Apparently, Gabe Steel has met Zach Ramos before, but doesn’t remember him. Now, I’m a virtuoso when it comes to suspending disbelief. I can swallow a whole lot (figuratively speaking), but holy shit, the idea that someone could forget meeting Zach stretches even my professional-level imagination. He’s 6-foot, 200 pounds, and so fucking effortlessly sexy! The goatee. The ponytail. The slyly handsome face. And that ambition?! Fuck. “You’re going to be hearing a lot more of me,” Zach says, smirking in Gabe’s face. And then, when Zach explains that he’s going to make his name at BG East by kicking Gabe’s legendary ass in his debut match, I’m sold.
Zach’s BG East debut against Gabe takes place in the new release Ruff ‘N’ Raunchy 7. The match catches me by surprise for a few reasons. For one reason, Gabe has been eating up and chewing out newbies lately, and I was totally expecting a steam roller of a match. Not that Gabe can’t take a lot, but he’s just been dishing it out so much lately. He’s proven he can squash an outmatched newbie with panache. He looks bigger, harder, and stronger in every match. The next BGE Wrestlefest, save this hunk a seat on the heel bench. So squaring off against another hot newbie babyface has “one-sided romp” written all over it. And early days, it totally reads that way when Gabe muscle bullies the big, pretty boy relentlessly. He has 200 pound Zach off his feet in a bearhug within seconds. He suplexes the rookie with abandon, planting the boy’s lower lumbar inches deep into the ring. And, no shit, within the first couple of minutes, he manhandles Zach suspended upside down and delivers a piledriver to the stunned stud. “I thought you were going to do something, that you were going to make a name for yourself.” Big Gabe has already busted out a sweaty sheen, crowing and sneering over the bashed babyface at his feet. “Still waiting!”
But, just when I’m settled in only half paying attention because I’m pretty sure I’ve seen this movie before, Zach stops taking punches and starts delivering them. Just when Gabe has peeled him off the mat like roadkill and has him kneeling at his feet, the rookie starts punching the rock hard wall of Gabe’s gut, and he just doesn’t stop! The punches connect. I’m fucking sold, watching coiled Zach unspool a roundhouse that lifts Gabe off his feet. He beats the big man down with sheer nerve and conviction and has him in a cradle pin that Gabe is too rocked to kick out of. He pries the rising muscle heel apart, joint by joint, with a kneeling surfboard, literally, gleefully, genuinely laughing when Gabe tries to muscle his way to an escape and can’t pull it off. “When I’m done with you, everyone’s going to know my name!”
So Zach packing serious offense and big, big personality to match that big, beautiful body is surprise #1 for me. Surprise #2 is how relentlessly erotic this match turns. It’s like the pull of gravity sending a satellite plunging back to earth, it’s just so fucking irresistible. So, sure, it’s in the Ruff ‘N’ Raunchy product line, so I’m expecting this to turn way sexy. But fuck, I was NOT expecting this! Both hunks go for broke targeting each other’s balls, which isn’t the surprising part. They both get super handsy, shoving their mitts inside each other’s pouches and squeezing the obvious excitement they’re both experiencing harder and harder (again, this ISN’T really the surprising part for me). The crotch-to-crotch grinding, pounding, that fine line between raging domination and just careening toward getting off on each other’s suffering starts to take me a bit by surprise, not so much because it happens, but the ferocity with which it keeps happening. But when the hands on the crotch stop squeezing and start stroking, it absolutely catches me off guard. When the trunks come off and the wrestling continues, every inch of their bodies explored and displayed… fuck, yeah, that was more intense than I expected…
…but holy fuck, when Zach is suspended naked in an inverted bearhug and forced (fuck, no one is telling me he’s not loving his job right then, though) to give the infamous heel head while he hangs there, I’m genuinely surprised by the level of intimacy, strength, and acrobatics. And then, mid-servicing, Gabe delivers a gorgeous, naked piledriver to the rookie!?!? Holy fuck, maybe the biggest surprise for me is that Gabe’s cock is still attached, because I was seriously worried how a mid-fellatio piledriver might turn out for either/both of them.
Zach lands with full on personality. That almost unhinged little spontaneous laugh of his absolutely sends me, making me buy that he’s thrilled to be putting his ass on the line in this bid to establish himself as a BG East wrestler to be remembered. And, sure, maybe, just maybe, I can’t help but identify with him, coming face-to-face with an A-List gay who can’t be bothered to even remember that they’ve met before, and beating the living shit out of him, savoring the moment of Gabe’s suffering on behalf of all of us not quite (yet) impressive enough for a cocky white party it-boy to recall his name.
I’m not saying he comes out on top in this match. But I will put money down on the fact that Gabe is going to remember the name Zach Ramos from this point onward. And the name Zach Ramos is certainly lingering on my lips. Get this gorgeous side of beef back into the ring, pronto!
If you’ve read ANY posts prior to this one, it will come as no surprise when I say that I’m prone to crushes. In no small way, the past 1,683 posts document in excessive detail (I admit) hundreds of moments of my infatuation. They all rotate around the gravitational pull of erotic wrestling for me, of course. Whether I’m crushing on erotic wrestlers, pro wrestlers, or amateur wrestlers, or imagining erotic wrestling between hot actors, models, bodybuilders, or people I spy in my everyday life, my crushes are varied and, simultaneously, singular. I’ve been asked several times recently about my original motivation and approach to starting this blog. Honestly, it took a while for me to spiral in on the heart of what it has become, but at this point, I think of that heart as being about the wrestling crushes that linger, that I feel compelled to explore here. It’s the reason why when, occasionally, someone critiques or complains about what I’ve written about, that it sort of takes me by surprise. This is me, reflecting “out loud” on where my lustful eye lands. I’m thrilled when my reflections intersect with or provoke reflections in others, but honestly, it’s all about me. I swear, I don’t walk through my life prattling on and on about what/who turns me on, but here… yeah. If you’re looking for other content, I’m sure you can find it elsewhere.
The Adonis, Mitch Colby
Most of what I write about has been wrestling-for-gay-eyes. It’s not always “gay wrestling,” and definitely not always erotic wrestling, but most of my attention settles on the industry that has grown up marketing to guys like me. For about half of the life of the blog, I was maintaining running tallies of my current favorite homoerotic wrestlers, picking out my lasting crushes and my instant infatuations among the new releases from the likes of BG East, Can-Am, Naked Kombat, and the half a dozen more companies that have sprouted from the fertile soil of the early innovators and entrepreneurs. Starting the “discipline” of keeping track of who my favorite wrestler was at any one time, and combing through the new releases each month to highlight one hunk who grabbed me by the balls hardest, probably deserves a lot of the credit for the overall vibe of what I think I’m using this blog for. Like, when I picked Mitch Colby in May of 2009 to be my inaugural reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, it’s not that I expected him to be everyone’s favorite. I wasn’t proscribing Mitch as somehow independently verifiable as superior to anyone else by any metric other than for being the stunning, 6’2, 200 pound marble statue of Adonis that I couldn’t get my mind off of at the time. When, over the years, commenters have quibble about a choice I’ve made for my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler, I would always delight in comparing notes, but… no, the choice was never “wrong,” because it was always about who turned me on (and, yeah, I’m THE expert in that, if nothing else!).
Me wrestling TxWresl at Wrestlefest Canada
As I’ve documented here, over the past few months I’ve enjoyed exploring meet-up wrestling for the first time. It’s been an interesting evolution from long-time homoerotic wrestling fanatic to rookie homoerotic wrestler. Well, it’s not like I’ve evolved out of being a fanatic. I continue to nurse my infatuations over the wrestlers that show up regularly on my screens in new releases and classic favorites. I’m both a seasoned, long-time aficionado and a very fresh and untested rookie at the same time. But both in the (over)abundance of what I’ve learned about the pleasure I get from watching homoerotic wrestling, and in my nascent understanding of what I enjoy about participating in homoerotic wrestling myself, my natural inclinations remain the same. The holds and the heat, the range of bodies and builds, the necessary chemistry and vibe are close to the same in turning me on watching or wrestling.
