One of my favorite little gimmicks in my 10 years of blogging about homoerotic wrestling was Name that Ass. It was modeled on the very old game show Name that Tune, where contestants endeavored to recognize a popular song with just few, isolated notes. In my homoerotic wrestling version, I challenged readers to identify a wrestling hunk with just an isolated, up close image of his hot ass. I strongly suspect it was significantly more pleasurable for me to curate the images than it was for readers to decipher them. But honestly, this blog is about me, so I’m dusting off the guessing game. I’ve offered a variety of prizes for winners in the past. The first to identify all of the beautiful butts from straight up pro wrestling below can choose the theme of an upcoming blog post or fantasy match, if you’d like. I suspect some of these asses will be easy (so to speak), while others will be considerably more of a challenge. Post your answers in the comments below. Good luck!
For the past several months, I’ve had too little time to savor the homoerotic wrestling scene. One of the new releases that I’m circling back around to drink in, now that I have more time, is BG East’s Demolition 27 from catalog 140. The pairing of bad ass muscle man Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and perennial pin-up boy Christian Taylor is inspired. Like Mr. Joshua’s crotch, drama is busting at the seams with nothing more than the set-up. Christian is achingly innocent in his very first wrestling match climbing into the ring with the dazzling bulges and perfect proportions of Mr. Joshua right in the middle of his ascendency.
Part of what makes this such a perfect pairing is what we’ve known of both wrestlers’ bodies of work. In his 30 previously released matches (yet taped after his initiation in Demolition 27), Christian distinguished himself as a fan favorite baby face heart throb with effortless eroticism. He’s wrested passionate kisses from about half of his opponents. Perpetually lean, Christian layered on matured muscle over the 14 or so years since he climbed into the ring with Mr. Joshua. Match by match, he’s grown more confident and dangerous. Starring in releases with superlative titles like “sexiest,” “sizzling,” and “hottest,” a seasoned Christian Taylor has demonstrated that he loves the erotic intimacy of fiercely fought, sweat soaked submission wrestling as much as you and I do.
Mr. Joshua, on the other hand, has distinguished himself as one of the most heartless cock teases in homoerotic wrestling history. In his approximately 45 previously released matches, Mr. J has ranged from narcissist muscle jobber to low-blowing, bulldozing bodybuilder heel. But a subplot in his ascendency has centered on fans’ unrequited love affair with his stunningly massive crotch. We’ve repeatedly voted his as the Best Bulge in BG East, and Mr. Joshua keeps teasing us with his wardrobe adjustments mid-match, rearranging his prominent bulge, shoving his hand down the front of his trunks, swinging his moneymaker all over the ring. Early on, his quick crotch adjustments seemed incidental, unselfconscious. But clearly word has gotten back to Mr. J how gay fans swoon for it, and he’s grown relentless about teasing and taunting his opponents/fans with his barely caged anaconda. Right around Matmen 21, he turned full on cock tease, bringing a breathless fan to the mat room to battle for the chance to conquer and claim his grand prize. Ever since, Mr. Joshua has been explicitly acknowledging the obvious fact that his smoking hot bod, and in particular that humungous, low-hanging bulge, is driving gay wrestling fans nuts!
So Demolition 27 was taped before Christian evolved into a fully formed erotic submission wrestler with a penchant for locking his hungry lips on an opponent’s gasping mouth, and probably before Mr. Joshua had fully begun to exploit the power of his mammoth allure. Right there, in that moment, Christian is stretching in the ring in anticipation of his first BG East match, skinny, pale, achingly young, surely nursing the embryonic wrestling kink that would later blossom. And in walks Mr. J, packed into very brief golden trunks that never stood a chance at fully containing his overflowing abundance. “You look like a string bean over there,” Mr. Joshua immediately starts the trash talk. “You’re a dead giveaway as a rookie. You know how I can tell? You’ve got no tan!” Christian looks cool, unfazed. He’s got that James Dean upper lip curl suggesting contempt. But even if you didn’t know what an erotic wrestling enthusiast he would become, you can see the youngster’s eyes lingering, his feigned nonchalance worn thin in an instant as the stunningly gorgeous slab of beefsteak climbs into the ring with him.
“What’s your name, rookie?” Mr. Joshua asks, just so he can make sure the kid’s next of kin is notified when all is said and done. “Christian,” his obviously unsettled opponent replies with a stiff upper lip. “Christian?! Well, I’m an atheist,” Mr. J clucks, “and the pope isn’t going to save your ass, so you’re in trouble now!”
“Have you seen any of my videos,” Mr. Joshua demands to know. “Have you seen what I can do?” He flexes just a little. Christian denies having watched Mr. J’s back catalog, but no shit, there’s a sheepish grin on the kid’s face that makes me melt. His lusciously lipped mouth says no, but everything else about Christian says that he’s unzipped and studied the legendary wrestler’s body of work with more than passing interest. As if in confirmation, Christian’s eyes and the camera simultaneously zoom in on Mr. Joshua’s mountainous crotch.
Supposedly, the story is about the veteran who goes a little overboard breaking in the young buck. Mr. Joshua does love his “lessons.” “Keep the viewers entertained, Christian Taylor,” Mr. Joshua lectures, scooping the kid up and holding him across his huge chest for days on end, passively demonstrating his total control, lording it over his opponent, knowing what it’s doing to fans watching, before pounding long, limber Christian down savagely into an over-the-knee backbreaker. He holds him there, pinned like a butterfly, grinding his elbow into Christian’s crotch.
“We have to put all this hair to good use,” Mr. Joshua continues his lessons. Christian is a worm on the hook, but Mr. J grabs a hand full of hair and keeps yanking the kid off the mat mercilessly. But, when Christian gets a fleeting taste of offense, he hooks Mr. J’s boots nice and snug against his crotch and pries the bodybuilder’s arms backward viciously in a kneeling surfboard. “You want to tell me about those rules now, huh,” the bitter rook snarls. It’s a sweet little morsel of bully revenge fantasy as the rookie owns the bodybuilder. He lets go of the arms to rain down vicious fists into the muscled lower back of his captive. Mr. J is looking seriously ready to get fucked over by a gangly, lightweight Freshman. Finally, he reaches forward and grabs the bottom rope. “You’ve got to let me go because I’ve got the rope! That’s part of the rules!” Lovely, limber, adorable Christian lets him go, because… rookie.
About 2 minutes later, Mr. Joshua is working up a head of steam all over Christian. He’s pounding and stomping out every last ounce of irrational courage in the newbie. Mr. J grinds the kid’s skull between his magnificently muscled thighs in standing scissors, leaning forward and giving Christian the atomic wedgie of the year (why is that not a category!?). He literally splits the kid at the seams, tearing open a hole up the crack of Christian’s square cut trunks. “I beat you so hard I ripped your underwear,” Joshua marvels. “You just couldn’t handle it.” He muscles the newbie all over the place, finally wrapping him into a deep-seated Boston crab, wrenching on Christian’s lovely, long legs and prying his spine severely backward. The rookie pounds the mat in agony and desperately submits. “But that’s another one of the rules. I don’t have to let go. I’m not finished. Just because you say you’re finished doesn’t mean I am!”
“Christian Taylor,” Mr. Joshua contemplates, as he drags the kid to the ropes and forces him to see himself get manhandled in the mirror. “You sound like a good boy. You come from a good town, good family. What are you doing here?!” Here’s the money shot for me, my friends. It’s when Mr. J ties up Christian’s long, lanky arms between the ropes. He doesn’t need to, of course. He’s fucking demolishing the newbie like a stick of dynamite. Rather, Mr. J ties the kid up in order to have his hands free, in order to flex, in order to have an all access pass to Christian’s lovely, pale body stretched out and unable to even curl into the fetal position.
Mr. Joshua brutally pounds the impudent skinny kid trussed up before him. He yanks on those trunks again, hard, to lend that much more leverage to his fists punching Christian’s gut. He yanks so hard, in fact, that Christian’s dick pops out at one point, flailing helplessly in the aftershock of another gut punch (welcome to homoerotic wrestling, newbie!). Mr. Joshua pries Christian’s head backward over the ropes so he can hoist a leg over and straddle this kid’s handsome face. “That’s right, kiss my ass while you’re down there,” the veteran demands. Honestly, Christian’s face is buried so deep, it’s impossible to verify whether or not he obeyed.
