Sidelineland

Called Out

February 13, 2017 wrestlebard33 Comments

When I started blogging nearly 8 years ago, I had no idea it would come to this. There are a few moving parts to this little melodrama being played out in my life, so bear with me as I write some expository to try to set up the remarkable circumstances within which I find myself. I know that you’re used to me writing homoerotic wrestling fiction, but at the risk of ripping off the Cohen Brothers, let me just assure you that while I have skipped over some of the more trivial points in the story, the rest of what I’m about to tell you is described exactly as it occurred.

The Classic, man-of-my-dreams, Scott Williams

First of all, as I say often, I have my favorites. Even casual readers can name the hunks who reliably, predictably, inevitably get me hard every time I watch them in action. From Chris Cuomo to Mitch Colby to Rusty Stevens, there are a few names that recur with such frequency on these pages that I’ve been known to provoke irritation from some readers who tire of my infatuations. However, as I also say often, this blog has always been about me, so suck it up or move on. One of my longstanding fan infatuations that I’ve held for long before I started blogging is for The Classic, Scott Williams.

Milking the fight of opponents for years

I swoon every time I watch Scott snap on headscissors, flex his glutes, and press his hips forward, threatening to crush some lucky son of a bitch’s skull. In an interview I did with another classic infatuation, Shane McCall, I referred to Scott as “the man of my dreams.” It’s not an exaggeration. Scott’s devastatingly handsome hotness has always made him fantasyman material for me. Everything about him makes me weak in the knees. The square jaw, the bald head, the ripped muscles, the scorching intensity. His published work for BG East is comprised of merely 4 matches, and yet his presence in my homoerotic wrestling infatuations is so much more huge than that. When I recently learned that Scott still wrestles privately and in custom matches arranged through Jonny Firestorm, I started saving pennies immediately for another chance to crush on Scott’s hotness. I’m still saving (it takes a lot more pennies than I typically have on hand), but in the mean time, I regularly sift through the social media feeds of other wrestlers that I know also do similar work for Jonny, panning for that priceless glimpse of Scott’s gorgeous, hairy pecs.

Now, let me shift my attention just a little, with the promise that, I swear, these various subplots will all collide before this post is done with. Another familiar infatuation that readers know well is my fandom for The Cheshire Cat, Drake Marcos. I was crushing on Drake’s handsome hotness since, literally, before I ever saw him wrestle. About four and a half years ago, Kid Karisma smuggled some behind the scenes snaps out of a BG East shoot. This was before The Boss started requiring non-disclosure agreements and my sources of up and coming BGE gosssip dried up, except for my very deeply embedded, super secret smuggler of back stage pic, known to me only as OMI (our man inside). In any case, I was already groovin’ on a candid, fully clothed shot of Drake at his very first BG East taping, before we even knew his name. My fan relationship with the Cheshire Cat has taken several abrupt and unexpected turns. Drake reached out to me, turning up the charm even before his first match was released. Every time he wrestles, I repeatedly get off on his intensely erotic approach to the genre. I was thrilled to get to do a tandem interview with both Drake and Mason Brooks, soon after Mason crushed the Cheshire Cat like grapes and laid formal claim to his ass in Passion and Punishment 1. In that interview, in my sincerest effort to applaud Drake for looking so delicious getting pounded to pulp, he took umbrage at me suggesting that he’s an outstanding jobber. Words were spoken. Challenges made. And about 10 months later, there I was, getting a tour of BG East’s South Campus from none other than Drake.

drakeropessouth — The end of Blogger vs. Wrestler

The tour was capped off with a settling of that brewing tension between us. Having no pro wrestling experience, I was unceremoniously tossed into the ring by my tour guide and worked over harshly, with that handsome, taunting grin beaming down at me every step of the way. Well, the grin sort of disappeared around the time that this “mere blogger” strung his tasty little meat sandwich up in the ropes, and then exploited his vulnerability in a tree of woe. And then stripped him naked, laid out flat on his back in the middle of the ring, snapping pics to document the priceless moment. There’ve been more words. Accusations of cheating and presenting “alternative facts.” I think Drake has simmered back down and finally acknowledges that in this blogger vs. wrestler battle, he was, in the end, my compliant plaything. I still pop my cork just knowing when there’s a new Drake match out (like now, so watch for my review of X-Fights 42).

And now, for the 3rd tine of this complicated fork, let me just remind you of my ongoing enjoyment when watching the homoerotic wrestling career of Ty Alexander. Like Drake, my fandom for Ty began before we even got to see him wrestle. An OMI snap captured Ty’s hotness when he was all promise and potential and anticipation. In the intervening 3 years, the Trophy Boy has made quite a name for himself, owning social media, selling his sensational brand of fashion-forward wrestling narcissism, and managing to snag the Jobber of the Year title while demonstrating repeatedly that he is no pushover.

And so here’s where all three of these strands of story start to entwine. I had the temerity to let it be known that I did not vote for Ty to win the Best Butt title this year. Regular readers were completely unsurprised that I, once again, threw my full support behind Kid Karisma’s behind. For some reason, this provoked Ty to take aim at making me pay for my “mistake” … corporally. I’ve since received challenges from Ty to face him in the ring, so that he can work out his frustrations all over my body. He’s promised to beat my blogger ass for the perceived slight toward his.

At first, I didn’t take this all that seriously. This is Ty Alexander, we’re talking about. Jobber of the Year. When a notorious jobber tries to pick a fight, it’s just because he’s aching to get owned, right? It’s not like I need to jump when Ty snaps his fingers, because a young stud as gagging to be dominated as Ty is in 90% of his matches is surely going to still be on the line whenever I get around to pick up. Right?

Well, the whole surprising heat from the Trophy Boy took a sudden and unexpected turn for the dark side about a week ago. I got a notice that I had a video from him waiting for me in my inbox. Now, Ty has sent me (and I’m not exaggerating), hundreds of pics and clips of him. He knows I like the look of his body, and he’s every bit the narcissist to get off on knowing it, so he scratches both of our itches. Often. So I clicked on this latest video expecting to see him showing off his 2nd place ass in the tanning both or in the gym locker room again. But no. This was unlike anything I’ve ever received before.

It was Ty, mounted across Scott Williams’ back, wrenching the man of my dreams in a totally fucked up, nasty ass, vile as shit camel clutch. Of course, my dick snapped to attention immediately. I thought, for a brief moment, this was just a little stolen snippet from another Jonny custom bout. But again, no. Ty was shoving Scott’s gorgeous face (mostly covered by Ty’s hands) into the camera and sending a very personal, very specific message, to no one else but me.

Ty dangles Scott’s ripped body in front of me

“Hey Bard,” Ty says, like we were old chums picking up in the middle of a conversation we’ve had for years. “I just wanted to show you our friend, Mr. Scott in my camel clutch.” Uuuuuuuugh, Scott groans in obvious pain, Fuck you!, he snarls furiously, wailing and choking on the torture. There in a pro ring somewhere. “This is what’s in store when you face me, when you finally man up,” Ty continues, staring at the camera and smiling even as he wrenches that much harder on Scott’s neck, making The Classic whimper.