Scott introducing me to a camel clutch
I’ve enjoyed all of my wrestling experiences so far, and I know that I shouldn’t take that for granted. Friends have shared with me stories of meet-ups that have not gone well, or just been downright bad. I haven’t had a match that I regret, or a bad experience with any of my opponents. And, to one extent or another, I develop mini-infatuations on all of them. What is intense and hot and enjoyable is both varied, and singular, as it has been with what I enjoy about watching good homoerotic wrestling. My most recent two matches definitely linger. In my downtime, I find myself wandering to them repeatedly, crushing on a hold, a look, a feel. Maybe these last two matches continue to linger because, well, they’re my most recent two. Or, maybe, it’s because they were both rematches, of a sort. Maybe the heat lingers because, a second (or more) time around with a wrestler, the intensity is jump started by familiarity? Of course, one of the two is Scott Williams, who has been entirely successfully translated from my homoerotic wrestling-watching crush into a homoerotic wrestling opponent crush. This surprises me not in the least, although it still tickles me that Scott is apparently having enough fun with his #1 fan to stubbornly keep coming back for more. He’s been starring in the masturbation reel in my mind for years, and he continues to be hot as hell. So, of course, my mind wanders back to our last match a couple of weeks ago, giving me a little uncomfortable pressure in my pants at inopportune times (no complaints from me, though).
SeattleFight making me wonder whose camel clutch is most punishing, Scott’s or his
The other intrusive, pleasurable memories that my mind’s eye keeps settling on feature the last opponent I wrestled in Toronto three weeks ago. I wrote then about the instant, magnetic impact SeattleFight had on me over and over at WrestleFest. Again, there are some obvious elements that go a long way to explaining why I experienced an instant crush on SeattleFight. He’s handsome and armored in gorgeous (and super functional) muscle. He’s unselfconsciously intense as fuck when he’s wrestling. Maybe less obvious, I also keep returning to my memories of him catching my eye, in groups, at the bar, in a random encounter in a shop on Church Street, and repeatedly experiencing this electric spark. When we’ve exchanged messages since, my heart skips just a little with excitement to see something from him. Yep, that’s me crushing.
When I’ve blogged about my favorite wrestlers featured in homoerotic wrestling products, I’ve routinely pitted contending crushes against one another, if only in my imagination. In my imagination, I’m doing it all the fucking time, picturing what would a match look like between two stunning hunks that, separately, I can’t get my mind off of. For example, in 2010, I was vacillating back and forth, almost month by month, between Mitch Colby and Rusty Stevens as my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler. Both of them in their best shape, selling each of their distinctive attitudes and styles, classic babyface and pitch-perfect heel, gave me whiplash turning back and forth between their new releases, trying to decide which of them gets the penthouse suite living rent free in my head. I mused on the pages of this blog that what I really needed to see was the two of them settling the question by wrestling against each other. My faith in the existence of the homoerotic gods was cemented when less than a year later, BG East released their one and only match featuring Rusty… taking on Mitch. Fuuuck. I still manage to both melt and get hard at the same time just thinking about it.
I’m HERE for this rematch!!!!
When it comes to my lingering wrestling crushes on Scott and SeattleFight, it turns out they have wrestled each other in the past. Fuck, to be a fly on that wall! I haven’t heard too many details about their encounter. I realize not everyone has their inner monologue on public broadcast at all times quite like I do, so I’m not sure how polite it is for me to ask for details. But, fuck. I think seeing them, firsthand, square off against one another would make that divine moment of watching Mitch and Rusty wrestle in The Breaking Point pale by homoerotic comparison. One thing I’ve learned in my early experiences with meet-up wrestling is that just getting two interested wrestlers in the same place at the same time is more than half the challenge. So, I can’t imagine the luck and coordinated effort it would require to get all three of us in the same place. But, if Scott and SeattleFight ever have the rematch that the homoerotic wrestling gods WANT to happen (no, no, I’m not projecting…), and I’m within a days drive, holy FUCK I’d better get a front row seat! Hell, I’ll buy refs stripes and a whistle and be closer than the front row. Fuck, I’ll wear trunks underneath, just in case.
And now… that’s the image that’s going to live rent free in the penthouse apartment in my head.
A friend of mine recently posited that Ash DeLeon deserves most of the credit for the current popularity of gut bashing. I can’t really say, myself. I’ve only been at the margins of the serious gut bashing scene. One particular opponent I wrestled at Wrestlefest Canada couldn’t get enough of it, but it hasn’t been something that I’m seriously dialed into. Ash, however, seems way, way, way dialed into gut bashing. He said as much in my interview with him about 7 years ago, when he was just debuting with BG East, and in a follow up interview we had about 3 years ago.
…can’t take his eyes off those abs!
Then, 7 years later, he sees Jason Aleqsander’s insanely ripped abs strolling by on his way down to the lake for an early evening swim, and there we have Backyard Brawls 17. Ash keeps it low key, but I’m convinced that he is salivating. He tells Jason he needs a pinch hitter to fill in for some no-show. “Is it worth my time?” Fuck, Jason keeps it cool. Ash assures him, “I think it’ll be worth the time for both of us.”
Ash gets a hold of “Abercrombie”
Ash’s swagger grows every time I see him in a new match. He’s full on heel, dubbing Jason “Abercrombie” instead of bothering to learn his name. He bullies the rookie easily for a while, out-muscling his lighter opponent and throwing him down to the mat with contempt. But fierce little Jason tears into him like a badger, tackling Ash and raining down punches and stomps in a fit of babyface rage. Ash chides him, though, after Jason reels in his rage and climbs off, giving Ash the break that he’d never, ever have offered if the shoe were on the other foot. “That’s not needed,” Jason coldly dismisses the idea that he should kick an opponent when he’s down. “This is just a game to me.”
This is what Jason has in mind when he plays games
I really, really enjoy Jason on offense. He’s aggressive and swarms Ash at one point, locking those sexy ass legs of his around him in a triangle choke. He starts slamming down sledge hammer punches into the gut-punch king’s abs, and there’s this flash of honey sweet passion from him. “This is what you wanted, huh?!”
This turns MEAN!
Ash takes his fair share of lumps, but he’s all heel in this match. More than once, he lifts Jason off his feet and wrings him out relentlessly in bearhugs. They’re lush and long, and they show off that biteable ass on the swimmer boy beautifully. It’s Ash, of course, so a good 50-60% of him on offense is ab abuse. Punches, claws, bouncing fireman’s carries… tenderizing those stunningly visible abs on the blond prettyboy is the point for Ash. But Jason keeps things hot and spicy, sucking it down like a fucking sponge, refusing to submit for ages. “You think you’re really doing something,” Jason demands, and even through clenched teeth, it’s fucking defiant and sexy. “Those abs ARE going to give to me,” Ash snarls back furiously.
“Those abs ARE going to give to me!”
There’s a super sweet, rare moment, in a brief break in the action, when both stubborn boys reluctantly give each other credit for the hard fought battle so far. Honestly, I love that glimpse of genuine respect. It doesn’t take away even a stitch from the hot rivalry and battle of wills and bodies. It doesn’t cost them anything at all to acknowledge what’s clearly evident on this side of the screen, that they’re both sexy, tough-as-shit, quick-witted, well-matched young hunks. The drama holds together nicely, the suspense building through to the end, both wearing a little less than they started, one of them just a bit more humble than when he started.
“You need to rearrange your fucking priorities!”
