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I’ve been struggling with wanting to post something, but not wanting to disrespect the victims and survivors of the Boston marathon bombings by being as frivolous as is my default here at neverland.  I’ll keep this brief, so as to not get too distracted from my main point, which is my affection and respect for Boston at all times, and most poignantly over the last couple of days.  The time I enjoyed spending there taught me some lessons about Boston and Bostonians.  For example, I come from a metropolis where people are fastidious about braking for pedestrians.  Not so, Boston.  They’ll run you down in a heartbeat, crosswalk or no.  I learned that it’s not that they are contemptuous of pedestrians.  They do not wish them harm.  It’s simply that they trust that pedestrians are tough and savvy enough to know better than to cross a street in front of oncoming traffic.  It’s certainly not that they aren’t looking out for each other, but rather they count on each other to be smart and exercise common sense survival instincts.  In the time I’ve spent in Boston I witnessed a lot of honking, a good deal of yelling, and a fearlessness about casual confrontation.  I also enjoyed random Bostonians striking up friendly conversations with me about my tattoos, why I was there in the city, if I knew about the best places for connoli (none of these things would ever occur in my uptight and icy hometown at the time).  Unlike other places I’ve lived, I found Boston not at all shy, not reserved, neither in swearing at you for being in the way or shooting the breeze with you about where you got your ink.

While the bombings will undoubtedly leave a lasting impact on Boston and the rest of us, I have to think that there’s something fundamentally bostonian that it is tough as hell, practical and pragmatic, unafraid of confrontation, and not at all reticent to reach out to a stranger with genuine interest and friendship, that no assholes with explosives can make a dent in.  And I can think of nothing more appropriate than for said assholes to be identified and dropped on the streets in South Boston just after the bars close.  I’m not a fan of state-enacted executions of criminals, but somehow I don’t seem to have a problem with the idea of some man-on-the-street Boston justice in this case.

To my Boston-based friends and family, know that we’re thinking about you, hurting with you, and knowing that “terror” is the furthest thing from your hearts.

And at the risk of devolving into the frivolous, here are just a few of some of my favorite examples of “Boston justice,” courtesy of my very favorite Boston-area based homoerotic wrestling producer…

Several regular readers have noticed that I’ve been conspicuously less frequent in my postings over the past several weeks. While the ebb and flow of life has often generated this pattern in the past, I need to announce some major changes here at neverland based on a good deal of introspection, soul-searching, and, frankly, intensive psychotherapy.

First, I’m not discontinuing neverland, in case that’s what anyone is thinking. I’ll continue to post here about the infinite trivialities running through my head as has been, in general, my style for the past nearly 4 years.

However, I’ve been led through extensive meditation and life-review that my infatuation with homoerotic wrestling has become too limited and limiting. I’ve somehow made a ridiculous amount of hay for nearly 4 years out of a singular fixation on the eroticism of wrestling. What about the romantic allure of gentle tenderness and kindness? What about the erotic delights of a spiritual connection with another human being? My tunnel-visioned focus on grunting, sweating, aggressive, trash-talking, body pounding, joint wrenching, humiliating domination through the performance art of professional wrestling for gay eyes is surely not all that there is to a satisfying, robust, well-rounded libido.

Therefore, based on my introspection and some advice from my therapist, starting today, I’m going to begin blogging about a more thoughtful and comprehensive view of what can turn me on, including things like flowers, walks in the park, cuddling by the fire, and sensual, loving erotic massage. While wrestling topics may pop up now and then, I will begin exploring a more diverse and expansive understanding of the erotic. I hope that you will respect this course correction and new focus, and chime in with your own thoughts on what, other than wrestling, turns you on.

Sincerely,
Bard

When I saw the news last week that the Olympics have preliminarily decided that they’ll drop wrestling starting with the 2020 Olympiad, I thought it was one of those Onion stories that people mistake for actual news.  What a patently ridiculous idea.  What more direct connection between the ancient Olympic games and the modern games than one of the few sports left that requires no equipment, no complex venue.  This sport doesn’t require a horse and a few million dollars to “compete” in.  Just a circle on a mat and two bodies pitting strength and skill against one another… but this is the sport that doesn’t fit in Olympic competition!?