I sort of think he probably did. Because here’s the thing, while we can’t know whether Christian already had in mind his evolution into a full-on erotic submission wrestler, we can confirm (in that back-to-the-future sort of way), that following his demolition at the hands (and everything else) of Mr. Joshua Goodman, Christian has taken most every opportunity he’s been given to pucker up and lay one on an opponent. Was Christian as erotically charged by wrestling before Mr. Joshua dismounted off his face, only to spin around and mount him again, this time with his legendary package basically smothering him? Only Christian knows, and I’ve never been able to get him on the line for an interview to ask him. I like to think so, though, that Mr. Joshua popping his homoerotic wrestling cherry (metaphorically speaking) brought babyface Christian back again and again to work up buckets of sweat wrestling nearly (and at times entirely) naked, and often buttoning down long, lingering lip locks on one hot bodied hunk after another. I like to think that Christian showed up that day a good boy, with just a little erotic curiosity, and Mr. Joshua’s unique brand of carnal depravity sensationally and irrevocably corrupted his innocence and spoiled him for anything but erotic wrestling.
Of course, this could easily by just my imagination. But then again, at another telling moment in the action, when Christian is no longer St. Sebastian tied to a tree, Mr. Joshua hooks him into face-to-crotch headscissors, crushing the kid’s noggin for a while, before rolling Christian to his back, still bearing down on the scissors, and grinding his award winning bulge into Christian’s lush lips. There are a lot of ways a moment like that can go down, of course, but what does Christian do? He reaches up, strumming his fingers across Mr. J’s rippling abs, palming the muscle man’s thick pecs. What’s a good boy like Christian Taylor doing, showing up at BG East, squeezing his alabaster body into doomed, lavender trunks, and presuming to climb into the ring with a notorious heel with an ego nearly as enormous as the ballast in the front of his trunks? He’s willingly, eagerly, even, coming face to crotch with a bad boy and hoping that a lot of it rubs off.
In the waning moment of the match, Mr. Joshua keeps yanking Christian by the hair and demanding that he open his eyes to witness his final destruction. I’m pretty sure Mr. J is reading his opponent’s eyes tightly shut as terror, or resignation, or a primal instinct to retreat to his happy place in the face of this horror show. I have a different theory, however. I suspect that Christian was searing the evocative sights, smells, and feels of this match into his memory. In fact, I bet Christian still lies in bed in the dark, these 14 years later, occasionally catching a whiff of Mr. J musk, a muscle memory cramp in his now-toned abs in the shape of Mr. Joshua’s fist, the exact feel of Mr. Joshua’s sculpted pecs in the palms of his groping hands as he struggles not to choke on the legendary crotch relentlessly grinding in to face.
Mr. Joshua does that. He insinuates himself into the homoerotic wrestling imagination and absolutely owns a parcel of property there that no one else has come close to laying claim to. And he knows it. I think he’s systematically come to know it more and more, the more he’s molded hot, eager, gay opponents like Christian into putty. I still hate what a fucking cock tease he’s been all of these years, haunting my dreams (and Christian’s) with his taunting, terrorizing, tantalizing main course that’s never quite served.
And then there’s Christian, 14 years later, looking like a movie star, sporting his own rippling abs and sensationally sexy physique. His been beaten and battered many times, but never split open wide quite like that first day at BG East when he climbed into the ring as just another good boy, from a good town, to lock up with one of the biggest, baddest, sexiest muscle men in the business. Would it all have turned out quite like this without that first ring encounter those years ago, when Mr. Joshua Goodman laid him bare and showed him just how far his wrestling dreams could take him?
So, I loved this match. I’m still waiting to get a good, long look at what Mr. Joshua sees when he yanks on the front of his gear and stares down at the crotch monster squirming in his trunks. But what I’d really like to know is what Christian sees, smells, and feels when he closes his eyes and remembers his first day as a good boy, from a good family, from a good town, first getting introduced to the wide open world of homoerotic wrestling.
I’m trying out new hashtags for the rebooted blog. Today, I’m giving #wastedWednesday a trial run. It’s an homage to that spectacularly sweet moment in wrestling when a once bold, brash, cocky competitor is out-hustled and outmuscled. In straight-up pro wrestling, a hard-bodied hunk laid waste is probably just denouement. The camera centers on the pumped victor. The story is his story. But in wrestling for gay eyes, the camera frequently zooms back in on the vanquished, savoring the sight of his humiliation. It’s as much a story about his heartbreak as it is about the winner’s celebration. I think for many homoerotic wrestling fans, seeing a muscle hunk demolished can be pretty fucking climactic (at least it is in my pants). Bulging muscles left impotent. A swollen, cock-sure ego smashed to bits. Power and promise and danger pounded into a puddle of helplessness. For my tastes, the prettier, the stronger, the cockier the waste-ee, the better. So this is my little love letter to the hot, homoerotic wrestling hunks who gave it their all and, in the end, were left unable to lift a finger to defend themselves. Let me know if you think @wastedWedensday should be a thing.
Gabriel Cross is left upended (literally) by Van Ryder in their Muscleboy Wrestling match. Gabriel’s journey from twink to muscle hunk is one of the most dramatic transformations in homoerotic wrestling history. Seeing his spectacular physique laid waste and his cherubic face out cold is so, so sweet.
Pete Sharp took BG East by storm there for a couple of years. Pete’s gargantuan package earned him an instant Best Bulge award 3 seconds after he arrived, but damn, was there even on inch of that 6’2″ blond, blue-eyed beefcake that wasn’t perfection? Show up looking like that, built like that, and you’ve got to expect some respect. But fuck, no. Not only did his one-time buddy Lon Dumont mercilessly maul the cocky hunk, but Braden Charron completed his titanic heel turn by dragging Pete’s gorgeous ass all over the ring. His tenure in homoerotic wrestling was far too brief, but damn Pete left a big impression!
W4H’s Colt vs. Drago match is the paradigmatic #wastedWednesday story. Adorable Colt uses chloroform and one sleeper after another to repeatedly make Drago’s divine muscles go slack. All 6’4″ and 240 lbs of Drago are putty in Colt’s hands. Drago rouses, struggles, starts to fight back, but Colt clamps on another sleeper, wringing the tautness out of huge, flexing muscles. Rouse, ring, repeat.
During my hiatus from blogging, Scrappy evolved from a naughty, pretty boy into a franchise player with the body of a god. It does not surprise me at all that he is wracking up one of the most extensive homoerotic wrestling resumes in history, across multiple companies. He’s such a fan pleaser. It probably shouldn’t come as a surprise that opponents all want a piece of him. The sight of Scrappy’s powerfully sculpted muscles gone slack and his little boy face out cold, like when Rhino makes a name for himself posing over top of him, is such a turn on.
I was an instant Alex Oliver fan from the moment I laid eyes on him wrestling as Gus Rowe for BG East. He has a perennial look of a smirking frat boy accustomed to being the hottest and handsomest, which I assume the the very vibe that makes him such a target for getting absolutely thrashed over, and over, and over again. The method of his destruction varies, as do his opponents, but the match ain’t over until Alex is out cold and ass-up. Seriously, it’s his signature finishing move. This perennial jobber just can’t lose when it comes to turning me on, with his wasted, prone body, crushed, humiliated, and helpless.
So what do you think? What wrestlers never look better than when they’re worn out, rung dry, and laid out wasted? #wastedWednesday
At any one time, I’m typically nursing a throbbing crush on around half a dozen wrestlers. All it takes is a glimpse of one of them, and my heart pounds and my cock grows hard. It’s a rotating stock of sexy studs commanding my infatuation, but there are just a few wrestlers who show up on my shortlist and stick around long and hard.
One of the first homoerotic wrestlers to instantly be elevated to crush status is BG East’s Scott Williams. I’ve written about my infatuation with Scott in the past, so I’ll just point out that if I were stranded on desert island and could only have 3 hunks with me for an endless round-robin of homoerotic wrestling, Scott is now, and almost always is, on that island.
My homoerotic wrestling imagination has really been the theme of this blog for over 10 years. My musings have flitted from pro wrestlers, to wrestling-for-gay, to Hollywood hunks and beefcake journalists I’d like to see wrestle. But the real subject is always how my erotic imagination possesses my thoughts and inspires my cock. It’s just a thought-exercise that you’re invited to join me along, exploring my homoerotic wrestling fantasies that, for the most part, are solely playing out in my mind’s eye. But then again, there was that time I obsessed relentlessly for months about my fierce ambivalence between settling on Mitch Colby or Rusty Stevens as my reigning favorite wrestler, only to discover Kid Leopard had made my fantasy come true by pitting them against one another in The Breaking Point: The Sexiest.