Fuck you, fuck you, shut the fuck up! Scott shouts, his voice muffled through Ty’s hands clamped around his leading man chin. “Last time I checked,” Ty smirks, “I pretty much fucked him today. Are you going to give now, Scott?” Fuck you, you fucking fuck, God damn it! Scott wails. Ty pulls back on his neck another 3 inches and Scott’s voice rises about 10 decibels and half an octave, God damn it, God damn it! No, fuck off!!!! “Give!” Ty demands cooly, almost quietly, leaning back another 2 inches. I GIVE, YOU FUCKER! Scott screams in exquisite agony.

“Sorry, Bard,” Ty says to me, staring into the camera as he climbs off, revealing he’s been working that vicious camel clutch on Scott’s entirely naked ass. “Just look what’s in store when you finally face me,” Ty concludes, stretching out on top of Scott’s muscled back.

At this point, let me pause the narrative to make a couple of points. First of all, no. I won’t post the video. One reason is that I don’t have permission from all parties involved to publish it further. But an even bigger reason is that I am a greedy fucker, and knowing that this steaming hot 60 second vignette was made for my eyes only has made me get off on it repeatedly in the past week or so, and I’m savoring it as my own, my precious.

But further, can I just say what a mind fuck it is to watch Scott Williams, the man of my dreams, one of my longest standing homoerotic wrestling infatuations, get punished for no other reason than the fact that Ty knows I crush like crazy on Scott!? Scott’s whimpers and wails, his bald head flushing beet red, his bitter, tortured, agonizing profanity and naked humiliation have occurred for one reason only: for Ty to get at me.

So, there’s that. Fuck me sideways, this has got to be the sexiest call out in the history of professional wrestling. Well, it was the sexiest call out until just yesterday when I found a second video in my inbox.

This one is 3 minutes long. As it opens, Ty (completely naked) is climbing onto a hot, naked ass belonging to someone lying face down on a bed in front of the camera. Ty grabs this lucky loser by the hair and wrenches his face up and toward the camera, so that I can see…. that it’s Drake Marcos.

0433_lg — Similar shot from their Babyface Brawl X, though Drake wasn’t enjoying it this time at all

“Hey Bard,” Ty chats with me again through the camera. “I just put Drake through the ringer. I’ve kind of owed him a little bit of a beatdown for a while, because of all the shit he talks about me.” Ty muscles Drake into a camel clutch, again shoving his prey’s agony-contorted face into the camera for me to watch up close. Drake is wailing like a wounded animal. Ty suddenly drops him and flings him to his back, saddling up naked on Drake’s gut and throttling his throat with both hands. The Cheshire Cat is choking and spitting and struggling to shove Ty away, but Ty grabs my boy’s wrists and pins them to the bed.

“I think it’s time to finish up little Drake here,” Ty says, leaning back. Drake immediately lands a cracking punch to Ty’s left pec. A half second later, Ty slaps the fuck out of Drake’s face. I mean, fuck, it hurts just watching it! Then Ty stretches across Drake’s chest and wraps him up in a Kiss of Death, locking down a sleeper while smothering Drake’s mouth and nose to speed things up. Drake flails and bucks in a panic. Ty just keeps riding until his mount goes limp underneath him.

“See Bard, you’re missing out on all of the fun here,” Ty smirks into the camera. “So I hope you’re ready for whatever’s going to come Drake’s way, ’cause I’ll just do the same to you whenever I wrestle you.”

So, I’m both titillated beyond belief to see if a new ransom video shows up in my inbox, and a little worried for all of the favorite wrestlers I’ve gushed about over the years (Mitch, Mason, Brad, Kayden, Rusty… watch your backs!). I had no idea Jobber of the Year Ty had this level of sadistic cunning. He’s picking off my favorites, one by one, and video documenting their humiliation as a means of provoking me to accept his challenge and show up for Blogger vs. Wrestler, The Sequel. There’s something downright diabolical about it. It manages to inspire adolescent rescue fantasies, me the superhero breaking down the door to save the day for these hot slices of beefcake getting stacked like cordwood by this supervillain. And, on the other hand, it piques my curiosity as to just how far the Trophy Boy will take this, and will he dig himself in too deep and bite off more than he can chew before I’ve finally had enough and show up to redeem the heartthrobs whose only offense has been to get me hard and inspire me to write about them?

I’m sure you’ve got advice for me, so let me have it in the comments below. I repeat, no, I won’t share the videos with you. But I will, most certainly, let you know how this twisted plot of suffering and shocking torture continues to play out.

Playing the Hero

February 11, 2017 wrestlebard2 Comments

Magnifico is hot. Sweet pecs. Somehow I can swear he’s a handsome fuck even behind that mask. The Finisher strolls in, domineering, hairy pecs bouncing, looking for a fight. He’s brawny and bulging to Magnifico’s smooth “swimmer’s body.” The hero is unimpressed, unperturbed by this villain infiltrating his lair (despite what the match description says). Magnifico cooly keeps pumping iron, doing push ups, not really paying attention to this hot, hairy muscle hunk getting all up in his face with more than a shrug and an unconcerned eye roll. And there’s this tasty do-gooder’s fatal flaw, as far as I’m concerned. As a performer, he’s underselling, but as a hot, horny homoerotic wrestler, he’s deflecting the heat that the Finisher is bringing.

“You think you’re so strong,” the Finisher monologues as Magnifico just keeps pumping out push ups, seemingly oblivious to the threat circling him. “So tough. You think you’re better than me. But today I’m here to show you that I’m the man!” The Finisher’s intentions get off to a rocky start when he tries to do dumbbell curls with the same weight Magnifico was just pumping out effortlessly. The Finisher huffs and puffs and grunts his way to one rep, as shock washes across his masked face, realizing that this silky smooth, tall drink of icy cool water clearly possesses some form of super strength that puts all of the Finisher’s hot, hairy, bulging muscles to shame. Magnifico takes the dumbbell and smirks as he pumps out another set without so much as raising his heartbeat.

Magnifico smirks at his weakling challenger

This is a sweet set up. I’m so often prattling on about motivation and character and narrative tension missing in the bulk of homoerotic wrestling, but once again, Muscle Domination Wrestling is ahead of the curve when it comes to plot. Two and a half minutes in, and sure, they haven’t put a finger on one another, but I’m already hard in anticipation. It’s not the tease; it’s the foreplay. It’s setting the scene. It’s defining the edges of the characters and inviting me to pick sides. As for me, nine times out of ten I get off on a flawed, but super sexy superhero taking charge and tapping into his inner bad boy when it comes to superhero themed homoerotic wrestling. This is probably ironic, considering the ratio is about the same for my allegiance to pro wrestling heels in the ring. However, demonstrating my fickle loyalties, I have to admit that right out of the gate, I’m hoping for the Finisher to kick blue boy’s cocky ass. Magnifico is too cool. He’s too confident. He’s a little too understated in selling this drama. And the Finisher is just vulnerable enough to prime me for keying off on him overcoming the apparent odds stacked against him by the superhero’s superior super strength. He’s somehow both vile oppressor and outmatched underdog at the same time. I want to see him severely spank this Dudley Do-right’s hot ass.

