I woke up to a deep and dark funk in light of the election results across the country yesterday. These are dark days, I fear, and I’m desperately in need of a hero to fight off the villains who are robbing us blind. Fortunately, this Halloween seems to have brought out the superheroes from among the ranks of homoerotic wrestlers, and I for one am relieved to have these gorgeous hunks suit up to slap down the bad guys. Because there are so many fucking bad guys. In Congress!
My pilgrimage to the holy sites of BG East’s south campus was this fanboy’s dream. The sites and smells and vicarious thrills of walking in the footsteps of so many beautiful homoerotic wrestlers kept the pressure in my crotch dialed way up. And just when I was fully engaged, Drake Marcos slyly laid down the gauntlet, challenging me to wrestle. Just to draw out the tease a little longer, I suspect, he first took me to one of the local gay bars frequented by BG East boys. Seductively, the Cheshire Cat swatted my wallet away when I went to buy drinks, insisting on picking up the tab. Chauffeur, tour guide, and he pays for the drinks?! This kid is just way too generous to be anything but ground beef in the brutal world of BG East. Again: adorable jobber.
The Cheshire Cat left it up to me to pick the venue and gear for our little reckoning. Venue was, of course, the BG East ring. There are just way too many fantasies in my DVD collection and in my fondest dreams to pass up the opportunity to climb through those ropes. I’ve never been much into a gear fetish, so I wasn’t nearly as invested in that choice. I wore a simple pair of blue trunks. But I did request that Drake wear that pair of pink and white square cuts that won him a Friday Fashion poll victory a few months back. He grinned knowingly and fished them out of his bag. The very same trunks that he wore to defeat adorable Ty Alexander in Babyface Brawl X. The same trunks that he’s sporting in BG East’s current catalog release of X-Fights 38. Well, at least Drake wore them to start the match, before LJL ripped them off his body and choked him with them.
For the record, Drake is every inch and ounce the tightly packed stud that he appears on camera to be. He’s lean and strong from head to toe, of course, but it’s his long, strong legs that I’ve always appreciated most. I’m sure it was me staring at his hot legs that left me distracted enough for the sly punk to catch me off guard and shove me into the ring. Heel cred or just a bitch move? The jury was still out for me.
The Cheshire Cat has his own blog that he hollowly promises to update, so I’ll let him tell his side of the story, should he finally get around to it (blogging is harder than it looks, eh, stud?). Credit where due, Drake used his height, weight, and considerable experience advantages to rock me on my heels early going. I can’t say I was surprised by the intensity of the kid’s offense, because if you’ve watched one of his matches, particularly his thumping of Ty, you can’t miss how effectively he uses his long limbs to swarm a smaller opponent. I was anticipating a little “welcome to the ring, Bard” hospitality as I relished this moment of standing where so many erotic fantasies have occurred. Drake had been so damn hospitable all day, so unfailingly accommodating this entire visit. Tossed into the ropes and getting my abs pounded about 20 seconds in drove home that point that I’d begun to suspect. Adorable, attentive, overgenerous Drake was a set up all along.
I’m not ashamed to say I was flat-footed and, literally, on the ropes for a while as the Cheshire Cat smirked and taunted. “Where are all your words now, Bard?!” Trying to catch my breath, the sexy bastard threw me to the mat and snapped those hot legs around my gut and squeezed. No shit, that hurt. A lot. That fucking grin on his face kept hovering just overhead, because he clearly enjoys watching an opponent suffer as much as we’ve seen him clearly driven wild by his own suffering. Well, at least he enjoys watching a particular homoerotic wrestling blogger suffer. The pain was a bitch for real, but I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity presented by these long held body scissors to get a lingering feel of Drake’s thighs. Fuck, they rock.
Drake wins the tale of the tape when it comes to a lot of things (younger, much more experienced, trained by the best, longer limbs, more body weight), but I’ve got to be brutally honest here, I’ve got him beat in upper body strength. Sucking down a little air and getting my bearings, I pried his ankles apart and rolled out. Again, I should’ve known better than to expect a half a second to catch my breath, because I’ve watched his relentless offense plenty of times. Still, he knocked the wind out of me as soon as I was up on my knees, tackling me back to the mat and wrapping his arms around my throat, cinching up tight for a choke. Aw, fuck. I kept my chin tucked until those luscious legs suddenly snapped around my torso again, grinding into my kidneys. My reflex to arch my back earned me his forearm pressed squarely across my throat. I was toast. I held out awhile just to make the Cheshire Cat have to work a little longer, but soon enough, I tapped out.
Again, if he was half as generous as he’d been all day, I might have been extended the courtesy of a few seconds to catch my breath and nurse my wounded ego. Instead, Drake was on offense again about 3.4 seconds after releasing that chokehold. Seriously tired of getting my ass manhandled, I flipped the kid to his back and hooked one of those sexy, long legs, rolling him onto his shoulders. The punk taunted my offense condescendingly. “Seriously, Bard? You’re trying to cradle me?” He flexed his core, extending his legs in a bid to pop free. However, someone may need to do a little more core strength training, because although he rolled out of the pin, he didn’t fight his way free of the cradle. I let him writhe and wriggle futilely for a minute. When he settled down, I slid forward into a schoolboy pin. Drake Marcos, flat on his back, staring up at his opponent’s crotch. Yeah, I certainly knew I wasn’t the first to be taking that ride.
I was, however enjoying the view of that shit-eating grin struggling to stay in place in this humiliating position. In fact, I was enjoying it a little too much. My weight too far back, the Cheshire Cat snapped those fucking long legs around my ribs and rolled to his side. Back in yet another bone crushing body scissors!? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I did treat myself to squeezing the boy’s flexing glutes. If I’m going to get wrung dry by those legs, I might as well get a little (lot of) brief thrill from the predicament. His knees dug into my lower rib cage hard. He snickered right about the time my eyes were rolling into the back of my head, sucking down a whole lot of pain. I held on a while, but those scissors took me right over the edge this time. I tapped out again.
I was feeling seriously dehydrated. I called for time to suck down some water. Not to toot my own horn, but when I’m not on pilgrimage to BG East, I lift weights 3 days a week and swim at least a mile and a half every other day. So I was genuinely shocked to find that about 15 minutes in the ring with Drake was pushing my endurance hard. I knew this was going to be hard work, of course, but damn it all if it wasn’t tapping my reserves fast. Drake, however, was fresh as a daisy and tackling me to the mat again about 4 seconds after I finished my cup of water.
So did Drake turn out to be something other than the jobber I’d flattered for so long, or was he a different creature all together? That depends on how you deploy the term. If by jobber you mean a pushover, no contest, lamb to the slaughter, then absolutely not. Drake is not a that species of wrestler by any stretch of the imagination. If, however, by jobber you mean a wrestler who however much looks like he’s got a fighting chance sooner or later is destined to get crushed and humiliated, well…
After the water break, the match turned back and forth a lot more evenly than it started, thankfully for me. True, I was introduced to Drake’s balls in more than one face to crotch headscissors. Then again, I returned the favor, and before the Cheshire Cat choked on my balls, I’d slipped around to his sweat soaked back and snapped on a sleeper. If you know Drake’s work at all, you know the kid has a major weakness for being sleepered, not because he can’t defend against them, but because he just plain gets off on them so hard. The punk was visibly ambivalent about being unable to escape, and when I added a little leverage with some scissors of my own, Drake took a brief Cheshire Catnap. I finally enjoyed the opportunity to catch my breath, stretched out across his back.
