I think Muscle Master Kevin at Muscle Domination Wrestling may have taken it personally when I mentioned in the past my predilection for seeing more mature muscle daddies beat down cocky young bucks (hello, Mitch Colby, let me introduce you to Alexi Adamov). Not to mention my fawning adoration of muscle daddy Matt Thrasher who became an instant infatuation starring in Daddy’s Home.
“Daddy’s got some big guns here!”
Well, daddy’s back in ZZZZZ 6, and he loves his gorgeous, big, beautiful muscles almost as much as I do. “Yeah, look at that,” Matt says, flexing for the camera. “Daddy’s got some big guns here! Daddy’s the Man!” True on all points, as far as I’m concerned. Fuck, I’m into this hunk hard. Salt-and-pepper hair across his chest and ass. Sensationally thick legs, meaty pecs. Deep, gravely baritone with a hint of kicking a bad smoking habit a couple of years ago. I’ve never really wanted to be anyone’s daddy or anyone’s boy, but I’d donate a kidney (I’ve got a spare, right?) to get in the ring with Big Daddy Matt with a bottle of baby oil and a certainty that that jock strap is coming off.
Big Daddy Matt Thrasher has grabbed the attention of Muscle Master Kevin.
Perhaps too much fawning attention from a blogger attracted a little too much of the wrong sort of attention at MDW. Muscle Master Kevin slips into the ring and steals up from behind big Matt. Silently he observes the gun show, smirking, studying. Then BOOM, he’s got his massive, bulging bicep wrapped around big Matt’s throat like an anaconda.
“Oh, yeah, you’re looking pretty good…”
“Oh yeah, you are looking pretty good,” Kevin acknowledges. “Do you know what’s going to look a lot better, though? My meaty arms wrapped around your neck.” I have to admit, the pathos of watching my erotic champ get subdued is intensely provocative. I’m breathless, wanting Big Daddy Matt to rally. I want him to smother Kev’s ridiculously pretty babyface between his hairy pecs. I want Matt to grunt and growl and trap Kev’s head in a face-to-crotch headscissors and be forced to watch his big daddy yank out his meat and pound one out in victory.
“You’re a big boy!”
But alas, this is MDW. This is Muscle Master Kevin’s kingdom, and there’s more than a whiff of inevitability about big Matt turning to jelly, a fraction too quickly, once Kev’s got him in his sights and, more to the point, in his sleeper. “You are a big boy,” Kevin concedes, “but all the big boys here need to get taught a lesson by Master Kevin.” While my heart is breaking watching my sex gladiator champ get owned, I’m happily surprised by the attention that MMK gives to Matt’s beautiful body. “All these big muscles right here,” Kevin slaps Matt’s bulging pecs. “All of them being manhandled by me!” Sometimes in the more sub-dom-forward scenarios as MDW, I’m left a little cold with the lack of explicit acknowledgement that these are two hot, muscled bodies locked together. MMK hands out praise by the eye dropper full, typically. So there’s something even more pleasurable that he acknowledges repeatedly what a fucking big, powerful, hunk of a mature man Mattie is.
“These biceps are mine!”
Kevin also acknowledges he’s followed Matt’s career at MDW. He knows what a dominant muscle daddy he’s been. He knows how he’s not just crushed the ankle biter competition, but shoved his big, fat cock down their throats. And the humbled pups have loved every second. “Thing is, Big Daddy Matt, I’m not just any young muscle,” Kevin warns him, rousing him once again for more muscle humiliation. “I’m The Young Muscle!” He flexes in his face, but Matt’s too groggy to appreciate the view. “How does it feel to be dominated by that young muscle?” Matt’s too fucked up already to answer. So it sort of feels like MMKevin is really taunting me and my stated crush on watching big muscle daddyies like Matt take young studs to school and back. He isn’t just dethroning my sex gladiator champ, he’s rubbing my face in it. “I can do whatever I want with you now,” Kevin snarls. “I can do whatever the fuck I please!” He grabs Matt’s massive biceps and squeezes possessively. “These biceps are mine. Your body is MINE!”
Maturity and experience go down for the count. Damn it.
Matt Thrasher’s fall from my sex gladiator champ podium to getting ground under MMK’s boot is sublime. It’s a squash, of course (did I mention this was MDW?). There’s precious little reason for this to happen in a ring, because battered Matt doesn’t move more than about 6 inches in any direction from the middle of the ring. Kevin’s army of fans, and I know they are legion, will love the relentless monologuing, but fuck, I’m wanting him to shut the fuck up long enough for me to hear big Matt’s groans and whimpers. But the scene tells the story of power and muscle spoiled, confidence shattered. It’s a crippling salvo in the ages old battle of youth and audacity against maturity and experience.
“Who’s your Daddy!?”
“Who’s your fucking daddy?” Kevin demands as Matt teeters on the edge of unconsciousness once again. “You are,” Matt mutters thickly.
“Who’s your fucking master!?”Youth wins the day.
“Who’s your fucking master!?” Kevin barks. “You’re my master,” my conquered sex gladiator champ mumbles in heart wrenching honesty.
The first match on BG East’s new Florida Fights 5 compilations stars 2 friends of this blog, Ty Alexander and Mason Brooks. Well, let’s get real. The stars of this match are Ty’s bubble butt and Mason’s magnificent pecs topped off perfectly by his luscious nipples. At least, those are the elements that invariably hold my attention when either of these beautiful boys wrestles, and once again, that ass and those nips do not disappoint.
Can Mason do it in the ring?
Frankly, honestly, I was marginally skeptical when I pushed play. For one thing, Mason is a standout mat wrestler with sensational amateur wrestling credibility, but we’ve never seen him set foot in a ring before. Translating mat excellence to ring success is tough (just ask beefy newbie Adam Atom). More than just tough when it comes to tallying victories, it’s tough for a lot of guys to adapt to the geography and scale of the ring. Engaging ring action is 3 dimensional, with as much drama and sell happening on their feet and in the air as on the mat. It demands more movement than the tight confines of, say, the Wrestle Shack or the BG East mat room. If everything happened scrambling on hands and knees in the middle of the ring, I’d think of it as a waste of a ring. And particularly a waste of ring ropes, turnbuckles, and that sensational liminal space just beyond the ropes where audacity and lawlessness exponentiate the potential of a ring match into those homoerotically thrilling elements of psychological domination, humiliation, and sadistic brutality. Of course, Ty’s been learning the ropes of ring wrestling since his debut with BG East, quickly turning into a very popular jobber with a beautiful booty and a sensational sell. But pitting him against a ring virgin like Mason could have produced a disappointing mismatch in both the sell and the exploitation of all that ring wrestling can offer to a homoerotically turned eye like mine.
Mason can take possession of that ass on the mat at any time.
And then Mason does what Mason does, and I’m instantly so fucking into him! Of the things that I love about Mason, his sharpness has got to be at the top of the list. Well, right underneath his nipples. But that smirk and his Philosophy 404 approach to mat banter and taunts turn me on so damn delightfully. By all rights, Ty should be the upperclassman here. And he tries to pull out the thump-the-newbie card as the match unfolds, “teaching” Mason a collar and elbow start. But someone, and I’m guessing his initials are “KL,” has clearly been tutoring Mason in making the jump into the ring smooth as silk, and there’s just no denying the hot, heart pumping delight of Mason hazing the fuck out of his slack jawed, beautifully assed opponent.
Mason’s got a handle on what fans love so much about Ty.
“The Boss tells me that I should give you a work out in the ring,” Mason explains when Ty is perplexed to find this mat expert perched atop a turnbuckle waiting for him. “Wait, did he say ‘work out,’ or ‘work over?'” Mason smirks, hopping off the turnbuckle and approaching the notorious jobber. Ty’s assets are both obvious and easily underestimated. If you follow him on Facebook, you know that he’s been on a terror lately to build muscle mass, to increase his stamina, to button down his smooth core in order to be taken more seriously in the ring. He’s so pretty, it’s little wonder he’s been feeling the need to square off some of his round edges a bit. But his fans love him because he wrestles all in. He’s thrown his body fearlessly in the way of seasoned heels twice Mason’s size, and he suffers with that authenticity that grabs you by the base of the balls. Yeah, fans love the smooth, pretty preppy crushed and spoiled. And his ass. Fans really love that ass.
Mason is “starting to get the hang of this.”
There’s a little narrative around Mason demonstrating he can spank that ass at will with classic amateur wrestling, inspiring a pissed off Ty to challenge the ring virgin to wrestle like a pro. The moment Mason bounces off the ropes and nearly rips Ty’s pretty head off his neck with a full speed clothesline, it’s clear that although Mason may be a ring virgin, he’s well lubed.
Mason knows what the ropes are good for.
