"Bitch" Slap

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Did you see Cage Thunder’s relentless rhetorical trashing of Mitch Colby in his blog a couple of days ago? He insists on referring to him as “Bitch Colby,” calling him out for bullying smaller guys in order to make Mitch look arrogant and tough. “He knows he’s hot,” Cage writes, “and he somehow thinks that makes him superior to everyone else.”

Cage also directs anyone who has a problem with his withering rhetorical assault on beautiful Mitch to come here to neverland where I “gush” over Mitch all the time. Setting aside my delight in the image of me “gushing” over (and on top of) Mitch, I can’t really honestly deny that I have a long history of frequently musing adoringly about how astonishingly hard Mitch turns me on.  I had an instant infatuation with him the moment I saw him step into the BG East gazebo to conquer sexy Alexi Adamov in a sweat-soaked battle of beautiful youthful arrogance and beautiful mature arrogance. My lust for Mitch has continuously burned ever since.

Mitch schools sexy Alexi –
Wrestler Spotlight: Alexi Adamov

And true enough, I’ve cited Mitch a total of 62 out of around 730 posts here at neverland! That’s nearly 8.5% of my posts that have lingered lustfully on the beauty, power, and highly erotic wrestling of Mitch. So I can understand Cage Thunder referring Mitch apologists here.  Mitch has made me gush with regular frequency on the pages of this blog (and elsewhere). Is there anywhere else to go to find more or more passionate worship of the 6’2″ work of art that is Mitch? Does anyone else obsess so adoringly on the look of ecstasy on his face every time he slides some poor, lucky, lucky fucker between those incredibly long, lean, gorgeous thighs and squeezes until he screams?

Mitch’s gorgeous legs deployed to perfection –
Motel Madness 8

I once sent Mitch an email begging for him to give me an interview. I never heard back. So I suppose it’s quite possible that Mitch is arrogant, with a cocky air of superiority about him.  Or perhaps he’s shy, at least when he’s off camera. Maybe I had the wrong email address. Maybe he was just busy at the time.  Maybe Mitch would like to come hang out in (very) friendly territory here at neverland to answer some questions and respond to the bitch-slap that Cage laid down on Monday.

It clearly isn’t just the big boys that Mitch likes to wrestle!
Sunshine Shooters 4 

Reading between the lines, for all of Cage’s trash talk directed toward Mitch, I detect that Cage may harbor something entirely different than contempt for the statuesque stunner of my fondest fantasies. Before any fellow Mitch-fanatics start flaming Cage, let me just point out that if you read his blog post closely, you’ll see that Cage talks longingly, dare I say lustfully, about a passion for witnessing Mitch getting pummeled. While I enjoy Mitch whether he’s pitching or catching in a homoerotic wrestling match, I can wholeheartedly understand Cage’s powerful enjoyment of watching earnest, gorgeous Mitch get picked apart, conquered and humiliated.  For my tastes, Mitch dominated is perhaps a shade more fantastically erotic than Mitch dominating. Further, I’d propose that the unmistakably aggressive tone in Cage’s post seems to me to be an implicit challenge for his own crack at testing Mitch’s mettle.

Cage Thunder always lays down the challenge!

Mmmmmm… I’m nearly gushing once again just thinking about the provocative potential in a match between Cage Thunder and Mitch Colby! How has this stroke of genius failed to happen already? Cage and Mitch are like two alligators stalking the waters of the Everglades, swallowing whole lesser creatures and growing big and confident and dangerous over the course of their long and impressive BG East wrestling careers. Surely it’s inevitable that two such foundational pillars of homoerotic wrestling over the past 5 years should face off. So, true enough, Cage concludes his recent blog post with a direct challenge to Vlad Varek. But I’m thinking Cage’s real target, his real call out isn’t for the nasty, brutal Russian (or at least not exclusively). I think Cage actually has his sights set on a certain tanned, muscled, sweet assed, earnest 6’2″ fitness god. I, for one, think Mitch ought to rise to the provocation, give me interview, and show up on Cage’s doorstep with jock strap in hand.

Mitch with his opponent firmly in hand –
Wrestler Spotlight: Mitch Colby

And now 8.6% of blog posts here at neverland include adoration for Mitch Colby!

Lovin’ It

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Pornboys rock. I really love porn, and I’m on the record as a staunch advocate of my right (and your right) to enjoy the arousing self-pleasures and mutual pleasures that are available in the celebration of beautiful bodies and erotic sensibilities that is porn. Still, I saw Boogie Nights (should have fast-forwarded to the final 30 seconds… live and learn). I know that the porn industry has quite the sordid history, and not because it’s associated with the cracks and crevices of its stars’ bodies. Porn has a reputation for not treating its people well. I’m far from a porn industry insider, so I have no idea whether gay porn today has the healthy respect and value for the lovely bodies and beautiful minds that it promotes (well, it promotes the bodies, but I honestly believe there are some beautiful minds out there as well). I hope so. I worry that the industry doesn’t treat the pornboys well, but I hope it does.

Despite my being a staunch proponent of self-righteous assholes keeping their opinions to themselves when it comes to the right that the rest of us should treasure to be provoked and aroused by… well, assholes (among other things), I get off much more often on non-porn wrestling than I do on literal, actual hardcore porn. My one regular overlap is Naked Kombat, which proudly features well-vetted pornboys (most often), wrestling for points, with the winner getting to delight in dominating the loser from stem to stern (I’m a big fan of both the stern and the stem). The sole non-BG East wrestler still in the top ranks of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers is pornboy of my dreams, Naked Kombat veteran and damn adorable Twitterer: Trent Diesel.

I concede the real possibility that Trent could conceivably be a total egomaniacal dickhead who I’d be unable to stay in the same room with for more than 20 seconds. However, I don’t believe that’s the case (and I’m a big believer in the power of belief!). Following Trent’s Twits and reading his blog are a decidedly different experience than following any of the other pornboys I (not really) stalk. My impression is that Trent loves his body, loves sex, loves love, and is thoughtfully tackling life as a sincere, sweet young man who periodically finds himself adrift in profound existential questions that have made philosophers weep for centuries.