The Finisher’s got a surprise waiting in his trunks

The initial lock up between them is messy and awkward. Magnifico is clearly a rookie IRL. But true to the narrative, he outmuscles big, hairy, hot Finisher and grinds the masked villain’s temples in a side headlock. He pulls them down to the mat and wraps his long, lean, hotly muscled legs around the villain’s torso and grinds his knees into the suffering hunk’s kidneys. The Finisher squirms his way to his knees, and just as Magnifico shifts to snap his superthighs around the villain’s head in a face-to-crotch (excellent instincts, hero boy), the Finisher digs into the pouch of his trunks. At first I’m thinking he’s about to pull out his dick and concede that Magnifico is too sexy to handle. But no, he pulls out what is apparently Magnifico’s version of kryptonite, using it to suck the super strength right out of the boy in blue. “That’s right, Magnifico,” the Finisher taunts, “I know all of your weaknesses.” And with the word “all,” he starts stroking the superhero’s crotch, and already, the swollen, obviously excited head of blue boy’s supercock peeks out the top of his trunks.

Even knocked down to mortality, Magnifico is serious competition for the bulging, sexy menace. He claws the Finisher’s balls to break the bad boy’s spell. They scramble across the mat for the advantage, ending up in tandem 69 headscissors, the Finisher on his back, staring up at his nemesis’ ass. For a moment there, I consider switching allegiances, right around the time that Magnifico starts flexing his ass cheeks, grinding his hard cock with obvious excitement into his opponent’s huge pecs. Dudley Do-right is randy, and maybe I might not mind so much if he rides a wave of erotic passion all over the hairy muscle hunk trying to break him down to size.

Magnifico’s got his own shocking surprise in his trunks!

The 69 goes on for a sweet, slow, suspenseful long time. Incredibly, Magnifico’s pelvic thrusts give him the advantage. His hips buck more and more violently, and his supercock apparently starts beating the life out of the Finisher. It’s do or die time for the Finisher, and he does. Specifically, take control with a ball claw, setting up elbow strikes to our hero’s lower back, as a way to soften him up for a torture rack across the Finisher’s super-wide shoulders. Magnifico’s cockhead can no longer be contained in those trunks of his. Somewhere between dry humping the Finisher’s pecs and getting hoisted up onto his shoulders, the superhero secret weapon (or weakness?) is no longer a secret. Up in that rack, the Finisher strokes his opponent’s balls, incrementally tugging the trunks down, revealing an honestly gorgeous, meaty, much more than a mouthful of a super-heroic cock.

I love that Magnifico keeps fighting on. I definitely wouldn’t call this a squash. The superhero fights fire with fire, alternating between punching his opponent in the balls and stroking his villainous cock. The Finisher’s pile driver knocks the wind out of his sails, as does the cock punching the supervillain subjects him to. But Magnifico refuses to submit. His thick, glistening, fully aroused cock is clearly saying “yes, yes, YES!,” but the handsome hero’s mouth keeps saying no.

At the halfway mark, I’m starting to cotton on, and appreciate, where the plot is careening. The Finisher hoists the blue boy up into a hot bearhug, crushing the superhero’s meat between their abdomen’s. It’s a bearhug. It hurts. So of course, the masked hero’s face screws up in pain. But as his jaw drops open, there are other notes. Even suspended off his feet in that bearhug, Magnifico’s glutes flex and squeeze. His hips bump out what is obviously an approach to ecstasy, grinding his super-heroic cock into his punisher’s hairy, hot, ripped wall of abdominal muscle. That magnificent Magnifico cock almost certainly makes him popular with the spandex clad gym bunny set back at the Hall of Justice, but here, in the Finisher’s clutches, his calm, cool veneer is getting crushed as his opponent drives him seductively, inevitably over the edge of self-control.

“This is something that, well you could say, I’m passionate about.”

“You know, I really like what I do,” the Finisher monologues, saddling up between Magnifico’s thighs and grinding his crotch into that superheroic, out of control cock of his. “Being able to play with you heroes, this is something that, well you could say, I’m passionate about.”

Some of you are going to wait to enjoy the forced to cum finisher to this match, but as for me, the money shot starts right around the 11 minute mark. The Finisher pulls his prey up into a wheelbarrow position. I honestly have no idea where this is heading, until the supervillain leans back and pulls Magnifico up erect, his taunted and teased rock hard cock at full mast in front of him. In an incredible feat of strength and balance, the Finisher holds him there, pinned against his body with one hand, and reaches around and starts stroking the superhero’s shocking secret weakness with the other. Magnifico’s jaw hangs open. His arms flail about, as if he’s about to try to defend himself, but can’t quite convince his limbs to intervene in the milking session. Blue boy is completely owned at this point. He’s the Finisher’s bitch, but more importantly, his instrument is getting played so expertly that he wants it. He needs it. There’s not an ounce of aloofness left in him. He’s ripe for the Finisher’s picking.

“How about now, what do you say to that?”

“Try to fight me off,” the Finisher whispers when Magnifico blindly tries pushing him away. “I like it when you do that,” the supervillain groans. At any point that Magnifico gets too rambunctious, the Finisher grabs that heroic cock and starts pumping, and Magnifico goes limp. “Yeah,” the Finisher growls, “this is all mine, isn’t it? Say it!” Magnifico can’t catch his breath for a few seconds, but finally gasps, “no.” It’s hardly convincing. The Finisher slides into a schoolboy pin, ramming Magnifico’s face into his crotch as he reaches back and continues pumping on the blue boy’s powder keg of a cock. “How about now? What do you say to that?” Magnifico’s eyes stare up at his erotic master, mouth gaping wide, and he silently nods affirmatively. “Who owns this city!?” the Finisher demands. Breathlessly, Magnifico concedes, “You!”

There are six minutes left in the narrative. They maintain the momentum marvelously. Typically, I get way bored when there’s no more competitive drama and a scene turns strictly to sex. That’s why I fast forward through 75% of every Naked Kombat sex round. But this MDW super match keeps the dramatic tension high, even as Magnifico is toast. An OTK backbreaker spotlights Magnifico’s Achilles heel, as they take turns rubbing it out. Magnifico’s half-lidded eyes stare into his master’s as the Finisher demands to know, “Are you in ecstasy?” The nearly wasted superhero nods submissively. “Do you belong to me?” More submissive nods. “That’s right,” the Finisher explains. “I fucking own you. Your cock is mine. And your powers are mine.