It’s a whole lot more than solely a gut-bashing match, but both sets of abs are severely tested along the way. The personalities are fun, the bodies hot, and the wrestling rough. It has a genuine feel of a spontaneous, chance encounter between two fierce competitors who enjoy putting their muscles, and skills, and self-assurance to the test against a worthy opponent.
I took my first Uber ride two weeks ago. I mention this only to demonstrate an enduring truth about me: I am almost never an early adopter. My iPhone is about 7 generations old. A friend was harassing me just a couple days ago for not having Venmo. It’s not that I’m an avowed Luddite. I’m just such a devoted creature of habit. If what I’ve got in hand is working just fine, I tend to stick with it.
Mickey Knoxx gets stretched, broken, and crushed at the same time by Masked Menace
For several years, I’ve been curious about the clips of self-produced content that I’ve seen wrestlers posting on social media. OnlyFans, GumRoad, Watchfighters, JustForFans… on the one hand, I’ve always thought good on you. It’s got a little bit of the vibe of the proletariat reclaiming the direct fruits of their own labor. But, on the other hand, as I was recently talking with Txwresl about, it makes me worried for the homoerotic wrestling industry that has been a lifeline for me and so many others. Is there a risk of flooding the market with so much homoerotic wrestling content that the potential reward for any one producer is too little to make it worth anyone’s time to continue creating and innovating?
The hot-bodied rookie ROCKS the legendary heel… for a while….
I don’t know the answers to any of the big questions, but like adding the Uber app to my iPhone, I recently decided to sample the wild and woolly world of WatchFighters. My first impression was that the platform is overwhelming. Along the lines of my concerns about whether too much content may dilute the stream, I have a tough time finding what I’m looking for on WatchFighters, if I don’t already know what I’m looking for (if you know what I mean). Taking the advice of a friend (thanks, Bobby!), I looked up a content producer that I was already familiar with and found a match between two wrestlers I already knew I was turned on by, namely established veteran heel Masked Menace and one of my most recent crushes, BG East babyface rookie Mickey Knoxx.
Masked Menace puts the babyface in his place
Dirty Wrestling Pride, available on Watchfighters and GumRoad, takes place in a hotel room, where fresh meat Mickey is stretching out on the bed in sensationally snug rainbow trunks. The moment Masked Menace hits the scene, he’s in Mickey’s face. “Do you know who I fucking am?” The hunky, hairy, infamous masked veteran flexes, like maybe his bulging bicep might remind him. Of course, Mickey knows. “And you’re a fucking mouse, right,” Menace asks, contempt dripping from his lips. “I’m going to kick your ass, boy.”
“Who’s the fucking menace now!?”
Mickey pretty quickly has more than his fill of being taunted and degraded, of being shoved in his gorgeous pecs and grabbed by the balls. He snags the infamous masked heel in a side headlock and throws him down to the bed. He schoolboy pins Menace, slamming his crotch into that legendary masked face. “You want this? You think you can have it?!” Masked Menace snarls back, “fuck you,” but it’s pretty muffled and incoherent, his mouth gagged with Mickey’s eager package. Mickey just keeps rolling, not letting up an ounce of pressure, punishing the stunned heel with smothering headscissors. He slaps the frustrated heel in the masked face, taunting and sneering, rolling him up in a foldover pin. Mickey cock pins his opponent’s face, pumping his hips passionately, before staring those impossibly milky blue eyes directly into the camera, and taunting. “You’re going to make me pay for this? Who’s the fucking menace now?!” Holy fuck. Mickey serving up babyface rookie revenge is fucking sweet!
“These balls are fucking mine, boy!”
Mickey gets an impressive string of licks in, before a punch to his rainbow clad balls brings his menacing reign to an abrupt end. I’ve never heard Masked Menace as verbal in his BG East matches as he is with Mickey. His thick accent is dripping with contempt as he relentlessly trash talks dazzlingly pretty Mickey. “These balls are fucking mine, boy,” he growls, clawing the fuck out of the prettyboy’s crotch. Mickey’s balls take about 15 solid minutes of pounding, interrupted occasionally by the heel stroking the rookie’s cock so passionately that I can’t tell if Mickey is on the edge of passing out from the pain or cumming in ecstasy. “I can feel this fucking big hard cock, here. I know you enjoy that,” Masked Menace growls, his domination squirreling directly under Mickey’s flawless skin. “Because you’re my boy. My fucking prettyboy playboy.”
“This big, hard cock is fucking mine!”
It’s a hotel bed, so it’s pretty fucking impressive when the seasoned heel scoops Mickey up in his arms, cradling him across his powerful, hairy chest, before pounding him down with authority into a long, lingering over-the-knee backbreaker. “This big, hard cock is fucking mine,” Masked Menace says again, and fuck it… I believe him! He slides his hand inside Mickey’s pouch, back and forth between crushing his balls and stroking his cock. Mickey looks like he has no fucking clue if he’s cumming or going. His entire body shakes with sobs (or rising orgasm?) when he’s stretched out in a leg nelson, the heel eventually unhooking one leg to continue pounding and stroking Mickey relentlessly back and forth. “You feel that?” It’s not like Masked Menace had to ask, considering every muscle in Mickey’s body is taut in response. “Yesssssss,” Mickey hisses, equally unnecessary, but fuck, so fucking sexy to watch him seemingly unable to stop himself from sounding like he’s just about to shoot.
THAT…ASS!!!!!!
Masked Menace heels the “mouse boy” for a solid 2/3rds of this 24 minute match. It’s constrained by the geography of a king size bed. They can’t help but sink into the mattress, built for comfort and not for providing a solid foundation for executing a submission hold. It’s produced thoughtfully, using two stationary cameras and some clever editing of both to lend some dimension to the tight quarters of the hotel room and show off both hot bodies locked in combat. Masked Menace is ALL about the D, but fuck, fuck, fuck, Mickey’s ass, once again, steals the show for me. There’s some clever storytelling, with the heel’s relentless call back of contempt for Mickey “the mouse” Knoxx and his foolish expectation that he could go toe-to-toe with a legend, run roughshod over him at the start, and still be conscious enough to defend himself by the time it’s all said and done.
Mickey is all sexy grit and determination to set the tone for this match
For $15.95, it’s mine to stream, pause, rewind, and watch Mickey’s rainbow covered ass flex and squirm in ecstatic agony/agonizing ecstasy all over again. Both of them pull off an aggressive wrestling-forward vibe that makes the hotel room context fade a bit into the background. It’s good storytelling, with Mickey’s early gloating rally coming back to haunt him, just like Masked Menace promised it would. Mickey’s suffering pairs exquisitely with Masked Menace’s relentless aggression and torrential trash talk. It feels sexy and suspenseful and brutal.
Mickey Knoxx is a dish best served hot
My sincere thanks to Masked Menace for giving me permission to post these scorching hot images! I’ll keep exploring Watchfighters. I doubt that it can fully scratch the itch that consistent production value, respect for the stream of wrestling history, and the world-building that comes from an experienced producer crafting characters and through-story, has long scratched for me. I don’t know what this all says about the future of the homoerotic wrestling industry. I don’t know if there may be a generational evolution happening, and different age cohorts within the homoerotic wrestling audience may be vying for growing or shrinking shares of new content in different formats. But I do know that Dirty Wrestling Pride entertains me and turns me on.
Some of the most fun I’ve had exploring meet-up wrestling these past few months has been just chatting with opponents during breaks in the action. Well, it’s a different kind of fun, but still very fun, and the conversations have really stuck with me. For example, I was just wearing out again our buddy Scott (aka, the Man of My Dreams) a few days ago. He really wanted a chance to redeem himself, I think, after he got a little more blogger-turned-wrestler than he was counting on the first time we wrestled several weeks ago. He seemed undaunted by my warnings that I’d received some excellent coaching at Wrestlefest Toronto (thanks again, guys!), and I was itching to try out some new holds. Long story short, I definitely did get the opportunity to practice some new holds and wrung even more submissions out of Scott than the first time.