Trent Diesel and Ryan Rockford
work each others’ stems and sterns for Naked Kombat 9/10/10

Trent posts on his blog very irregularly. His last post before yesterday was from late August, in which he absolutely swooned about his passionate and adorably un-self-conscious love for his “favorite spunky lesbian and yes my best friend and wife Krystal Main.” Now I’ve often scratched my head at Trent’s boyish delight in reporting on his dates with men, while he clearly and passionately loved his wife, who apparently gave her blessings to his cock wanderings. I’m not saying that non-monogamy perplexes me, but committed bisexual non-monogamy amazes me. Once again, I think that bisexuals rock and I’m jealous not to be one. Sadly, however, Trent followed up that post just yesterday with the clearly dejected ramblings of a sad, sad man grieving his new status as single. He also reflects on facing major vocational decisions, feeling torn and unsettled in body and spirit, and anxious to be facing “big steps,” recognizing that he doesn’t really know where he’s going, but he’s certain he can’t just stay still in his life any longer.

Trent was a Raging Stallion starring in Brutal
So I’ve made it this far into this post and have yet to mention Trent’s p-e-r-f-e-c-t ass! Having gotten that out of the way now, let me just conclude by saying that I continue to have a fervid crush on my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy, and I long to see more of him wrestling, preferably with that g-g-g-gorgoues ass of his naked and liberally lathered in babyoil. However, I recognize that Trent, like all the boys that I take such pleasure in objectifying, are real men with hopes and dreams and regrets and grief.  Despite my handling some homoerotic wrestlers a little roughly in my critiques, I genuinely wish them all prosperity and joy in life. I hope that whatever the porn industry is about from the inside, that hot little pieces of ass like Trent get their due, including to have love and friendship and comfort in times of sadness. I don’t know if his oblique references to vocational shifts might mean that Trent could no longer appear showing his divine beauty from stem to stern. But regardless of what it means, I hope his decisions bring him prosperity and joy, and I hope he is surrounded by love even when he’s sad.

Maintaining Focus

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Funny to think that two and a half years ago I wasn’t sure if I’d have enough to say about wrestling to populate a blog. I hedged my bets and gave myself a little flexibility to set the course for neverland to include anything pertaining to beautiful men, wrestling, and all things gay, with a hope to frequently light upon the intersection of all three: beautiful men engaged in homoerotic wrestling. After more than 700 posts and over 1.1 million page loads (!), my musings have tended to focus pretty consistently on homoerotic wrestling. Even when my thoughts drift into just admiring beautiful men or contemplating political debate surrounding the gays, I seem to unfailingly be able to pull any random threads back into the seamless quilt of homoerotic wrestling and my homoerotic wrestling imagination.

I occasionally wonder if I’ll just run out of things to say (not to even broach the topic of whether there’ll come a day when no one cares to listen). Then a new batch of homoerotic wrestling products will hit the market, or some beautiful hunk in pop culture intrudes into my wrestling fantasies, and I’m roaring ahead like there’s no tomorrow. I realize that I repeat myself… often. I’ve also been as transparent as possible in self-consciously contradicting myself… often. On rare occasions I hear word from readers who find one or both of these behaviors a moral failing. But the vast majority of comments and sidebar conversations seem to be abundantly gracious, encouraging, and simply happy to share a kinked sensibility that finds hot men wrestling for gay eyes to be a particularly supercharged version of homoeroticism.

While I get a lot of inspiration from non-wrestling sources, I’ve decided to hone the scope of my links and blog-follows here on the pages of neverland to include just the delightful world of homoerotic wrestling.  My blog counter tells me that nearly half the people who find this blog get here via one of the other awesomely entertaining homoerotic wrestling blogs. It feels like we’ve got a nice little corner of the internet staked out as our own territory these days, and I’m feeling like flying the homoerotic wrestling flag exclusively around here.

So in the next day or so, I’ll be cleaning up the updated reports of the blogs I follow and my links of note to just include those that reside within the bounds of our land. Of course the likes of Ringside at Skull Island, Wrestling Arsenal, Beefcakes of Wrestling, Piledrive U!,  and Rants, Roids n Rasslin will remain on my reading and recommended list. If I ever figure out how to get Blogger to recognize it, Cage Thunder’s most entertaining blog will also show up in my reading list (I read it regularly, just can’t seem to get it to show up in the reading list). Regular contributor around here and all around insightful wrestling kinkster Stay Puft has recently started blogging (after I’ve been urging him to for months), so I’m also happy to recommend the newest addition to our circle of interests: Inner Jobber. Just like the rest of the bloggers above, SP brings his own unique perspective on erotic wrestling that never fails to inspire and provoke me.

I’ll continue to cite my sources obsessively, as is my way, including the pop culture, gay hotties, and other random sites and blogs that inspire me regularly. But I’ll just cite them as I call them out in posts, rather than as running links in the reference tab of neverland. I’m also always looking for new homoerotic wrestling sites to add to my regular reading list, so let me know when you find a new one (or start one of your own!). And I’ll keep my eye on the growing graveyard of wrestling blogs begun and abandoned, in the hope of celebrating a resurrection of another entertaining voice in the chorus of fans of homoerotic wrestling.