When he roused, the energizer bunny was back at it soon enough. I lost my grip at one point (the punk sweats like Niagra Falls), and found my way briefly into a camel clutch. The boy couldn’t maintain it, though. He stopped me dead in my tracks several times once he discovered that working my nipples just right can momentarily paralyze me. The bastard was like a dog with a bone once he figured that out. But this was heading one way, and I’d already long known a few of Drake’s override switches. With his noggin trapped between my knees and my hands around his throat, the BG East battler lost all self control and couldn’t keep his hands off himself. And once he was careening down that path, he was wide open to find himself dragged to his feet and trapped in the ropes, spent and helpless.
So if by jobber you mean an earnest wrestler who, even when he starts strong, ends up his opponent’s plaything on a string, then perhaps you might have to agree with me that Drake is, indeed, a very sweet jobber. If you by jobber you mean a young stud who, regardless of all the advantages in the world, ends up hung out to dry in a tree of woe, well then, I think you and I are are talking the same language.
And if by jobber you mean a confident young scrapper who, nevertheless, gets owned, flat on his back in the middle of the ring, too wasted to notice his opponent is documenting the moment to provide evidence of precisely who is the sweet jobber in this blogger v jobber scenario, then sure, I think we are coming to an agreement here about the Cheshire Cat.
And finally if by jobber you mean a conquered stud who is so thoroughly owned and laid waste that those fashion forward pink square cuts get ripped off his bod and stuffed in his no-longer grinning mouth, then put a fork in it. And Drake. Because that jobber looked sweet enough to spread on buttered toast by the time I was done with him.
Once roused and able to climb back out of the ring, Drake was again hospitable and gracious. Of course, having just been force fed his humble pie, that wasn’t so surprising after all. I just need to say two things to Drake now as I wrap up my reflections on my pilgrimage to BG East South. 1) Thanks so much, buddy, for everything, because this was an unbelievably enjoyable visit from start to finish, and that’s entirely due to my sexy ass, sly, handsome host. And 2) I so very much told you so, sweet jobberboy.
Drake Marcos extended gracious courtesy and generosity as he hosted my visit to BG East’s south campus recently. Nowhere in sight were the bluster and strutting he demonstrated online for the past year or so. “Bring it, Bard,” he’d snarled during my threesome interview with him and Mason Brooks last February, “your writing won’t save you on the mats. Let’s do this!” But he was all dimpled smiles and earnestness when he treated me to breakfast at a greasy spoon frequented by BG East boys between taping matches. There was nothing but open faced hospitality as he drove me to the BG East arena to let me soak up more secondhand homoerotic wrestling hits. I have to admit I was feeling pretty certain that although young Drake clearly doesn’t like to admit it, he was way too straight-laced, way too considerate, way too self-deprecating to be anything other than a perpetually doomed jobberboy.
Kid Leopard himself had shared with me behind the scenes shots of the recently developed arena facilities of BG East, so it was both intensely familiar and deeply provocative to stroll through. The walls are plastered (tastefully) with eclectic and stimulating wrestling art. Pro posters, comic art, a few classic works. There was no mistaking that the same guiding hand that placed such a distinctive stamp on BG East’s Boston area compound had decorated this place. As I experienced during my pilgrimage to BG East north, everywhere I turned was a hot graphic allusion to precisely what turns me on.
Drake described for me the way the facility is used during a typical taping session for BG East. There are frequently many wrestlers on site at the same time, but with one match being taped at a time, the lounge area is populated with hot hunks in gear hanging out, shooting the shit, reading, checking texts, whatever. It’s that downtime, I’m guessing, that has much to do with the camaraderie and esprit de corps that so many BG East wrestlers have described for me during my interviews. For a fan like me, of course, I just kept imagining whose gorgeous asses had graced this furniture, and tried to restrain myself from burying my face in the plush cushions.
I was a little shocked to find that the mat room looked exactly like I pictured it. Pretty much every other venue I’ve toured left me with the impression of distorted proportions. The pool over at the bungalow seemed a little smaller than it was in my mind’s eye, for example. BG East’s northern compound mat room outside of Boston was incredibly tight for the illusions created by camera angles and intimate holds. But the mat room in the south campus arena was exactly like I pictured it.
And, of course, so many arousing images were superimposed on my vision, like Drake getting tagged and bagged by Mason Brooks in Passion and Punishment. It was spotlessly shiny and smelling of diligently applied cleanser, of course, but I couldn’t help but feel a little bit of awe, and stirring, at the gallons of sweat, tears, and cum that have fallen on that mat. Hell, the tears Drake alone has shed there could probably fill a saltwater aquarium!
Drake had to interrupt the tour to scrub the ring. It’s apparently a task he’s been assigned by The Boss, to keep the facility spotless. As he scrubbed away like a good jobber, Drake explained that when the facility isn’t being used to tape BG East matches, it’s rented out for private events and personal wrestling rendezvous by locals (or those traveling through).
After choreboy was all done, we sat and talked for hours about a ton of shit, most of which I’m expressly prohibited from sharing on the pages of this blog. My scrupulosity is my bane, clearly. The Cheshire Cat would tell me juicy anecdotes from on and off screen BG East moments, and then pause reflectively and add, “of course, you can’t share that on your blog.” Me and my fucking integrity. I got the impression that Drake was happy to download a ton of behind the scenes stunts and quirks, confiding what mat match created such a racket that the boys waiting their turn in the lounge found themselves laughing so uncontrollably that they had to flee the building for fear of blowing the taping. “But, of course, you can’t share that on your blog.” I was cataloging juicy gossip about the good, the bad, and the downright prickish among BG East wrestlers and hopefuls. “But, of course, you can’t share that on your blog.” I heard Drake’s personal impressions of dozens of the dozens more wrestlers who he’s met, worked with, and tried to avoid. “But, of course, you can’t share that on your blog.”
It began to dawn on me after, quite literally, hours of hearing homoerotic wrestling buzz off the record that the rising pairing of frustration and arousal that was making my crotch ache may not have been all that unintended by the Cheshire Cat. I began to suspect that, knowing of my commitment to confidentiality, the tease of so many stories that I was not allowed to share may very well have been a strategy from the dimpled stud sitting across from me, stretching out his long, sexy legs, working me into a lather and then swearing me to secrecy. What had appeared as an overabundance of generosity and frankness… wait, was I getting played!?
We hadn’t talked about the gauntlet Drake had laid down so many months ago at all so far this entire time, until suddenly he stopped dishing and smirked at me. “So, all that talk about wrestling. Are we really going to do it, or was that just talk?” Wait, was all this just foreplay, astonishingly spot-on foreplay aimed at stoking the vanity and arousal of a particular wrestling blogger known for loving the behind-the-camera dish, and then leaving me erotically frustrated, irked even, in order to lure me into the ring?