The USSR’s Alexander Karelin fueled how many gay wrestling fantasies!?

The Russian wrestling coach who blames the gays for this decision similarly sounded like an obviously Onion-esque farce of a story.  Eliminating wrestling is apparently something designed on behalf of “the gays” to redefine masculinity, turning away from the spectacle of hot, nearly naked muscled bodies of male athletes squeezing and throwing and pinning one another as crowds watch on cheering.  Because, yeah, you know…. the gays surely hate that.  We can’t stand seeing that, can we?

Indian Kamar Sushil shows off his biceps as he threatens to rip an opponent’s head off on his way to gold. More, please.

As a couple thousands hits a day on this blog demonstrates, there are plenty of gays deeply invested in the perpetuation of wrestling.  Personally, the only voices in my life who I’ve heard up in arms about the decision belong to fellow gays.  But then again, it isn’t the first time a minority have been unfairly scapegoated to help the privileged cope with the unfamiliar experience of not getting their way.  The aforementioned Russian wrestling coach predicts that this is just one more step toward the gays ruling the world, so I say our first order of business once our insidious cabal has succeeded in supplanting world leadership with our 6 percent (or so) of the population, should be the reinstatement of Olympic wrestling.  And in the interest of historical accuracy, I say they should have to compete like the real men of 8th century BCE wrestled.  Naked.

American Jordan Burroughs own his opponent in last summer’s London games.

One of my early memories of getting wildly turned on and fueling sexual fantasies for years to come was when I happened to catch the quarter final match on television between the US’s Steve Fraser and Swede Frank Andersson at the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics.  Blond and bronzed and looking like a Norse god toasted brown in the Southern California sunshine, Andersson was almost too pretty to believe.  The action was aggressive, fast, and visually stunning.  I was 13 years old, and even if I’d never been turned on by wrestling before (I had), this match would have been guaranteed to drive home the point that the drama, the power, and the beauty of wrestling would remain the most erotic thing in my life.  Yep, Olympic wrestling most definitely turned me gay (not really).

So sign petitions.  Raise a stink.  And remember that haters will hate, regardless of the topic.

Um, yeah.  Nothing about this for a gay man to want to see: Egyptian Olympic wrestler Karam Gabar Ebrahim

I’ve posted a new piece of juicy pro wrestling fiction from Alex in his AWL series over at the Sidelineland fiction group.  It’s another Daring Danny Chase story, so I know of several fans of Daring Danny that will particularly brighten to hear this news.  Alex is taking us into some new territory, including some twisted kink that even disturbs me just a little (not much… but a little).  I use the word “disturb,” however it’s not like “AWL: The Ring Bunny” failed to completely turn me on and get my heart pumping hard.  Alex just has that way about him!  It’s just that “ring bunny” character that throws me…

I’ve commented in the past that I’m not sure Danny is the brightest bulb in the lamp, which got me into some hot water with fans taking me to task for calling Danny dumb.  For the record, I don’t think Danny’s dumb.  I do think he’s a beautiful work of fiction, however, so unless Alex writes the results of an IQ test into a future story, we may never really know any objective measure of Danny’s intelligence. His common sense, however, is occasionally seriously impaired (c’mon, you gotta give me that!), and that weakness is once again the foundation for Danny to encounter a challenge like he’s never faced before, not entirely limited to the seriously pissed off 6’1″, 250-lbs mountain of muscle bearing down on him.

So sure.  Perhaps we just haven’t seen Danny’s brainy side.  This snapshot of his life and career from the early 80’s world of pro wrestling is hardly a study in his intellectual capacity as much as it is a recognition that when you’re gorgeous as hell and built like a gym-bunny pro wrestler, the calls for you to produce your SAT scores are understandably limited.  Whether I’m too hard on lovely Danny (and trust me, I could get a lot harder!) as I speculate about his intelligence, I’m entirely on board with his many fans who find his pro-wrestling-turned-kink-wrestling stories damn hot!  Nice work as always, Alex!