I lost count of which submission this was…
During a break, Scott and I were comparing notes about having first explored what turns us on about wrestling before the internet was what it is today. We had this vivid shared memory (experienced separately, but so entirely the same for both of us) of trying to casually cruise the magazine aisles at stores, to catch sight of hot, shirtless guys on covers. Scott echoed exactly my experience of feeling outrageously conspicuous to even be seen looking at the covers of wrestling or fitness magazines, like I’d instantly be spotted for the way they turned me on. To purchase one felt essentially like coming out to the cashier. I must’ve cruised magazine aisles for months before finally plucking up the desperate courage and buying one. My collection grew quickly from there, even though every purchase made my heart pound.
I had a similar conversation during a break in one of my matches with SeattleFight in Toronto. I told with him about this crystal clear memory I have (I can tell you exactly the store I was in, where on the magazine rack it was) of catching sight of Kevin Von Erich on the cover of a wrestling magazine. I’d never seen Kevin before. Instant erection. It was like porn, just sitting out there for everyone to see. Honestly, actual porn has never done for me quite what eye fucking the likes of barefoot Kevin in his yellow trunks in that magazine did for me, much less actually watching Kevin wrestle once I obsessively tracked down where to find World Class Championship Wrestling playing on my TV.
THE cover that stopped me in my closeted teenage tracks
I actually felt more conspicuous buying wrestling magazines than more generic bodybuilding magazines, because of the turn on I got from wrestling. My stash of masturbation inspiration was mostly populated with Muscle & Fitness and Musclemag International, because, in my still-sketchy theory of mind at the time, I felt like there was something less obviously sexual about bodybuilders in posing straps than hot pro wrestlers in classic 80’s trunks. But, of course, what really got me off about the bodybuilders was imagining them wrestling.
I wore this issue of Muscle & Fitness out, especially for Steve Bond’s baby oiled muscles on the cover.
In recent years, I’ve become friends with younger guys into wrestling, who discovered and explored what excites them by just typing some magic words into Google. Hell, I’ve even found out that some of these now-friends were bypassing the age-restrictions to read my homoerotic wrestling fiction 10 or more years ago, discovering the center and the edges of what turns them on about wrestling at least partially with the help of my words… as well as thousands of hours of pro wrestling matches on YouTube… as well as specifically gay wrestling producers connecting the dots between the erotic subtext of wrestling and babyface heroes and heel villains in mainstream pro.
I snapped up this issue of MuscleMag International, after Bob Paris came out, featuring he and his partner
There was a time when I wondered if I was so keyed into wrestling because, when I was coming of age, it was one of the few, regular, publicly consumable sources of hot, athletic guys wearing very little clothing, wrapping their hot bodies around each other (just writing this sentence is turning me on, frankly). Like, I’ve wondered if there is a wrestling kink, if erotic wrestling and erotic fiction and mainstream gay characters in media and, not to mention, ubiquitous porn, are available at the click of a button. Does mainstreaming the gay erotic gaze (or at least making it easier to focus it on a variety of sources) mean that a niche kink like gay erotic wrestling will even exist for long?
Jimmy Snuka’s pecs made watching mainstream pro wrestling in the company of others “hard” for me
I’m shit at predicting the future (I gave up on that after the 2016 US Presidential election), so I certainly don’t have a definitive answer. But my hunch is that wrestling kink is going to endure a while. While I’ve enjoyed so much meeting and wrestling with guys my age and older, I’ve also been pretty fascinated by meeting and wrestling with younger guys, who grew up with entirely different pathways and options for exploring what turns them on, and who found themselves at pretty much the same destination that I did. In an age when there are seemingly infinite sources of material to titillate, there are a lot gay and bisexual young guys powerfully drawn by their dizzying erections to watch mainstream wrestling, consume homoerotic wrestling, and explore what turns them on about it in the context of meet-up wrestling. And I know for a fact that some of them feel super self-conscious about it still, but it’s certainly a different world from when I was stopped dead in my tracks by Kevin Von Erich on the cover of a wrestling magazine, and thought to myself that I had never seen anything that sexy, and wondered if I ever would again.
I got my first glimpse of Anton Alvarez in his new Jobberpaloozer 22 release, and I like what I see. Technically speaking, I don’t think it’s quite true to say it was my “first” glimpse. I believe I saw him on the babyface bench cheering on WrestleFest 4. And honestly, the beefy, handsome, smiling babyface totally caught my eye on that bench. But I haven’t watched his debut yet, (Jobberpaloozer 19 against Ace Aarons), so settling in to see him square off against Kayden was all new.
Anton brightly cheered on fellow babyface beefcake Dio Characi at Wrestlefest 4
I like Anton’s look. A lot. He’s fucking solid. If I only saw his body, I’d guess he’s a sexy ass carnival strong man. And he’s adorably handsome. If I only saw his face, I’d guess he was 17. Those two characteristics combined make him an instant classic babyface, and, considering his first two trips to the BG East ring, a compelling jobber to watch.
“I’ve got some strength in me,” Anton boasts when Kayden sizes him up.
Two things jump out at me when I see him stroll into the Florida ring room, apparently having kept Kayden Keller waiting (holy fuck, rookie!). First, I’m thinking, this kid is fucking solid! According to the numbers, he’s over half a foot shorter than Kayden and only 10 pounds lighter. Meaning, fuck. This guy’s fucking. solid. The other thing that catches my attention is the crazy-happy smile on face. I don’t really know his full back story (time for us to have a sit down interview, Anton!), but he looks like he is absolutely living the dream. He wants to be no where else in the world but staring way, way, way up at the 6-time winner of the Top Heel award. I don’t know what he thinks his chances are of coming out of this intact, but I sort of get the impression he doesn’t give a flying fuck.
Anton shocks the notorious heel with raw, dominating power
Their first collar and elbow results in the babyface strongman shockingly muscling big Kayden back into a corner. The look of surprise on Kayden’s face mirrors my own. A test of strength a half a minute later is similarly stunning, as Anton nearly snaps the top heel’s hands right off his arms. He tells an awesome story of an earnest, eager powerhouse to be taken a whole lot more seriously than his dimples might suggest.
“You wanna break someone? I’ll show you how to break someone!”
Kayden snaps this right back into frame as a Jobberpaloozer release with a boot to his gut. “I’ve got a part of me that’s pretty freaking muscular too,” the heel deadpans, snapping the muscle jobber’s head between his thighs. The fierce babyface strongman starts kicking and screaming as Kayden takes possession of his body, clawing at his bulging lats, and ripping into his big, wide back muscles. The heel bullies the muscleboy relentlessly. He slaps him in the face and chokes him in the ropes. Kayden just keeps pounding all that beef down, again and again, and dragging him back up by the back of his trunks for more.
“Yeah, you give!”
All of Kayden’s domination clearly pushes the heel’s buttons just right. “You’ve got nice assets,” he announces, spanking the muscle boy’s butt hard enough to leave hand prints. “I think you’ll go far,” he predicts, and it’s clear this estimation is not based on his high appraisal of Anton as a wrestler. Like me, Kayden likes what he sees, and all of the muscle rookie’s writhing and weeping and sobbing and begging doesn’t exactly turn the heel’s attention away from him. A chicken wing piledriver finally knocks the pretty boy out cold. Kayden takes a full lap all over Anton’s beaten body, reappraising the property he’s just won the rights for. Straddling his face and flexing, Kayden tells him, “You have yourself a nice little nap. We’re going to have some more fun later.”