There’s a moment where the Finisher is throttling Magnifico’s cock, there near the end. The vanquished superhero is flat on his back, his face smothered up the Finisher’s ass. The supervillain really starts to wring that cock out, faster, harder, and honest to the homoerotic wrestling gods, Magnifico’s entire body spasms. It’s completely vulnerable, and I believe every second of it. His legs twitch. His arms sort of flail halfheartedly, pointlessly. His entire body is about to orgasm, and he’s completely the Finisher’s fuck puppet, getting his strings tugged. Maybe Magnifico learned to sell somewhere in the last 17 minutes, but I’m believing that this hot stuff superhero genuinely is, at this very moment, completely, totally, erotically getting owned.

This is the first time we’ve seen Morgan Cruise in action since that tectonic shift of a match he had, getting owned and for the first time sucking cock against silver muscle daddy Matt Thrasher. When I reviewed that match, I said that MDW simply could not reset the clock. That there’d be a massive revolt (led by me), should they attempt to pretend that Morgan never went there, that he didn’t just jump with both feet into the explicit end of the homoerotic wrestling pool. This new match is a magnificent follow up. It’s set in an entirely different universe, of course. Morgan is a masked supervillain, and not daddy’s little muscle boy. But even as he rubs his opponent out, getting a mouthful of superheroic cum front and center in an HD close up, I’m applauding both Morgan and MDW for delivering what continues to be one of the most successful and innovative turns in homoerotic wrestling storytelling. This is so completely gay (and of course, I mean that as the highest compliment I can offer). It’s sensationally hot, erotic wrestling, harkening back to the early days when the rules included loser’s shame to the warrior first forced to cum. The drama, the sculpture, the text… it’s all a bullseye when it comes to what I think of as the fantasy potential of homoerotic wrestling entertainment.

Nicely done, MDW. Standing ovation to Morgan. And Magnifico? I apologize for ever doubting you. That gorgeous, ravenous cock of yours can star in a homoerotic wrestling fantasy of mine any day.

When Stars Collide

February 10, 2017 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I’m going to keep singing loud praises for Ringwars 26, but I want to make sure and acknowledge that this is a seriously inconsistent collection. It ranges from the sublime to the passable, and in keeping with my policy over the past several years, I’m not going to harp on the weakest links in this chain. But I feel like it ought to be mentioned that there are weak links, in my estimation at least. On the other hand, there’s that climactic final match I gushed about a couple of days ago pitting two of the hottest, smoothest, most accomplished newbie wrestlers I’ve ever seen in one BG East match. Stacked up on that sublime side of the scale is also match #2 in the compilation, featuring the dream combination of Cole Cassidy and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!).

I know that I say it far too often, that some favorite wrestler has just appeared “in the best shape of his life.” It’s not that I’m trying to overstate how supremely fit and sexy these gladiators look, but I just repeatedly fall head over heels in lustful adoration again and again when I see gorgeous hunks show up again in something new. But this time, I mean it. Seriously. Mr. Joshua and Cole are in the most perfect shape I’ve ever seen them. In particular, Mr. Joshua is just flawless. His skin is without a blemish and baked perfectly to a healthy, lightly bronzed hue. There isn’t an ounce of body fat apparent, and the leopard print ultra-brief (nearly a g-string) reveals more of his mouthwatering physique than I think anything else I’ve ever seen him in. His perennially magnificent aesthetics are simply amplified. His ripped abs are a fraction more ripped. His teardrop quads are just that much more defined. His peaked biceps and muscled ass and bulging, broad shoulders appear just a tad more peaked, muscled, and broad than a long-time infatuated fan like me can remember seeing before. The repeated musclemag coverboy poses he strikes are strongly reminiscent of vintage AMG softcore.

Cole isn’t as regular an object of my blogging obsession, but he is always homoerotic gold for me. We’ve seen Cole beefier, with a hotly muscled belly, and we’ve seen him even leaner than this, practically whittled to bone and muscle. But I think his fitness in Ringwars 26 is perfection. His muscles are incredibly thick and broad, and he’s sporting the impeccable proportions and gorgeously tapered-V of a fitness model. His mid-rise square cuts suit both his dangerous MMA style of fighting as well as his no-nonsense, absolutely functional, built-to-fuck-you-over body.

What makes this a match of my dreams isn’t just the lucky moment in time when both of these beauties are in perfect shape, however. This is also a fantasy match for me because I crush like hell on heel-on-heel action. Unlike the newbie-on-newbie match in this compilation, these are both known quantities, with 3-dimensional personas and long-established skills not just in wrestling, but in selling the melodrama. Even someone with passing familiarity knows that Cole is like a coiled viper, always deadly dangerous and incredibly stingy in giving away even a submission, much less a match loss. It’s not like Cole is passionless, but he’s sort of sociopathic in his cruelty. We seldom see spikes of rage or adrenaline-pumped victory celebrations. Rather, he’s like Michael Myers, taking his hits here and there, but bearing down with an air of destiny. He’s cruel, but more a force of nature than a classic sadist.

Mr. Joshua is a far more complex ring heel. He’s always been a raging narcissist, of course. I defy you to find an ounce of fault in that, because Mr. J’s body is just sexy as fuck. Of course he adores his own reflection. His reflection is dazzlingly, effortlessly erotic. And at times in Mr. Joshua’s career, he’s paid the price hard for just how distracting his Magic Mike-ready body is. He’s been harshly brutalized at times, particularly in those moments when he’s lost focus on the fight because his muscles demand his attention, or because his legendary mammoth bulge requires rearranging. But over the trajectory of his career, Mr. J has emerged as a surprisingly adept pro heel. Once he really started exploiting the devastating potential his magnificent muscles have in a wrestling match, Mr. Joshua’s narrative started veering decisively away from just being all about the pretty, and increasingly centered on the mean. He doesn’t mind so much being underestimated for his beauty, because it makes it that much more satisfying to take some new, smirking punk to school. His wrestling repertoire has expanded exponentially. He mentions in his match with Cole that he’s spent some time at the Snuka Wrestling Academy (whether that’s just bullshit to warn Cole against thinking Mr. Joshua’s leopard print banana hammock is a signal that he’s a pushover, or whether he’s actually been taking lessons, I don’t know). But Mr. Joshua is about 10 times more expressive than Cole. He’s agony is far deeper, and his pleasure exponentially greater. Rather than a force of nature, Mr. J is a profoundly complex, magnificently beautiful human being already mid-swing at Erickson’s final stage of human development: self-actualization. Like the Buddha himself, I half expect that we will simply see Mr. Joshua wink out of existence at some point near the end of a match, once he has fully, entirely, completely become the truest version of himself that he has been perfecting for years.