Picking up on yesterday’s sub-theme of “reading is sexy,” I’ve just posted to the Sidelineland fiction group a new fictional homoerotic wrestling story penned by fan-favorite Alex.  It’s a new chapter in the AWL series, in which we get some backstage, locker room insight into what could have made early ’80’s professional wrestling the sexiest business in the history of the planet.

“Joining the Club” stars a recurring character, young stud Jake Justice, having returned from his road shows and motel madness to keep his on-air career chugging forward as a tough young face.

Jake comes face to face, pec to pec, and cock to cock with a mighty hunk of meat who has more in store to teach young Jake about games within games, moving the career ball forward, and finding your people along the way.  This story features what I can only describe as a breathtakingly awesome return of another AWL feature star who lit up the Sidelineland listserv the last time he appeared in one of Alex’ matches.  Like Quantum Leap, Alex has jumped our perspective into young Jake’s head this time, and there’s something insanely hot about seeing a hunk of meat we’ve grown to know and lust after from the inside out, now described through the eyes of another star-struck hunk.

This has most definitely been the year for homoerotic wrestling fiction, in huge part thanks to Alex’ incredible productivity.  I believe he’s authored no fewer than 17 of the highest quality pieces of homoerotic wrestling fiction on the Sidelineland fiction site, and I’m happy to report that there’s more coming from Alex and others.  So be part of the pouch pounding action by signing up to get all hot and bothered reading these gems.  Better yet, be a total stud and contribute your own pieces of original writing!

I’m delighted to report that I have pieces of homoerotic wrestling fiction piling up around me! First off the top of the pile is a sweetly poignant pro-wrestlers-turned-homoerotic-objects-of-lust chapter from Alex’ “AWL” series.  You know the primary protagonist: babyface jobber with a heart of gold and a body of beef, Danny Chase.

Danny seems always just a fraction behind the curve at all times.  I suppose not all professional wrestlers are rocket scientists, though one of my very favorite personal fantasies is when they’ve got the brains to match the brawn.  Danny, however, is more big-hearted than sharp-witted, and events frequently take him by surprise and require him to think on them long and hard before he manages to figure out which end is up.

In this case, the main mystery has to do with his best buddy, Rex Taylor.  You’ll remember it was Rex who introduced Danny to the lucrative side hustle of the “Men’s Wrestling Alliance,” where the hottest pros go to moonlight for the type of guys who get off on the homoeroticism of wrestling (you may be familiar with the concept).

The two new muscle beasts that make this story so delightful are a couple of Italian power houses.  The Italians are brutal, merciless, and built like Roman gods, which is how I like to imagine all Italians are.  When he finds these guys in Rex’ face, Danny can’t figure out what their angle is.  The action reaches the ring (thank god), and there’s something oddly compelling for me about the Italians and their commitment to the “rules of the ring.” Fantastic story again from Alex.  Check it out by signing up for the Sidelineland group, and contribute your own original works of homoerotic wrestling fiction as well!

I’m officially obsessed.  I began writing a homoerotic wrestling fiction story several months back.  I shelved it for a while, but I was recently drawn back to the story.  It’s one of those projects that’s consumed me a bit lately.  It’s a story I’m aching to get down on paper.  It’s haunting me a little between writing sessions.  All that’s good stuff… great, really.  I love that sort of project where it grabs me and drives me hard.  But here’s the bad news.  I’ve embedded some photos of a fitness model who I’m using to illustrate the main protagonist.  But I’ve lost all track of who this hunk is.

Now, I could just move on in any number of directions.  I could be happy with the three anonymous photos I’ve gathered (included in this post) and use them without knowing more about this beefy beauty, and not needing to look up any more provocative shots of him.  Or I could identify a new model to stand in his place and embody the protagonist I’m writing.  But at this point, this story has been sitting underneath my skin so long with this particular hunk animated in my imagination, that I’m finding it very difficult to let go of him.  I’ve spent ridiculous amounts of time searching the net for who he is, but I’ve had no luck.  In fact, I’m feeling a little paralyzed in my writing and distracted from other important tasks in my life by the search for identifying this dreamboat.  I need help.