Anton rests up for more “fun” later
Tons of hot contrasts in this match. Size, experience, personality, fate. Like Kayden, I feel like muscleboy Anton could go far, and not just as a heel’s plaything. He’s bringing the earnestness and ambition back to the babyface bench, and maybe if the Boss would let the poor, sexy kid get some time in on an opponent other than the most sadistic and dominant heels on the roster, I think we just might see a compelling competitor! (And seriously, Anton, let’s do that interview!!!)
My last night in Toronto for Wrestlefest, I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting Ollie Watts. I didn’t get to enjoy much time with the stunningly handsome, slyly charming hunk, but I did get some fanboy pics and permission to post about it here. In our discussion back and forth, in which I insisted that Ollie is, most definitely, a wrestling star, he mentioned in passing that his favorite match, his “best work,” was one of his most recent ones, wrestling Nero the Beast for UKWrestlingHub.com. I love the idea of reviewing a match that a wrestler thinks of as his best work!
Ollie Watts ready to kick ass for UKWrestlingHub
I’ve seen clips of UKWH matches for quite a while, with it’s unmistakably idiosyncratic black ring and day glow green wrestling ropes. I follow, and have interacted with, several UKWH wrestlers on social media. Everything I’ve seen, and every interaction I’ve had, has had a fun, playful vibe, dancing back and forth across the line of pro wrestling kayfabe and snarky gay attitude. But Nero the Beast vs. Ollie Watts was my first UKWH download.
Foreign invader Nero the Beast
I haven’t followed the entire through-story (though, fuck, I LOVE a through-story), but apparently Nero the Beast (aka Bruno LaBestia aka Bruno the Beast) arrived in Birmingham and started tearing through the UKWH roster like only an ugly American can (metaphorically speaking… Nero’s honestly handsome as fuck). This included “stealing” (Ollie’s words) the UKWH championship belt, and declaring himself champion. As the 15-minute match opens, Nero is pretty much making out with the championship belt. He’s congratulating himself and talking about the belt like it’s his girlfriend. “I’m here with my sweet honey, just admiring her pretty little stars,” he says, giving the belt a flirtatious boop.
“All of this can end if you just give me the belt. I’m really a very nice person.”
So entranced is Nero, that he doesn’t pay due diligence when Ollie gets close enough to pound a knee into the champ’s balls. “Just like Americans,” Ollie muses on cultural stereotypes, “to come and take things that aren’t theirs.” Ollie is sensational when he’s pitching. His trash talk is coldly polished and razor sharp. After suplexing Nero and rolling on top of him in a schoolboy, he slaps down a delightfully backhanded compliment. “This is what you’re good at. Being the pretty face that gets the shit kicked out of him.” He chains together sensationally dominating holds. Wrenching The Beast into a sick camel clutch, he nearly rips Nero’s handsome face off, using every single finger to fishhook the American’s smart mouth. Putting on his best (really bad) American accent, he mocks the muscle packed petite powerhouse. ““O, look at me,” he deadpans. “I’m the champion. I’m 5’5. I’m just a leprechaun that ate steroids.” He’s sadistic and relentless in that diabolical way that makes you think Nero should be saying “please” and “thank you” to him when Ollie’s gas pedaling his balls.
“All you’re doing is delaying the inevitable.”
Nero is personality-forward in a way I don’t think I’ve really seen before. He’s all in as The Beast, snarling and sniffing and licking lovely Ollie like a dog with a bone. When he interrupts Ollie’s devastating offense and pushes the reset button, he wrangles in those slightly unhinged eccentricities to recenter on defending his belt. “Calm, peaceful thoughts,” he mutters to himself, apparently silencing some voices in his head. “We’re going to talk this out like gentlemen,” he says, casually walking across the ring and grabbing Ollie by the throat. All of that restrained, gentlemanly shit talk from Ollie comes back to haunt him. Nero chokes him out in the day glow green ropes. He wedgies Ollie’s yellow trunks way high up his ass as he tosses him around like a practice dummy. “Aren’t you pretty?” Nero muses (and the answer to the rhetorical question is absolutely, yes, Ollie is pretty). He musses the Brit’s hair as he uses Ollie’s own arms to choke himself. “I’m going to keep you as a pet,” Nero declares, almost affectionately. “What’s a good name? Sparky? Rex? I’m going to have to break you in first, though.”
“You had your little fun, your clever little British quips.”
The breaking in part is intense, turning more and more erotic by the second as Ollie can’t defend himself. “Maybe I need to give you a bath. How would you like that,” Nero asks, possessively stroking and pawing at the dazed beauty. He claws Ollie’s balls and smothers him with his armpit in a super sexy dragon sleeper. Ollie’s designs may have been to recapture the UKWH championship for the UK, but as the match is careening to a decisive end, there’s a whole lot more at stake. Ollie’s facing down the threat/promise of being forced to wear a pink collar and be leashed by his new Daddy Nero.
“I’ll get a nice little sparkly pink collar for you.”
It’s a hot 15 minutes, and the download includes a couple of tasty previews of other UKWH matches. I’m old enough to remember when ordering wrestling across national borders was a bit of a pain in the ass, but the site and the purchase were easy and fast. I have to say that the ring is way small, and it clearly limits the athleticism and improvisation that these two seasoned wrestlers have (I know I’m not the first point that out). I’ve seen clips from other UKWH matches in a larger ring that looks a little more conventional, and I bet the playful and clever vibe, managing to not take itself too seriously AND somehow sell heated competition, plays even better with more square footage for the wrestlers to work with. It’s definitely not overly produced, and with a couple of seriously clever, confident salesmen like these two, it’s not underproduced either. Fifteen continuous minutes of a story about a hot rivalry, laced with cultural insensitivity and cross-border stereotypes that make me laugh and think (just a little). Gentleman vs. gentleman brute… with suspense laced throughout about which is which.
Who’s got whom?
I can see why Ollie’s proud of this. He looks hot as hell and he does an incredible job dishing it out and taking it. He’s rightfully chastised by Nero for digging his wedgied trunks out of his ass (“Oh, don’t fix that! That was the best part!”). But other than that, I have no complaints at all about handsome, clever Ollie’s self-curated best effort at defending UK pride. And, on behalf of all of the Americans who have surely earned such a low estimation from you, I sincerely apologize!
So, what about the rest of you hot wrestlers who’ve put yourself out there to entertain and titillate us? What’s your favorite match from your catalog?
As I mentioned in my last post, my goals for myself at Wrestlefest Canada could be summed up this way: 1) learn more about how to wrestle, and 2) explore what I like and don’t like with an open mind. Right out of the gate, group matches (which a big gathering like Wrestlefest lends itself to) were an awesome way tackle goal #2. Groups were also an intense, fun learning experience, but they weren’t as well suited to really learning mechanics. With goal #1 in mind, I sought out some experienced veterans of meet-up wrestling for 1:1 matches. I was upfront with them about my lack of experience, counterbalanced by my vast enthusiasm for wrestling and learning. And those 1:1 (mis)matches were sensational in helping me make quality progress toward learning more about how to wrestle.
Wrestlefests are for learning (among other things).
I’ve seen the advice often for MeetFighters newbies to start by looking for guys with a lot of experience and good recommendations. At Wrestlefest Canada, I had 1:1 matches with three MF veterans that were AWESOME opportunities to learn and explore. Between the three of these guys, they have a combined total of more than 1,270 MF opponents (not a typo; that’s 1,270!!!)! They also have hundreds of recommendations from past opponents offering testimony that was helpful for me in knowing what to expect from each of them. To varying degrees, I’d interacted with all three of them ahead of time, so that by the time we met for 1:1 matches, we had pretty clear expectations and a plan for how to have fun and use our time well. All of them were generous coaches, sharing pointers, teaching holds, and being game to let a messy rookie give it a go with them. I bumped into a few super-newbies (even newer than me!) at social events at WF, including guys who had never indulged their longstanding interest in erotic wrestling up until this weekend (and I think they deserve trophies for showing up and joining in on the WF fun!). I heard a few of them say that they wished there’d been some wrestling demonstrations or formal coaching sessions at WF to help them dip their foot in the pool. Maybe future WFs might want to consider something like that, but in the meantime, if you’re ready to take the plunge for the first time, look for nearby guys with a lot of matches over at least a few years. Read their recommendations (some of the recommendations will be more detailed and transparent than others, so read several). And read their profiles to see if their interests seem to line up with yours. Some of them will be really clear that they welcome inexperienced opponents (and some explicitly don’t welcome newbies). Get the info you need and make good choices for yourself.