Fuck. I haven’t actually started even talking about the match, have I? Let me try (weakly) to keep this concise. It is exactly what I hoped for when I saddled up for a ride here. This is heel-on-heel punishment. Both warriors are entirely themselves, their most genuine expressions of the wrestling characters they have been wooing fans as for so long. Cole is fucking vicious as shit. He is impeccably suited for the task of amplifying and exploiting this particular opponent’s most glaring assets and weaknesses, such as when he pounds Mr. Joshua down into an astonishingly gorgeous over-the-knee backbreaker and starts wringing the fuck out of the monster barely stuffed down Mr. J’s pouch. I thank the homoerotic wrestling gods that Cole’s hands are big enough for the task, but even more, I sing them praises that Cole dug in deep right there where so many opponents before him have tended to shy away. Sure, a lot (A LOT) of Mr. Joshua’s opponents have delivered barrages of strikes at his pride-and-joy bulge, but when it comes to really getting handsy, to daring to test dexterity and finger strength against the most notorious anaconda in competition, Cole really kicks it up several notches.

Those unfamiliar with Mr. Joshua’s resume (shame on you!) may find it paradoxical that actually it’s Mr. Joshua who is first to deliver a low blow. You might imagine that a guy with as gargantuan as a target as he has would want to avoid opening up a ball bashing competition. However, those of us who have long savored his work learned long ago the genius behind his insistence on striking first. Even if they don’t intend to, sooner or later every opponent ends up striking a blow below Mr. Joshua’s belt. Honestly, they can’t avoid it even if they try. So Mr. Joshua’s signature offense is to, literally, beat them to the punch and start the testicle torture. Cole is no exception. It’s very early days in this match, and Cole is starting to ride roughshod over the jungle boy. Cole has landed a jaw-splitting knee strike to Mr. Joshua’s chin, dropping him to the mat. Like the horror film antihero he is, Cole rains down leaping stomps to Mr. Joshua’s back, making the coverboy spasm. He rides a beautiful standing surfboard like Frankie Avalon, before bearing down that much harder on Mr. J’s lower back in a camel clutch and, eventually, a bow and arrow. There’s that familiar sense that Cole could send his opponent to the hospital here pretty quickly. Until Mr. Joshua takes a roundhouse swing at Cole’s balls. Watching Cole collapse in an impotent heap is amazing, but it’s nothing compared to Mr. Joshua climbing to his feet, grabbing Cole by the ankles, spreading his tree trunk thighs wide, and literally standing on his balls. We just don’t hear Cole scream often. But Cole screams.

I love that this match stays true to the wrestling characters we’ve grown to know and crush on. Buckle up, because the reversals of fortune could easily give you whip lash. And the fact that both of these nasty heels, each in their own way, sells riding time so magnificently really speaks to every Cole and Mr. Joshua fan out there. Mr. Joshua slaps Cole’s granite-carved muscle ass repeatedly in such a contemptuous, domineering way that I can’t remember Cole ever suffering before. There are long, juicy spells of Mr. Joshua in total control over the writhing, squirming, humiliated MMA star. This could totally be a Mr. Joshua career-defining victory.

However, Cole doesn’t just dissect his beautiful opponent, he lays him out with an obvious nod to the BG East fans masterbating at that very moment to the aesthetic wonders of Mr. Joshua’s physique. Crotch ripping spladles spread Mr. Joshua wide, his mammoth bulge quivering in fear just inches overtop of his barely covered hole. In a stroke of genius, Cole maintains the spladle even as he climbs to his knees, giving us a vertical angle on every inch of Mr. Joshua’s bulging, beautiful all over tan and completely jeopardized ass.

On the other hand, Mr. Joshua feeds fan infatuation with his mouthwatering bulge by beating Cole into barely-consciousness and then schoolboy pinning him, grinding the beef-packed pouch into Cole’s face. He drags Cole up by his head and pounds his massive bulge into Cole’s dumbstruck mug as he kneels like a supplicant before his god. Back down to the mat they go, as Joshua holds Cole’s face in place, cock pinning him, smothering him in headscissors, jerking and pumping his hips like he could be just about to shoot a load across Cole’s face.

On the other hand, Cole battles back into contention, wearing Mr. Joshua out from the base of the testicles upward, and softening the rock hard fitness model up for a perfect Mexican ceiling hold. I mean, perfect. Both boys are fully extended, stretched out. Mr. J’s joints are hyperextended, quivering, muscles looking like they could snap. And right at the apex of his rainbow arch is Mr. J’s dream maker, bulging, straining his pouch, I swear almost whimpering of its own accord.

Honestly, I was still guessing who was going to win this match with about 2 minutes left. And not just because fortunes kept being reversed, but because I believed every second of the way that either of these dangerous, nasty, legendary heels could win.

Check out Alex’s review for another take, though it sounds like we were pretty much on the same page on this one. The term “star” is probably thrown around too often, but these are two genuine homoerotic wrestling stars, and as Alex says, “These guys show why they’re stars.” Entertaining. Thrilling. Titillating. Suspenseful. And deep down homoerotically satisfying.

The Power of Purple

February 7, 2017 wrestlebard5 Comments

Zip Zarella and Royce Perry bring the house down in Ringwars 26

You know how my heart beats harder in my chest when I get my first glance at a newbie. It’s all promise and potential at that point. In the opening moments of a debut, there’s as much my imagination of what could be at play as what is. For a little while, I can (and do, I guarantee you) overlay any homoerotic wrestling fantasy character over top of the initial impressions laid down by muscles and proportions and skin tone and hair and eyes and gear and vocal inflection. Not being cocky or anything, but I’d estimate 7 times out of 10 the fantasy I imagine for a brand-spanking newbie is more titillating than the reality. Newbies are typically a little rawer, more awkward, with less ring presence and focus on the combat narrative than they will be if they get promoted to sophomore status. But those 3 times out of 10, newbies wow me. They sell me. Occasionally, they even surprise me, surpassing my expectations and even hopes. So you can just imagine what a unique thrill it is to experience a double debut in which both newbies own it. The sensational final match on BG East’s recently released Ringwars 26 is just that, tossing the most rare combination of two newbies with the looks, the character development, and the ring skills to far surpass my hopes.

Alex already reviewed this match, and he pretty transparently signals that between Zip Zarella and Royce Perry, blond, blue eyed, mocha tanned Royce is his rookie crush. I can totally see it. Fuck, this boy is so ridiculously pretty. Royce’s ass could very well be an early front runner for top contender spot with Kid Karisma by year’s end. And right out of the gate, he’s cocky, with astonishingly deep ring skills to back it up. He instantly crawls under his bro’s skin with a contemptuous smirk at Zip’s purple trunks. I’m not entirely sure what Royce’s hang up is with the purple trunks. Maybe there’s a “purple is for sissies” implication, but it’s blessedly left unspoken. More likely, it’s just one young, ring-savvy pro wrestler getting under the skin of his competition with a bit of random hypercritical capriciousness.

“Your arms are so big!” “Don’t I know it!”