Somebody who reads neverland knows who this guy is, I’m sure.  In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of you put me onto this inspiring physique and clean cut face.  Even more to the point, I know that there are net-obsessed boys with a lot more technical savvy than I have who may have just the search tool to nail this hardbody down (which, coincidentally, is precisely the plot I’m writing!).  I need you your help.  Please. Scratch this itch before it drives me insane!

Just a quick note to let fans of homoerotic wrestling fiction know that there’s a new chapter in The Cave series, entitled “Thunder Strikes,” over at the Sidelineland group.  Alex has pieced together another incredibly compelling story documenting the fall of The Bat, aka Cody, now forcibly re-dubbed as muscle jobber to die for, Pink Punk.  Inside and outside of the ring, Cody’s wrapping his head around the nature and scope of his penance for past misdeeds, even as his gorgeous muscle-body is wrapped around the ring post.  As Cody comes to terms with where he is in his long journey through purgatory, he seems to be making inroads in patching up his shattered relationship with his former buddy-turned-Bane.  And is it my imagination, or is Cody learning to make the most of getting crushed and abused?  There’s a whole different sort of mojo he seems to be tapping into as the pink thong and white boots grow on him, and one way or another he’s going to work off an astonishingly satisfying load, and I, for one, am right there with him!  Thanks again, Alex!

For those who may be growing a little tired of the Olympic Spirit series of homoerotic wrestling fiction around here, I’ve just posted a refreshing break from Olympic athlete fiction at Sidelineland. Alex has a new chapter in The Cave series, entitled “Meet the (sigh) Pink Punk.”  Alex has been an awesome contributor to the quickly growing collection of homoerotic wrestling fiction at Sidelineland. His Cave series, I now think, should have been filed under the superhero tab, because despite it being about the “performance” of gay themed/superhero themed wrestling, I’m more and more convinced that Alex is tapping quite directly into the melodrama and action that are at the heart of superhero comics themselves.

How far has The Bat fallen!?

And damn it all if he doesn’t find the hottest wrestlers to don a mask and appear on the PPV internet channel, The Cave! I’m still mulling how to classify the main antagonist in this new chapter of the Cave (babyface, heel, hero, villain, beauty, beast…?), but one thing I’m absolutely certain, that ass is going to be starring in my dreams tonight.

With enemies like this, who needs friends?!

If you’re not a member of Sidelineland, and if you enjoy homoerotic wrestling fiction, then sign up!  You can read all of Alex’ stories and many more from other contributors, including me.  And post your comments to the stories in the group listserv, because 99% of authors are more likely to continue to share what they write if they get feedback.  And in the interest of full disclosure, 100% of homoerotic wrestling bloggers make up statistics.  Enjoy!

Earlier today, I posted a new “American Wrestling League” chapter by Alex over at Sidelineland. In Motel Mayhem, we follow the backroads adventures of Jake Justice, a young up and coming legacy in the pro wrestling business in the early 80’s. He’s paying his dues despite his status as a legacy, hitting some small town shows and staying in dives along the way.

Headliner Jake has a little secret he keeps from the public…

Of course, small town dives don’t like to think of themselves as dives. Running down the 11 room roadside operation in bumfuck nowhere earns Jake no love from the major side of beef behind the counter. Egos, big muscles, full-on lust. Boys will be boys, and somebody deserves a nasty fucking!

Waiting for Jake behind the desk at the local motel

Enjoy Alex’ story with your membership to Sidelineland, and let Alex know what you think. Motel Mayhem has sent my mind spinning into questions about the eroticism of both brutality and tenderness in homoerotic wrestling. A story with all lust and tenderness, and you basically just have a gay romance novel, which isn’t, by itself, on my list of turn ons. Then again, all brutality can drift far too quickly into rape scenarios or, far too often, homophobic violence that similarly leaves me uncomfortable, sometimes disgusted, and usually quite flaccid. But the alchemy of the two elements woven together is a potentially intoxicating mix for me, and different quantities and types of each ingredient can stroke my kink in delightfully entertaining ways. Alex has a spicy hot recipe going with Motel Mayhem, and I’ll be interested to hear what other readers think.

Lover? Fighter? Where to draw the line?

Send your original contributions of homoerotic wrestling fiction to me to share at Sidelineland, and let the rest of us get off on that hot little homoerotic wrestling imagination you’ve got!