Uh, yeah. We’re going to wrestle!
It all started so swimmingly, when I first laid eyes on young Drake Marcos, prior to his on camera debut for BG East. He appeared in a mix of photos from Kid Karisma’s pics from a weekend of wrestling for BG East. I called out the then-unknown handsome stud; Drake reached out; I hit him up for an interview instantly; he repeatedly chided me during the interview for being too complimentary, too flattering, which was just not the case because I think the stud is devastatingly handsome. But somewhere, something went awry. Oh, let’s be honest, there was a very particular point at which Drake turned chilly toward me. It was when I was enjoying a threesome interview with both Drake and Mason Brooks, during which I commented that he has a fan following as a “sweet jobber.”
Of course, I thought I was being deferential, complimentary, even, when I asked young Drake about being a rising fan favorite jobber at BG East. Clearly, that’s not the way my question was received, however, because the Cheshire Cat’s irrepressible smile disappeared in an instant and the earnest grappler bristled. His string of early career squashes aside, Drake promised that he was honing his craft and improving every day and every match, and I should be prepared to bank on the promissory note that he would cash in the day he scored his first, decisive match victory. Then, of course, Drake made another promise last Christmas, apparently still bristling (though with that dimpled grin back on his handsome face), when he told me he had “a present” under his tree particularly for me to open.
In the subsequent months, more words were exchanged. A rookie no longer, Drake continued to issue the vaguely threatening invitation to come on down and see the “present” he was dying to deliver to me as, apparently, his chief blogger and critic. Critic!? Me?! I’ve been fawning over his Fugelsang-esque hot looks from before I ever knew his name or saw him in square cuts. However, no amount of deference or flattery could sway young Drake’s intent on unwrapping for me some of what he perceives to be retribution for my flagrant audacity in lauding his jobber cred.
Honestly, I’m not sure the young stud quite knew what to say when I pointed out a while back that I would be in the vicinity of BG East’s south campus around the same time he would this fall. The jobber stuttered more than a little, but caught in a web of his own making, Drake eventually agreed that the time had come to set aside childish taunts and schoolyard threats and sort out just what it was he felt obliged to “deliver” with a real, live, hot blooded homoerotic wrestling blogger standing in front of him.
My recent rendezvous with Drake Marcos marked what feels like my second pilgrimage to the holy sites of homoerotic wrestling. My first pilgrimage I documented about 3 years ago, when I had an opportunity to spend time in the Boston area and even scored myself an invitation to visit the Boss himself where so much magic has happened and continues to happen. Not nearly so perversely hotheaded or constitutionally delicate as his online persona, this pilgrimage to BG East’s Florida campus was hosted by a genuinely gracious Drake Marcos who devoted a ton of time and attention to showing me the holy sites while other BG East regulars all happened to be out of town.
Prior to opening their newest wrestling facilities in the area, many BG East Florida matches were filmed at a particularly picturesque, canal-side bungalow with a screened in pool and carefully kept gardens. The grounds themselves pulse with the echoes of so many beautiful BG East boys posing dockside.
I had a momentary impulse to lick the very palm tree that vicious Bobby Horton momentarily tied Mitch Colby to in Backyard Brawls 5, bashing the fitness model fantasyman like a tormented St. Sebastian, before Mitch turned that shit right back around and threw Bobby to the grass, flexing his hot, muscled, tanned body in the young hunk’s face.
We know the matches that have taken place in that pool and poolside, including this summer’s Wet & Wild 7 tourney which earned fiercely hot Trey Dixon July’s homoerotic wrestler of the month title here at neverland. Lobolito got the full-on Kid Vicious bash-rinse-repeat cycle in Wet & Wild 4, tortured with such an exquisite intensity in those same waters that I swear I could almost hear the screams of pain still echoing off the pool deck (seriously, has KV ever looked hotter than muscled up and dripping wet in that match!?).
So many sizzling matches have taken place on wrestling mats set up poolside, such as Kid Karisma dragging Christian Taylor’s lovely, long body in, then out of the pool in Wet & Wild 5, working Abercrombie-boy Christian over until both studs had to retire indoors for Kid K to savor the spoils of victory in air conditioning. I’ve spent so many hours watching footage from that screened in pool that it felt like I was cozying up in profoundly familiar surroundings.
And speaking of those indoors, I also got a long, lingering look at the sunroom, the site of a dizzyingly hot catalog of matches that are never far from the top of my cue. Right here’s where Mitch Colby and Derek da Silva, one of the hottest combinations in history, absolutely crushed one another’s balls until both were writhing in pools of sweat and ecstasy in Crotch Crushers 1. Here’s where Mitch also confronted the only wrestler to compete with him as the longest running title holder of my favorite homoerotic wrestler title, Rusty Stevens, leaving me apoplectic for weeks afterward with the sheer hotness of the score settling in Breaking Point. BG East fans will be unsurprised to hear me say that the sunroom is tight quarters. Most every sunroom match I’ve seen has involved catching inadvertent glimpses of the film crew reflected in the wall of mirrors on one end. There’s an architectural intimacy that I think explains why just about any pairing of hardbodied hunks there has an extra hit of sexual tension.
Drake was ridiculously charming, solicitous even as we toured the place. I was beginning to think the young buck’s bluster and ballyhoo online was thinly veiling a genuinely sweethearted gentleman. He was kind and attentive, anticipating my questions and interests, playing a gracious host and placing my need to reverentially soak in the setting of so many homoerotic wrestling fantasies deliberately and lingeringly at the forefront of his priorities. In other words, it wasn’t long before I was convinced all over again that young Drake Marcos was, indeed, a dyed-in-the-wool, hardwired, cradle-to-grave jobber, through and through. However, when the tour continued on to the newest BG East facilities not far away, I started to suspect that there may, indeed, be more to this adorably dimpled Cheshire Cat.
I know for a fact that this ridiculously handsome collection of smartly dressed homoerotic wrestlers were NOT in residence at BG East South recently (more on that soon). In the mean time, can I just say how extremely erotic I find it to see smoking hot wrestling hunks like these guys in street clothes? Unlike the contraband that “Our Man Inside” smuggles out of BG East for us to savor, this pic came directly from the Boss himself, treating us to what looks like a night out with one of the sexiest posses on the planet. I get a strong hit of Clark Kent about these boys all dressed up with someplace to go. I’m sensing hard feelings engendered by Brad Rochelle giving Kid Leopard a swirly have been ironed out. That, or else dimple-chinned Brad may be just about to get dragged across the floor by that tie and triple-teamed by the Boss and his new crop of BG East henchmen. And speaking of the henchmen, I repeat myself I know, but it bears repeating: hunks in glasses drive me CRAZY! Holy shit, Ty Alexander and Kayden Keller in specs are insanely sexy. Kayden appears to have missed the dress code memo, but I’m not about to be the one to diss the heel-rising’s fashion sense. Then there’s delectable little Ty, looking like he just strolled off the stage of Newsboys. And finally, the Boss, with a goatee and a cat-that-ate-the-canary grin that makes it certain that no one would be fooled by the suit and tie to mistake him for anything other than a raging heel.