I’ll keep nursing my regression to magical thinking and silently hope that I, just wishing it and naming it out loud, can make a fantasy match-up come true. I have some fantasy matches in mind, but I want to carve out what I intend to be a recurring series here, namely picturing tasty twinks for man-of-my-dreams Scott Williams to devour.
Scott has commented in the pages of this blog that he likes getting his hands on new crops of young wrestling twinks. That acknowledgment alone sent me pouring through the catalogs of new releases to decide who it is Scott should get his hands on first, at least in my imagination. For the record, Scott has not endorsed this series, nor has he approved any of the opponents I have in mind for him. If Scott wants a rewrite, or even a retraction, of absolutely anything I write about him, I’m his to command. Like, literally, Scott. Anything I can do for you, let me know.
The first twink I’m picturing that Scott should demolish is stunningly pretty, doe-eyed sexy boy, winner of the Debut of the Year of 2018, Kenny Starr. Just sizing the two of them up turns me on, because numbers are sexy. At 6’2″ and 190 pounds, Scott would tower over little Kenny, who stands at 5’9″ and 175 pounds. Kenny wears a playful smirk on his boyish face at the start of every match, like he’s just here for the fun and games and the free drinks and ready sex that come with being a young, ripped, erotic wrestling starr.
So just picture Scott squaring off against Kenny in the BG East matroom, Kenny grinning and chuckling about “beating up grandpa,” and Scott staring back, deadly serious. Fuck, I love Scott’s game face. Glaring almost half a foot down at Kenny, his stone cold, humorless stare would visibly unnerve the cocky twink.
Kenny would take the initiative with a lightning quick lunge, taking a leg with a self-satisfied grin. Kenny’s plan would be to shock and awe the veteran with youthful speed and aggression. Scott would just watch, appraisingly. Even when Kenny sweeps the leg and slams the veteran to his back, I picture Scott just holding his hands out to his side, calmly, cooly studying the ankle biter quickly mounting his lightly hairy chest and sliding into a schoolboy pin. Kenny’s crotch dangling just over Scott’s face, the young stud would break out into that adorably exuberant shit-eating grin, flashing his baseball biceps and basically just waiting for Scott to admit that he’s outmatched.
I think Scott would indulge the moment a while, because he enjoys the view and he knows he’s winding up the kid’s flawed sense of invincibility. But mid-chuckle, little Kenny would get bucked off and tossed across the matroom. Kenny’s certainty in his own superior speed would be shattered when Scott beats him to his feet, and then just flat out beats him. Scott likes long, strength-sucking endurance holds, so he’d start with a vice-like side headlock, dragging the twink around a couple laps of the matroom while crushing Kenny’s skull between a bulging bicep and his ribcage. Dropping to one knee, I can see Scott turning the crank in that magnificent way he has, pumping the headlock like he’s working to pry the stubborn lid off of a jam jar. Kenny would whimper and wilt sagging lower and lower until Scott takes him all the way to the mat, still crushing his skull relentlessly.
Seriously, I can see Kenny tapping out to the patiently tantric headlock in the first 3 minutes of the match. It wouldn’t exactly surprise Scott, but it would sort of piss him off. The veteran relishes a test, and a cocky bro rolling over right out of the gate would inspire some serious punishment. Sure, he’d let go of the “submission” hold, but he’d give the kid exactly 1.5 seconds before sliding him into crotch-pillow headscissors and clamping down with his lovely, long, hairy legs. Little Kenny would writhe and whimper louder, struggling to pry the thighs away from his throbbing head.
Scott would slowly transition to a figure-4 choke, then an armbar, then a tautly strung bow-and-arrow, patiently milking each crush and stretch. The matwork would be masterful, burying the increasingly desperate kid under joint wrenching torture from head to toe. A weak-ass 2nd submission would squeak out of the pretty boy to an incidental half nelson that Scott was using to set up a camel clutch. Scott would throw him down in disgust, exasperated by the would-be tough guy crumbling before him. As little Kenny whimpers petulantly, nursing his battered ego, Scott would call him a crybaby, all talk and no substance. He’d spank the kid’s ass with loud, cracking slaps that would make Kenny spasm and cry out.
Scott’s patience would run out, waiting for his opponent to get up and fight like a man. Dragging him up by the back of his straining trunks, Scott would hook an arm between Kenny’s legs from behind, hoist him off is feet, and pound the gasping kid down in a gutbuster across his knee. You’d hear the air violently rush out of Kenny’s lungs, even as Scott would hoist him back up and slam him back down, again and again. When the kid doesn’t even squirm on the line, folded humiliatingly across Scott’s bent knee, the veteran would peel the back of Kenny’s sweat-soaked trunks down, exposing that lily white, perfectly round ass. I can see Scott squeeze the produce appreciatively for a while. It’s not like Kenny has any fight in him to complain. Until, that is, Scott starts spanking the naughty boy hard. Screams would punctuate the wet slaps, as the veteran hungrily studies the red palm prints he leaves behind. “Cry for me, crybaby,” Scott would growl. Kenny would weep in frustration.
Kenny’s pleading submissions would fall on deaf ears. Hell, I’d bet Scott would crack some senior citizen joke about needing new batteries for his hearing aids, and not being able to hear this wailing twink. Of course, the truth is that the veteran would be tickled by every yelp, savoring every tear. He’d drag the kid up, demanding that the weak-kneed punk leave his ass cheeks hanging out. When petulant Kenny stubbornly pulls his short pants back over his red hot glutes, Scott would violently shove him into the wall face-first, pinning his head to the wall with one hand while using the other to yank his opponent’s trunks halfway down his quivering legs. You could just hear the twink’s impotent sobs grow more frustrated, then more desperate, as Scott pins the kid’s wrists to the wall overhead and grinds his crotch into Kenny’s ass.
Kenny wouldn’t disobey when Scott demands, again, that he leave his trunks where they are. Even as the veteran throws him wall to wall and then body slams the kid to the mat, Kenny would leave his trunks awkwardly hanging mid-thigh. Scott would sit low and mean in the saddle across the kid’s bare butt in a Camel Clutch demanding that the kid cry, which he would. Loudly. Scott’s Boston Crab would be a little more work to cinch in place with Kenny’s trunks sliding most of the way to his knees, but all the easier for the veteran to transition to a single leg and reach down and squeeze the boy’s hanging balls.
Kenny would submit again. And again. And again. With his tormenter’s claws ripping apart his perky lean pecs, Kenny would give. In an abdominal stretch hanging like a cut of tenderized beef on the hook, he’d cry out in submission again. Twisted, tossed, and tortured, the twink’s trunks would slide lower and lower, until he’d be swaying, barely standing unassisted, his pale white beauty marked all over with red welts turning angry purple, and his prettyboy designer trunks mid-calf. Panting, heavy-lidded, half out of it, Kenny would self-conciously start to bend forward when his gear finally drops to his ankles. Scott would just have to “tut-tut,” and the demolished twink would jerk back to attention obediently, swaying on his feet, eyes on the floor in humiliated subjugation.
Scott would take one last stroll around his tamed trophy, offering light praise for the kid’s quick obedience, and promising to make a man out of him. Little Kenny wouldn’t say anything, because, really, what would there be to say? He’d just grunt in resignation when Scott shoves an arm between his thighs from behind and hoists the kid across his gorgeously muscled shoulders. If he pulled down on Kenny’s neck and legs, he’d wring more screams and tears out with a torture rack, but there’d really be no point to that any longer. Scott would just be wearing the kid like a wrap now, taking in the sight of himself in the mirror, soaked in sweat and in full possession of the adorable little muscle bro who’d been so filled with cocky overconfidence 20 minutes ago. With his conquest balanced across his wide shoulders, Scott would flex a little. He’d have earned the right to indulge in the self-congratulations, giving credit where it’s due, namely to his phenomenal physique and mat experience. Finally, he’d stride to the door and side-step through it, carrying his naked prize with him.