My favorite exchange in the epiphany of Mason completely owning the ring and his opponent’s ass is when Ty is spitting mad with his arms tied up in the ring ropes. Mason takes his time, which could just be that novice need to think it through, but manages to turn the simmer up to a roiling boil in my crotch. He punches Ty’s gut, checking out how that fitness regimen is coming along. Along the way, he tugs heartily at Ty’s red trunks to multiply the impact of his fists pounding viciously into the kid’s gut. Fuck, I love the trunk pull gut punch. Fuck, I love that Mason picks that up like he’s been tying chumps in the ropes and yanking on their trunks for decades.
“What do you think of my chest?”
But then Mason shoves his mouthwatering (literally, I’m wiping drool from the corners of my mouth just writing about it right now) pecs in Ty’s face and smacks down some super sweet muscle domination. “What do you think of my chest?” he asks. I don’t think Ty answers him, but I can’t be entirely sure because I’m shouting at the screen, “I fucking love your chest, Mason!” Soaked in sweat, he humiliatingly drags Ty’s pretty face back and forth across his beautiful pecs. “Do you want a chest like mine?” Mason asks the would be gym bunny. Ty is impotently furious, tied up and forced to be Mason’s plaything. The only thing that could make this moment hotter would have been for Ty to have been forced to suck on one of those priceless doubloons Mason calls his nipples.
Mason stays on script like the pro he is.
There’s a sensation pairing here of Mason’s unhurried, scientific sadism and Ty’s increasingly unhinged, panicked agony. As we’ve seen in his mat work, Mason is chill even as sweat pours down the crevasse between his worship-worthy pecs. How is it possible I can’t find a vial of that perspiration on eBay? There’s a calmness about him that compliments his relentless, savage torture to perfection. But as any fan knows, it takes a bitter, frustrated, increasingly terrorized until finally screaming in agony and complete submission sort of opponent to truly exploit the homoeroticism of this type of match. Ty is losing his shit even as Mason is beating it out of him with total control and fabulous presence.
Classic.
There’s a sleeper to seal the deal, but before that is my second favorite moment in this match, when Mason hoists his toy across his shoulders and parades Ty around the ring. I don’t know if Mason thinks of the rack as his signature hold, but I’m beginning to. It shows off everything that’s so right about Mason’s body, while driving home that most homoerotic of plot points, signaling that one ambitious young hunk is now completely under the control and at the mercy of his opponent. Mason’s sweet pecs glistening with sweat. His dapper dan haircut matted across his forehead. Ty’s bronzed body hanging limply, his arms bobbing up and down as Mason shifts his weight from foot to foot. It’s not quite as tasty as the same maneuver applied to Drake Marcos when both studs were stripped naked in Passion & Punishment. But the same hold set within the context of the pro wrestling ring is definite value added for me.
I’m sold!
What I’m left with at the end of this match, other than an empty water bottle and a hot shower, are two things. First, we know for a fact that young Ty, while a phenomenal jobber, can at least at moments hold his own in the ring. I hope we see Ty in fewer squashes, against more opponents with whom he can show off what those meaty thighs can do and that boatload of brutal beatings has taught him. Second, there will remain a shadowed corner of sadness in my soul until I get to see Mason Brooks climb back in the wrestling ring and continue to live into the sensational, personality-forward wrestling character he embodies who has never shined quite so bright as when he was surrounded by ring ropes.
Just to recap, I was inspired by a recent Details magazine cover featuring their 31 “hottest” male fashion models of the upcoming season. It’s not the first time I’ve transplanted the very definition of “pretty boys” into my homoerotic wrestling fiction. Won’t be the last. Thus far, American Sean O’Pry beat Brit beauty Will Chalker with a 3-count cock pin, and Brit footballer John Halls pumped out a last millisecond forced-to-cum victory over a surprisingly adept sex gladiator Hamid Onifade. On Monday, you were invited to vote for who you want to see win in the next match, pitting Canadian media star Noah Mills against mustachioed Aussie Jarrod Scott. Finally, a reader emailed me (thanks, JH!) to offer his take on the means of victory in this match, which I happily incorporate into my vision of how this all unfolds…
Aussie Jarrod Scott (l) vs. Canadian Noah Mills (r)
Even as the bell rings, Noah and Jarrod are circling the ring, sizing one another up. They’re evenly matched in height, with Jarrod owning no more than about 5 pounds of additional super-lean muscle mass on the Canadian. As they press toward one another in the center of the ring, reaching for a collar and elbow, Noah smoothly grabs the Aussie’s left wrist and ducks behind him, twisting the captured arm hard and high up Jarrod’s back. Jarrod grimaces in pain, slapping his left shoulder and trying to turn his torso to relieve the pressure. Noah glances down at the Aussie’s naked bum, two beautifully muscled globes framed by the narrow straps of his jock. “I love the gear choice,” Noah coos in Jarrod’s ear. “Easy access once I’ve made you my bitch.” With a growl, the Aussie ducks and steps backward, reversing the hammerlock and shoving Noah’s wrist so high it makes the Canadian bounce on the balls of his feet. “Don’t bet on it!” he rumbles.
Jarrod sports more muscle mass than your typical fashion model.
Just as Noah starts to shift his weight to reverse again, Jarrod jabs his bare right foot directly behind his opponent’s right knee. Noah drops like a grain sack to his knees, and instantly the Aussie wraps his bulging left arm across Noah’s throat, maintaining the hammerlock with his right hand. “Oh, fuck you’re making this easy, son,” Jarrod chuckles, squeezing his opponent’s throat tight and making Noah’s eyes bulge in panic. Ref Jared Prudoff hovers nearby, watching the action closely for an early submission or choke out. Noah clutches at the Aussie’s choking left arm with his free hand, but the panic really sets in as his opponent releases the hammerlock and drops to his right knee, digging his left knee into the Canadian’s back while bending him backward. Swiftly shifting the position of his arm, Jarrod bears down on a dragon sleeper, stretching Noah’s muscled torso out beautifully. “You’re just rolling over for it now, aren’t you?” the Aussie chuckles. “You walked in here desperate to get my cock up your ass, now didn’t you?” He stretches his arm forward, stroking the palm of his hand slowly down the ridges of his opponent’s stretched abs and playfully tugging at the bulging pouch of Noah’s red bikini briefs. The ref drops to one knee behind the Aussie, next to Noah’s beet red face. “Give?” he asks. The Canadian can’t talk, but his opponent answers for him. “Oh, fuck, no!” Jarrod snarls, unceremoniously dropping Noah to his back and climbing to his feet. “I haven’t had near enough fun yet.”
“I haven’t had near enough fun yet!”
The arching bulge in Jarrod’s pouch suggests the fun has begun for him, though. He leans over and drags his sputtering opponent up to his feet, shoves him in the chest, and throws him into the ring ropes. Noah bounces off and takes a savage clothesline across his throat, slamming him back down to the mat violently. Jarrod chuckles, watching him writhe and kick in agony, clutching his abused throat. Again, he bends forward and drags Noah up by a handful of damp, sweaty hair. He shoves him in the chest, sending him bouncing off the ropes again. Smoothly, he hooks his right arm between Noah’s sprinting legs and his left arm across his collarbone, scooping him up and using the Canadian’s own momentum to swing him high into the air before power slamming him down to the mat with a bang. Noah is momentarily motionless, his face screwed up in pain, eyes shut tightly. As Jarrod climbs to his feet, Noah starts shuddering in choked sobs, arching his lower back off the mat. ‘Too easy,” the Aussie mumbles, momentarily shoving his right hand into his jock pouch and throttling his cock eagerly. Again, he bends forward and drags his nearly defenseless opponent up by his hair, shoves him in the chest, and sends Noah into, and then catapulting off the ropes. Facing him square on, Jarrod wraps his muscled arms around his opponent and hoists him high up off his feet in a brutal bearhug. Noah digs his knees into his opponent’s hips to try to release a fraction of the pressure bearing down on his lower back. Noah cocks his fist and pulls it up in preparation for punch to the face, but Jarrod blocks the maneuver by simply shaking the captured Canadian violently back and forth like a rag doll. “Oh, I don’t think so, son!” Jarrod chuckles, hoisting his opponent higher up in his grip, grinding his arms into Noah’s kidneys and leaving him hanging head and shoulders over the Aussie’s right shoulder. “This meat’s starting to brown, ref, you might want to check and see if he’s done now!”
Noah isn’t done yet.
“Do you give?” the ref barks at the back of Noah’s head hanging limply down the muscled upper back of his tormentor. No response “Do you give, Noah?” the ref repeats the question louder, checking whether the Canadian has passed out. As if in response, suddenly Noah stretches his arms down Jarrod’s back and grabs the straps of the Aussie’s jock, violently yanking them up Jarrod’s crack. “Aw, FUCK!” Jarrod shouts furiously, dropping his opponent in shock. Suddenly grabbing him by the back of the head with both hands, Noah drives his right knee up, brutally bashing into the Aussie’s balls. Jarrod’s knees buckle. He crumples to the ground in a heap, clutching his balls. Swinging his right knee smoothly across his body, Noah lands a skull crunching knee strike to Jarrod’s right cheek. The Aussie slams to his side, his right hand clutching his balls, his left hand cradling his throbbing face.