Fuck, I seriously hope that this ended in a 3-on-1 brutal beatdown. And that someone recorded it.
There’s a deep comic book nerd lurking inside this homoerotic wrestling fanatic, and no one strokes that part of me harder than Eye of the Cyclone. This week’s newest chapter is the “Hard as Ice” comic starring smoking hot hunk babyface hero SubZero.
As is so often the case with mouthwatering muscle hunk heroes like SubZero, he’s in serious jeopardy as the Xtractor, the sadistic supervillain, is stomping the living shit out of SubZero’s hot, latexed body from top the bottom. His pristine silver and baby blue skin tight suit is getting soiled underneath the dirty boots and oil stained hands of the bloodthirsty (well, I’m guessing his thirsty for one bodily fluid or another) bastard.
I know there are a lot of wrestling fanatics particularly into trampling, and Xtractor clearly has you kinked sadists in mind as he pounds that big, weighty combat boot over and over into the ripped hunk, backward to front, top to bottom. The superhero is stunned and dazed, not able to summon his super freezing superpower to defend himself. All the muscle, all those skills, that smoking sexy goatee… none of it amounts to more than a beautifully bulging doormat.
But here’s where things get interesting. So far, this could be some straight-up comicon b-side, but it turns out, to Xtractor’s astonishment, the more SubZero gets trampled by that big hard boot, the harder his dick grows. Hello! Our handsome hero suddenly grabs his raging cock and strokes himself harder and harder, even as he starts to worship that massive, torturing boot pinning him to his back. Holy fuck! SubZero loves this shit just as much as you and I do!
No, I mean seriously, SubZero loves this shit every bit as much as you and I do, and that’s his real secret power. Because the harder his cock grows, the more his super freeze batteries get recharged. And by the teaser of this photo, you can tell, his super freeze batteries are HUGELY recharged! The sultry, hot hunk blasts his torturer into the wall, driving freezing blasts into Xtractor, starting with his crotch. It also helps the super freeze juices (ices?) to keep flowing for SubZero to continue stroking his cock and playing with his own balls. Now that’s a superhero I can get behind! I mean, really, really closely behind.
That fucking coward Xtractor manages to teleport his sorry, beaten ass out of the picture before SubZero can freeze his poor, stunned, limp dick off. Our hero his victorious as he rolls on his side, clutching his battered chest, showing off that mouthwatering ass. There’s not an inch of this luscious stud that I’m not ready to massage soothing, recuperating oils into to aid in his recovery from this epic battle from which he and his raging cock have decisively emerged victorious. But wait, the scene is “…to be continued…” Xtractor has left some vile looking mechanical device behind, positioned ominously right next to SubZero’s gorgeous ass cheeks (where I, by all rights, ought to be!). The hard, horny superhero doesn’t see it! Oh shit, this isn’t over!!!!
There’s so much more to see and read of this and hundreds of other hot superhero/supervillain homoerotic battles at Eye of the Cyclone. They continue to serve up something I just don’t see replicated anywhere else. If you’re even half the nerd I am, you owe it to yourself to check them out.
I’m close to being able to die a happy man, because not only did Shane McCall drop me a note to thank me for my recent review of his Catch Weight 6 match, he went on to agree to grant me an interview. Talk about a bucket list item! Shane resides right around the foundation of my homoerotic wrestling fantasies as an object of lust from my very early days of discovering BG East. He’s one of my wrestling crushes who left me in awe that I had this thing in common with such a beautifully handsome, deeply masculine man with such a gorgeous body. His early career matches are bedrock to my prized homoerotic wrestling collection, and his return to the ring these 18 years after he first wrestled for BG East was simply epic. And then I found myself with Shane’s undivided attention, answering my questions, throwing them right back at me and igniting all new homoerotic wrestling fantasies. I hope you enjoy this chat with the legendary Shane McCall, but as you’ll see, it really doesn’t matter that much to me, because it was one of the most pleasurable experiences I’ve ever had in my five and a half years of blogging about homoerotic wrestling.
Bard: Thanks for connecting with me on Facebook, Shane. I needed to take a little time to work on some questions so I don’t sound too, too much like a fanboy dork.
Shane: Ha! Sounds good, boy. Is that your tight lean bod in that profile pic?
Bard: My abs aren’t quite that ripped anymore, but happily the bod is still tight and lean.
Shane: Works for me. I always enjoy working lean muscle.
Bard: Oh, damn. This is going to be quite an interview! I’m going to have to work hard to stay focused if you insist on speculating about working over my body! I am extremely thrilled and a bit intimidated to get this chance to talk with the famous Shane McCall. Can I just start by asking about your stunning return to the ring in BGE’s Catch Weight 6? How did it feel stepping through those ropes again?
Shane: I can smell your intimidation, and love the smell of it in the morning. That and a cup of coffee, and I am ready to start the day. Thanks, Bard. It felt great lacing up my wrestling shoes and pulling the straps up on my singlet. Some things your body never forgets. I knew I was ready to take on anyone. My head was in the game. Keeping my body healthy with good diet and working out paid off, too. Stepping up onto the ring and standing at the ropes felt as natural as it did when I was 32 as it does at 50. What I saw waiting for me inside the ring, well, was downright comical. Lady Gaga in wrestling gear.
Bard: It certainly looked to me like you didn’t skip a beat from the last time we saw you there. You completely owned it. And since you mention Lady Gaga in wrestling gear, what do you make of young Ty Alexander not knowing who you are? I mean, you’re basically royalty to anyone with even a passing familiarity with homoerotic wrestling. What the hell has the world come to when a wet-behind-the ears babyface trying to establish a career in this business doesn’t even know the hunks who helped build this industry?
Shane: Thanks again, Bard. Your kind words and praise are spot-on and appreciated. Ty-ersome knew exactly who I was. I think that was his lame attempt to get under my skin. I’ve grown a thick layer over the years, and that shit just rolls off my back. These little pretty things, it is more about cosplay and dressing up in shiny erotic gear and looking pretty for themselves in the mirror than it is the sport of domination. Even though I gave him an ass whooping he will not soon forget, I doubt he learned anything. He’s probably now scouring the web for his next pair of shiny pink nut smugglers. But back to your comment about me being a force that helped build the homoerotic wrestling industry. I’m humbled. I owe it all and learned from the best in the business with Kid Leopard and Kid Vicious’ ring training and Energy and Zen training with Sailor Rob.
Bard: Well, no one can say you didn’t deliver a first rate education to darling Ty, but I suppose you can only lead a horse to water. If I remember correctly, you were BGE’s first rookie of the year. What was your learning curve like? What were some of those lessons you learned from KL, KV and Sailor Rob?
Shane: You have a keen memory. Yes, I was the first recipient of Rookie of the Year. 1996? I remember that weekend well. It was a fun time meeting a lot of the other BG East wrestlers and tons of hot matches throughout that weekend. Flo and I connected right off, and I learned a lot from him. Wrestling, being a devastating heel, being an outstanding jobber and the art of selling both.