At least, that’s how I see it. It’s a lot more lopsided a match than we’ve seen Scott wrestle, but seriously, have you seen those huge, corded arms of his with veins popping out in his recent guest appearances at Wrestling with Pride? With the shape he’s in, and company he keeps, and boatload of experience to draw from, I just see tasty little Kenny demolished by the man-of-my-dreams!
Is it just my imagination, or does gorgeous hottie Zach Reno deliver more than his fair share of trunk pulls?
Zach is so determined to weasel out of doing his chores that he stuff’s Jayden Mayne’s handsome face between his hairy thighs, leans forward, and gives the choreboy’s trunks a quick tug.
Zach does what it takes to level the playing field when he’s double-teamed by gargantuan muscle gods Mark Muscle and Zach Altovito, including, but not limited to, yanking hard on Mark Muscle’s trunks to make his earlier low blows linger longer.
It’s not like Zach turns to the trunk pull only when the odds are long. He and fellow lightweight Ethan Andrews are more than enough to take on big, beautiful, pro loudmouth Garrett Thomas, but a completely gratuitous trunk pull makes Zach’s gut punches on the trussed up hunk that much more painful. And humiliating.
Trapped in Kid Karisma’s muscle bearhug in Gazebo Grapplers 17, Zach turns to a defensive trunk pull in a last ditch bid to survive the crushing embrace. The defensive trunk pull is a marvelous variation on the theme. It’s desperate, like clutching at straws, but instead it’s clutching at spandex.
The defensive trunk pull “works” only in so far as the wrestler on offense instinctively reacts to having his gear wedged up his ass crack and his cheeks exposed on camera. Zach’s pull implies that he’s an innovator, that he’s calculating more than just wrestling skill and strength, but also ego, vanity, and focus. Lesser men might be shocked and distracted to be on the receiving end of a defensive yank like this. Unfortunately for Zach, Kid Karisma is “less than” no one, particularly when it comes to showing off his multi-award winning ass.
Not only is Kid K unfazed by Zach’s move to expose his perfectly muscled ass cheek, he happily demonstrates that one good yank deserves another. Ever the fan-pleaser, Kid Karisma makes sure you and I can make a fair comparison to determine who wears the wedgie best.
Personally, my fan support for Zach Reno is only accentuated by his readiness to grab hold of his opponents’ trunks. I seriously love Zach’s hot, compact body and his take-no-prisoners wrestling style. I’m a huge fan of his furry, muscled ass, as well. Like his ultimate fate in his match with Kid Karisma, he may not be ready to compete with the sheer beauty of Kid K’s breathtaking bare butt, but I’m loving Zach’s willingness to go there!
Carter savored his victory a few ecstatic moments, staring down at Richard and giving his cock a rough tug of pleasure. With a smile, he finally reached down. Tentatively, Richard looked at the offered hand a few cautious seconds, before accepting the help to climb to his feet. Carter laughed gently as Richard swayed on his unsteady feet. As the dazed hunk’s knees momentarily buckled underneath him, Carter hooked an arm around his waist and allowed Richard to lean on him as he gathered his wits. The defeated newsman cradled his aching, semi-erect cock in one hand as he leaned on Carter’s shoulder. Patiently, gently, Carter began to slowly lead them back to the stairs.
The assembled stable of newsmen watching from the base of the stairs were silent as they turned and led the sand and sweat covered competitors up the cliff stairs to the beach house. Once inside, Carter led Richard to the bathroom and began running a bath before shutting the door behind them.
The rest of the newsmen were subdued, when Richard and Carter came back downstairs cleaned and dressed. The tension was thick in the air, as Rob and Chris paced pensively across opposite ends of the room. Suddenly, Eli’s face appeared on the plasma screen over the fireplace. “Congratulations, Carter,” Eli said. “Your creativity in securing that submission was a crowd favorite. Our gay male demographic has gone through the roof.”
Rob stood up and growled at the screen, “I’m leaving now. I was beaten, and there’s nothing for me to do here now.”
“On the contrary, Rob,” Eli explained. “We have one more match to determine the fourth competitor to advance to the semi-finals. The losers bracket will have one more chance to stay alive with a victory in a 3-way.” Rob bristled at the word “loser.” Thomas chuckled at the reference to “a 3-way.” Eli paused for the surprise development to sink in, as all 6 hunks mentally recalculated their odds. “You have one day to rest,” Eli continued, “and then Rob, Sam, and Richard will compete in a three-way battle on the sand the morning after tomorrow. Once any one of you submits, you will leave the beach, and the remaining two will then fight to the final submission.” Rob glanced appraisingly at Sam and Richard, noticing the latter was still visibly exhausted and leaning heavily on Carter’s shoulder. “The winner will be granted the opportunity to claim redemption by moving on to the next round. I suggest that you rest, perhaps do some light training, and get your heads back in the game.”
The following day, the competitors recuperated, enjoying the momentary reprieve from the high-stakes competition. Thomas and Sam appeared to strike up a friendship, if not an alliance. The muscled hunks sunbathed nude on the back deck most of the afternoon, obviously enjoying the responsibility to re-apply sun tan lotion on each other’s beefy bodies. Leisurely make-out sessions occasionally punctuated their side-by-side bare-naked napping.
Carter and Richard appeared to continue to be drawn closer by the crucible of combat. They spent most of the afternoon on the beach, running wrestling drills. Carter coached his new protege in defending against an erotic offense, which entailed Carter repeatedly seducing and arousing him, and Richard building tolerance to resist the temptation to allow his will to crumble. Hours of grappling and aggressive seduction climaxed into full-throated consummation of their mutual attraction, stripped naked under the Southern California sun and the watchful eye of Eli’s cameras and countless fans.
Chris and Rob spent the day in the basement gym, pumping iron. They engaged in superficial bro-talk as they spotted one another, openly validating each other’s muscle and strength, while inwardly sizing each other up as potential competitors.
The morning of the fourth and final match of round one, Sam, Rob, and Richard strode across the beach while the others watched from the base of the stairs. The three combatants came to a halt in the soft sand and looked at one another awkwardly. The shirtless hunks glistened in the sunshine, the sweat of midday heat and the rush of adrenaline already coating their bodies. Sam, in green trunks, was more tanned and more blond from the past four days in the Southern California sun. His face was still bruised from the beating at the hands of his former friend, but the swelling had gone done. Rob wore red speedos. Fresh off of a day of cardio and light weights, his muscles were pumped. Richard wore Carter’s yellow trunks. The veins in his thick arms, shoulders and chest popped, and a new, smirking confidence seemed to have replaced the humiliation of two days before.
“How the hell do three people fight each other?” Rob asked. The horn sounded on the cliff above. Sam smirked, stretching his broadly muscled chest. “Don’t even pretend you’ve never participated in a 3-way, Rob,” he chided. “I’ve seen the paparazzi pics documenting your misadventures.”
Sam and Richard simultaneously tackled Rob. Richard grabbed his legs while Sam went high, driving Rob’s upper body into the sand with a violent grunt. Lying on his back, Rob found Richard straddling low across his pelvis, pinning his legs and torso to the sand. Dropping to his knees, Sam straddled Rob’s head. Grabbing a handful of Rob’s brown hair, Sam slid into position to snap on crotch-pillow head scissors, wrapping his bulging, blond legs around Rob’s neck. Rob whimpered as the huge quads crushed his head. After a few seconds to wring him out, Sam shifted position, bending his right leg and hooking his lower leg across Rob’s throat. Grabbing his right ankle with both hands, Sam pulled upward, trapping Rob’s head in a vice-like figure-4 choke.
Executing a clearly planned attack, Sam choked Rob while Richard began pounding fist after fist into Rob’s trapped abs. The stuck hunk’s core flexed defensively. Initially, Rob seemed to take Richard’s beat-down in stride. The fists bounced off without inflicting apparent damage. Richard shifted tactics, digging the fingertips of both hands deep into the ridged creases of Rob’s six pack, clawing savagely. Rob’s core continued to flex in a rock hard wall against the onslaught, but he moaned deep in his throat, clearly in pain. Richard cross-trained, alternating between pounding Rob’s softening abs with his fists, and digging his claws deeper and deeper.