Scott can confirm. I already had headscissors in my repertoire before WF.
I made some AWESOME choices in opponents to learn from, if I do say so myself. My first match was with Txwresl, who has 259 credited matches and has the fifth most recommendations of any wrestler on MF. We messaged and talked on the phone several times before WF, so I felt a lot of trust and rapport by the time we were facing each other. We laughed, grunted, and sweated a whole lot. Txwresl showed me a half dozen specific holds and moves, including some counters and escapes. Things hurt, but never in a way that felt dangerous. It was a fun mix of practice and play, with some great philosophy thrown in about negotiating matches and navigating the diversity of wrestlers, bodies, skills and interests of those looking for meet-up wrestling. I enjoyed the tips and notes, and the playfully hot body contact, and his awesome, strong pecs. It was thoroughly fun, and I enjoyed going out to dinner with him afterward and sharing our respective journeys through wrestling. By the time we were both at the “upperclassmen” group meet up later in the week, it felt like I was hanging out with an old friend. And, like an old friend, he pulled me out of my shell at that group and got me on the mat for what turned out to be sensational fun!
TxWresl reminding me to control as much as possible in any one hold
My second 1:1 opponent goes by Mattz4fun, and he’s ranked 3rd for having the most past opponents on MF (currently 563, but that number keeps going up by the hour!). My session with Mattz4fun was mostly serious coaching. He walked me through some really important lessons in logistics (like, put pillows over any nearby sharp corners, if you’re wrestling on a hotel bed), and talked me through the mechanics and some anatomy and physiology of wrestling holds. It was super cerebral, honestly, which, it may come as little surprise to learn, I was totally into. I felt like I was learning chess, starting with how the pieces move, and advancing so far as to just begin to consider game strategy. Mattz4fun is wicked hot, so it says a lot that I spent a good 75% of the time zoomed in on the lessons and not his pecs and abs (10% each for those, and the remaining 5% of my attention on his ass). He shared with me that he’d talked with a few wrestlers who mentioned plans on meeting up with me in 1:1 or group matches this week. I asked him if the talk included cursing my name (me trying to make a joke). Maybe they’ll be cursing your name after you kick their butts, he said. Holy fuck, now that’s coach!!!
Lessons learned!
My last veteran 1:1 happened organically after I met SeattleFight at a group match on Friday morning (see details from my last post). SeattleFight has the 4th most past opponents on MF (454, right after Mattz4fun). This guy is handsome as hell, with a stare that stops me in my tracks and immediately turns me on. Literally, we were at a couple of different large group meet ups, and fuck, he’d just look at me and all I could do was mutter out loud, “Fuck.” I overheard MadeinCanada, who hosted the Friday morning group, refer to SeattleFight as “one of the beasts,” and, indeed, he’s fierce on the mats. I watched him scrap with seriously skilled wrestlers with boatloads of experience, and he’s got this gravitational pull that just sucks pretty much everyone into his crushing bearhug. Huge fucking arms. Mountainous pecs. Yep, if he wrestled for a company (he doesn’t) I’d be shelling out cash hand over fist to get off on watching him wrestle. But no, not at Wrestlefest Canada. Everytime I’d lose myself watching him grunt and flex and tractor beam opponents into his clutches in groups, he’d catch my eye, smile slyly, and call me over with a crook of his finger. And despite knowing he could crush me like a bug on a windshield, it’s not like I was going to say no!
SeattleFight applying this camel clutch to the Bard: “How’s your rhyming couplet now, bitch!?”
After that group match where we first met, I was back at my room, planning on resting and recuperating, when SeattleFight messaged me to tell me that we needed a 1:1. See my comments above about my inability (aka, total lack of interest in) saying no to this handsome hunk. And then after the upperclassmen group, we had yet another round, because I couldn’t get enough of him. And, holy hell, it turns out he couldn’t get enough of me! Like, fuck, I loved that discovery of mutual attraction and keen interest in scrapping again and again. Unlike my first two 1:1 opponents, I had absolutely no interest in taking notes or practicing mechanics. This was not cerebraI , and most definitely not a chess match. It was visceral and totally embodied. I just wanted to roll, squeeze, be squeezed, and experience this muscle beast as best I could. Yeah, I’d seen what he could do to wrestlers with a ton of experience and considerably more muscle than I have. If this were competitive, it would’ve been over in under 30 seconds (and that’s being generous with myself). But it wasn’t, and neither of us wanted it to be. I learned lessons from SeattleFight, but not exactly the ones I’d expected to learn. My matches with him were intense and fun, hot and sweaty, exhausting and exhilarating, and they left me feeling powerful, confident, aggressive and attractive. It’s not like I “won” our matches, but it’s also not like we were keeping score. I walked away every time feeling more like the person I want to be, and distracted less by the insecurities and uncertainties that too often hold me back (not just in wrestling).
The bruises are fading, but the memories remain vivid!
Now that I’m home again, my well-earned bruises are fading. Routine obligations are walking me through my day totally divorced from who I am as a wrestler turned on by wrestling. But I’m not the same person I was before Wrestlefest Canada. And I’m glad for that. I’m grateful for all of the outstanding, sincere, gorgeous, hot and fierce hunks I had the pleasure to meet in Toronto, including the ones I had the distinct pleasure to wrestle. I wish I could have met more guys and had the stamina to wrestle more. Hell, I wish I’d been doing this a long time ago. But no regrets. I’m grateful for all that I learned at Wrestlefest Canada, about wrestling, about navigating meet-up wrestling, and especially what I learned about myself.
In my life prior to going to Wrestlefest Canada, I had watched thousands of hours of homoerotic wrestling videos (not even an exaggeration) and written more than 1,670 posts here, pouring over every detail of what turns me on about wrestling, but had really only wrestled 3 times. Well, there were a few sessions in my early teen years, wrestling a friend, trying to pull off that this is seriously competitive, all the while attempting to hide my erection. And, then yeah, there were frat house scraps in college, 80% fun and lightly competitive, 20% attempting to hide my erection. But scheduling multiple matches to happen over 4 days in Toronto felt like kicking this experiential side of wrestling for me into overdrive. I set some intentions for myself, mainly to focus on learning more about how to wrestle and exploring what I liked and didn’t like with an open mind. I know other WF participants who had different intentions, like wrestling as many matches as possible, or recording matches for WatchFighters, or wrestling particular types of matches (group, tag teams, oil, etc.). As my buddy Scooter is fond of pointing out, WF can be what you make it. I was aiming to focus more on the journey than any particular destination.