Noah flexes back!
Jared (the ref, that is) is close at hand, checking whether the Aussie can continue. He’s not about to throw in the towel, but also can’t pry himself up off the mat for a good minute and a half, as his opponent shakes off his early struggles and builds up a head of steam. Noah finally descends on his opponent, who’s managed to reach his hands and knees. Up by a handful of hair, Noah shoves him in the chest and forces Jarrod into and bouncing off the ropes. The Canadian’s clothesline literally flips Jarrod summersaulting in mid-air, landing with a wet slap of sweaty flesh. “Fucking TOO EASY!” Noah snarls, spitting on his opponent’s back. Hands on hips, sucking down air, Noah takes a quick lap around his opponent before dragging him up by a handful of hair again. Again, he shoves him into the ropes, deftly scooping him up on the rebound and delivering a picture-perfect retribution power slam. Clearly exhausted, Noah lies there on top of his opponent long enough for the ref to drop to the mat and slap down a 2 count. “No!” Noah snarls, grabbing his opponent’s mustache between his thumbs and forefingers and dragging him off the mat screaming in pain. “Not enough fun!” Noah shouts in the ref’s face. “He wants more fucking fun!” Thrown into and bouncing off the ropes again, Jarrod sprints into Noah’s waiting embrace, hoisted up off his feet in a bearhug. Jarrod’s face screws up in agony. His back arches in pain. He digs his knees into Noah’s hips defensively. “Give?” the ref barks.
Jarrod on hands and knees, slowly peels himself off the mat.
It doesn’t matter. Noah can’t hold the bearhug. He stumbles backward, letting go before tumbling to the mat entirely. Both models struggle to peel themselves up. Noah is first to his feet, but as he reaches down to grab his opponent by the hair, Jarrod grabs hold of the waist of Noah’s red bikini briefs and pulls hard. Noah loses his balance and stumbles forward, through the bottom two ropes and tumbling outside the ring. “Back in the ring!” the ref barks commandingly. As Noah slowly climbs up to his feet, one knee perched on the ring apron to pull himself up, Jarrod bolts to his feet, grabs the back of Noah’s head with both hands, and drops to his knees, choking the Canadian across the throat with the top rope. When he lets go, Noah is catapulted backward off the ring apron again, landing in a heap on the floor below. “I said inside the ring, boys!” the ref barks angrily.
The Aussie builds momentum
Noah crawls determinedly back to the ring apron, pulling himself up, one knee, then the next, using the ropes. But when he reaches his feet, Jarrod’s elbow to the face makes him spin around, knees buckling, reaching for the ropes to hold him up. Deftly, Jarrod pulls the middle rope up and over his opponent’s shoulders, tying up him up. “Almost back in the ring,” the ref chides. Jarrod ignores him, stepping through the ropes and standing in front of his trussed up opponent. “Yeah, I still want some more fun!” the Aussie snarls. He digs his fingertips into Noah’s pecs, yanking savagely at the muscle. The Canadian screams. The ref is calling for a break in the hold, a return to action inside the ring. Jarrod ignores him, digging at Noah’s flesh relentlessly. Sweat pouring from his brow, finally he lets go. Prying Noah’s face upward by a handful of hair, he stares at his opponent’s handsome, slack face. “Oh yeah, I want more fun,” he snarls, forcefully planting an violent kiss across Noah’s open mouth. Both of the Aussie’s hands dive into the front of Noah’s briefs. His left hand cupping his balls, his right hand starting to jerk him off, Noah gasps mid-kiss, his hips pulling backward. Jarrod pulls his mouth away. “More fun,” he mutters, dropping to the floor and yanking his opponent’s bikini briefs down his long legs in the process.
Tied up and defenseless, Noah loses his trunks.
“Inside the ring,” the ref repeats ineffectually. Jarrod wraps his left arm behind Noah’s waist and pulls him forward, starting to crank on his swelling cock again with his right hand. “Oh yeah, this is more fun,” Jarrod smirks, spitting into this hand as he jerks his opponent’s cock to full mast. Noah groans in a panic, feeling himself careening to an orgasm. Abruptly, Jarrod lets go, making his opponent whimper. “Yeah, yeah,” Jarrod interrupts the ref before he can repeat himself, “let’s take this back inside the ring!” Climbing through the ropes, he releases Noah’s arms and drags the Canadian’s sagging, naked body back inside the ring. “Fun, fun, fun,” Jarrod mutters with a smile as he pulls Noah to his feet. Another lingering kiss makes Noah’s eyes flutter, his knees buckling, held up only by his opponent’s arms around his waist. Suddenly bending to his right, Jarrod wraps his arms around Noah’s waist, flipping the Canadian upside as he stands erect. Suspended in mid-air, upside down, Noah is incoherent when Jarrod wraps his lips around his rock hard cock. The Aussies sucks so hard it makes Noah’s back arch involuntarily. He’s losing control, his balls starting to constrict, on the brink of cumming.
Jarrod works all the angles.
Until suddenly Jarrod drops to his knees, pile driving the top of Noah’s head savagely into the mat. Noah crumples to the mat in a heap, before being quickly thrown to his back by his opponent. Licking his lips, Jarrod smirks, “That’s about all the fun I’m in the mood for.” He grabs Noah’s right ankle and folds him up, leaning back and planting his naked, muscled ass across his opponent’s unconscious face. “Let’s do this!” the Aussie barks at the ref. Jarod Prudoff slaps down a deliberate, unhurried 3-count. It could be 50 for all Noah will remember. The ref grabs Jarrod’s right wrist and pulls him to his feet, hand over head in victory.
Way to go, Jarrod, and thanks again to JH for that cock sucking reverse piledriver finisher! I’m allowing one more pair of elite fashion model pretty boys to try to claim a spot in the semi final round of the Hottest of the Hottest competition. Out of 31 studs on the cover of Details, it’s tough to narrow the field down to just 8. But that’s the kind of high pressure decisions you pay me to make. So for the last round, climbing into the ring with our illustrious hunk ref Jared Prudoff, are the final two contenders for the title.
Daisuke Ueda
Daisuke Ueda is the lone Asian contender for the title, which is emblematic of our Western biases about masculinity and male beauty, I’m sure. The 28 year old Japanese hunk is astonishingly lean with that 6’1″ frame. He wears a simple black speedo and nothing else as he stretches in one corner of the ring, staring across at his opponent.
Classic Nordic god, Alex Lundqvist
Said opponent is 6’2″ senior statesman of the field at 43 years old, Swedish bombshell Alex Lundqvist. At just one inch taller, he packs on 20 pounds more ripped muscle mass than his opponent. The Nordic hunk wears very brief baby blue trunks and a matching blue elbow wrap around on his left arm. He jogs in place, warming up his muscles, as his big pecs bounce eagerly.
Referee Jared calls for the bell
The ref calls for the bell, and…
Unlike the last match, this is a face off of contrasts. Who do you see having his wrist raised in homoerotic wrestling victory? Vote below, and comment with your suggestions about precisely what victory looks like between Daisuke and Alex.
The release of BG East’s 3rd installment of their summer catalog #103 sent my heart racing. In particular, the Florida Fights 5 compilation grabbed my attention by the balls with a line up of wrestlers directly out of several of my fondest fantasies. Nipple-tastic Mason Brooks stepping into the ring for the first time, facing sunsetting HWOTM jobber extraordinaire Ty Alexander is all sorts of titillating. The promise of one of the most gorgeous muscle men in competition, Tyrell Tomsen, throttling the fuck out of Jobe Zander’s mammoth “Centerpiece” just leaves me breathless thinking about it. One of my all-time favorite wrestler emeritus, Mitch Colby shoving underwear model Rio Garza’s face hard and often into his hungry crotch is enough, all on its own, to make me spot my trousers with pre-cum just writing this sentence. But I honestly did not know what I was missing in life before I got a chance to spend time with my remote control and the climactic final match in this compilation, starring Logan Vaughn’s gargantuan, hairy quads and Trey Dixon’s tongue.
Trey finds it tough to compete against a muscle god who’s making you melt.
I was first in line to savor Logan’s debut with BG East not long ago, facing off against juggernaut heel Lane Hartley in Hunkbash 15. I’d hoped for more of a contest back then, but as you might imagine, big Lane ripped Logan apart with his signature heartlessness. Logan was outclassed from start to finish, to put it mildly. Always one to ache for the thrill of competition, I was yet enthralled by the site of Logan, as green as can be, get the living shit beat out of him by one of the most seasoned, physically dominant, ice cold heels currently in the business. The unwritten rules of pro wrestling that I wish homoerotic pro lived within the confines of a little more still today include the juicy nugget that the hottest, prettiest, beefiest newbies to show up in the ring must, under any and all circumstances, get trashed like my used kleenex. For the hot homage to classic babyface initiation brutality, and to get to see Logan’s sensational ass and, have I mentioned his fucking fabulously huge thighs, in the BG East ring, I was a happy camper.