It seems to work for Royce, at least early days. Zip is initially, verbally on the defensive about his choice of trunks. Having been psychologically knocked back on his heels, Royce opens up a magnificently brutal beat down. Damn, this kid looks like a Top Gun fighter pilot, he’s so insanely poised and steady. He latches hold on the advantage with speed and certainty, grinding gorgeous Zip to his knees with a wristlock before smoothly transitioning to a temple grinding side headlock. He yanks Zip around by his hair unselfconsciously and cinches tight a rear naked choke. “I… I can barely breathe!” Zip gasps. “Your arms are so big!” Royce doesn’t skip a beat. “Don’t I know it,” he replies. “The ladies love them.” After this match is over, I guarantee you the gentlemen do as well, Royce.

Royce’s cockiness and viciousness are really, really expertly developed. Brutal bodyscissors. Insulting slaps to the face. He ties Zip’s muscled arms into the ring ropes and reigns down chops and kicks to his tattooed pecs. “You’re a monster!” Zip snarls bitterly, clearly rethinking if what started as a good natured bro-down about the color of his trunks was a fucking seriously wrong turn in his life choices. Royce drives down vicious, pelting elbow drops, one after another drilling into Zip’s sternum. Pausing to flex his dangerously pretty biceps, Royce smirks, “All day. Every day.”

I so get it. Royce dishes up about 5 times the personality and 20 times the expertly sold pro offense of any newbie I can recall at this particular moment. His cornfed Midwestern boy heads to Cali to become a surfer stud look is insanely hot. He’s a headliner with a destiny for greatness, clearly. And yet, if forced to choose which of these delightful newbies I’d want to be cornerman for more, I’ve just got to say, I’m team Zip Zarella.

I’m sure the tats play into the complex formula of why it is I’d kick Royce to the curb for a chance to give Zip a baby oil soaked muscle rub down. Pretty much every time I mention tats, I get comments from guys who categorically hate them. Which I respect the hell out of. And completely disagree with. Zip’s pec tats are ballsy and beautiful. They signal that this kid can fully commit. As dazzlingly pretty as Royce is, he’s white bread next to Zip’s gorgeous, illustrated muscles. It’s most definitely not only the ink that holds my attention on Zip’s body, despite the pretty pin-up boy strutting and smirking his way around the ring next to him. But for me, the tats are definitely value added.

And when Zip finally has enough of getting his sensationally hot ass bullied around the ring by this pretty boy sadist, I discover a couple dozen more reasons to be instantly infatuated with him. All of that pent up frustration from getting owned and humiliated the first five minutes or so power Zip up to absolutely ring Royce out in an exquisitely long bearhug. Royce collapses to the mat, and Zip smoothly goes down with him, maintaining every last ounce of pressure. Sure, he probably wants to even the score. Zip surely wants to defend those purple trunks that got this whole thing started. But suddenly Zip reveals what he really wants most of all. “Scream!” he demands, rearranging Royce’s internal organs. “Fucking SCREAM!”

“I’m going to tear you limb from limb, and look good doing it!”

Just like Royce, Zip is Top Gun cocky and steady on the joystick. He slides seamlessly into a full nelson, mounting Royce’s back, pulling him up off the mat, and then slamming him face first into the canvas. “Right where I want you, you little monkey bitch!” Royce is bitter and furious on the receiving end, but Zip starts to sort of transcend the brawl. This hunk is an artist, people. “I’m going to tear you limb from limb…” he growls, “and look good doing it.” Holy shit. This “newbie” gets the very heart of homoerotic pro wrestling.

Like Alex, I was a little surprised that the obvious talents of these two phenomenal rookies turns on basically just that one plot twist. Royce rides roughshod for the first five minutes, and then Zip fucks him up relentlessly for the rest of the time. These two could easily have told a much more suspenseful tale. Personally, I choose to interpret the simplistic narrative as indication that Zip just fucking would not be denied after sucking on that mouthful of humiliation shoved down his throat for the first 5 minutes of his introduction to BG East fans. I know, I know. I’m sure it’s much less transparent, but as for me, I like to believe that Zip really is just that much meaner, stronger, and more vicious. He just fucking wanted it more, so when he was supposed to pass the baton back, the sensationally handsome devil just left Royce hanging there.

Those repeated face plants into the top turnbuckle drive me nuts. Both hunks sell them like seasoned pros. They hurt just watching them, but at the same time, trying to pound the pretty right off of Royce’s mug is just so sensationally right. Zip has his way with the blond beauty, long after he’s evened the score. He drops his knee repeatedly across Royce’s throat until the smart ass surfer can’t respond when Zip tauntingly asks, “Got anything else to say?” He doesn’t even stop when he’s sleepered the bronzed beefcake out cold. He just slaps him around until Royce rouses again (barely) and then torments and taunts him, pretend arm wrestling, fucking owning his dazed and confused hot self just for kicks.

Zip is out to make an impression on BG East fans (by way of Royce’s throat)

Honestly, choosing favorites between two instant rock stars like Zip and Royce is next level shit. My recommendation is just to leave these things to the professional bloggers like me and Alex who have nothing better to do with our time than obsess over homoerotic wrestling new releases and catalog and evaluate every last inch of detail. Because the real winner here at the end of Ringwars 26 is BG East fans. These guys are high class, dazzlingly hot, and you can’t really go wrong popping one (or twenty) with your eyes fixed on either one of them. The distinctions between them are superficial and practically (if not statistically) insignificant.

Though BG East did opt to make my favorite, Zip, their Catalog 117.1 coverboy, relegating Royce’s flowing blond locks, perfect skin, square jaw and button nose to get buried under submenus. Team Zip clearly got the best of this magnificent double debut.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

February 6, 2017February 6, 2017 wrestlebard2 Comments

I have my favorites. We all do. I openly admit that I sat down to savor a particular gem fully expecting a favorite of mine to grab the title as homoerotic wrestler of the month. Yet, despite myself, despite my fully confessed biases, despite my lustful adoration of my pre-chosen favorite every second of the way, it was his opponent who grabbed me by the chin, demanded eye contact, and shockingly took the title with an annoying smirk and a wink. When it comes to who turned me on hardest in a new release in January, I sort of hate to say it, but it ended up being…

…Jake.

I got a complimentary copy of Battlespace 91 from Thunder’s with a note saying that it wasn’t selling well, and Mr. Mike wondered if I could take a look and tell why. Well, I got off on it, so clearly I enjoyed it. However, I can’t find it listed anywhere on Thunder’s any longer, not under Jake, nor Scrappy, nor in the Battlespace listings. Since I can’t find it, and can’t actually give you a link to it now, this review probably won’t help sales. Sorry Mr. Mike.

However, it did grab me by the balls in entirely unexpected ways. I know that it sounds paradoxical when I say it, but I HATE Jake! Yes, he’s my pick for homoerotic wrestler of the month, but as I watch this match, I just keep mumbling to myself, “I HATE that guy!” First of all, the name. How many fucking “Jakes” are there in homoerotic wrestling, and this guy decides to go Cher on us and claim that as his one and only wrestling-as name? The fucking balls on this kid.