Bard: Flo?
Shane: Oh, Flo is my nickname for Kid Leopard. Short for Florenz Ziegfeld. In return he calls me Shanney. I told him when I first arrived at BG East that I felt a little like the Fanny Brice of the BG East’s beautiful Schwanns. He laughed and said, “That’s ridiculous! You’re GORGEOUS. But I love it!” And so started the beautiful relationship of Flo and Shanney.
Bard: (laughing) That’s adorable!
Shane: During this past summer’s visit and taping, Flo was giving me a tour of his art collection. We both love art, especially wrestling art. The tour ended up in his office filled with photos of wrestlers of old and new and wrestling related artifacts. It truly is an amazing collection including DVDs, dolls and anything wrestling. Tucked on a shelf I saw the first photo I sent to Flo via the old Gillespie directory. I had sent it to Flo back in 1994. I had written a note on the back introducing myself and stating I hope to meet someday and would enjoy making a wrestling video for BG East. I was so deeply honored and touched that he kept that photo in a special place that he could see every day.
Bard: I’ve seen that art collection and it’s incredible! So much to look at everywhere. I’m not surprised KL keeps that photo nearby. Damn, now that’s what I call selling a resume!
Shane: I spent a lot of time working in the ring with Kid Vicious, too, who told me “the only way you’ll be a good heel is to be an outstanding jobber.” KV went above and beyond in showing me what a ruthless prick heel is like and how to totally dominate and even humiliate a jobber. Some sessions were so devastating that you had to peel me off the ring apron at the end. I would never know what the lesson plan would be for the day. He just instructed me to show up and find out. Today is gut punishment day, or pec torture day, or my personal favorite, bumps, slams and stomps day. KV’s Heel Philosophy is, if you are not enjoying every moment tearing a jobber apart piece by piece then your fans are not going to enjoy watching it. KV takes much pride in his work and a lot of joy too, I can certainly attest to that. Sailor Rob is my Energy and Zen coach and advisor. Staying focused and centered in key when working in the ring. Much of the work is done outside in nature. Becoming connected with the Earth is the best way to become grounded and centered, he tells me. I found it also helps keep the gardens beautiful and fruits and vegetables harvested.
Bard: I’m entranced by this body-mind meld approach to training with KV and Sailor Rob in tandem.
Shane: Mind, body and soul healing is applied to everyday life and not just working for BG East. A healthy life is all about the balance of life and energy.
Bard: I think BGE has long produced wrestling that goes a lot deeper than pretty boys with pink nut smugglers, and I suspect that multi-focused training you received speaks a lot to that special, hot recipe they cook up.
Shane: BG East has the hottest stock of men working for them past and present. I’ve worked with a lot of them, too. Buster, Troy Baker, Casey Cutler, Todd Brophy, Kurt Erikson just a few of my hot mat matches. I took on some amazing ring talent too: Bryan Walsh, Clint Morgan and Chris Denver. Ty-ersome is a cutie too, and a tough little SOB. I was actually surprised he took as much as I gave him.
Bard: Do I remember correctly that you had a solid amateur wrestling background when you showed up? How do you think amateur wrestling skills contribute to the rough and rowdy world of BGE wrestling?
Shane: Yeah, I’ve been wrestling all my life. Tons of garage and basement battles growing up with buds in the neighborhood and school. My self-esteem was pretty low in high school and being teased everyday on the bus didn’t help with that. Like most young men being gay at that age and time was a rough period. I was also too nervous to try out for wrestling since it was a huge turn on for me. I mentioned the Gillespie Directory earlier. That was a hardcopy listing of wrestlers from all over the world. It cost like $20 a year, and the catalogue was delivered via US Postal with tons and tons of listings with photos of hot wrestlers around the world. That is the directory I met Kid Leopard and many other of my wrestling friends I keep in touch with today. The first guy I met in Philly was John, aka RomanGodPa, in the Gillespie directory. He was one of three men that started the Spartan Wrestling Club in Philadelphia, and I was the seventh member to join that club. John, Dennis and Andy Bailey were my first coaches to freestyle wrestling. I competed in the 1994 Gay Games in NYC and later become a coach of the Spartans. Andy Bailey brought me up to BG East training camp for my first of many trips.
Bard: So many connections to so many hunks!
Shane: Freestyle and the mat training that I learned from the Spartans was my strong suit, and I loved the contact and learned as much submission as I could privately with other sub wrestlers. I had mats in the small apartment in Philly and learned submission wrestling the hard way: trial and error. When visiting BG East and seeing the ring I knew that was something I really wanted to do. Shit, it was something I’d fantasized about since I was a kid. I asked and begged Kid Leopard to put me in the ring several times, and he said I was not ready. I can be persuasive, and he finally caved. Bryan Walsh was my first match. Squash. Clint Morgan. Total devastation. Chris Denver. Splat.
Bard: However even as you were getting squashed by Clint Morgan, you were also winning Rookie of the Year. We’ve both given Ty Alexander a hard time in this conversation, but clearly there’s a time-honored place in the hearts of fans for the beautiful hot stud who gets trampled and crushed brutally. As someone who appreciates the erotic allure of wrestling from the inside out, what do you think it is that arouses so many of us about witnessing a devastatingly handsome hottie brutalized and humiliated like you were at the hands of Bryan Walsh, for example? What does a bubble butted jobber rising like Ty need to do to engender not pity, but arousal in being crushed?
Shane: You have to be hard on guys like Ty, otherwise their heads get too big. I am just trying to keep Ty’s head in proportion with his ass – especially in those small shiny trunks. As many muscled wrestling stars and diverse fans that BG East has cultivated over the years, there are just as many wrestling erotic buttons to push and scenes to play out. The box is endless, and for me the turn-ons change with my age and physical stature. I’ve grown from young athletic stud to big muscle bear daddy. I’m still wrestling young muscle studs and men of my age and size and even smaller. It all depends on my challenger and my mood.
Bard: Tell me more about that.
Shane: Let’s take you for instance Bard. With those tight abs you’ve been showing off, you’re just the kind of guy I would love to whip into the turnbuckle and keep you there while I drive my fists, knees, shoulder and boots deep into your abs until you are slumped into the corner pleading for mercy. Then grab you by your hair and set you up in the corner and whip you to the opposite turnbuckle for another round of ab abuse. Does that arouse you? It does me. Why does that arouse me? It doesn’t only arouse me erotically, it goes deeper than that. Wrestling for me isn’t only about being competitive or dominating or being dominated. It becomes a bond, a deep visceral connection with another man. It is about playing out creative fantasies and making sure my challenger is also getting something out of it too. The bond is only as strong as the two men who play it out. Be creative and have fun or go home. That is what makes BG East the top of the erotic wrestling business. A hot stable of wrestlers with amazing talent and thoughtfully creative production crew who only expect the best from everyone. They deliver.
