, or, more accurately, levels the luscious man of steel, Super Stud.

Damien’s is big, but Charlie’s stick is bigger!

Muscle Domination Wrestling’s Super Men 4.4 is a perfect stocking stuffer for the homoerotic wrestling fan with a twink’s revenge fantasy deep inside. The contrast of skinny, snarling Charlie and magnificently muscled Damien is an enticing hook. Charlie’s green and orange tights hang loosely off his thin frame. This was also Bryce’s costume as Aqua Bryce, but I’m suspecting the Mastodon may have been the last MDW wrestler to squeeze is massive muscles into those tights before tossing them over to the lightweight rookie, because the ass sags halfway to Charlie’s knees without the prominent shelf and shapely glutes of the bigger boys at MDW to fill it out. In contrast, that same Super Stud suit we’ve seen Damien wear on multiple occasions has never fit tighter, never sucked into every crevice and stretch across so many mountainous bulges as it does in 4.4. Literally, Damien can no longer zip the lycra suit up all the way because his gargantuan shoulders and huge pecs can no longer be contained! There’s something extravagant and overcompensating about the suction packed super suit that makes the drapes and pleats of Charlie’s sagging tights seem somehow hungrier, more dangerous, more ripe with arousing potential for the brainiac high school nerd to get sweet, sweet satisfaction from the suffering letterman.

I’m sure I’m simply a sick puppy for getting turned on by the scene in Rob Zombie’s Halloween when the kid version of Michael Myers gets revenge for getting bullied at school by ambushing his bigger tormentor in the woods and beating the shit out of him (literally) with a tree branch. Yeah, that’s just fucked up, I realize, but I’m just being honest. I took my fair share of bullying torment as a skinny academic all star, so I’m sure it says everything about me that I’ve got a hair trigger for the twink’s revenge narrative in 4.4.

But unlike Michael Myers, Charlie Evans has more on his mind than homicidal brutality. He mercilessly taunts the bulging super hero as he pounds his kryptonited cane into Damien’s very prominent pouch. “I don’t think your super crotch here has seen enough action,” Charlie gloats. Not nearly satisfied enough, he dives in and wraps the fingers of his right hand around Damien’s mountainous crotch, squeezing, manipulating, crushing the nearly comically virile hunk into a writhing, impotent pile of meat.

Charlie lords it over his magnificently muscled prey.

Like the vicious twink avatar he is, Charlie doesn’t just drive home the blunt end of his walking stick, he drives him the utter humiliation that all those gorgeous, lovingly sculpted muscles are completely useless. The jock’s pride and joy, his never fail cocktease physique is laid to ruin by a lightweight 4 inches shorter and, according to their wrestler profiles, 70 pounds lighter.

Things to come, Super Stud. Things to come.

Things really start to turn sexy when Charlie pounds the end of his walking stick into Damien’s fabulously meaty glutes. “Time to soften you up before I get a little touchy-feely. I don’t know which is more fun,” Charlie chuckles. “Your front, or your back.” As I’m screaming at the screen “his ASS!!!” Charlie rolls the writhing hunk to his stomach and digs his fingertips into those meaty, shrink wrapped glutes. “I can work with this, I think,” Charlie says appreciatively. “This will be a lot of fun to play with!” He grabs both cheeks and shakes the meat enthusiastically. “I’m going to have a blast back here!” he promises.

“This will be a lot of fun to play with!”

“You might look pretty bad, but you feel pretty nice!” Charlie coos, getting good and handsy feeling up Damien’s sweetly suffering muscles. “You’re going to be my slave!” the twink on a rampage promises.

As is the norm at MDW, this is a squash, and other than ball claws, stomping, and assault with a blunt weapon, there’s not a strong reference to professional wrestling in the narrative. It’s a domination match, through and through, and setting my imagination into overdrive for what a skinny, horny, vengeful nerd might do with a battered, conquered, and sleepered jock tormentor at his mercy, Super Men 4.4 scratches an itch for me right. “And now you’re mine to play with…”

The Rookie Wrecker Returns

December 22, 2015 wrestlebard2 Comments

I find it nearly impossible to refrain from commenting when Lon Dumont stars in a new release. Capping off a sensational year, Lon does what, I believe, Lon does best in Gut Bash 12: wreck the fuck out of rookies.

0202_lg — Gorgeous new rookie Carlos Ortega makes his debut in Gut Bash 12.

I realize that I can neglect talking enough about a wrestler when I’m such a raging fan of his opponent, so let me take a little time up front to welcome hot, ripped, lithe, lovely rookie Carlos Ortega to the homoerotic wrestling universe. Is there anything more mouthwatering than a ripped, achingly young, lusciously lipped newbie climbing into the ring in white trunks and sporting a pony tail? The adorable kid has an awesome attitude. Sure, he works the time tested, well worn path of the cocky, naive young hottie convinced of his own destiny. But as the tussle rages back and forth with one of the most tried and true pro heels in the business, Carlos takes a beating and keeps crawling back for more. He gives nothing away to the sizzling hot, fabulously fit wrestler turned bodybuilder turned wrestler Lon Dumont. Lon’s got to earn it.

h0204_lg — Silly rookie think grabbing the ropes will offer him any reprieve from Lon’s relentless assault.