“I told you you couldn’t hand with this legs.”
After watching his sophomore appearance in Florida Fights 5, I fucking need a water bottle a smoke! I’m on record as being completely infatuated with Oscar-statue-come-to-life Trey Dixon, Logan’s opponent. There are a multitude of reasons Trey absolutely owned the title of HWOTM for his December 2014 new release Gear Wars 4. Now 8 months later, there’s this instant chemistry that starts titrating as soon as Trey climbs into the ring and faces the vision in green that is Logan Vaughn. They trade verbal barbs, but you can cut the sexual tension with a hatchet. Both super hot boys like what they see. I like what they see. Both of them can’t tear their attention away from Logan’s epic quads. He promises that he’ll use those humungous tree trunks to milk the last drop of cum and tears from Trey. Okay, he doesn’t actually say “cum and tears,” but I’m not exaggerating when I say that there’s one self-evident truth seconds into this match: whatever is about to happen, it’s going to be all about Logan’s luscious legs.
It’s all about those monster quads!
For many wrestling fans, the epiphany in this match is the sensationally sexy muscle worship that overcomes beautiful Trey not just once, not even merely twice, but on three separate occasions in this confrontation. For some reason, it takes me by surprise the first time one of the most erotic wrestlers in the business reaches up and breathlessly strokes Logan’s divine body. Had you been a fly on the wall here in chez Bard, you’d have heard me mutter with equal measures of shock and awe, “Oh, fuck yes!” Each of the 3 muscle worship moments is a plot point. The first happens relatively early on after Logan has demonstrated he can drive Trey to delirium the moment any part of the lean stud’s body gets trapped between his massive thighs. He commands Trey to remove his knee pads, which I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, he’s reading my mind as I desperately want to see the huge bulging heads on his superb quads. Trey obeys, his hands suddenly unable to resist touching every inch of the muscle god. The veteran appears rapt in primal lust and awe, slowly traversing Logan’s muscles from front to back. But suddenly, the stubborn stud exploits the moment to snap on an ambush full nelson.
Homoerotic wrestling holy sacrament
Muscle worship session #2 occurs after Trey has accumulated a bit of riding time, merely to be crushed and humiliated again, and again, and again by Logan’s hairy, sweaty (have I used the adjective “titanic” yet?) thighs. He’s submitted repeatedly, each time with less fuel left in his tank. Finally, he’s on nothing but fumes, staring up at his new dazzlingly beautiful god. He slowly crawls to his knees and begins to worship again. “Yeah, worship those muscles,” Logan commands. Trey obeys. “You wish you were this powerful. You wish you were this strong.” Trey licks the sweat from those stunning, hairy thighs. His tongue traces upward until his mouth envelops the hefty bulge hanging heavily in Logan’s pouch. You can see that Logan likes it, but like the divine taskmaster he is, he just silently lifts his arms and flexes his beautiful biceps, wordlessly willing his worshipper to adore every magnificent muscle. And Trey does, that sexy tongue licking up Logan’s ribcage, caressing his sweaty armpit, sampling those peaked biceps, and slowly traversing down Logan’s muscled back. It’s Trey biting Logan’s fantasyman ass that really sets off fireworks for me. Not hard, just genuinely, lustfully ravenous to taste this muscle Messiah’s flesh on his tongue in reverent homoerotic wrestling sacrament.
Logan has Trey all wrapped up.
This is some of the finest wrestling muscle worship I’ve ever seen, mind you. But as hot as it is, I have to say that the wrestling itself raises the bar even higher for me. It’s as if, having been so outmuscled and outclassed in his debut drubbing, Logan is pedaling down hill all the way with this smaller, relatively less experienced opponent who so obviously craves to be bent to a muscle god’s will. Both boys sell like champs, which isn’t such a revelation for Trey, but absolutely thrills me to no end with regard to Logan. The fabulous pornboy turned wrestler exploits his pride and joy tree trunks with holds I’ve never seen before and if I ever see again, will always remind me of Logan. Standing head scissors with Trey’s legs suspended from the middle turnbuckle are so completely dominating. Later, with Trey’s arms tied in the ropes, Logan somehow manages to wrap his opponent’s legs around his own colossal right leg and apply a suspended figure-4 leg lock that makes Trey scream in a panic. Logan doesn’t just convincingly dominate, he communicates beautifully a carnal delight in both delivering and witnessing this phenomenal beatdown of a ripped, hot stud like Trey.
Whatever the fuck this is, I adore it.
“Yeah, bitch,” Logan sneers, “don’t mess with the muscle!” But of course, that’s precisely what Trey is here to do. That’s exactly what I’m tuning in to admire. “Love the pain!” he barks in his opponent’s face, nearly making Trey’s face disappear between his inner thighs in an epically long crotch-to-face head scissors. “I like to watch you struggle,” Trey’s new master explains. And Trey obliges over and over and over.
“I like to watch you struggle”
Logan eventually knocks him the fuck out. He flexes, his soaked body glistening underneath the lights. Here and now, he owns this ring. And he most definitely owns Trey Dixon. “Come on,” he barks as Trey blinks back to consciousness, struggling to get his bearings. “You’ve got some more muscle worshipping to do!” Trey’s god commands, whistling him over like a lap dog. Trey obediently crawls on his hands and knees, obeying his master’s voice, drawn by the gravitational pull of the magnificent muscles flexing in the middle of the ring. On his knees yet again, he squeezes, strokes, licks…
Obeying his master
Um, if you can’t tell, I love this match. A lot. To say I highly recommend it is an under-statement.
Voting for the victor of the 2nd match of the Hottest of the Hottest model wrestling face off between Hamid Onifade and John Halls was again decisive. However, there were no suggestions about how you see the action unfolding, nothing about what type of victory, any particular holds or plot points. So leaving it up to me, this is the way I see things playing out…
Hamid Onifade versus John Halls
The bell rings and John Halls and Hamid Onifade cautiously circle the ring, as Jared Prudoff backs into a corner watching carefully. As they simultaneously reach forward to lock up, Hamid exploits his reach advantage to snap on a side headlock, grinding the handsome Brit’s bearded face against his ribcage. With a powerful twist to the side, he lifts John off his feet, sending flipping over and landing with a loud slam, Hamid still holding tight his head. “Fuck me,” John grunts in frustration, arching his lower back off the mat a few inches. “Yeah?” Hamid mutters in reply, sliding the palm of his right hand down his opponent’s ripped abs and underneath the top of John’s trunks. “Oh, fuck…” John gasps breathlessly, bridging higher. Hamid massages the Brit, instantly getting a rise from his eager cock. “Suck my nipple,” the black wrestler commands, pressing his left pec into the John’s face, his hand pumping harder.
John bristles when his opponent’s points out his weakness.
With a primal roar, John bench presses his opponent off of him, tossing Hamid across the ring. Both combatants quickly scramble to their feet. Hamid points at his opponent’s erection, bobbing erratically in the stretched pouch of his trunks. “I have something for that,” he winks, pursing his lips. John’s upper lip curls angrily as they begin to circle the ring again even more warily. As they move in to lock up, Hamid reaches for another side headlock, but John ducks behind and stretches his muscled arms underneath his opponent’s shoulders, cinching his fingers at the back of Hamid’s neck and flexing a powerful full nelson into place. Hamid grunts, trying to wriggle free, pressing his arms downward in a bid to break the hold. No go, as the beefy Brit easily outmuscles his long lean opponent, shaking him like a rag doll and making Hamid gasp in pain. The black stud slowly leans backward, pressing with his legs and again taking advantage of his height advantage to force the brutal embrace stumbling toward a corner. John shakes him harder, eliciting a yelp of pain, but again, Hamid presses backward until his captor is sandwiched between the turnbuckle and Hamid’s body. The Brit holds tight. The impact with the turnbuckle is negligible. It seems like a net zero gain for Hamid, until suddenly he arches his lower back, pressing his ass firmly against the Brit’s bulging pouch. John gasps, as he feels his opponent’s glutes rhythmically flex and relax around his now raging cock. A damp stain grows at the head of his erection, as Hamid’s cheeks massage his shaft. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck…” John mutters breathlessly, feeling his balls start to constrict. He’s moments away from giving away a first-to-cum submission-by-emission. Desperately, he releases the full nelson and shoves his opponent away. The bearded Brit bends forward, willing himself not to touch himself, not to tend to the pounding pressure in his crotch. Jared hovers nearby, dropping to one knee to take a look at the Brit’s stained trunks. “Just a little pre-cum,” he smirks, standing back up and signaling for the action to continue.
Hamid takes the situation firmly in both hands.