Rob began to whither beneath the swarming double team. As his whimpers grew weaker, Sam unlocked his figure-4 choke. “I want to beat him,” he said to Richard, staring lustfully and Rob’s reddening midsection. Richard stopped his pounding, leaning backward, out breath and happy to recuperate. Sam dug his knees into Rob’s shoulders and dropped his ass across Rob’s neck, forcing Rob’s head backward at a painful angle. The blond beefcake rained fists down on the exposed midsection beneath him. Rob’s groans rose in volume again, straining to pry his arms and legs free from the double team attack. Slowly, Rob stopped straining, concentrating on sucking down the punishment as he stared up at Sam’s muscled ass cheeks filling his view.
“That’s about all I need from you,” Richard said quietly. Sam looked up, confused, just in time to see Richard’s right knee come crashing across the side of his face. Sam sprawled to the sand, clutching at his damaged face. Richard took a slow lap around the two men, breathing hard and plotting his pathway to victory.
Licking his lips, he grabbed Sam’s ankles and dragged him next to Rob’s limp body. Richard lifted Sam’s legs perpendicular to the sand, and in a rapid motion, dropped both his knees simultaneously into Sam’s exposed hamstrings. A pained grunt escaped from blond hunk’s gaping mouth, as he reached defensively for his throbbing legs. Again and again, Richard pounded his knees into the meat of Sam’s upper legs. Finally satisfied, he yanked Sam’s weakened legs out straight, and snapping on a figure-4 leg lock. Dropping backward on his ass, he sharply hyperextended Sam’s right knee, inspiring a howl of injured pain.
Sam’s fingers dug desperately into the sand as Richard flexed his muscled legs. Maintaining the crippling figure-4, Richard alternated between sitting upright, then throwing his upper body back into the sand and wrenching Sam’s leg harder. Again and again, Richard drove his body backward, slowly extending Sam’s knee at sickening angle.
Sam screamed out in pain. Richard yelled back at him, “I’ll break it, mother fucker! Submit now or else you won’t be able to walk away from here!” Sam screamed, “I submit!” Richard pressed downward a final time across Sam’s right ankle, hyperextending his left knee at an ugly angle, as Sam screamed in pain, tears pouring down his face.
Richard released his hold, untwining his legs from Sam’s and coming to his feet. Sam rolled away from Richard, coming up to his hands and knees, his right knee held limply off the sand. The defeated hunk attempted to stand, but his leg gave out underneath him, and he fell back to his hands and knees. Richard watched for a moment as Sam crawled slowly toward the stairs and the watching stable of news hunks. Before he had managed to crawl far, Richard came up from behind and drove a cracking knee into Sam’s temple. The beaten muscle hunk slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Richard turned to find that Rob had rolled to his hands and knees, his right hand cradling his tortured abdominals. Adrenaline pumping from dispatching one-half of the obstacles in his way to victory, he quickly walked up behind Rob and straddled his crouching body. He leapt straight upward into the air, and then dropped his bodyweight downward, driving his ass violently into Rob’s lower back. Rob fell face downward to the beach, groaning in pain. Richard remained straddled over his opponent’s body as the battered beauty slowly pulled himself up to his hands and knees again. Again, Richard hopped up into the air, and dropped his body weight downward, driving his tailbone into the small of Rob’s back. Rob collapsed to the ground again, drawing his right hand around his side to clutch at his throbbing lower back.
In a daze, grunting in pain, again Rob pulled himself upward off of his stomach, drawing his hands and knees underneath him. Smoothly, Richard wrapped his legs around Rob’s midsection and fell forward onto Rob’s upper back. The smaller hunk wrapped his right arm across Rob’s neck from behind, applying a chokehold directly across Rob’s throat. Richard flexed powerfully, digging his heels into Rob’s aching abs and cutting off the captured stud’s blood and air supply. Rob coughed and choked, but then gaped silently, no longer able to expel the air in his lungs. Rob quickly grew light-headed, writhing slower and slower in the all-encompassing grasp of his attacker.
Richard leaned forward, placing his face next two Rob’s right cheek. “Carter asked me to pass along a message,” he said in Rob’s ear. Then Richard stuck out his tongue and licked Rob’s face from chin to cheek.
Startled, Rob gathered some of his wits. With herculean strength, Rob kicked his feet off the sand, with Richard still clamped onto his back. He extended his long, powerful legs and body upward, coming briefly to a handstand. Then Rob’s legs continued up and over his head. As Rob came crashing to the sand, Richard’s body was crushed between the larger man and the beach. The fall knocked the wind out of Richard, who involuntarily released his grip on his opponent.
Rob rolled off of his shocked opponent, but Richard managed to catch his breath well before Rob was finished pulling himself back to his hands and knees. Richard grabbed Rob’s ankles from behind, pulling him backward off his hands, dropping him face-first into the sand. He twisted Rob’s ankles, one over the other, leveraging his own bodyweight to flip Rob over onto his back. Finally, he pried Rob’s feet apart, pinning him to his back, spread-eagled beneath him.
“I learned this one from Carter,” Richard said through clenched teeth. he drove his head downward, pounding his forehead directly into Rob’s vulnerable crotch. Rob screamed in pain, jabbing his hands between his upper thighs. Richard hopped back to his feet quickly, grabbing Rob’s ankles once again and pulling them apart. Rob stared wide-eyed at him from below, raising his hands as if to ward him away. “No, no, NOOOO!!!,” he screamed, as Richard dove forward again, driving his forehead toward Rob’s crotch.
Just as Richard released Rob’s ankles, Rob snapped his legs together, lacing his ankles around one another. His legs snapped shut around Richard’s head in an instantaneous vice grip, arresting the attacker’s strike with Richard’s nose a half-inch away from Rob’s balls. Richard’s knees fell to the ground awkwardly, and he wrapped his arms around Rob’s big, bulging thighs, trying to pry them apart. Flexing his core and thighs powerfully, Rob grunted loudly, squeezing Richard’s head with all his might. Richard’s mouth was buried deep between Rob’s massive thighs, gasping for breath.
The pressure on his head caused Richard to begin to see stars. His ears began to whistle. Richard tried to punch Rob’s hamstrings, but his blows had no effect. Rob squeezed harder and harder, groaning with the exertion. Richard’s body slumped beneath him, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Rob swung his locked legs, with Richard’s head going along for the ride, to the left. As his legs crashed to the sand, a muffled scream came from Richard’s mouth still trapped between Rob’s massive thighs.
“Tap, you little bitch,” Rob snarled. Richard didn’t move, and Rob doubled forward, placing his hands on the outside of his hairy thighs and squeezing still harder. Richard’s arms jutted straight outward away from his body, pausing as if trying to decide whether he could withstand more abuse. Rob growled fiercely, his head thrown back and his mouth open wide. Richard brought both of his hands around to the top of Rob’s thighs, tapping his submission frantically.
Rob released the scissors and kicked Richard away from him with contempt. Both men lay on the beach gasping for a moment, as Chris, Thomas and Carter ran out to them. Chris knelt next to Sam, placing his hand on his back as Sam moaned, beginning to regain consciousness. Thomas fell to his knees next to Rob, slapping him on the shoulder and smiling down at him. The two of them made eye contact, and Thomas extended his hand. Rob paused a moment, then grasped his colleague’s outstretched hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.
Carter sat on the sand, cradling Richard’s head in his lap. Rob looked down at him threateningly. Carter looked back and winked provocatively. “What the fuck does that mean,” Rob screamed back at him. “Who the fuck do you think you are!?” Rob lunged toward him, but Chris joined Thomas in restraining him. Rob was too exhausted to resist as they led him toward the stairs back to the house, screaming incoherently in a rage.
If you’re new around here, you may not have heard that pretty much everything inspires my homoerotic wrestling imagination. One of my longest-standing, relatively random inspirations has been hot guys on television news. For a while, I thought it was just my imagination, prompting me to fantasize about hard, hot bodies underneath the suits of the handsome faces hired to look trustworthy. But no one can ignore the flagrant display of hot journalist beef all over the airwaves these days. It’s not just me combing through the minutiae and piecing together Chris Cuomo’s bulging biceps and Gio Benitez’ mouthwatering pecs out of nothing more than public social media accounts and confirmation bias. These days, the news hunks are quite obviously getting hunkier, unbuttoning their shirts, posting workout videos, and finding excuses to show off their hard toned gym bodies. Thus was born The News Division series of homoerotic wrestling fiction that I’m slowly transcribing from an old private site to the pages of this blog. I’ll post an updated version of a new chapter tomorrow.