Movement in the Ranks

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The mental exercise of crowning “favorites” among the homoerotic wrestlers that I enjoy watching fascinates me. I get attached to my overall favorites. I don’t want to let them go, to let someone unseat them once I’ve said out loud, “This guy rocks me harder than just about anybody else.” So regular readers will back me up when I say that it doesn’t happen often that one of my favorites is replaced. Today is just such a momentum occasion, however. Mitch Colby has held the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy or at least top contender for that title almost without pause since I started keeping track of such things. I find Mitch’s body profoundly moving, and there’s an authenticity to his wrestling that, without fail, has the effect of making it nearly impossible for me to tear my eyes away from him as he grunts, strains, flexes and crushes his way through one opponent after another. I’m deeply aroused by the sight of Mitch’s focused concentration as he picks apart some lucky loser, and I’m arguably even a little more aroused to watch Mitch throw everything he’s got at some superhuman freak only to be conquered and dominated in the end. Any new release with Mitch is instantly at the top of my to-buy list.
Mitch got those beautiful abs of his tested hard in Florida Fights 3
However, all that said, his latest new release came out in a batch of fantastic BG East wrestling that figuratively positioned Mitch side-by-side with a certain ferocious, rumbling bundle of nerves, nerve and sexuality that I’ve had my eye on for quite some time. I simply couldn’t ignore the juxtaposition of Mitch’s Florida Fights 3 bout and my growing crush on a certain grappler from Mat Scraps 1. While it’s certainly not that I don’t love Mitch’s high impact ring battle with Vlad Varek, I cannot help but note that Skrapper’s mat scrap against epic coverboy Z-Man has catapulted the skrappy one over top of favorite emeritus Mitch. It’s been a rare day in neverland that Mitch has been out of the the top two, but today I’m lustfully and enthusiastically elevating Skrapper to the position of number 1 contender for the title as my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy – right behind a dangerously quiet Trent Diesel.
The new #1 contender to the title of my
Favorite Homoerotic Wrestling Pornboy
I’m just going to put it right out there. I do not believe that Skrapper is pretty. I do, however, think he’s sexy… as… HELL.  Typically I wax poetic about the size and heft of my favorite wrestler’s bulges, but Skrapper is a different story. Not to say that he doesn’t have a gorgeous ass and more-than-a-mouthful of a package, but the first words that pop into my mind in contemplating Skrapper’s physique are lean, lanky, and wiry.  He’s got beautifully conditioned muscles in all the right places, but he’s no pretty coverboy with low slung pecs or massive biceps. At 5’10” and 145 pounds, he’s an astonishingly tight package without an ounce of bodyfat or merely gym toned muscle. He’s got an unconventionally handsome face with awesomely kissable lips and an aristocratic nose. I’d pick him out of any crowd as someone I’d desperately want to notice me. And if he did, and if he opened his mouth to speak, I’d be a goner.
“You’re losing so fast, dude!”

That voice! To be completely transparent, the word “Dude” is not a turn-on for me. And yet when Skrapper uses the word, as he does with relentless regularity, the timbre of his voice somehow skips right past my cerebellum and speaks directly to my cock. Perfect case in point: just about 2 minutes into his fearless face off with babyface extraordinary and homoerotic wrestler of the month, Z-Man. As is often the case, Skrapper starts wrestling about 2 speeds higher in intensity than his opponent. Z-Man looks for a moment like he’s going to have absolutely zero to offer against the raging focus of the skrappy one. “Damn!” Skrapper snarls, “you’re losing so fast, dude!” Holy shit, that irreverent, cocky, nothing to lose so I’ll fuck you over 9 ways to Sunday, skater badboy bass voice of his makes me nearly lose a load before Z-Man manages to get his groove going.

Beat that shit-eating grin off of face, Skrapper!!!

But it’s later in the match that Skrapper seals the deal to knock the knees out from under Mitch and demand my affections. Z-Man has a history (at least as far as I’m telling it) of hamming and mugging for the camera. BG East has been beating the living shit out of him since he arrived within their sphere of influence, such that he doesn’t have much time between grimaces to manage a cheesy smile. He does, however, still puke one out every so often, and they remain a serious buzz kill for me. So when Skrapper nearly rips the coverboy in half, he heaps on what is undeniably more punishment than is really necessary to make the muscleboy submit. When Z-Man hops up to his feet after conceding the fall, he looks like he’s ready to punch his fist through the back of Skrapper’s skull. “What!?” Skrapper demands. “That’s what you get for smiling at me, dude!” There. Right at that moment. Skrapper climbed into the top contender spot right there, punishing Z-Man not just for being pretty and cocky and screamin’ for it, but because Skrapper knows that fucking grin on the coverboy is a buzz kill and he deserves to be punished mercilessly anytime he pulls it out. I’ve been jonesin’ for someone to not only punish him for the shit-eating grin, but to call Z-Man out for it!

Driving home the point that you might want to just leave a
sleeping Skrapper lie.
Skrapper does not always win his matches. This is not a problem, and indeed it can heighten a wrestler’s allure as far as I’m concerned, if he makes the most of even a loss. Take, for example, Skrapper’s eventual loss at the hands of AJ Lyle in Undagear 17. Seriously, justice is on Skrapper’s side. He was just sleeping in the BG East matroom when AJ comes in, wakes him up, and tries to bully him out of his way. Fast-forward to the end of this scrap and you’ll be treated to Skrapper stripped naked and battered into complete and helpless exhaustion as the sweaty victor climbs on to use the skrappy one like his own electric blanket. Now rewind back to the beginning again, and watch how fucking irrepressible Skrapper is every single second of this match. True enough, he takes the loss and humiliation in the end. I sort of suspect he may have just had a hankering for a taste for giving up a cock-to-cock submission. But any way you slice it, pause the DVD at pretty much any point in the relentless battle, and you’re likely to see Skrapper firmly in charge or battling his way back from getting tossed around by his bigger opponent. Win or lose, you get the impression that Skrapper never really relinquishes the reins of psychological control in a match.

Kid Vicious & Skrapper’s understandable mutual admiration in Sexy Showdown 5: Florida Fun

It’s no wonder that in his relatively brief career in homoerotic wrestling, BG East has put him in the faces of some of the biggest and baddest boys on record. His encounter with notorious heel Kid Vicious left me breathless for all the right reasons, first and foremost the amazement to watch KV have to work to keep up with the eroticism (which he does, of course)! This is the most intensely erotic match I’ve seen Skrapper in, and frankly I’m not sure if there are many other than the likes of KV who can really match the inherent sensuality and eroticism that Skrapper brings with just a look and a snarl. There are moments in the match that make me gasp because Skrapper doesn’t just get riding time and take control of arguably the baddest boy in the stable: he humiliates him. Folding KV up, sitting on his face, and peeling the vicious bastard’s trunks down to expose his ass in utter helpless humiliation is a position that far bigger and more accomplished wrestlers have only dreamed of.