Earn it, he does. There’s something of waves crashing to shore about Lon when he’s executing a crushing, grinding, weathering assault on a hot young kid like this. Rakes to the eyes, ab stretches, grinding knees digging deep into the kid’s core initiate adorable young Carlos into the harsh realities of pro wrestling. Somehow, the babyface beauty keeps insisting that his abs put the bodybuilder’s six-pack to shame. Have you SEEN Lon’s abs!? (Oh, sorry, my infatuation with Lon popped up there).

0216_lg — Fuck, I want a ticket for that ride!

I’ve got a Pavlovian response to watching Lon prop himself up on the ropes and hang there with an opponent squirming like a bug stuck between his sensational scissors. That’s what squeezes a screaming, “I QUIT!” from the hot young initiate first, slapping at Lon’s boots in a frantic, humiliating tap out.

“You put up a pretty good fight,” Lon concedes, hovering over the pile of broken promises and dreams lying in a heap at his feet. “You impressed me today, buddy.” True, Lon then proceeds to kick the kid viciously while he’s way down and way out, but seriously, any newbie who can earn that much praise from the notoriously unimpressed Mr. Dumont deserves a second look.

0222_lg — Carlos busts his knuckles and nearly knocks himself out trying to break down Lon’s granite core.

Lon gives him another 10 minutes of soul crushing gut bashing, delivering to us a glimpse of the depths of suffering young Carlos can suck on and still remain conscious. My favorite moment of this match, by far, is when the battered babyface swings for the fences, driving full force, drilling jabs punching squarely into Lon’s muscled core. Lon sucks it down, but Carlos suddenly cradles his right fist, trying to shake the numbness away. Fervently, he starts punching with his left fist, determined not to relinquish momentum, only to abruptly cradle his left fist against his chest, clearly now having damaged both paws futilely pounding at the granite sculpture that is Lon’s phenomenal, award winning bodybuilder core. A note of panic creeps across the kid’s face. Determined to throw everything and the kitchen sink against the veteran heel, in desperation Carlos drives a diving head butt down into his opponent’s abdominals. The kid comes up, swaying sickeningly, having nearly knocked himself out on Mr. Dumont’s famously fit gut.

0225_lg — Oh, rook. That pony tail was destined for this!

Lon doesn’t disappoint fans aching to see Carlos’ irresistible hair handle get yanked. Truthfully, the kid has been out COLD from a skull rattling bull dog well before the unsatisfied heel drags him to his feet by his hair. He hangs him in the ropes, awakening the kid from the respite of unconsciousness back into the nightmare of being the helpless target of a bodybuilder with pro wrestling expertise.

h0221_lg — Wake up and smell the humiliation, newbie!

“Still undisputed, baby!” Lon crows, patting his trophy-ready, ripped six-pack proudly as the kid hangs humiliatingly from the ropes. So fucking true. In fact, it’s been a full two years since Kid Karisma last snatched title of my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler from Lon’s grasp, but with this exceptionally entertaining follow up to Lon’s inaugural Wrestler Spotlight DVD earlier this year, I’m announcing that Lon has retaken my fondest fanaticism from Kid K by a hair’s breadth.

0218_lg — Once again, neverland’s undisputed reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler: Lon Dumont!

Somehow, I doubt this will be the last of Kid K’s praises here at neverland. And of course the best evidence of which of these hot, hot wrestlers shines brightest would be a head-to-head battle of the titans in 2016. Oh, homoerotic wrestling gods, hear my prayer…

Chocolat au Lait

December 21, 2015 wrestlebard7 Comments

Although I consider professional wrestling as my gateway drug, hooking me early and setting me up for a lifetime of getting turned on by wrestling, I don’t follow mainstream straight up pro much at all anymore. However, even I know that there’s a little something special under the tree for Indy pro wrestling fans who also enjoy the homoerotic side of the scene. BG East’s new release Gut Bash 11 features 2015 standout indy pro turned homoerotic heartthrob, Chet Chastain, climbing into the ring with his honest to god Indy pro tag team partner, wrestling for BGE as Brice “Big Mamma” Moore.

“You have shitty abs,” Brice Moore snarls at his former tag team partner.

The pretty quotient spikes dramatically, with both Chet and Brice being dazzlingly beautiful. So many of the homoerotic wrestlers who come by way of the mainstream scene are cut from the harsh, rough edged, burly badass side things. I mean, it’s absolutely true that I find the like of Guido Genatto, Flash LaCash, and Lane Hartley infinitely fuckable, but I wouldn’t put them in the pretty pile. Sexy as fuck, yes. Pretty, no. The leading men from the dazzlingly beautiful corner of the homoerotic wrestling stable seem more likely to find their way to one of our rings by way of being go go boys, dancers, fitness competitors or underwear models. But despite living in the meat grinder of the Indy pro circuit, Chet and Brice are nothing if not dazzlingly beautiful, pin-up-beefcake.