If you aren’t new around here, this is all old news. So let me move on to the new addition to my newsmen crush lexicon. My local weatherman is a nerd stud. He’s skinny. Literally, a marathoner. He’s no Hollywood heartthrob, but he’s got a seriously cute, boyish face. Quick wit. I’d schoolboy pin him in a second. But the real star of the show is that ass of his when he takes of his suit coat and steps up to the map. Specifically, he makes me gasp every time he turns to point to the weather map and shows off his remarkably perky, round ass in profile. Solid, sculpted muscle, made all that more stunning by his skinny, little waist. Not everyone has the genetics and laboriously-built muscle to be able to show off such lovely side butt. There are huge, bulging bodybuilders who do squats for years and never pull off the perfectly round globes that my skinny weatherman has. From behind, you can’t always measure the perkiness-factor like you can with side butt.
So, in honor of my weatherman and the provocative gift of a tiny waist and gorgeous, round glutes, I’ve spent more time than I should have curating this annotated collection of homoerotic wrestling hunks showing off sensational side butt.
BGE’s classic baby face muscle boy Troy Baker gave pin-up boy quality side butt. I’m also a fan of Troy’s tan lines, which serve as a highlighter spotlighting his beautifully round, alabaster cheeks.
My longest-reigning favorite homoerotic wrestler and multi-Best Butt and Body winner Kid Karisma possesses one of the perkiest, most muscular ass cheeks on the planet. He’s a study in physical perfection from every angle, but he gives choice side butt.
Tyrell Tomsen is an adonis, with extravagant, luscious meat draped from every joint. You have not lived if you have yet to see every awesome inch of Tyrell in Strip Stakes 1, which, frankly, has sort of spoiled me for every other strip stakes match I’ve seen. It’s hard not to let your eyes roam over him, but if you’ve got the self-discipline, you’ll see that his thick, solidly muscled glutes are perfect in profile.
Epitomizing the tapered-V, Scrappy (Thunders, W4H, Muscleboy) possesses perfect proportions. The way his tiny waist perches on top of his lush, thickly muscled ass makes him a side butt poster boy.
One of the more controversial figures in the annals of homoerotic wrestling history, Rio Garza had a remarkable gift for dividing fans and wrestlers alike. But can we all agree to the self-evident fact that the Mexican muscleboy sports practically perfectly round glutes that make for sensational side butt?
This photo demonstrates the extremely rare (IMO) phenomenally hot double side butt perfection of last year’s Best Body winner Van Skyler on the left bearhugging Payton Meadows on the right. Their Undagear 26 face off really deserves to be cross-listed as a Fantasymen product, because they are both ripped from the pages of an erotic fantasy. But for butt watching, it’s out of this world, and for two pairs of the sweetest, roundest ass profiles to appear in one match, it cannot be beat.
I should’ve quit a while back, but I couldn’t stop myself from digging into the archives just a bit more for choice side butt. Blond, blue eyed bombshell Jeff Phoenix had all too brief a stint in the ring for BG East, but that all-over tan and magnificent physique surely ought to arise from the ashes for a comeback, don’t you think? And side butt that juicy needs a severe tongue lashing, if you ask me.
It’s probably criminal to have any discussion of phenomenal asses without extensive homage paid to Mike Columbo’s legendary glutes. In my hiatus from following the scene, I’ve lost track of whether the Mike Columbo fanatics are still actively worshiping at his altar, but I still keep a candle light for two of the thickest thighs and the superhumanly proportioned profile of his most famous assets.
But honestly, I was always more of a classic Mikey Vee fanatic than a Mike Columbo devotee. In Mikey’s early days at BG East, he was a devastatingly adorably bad ass in a baby face disguise.
I’ve got half a dozen other hot hunks for whom, I bet, I’d find scintillating shots of side butt, but I’m going to draw a line there rather than work on this post for days on end. You, however, can tell me who I missed in the comments!
[Note: The following post is addressed specifically to BG East classic, Scott Williams, in response to his comment specifying what blog topics he would, personally, find entertaining. If you are not Scott Williams, you may feel free to continue to read, but just know that this is really all about pleasing the man of my dreams!]
Honestly, Scott, yours are the headscissors by which I judge all others. I love the way you milk them with waves of contracting muscle. It’s supposed to be a static hold, but you bear down ever tighter, shifting the angle, fine tuning the pressure. Other wrestlers try to make it look effortless, propped nonchalant on one elbow, smiling, pedestrian, pointedly not breaking a sweat. I grant you, that element of facile control can be super sexy, but then I think of that grimace of concentration on your face as you squeeze, light grunts of your effort punctuated by gasping agony of your prey. Every lovely muscle in your body is coiled, strung taut, actively crushing an opponent’s skull trapped between your relentless legs. Of course, I’m not telling you anything you didn’t already know, so let me turn my attention to surveying other “punishing quads” that epitomize both the brute force and the subtle artistry of sensationally sexy headscissors.
I have to confess, working on this has become a labor of love, and my list of killer quads to vet for you here just keeps growing. I’ve given up on attempting a definitive list in one post. Consider these 4 fine specimens as merely my first installment in paying you back for inspiring so much pleasure and so many homoerotic wrestling fantasies.
The first wrestler that sprang to my mind is Mitch Colby, and not just because I’m almost as big a fan of him as I am of you. Have you wrestled Mitch? I would imagine you and he would be well-matched in skill and temperament. Not only does he pretty invariably clamp on headscissors in almost every match, but he has this sensationally sexy way of locking on and then bearing down on them that reminds me a lot of you. He likes them super snug. He’ll often grab a fist full of hair and yank his opponent’s head as high as possible between this thighs for the extra pressure, and his pleasure. He’ll twist his hips to the side, really working it, crushing his opponent’s skull and cranking on his neck. When he’s firing on all cylinders, and he’s been squeezing a while, his eyes close. His face goes slack, and his head rolls backward. Now, I don’t know if he’s ever literally climaxed with some lucky fucker’s head crushed between his long, powerful thighs, but I feel pretty certain that’s what his face looks like when he cums.
My next set of punishing legs for your consideration, Scott, belong to Logan Vaughn.
You’re the expert, of course, Scott, so tell me if I’m wrong when I say that the most punishing quads aren’t always the thickest. However, when I think scissors, I think of the thickest thighs I’ve ever seen on a wrestler: the lovely legs of Logan Vaughn. Logan’s sojourn with BGE was tragically short, but his work elsewhere had all ready caught my eye by the time I saw him in exploiting his gargantuan quads to perfection in Florida Fights 5. Have you seen that match, Scott? Holy fuck, it’s a leg lover’s dream match. Logan’s inner thighs are like a black hole, irresistibly sucking Trey Dixon in, over and over. There are a dozen or more scissor variations, and every one of them completely incapacitates lucky Trey. Logan’s head scissors are the sweetest for my tastes, though. Trey’s head looks like a golf ball, completely dwarfed between the sequoias swallowing him. Logan is one of those hunks who make scissors look effortless, but seriously, if he earnestly bore down on them, Trey’s skull would have surely cracked. There’s seamless, totally convincing worship that breaks out, only when Logan permits it. This match is on my most-played list, mostly for the 8th Modern Wonder of the World that is Logan’s superhuman legs and the absolute perfect use he puts them to.
Correct me if I’m wrong, Scott, but I feel certain I’ve seen you trash talking with Kayden Keller on social media, alluding to having faced the hot, young heel in person. If so, you know better than I can imagine just how punishing Kayden’s quads are.
I have to include him in my list, however, because his legs make me swoon. Literally. Like, when I was fortunate enough to be able to conduct interviews at BG East a couple of years ago during a weekend of taping, I sat down with Kayden and commented on his stunning, sexy, strong thighs. And he flexed them, just smiling at me as I was instantly light-headed. I bravely attempted to continue the interview, but he just tugged his shorts up higher and flexed his quads some more, and I struggled to string together a coherent sentence. I’ve adoringly tracked his career over the years, from fierce heel pup to, now, the multi-award winning reigning Heel Champ of BG East. He’s grown up good, Scott! I don’t know when you may have faced him last, but I’d love to know if Kayden’s quads are as devastatingly powerful as they look, or as dizzingly sexy when they’re clamped across your skull like a vise.
I’ve got a list of twice this many names, but in order not to sabotage myself, I’m going to give you just one more for today. It’s a wild card. I don’t know how you might feel about competition bodybuilders and fun-and-games frat wrestling, but I’d like to draw your attention to Thunder’s Arena’s Loki.