It’s not easy, but clearly it’s rewarding to take
Skrapper firmly in hand

This match is also where Skrapper earns his way into the adored ranks of homoerotic wrestling pornboys, the way I count them. Not only do both wrestlers lose their trunks, but KV succeeds in planting his ass across Skrapper’s mouth and, after pummeling Skrapper’s cock forEVER, he teases and strokes that battered joystick back to life until Skrapper erupts in ecstasy, his groans of pleasure muffled up KV’s ass. Holy hell! Have I used that expression already in this post? Those words come out of my mouth multiple times in just about every Skrapper match I’ve had the pleasure to enjoy.

Passing the torch

And speaking of enjoy, it’s so ironic as to seem like fate that Skrapper and Mitch generated such intoxicating chemistry in their voracious mat battle in Catch Weight 3.  The weight differential is simply  too much for Skrapper to make up, but he makes Mitch pay dearly for absolutely any split second of distraction or loss of focus. No wonder at all that he earns a trip hoisted over Mitch’s stone-carved shoulder once all is said and done, to be fireman-carried poolside and tossed in. Illustrating why Mitch has so long been in the ranks of the elite of my favorites, he quickly dove in after his prey to crush him once more in a wet bearhug that merges seamlessly into a make-out session with Skrapper perched across Mitch’s crotch.

I call next!
It seems hard for most of Skrapper’s opponents to resist the temptation to slide their tongues between those beautiful lips sooner or later.  Skrapper’s one victory, prior to knocking Z-Man out cold and wreaking divine retribution on behalf of all of us who’ve screamed at our computer screens when the coverboy broke character and grinned like a Cheshire cat, was a lightweight battle for the books against  perennial jobber Skip Vance. Seriously now. If Skrapper can make the likes of Brook Stetson work his 240 pound ass off to finally tame the feral beast, 135 pound Skip was doomed from well before the start of their Wrestleshack rendezvous. Gorgeously naked bodies, crushed and battered, seamlessly meld into sweat-soaked, fully aroused paramours. Skip hardly seems to mind Skrapper prying his face to the side with a handful of Skip’s hair in order to lock lips and grind crotches.

I’m sure Mitch will always work me hard, but it’s a lightweight, lanky, skater punk wildcat with an obvious lust to dominate that leaves him so loathe to submit that even the big, big boys have no choice but to knock him out cold and carry him from the mat in order to make him quit, who’s in undisputed possession of the top contender spot in my rankings of homoerotic wrestling pornboys who turn me on. And a little word of advice to Trent Diesel: you’d better get your ass back out on the mat soon, pretty boy, because there’s a feral, lanky unstoppable force of nature with a wildly sexy bass voice and a complete lack of awareness of when to give up who’s ready to plow you into second place… dude!

Wet Newsmen

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It’s been ages since I posted about the only reason I have any idea what’s happening in the world around me: hunky morning newsmen. I’ve migrated almost entirely to The Early Show on CBS, having felt crushed and pissed on (not in the good way… if you’re into that…) by ABC’s epic failure to retain Italian stallion and star of many a fantasy of mine, Chris Cuomo. As sexy as I think George Stephanopoulos is (and I do), I just can’t help but feel bitter resentment any time I see his face behind the anchor desk that, by all that is holy and just, should have been Cuomo’s. CBS has partially filled the void in my morning lusts by assembling a team of hunks that collectively get my juices pumping almost as feverishly as Cuomo does anytime he goes fishing.
ABC’s Chris Cuomo and that Bastard Fish
It takes four CBS news studs to approximate the raw sex appeal of a certain curly haired Italian, but I’m not disappointed by the assembled beef and beauty (in descending order of my lustful affections): anchorman Chris Wragge, news reader Jeff Glor, correspondent Whit Johnson, and correspondent Ben Tracy. Sure, Cuomo could crush any one of these studs in a marathon bearhug until the lucky bastard wilted in the Italian’s pythons, slid to his knees, and was force fed a northern Italian protein shake, but the four of them operating in tandem could probably take the Italian bull down and make him suffer a serious beating in the ratings. Yes, yes, I’ve already started that story in the backlog of my homoerotic wrestling fiction works-in-progress.
Chris Wragge – Buttoned Down, Rouged, and Turning on the Charm
The newsman sitting oh-so-pretty at the top of the CBS morning heap of hunks is Chris Wragge. The gargantuan step up from Wragge’s predecessor to this blond beast cannot be overstated. He isn’t as classically handsome as Cuomo, nor does he seem to me to possess as much raw sexual energy. He has some odd, not entirely attractive quirks, like his frequently pursed lips and unilateral smirks. However, the reportedly 6’4″ blond, blue-eyed sexpot is unquestionably worth changing the channel for, for a little dose of morning adrenaline to wake up to. 
I’m not surprised at all the CBS decided to contrive a reason to follow Wragge around with a camera as he trots and bounces about in skin tight lycra. On Monday of this week, they aired a gratuitously long segment on his training and completion of the Montauk Mightyman triathlon. Yes. This is national news that a former college athlete (ivy league football? um, let’s just say he was a big man on campus), swam, cycled, and jogged his way across the tip of Long Island. What, you say? That doesn’t sound like national network news? Have you seen this man’s chest?
Chris Wragge bobbing and bouncing as he jogs in Central Park
So my caps of the whole bodyworship segment sort of suck, because CBS’s online videos of their materials are not in HD (those bastards). But a few things can clearly be seen if you take the time to watch the video (especially if you watch it multiple times… trust me on this). First, the shots of Wragge jogging in Central Park illustrate a few things we just don’t see when he’s suited up for The Early Show. For example, he’s sans make-up and hair gel, so if you want to picture what he looks like waking up next to you in bed, this clip is for you. More compelling still, he’s dressed in tight grey training trunks that clearly show those big, powerful thighs of his have a nice bulge hanging between them.
My first trip to the pause button, however, came when he jogs away from the camera. Wragge has got major league ass (probably necessary to balance out the impressive beef hanging down from the front)! Baby! Those big, round glutes pumping away suddenly make his credibility as a news anchor skyrocket… for me.