John tries to wave away his opponent, but Hamid charges in, hooks his left leg, and suplexes the Brit slamming into the middle of the ring. John bridges high from the pain arcing through his lower back, and instantly Hamid is on his knees next to him, grabbing hold of the Brit’s cock with both hands and pulling upward. John screams in pain, stretching upward until he’s resting on his toes and fingertips, elegantly bridging higher. “I told you, I have something for that,” Hamid smirks. Jared lies flat on the mat, his face inches from John’s head and asks if the Brit wants to submit. “Fuck off!” John snarls through the agony.
“All your whimpering and weeping is turning me on…”
Hamid abruptly lets go, and John’s hips slam unceremoniously to mat. He clutches his cock still at full mast. Hamid reaches his feet, tugging at the swelling pressure growing in his own trunks. “All of your whimpering and weeping is turning me on, you sly little fuck,” Hamid chuckles. He kneels down and grabs a handful of his opponent’s hair, dragging him reluctantly to his feet. Hamid scoops John up in his arms, parading his prey in a slow circle around the ring, kneading the Union Jack screen printed to the Brit’s meaty ass. Spiraling slowly to the center of the ring, he drops to one knee and pounds John’s lower back across his thigh, pressing down on his chin and left knee in a savage over-the-knee backbreaker. John’s screams of pain suddenly lift an octave and turn into breathless chokes as his opponent tugs the Brit’s trunks down and start stroking his rock hard rod. Jared circles the scene, watching for an emission-submission. “Come on, big boy,” Hamid coos, pumping his fist faster. John’s eyes close, his teeth gritted in concentration. He doesn’t cum. Hamid leans forward and wraps his lips around the head of John’s cock, his tongue swirling seductively around the engorged flesh. John gasps, his jaw now hanging open dumbly. But he doesn’t cum. Hamid releases his lip lock with a wet smack and stares angrily at the magnificent, glistening python stubbornly refusing to release. Lip curled in frustration, he stands up and shoves his opponent off his knee.
“Come on, sweetheart…”
The black hunk stomps the Brit’s meaty pecs a couple times in frustration. John looks defenseless as he curls up in the fetal position, trying to protect his throbbing cock from another onslaught. Despite himself, Hamid absently strokes his own full erection now peeking over the top of his trunks. The feel of power, of sexual and physical domination are beginning to place him in a vulnerable position. Sensing he’s losing momentum, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he straddles John’s hips, grabs the Brit’s right leg, and hooks it under his armpit. Squatting low and lifting the single leg crab, a brilliant white smile stretches across the black stud’s gorgeous face. “Do you want me to break you, boy?” he asks. Reaching down, he massages the base of John’s balls, licking his lips at the sound of the Brit’s increasingly panicked whimpers. Jared is on one knee, head bent to one side to examine the Brit’s cock for evidence of orgasm while listening carefully for a verbal submission. “Come on, sweetheart,” Hamid coos. “Just let go. Let go, boy.”
Hamid’s erotic offense threatens to backfire on him.
No orgasm. No tap out. Furiously Hamid flings his opponent’s body to the mat after several unfulfilled minutes. He rips John’s sweat soaked trunks off his body. The hotly muscled hunk writhing in pain at his feet makes Hamid bite his lower lip with lust. He tugs his own 9 inch beauty out of his pouch and slaps it furiously. “This is going end here and now, boy!” He grabs another handful of hair and drags the Brit to his feet, Hamid’s swollen cock swinging eagerly. He slips his right bicep around John’s throat, cinching it tight. Pulling the naked hunk backward, Hamid leans against the nearest turnbuckle. With his right arm still pressed hard against John’s throat, Hamid reaches his left hand around his opponent’s hip and grabs hold of the Brit’s massive member. He nibbles on John’s left ear as he pistons his fist around his opponent’s cock. “Just let go,” he whispers. Jared stands inches away, staring fixedly at the Brit’s captured cock. The intimacy, the domination is making Hamid’s blood boil, and his luscious 9 inches stretch upward, sandwiched snuggly between his opponent’s upper thighs. Suddenly, John flexes his legs and begins to slide his hips forward and back, stroking Hamid’s erection between his damp inner thighs. The black stud gasps in shock, suddenly quickening the pace of jacking off the Brit. John groans in ecstasy, his cock on the brink of exploding. Hamid’s heart pounds as he feels his own balls constricting, a blinding orgasm threatening to wash over him. Sweat streams off both sensational bodies, locked in an erotic battle for self-control. Both of them suddenly scream out in frustrated ecstasy simultaneously. John’s head leans back against Hamid’s neck, Hamid’s jaw gapes open silently, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. Two loads of cum slap the mat and Jared calls for the bell.
The winner by mere milliseconds
Hamid releases John, who falls to his knees, head hanging low. But when the black hunk opens his eyes, Jared is lifting the Brit’s hand over his head and pulling him to his feet in victory. “By a fraction of a second,” Jared announces, “Halls holds out just long enough for the emission-submission!”
So John Halls joins Sean O’Pry in surviving the first round of the Hottest of the Hottest elimination homoerotic wrestling tournament.
Canadian Noah Mills
The third match of this round features a familiar face around here. Noah Mills is not only continuing to muscle his way into the top ranks of current male fashion models in real life, but he also has a recurring role in one of my wrestling fiction series. My writing partner Metellus has quite a thing for the Canadian actor and model, and how can you not? 6’2″, 32 years old, Noah is sensationally sexy as he climbs into the ring wearing red bikini briefs and nothing else.
Australian Jarrod Scott
Across the ring from him is Aussie sensation Jarrod Scott. The 26 year old insists on being clear that he’s six-foot one and a half inches precisely. With bulging pecs and a retro stash, Jarrod shows off his ripped, muscled ass cheeks in a heather gray jock strap. He stretches slowly and seductively, refusing to acknowledge the arrival of his opponent.
Jared Prudoff enforces the rules.
The other Jared in the ring, referree Jared Prudoff, calls for the bell…
Vote below to register your opinion about who wins, and if you really want to get your hands dirty, comment below about how you see the action unfolding.
My other writing project took a couple more days than I’d planned, so you had longer to vote on the first match up of the hottest of the hottest male fashion models of the upcoming season (transported into a homoerotic wrestling scenario). The voting stayed consistent throughout polling, though, with oiled up Brit beauty Will Chalker taking a 2-1 pummeling from brash, trash talking American Sean O’Pry. There were no additional comments about the method of Will destruction, so here’s how I see it.
Sean O’Pry goes on offense.
The moment celebrity ref Jared Prudoff calls for the bell, and before the bell rings, Sean throws a flying tackle that slams Will to his back. The American rains down a torrent of fists to the face. Jared is instantly starting a 5 count disqualification, which Sean exploits to the count of 4.9. Jared pulls him off, which pisses the raging kid off. Sean gets up in the refs face, screaming, “Don’t you fucking touch me, douchebag!” Thus distracted, he’s completely unguarded when Will climbs to his knees behind him and hooks a leg. Sean tumbles to his back, and the Brit quickly climbs on for a small package pin. Jared just barely slaps down a count of 2 before Sean kicks free. Still more pissed, he tackles the Brit again before Will can reach his feet. Dangerously taking the Brit’s back, Sean grabs him by the ears and slams his face into the mat 3 times. Seeing blood on the mat, Jared asks Will if he’s still able to fight, but Sean shoves the ref away. As he climbs to his feet, he drags the Brit up by a handful of hair. Blood streams down Will’s face, dripping onto his pecs. He’s clearly dazed, heavy lidded, and completely open for the savage knee lift to the gut that doubles him over, even as Sean grabs him by the head and bulldogs him straight downward, again smashing his handsome face viciously into the canvas.
Sean O’Pry says fuck the rules!
Jared lies flat on the mat and asks Will if he can keep wrestling. Again, Sean shoves the ref away, but Jared climbs up to his knees and shoves the American competitor back, sending Sean tumbling embarrassingly to his back. “I’ll tell you when he’s fucking done with!” Sean screams, jumping to his feet and getting up in Jared’s face. You just need to get the fuck out of my way and let me do my thing, douchebag!”
Will Chalker has just about had enough of this shit.
Sean’s impulse control problem sets him up again for Will to manage to collect his wits and recognize the dire straights he’s in. The Brit groggily reaches his feet and stumbles over to stand directly behind his unaware opponent. Jared holds the hot head’s gaze, not giving anything away as he sees the bashed Brit approach. Suddenly, Will reaches between Sean’s hairy legs from behind and latches on a vicelike ball claw that silences the raging American mid-word. Sean’s knees buckle. He bends forward, his hands clutching, pawing frantically at his opponent’s claw crushing his testicles. As Jared moves out of the way, Will shoves his opponent forward, forcing Sean to stumble ahead and take a humiliated lap around the ring as the Brit catches his breath.
Will takes the situation in hand.