And, right there, is the first strong, compelling argument to explain why, despite my intense antipathy, I can’t help myself but admit that Jake turned my crank hardest. This kid’s pouch is packed and, I swear to the homoerotic wrestling gods, excited. Fuck, put him in contention for best bulge of the year, people! I tucked in to lap up Scrappy’s magnificent ass, but kept getting distracted by Jake’s mammoth bulge.

Scrappy suffers, Jake keeps laughing it up

I also hate him, and, at the same time, can’t help but be turned on by him, because he’s such a fucking bully. Now I’ve complained when matches turn too much into bully-fests. When it’s so one sided, so taunting and brutal, I actually get turned off. But this is fucking Scrappy we’re talking about here. Scrappy keeps this totally legit. I don’t feel sorry for Scrappy. In fact, despite my fully avowed crush on watching Scrappy in the driver’s seat, Jake somehow turns me on that much harder watching him own the Scrap-meister. And Jake taunts and smirks. He laughs like a slightly unhinged early edition Joker. He flexes mid-hold, easily keeping Scrappy all buttoned up while Jake amuses himself and eye fucks the camera, giving us a smarmy wink and big, gap-toothed grin. He literally gives Scrappy a noogie. A fucking noogie. I so hate this son of a bitch, AND fuck it all, he’s turning me on sensationally hard demolishing one of my favorites.

Jake’s like a poor man’s Aryx Quinn. I don’t actually believe that, but I’ll say it just to piss Jake off. His body is fucking rocking, and he’s ripped and lush like Aryx on his best days, frankly. He’s not as smooth a trash talker, but he’s as enthusiastic and domineering and manages to deliver just enough strokes of Scrappy’s magnificent boy next door body to make all of his bro-down badassness (e.g., when Scrappy asks where he learned to wrestle so well, Jake smirks back, “In your mom’s bedroom”) sweetly erotic.

Have I mentioned how much I hate Jake? I suppose right there is the other most compelling argument for why he’s my new homoerotic wrestler of the month. He provokes me. A lot. I have instant and intense opinions about his character. I am no longer just rooting for Scrappy to win because I fucking love Scrappy pitching, but because I fucking ache to see Jake’s smart ass grin rubbed off his face, preferably across Scrappy’s gorgeous backside. Scrappy delivers a few tasty moments on offense. There’s a strong hit of choreography about them, like honestly, Jake could easily have fucked him over, but behind the camera they knew I would have bitched and moaned about it being too much of a bully session. But, whatever. when Scrappy hoists Jake up into a full nelson and shakes him around, making all that pendulous junk swing and bounce, I literally cheer out loud. Because I hate this fucker. Have I mentioned that?

And ultimately, that’s the sign of a fantastic pro wrestler, in my estimation. Jake provokes me. He’s a smart, gorgeous, ripped, fucking annoying villain, and the tension that brings to this relatively antiseptic garage mat match at Thunder’s is everything. Well, Scrappy suffering, selling it, is also everything. But I just had no idea that Jake had it in him to look that good, and make Scrappy look so tasty, and to crawl right up under my skin and drive me fucking nuts like that. Well played, poor man’s Aryx Quinn. Well played.

Jake aka the Poor Man’s Aryx Quinn – Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month, January 2017

Muscle and Class

February 1, 2017 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Clearly I’m not the only one who was instantly infatuated with Mark Muscle. His popularity has ended up getting him featured spots on Wrestler4Hire, Muscle Domination Wrestling, and Thunder’s Arena. As far as I can tell, his initial recruitment is credited to Cameron at W4H, where they describe Mark as 6’4″, 255 pounds, and 28 years old. Fuck, I love numbers. If you don’t, let me just give you some words: huge. Gargantuan. Ripped. Muscle giant.

Clearly the kid is a bodybuilder. That fact alone lowers my expectation for watching him wrestle. Unless you’re Lon Dumont (who, let’s face it, was a pro wrestler first, then a bodybuilder, then a pro wrestler again), if you’re a bodybuilder, you likely suffer from limited flexibility, a dearth of wrestling skills, and you probably sell like shit. However, put someone like Austin Cooper in the ring with him, and my expectations suddenly spike. Because Austin is one of the most experienced homoerotic wrestlers across multiple promotions, on the mats, in the ring, and in my fondest erotic wrestling fantasies. Austin lends instant class to what could be a beautiful beefcake yawnfest of a pro wrestling match. W4H tosses these two remarkably different gladiators into the ring, and I’m eager to sample the goods.

First, let me reiterate. Mark is HUGE. His brief black gear is probably an expansive square cut, but on his outsized physique, it almost looks like a posing strap. His muscled ass cheeks don’t come close to being covered. He’s darkly bronzed and dazzlingly beautiful. And as if in a nod to my recent comments about straight guys never turning their backs to the camera, Mark slowly and seductively gives us a straight on view of his magnificent backside, generously, slowly flexing what I think is his most intoxicating and very best side of an all-around sensational body.

When Austin arrives, he doesn’t try to disguise the stark contrast between them. He comically hops into the air to try to give a valid side by side comparison of their double biceps. “Just give me a couple of more years,” Austin protests the unflattering comparison, as if he’s the younger brother aspiring to grow into the man-boy next to him. “You’ll need more than that,” Mark smirks. Namely, a geneticist with bone and muscle growth technology not yet invented, because Austin isn’t going to just “grow into” being 6’4″ and 255 pounds of ripped muscle mass. Mark is a genetic anomaly. A mouthwateringly gorgeous one, but an anomaly, nevertheless.

Mark kisses his bicep, easily overpowering two-handed Austin

It’s Austin’s idea that they should arm wrestle. WTF, Austin? Did you not see the size of this behemoth!? But, it’s a legitimate contest. They’re both working it, because let’s face it, they’re both incredibly built specimens. Austin’s huge right bicep is mouthwateringly luscious, straining against the giant. But come on, people! Mark overpowers the veteran handily. Austin even tries to use both arms at the end. No love. He’d be humiliated, if it weren’t for the fact that the seasoned pro rolls around and mounts the slow, stunned genetic masterpiece before Mark realizes what’s going on.

As I’d figured, Austin brings about 90% of the wrestling narrative. In the beginning, Mark just repeatedly outmuscles him and tosses him across the ring. When Mark pulls him to the mat in a sloppy rear naked choke, no shit, Austin’s lush, thick muscles are nearly swallowed whole by the bronze beast wrapped all around him. Then Mark lets go with one hand so that he can smirk at the camera and flex his bicep for us again. Honestly, the other hand mostly just rests on Austin’s huge left pec. There’s not really a hold anymore, because the muscle rookie is crowd-pleasing. Rather than try to sell a product that just isn’t there any longer, Austin slips free like the experienced pro he is and climbs on board to (attempt to) power those 255 pounds of Mark’s into a camel clutch. Fucking rookies.