There’s a criminally brief and blurry shot of him training in the pool. It’s not entirely satisfying, but Big Boy is clearly sporting some big, bronze pecs with tight little brown nips. They may not be quite as lucsious as Cuomo’s, but I’d need to compare in a side-by-side pec-off, with lot’s of flexing and baby oil, to make sure.

Wragge clearly knows he’s the resident sexpot at The Early Show. I get the impression his self-consciousness at being extensively videotaped in muscle-hugging lycra isn’t exactly born out of embarrassment. Towering over his triathlon veteran buddy after the race, it’s hard to miss the cold hard fact that he’s a big, beautiful, muscled pretty boy who enjoys showing off his side cleavage, big round shoulders, and bulging biceps.

Just to prove the point, he’s posted this impressive shot showing off his grease painted race number down his rippling arm (yeah, sure… it’s the number he’s showing off).

The towering stud bitched and moaned about the 20 minute swim, but otherwise he seems pretty proud of himself for muscling his way through Montauk. The joy of accomplishing an impressive physical feat is, I’m sure, something that he should be proud of. I suspect there’s a strong possibility that his self-satisfaction after crossing the finish line may also include a healthy dose of narcissistic delight in knowing that those pecs, massive thighs, and gorgeous, powerful ass fill out a wet suit exceedingly well.

Knowing that there’s some man loving waiting for him might also account for his success in sprinting all the way past the finish line.
So I’m painting Chris Wragge with my own brush, of course. The big, gorgeous blond could be deeply insecure about his rocking body. Critical comments about his pursed lips and one-sided smirks could possibly cut him to the core, as far as I know. I doubt it, but I could easily be mistaken. But more importantly for my purposes, in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, Wragge is a supremely cocky and confident news stud who delights in having his muscles adored, who lives to have a camera lustfully study every nook and cranny of his powerful physique, and who struts around with his entourage of Jeff, Whit and Ben just itching to kick some competition ass. So sure, one-on-one I’d put money on Cuomo to be more devastatingly beautiful and victorious in a wrestling showdown. But I don’t imagine Wragge as ever feeling the ethical obligation to deal from the top of the deck or show up with anything less than all guns (and flunkies) blazing.

Bodies Over Time – Sottish Beef Edition

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Gerard Butler was quoted recently complaining about the excessive attention that changes is his fitness and physique garner from his critics and gossips. Rather than jump all over his percentage body fat he’s carrying at any one time, he’d prefer that everyone appreciate the level of dedication he embodies by crafting his physique to fit the demands of his roles.  Need to look like a Spartan king in a homoerotic flesh fest? Gerard’s commitment to his craft is up to that challenge.

Gerard showing some love to one of his 300 co-stars

So we should all stop focusing on his physique?… yeah. Right.

Gerard’s rippled torso and thrusting sword in 300

Actually, I don’t think that I really fall under either the category “critic” or “gossip.” My infatuations with Gerard are entirely in the realm of my homoerotic imagination. And I appreciate pretty much every incarnation I’ve seen of the hunky Scotsman. Lean and ripped, thick and powerful, smooth, hairy… Gerard’s body never fails to inspire homoerotic wrestling fantasies in my highly reactive imagination.

I first pictured Gerard as taking umbrage at the unflattering lampoon of his 300 performance by English funnyman and smoking hot hunk, Sean Maguire. In a focus group grudge match, Gerard set out to teach the satirical Englishman a lesson in humiliation. Things don’t turn out quite the way Gerard intends, however, but the Scotsman isn’t exactly too unhappy with finding himself tamed and brought to heel by his new master and commander’s mouth.

Gerard showed up again in my homoerotic wrestling imagination in a tag team ring bout at the side of Sean. With bear daddy Sean calling the shots, Gerard’s fortunes are much brighter as the two of them incapacitate Jonathan Rhys Meyers and capture and claim Henry Cavill into their pack. It’s Gerard’s big, powerful body that inspired much of the action in that match, along with the provocative pairing of smaller Sean in complete control of the Scotsman’s psyche and libido.

And yet again, Gerard showed up for a third time in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, this time teamed with his cub-pet Henry to take on True Blood muscle gods Joe Manganiello and Mehcad Brooks. It doesn’t hurt to have bear daddy Sean at ringside, but that should take nothing away from the impressive performances that Gerard and Henry deliver to conquer and celebrate.

No doubt, I prefer my homoerotic wrestling fantasies to star Gerard closer to the 300 end of his fitness spectrum, but a nasty bruiser with a hot belly can tweak me hard as well. A big and beefy version of Gerard in pink trunks schoolboy pinning some awestruck gym bunny is a hot, hot scenario to imagine.

So I strongly suspect that I will continue to pay excessive, dare I say obsessive, attention on every curve and crevice of Gerard’s body, whether he wishes it or not. And let’s face it, a barrel chested Scotsman who’s made a mint and a half on peeling off all of his clothes for his naked image to be projected onto a 70 foot high movie screen can’t really complain too vociferously about anyone paying a lot of attention to his physique. Now, any catty bastards that want to talk trash about him for occasionally insulating his sexy six pack need to pipe down. Anyone, and I mean anyone who discourages a fine, burly hunk like this from stripping should be soundly boxed about the ears and ball-gagged.  And that scenario very well could inspire a 4th appearance for Gerard in my homoerotic wrestling fantasies!