I feel like you might not track someone like Loki because he dabbles in wrestling, and you’re, clearly, serious as a heart attack. But hear me out. This muscle kid is absolutely draped in luxurious, thick, aesthetic muscle. And when he hits the mats, 9 times out of 10, he’s going to shove an opponent’s skull between those gargantuan, competition-ready quads. So, sure, he may not be really on the same scene, but you’ve got to admire him for his ready impulse to crack craniums with his quads. Often, his fratboy opponents can’t help themselves but grab hold (in awe, I’m certain). To his credit, he just lets them. If they try to pry him apart, he just holds them by the wrist, keeping them close enough to touch, but not break the hold. The flashing of his flexing quads as his opponents face’s go 2-dimensional is pure gold. Judging by the look of exquisite ecstasy as they’re crushed in the vise, I don’t think it takes a lot of effort from him to make opponents see stars.
I’ll take a break now, because I’m a bit dehydrated, Scott. I hope this has given you a little entertainment and perhaps a little provocation. I’ll be back at a future date to explore the most punishing quads in wrestling some more, along with your other wish list item, some focused attention on Dirty Daddy!
When I decided to resurrect the blog here, I thought about what I enjoyed most about the exercise. I’m planning on leaning into the pleasure, in the interest of maintaining a healthy, long-term relationship with the task of putting my homoerotic wrestling thoughts into text. As a result, you can count on seeing more wrestling fiction, more guessing games, and, yes, I strongly suspect you’ll find me obsessing about hot news boys. One of the countless little value added elements to homoerotic wrestling for me is a hearty yank on an opponent’s trunks, and thus the tradition of Trunk Pull Tuesday.
I’d go so far as to suggest that trunk pulls were one of the first subtle elements in professional wrestling to ignite my homoerotic imagination. Ostensibly, a wrestler grabs his opponent’s trunks for leverage. With next to nothing else adorning the wrestling body, a wrestler uses the trunks as a handle to snap that snap mare, to drag him into motion in order to pound him that much harder with a fist, or a knee, or a clothesline.
Of course, that’s not the only thing I saw, as a kid growing up watching hot bodied hunks wrestling on television. I saw alluring glimpses of skin and tan lines normally discretely covered by modest patches of fabric. There was a fleeting view of a little more ass cheek, a tantalizing flash of lower abdomen, implicitly drawing attention away from the wrestling text and toward the erotic subtext just beneath the surface.
It remains a particularly titillating element in homoerotic wrestling, as far as I’m concerned, when, wrestling for gay eyes, a grappler yanks on his opponent’s trunks. Even when it isn’t prelude to stripping gear off entirely, it automatically bridges the narrative of combat and the story of sexual arousal. There’s still a third layer of eroticism for me when I can tell the puller gets it, that he knows how sexy this is, that he is, like I am, turned on not just by the competition for falls, not just the pleasure of spoiling a ripped opponent’s modesty, but that he feels the gravitational pull of the whole thing drawing him, and his opponent, and his audience into an explicit story of sexual attraction with the turbo boost of wrestling for erotic position.
The driving momentum of all those homoerotic wrestling punches and headlocks and spladles and scissors is heading toward a story centered on what happens in the geography underneath the trunks. There are endless recipes involving various quantities of aggression, narcissism, brutality, contempt, competition, ego, and lust, but the trunk pull is a tried and true ingredient for turning up the erotic heat, at least for the gay wrestling fan, if not for the combatants themselves.
Okay, I’ve banned myself from searching for more tasty trunk pulls. For now. Until next Tuesday. Keep yanking, wrestlers (and fans).
I recently bumped into Ash DeLeon on social media. Ash gave me one of my last interviews I posted before my hiatus from blogging, and he graciously agreed to a follow-up interview to inaugurate my comeback. The conversation ranged from gut punching to lip locks to which upperclassmen heels he’s ready to challenge.
Bard: Thanks so much, Ash, for helping me reboot the blog with an interview!
Ash: It’s my pleasure! Glad to have you back. Missed your blogs about the underground gay wrestling world, man. You have no idea how much I thrived on those when I was just a fan of all the top wrestling companies.
Bard: So, I’ve been out of the loop for about a year and a half, with limited bandwidth to keep up with homoerotic wrestling, sadly. What have I missed?
Ash: I will say this, you missed out on quite a bit! In terms of my career in BG East, I guess the three biggest “achievements” went from wrestling in front of a live crowd in a match for Wrestling with Pride, to being called a “veteran” by BG East rookies in my most recent BG East shoot. Oh, and of course, the product I was featured in along with Kayden Keller, Nathan Sargent, and Rocky Sparks, that won best product of the year! BAM! I very much consider that my first win for the annual BG East awards. But I believe quite a few of my matches have come out since your hiatus. There have been a few particular matches that I think you may have enjoyed, including my Three-Way Thrash with Kayden Keller and Luke Reel, to my Gut Bash match with Kenny Starr, and to my latest match against Ethan Axel Andrew’s himself, in a fantasy-brought-to-life of the classic “wrestling coach versus his student” match. It’s been quite the year of growth for me.
Bard: Damn, you have been busy!
Ash: I have been! But in the best ways possible!
Bard: Tell me about Wrestling with Pride 2. It sounds like that was your first match in front of an audience of fans. What was that like?
Ash: It was my first live match. So the story was that the gentleman who was supposed to wrestle Dimitri could not make it. It was kind of last minute, too. So in the scramble of trying to find someone to fill that card, the Boss asked me if I was willing to do it. I can’t even describe the amount of anxiety I got when he asked me but…. I did get a 101 pro lesson back when I wrestled for UCW. So I remembered the fundamentals of pro matches, like how to take bumps, safely do basic moves, etc. However, pull all of those out of the attic and apply them in a live audience?! Yeah, I was nervous as hell. But I worked with Jonny and Dimitri, and they gave me a crash course on how to develop a good show for a pro match. In the end, I was told it came out pretty good! I remembered everything they taught me, and was able to apply it to the match. To me, the match went smoothly, and the crowd seemed to enjoy it. Besides injuring myself, I thought I did decent enough to put on a good show. I will say, it’s hard to explain what it’s like when you have a crowd cheer your name to get up and keep fighting. It was like, the best kind of adrenaline injected into you, from pure energy from the crowd. It was awesome!
Bard: It sounds thrilling! Were you injured bad?
Ash: I was! It was something I did to myself actually (laughing). So in the madness, I forgot to bring boots to the venue, so I had to go around and ask if anyone had spares, and the only guy who did was Tiko. Who had spare boots, but they had heels in them… so… At the end, when I was setting up the super kick and was stomping in the corner Shawn Michaels-style. The second stomp I did, I had a huge shockwave of pain fire up my leg, and I knew something went wrong (laughing). So that limping I did out of the ring? It was my leg more than anything else.
Bard: Damn, all of that Dimitri beef pounding down on you, and it’s footwear that really fucks you up? That’s unexpected!
Ash: (laughing) Ah, yes little Luke was a fiesty one. After Kayden had his fun with the boy, he wanted to present me with a “challenge.” Granted, when I first saw that Luke was the challenge, I didn’t take it seriously. I learned real quick that Kayden had tricks up his sleeve. The real challenge was getting handicapped so hard with the knee to my balls, then getting beat on by both Kayden and Luke! I’ll admit they beat me pretty bad. My abs were clearly the focus, but I knew what Kayden really wanted was for me to prove, then and there, that I could take what I can give. Boy, did they test my resolve! However, I think it was safe to say I impressed Kayden by the end of that one, and Luke clearly loved every second of my pay back. Now Kayden has essentially taken me under his wing to learn how to be a legendary heel on the BG East roster. Always been my desire, since I watched my favorite heels destroy BG East’s sexy jobbers!
Bard: Well, I sort of want a little naked Luke Reel to sit on my dashboard and wag his hot body at me on my long commutes. I’m fascinated by what it may mean to be “taken under Kayden’s wing.” Do heels foster heel-friendships? Like, do you wonder if Kayden, Mr. Top Heel himself, might string this “mentor” thing along, just to make sure he’s there to beat you back down if you rise too far?