Bard: Um, excuse me while I adjust myself, because yes, yes indeed, that just aroused me profoundly. You’ll have trouble grabbing me by my hair, but my abs are open for business for Shane McCall’s attention!
Shane: Bald, huh? That’s ok. I’ll just pull you up like I do with Scott Williams, by your ears or hooking your nostrils with two fingers.
Bard: As I sit here with this rising pressure in my pants, two questions come to mind. 1) How are your knees these days, because I’d pop my cork to see how long my core holds out in your over-the-knee backbreaker, and 2) with the scorching hot heat that wrestlers like you generate, wrestlers who wrestle from inside the homoerotic wrestling community, how is it we don’t see more erections? I’m being completely serious here when I ask how the inherent intimacy and erotic imagination of two hot, wrestling kinked hunks doesn’t generate more raging hard-ons in the matches we see on camera. Does the camera itself have cold shower effect? Does the sexual tension… protrude more prominently in truly private matches? Are there industry regulations governing the full throttle phallus from appearing more often than it does in even such an overtly erotic context?
Shane: How are my knees? Ask Ty. He received a few devastating knee drops in our match. I love delivering over the knee backbreakers multiple times with authority. A nicely executed over the knee backbreaker shows off the recipients beautiful abdominals, which are then open and ready for more abuse. The knee driven deep softens and weakens the lower lumbar getting the jobber ready for my rib and spine crushing bear hug. So, you’re popping some wood, huh? Good. I thought the smell of intimidation dissipated and another scent filled the air. That will make my bear hug on you that much more , well, stimulating. Having it trapped between your tight abs and my big solid belly, well, something has to blow, either your lower lumbar vertebrae or the other.
Bard: Holy shit, this interview is going places I hadn’t planned on! See, just talking about this is busting my zipper!
Shane: Mat wrestling is more conducive to hot steamy matches with full on raging erections since the action is mostly on the ground. The space is smaller, more intimate if you will, and the wrestling holds are more about full-on body contact. Sweaty muscle on sweaty muscle really gets the blood and juices flowing. I’ve seen and been in plenty of those matches in the BG East mat room and hotel matches too. With ring and arena matches, there is more muscle exertion and large muscle work, too. Back muscles, quads, glutes and hamstrings are on full throttle when working a hard match in the ring. Blood flow of the body goes to them before going elsewhere. Not having a full on erection does not mean I’m not turned on. Erotic and sensual energy is flowing full on when I am wrestling a guy I am into. Seeing a hot jobber sell a body slam or tied up in the ropes is very sexy to me. As the match goes on and the sweat pours down a deflated, hardbody muscle jobber, and the breathing is heavier and deeper, getting closer to a pin or tap-out… that’s sexy shit.
Bard: I just have to repeat the truest words ever spoken: that’s sexy shit! I’ve been working hard to keep my inner fanboy in check this whole time, but picturing me being cracked across your knee with my abs tested just busted down that door. And mentioning the likes of Bryan and Clint Morgan and Scott-man-of-my-dreams Williams is leaving me helpless to control myself. Get ready for some star-struck fan worship now, and just remember you brought this on yourself! To start, I’m dying to say that the sexiest tag team match in history has got to be you and BBW laying waste to adorable Liam Ryan and his doomed bear daddy Brian Powers. There are several moments in that match that intrude into my thoughts on a regular basis and make me weak in the knees. The overt sexual engagement of both teams for their teammates and for devouring your opponents remains pretty much the ideal form of a homoerotic wrestling match to me. Can I just thank you right now for being part of the genius and provocation of that match? I mean, there’s probably a question I could ask, but I really just desperately want to say, good god man that was unbelievably hot and has never been bested in my extensive watching of tag team wrestling ever since!
Shane: Wow, Bard, you did pop a cork with that one! You fan-gushed all over my face and pecs with that (laughing)! Thank you for your praise and the enthusiasm in which it was delivered. Now, may I have towel please?
Bard: Don’t towel off too soon, because I’m notoriously fast at recovery!
Shane: That tag team match with BBW, Brian Powers and Liam Ryan was an epic match and one of my personal favorites, too. The chemistry and the action was spot on, and as much as the fans enjoyed viewing it we had a blast making it… and, oh, did you really say “Scott man-of-my-dreams Williams?” I just threw up in my mouth.
Bard: Well, yes, I did, acid-reflux aside. I just don’t have words to say how formative and liberating it was for me to discover fantasy men like you (and Scott) taking it to each other in those truly classic BG East wrestling releases from almost 2 decades ago. Your hairy pecs and gorgeous face opened up doors for plenty of us to tap into some deep reservoirs of pleasure inside of us.
Shane: I really am humbled when I hear from fans, and they thank me for the work, or ask about a BG East match. Sometimes I just get flustered and not really know how to respond to a fan who extends compliments. I do appreciate the kind words nonetheless. I have really enjoyed hearing the favorable response from BG East fans regarding my match with Ty. That makes me feel really good and I am truly touched that fans are happy to see me back.
Bard: Okay, I’m beating back my inner fanboy to ask a more critical question now. I’m fascinated about your comments about mind, body and soul healing being woven into your life and wrestling. The explicit text of a pro wrestling match is pretty damn violent. How do you see that balance of Zen and energy mindfulness with the thump and grind text of a homoerotic wrestling match?
Shane: Energy work and healing happen in all forms. Pro wrestling is an art form, whether it’s the homoerotic industry, small indies, or the big time pro wrestling circuit. It is all based on taking the viewers on a journey outside of their everyday humdrum lives. That is what the viewers expect and look forward too. BG East takes their viewers on a journey that Dorothy and her friends of Oz could only dream. My training at BG East included body, mind and soul development, and can be explained like this. Kid Vicious’ training is Klingon training: brutal and only one winner (me). Sailor Rob’s energy and meditation is basically Jedi training: opening my mind and seeing my optimal potential and reaching it. Kid Leopard (aka Flo), well, we already know he is the Florenz Ziegfeld of the pro wrestling world. Make it and make it BIG and do everything you can to be sure it sells. Eye on the target and BAM!
Bard: Jedi Klingon theatre impresario?! No wonder there’s such an awesome complexity to BGE that speaks to me. Not to mention how a Star Wars-Star Trek-Broadway mash-up completely engages my sexy nerd side (which, trust me, is way sexy). And I’m loving the notion of wholeheartedly selling the fantasies that move you from the inside out. Go big and own it or go home. My final question I want to ask is about that body component of the mind-body-soul connection. I periodically get assailed by wrestling fans complaining that some featured wrestler that turns me on hard is “too old” or too beefy or what-the-fuck-ever. This tires me the hell out, frankly, because like you’ve said, there’s this deep bench and awesome diversity of hot bodies and personalities that makes wrestling so engaging for so many people. But as someone who owns your age and sexy bear daddy belly and brought that all explicitly into the ring to crush young Ty with, what would you like to say (or do) to those fans that seem to only be able to bear seeing 20 year old underwear models in their wrestling fare?
Shane: I don’t think I would have much to say to them. If that is what they like, they should enjoy it. If they are throwing negative comments to you and your selection of hot picks or wrestlers you interview, tell them to write their own fucking blog. They continue to give you any more shit, send them my way. I’ll straighten them the fuck out. You can watch too if you like.