Brothers in Arms

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Real life actor Justin Hartley in my imagination
as superhero-in-training Velocity
Yesterday evening I posted a new chapter in the superhero-themed homoerotic wrestling series that I call Brothers in Arms. The story’s gaze returns to the trials and triumphs of young Hank, who was terrorized by fellow recruits in his first few days as a superhero-in-training. When Hank finally learns to begin to exercise the power to move faster than the eye can see, he enjoys a reversal of fortune and embraces his new identity as a power to be reckoned with under the moniker Velocity.
Smolderingly sexy model Jay Byars brings to mind
a hot coach fantasy as “Barry”
One of the factors helping Velocity get his groove on is some special attention afforded to him by his coach, Barry. Sharing the same power that Velocity possesses, rough-edged Barry also shares a whole lot more with his prize recruit, including valuable insights into the mysteries of The League of Superheroes. The intimacy of private tutorials becomes the setting for coach to also initiate his eager recruit into crossing that fine line between the heat of a wrestling battle and the heat of sexual passion.
Mouthwateringly sweet Carlos Freire is inspiration
for the nastily bitter heel, Sting
Some returning characters play a supportive role in this chapter, including fan favorite and sadistic heel brought to heel Sting. Velocity’s ascendency is in inverse proportion to Sting’s fall from power, but somehow it’s hard to imagine that nasty boy Sting is entirely done with his reign of terror.
Australian twink, long lean Jordan Coulter is my
template for the mysterious character Vapor
However, the cards are getting reshuffled out from under Sting’s previously trump-filled hand. One of Sting’s henchmen, lanky twink beauty Vapor, retreats from his former master’s sphere of influence and throws his allegiance behind the rising gravitational pull of Velocity.
New wrestler Midas gets introduced to the painful stylings of
badboy bodybuilder, Buck
As I mentioned a few day ago, the g-g-g-gorgeous blond muscle boy from Just Beautiful Men’s last blog post arrives as a new team member in the Chargers dormitory. We get just a glimpse of Golden boy Midas sparring with Sting’s ever loyal muscle brute, Buck.
Competitive bodybuilder and model Michael Tomasetti
makes a return appearance as rookie-no-more Spike
But the primary wrestling action for chapter 5 is the return of Spike, who make his doomed debut in Chapter 4, getting pummeled nearly into oblivion in team competition against Velocity’s brother Nova and his ferocious partner Jolt, who worked out some self-therapy for his PTSD by beating poor Spike to within an inch of his life. However, Spike’s come a long way since his green debut. He’s huge. He’s fierce. He’s got something to prove, and he’s determined to prove it at Velocity’s expense.
Velocity working and getting worked hard in
Brothers in Arms, Chapter 5

Brothers in Arms was the brainchild of a reader request from 2 years ago, and I’m happy to say responding to a reader’s desire for some superhero homoerotic wrestling fantasy has become one of my favorite flights of fancy. For the full series and other wrestling kink fiction from me and other authors, sign up for access to the Sidelineland site. Let me know what you think, what fantasies you’d like to see more of, and share some of your own original homoerotic wrestling fiction for the rest of us to enjoy!

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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September saw a bumper crop of highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling releases! Occasionally, I find the field a bit sparse some months, but that’s not the case as I consider which new release featured the homoerotic wrestler who entertained and turned me on most. Whenever BG East releases a new catalog, they automatically become the wrestling to beat for my monthly title. Catalog 89 is no exception to that rule. From Florida Fights 3, Kirby Stone, Mitch Colby, and Cole Cassidy rise to the top of my affections. In fact, Kirby’s fierce beatdown and ownership over Reese Wells was unexpectedly moving, and I’m instantly craving more of the nasty babyface with that fantastic ass! The Science of Scissors pushes my buttons hard from start to finish, and Rio Garza, Jimmy Gee, Trent Blayze and Attila Dynasty could all equally merit the crown. Patrick Donovan’s Wrestler Spotlight makes me wonder how it’s possible that Patrick has never possessed one of my titles, not to mention the always enticing stylings of Tyrell Tomsen and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!), who’s still chomping at Kid Karisma’s ass to muscle his way back into the top contender spot for my favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division. Muscle god Dev Michaels, sexy rookie Lucky Loko, Jonny Firestorm (and especially his forearms) and Brook Stetson (both looking to claim the monthly title a second time) put in fabulous bids for September’s homoerotic wrestler of the month distinction. And still more from BG East, Cain McDonald’s amazingly hot ass, Z-Man’s coverboy pecs, and Skrapper’s intense, primal sexuality have all made me do a double take at Mat Scraps 1. And double rookie debut Magnus and Surge both put up completely competitive performances for Wrestle Worship 3. Rio Garza gets a second nod for his Can-Am appearance working out some long-built frustrations for that astonishingly long line of heel beatdowns, working over perpetually over-the-top Jobe Zander in Rio’s Revenge. From Rock Hard Wrestling, another two former homoerotic wrestler of the month title holders bring a fantastic ring battle to be considered this month: Jake Jenkins and Lucas Payne.
There were a lot of other releases in September that tempt me to make this long list even longer. But I’m drawing the line there. The rest, however delightful, are only also rans for my affections. That’s already 22 wrestlers working me hard, making this one of the tough, tough calls in the history of my homoerotic wrestlers of the month. Regular readers know that I frequently find myself moved most by the unconventional choices, the wrestlers who may not be the prettiest or appear to be the most popular in the discussion groups. With that caveat in mind, I’m boldly stepping forward, lifting the crown, and placing it squarely atop the shaggy brown mop of hair atop the head of…
… Z-Man.

Yes, perhaps my tastes this month uncharacteristically overlap with the majority (though I don’t think Neilsen’s actually has hard numbers on viewership of homoerotic wrestling). I’m not ashamed to say that the pretty, pretty, pretty (pretty, pretty, pretty) prettyboy Z-Man turned me on arguably the most for his Mat Scrap with one of my long-time, low burning crushes: Skrapper.
There’s always an inherent tension in picking a homoerotic wrestler of the month based on matches released in the prior month. For one thing, it takes two to tango, so to speak, so a particularly fantastic match is seldom built on the performance of just one wrestler. Mat Scraps 1 is a case in point. I’m turned on more and more every time I see Skrapper in action (keep your eyes open for more news on that front). His absolutely lovely delivery of both pain and humiliation on Z-Man is testimony first and foremost to his quickly evolving homoerotic wrestling expertise. He dishes out precisely measured portions of agony and ego-busting embarrassment, and he displays the coverboy’s picture perfect physique with incredible generosity. And I’ve got to say there’s something astonishingly sexy about Skrapper’s deep, bass voice. Not everyone who uses the word “Dude” with such frequency has the same effect on me, but that voice of his rumbles out of some deep, dark place where a seriously ferocious, primal lust to dominate lives.