One of the first tests of “explore with an open mind” came in the form of invitations to group matches. I don’t know that I’d given a lot of thought to group matches before this past week, but I had a couple of invitations to groups by the time I arrived in Toronto. My initial thinking was that I very well might be too self-conscious for groups. Stripping down and laying bare my insecurities and inexperience to wrestle is a lot, and doing that with others watching on is that much more. But almost right off the plane, I had my first WF match, which was a group of four of us hosted by an incredibly generous, hospitable, and fucking fierce local hottie. This was my first time wrestling more than just one opponent, and it was new, overwhelming, fun, and intense. My three local hosts knew each other well, and the chemistry they shared the instant everyone was in the room together was palpable. Since “Hey, I’m new to this” is still printed on my business cards, we paired off, with two of them demonstrating some holds, and then the third letting me try them out on him. There was a lot of anticipation on the mats for letting loose, and pretty quickly we paired off and started rolling. Having two stories happening side by side on the mats was wild. Long-time voyeur that I am, I kept getting distracted watching the other pair, which frequently contributed to me getting locked down and worked over worse (better?). Just when I was settling in to this parallel play vibe, seamlessly and organically, partners traded around. And then playfully vicious double-teaming broke out. And then, finally catching on, I joined in on some sweet triple teaming (these guys were way, way tough enough to handle it). And by the end, I was the one on the receiving end of a triple team by these three sweaty, sexy, fierce studs. It was all super collaborative and negotiated, and, at the same time, unexpected. Afterward, I told them that I felt like Dorothy in Oz, having learned valuable lessons from each of them. I left it up to them to decide who was the Scarecrow (wrestle smart, Bard!), the Tin Woodsman (wrestle with passion, Bard!), and the Cowardly Lion (wrestle fucking fierce, Bard!). Additional lessons I learned from this awesome threesome included BRING WATER (fuck, I sweat a lot). And bring towels. Lots of towels came in handy by the end of this match. Really, really handy.
I was on the mats with Sunny DeLeon!?!?
Not long after I arrived, I scored an invitation to another group a couple of days later, thanks to connections through my buddy Scooter and the Tin Woodsman from that first group. Whatever self-consciousness I felt from a group of 4, I was now facing 9! The extremely generous local host, MadeinCanada, welcomed us to an incredible set up with tons of mat-covered floor space. MadeinCanada also offered a systematic way for everyone to pair off and take turns rolling with different opponents over the course of a few hours. Well, that plan lasted about 2 minutes. Pretty spontaneously, everyone was on the mats going at it in groups of two, three, or four (or occasionally more). There were wrestlers of different sizes (I wasn’t the smallest!) and levels of experience (I wasn’t the rookiest!), which created a lot of interesting dynamics. One particularly fun moment included me locking a crotch ripper onto my cousin, Scooter, so that my fellow lightweight rookie, David DeLeon, could climb on top and mess with him. Karma came back to bite me in the butt when I was double-teamed not long afterward, but it was all good, ferocious, sweaty, safe fun. As irrepressibly interactive as it was with all of us on the mats, I had a hard time resisting the urge to sit back and watch the wrestlers bigger and more skilled than I am do their thing. I was so turned on watching fiercely skilled Sunny DeLeon (WTF? I was on the mats with Sunny DeLeon!) and a fucking hot hunk who goes by the handle SeattleFight (who has more than 450 confirmed opponents on MF, I later discovered), tear into each other. SeattleFight caught me watching (more than once), and waved me over to take my turn. Somewhere in the middle of it all, I found myself feeling more confident, less inhibited, and just riding the wave of being locked together with another wrestler (or 8).
My third group meet-up experience had been planned ahead of time. This group was referred to by some as the “Veterans.” Being a rookie, I couldn’t bring myself to say that I was part of a group of veterans, so I called it the “Upperclassmen” (though that name didn’t stick with anyone else). In practice, it was a select group of finely aged wrestling hunks (I think I was the youngest allowed in the door). Despite having such amazing group experiences already, I still walked in not sure if I’d actually wrestle, or just get to know guys on the sidelines. One of the awesome 1:1 opponents I’d had earlier in the week (Txwresl, tons of experience and incredibly generous coach) was there, and he talked me into stripping down to my compression shorts (because I DID come prepared), and getting some practice in. This setting probably should have felt more conspicuous, because mat space was limited, and for any one or two pairs wrestling, there were that many or more on the sidelines chatting and watching. But maybe my confidence was growing, or, with experience, my inhibitions were just lowering, because it was the most fun group experience yet. SeattleFight was there again, and, holy hell, all he had to do was lock eyes with me and crook his index finger to call me over, and I was irresistibly drawn back on the mat, getting bearhugged relentlessly, trying to employ just a few tricks I’d been picking up from earlier in the week.
My last group experience (three of us) was the hottest and most spontaneous yet, bringing together at the last minute a sensationally hot hunk I’ve been getting to know online for several months and someone I’d grappled with already. I don’t know if it’s because all of us had some prior personal connection, or if it’s because it happened so spontaneously (from possible idea to reality in about 15 minutes), or if I was just riding this learning curve right up and over the top, but this was the most wildly intense group of all. That element that I mentioned in my last post about WF, of managing to get out of my head and just be present, sort of fell into place in this final three-way match.
I had to unlearn some things in order to really learn some things at Wrestlefest. Like, I needed to unlearn my preconceived anxiousness about the idea of group matches. I needed to unlearn my default of watching, and instead, lean into wrestling. In the spirit of learning more about how to wrestle and exploring what I liked and didn’t like with an open mind, I had an amazing set of experiences with about two dozen awesome wrestlers that I met in super hot batches. Group matches, even more than 1:1 matches, take a lot trust and chemistry, clear expectations and generous, collaborative, creative wrestlers. And it’s worth the extra choreography and planning!
And that doesn’t even begin to really discuss my one-on-one wrestling experiences at Wrestlefest Canada… (to be continued…)
And now, I’m on my way home from Wrestlefest Canada, sitting in the airport at Toronto waiting for my flight, and reflecting back on a busy, provocative, exciting week. I had originally thought about posting updates during the week, but holy hell, there was just too much going on to stop and reflect! I’m a little hyper self-conscious and self-analytical (as if you couldn’t tell). So, being so engaged in everything happening this week that I couldn’t spend much time in my own head was refreshing. Okay, not going to lie, it was a little nerve racking, too, but just needing to be present, in the moment, and ride the wave of excitement in meeting new people and wrestling and swapping wrestling stories (among other things) felt liberating.
I’ve been trying to decide how to try to write about my experiences at Wrestlefest Canada. I think I’ll best be able to wrap my head around it in pieces, though the experience of it was a lot happening all at once. So, for this first debriefing session with you, I’ll pick up where I left off in my last post on the way to Toronto, and think about the community that I was part of this week. I met SO MANY fucking people! I’m an introverted-borderline-shy guy under most circumstances, and things like going to a bar social with everyone there in wrestling gear was… a stretch. Honestly, I was hedging my bets up until the very last second as to whether I’d feel brave enough to take off my street clothes and hang out in the singlet I wore underneath. The venue was the Black Eagle bar in Toronto, who had advertised locally that they were hosting the WrestleFest mixer. They set aside a corner of the rooftop patio for our gathering, but we weren’t the only patrons there. I walked through a crowd of non-WF civilians to get to the sexy herd of singlets I could see in the back, feeling the appraising gazes of clearly curious bar patrons. I had just a moment of thinking, Oh hell, no, I’m not stripping down to my singlet in front of all of these non-wrestlers. But then I saw the welcoming faces of new friends I’d already made over the previous couple of days, almost everyone in gear, looking sexy as hell. And the community lent me the courage to live my wrestling kink out loud. Well, okay… I took off my shirt and showed off my low cut singlet top. I kept my shorts on; mostly because singlets don’t have pockets for valuables. But walking back and forth through the crowd to the bar, catching locals checking out my chest in my Tauwell singlet, I felt delightfully conspicuous and an integral part of a sexy, bold, fierce community.
I’ll save more debrief about the wrestling itself for my next post, but suffice it to say that I enjoyed the intense experience of strangers-transformed-into-intimate-friends over and over again over the course of having matches. A couple of the smoking hot Canadians who were first to welcome me to the mats the day I arrived were at the bar on Friday. Just two days earlier, I’d met them in person for the first time. Then we wrestled. And two days later, I’m excitedly rushing up to hug them in greeting like old friends. Hell, just meeting guys who I had not wrestled, but who I’d met around the gay village over the several days, felt like a homecoming. It was warm (not just because it was Toronto in late July), and I felt seen and welcomed in a way I don’t know that I’ve ever really experienced before. Is this starting to sound like hyperbole? It’s all still way fresh as I write this, but I don’t believe it’s an exaggeration.