They also show up with some palpable chemistry that I have to imagine comes only with spending thousands of hours together working out, practicing, traveling and wrestling out of the same corner night after night. In Gut Bash 11, the two accomplished pretty boys are on the outs, with sibling rivalry gone horribly wrong. There’s apparently an ongoing debate between them regarding which of them earns the loudest cheers, which hot body possesses the most fanatical followers, which member of the sexy combo carries more than his fair share of the burden of making them a brilliant, successful pro wrestling tag team.

As you might imagine, kicking off a product called “Gut Bash” means that, specifically, Chet and Brice are focusing on whose ripped abs are most awesome. Personally, I think settling this question would really require a blogger and a bottle of baby oil to be on hand, but Chet and Brice do an admirable job of taunting, testing, and tenderizing each other with a level of heat that only lover, brothers, or tag team champs could possibly generate.

There’s something totally over the top about this match. As someone who is always looking for compelling ring personalitities, my cup runneth over as Chet and Brice snarl and snap, monologue and improvise non-stop. I have no idea where Brice came up with calling himself “Big Mamma.” It’s apropos of nothing I can see. Chet appears genuinely taken aback by it. But Brice owns it, lives it, makes me find myself astonishingly muttering the words, “fuck, yes, do it Big Mamma” at the screen, which is a phrase this Kinsey 6 has never said, thought, or even considered in my life.

The wrestling is similarly over the top. A frustrated Chet literally bites the gorgeously bulging abdominals of his mouthwateringly sexy tag team partner. The spirit of the match is highly competive, momentum teetering back and forth, but these boys really shine in those moments when one stud is firmly in control. There’s a recurring theme of the taunting coach, barking and intimidating his opponent into obediently doing sit-ups in the middle of the ring to “get those shitty abs into shape.” “Scream my name!” Brice commands when he’s got his hands wrapped around Chet’s throat. “Whose house is it!?!” he demands. “Big…. Mamma’s house!” Chet screeches in a panic.

“How about I shove your balls into your abs?!”

I hear that crotch claws may be breaking into mainstream pro, but I have to think that Chet and Brice haven’t had their hands on each other’s junk this much ever before. Brice grabs momentum (aka, Chet’s cock) with vicious enthusiasm, before grabbing the back of Chet’s head in hand and shoving his partner’s coverboy face into his own bulging package. Chet battles back to follow his partner into the dark side of homoerotic pro wrestling villainy. “You want to grab my dick, Big Mamma? You want to put your dick in my face, Big Mamma!?” He stomps his boot heel viciously into Brice’s big bulge with abandon, grabbing him by the ankles and driving the sole of his boot brutally into his partner’s balls. “How about I shove your balls into your abs of steel?”

Watch the match if you want to relieve the suspense of finding out whose abs earn bragging rights when all is said and done. As for me, it’s the other, implied contest that I’m ready to settle here and now. Which of these dazzlingly beautiful pro pretty boys own my most heart pounding adoration? When push comes to shove, if forced to decide which luscious hunk makes me cheer loudest, sweat hardest, and ache to see more of most, I’ll kick Chet’s munchable ass right out of bed to make room for the incredibly classic physique of Brice.

The last time a BG East debut captivated me quite as completely as Big Mamma, I was beginning a perpetual crush as president of the Lon Dumont fan club (just try to wrestle that title off my hands!). Brice is larger than life, with an aggressive, confident, cocky personality that can barely be squeezed inside the confines of a wrestling ring, much less manage to share it with anyone else. And speaking of squeezing into tight confines, that body!!! Holy fuck. Massive, broad, boulder shoulders, meaty pecs, ripped abs, TINY waist blossoming into an unbelievably gorgeous muscle ass, and beautifully, powerful legs… again I say, holy fuck, this man is stunning. And that face. Roaring and in charge, adrenaline pumping out his pores as he snarls and snaps, Brice has the unmistakable look of a potential header liner of a Fantasyman release in 2016.

Not that I’m not infatuated with Chet, mind you. But if these two egos absolutely required me to pick sides, and essentially, that is the real competition in Gut Bash 11, I’ll smack Chet’s fine, fine ass and send him packing for a full contact meet and greet with every beautiful inch of Brice “Big Mamma” Moore.

How about you? Team Chet or team Brice? And who do we have to blow to get to see these boys bring their over the top Indy pro tag team cred and barely maintained detente to a homoerotic tag team match? Come on, 2016. Let’s see some dreams come true.

	Chris H on Not Exactly the Worst Pla…
	wrestlebard on Not Exactly the Worst Pla…
	Scott THUNDER Willia… on Not Exactly the Worst Pla…
	Steve Lerman on Not Exactly the Worst Pla…
	wrestlebard on Rumble Again