So it should come as no surprise that Skrapper could just as easily been crowned this month for his work with Z-Man. However, it’s upon Z-Man that I’m placing the crown of laurel, because for a smokin’ hot hunk who’s always had a truck full of potential for homoerotic wrestling entertainment, for me this is the first time I’ve thought his delivery fully lived up to his potential. I’m being unkind when I say that I wasn’t always sure from Z-Man’s work with other companies whether he was burning at full wattage. There’s something bordering on thick-headed about his persona in the past, and pretty and smart turn me on about 100 times more than pretty and dumb. But I feel like in Mat Scraps, I got a glimpse of not just a pretty face (and ass, and pecs, and biceps, and ass, and ass…), but a clever hunk who can tell a story on the mats. He suffers exquisitely in Skrapper’s machinations, but Z-Man also remembers where they are in the plot. When Z-Man’s upper lip curls in fury as he rips apart Skrapper’s crotch like a Thanksgiving wishbone, the symmetry is beautiful. In almost the precise place and position in which Z-Man himself had been ripped apart earlier in the match, he gets his revenge on the wiry one.

It’s not as if I’ve ever not been turned on by Z-Man in still frame. His body is a work of art. His milky smooth skin stretched over an extraordinary gym body is captivating. But more than ever before, I believe Z-Man in Mat Scraps. I believe that he’s seriously pissed off that a skinny skater punk should dare to treat him with such contempt. I believe that he’s hurting, that those fists driving deep into the thick muscles of Z-Man’s pecs seriously smart. I believe that the Z-Man has some actual ego invested in meeting his opponent toe-to-toe, in not being made a fool of, in showing that he can corral the innate ham within and bring to bear all that strength, beauty, and yes, even smarts, to give every impression that he wants to be a competitor.

I get this match. Somehow, it seems like this match gets me. Skrapper is a stud that I’ll have more to say about soon, but today, this month, it’s Z-Man that I’m happily rolling back my prior bitchy criticisms of. He delivers powerful, personality-filled, ego-invested wrestling that I enjoyed without reservation. If I’ve ever offended Z-Man for being less than generous in the past, I’m contented to say that he’s made a believer out of me today. And if ever he feels the need to smack me around a little and lock my head between his fabulous legs and squeeze, I’ll certainly understand!

Hercules and the Giant Antaeus

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Cage Thunder’s blog post today lays out how he envisions a match playing out between new BG East wrestler Magnus and him. Cage has some inspiring ideas of the twists and turns in the drama that would undoubtedly unfold. Even conceding 40 pounds and 5 inches in height, Cage is thinking that he’d have Magnus’ number in the end. If anyone has the experience, savvy, and skill to conquer muscle freak Magnus, I’m thinking it’s Cage Thunder.

There’s a whole lot I like about Wrestle Worship 3. First and foremost, I’m excited to see another installment in the wrestle worship franchise. I own and love WresWor 1 (mmmmmm… Rafe….) and 2, and the notion of gorgeous bodies slipping seamlessly between battle and lustful adoration is one of my favorite homoerotic wrestling scenarios of all time. When wrestlers work up a roaring head of erotic passion out of the intense physicality of a battle for domination, it strums a chord right at the heart of my wrestling kink.

6’4″, 230 pound Magnus is fucking huge. When he’s posing in the mirror in the BG East matroom before his opponent arrives, he looks freakishly massive, but it’s only when Surge walks into the room and steps in front of Magnus that it’s entirely clear that Magnus isn’t simply huge. He’s fucking huge. 5’11”, 185 pound Surge is quite the impressive muscle beast himself, but lets face it, he looks relatively juvenile dwarfed in the shadow of the gargantuan wonder.

There are two things that occur to me as I watch the beginning of their tussle. First, I’m thinking that Magnus would be his own ride in that homoerotic wrestling theme park that I fantasize about every so often. I’d wait in line a long time, with a bottle of baby oil in hand, to have a go at studying every inch and ounce of his astonishingly worship-worthy body. The second thought that occurs to me at the start of this bout is that “little” Surge is like a hero of Greek mythology. He visibly swallows the stark terror that’s got to be washing over him and then bravely demands that Magnus wrestle him. “I’m not afraid of you!” he lies.
As you might guess, Surge is completely outmuscled by Magnus. It’s not as if it’s a surprise to see the 6’4″ muscle freak pick up, throw down, toss and crush his opponent without breaking a sweat. What’s more compelling for me is the gusto with which sexy Surge keeps throwing his own beautifully muscled body at the monster in front of him. While Magnus admires his own double bicep in the mirror, Surge creeps up behind him and struggles to wrap his arms around the massive lats and traps in front of him. I mean, literally, he struggles to extend his limbs sufficiently to be able to manage a full nelson on the wide open bodybuilder. When he does finally manage it, Magnus seems to barely notice. He simply steps backward and crushes Surge against the wall behind them. Surge loses his grip and slides off as Magnus returns to the middle of the mat to flex for his own pleasure some more. Undaunted, Surge sprints across the room and launches himself into the skyscraper again, lacing his fingers behind Magnus’ neck and making the muscle freak stumble backward. Here’s where I’m fascinated most: Magnus struggles in the full nelson! He strains and stretches with the ferocious terrier latched to his back. Sure, he eventually charges backward and slams Surge into the wall again, winning his freedom. But Surge’s determination to face down these incredibly long odds makes me, despite myself, start cheering for him!
Picture Hercules wrestling the giant Antaeus. That’s what I’m seeing as I watch, inspired by the sight of beautiful muscle hunk Surge get ground into the dirt and relentlessly keep coming back for more. Surge clearly has something to prove. He’s obviously not familiar with the feeling of being overpowered, and he stubbornly keeps launching one doomed effort after another to bring the giant to his knees. For his troubles, Magnus grows progressively nastier in dishing out his punishment, slapping down the Greek hero more and more brutally. And the longer Surge refuses to stay down, the more sexually charged the contact grows between them. When the square cuts come off, Magnus somehow seems to swell even larger.  He stands like a marble statue as Surge tentatively, almost fearfully peels the yellow trunks down Magnus’ freakishly thick thighs. When thongs get stripped not long afterward, the timelessness of this battle seems that much more poignant. I think it’s incredibly astonishing (and just damn unfair!) that Magnus’ beer can cock is perfectly proportioned to the rest of freakishly huge body. Again, Surge is no slouch, but he seems somehow merely mortal as he faces down the side of beef hanging between Magnus’ legs.