Bard: You don’t need to ask if I’d enjoy a front row seat to that!
Shane: I get it though. I’ve popped in a few BG East DVDs and sat back on the couch and cranked a few out watching two little hot muscle boys going at it. Kid Karisma and Christian Taylor are hot examples. Christian is just so beautiful and I love to see him get worked over and punished. Karisma is a looker too, and not half bad as a wrestler. He could use some Shane training though. He’s taken on some season wrestlers too like Red Baron and Cage Thunder. Those two men are beefy and muscled and that was a hot three-way match. I am guessing Cage and Baron have some grey hairs and crow’s feet under those masks. Only one way to find out, of course, and unmask those men in the ring.
Bard: Again, I call dibs on front row seats to your training session with Kid Karisma and to the clash of the titans that would be you setting out to unmask Cage Thunder and Red Baron!
Shane: And Catchweight 6 also features Mitch Colby and young Billy Lodi, which is another hot seasoned daddy vs rookie-boy match. Looks like Mitch had his hands full with that little scrapper. I love that too though, seeing a boy get some licks on the bigger, older daddy…Boing! And the match with Eli and Rio looks smoking hot too. I do find it stimulating seeing a big sexy muscle stud like Rio getting worked over by the smaller, but much more skilled Eli.
Bard: Yes, yes, yes. All of that again for me, too! Well, I fully expected this to be a pleasure, but I can’t tell you how unexpectedly provocative this has been for a barely-contained fanboy like me to get to talk with you, Shane.
Shane: Bard, I’d like to take this time and say I have really enjoyed our exchange during this interview and delighted our paths have crossed. It is nice to hear from a fan and how my matches and work with BG East have made an impact on you and many other fans. Enjoying a fetish like wrestling in a healthy and safe outlet is extremely important to living a healthy life, physically, mentally and emotionally. I really think if you hold fantasies and fetishes inside and not play them out you are not only cheating yourself, but it will probably play out in an unhealthy way. That can result in harming yourself or others. Playing out your fantasy by wrestling, writing, painting or any other expressive ways can be a wonderful thing. Just remember to play safe, smart and respect yourself and your challengers.
Bard: Sage words to celebrate wrestling by. Anything else you’d like to say before I let you go?
Shane: Keep on writing these juicy wrestling blogs and fun interviews, Bard. You are doing an outstanding job and your writing talent and passion for erotic wrestling will keep your fan base returning and strong. Hopefully one day our paths will cross and we can meet face to face and pec to pec. Until then keep those ripped abs tight and solid so I can enjoy pounding on them with your back over my knee.
Bard: And with that, my fanboy cork is officially re-popped! The pleasure has been all mine, Shane, and I look forward to taking that ride across your knee someday!
I mentioned recently that my cue of wrestling matches to watch is extremely long, but I am throwing myself enthusiastically into sucking down each and every one of them. Some of them, mind you, slow the project up because I keep pushing pause, rewind, replay. Over at Movimus, that’s my problem with every camera angle that I see that includes 6’2″, 200 pound, 25 year old Kevin Harris.
I haven’t seen the first time they met, but when I came across the rematch between Kevin and “Shaggy” Jimmy Reilly recently, I was hypnotized by Kevin’s phenomenal thighs and incredibly hot ass. His very brief navy blue speedo is fit so snugly it looks like it’s painted on. When he stretches pre-match, and especially when he flexes those meaty quads during the scrap, it’s breathtaking!
I mean, literally breathtaking. I’ve written before how much Shaggy here turns me on, but completing the scene with him panicked and pained, trying to decide if Kevin’s scissors will do permanent internal damage (or fucking cut him right in half!) drips with pathos.
When Kevin snaps those knees around Shaggy’s head, pinning the boy to his back and burying his entire face deep between the smothering, thick cuts of meat that are his upper thighs, I’m reduced to tears. This fratboy monster should surely be able to retire early if he just charges what it would be worth for homoerotic wrestling fans to take that ride! He leans forward, resting the weight of his upper body, his forehead pressing painfully into Shaggy’s hot core as his trapped prey grunts desperately, struggling with the humiliation and pain. Especially the humiliation.
Then as if reading my mind, Kevin slips open his knees just enough to slide Jimmy’s head higher up between his thighs, locking his ankles together as he rolls to the side and forces Shaggy to take a long, hard, close-up view at the epic ass. When Shaggy squirms, the panic starting to rise, Kevin seals the deal for me by taunting him. “Where you going big boy? Where you going?”
Joe has reviewed this match already, so consult his fine words for a more timely assessment of the anatomy, anatomies and allures of this Movimus rematch. Now that I’m binge watching through my wrestling cue, though, I just wanted to say that if you weren’t convinced by my colleague’s encouragement to check out the trailer for this match, I’m piling on to say that Kevin Harris’ supremely confident attitude, his outmuscling of Shaggy, his juicy taunts, and most of all those outrageously sexy thighs and glutes deserve your consideration. Now let’s get this sexy brute into a wrestling ring with a pro who can teach him lessons he’s sure he doesn’t need to learn!
Completing what appears to be my trilogy of posts on my taste for mature beef, I have to slap down some enthusiasm for getting to enjoy homoerotic wrestling match starring long-time favorite wrestler around these parts, Mitch Colby.
Joe has already done the heavy lifting in introducing you to the Catchweight 6 match featuring magnificently muscled Mitch swatting down irritatingly cocky Billy Lodi. I’ll just paint in around the edges a little where my long-standing Mitch-lust demands that I send up a little worship. First, there’s the little tidbit that Mitch tends bar where his wrestling fans seek him out. Why am I cursed to live in the wrong geographical location to appropriately stalk the homoerotic wrestling icons that command so much of my lustful attention!? The fact that Billy tracked him down to challenge the bare chested beauty behind the bar to a wrestling match (victory to be accepted in lieu of the photo ID Billy seems to have lost when Mitch tries to card him) titillates me no end. The motif of stumbling across a homoerotic wrestling fantasyman “in real life” is a bit that I could enjoy a lot more of.
Billy gets in a dig about Mitch looking older in person than he does in his wresting matches. He refers to him as “Mitch the Bitch,” clearly needling the headliner hunk with the taunting moniker that Cage Thunder has been spreading everywhere. If Billy weren’t lapping up the drool dripping from his luscious lower lip as he stares at Mitch’s phenomenal physique, I’d say the kid was delusional. But clearly the punk is just trying to weasel his way under Mitch’s skin in order to get mat time with the muscle hunk. It works. Of course it works. This is a BG East prime time wrestling release. It doesn’t take long for this story to pick up after Mitch’s shift at the bar is over and Billy comes a knocking.