Ash: (laughing) Well, you can see how Kayden and I worked on the same beat when we were… well, beating on little Luke (laughing). Who knows? Maybe Kayden and I will become the new (maybe the first) destructive tag team of BG East. I am keeping on my toes with him. I know, as I keep learning the ways to heel, he will take me on in a brutal 1-on-1 match. And when that time comes, I’ll be ready. Who knows? The student could surpass the master at that point.
Bard: Well, I love the drama, so however it plays out, I’ll be looking forward to it. When you speculate that you might be the first destructive heel tag team of BG East, you do realize that Kid Leopard and Kid Vicious teamed up in one of the early Tag Team Torture series, don’t you? Because if you’re calling out KV and KL to a heel-off, I’m there with popcorn!
Ash: Damn, you caught me in my BG East history lesson! I’m going to be honest, I have always wanted to step onto the mats against either, or both of them! And however that plays out, I would be quite content. It would be such a raunchy and dirty battle! Just the way I like it! Wouldn’t that be a fight for the ages?
Bard: It’d be epic, my friend! Seriously, I need a front row seat to that match! You know I’m going to be reaching out to KV and KL and telling them that you’re calling them out, just to try to stir that pot to a rolling boil!
Ash: (laughing) Go ahead man! I have taken on plenty of sadistic dudes and bruisers in my career. I won’t back down at that chance, either!
Bard: Excellent. I never tap into my inner heel quite so fully as when I’m stirring up shit between other people. I expect to see you in a Kid Leopard kiss-of-death within moments of the quarantine being lifted! I’d like to return to a topic you and I have had a couple of times in the past, if you don’t mind. It seems like your first love is really gut punching. My first love is, honestly, homoerotic wrestling itself, which obviously overlaps with gut punching extensively. But is it the same kink, do you think? What do you see as the relationship between the two?
Ash: I never mind talking about my kinks! Especially in gut punching! I will start with saying, like most did, I had a certain “fascination” with watching the hunks on WWE when I was a wee lad. So back when I was a preteen, I always knew I had this…. special kind of lust for abs. It’s obviously my favorite muscle group on a man. But, my lust for it was much deeper. Even my 12-year-old self knew that. I knew that even before I accepted that I am gay. And my favorite expression I wanted to do onto a sixpack was punch it. I felt so odd, but the wonderful World Wide Web showed me that there are many others with the same interest. As I grew up, and I surfed the web, I found 3 specific videos that…peaked my interest. First, was a legendary video clip from Gutbash 5with KV and Steve Thomas. Second, a clip of that sexy Drake being gut punched in NRW. And third, Axel versus JR, in one of UCW’s first videos. I definitely don’t think they are the same kink though, although they have many similarities, but the energies of the heel and jobber versus puncher and punchee are similar, as well. The control in those dynamics definitely turns me on.
Bard: That makes total sense. I certainly find some solid punching in the context of a match to be provocative. I think I veer toward the other side of the coin, though, if I think about the difference between a punch to the abs and an abdominal claw. I think the claw turns me on more because the contact lingers. The application of pain lingers. The punch, even a series of punches, are like punctuation marks to me, but the story is in the intimacy of the wrestling holds.
Ash: I love how you compared the ab claw and a gut punch! I will say, I think there is a way to make the gut punching sequences quite erotic, at least, in my opinion. See, it’s all about the set up to the punch, that is, teasing the abs by slowly rubbing my fist against his abs, before the hit. Sometimes distract them with groping or even a lip lock before bringing that fist into the sweet spot! I will saw I will prefer a good ol’ ball claw over an ab claw (shocking I know).
Bard: I think I get that. It’s much more than the punch itself. The prelude, the rising tension, anticipation, whether they’re anticipating what actually comes or not. I don’t think I quite got that control and domination side of gut punching!
Ash: That’s exactly what I am talking about! I’m glad I helped shed light on the dynamics! At least on my end, I am sure not every gut punch enthusiast has the same ideology on the fetish, but I hope some do!
Bard: Tell me more about what you prefer about a ball claw.
Ash: Now, I will say CBT and ball busting did grow, with a big thanks to BG East in that regard. Particularly, Ball Bash 2 with Jonny Firestorm and Reese Wells. God that was a hot match. But my attraction to ball busting is this: it’s the easiest method to get your opponent to bend to your will and make him crumble in your grasp. That’s why ball claws are one of my favorite “holds” in erotic wrestling. So as you fans may have seen from my match against Nathan Sargent, I am pretty good at ball bashing, too! Who knows, maybe I’ll be known for making a legendary ball bash match on the BG East catalog, too. I have already been told my Gut Bash against Kenny Starr was something to remember. That has also been one of my biggest BG East accomplishments, too! Along with giving Jonny Firestorm and Kid Vicious the biggest smile during a match I filmed, not too long ago, with me as the heel working over a jobber. I was so happy when I saw that… while staying in my heel character, of course (laughing).
Bard: Oh, fuck yes, Reese Wells was a revelation in Ball Bash 2! I don’t think I’d ever really thought of someone getting off on getting their balls bashed before watching little Reese’s cock so visibly rise to that occasion. Crotch Crushers 1 was a similar epiphany for me, with the added benefit of seeing Mitch Colby and Derek DaSilva so beautifully marry punishment and pleasure.
Ash: Yes, Derek Dasilva looked like a fun guy to beat on! Reese Wells has been a dream opponent of mine actually. I have quite a few of those.
Bard: You know, of course, what else I’d bet would make Kid Vicious smile during a match? It’d be you and Kayden taking some serious lessons from the masters!
Ash: I love that idea! You are thinking of Kayden and I taking on Kid Leopard and Kid Vicious?
Bard: Yep, that would be golden!
Ash: That would be a freaking treat! I bet Kayden would be more than down for that too! Even if it means we get beaten (laughing).
Bard: I offer to referee. And I’d be a totally corrupt ref, just so you know.
Ash: Oh, yeah? Something tells me you would be on their side then and get a few licks in.
Bard: I’d have an idea of how things should play out, but I’ll leave it at that. You’d have to see which side of the scales I’d have my thumb on. Anything more you can reveal about your recent heel match that made the veterans smile, without the need for a spoiler alert?
Ash: I’ll say this much. It was a match with a rookie on the roster that I brought in recently. He made a big splash at BG East already, but since he and I have already gotten acquainted prior to him joining BG East… let’s say it translated very well on film. Also I am hoping it wins best lip lock for the next annual awards, but I would say fans should expect it to be one of the most brutal, yet sensual matches I have done to date for BG East!
Bard: What a teaser! I love it. I’ll be waiting breathlessly for it to come out. You also bring up another topic I’d love to hear more from you about. Lip locks. What elements make for a perfect wrestling kiss?
Ash: I have to really think about this one because it seems so natural to me; and that might be the reason. I usually only do a lip lock when it is natural. My energy and my opponent’s energy has to be on the same level, or at least to some degree. I think the best match that has captured that from my releases so far has been in the Three-Way Thrash with both Luke and Kayden. There is a lot of power in a kiss, just as powerful as a gut punch or a ball claw; it’s just a different kind of power. I guess I would say it’s that double-edged sword effect. A good lip lock sucks the fighting energy between the two wrestlers, even if it’s for a moment. Until one of those wrestlers realizes it’s their time to either strike again, or turn the tables. There have been plenty of times where it has either worked in my favor, or allowed my opponent to get a chance to get me on my back. And honestly, regardless of the outcome of a lip lock, I can never get enough of them!
Bard: You’ve definitely convinced me that I need to get my hands on that three-way!
Ash: Glad I sold you on it! I have a feeling you will enjoy it.
Bard: Before I let you go, can you tell me what’s the sexiest thing a homoerotic wrestling fan can do with his time when the world is in quarantine from a global pandemic?
Ash: The sexiest thing a fan can do is support his favorite wrestlers/wrestling companies. Because like everyone else, we will not be able to film for some time. For example, I was actually set to film for BG East next week, but obviously that got cancelled. So supporting is sexy to me. Help keep the business you enjoy alive! I have been doing it, too!
Bard: Whatever the world looks like after we’re past the pandemic, I desperately hope there’s a vital homoerotic wrestling industry in it! I have a year’s worth of new releases to catch up on, so I’ll do my part. I hope everyone who reads this interview will renew their support by purchasing a new wrestling match to add to their collections, too. And now, more than ever, buy from the source. We’ve got to support our wrestlers and gay producers!
Ash: That’s was amazing, man, thank you so much. So happy to have you back on the scene!