“All right, technically speaking,” Jared says after letting the scene play out about half a minute, “that’s illegal.” Will releases his opponent’s balls, but quickly grabs the back of Sean’s head and slams his face into the nearest turnbuckle. “Yeah,” Jared chuckles, “you can do that all you want.” And he does. With both hands, he drives Sean’s face over and over into the turnbuckle determined to mangle the fashion model’s face as brutally as he’d been mangled. Ten slow, deliberate face plants into the turnbuckle leave Sean wobbly as Will lets him go. Knees buckling, the American stumbles backward a couple of steps. The Brit steps up to the middle turnbuckle, turns to face the center of the ring, and launches himself through the air. The clothesline catches Sean squarely across the throat, and the back of the American’s head hits the mat so hard he screams. Clutching his throbbing head, eyes closed in agony, he doesn’t see Will approach. The Brit straddles him in a schoolboy pin and digs his fingertips savagely into Sean’s muscled pecs. The American screams again, now pawing at his opponents claws latched to his beet red chest.
Will delivers paybacks.
Kneeling next to the action, Jared asks if Sean is ready to submit. “Fuck you!” the American shouts through his pain. Jared shrugs and announces, “wrestle on!” Will climbs to his feet and backs into the ring ropes. Using them as a catapult, he leaps into the air and drives his right knee pounding into his opponent’s chest. Sean jackknives, and then flops back down to his back, clutching his chest. Will again reaches his feet, backs into the ropes and then sprints, hurdling his opponent’s prone body and bouncing off the ropes on the opposite side of the ring before leaping high into the air and splashing down on top of his opponent. Sean screams in pain again, but in an instant Will has hooked his right leg and leans back, rolling the American to his shoulder. Jared quickly drops to the mat and slaps down a quick 2 count, but Sean kicks hard and rolls one shoulder off the mat to break the count. Yet again, Will reaches his feet, backs into the ropes and sprints overtop of his opponent, bouncing off the far side, then hurdling his opponent one more time, building up blazing momentum as he hits the ropes again, catapulting off them, high into the air, and stretching his gorgeously fit body horizontal to the mat in mid air.
Sean’s down, but nowhere near out.
Too late, he sees Sean pull his knees up to his chest. Will lands hard across his opponent’s lower legs, the air abruptly vacated from his lungs, his ribs throbbing. They’re both sprawled across the ring, trying to will their bodies to move, attempting to clear their heads. It’s a race to see who can pull his shit together first. Will is kneeling on one knee first, but Sean swings his right foot wide and lands a roundhouse kick to the side of his head. Will is thrown back to the mat as Sean climbs up to his feet, gasping for air, but feeling the tide turning his way. As he catches his breath, he lands heel strikes to Will’s head and torso to keep him down. Both hot bodies are smeared with blood and sweat. Sean grabs his opponent’s ankles and wraps his legs up, locking down a figure-4 that threatens to snap the Brit’s right knee off. Will screams. “That’s what I’m talking about, bitch!” Sean crows, excitedly tugging at his own crotch. “Ask him now, ref!” Jared slowly kneels down next to Will’s head and asks him if he submits, but the Brit silently shakes his head. After a minute, the frustrated American releases the hold, climbs to his feet, and drags his opponent up to kneel in front of him. He shoves Will’s head between this hairy thighs and squeezes the vice shut tight. Will grunts, prying at his opponent’s thighs but going nowhere. Still sucking down air, Sean takes the moment to shove his hand down the front of his gold trunks and stroke his swollen cock still harder. “Get ready, ref!” he shouts commandingly at Jared. Finally, he leans forward, wraps his arms around his opponent’s midsection and hoists Will upside down. Suspended, inverted, blood rushing to his head still trapped tightly between Sean’s thighs, Will is royally fucked. Sean holds him there for what seems like an eternity, before finally dropping to his knees, releasing his opponent’s head and driving the top of Will’s skull viciously into the mat. Will’s body spasms involuntarily, before he flops to his back, knocked out cold. Jared swoops in to start slapping down a 3 count, but Sean screams, “Wait for it! Wait for it!” Tugging his gold trunks down and pulling out his fully aroused cock, he stretches out over top of his opponent, pinning Will’s face with his self-lubricated meat. “Now do it!” Sean barks at Jared, leaning forward on his elbows as he slowly swivels his hips, grinding his cock into Will’s bloody face. “One!” Jared counts slowly. “Two. Three!” The bell rings and Jared and Sean climb to their feet. Jared grabs the winner’s wrist and lifts it in the air, but Sean jerks his arm away and pumps both fists in the air derisively.
So in the competition for Hottest of the Hottest, it’s the brash American Sean O’Pry who may not of won any friends in this match, but certainly possesses an army (or at least 68) of loyal fans.
Hamid Onifade is ripped and glistening!
Next match in this opening round pits two more of the fashion models that Details mag says are the it boys this season. First up, Hamid Onifade is a 6’3″ and hailing from parts unknown (seriously, I can’t find where this stud is from). Dark, smooth, and stunningly sexy, he stretches out in the ring awaiting his match wearing stark white speedos and white knee pads.
Across the ring is his opponent, former footballer and now Brit fashion model icon John Halls. At 6’1″, he’s two inches shorter but about 10 pounds heavier than his super lean opponent. In white briefs with the union jack stitched across his ass, he stares ominously across the ring like trying to plan how he’ll carve the turkey dinner. In black shorts and black and white striped short sleeve shirt, Jared Prudoff is on hand to call for the bell. Then..
What happens next? Who comes out victorious between John Halls and Hamid Onifade, and what does that victory look like, do you think? Vote here and comment below. I’ll close the polls quite a bit sooner this time, so vote soon.
I’m under a deadline for a writing project, so I’m going to rely on you fine readers to help me out with today’s post. Jose’s fan poll concerning who we think will emerge king of the ring at RHW this week (#teamaustin) reminded me it’s been ages since we had some good old fashion voting here. At about the same time this occurred to me, I stumbled across the Details magazine cover featuring 31 of the top male models of the moment. My longstanding infatuation with male models starring as homoerotic wrestlers is well documented, so let me pose the question, among this bevy of by-definition pretty boys, who would reign victorious in homoerotic wrestling tournament?
Jared Prudoff’s been there, done that.
I’ve tried to keep my “research” on these 31 Zoolanders concise, but sufficient to narrow down the field just a bit. Frankly, a lot of the skinny white boys look a lot alike to me, so I’ve tried to cull out twinners. Since this is my blog, I’m also establishing that this tourney takes place in a pro wrestling ring. Typical homoerotic wresting rules apply, namely no eye gouging, biting, or closed-fisted punches, with wrestlers given a warning and a count of 5 to break an illegal hold (meaning bring on the eye gouging, biting, and closed-fisted punching!). Victories are determined by a 3-count pin of the shoulders, a submission, or being forced to cum. To enforce said rules, I’m enlisting the winner of my first online model-cum-homoerotic wrestler tournament from over 5 years ago, devastatingly hot Jared Prudoff.
Will Chalker
For the first match of the Hottest of the Hottest tournament, we have an old world versus new world homoerotic showdown. 35 year old Will Chalker hails from East Sussex, UK. He’s 6’1″ and looks to me like he could bring an opponent to his knees with nothing other than that “I will fuck you now” gaze. These are fashion models, after all, so don’t be surprised when I say Will is one of the beefier competitors, as well as one of the oldest. I picture him in baby blue super-briefs and white knee pads and mid-ankle boots. He’s cool, focused, but coiled like a snake moments from striking as he stares across the ring.
Will’s opponent is 26 year old Kennesaw, Georgia (US) native Sean O’Pry. Also at 6’1″, Sean is pumped and primed, beating his luscious chest and sneering condescendingly at the Brit across the ring. He’s incredibly lean and ripped in metallic gold, tiny trunks and nothing else. The barefoot beauty bounces on the balls of his feet, shaking out his lean muscles and shouting promises to kick Will’s “pussy ass” with relish.
Keep the peace or incite a riot? Jared’s got his eye out for rule breakers.
Our celebrity ref, Jared, is dressed in skin tight black lycra bike shorts and a black and white striped short sleeve shirt, unbuttoned to the deep cleft between his lightly hairy pecs. He asks Will and Sean if they’re ready. They both nod silently. Jared calls for the bell, which rings loudly.
Then what happens? Does the Brit slap the brash young American down, or does Sean put the senior stud in his place? Vote here for the wrestler you see as reigning victorious, and comment below as to how you see the match unfolding, and what type of victory is finally won. I’ll try to keep the tourney moving, so you’ve got just a couple of days to chime in.
Throwback Thursday yesterday reminded me that I haven’t crushed on hot newsmen in a little while. For those who are just tuning in, I have long argued that mainstream news media outlets have conceded that sex sells, and the really adept newsrooms have been promoting hot hunks to give us something sweet to make the medicine of today’s events go down a little easier. I first started hitting on this subject when Good Morning America put their then-newsreader Chris Cuomo in a dunking booth and made sure we got to see his tight white t-shirt soaked to the skin overtop his bulging pecs.