As Seen On TV…. at the Black Eagle last Friday!!!
It was more than just the feel of a pop-up community. There were regular points of reference to the larger homoerotic wrestling community we’re securely embedded within. For instance, the WF organizers arranged with the Black Eagle to play wrestling videos in the background at the bar on Friday. Seeing Scott Williams‘ fine, fine body rolling around on the screen in one of his classic BG East matches was an incredible nod to the ways that these 80-100+ WF participants were part of something much bigger, and, at the same time, with so much pre-existing shared intimacy. On the spot, I texted Scott with a photo of him on the screen, with the message “Playing RIGHT NOW at the Black Eagle bar in Toronto’s gay village, Williams vs Warren, in honor of Wrestlefest!” In relentlessly authentic Scott style, he replied, “GODDAMNNN!! I love it!!!!” Yeah, there was no doubt about it. I was in the right place, with the right people.
Stunningly hot and fashionable Ben Monaco at the Black Eagle WF mixer
BG East boys weren’t just playing on the screen at WF, either. On another night at an impromptu “social,” in walked Ben Monaco. Ben. Fucking. Monaco. Every bit as handsome and sexy as hell, but thicker and more heavily muscled, in all the right ways, than I’ve ever seen him before. I interviewed Ben twice in 2012, because once just wasn’t enough. The first time was almost the blink of an eye after his debut BG East release in the inaugural Mat Rookies, after I caught wind that Ben was already a reader of this blog. The second interview (during which I learned that Ben and I share affection for Scott Williams, and we chatted quite a bit about the power of the gay wrestling community to bring people together) occurred after his Gazebo Grapplers 14 match against trust fund baby Damien Rush, and we’ve exchanged occasional messages back and forth in between then and now. But we’d never met in person. So, when we were introducing ourselves, needless to say I didn’t actually need him to tell me who he was. In trying to be heard over the pounding bass of the bar music, he thought I called myself Bart (happened A LOT this week), and he gave me a friendly hug of greeting. When I shouted out the clarification that “I’m Bard!,” he made a mental correction, and then suddenly his face lit up, and he wrapped those fucking gargantuan arms around me and bearhugged the air out of my lungs (seriously). Fuck, that was nice. And that was precisely the vibe. Like, you’re in, and you get a hug, just because you’re drawn to erotic wrestling. Oh, and we’ve talked online before and admired each other’s writing and you’ve fanboyed all over my published wrestling videos? THAT deserves the fucking bearhug that I KNOW you’re going to appreciate.
Sexy, charismatic, and wicked clever Ollie Watts partook of WF Canada, too!
Ben wasn’t my only star sighting. I had the amazing pleasure of also meeting Masked Menace, who is devastatingly handsome sans mask, and sports that fabulously hotly muscled body I’ve crushed on repeatedly in his wrestling videos. I had the intense pleasure of meeting Sunny DeLeon, who’s been heating up the BG East mats recently. Sunny is one of those guys who’s so stunningly hot that I immediately retreat so deep into my insecurities that I can barely talk. It was further INSANE that the circumstance under which we were meeting was a group wrestling event… but I’m keeping that powder dry for my next post (fuck, I’ve got so many words!!!). And then my last night at WF, by complete happenstance, I also had the pleasure of running into Ollie Watts, the phenomenal wrestler for BG East and UK Wrestling Hub, who was somehow even hotter in person, and adorably humble. I told him how excited I was to get to enjoy this star-sighting, and he demurely disavowed the status of “wrestling star.” Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t get to make that call, and I’m thrilled to confirm Ollie is a total star, sexy, charismatic, and wicked clever. To be honest, one of main anxieties about attending WF had been not having already met, in person, anyone who would be there. Somehow, the BG East guys left me star struck and made me feel right at home. I hadn’t met any of them before, but they’ve been featured on screens in my home for a long, hot, steamy time!
The cover models for Wonderfully Made might look suspiciously familiar to some in the wrestling community
I got to meet and exchange war stories with fellow homoerotic wrestling fiction author (writing as) David Evans. His reflections on his writing process, the role of the pandemic in calling out the literary imagination, and the push and pull of having an audience holding him accountable to carrying a narrative through to climax, echoed a ton of my own experiences. We’ve had different journeys to get where we are, different pathways leading us to invest our creativity in constructing words about the wrestling kink. But we share so much of the same drive to describe and document with words the visceral experiences of being drawn to and turned on by the intimacy of wrestling. I told him he should blog. He insisted that he’ll leave the blogging to me, and then graciously comped me copies of two more of his books I didn’t yet own (you should check them out).
Guys I’ve grown virtually close to over the past couple of months, both on the WrestleFest server and the Shack server, I was suddenly in the same room with, shaking hands, exchanging hugs, and sometimes even grappling with. Scooter, who I interviewed about Wrestlefest NYC back in early April (and who gets most of the credit for inspiring me to come to Wrestlefest Canada), feels even more to me like someone I’ve known for years and years after hanging together a lot this week. But so many other virtual connections were also made real and embodied, and it sort of blows my mind that none of them were disappointing in the least. Careful readers may be happy to know I DID take Aust10 up on the offer to tug on his beard when we met at the Black Eagle (that’s not a euphemism… I literally tugged on his beard). With all of the hype and expectation and worry (I worry needlessly a lot, you may have noticed) about what it would be like to meet these guys in person, every new face-to-face introduction simply felt like connecting the dots between the cool guys I’ve gotten to know from a distance and the hotties standing in front of me in person in Toronto.
In the interest of keeping things real, I also want to acknowledge that community can be hard. Hell, community IS hard. It takes work, and it’s built just as much on repair from missed connections, misunderstandings, and differences, as it is on feel good moments of simpatico. While Wrestlefest was overwhelmingly a positive experience for me, there were points of friction. I think that’s part of the definition of genuine community, frankly. Not everyone who wanted a particular match got it. I know this based on public conversations on the server, but also because a few guys reached out to me to set something up spontaneously, who I had to decline (for various reasons, but mostly because I was worn the fuck OUT by all of the excitement I had already planned). The sources of heat that divide us in the rest of the world in terms of age, race and ethnicity are fault lines inevitably lying underneath this wrestling community. Community is always in the process of being constructed, deconstructed, and reconstructed. Although I really have only good things to say about my experience of the community at Wrestlefest Canada, I know for a fact there were somewhere around 80 to 100+ other sets of experiences of the same event, probably reflecting a mix of excitement and disappointment, validation and frustration. My account here isn’t meant to imply it was the same for everyone, and all of our different experiences are indisputably equally true at the same time. That’s the delight and diabolical conundrum of community.
Finally, on the theme of community, I want to offer my enthusiastic gratitude and praise to the local organizers of Wrestlefest Canada. I am NOT an event planner. I don’t have those skills. But I recognize and appreciate them when I see them in others. The Meetfighters event infrastructure creates a primary portal for pulling together an international gathering like this. Wrestlers from all over Canada and the U.S. were joined by guys from France, Thailand, the U.K., and Germany (those are just the ones I knew about), so something this complex can’t just happen with good will and high hopes. I know that my cousin Scooter offered a lot of consultation, and he shared lessons-learned from his work with helping promote Wrestlefest NYC this past February. But the team of Canadians who hosted and moderated the Wrestlefest server, constructed the AMAZING Wrestlefest website, made local arrangements with hotels and event spaces, helped us out-of-towners navigate transportation options in Toronto, and were just all so remarkably generous with their time and patience and organizational skills… they successfully pulled off an amazing experience.
Sidelineland 