I’ve already lingered quite a bit on three particular moments in the homestretch of this mat battle. First, there’s a moment when Magnus has pounded Surge to his back on the mat once again. They’re both naked, and Magnus saddles up on top of Surge’s chest, slapping down his monster cock. The proximity seems to send Surge over the edge, as he desperately stretches his neck and lips to grab hold of the giant’s feast. Magnus teases him, keeping the tip of his head just a fraction of an inch out of reach of Surge’s hungry mouth. Eventually, Magnus demands that Surge “flex those big pecs” of his (I LOVE it that Magnus acknowledges Surge’s rocking physique!). Crunching out his pecs, Surge is delighted to be treated to Magnus stroking his cock, tightly squeezed in the crevice between Surge’s thick pecs. A second intoxicating moment in the match for me is the last of a whole boatload of bearhugs that Magnus applies crushing Surge, making him scream, swinging him about like a rag doll. The last one is over relatively quickly (though it’s not hard to imagine Magnus maintaining the hold for a week and a half). Both wrestlers are naked. Surge’s sweet ass is on gorgeous display. My herculean hero thrashes, throwing his upper body in every direction to try to loosen his captors grip. The pain in his voice as he submits once more is simply sublime! And the final moment captivating me is the sight of the two warriors standing, cock-to-cock and pec-to-pec in the center of the mats. From behind, Surge nearly completely disappears behind Magnus’ hulking form. Magnus holds Surge’s face in his hands, staring down domineeringly, as Surge lustfully slides his hands around the back of Magnus’ hips, grabbing the thick and meaty glutes of the superhuman giant. Pause. Rewind. Play again.

This is an excellent new addition to the Wrestle Worship series for many reasons. Magnus is a force of nature that, I predict, would stretch even the skills of someone like Cage Thunder, which would be simply priceless to watch! And sweet, sexy Surge is irrepressible. Watching him wrestle with his own stubborn refusal to admit defeat, only to see his desire to conquer morph into a lust to worship his conquerer is over the top hot. What a combination!

Asses Named

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So how did you do on our back-to-school edition of Name That Ass? Pull out your bubble sheet and let’s review the answers.
Ass #1 belongs to…

… BG East’s Cole Cassidy.

Cole’s body is sculpture. Every inch of him (at least every inch I’ve seen) is stunningly proportioned and absolutely perfectly Cole. That this perfectly tuned weapon is in the possession of such a sadistic heel ought to make much more competitive wrestlers than poor Brendan Byers quake in their wrestling boots. When Cole plants those muscled glutes across the mouth of devastated Brendan in their newly released match in Florida Fights 3, for that half a minute as Cole flexes and preens in victorious ecstasy above him, I’m bitterly envious of Brendan.
Ass #2 belongs to…

Rio’s got to have earned major frequent flyer miles getting that beautiful ass beaten from Florida to Boston to Los Angeles. He has some of the most loyal fans on the planet, and while I don’t consider myself a Rio devotee by any means, I unquestionably appreciate the aesthetic lines and sculpted contours of Rio’s beautiful body. I loved the concept of indy pros Cameron Mathews and Paul Hudson putting on a 2-on-1 clinic for Rio to tutor him in the arts of a professional-quality wrestling beatdown in Can-Am’s So You Want to Be a Pro Wrestler. Here’s another fantasy concept I’m just throwing out there… how about a rookie tutored by a pro and a homoerotic fantasyman? The pro beats him senseless and the fantasyman sexually dominates him.

Ass #3 belongs to…
… BG East’s Lon Dumont.
Ironically, the close-up of Lon’s ass appeared in the quiz right next to his image as my #1 favorite homoerotic wrestler – non-pornboy division in the right margin. In particular, Lon is pictured here crushing the skull of Doug Rand on opposite sides of their Tag Team Torture 12 encounter. Lon has been in sole possession of the #1 spot in my non-pornboy rankings for a helluva long time, particularly considering he hasn’t had a new release in a little while. And still, hands down, he’s my favorite for his equal portions of smoking hot competitive bodybuilder physique and wrestling kink golden pro wrestling persona and ring skills. I’m not ashamed to say I’m a little obsessed with Lon, particularly after our delightful interview earlier this year in which he revealed himself to be both everything that turns my on in a wrestler as well as a damn fine human being. For those who regularly write me, asking for any news of the hunk, I’m deeply thrilled to pass on three titillating tidbits I’ve gathered: 1) Lon has achieved even more stunning development of his physique as he enters the new bodybuilding season, 2) he is still sporting the full head of hair he foreshadowed last winter, and 3) he and his full head of hair and mind-blowing muscles will indeed be showing up again in action for BG East!

Ass #4 belongs to…

… BG East’s classic workhorse, Bryan.

This beautiful, blond stud seemed to have been marching arm-in-arm with Kid Leopard in the pioneering early days of BG East. I think he was never more arousing than when he was 100% pro, in the ring in boots and square cut trunks and slamming some hot, pretty young thing’s face into a turnbuckle. However, the matroom pairing of Bryan and a very young, tan, in the peak of fitness Brad Rochelle in the seminal edition of Ultra Fight is awfully, awfully compelling. Those are two incredibly notable asses locked together in one hot, ferocious battle!

Ass #5 belongs to…

…Can-Am’s Beau Hopkins.

I repeat myself when I say that his opponent in Supermatch 11, Tom Flex, knew exactly what he was doing when he locked his crushing legs around Beau’s narrow waist, squeezed until the dark, hairy hunk screamed out, and then yanked on Beau’s trunks so hard that they entirely disappeared between those astonishingly beautiful ass cheeks. This is also a reminder of the delights that we miss out on, with the absence of baby oil in homoerotic wrestling for many years.

So it appears we have our work cut out for us as we start the new school year. No perfect scores were recorded for this Name That Ass quiz. The eternal strengths-based instructor, however, I think that just leaves so much more room to improve and to grow in our expertise when it comes to the studied appreciation of homoerotic wrestling asses.