The glorious state of morning news programs: Chris Cuomo’s rippling muscles beneath a soaking, wetly transparent undershirt (circa 2009).
There was a time when I played with the homoerotic male news tease as a “what-if” concept. I’ve written homoerotic wrestling stories exaggerating the theme for you and me in particular. I’ve intentionally allowed myself to “read into” the subtext of big, beautiful, beefy boys nailing positions in front of the news cameras as a device for sexing up and turning on the portion of their audience titillated by male beauty. But somewhere along the line, I think reality overtook my imagination. It doesn’t take much imagination at all to recognize that hardbodied hotties behind the news desks and on assignment are a thing. No longer are we turning to grey haired, grandfatherly types with jowls and expressionless faces to convey trustworthiness. In these post-structural days of impossible-to-escape subjectivity, the old boys, later replaced by the not quite young pretty girls, are now giving way to young, pretty, conventionally handsome hunks with big muscles.
These days, Chris Cuomo can’t stop flexing those gargantuan guns!
So for today’s news break, let’s get caught up on a few of my newsboy infatuations who have been dropping more and more pretense and proving more and more explicitly that they know why we’re tuning in. They know what we’re looking at. And I’m confident that they’re getting just a little turned on by being exhibitionist hunks squarely in our crushing gaze.
It’s about the fish. Yeah. Right. (look at the vacularity in Cuomo’s deltoids!)
The newsboy hunk I’ve prattled on about longest is, as I mentioned, Chris Cuomo. Now with CNN, formerly with ABC, Cuomo is, yes indeed, the younger brother of the current (and a former) New York State governor. A reader once mistook my infatuation for the Gov, but rest assured, I’m all about the younger Cuomo. Chris has owned a special place in the homoeroticization of news in particular for his frequent shirtless fishing pics he posts.
Uh-huh. It’s about the fish.
These days, there’s less and less merely implied about our cravings for his hot, bulging bod. He writes a column for a fitness mag. He posts videos of gym workouts. And I came across (pun intended) these video clips that prove Chris both knows we’re noticing his big, juicy muscles and he’s more than happy to stoke those fires with muscle teasing. This first clip is a little hard to see, but it’s Chris videoing a close up of his big, flexed bicep staring us in the face as he imitates James Earl Jones’ deep throated voiceover introduction to his network.
Tell me, would you have wanted to see Walter Cronkite role up his sleep and muscle tease his audience? No, Chris is a big, hardbodied newsboy hunk of the 21st century, when we like them not only ridiculously good looking and sexy fit, but showing it off. Then there’s this second clip I came across from his reporting from the World Cup from last year. I’d noticed his hot, bulging muscles squeezed into that jersey in still frame, but I’d missed this video of him. I’m not exaggerating so watch this now, because, no shit, Chris Cuomo is explicitly taunting us by bouncing his big, meaty pec.
Yes, that’s what I tune into the news for! Frankly, Chris can’t stop flexing. Sure, there are fresh new fishing shots (iconically Chris Cuomo) in which he rolls up his sleeve before he holds up his catch, to show off those peaked biceps. But he’s also showing off his sexy goofy hotness flashing a gasp-worthy double bicep in celebration of his 45th birthday this past week.
I know exactly what those massive biceps should be doing every damn day…
Hell, yes. Just try to stop me from imagining that heavy artillery pounding some other news hottie in the ring.
Clawing his way to the top of the ABC news heap, hottie David Muir is ready for any takers.
The top echelons of national news are rife with industry intrigue. Not everyone was expecting young David Muir, who always looks ripped from the pages of a last-decade Abercrombie catalog, to land the evening news anchor desk. He did though, and I’m not ashamed to admit I tune in more often just to soak in his dazzling hotness. David has been a little more coy about showing off his bod than Chris Cuomo is. But he does it. And clearly, it’s his chiseled triceps he’s most proud of.
Just this morning, filling in on GMA, David took the opportunity so squeeze into a short sleeve shirt 2 sizes too small and make sure the cameraman got his favorite, flexed tricep in the pic.It’s all about the triceps.
Strip them down to speedos and lets see how painfully pretty Muir stacks up against 6’2″ Italian stallion Cuomo. David is long, lean and strong. If it were a marathon match, he’d be slapping on a front-face sleeper on a gasping, exhausted Chris before it was all over. Which is why Chris would make sure this doesn’t go the distance, with one high impact move after another, body slamming, clothes-lining, and suplexing David’s magnificent body all over the ring. I predict Cuomo takes the match with a rag doll full nelson submission, but Muir would make him work for it. Hard.
Gio Benitez appears to have his eye on a particular baby blue-eyed muscleboy!
And speaking of working it hard, Gio Benitez has certainly been my biggest newsboy crush in recent months. His desk colleagues at Good Morning America have openly called out Gio’s bulging, hot bod, and producers keep insisting he cover “features” that require him to get soaking wet. There’s been a ton of speculation about where Gio’s lustful gaze lands (okay, I’m sure I’m projecting there, but I know I’m not the only one), but I’ve not been able to find any confirmation one way or another whose team he bats for. However, checking out his online pictorial archives, I’m noticing a certain sky blue-eyed slice of beefcake heaven appearing more and more frequently in his Instagram feed, including being featured prominently in Gio’s recent beach vacation photos. If he doesn’t play for our team, or at the very least is a switch hitter, he’s the most sexually secure straight Latino man on the planet.
A tag team partnership made in homoerotic wrestling heaven.
I’ve speculated long and hard on the fireworks that a Cuomo v Benitez ring battle would incite. Fuck, Cuomo and Benitez have explicitly been comparing fitness and muscle fans. As for me, I’m sure muscle daddy Chris would demand face-to-crotch headscissors forcing Gio to suck on the agony while staring up at the Italian stallion flexing his biceps and pecs back at him. Gio’s blue-eyed, hotly muscled beefy “friend” would interfere from outside the ring, because no homoerotic wrestler wants to see his lover tag partner getting completely owned by a domineering muscle beast. Sooner or later, though, Cuomo’s got them both stacked into the corner and spearing the fuck out of them with shoulder blocks. A figure-4 sleeper putting down Gio and one of those coiling pythons choking out baby blue-eyes at the same time, and Cuomo is left flexing in victory atop both of them.
What road?
My other low boil newsboy hunk crush is Mr. GQ, Matt Gutman. This son of a bitch is downright stingy with his beefcake shots, which I guarantee you is a factor in why he’s been struggling for airtime at ABC with Gio’s dazzling star on the rise. But ABC news producers have also treated us to making Mattie get wet, many times, including one segment in which we get a glimpse of his fabulously furry, ripped, sensational bare torso. Of his more recent postings, one thing is for sure. That lush head of hair and sexy as fuck furrowed brow can make any terror fade into the background for me.
What forest fire?
Here’s where things get seriously interesting in my homoerotic wrestling imagination. Mattie’s got some ice in his veins and heartless mystery about him that make me think what he gives up in sheer brawn to Cuomo, he may just make up for elsewhere. I picture him a smooth operator, chill. A graceful flyer who can plant a flat footed standing drop kick squarely into the Italian juggernaut’s collarbones. Chris muscles him around because, fuck, this is Mr. Muscle we’re talking about. But I say Gutman is the man with the plan, crippling the Italian stallion with a knee-snapping figure-4 and then exploiting a masterful ground game and, sure, some illegal use of the ropes, to wear Cuomo out. He submits to a reach from behind nut claw that the hairy correspondent uses to make Chris crawl on his hands and knees around the ring in weeping humiliation.
I may need to towel off now. Can I borrow yours, Matt?
My thanks to the postmodern era for delivering newsboys who would have been muscle mag coverboys just 50 years ago.
WordPress tells me that I this is my 1,295th blog post. No wonder I can’t remember what I’ve talked about over the past 6 years. Since I migrated the pages of this blog to a new server just over 2 years ago, over a quarter of a million visitors (statistically measured with replacement) have clicked more than 991,000 page views. For those curious about trivia, the most page views in a single day happened on September 3 of last year, when there were 2,845 views in 24 hours. Interestingly, the most popular time for people to check out what’s happening here is 11:00 am on Sundays (US Central Time Zone). Fascinating.
What summary cross-sectional statistics can’t say, however, is something about the landscape of the distance we’ve traveled over 6 years. So let’s do a longitudinal look and see what we may learn about how my attention has evolved.
Sam Champion & Chris Cuomo. You could see the sexual tension pulsing off of them (Sam).