There’s the catchweight quality to the story telling that speaks for itself. Guys particularly into bigger guys and smaller guys doing battle should line up to watch this on automatic repeat, because the contrasts between Billy and Mitch are visually stunning. Mitch is massive, thickly muscled, bronzed, ripped off of a fitness magazine cover. Billy is lean, pale, certainly fit but with little visible muscle tone, looking like one of the obnoxious kids at the skateboard park that I so despise. It takes about 15 seconds before the homoerotic wrestling subtext becomes just the text. Billy sinks his fingers deep in Mitch’s mountainous pecs, and the bartender does the same to Billy’s sweet little ass (which Mitch can’t help but notice has less mass than Mitch’s pecs). Mitch commandingly steals a kiss. Billy is clearly put off his guard with the stunning hunk sucking his face. Mitch makes him pay, however, transitioning to a gasping, squirming, helpless bearhug and hoists the kid way up off the floor and sucks the air from his lungs. First hold of the match: Billy concedes with his face buried in Mitch’s chest. Oh hell, yes.
Billy’s fans will not be surprised that he is more than ready and able to take cheap shots at Mitch’s balls to having a fighting chance against the ripped muscle stud. Frankly, I think Mitch isn’t so surprised either. Nor does he work all that hard to stay out of danger’s way. I think Mitch very well may nurse a little fetish for getting his balls bashed, because every time Billy does it, the look on Mitch’s face is a cross somewhere between horror and orgasm. And he keeps fighting back harder, locking lips that much more furiously on the ballsy lightweight.
Because Mitch is a classy dude, he refrains from clawing the living fuck out of Billy’s balls… until Billy goes for his first low blow. Unleash Mitch, 70 pounds heavier and without feeling compelled to fight fair?! Oh, fuck, yes.
I think I’d like to wallpaper my bedroom with all of the stills of Mitch crushing all of his opponents’ skulls between his massive, flexed, gorgeous thighs. It wouldn’t be a Mitch match without it, nor would it be everything I’ve come to expect and be entranced by if Mitch didn’t look like he could easily whip out his cock and explode all over Billy’s head because this hold turns him on so hard. And I don’t think I’m just projecting.
Billy is outmuscled and out classed from start to finish, but the running question between the two battlers is why did Mitch concede to this match? Why did he invite him over? And why was Billy, doomed from the start, so eager to hustle his way inside Mitch’s abode? It’s not really much of a mystery at any point, really, but when Mitch hoists the punk over one massive, bulging shoulder and strolls into the bedroom smacking his chops, whatever tension there was with Billy at the bar, resenting being carded, calling Mitch “old,” referring to him as “Mitch the Bitch,” it’s all released, like me, as the boys turn the corner and turn down the sheets.
What gets me, after I clean myself up a little, is that this is now the second young stud to work Mitch into a lather by taunting him with the nickname Cage Thunder has given him, “Bitch Colby.” Read Cage’s blog and you’ll see reference after reference disparaging Mitch for beating up little guys, but the thing is these little guys are taking their cues, begging for a session with the muscle hunk, using Cage Thunder’s insults. When, oh when is the raging homoerotic wrestling tension between Mitch and Cage Thunder going to come to a head?! And who do I need to blow to get to see that golden moment live!?
I’d heard rumors and even seen photos of classic wrestlers from early years of BG East history promising to make their returns to the ring sometime soon. I did not, however, know to expect to see classic hunk Shane McCall climb back into the ring as a major league bear daddy beating the living shit out of too-big-for-his-britches babyface darling Ty Alexander. The climactic 3rd match in BG East’s new Catchweight 6 collection is as epic as it sounds!
First of all, this is not your daddy’s Shane McCall! Of course, the stud is handsome as ever, and if I daresay, the salt-and-pepper full-on facial hair does nothing but turn me on several times harder. The epic reveal here however is not that Shane has facial hair. No, the big news is that the 5’11”, 165 pound babyface muscle stud of years gone by is now every ounce of a 210 pound burly, bear daddy bruiser! I think many fans may miss the fact that adorable Ty is looking fitter than ever, because he’s simply dwarfed in stature and ring presence by his opponent. But Shane steps into the ring like he’s never left it, takes possession of the territory, sizing up 5’7″, 145 pound Ty, and pretty much having already finished crushing the rookie punk in everything but deed within seconds.
I’ve had several conversations (though surprisingly less than I’d have thought) with wrestling fans of all stripes about the role and allure of a big, burly, bellied bad ass like the second coming of Shane McCall. There are enthusiastic and fully engaged homoerotic wrestling fans who don’t have a place in their wrestling fantasies for anyone other than a 6% bodyfat, six-packed and primped underwear model, and I respect the hell out of that. Each of us has our pantheon of wrestling fantasies starring the particular bodies and personalities and gear and settings that milk us hardest. I’m one of the wrestling fans for whom a hefty, hairy, sweat soaked belly can raise my temperature sharply, particularly when paired like a fine wine with a tasty little morsel like bubble-butted beauty Ty.
To say that the second coming of Shane manhandles the bronzed beauty Ty is a gross understatement. And although I continue to nurse a little infatuation with the doe-eyed rookie, let me be adamantly clear: he deserves every ounce of terrorizing punishment he gets in this match. Shane tosses and crushes him, twists him up and rips him apart. The 65 or so pound weight differential between the two of them makes for some of the most stunning displays of physical domination that I’ve enjoyed, and regular readers know that I’ve enjoyed A LOT! Shane makes the kid scream. He makes him weep. He drags Ty’s lovely carcass from brutally ripping him apart joint by joint to crushing the fight and consciousness from him and making Ty go limp and defenseless in his paradigmatic bearhug. And I repeat, Ty deserves every excruciating hold, every agonizing second, every scathing helping of contempt and humiliation, and I’ll be happy to tell it to his face. Why? Because Ty Alexander had no idea who Shane McCall was when he climbed into the ring.
What. The. Fuck!? Fashionista Ty was clearly begging for this lesson about the big, broad, brutal shoulders he stands on as a newcomer to the world of homoerotic wrestling today. His contemptuous dismissal of Shane’s age, weight, and beard only serve to establish Shane’s pedagogy as he demonstrates for lovely Ty exactly how looking prettiest is just not the endgame at BG East. Before all is said and done, Ty gets smothered by that bear daddy belly, brutalized by the vast superiority Shane has in experience and methods of muscle torture, and (what seems to irk Ty most) repeatedly given whisker burn by Shane’s full beard.
Shane doesn’t just push the same old buttons in me he always did years ago. He punches them relentlessly. And although not the svelte hottie he once was, his masterful ringwork in Catchweight 6 demonstrates that he’s lost none of his athleticism and, more importantly for my tastes, he is, if anything, more diabolically sadistic in tearing apart cupie-doll Ty than ever before. He’s a big helping of bear daddy meat, and using every dominating ounce to punish lightweight Ty is deeply moving to watch. There are big, hard, sweaty lessons that an all-too-pretty boy like Ty has got to learn sooner or later if he’s going to stick around BG East, and happily for all of us, The Boss pulled a staple of so many of our fantasies out of retirement to “coach” young Ty in everything he has yet to learn.
Welcome back, Shane! So happy to get a front row seat to watch you work that thrilling magic of yours! Can we recommend some other relative newcomers who need a session with Coach?!
Sidelineland 