Exactly six years ago I was obsessing about an enduring topic here, hot newsmen. Specifically, I was bitching about some transparent PR work to make sure viewers knew that hot Italian of my dreams, Chris Cuomo, was straight. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I was also raising questions about his bromance with weatherman Sam Champion, significantly before Sam came out publicly. Not like the sexual tension between the two of them, both featured on Good Morning America at the time, was difficult to notice. These days my morning newsmen obsessions tend toward desperately hoping to see more shirtless, soaking wet features starring Gio Benitez and Matt Gutman, preferably together. Oh, who am I kidding, preferably in g-strings and coated in sweat pounding the fuck out of each other in a wrestling ring. Maybe in 2016…
Brenn Wyson asks Jack Hammer the eternal question: “Who’s Your Daddy!?”
On August 13, 2010 I was reflecting on how hot verbal banter can make so many near misses a bullseye. This was back when I was actively subscribing, and sincerely enjoying, Naked Kombat. Specifically, their then-recent release of Brenn Wyson squaring off against Jack Hammer was on my mind. I mentioned in the post that I was in a pretty-boy mood, and neither of these battlers were tickling my bone. Yet it was Brenn’s aggressive, smart ass mat banter that was holding my attention and making me grab my crotch, demanding that Jack “call me fucking Daddy Wyson!” Yeah. Personality has been turning my crank for the duration of my blogging days. I miss those good old days when Naked Kombat had more personality.
BG East Wrestlefest 1 Battle R’Oil descended into total chaos. The fabulous variety.
If you checked in here this date in 2011, I was deep in homoerotic wrestling metaphor to make sense of riots around the globe. Sociological theory meets hardcore gay wrestling fetish. There’s still something bewildering to me about mass violence and killing. Of course, these days we have sanctimonious ISIS nut jobs quelling dissent with beheadings and institutionalized terror. I think, as I did 4 years ago, that there’s something in the human condition that can be pushed only so far, though. Bullies and oppressors are notoriously shit at gauging it, but it’s there, inside each and all of us, ready to go ape shit and fuck conventions and rules and throw our lot in with desperate chaos, when pushed over the line. Revolutions seem to always take us by surprise. But clearly, they shouldn’t.
Of course Roman Sebrle trashed the homoerotic wrestling decathlete competition. Look at that body!!!
On this date in 2012, my homoerotic wrestling imagination was still running wild from seeing so many Olympic athletes pumped and primed in competition. The summer Olympics were over, but my obsession with translating those stunningly world class bodies into homoerotic wrestling scenarios was still roaring full speed. August 13 was for crushing hard and imagining the pleasures of watching the Olympic decathletes climb into the ring and work their phenomenal cross training bodies. Damn, I enjoyed writing those Olympic Spirit stories! For the record, the singles homoerotic wrestling decathlete title went to hot daddy Czech Roman Sebrle, heeling his salt-n-pepper hotness all over golden boy American Trey Hardee. However, Trey won a taste of retribution, pinning the hot naked Czech ass to the sky for team America. Damn, I can’t wait for Rio 2016!
Kevin Crows naked back is a work of homoerotic wrestling art!
Two years ago today, I was fixated on hotly muscled backs as wordplay on celebrating being back from vacation and getting back to updating the blog. This reminds me of the way that continuing this blog has been about ebbs and flows, sometimes finding a ton to say and time to say it, sometimes not. Over the years I’ve often emphasized that this is truly just at the edges of what pays my bills. So life often keeps me from musing further. But I always miss it when that happens. And as much as I mull over whether I’ve said absolutely everything I have to say about the topic of homoerotic wrestling, I keep finding more to write.
Three cheers for Jake’s bro Eli Black for putting Jake out cold!
If you tuned in exactly one year ago, you’d have found my grand finale of my Making Jake series. It took over a year to work my way through the alphabet, marveling at how pleasurable it is to watch opponents bring out so much, such variety, and every bit of hotness from Jake Jenkins. Of course, the end of the alphabet sucks, but still, I was pretty pleased to call out the joys of seeing opponents make Jake unconscious, vertical, wet, x-rated, yelp, and zealous.
A lot has changed in 6 years. A lot hasn’t. Looking forward to seeing what next year brings!
Is there anyone else who gets off on that moment when a wrestler just totally fucks around with his beaten opponent just because he can? Of course there is.
Bulldog Barzini makes Denny Cartier witness his own humiliation staring back at him.
Personally, I prefer that little bit of juicy drama to cap off a suspenseful back and forth battle of brawn and brains. I like to be kept guessing, tempted back and forth to jump to the conclusion of which hot hunk is going to reign victorious, only to have my assumptions and predictions called into doubt over and over. Then, once one roaring stud is driving that bus all over his opponent’s bested body, it’s incredibly provocative for me to watch him just mess with the defanged loser. You know, flex in his face. Rip off his trunks. Or, and here’s the topic I’m working a head of steam up about today, toss his broken, once dangerous body across your shoulders and take a victory lap around the ring.
Brad Rochelle looked nothing short of orgasmic pinning beautiful Patrick Donovan in front of a roaring crowd of their peers.
I’m certain that the most satisfying victory lap I’ve ever witnessed is from the opening match of Wrestlefest 2. Moments before being awarded rookie of the year, Brad Rochelle is in a surprisingly tough tussle with then notorious jobber, sexy Patrick Donovan. The stakes are higher than normal because there’s a packed audience of fellow wrestlers watching, critiquing, urging on the boys from ringside. Brad is the it-boy. He’s tanned and phenomenally toned. Fans have been popping their corks uncontrollably for the past year since Brad debuted at BG East. Patrick has been racking up loss after loss, each one seeming to inspire yet a longer line of prospective opponents who want to dig their fingertips into his luscious pecs and make the pretty boy scream. There’s some sweet back and forth to start the match. Patrick is no pushover. But Brad folds baby cakes up like a peanut butter sandwich, pinning Patrick’s shoulders with his noggin nestled nice and tight between Brad’s muscled thighs. Someone eagerly urges Brad to make him squeal. Brad takes the first fall to the applause of his peers, giving the jobber a light slap in the face somewhere between playful and insulting. The fan favorite babyface rising looks like he’s got the jobber’s sweet ass tied up in a bow.
Dazzling babyface totally humiliated by a “jobber.”
And then suddenly Patrick pounces. The lean, handsome stud with mouthwatering pecs flips over his opponent, folding Brad up in the very same, humiliating hold he was just submitted to. Patrick is raging, punching Brad’s ass, calling the jock stud a pussy. There’s laughter from the audience, as it starts to sink in that it-boy Brad Rochelle is currently getting his fantastic ass beat bad. Patrick refuses to relent until Brad is tapping, yelling out his humiliated submission. The boys ringside can hardly believe it, as Patrick pumps his fist in the air and then strolls over to take a seat on the top turnbuckle, soaking in the sight of Brad flat on is back in a pool of sweat, nursing his abused shoulder.
Just because he can.
What happens next? Fuck, I love that suspense. As it turns out, Brad opens up a can of testosterone fueled, face-saving whoop ass to what climaxes to a standing ovation from the hooting audience. He’s working out a little rage at being publicly humiliated. He’s gratuitously brutal, egged on by his bruised ego and the cheers of the audience. Patrick is laid waste, and Brad hoists pec boy across he shoulders and jogs around the ring as the boys at ringside go wild. Brad’s face beams, feeling the victory deep down. He laughs at his total mastery, his complete ownership of the hot punk who a few minutes ago was calling him a pussy and punching him in the ass. Shimmering in sweat, flexed, magnificently victorious, he takes another lap just because the moment is so fucking sweet he needs to savor it.
The face of total victory.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more titillating victory lap. But I typically love one when I see it. It’s less compelling for me in a squash. When a boy’s been owned from start to finish, there’s less plot, less resolution of homoerotic wrestling tension wrapped up in a victory lap. But yeah, when all is said and done, it’s definitely value added for me to see a winner just fuck with his battered prey. Just because he can. Just because it feels good to demonstrate that he can do whatever the fuck he wants with all that potential, all that bluster and posing and prospective danger wrapped up in the muscled beauty beaten and now at his mercy.
Brad relished the victory lap again against muscle hunk Billyboy.…and yet again in his legendary heel turn all over gorgeous Alexi Adamov.However, The Enforcer demonstrated this truism to Brad: karma is a bitch.Blue Rage dishes out the punishment and the victory lap humiliation all over Bad Dog.Cole Cassidy takes a leisurely stroll with Rob Berlin completely done.Dom the Dominator enjoys the feel of smart ass Rolando hanging helpless as he takes a lap.Pausing from a victory lap, Shane Styles lets Brendan Byers see what complete humiliation looks like up close.Jake Jenkins gets a kick out of parading Eli Black around the ring with Eli’s partner impotently watching on from his corner.Nik Knox and Shane Layne can’t stop congratulating each other as they take tandem victory laps in their tag team beat down of Cameron Matthews and Paul Hudson.Austin Cooper drove home the point that he’s the king of the ring by taking a victory lap with newbie Adam Atom.
Sidelineland 