I do like that Mark is explicitly here to be gazed upon by adoring gay fans. Like I said, he shows his glorious backside generously. He flexes for the camera repeatedly, clearly too often in fact, because Austin keeps taking advantage of the distraction. But I don’t exactly begrudge those moments of watching Mark Muscle flex his gargantuan biceps and slowly, salaciously lick and suck at them. He strokes the palms of his huge hands slowly across his pecs, down his abs, over the huge, bulging beef of his quads. He’s not the first muscle narcissist that I’ve forgiven for letting the wrestling side of the story go slack, but he very well could be the biggest.

Penetrating the impenetrable defenses of Mark Muscle

About a third of the way in, and Austin hasn’t seriously, successfully laid a hand on the giant. They’ve tussled back and forth, mind you, but the story has been all about Mark’s magnificent physique. I worry, momentarily, whether this could be the entire story: seasoned pro squashed by such superior muscle mass (and nothing else). Austin’s breathtaking ball rack from behind signals that there’s a significantly more complex narrative about to unfold. Even as Mark crumples the 6’4 inches to the ground in a heap of beautiful, gorgeously desconstructed muscle, Austin saddles up and takes the reins, and I’m instantly fully engaged in this drama.

If you’re a fan of either of these guys, or of rookie wrecking, or of muscle on muscle, or big versus ginormous, watch this match. Austin does some fucking incredible things with a muscled body as huge as Mark Muscle’s. Mark submits to a seriously jeopardizing arm bar. And to a bow and arrow. And to a sensationally intimate crotch-pillow figure-4 choke. The last submission is phenomenal. I usually don’t get quite so turned on by an abdominal stretch. I like the hold, mind you, but as a submission, it isn’t one of the more exciting or titillating. But watching Austin manage to use every inch of his 5’9″ body to muscle massive Mark Muscle into a legitimate, jeopardizing abdominal stretch (ropes aided, albeit), is pretty incredible human sculpture. When big Mark refuses to submit at first, Austin digs his knuckles into the giant’s ribs, and Mark starts whimpering and wailing and choking into an all out humiliated submission.

The biggest surprise here, however, are those whimpers and wails and choking tears of Mark. It’s a little rookie-ham-handed at first. He awkwardly narrates “Oh, my pecs, you’re hurting my pecs,” when Austin is slapping on a nasty looking armbar, for example. First of all, it’s your elbow that’s being threatened with getting snapped off. And, yeah, a literal accounting of the body parts that are hurting seems a little less than a genuine sell.

But bless him, Mark starts to fucking suffer! Again, I credit the class that Austin is bringing here, but credit where due, Mark ramps up the intensity between light groaning to panicked screams to gasping, shocked whimpers. It’s those whimpers. Fuck! A muscled specimen like this, who absolutely dwarfs his competition, with the biggest, most ripped muscle physique I think I’ve ever seen (definitely in a ring), whimpering… fuuuuuck, that’s hot. The big man sounds like he’s on the verge of honest tears, and I absolutely fucking love him for it. I believe his vulnerability. I believe his humiliation. I believe every magnificent inch of him just got owned by a handsome hunk well over half a foot shorter and upwards of 80 pounds lighter.

“Austin Coop, the champ,” Coop sneers, flashing us a double bicep as he flex pins a 3 count to drive home the total humiliation. Officially, I say Mark Muscle still has a boatload of learning and practicing to do before I’ll even start calling him a homoerotic pro wrestler. Learn some more holds, you magnificent beast you. Bodyslam some lucky punk, for gods’ sakes, you’re 6’4″ tall!!! Bounce some devastatingly handsome face off of a turnbuckle, at the very least. But, in the mean time, stick close and take notes from harsh taskmasters like Austin Cooper.

And keep showing off that spectacular muscled ass of yours.

And cry for us like a sniveling bitch, on your hands and knees. Whimper, just right. That’ll cash a whole lot of checks that your rookie wrestling skills (or lack of) couldn’t back up. Until they can.

Friday Fashion

January 27, 2017 wrestlebardLeave a comment

We haven’t had fun with a Friday Fashion post in a while, so let’s take a look at two wrestlers who showed up in the same gear, and ask ourselves that crucial question, “Who wore it best?” This time around, we dip into the quickly growing catalog of matches from producer Cameron Matthews available on Wrestler4Hire. Two of my favorite wrestlers from that site, Alex Oliver and Joey Angel, donned the same blue wrestling singlet with an asymmetrical sash of white color diagonal across the midsection. As for me, I’m infatuated with both of these sensationally sexy boys in any gear they want to show up in. I’d love to see some muscle worship of both of these different body types, and if Cam needs a blogger fan to help out with that post-match, either nursing bruised muscles or devoutly lauding their victorious physiques, he knows where to reach me. In particular, I think Alex and Joey possess two of the sexiest asses in wrestling these days, and if there were any justice at all in the world (increasingly doubtful), we’d get to see Kid Karisma join Alex and Joey for a 3-way three-for-all to determine the undisputed, cross-federation global champion for best butt. Until that time (I’m not holding my breath), let’s focus on Alex and Joey, and the bold challenge they pose one another by sliding their gorgeous bodies into the very same sensationally snug wrestling singlet. Check out their matches on W4H, consider the photographic evidence I’ve captured below, and vote for who you think wore it best.

Here on the left, Alex gets stretched out by Brendan Cage, showing off Alex’s hotly muscled fratboy body from the front. On the right, Joey nearly gets his bodybuilder arms ripped out of their sockets by the Mountain, demonstrating how Joe’s shorter, but beefier build makes the same singlet stretch and bulge with subtle differences.

Again on the left here is Alex showing off the most spectacular feature on his truly spectacular body, that incredibly beautiful, round, muscled ass. On the right you can see from behind Joey similarly bent forward, his bodybuilder glutes bulging, the length of the legs of the singlet stretching farther down his relatively shorter stature.

On the left, Alex is laid out, suffering like a champ, and looking in need of some blogger fan loving to rub out the muscle cramps and bruised ego he’s been left with. On the right, Joey is flat on his back, squashed like a bug, and similarly primed for his beautiful body, now battered and vulnerable, to get the muscle worship adoration he so abundantly deserves.

So who wore the blue and white singlet best?

And the Winner Is…

January 17, 2017 wrestlebard2 Comments

The Best of BG East in 2016 has already been announced! Damn, that was fast. Clearly, I get into awards season heavily, so of course I need to debrief.

Biff’s ascendancy to the throne as Top Babyface is a remarkable rise for last year’s Debut of the Year winner. Seriously, we’ve been lusting after this gorgeous muscle man for less than two years! And just like that, he steps in, yanks the title from longtime title holder Jake Jenkins, and slaps JJ to the curb. There’s a reason that I let alliteration go fucking nuts when I’m talking about big, blond, blue-eyed, buff, bulging, beautiful babyfaced Biff.

With no defending title holders in the pool, Chace LaChance muscled his washboard right onto the throne as having the best abs. I had guessed that Chace might leverage his army of body worshipping fans to fill this vacuum.

Fuck, yeah! I have been arguing for years that Kid Karisma had the best body from top to bottom, and I’m thrilled that the court of public opinion has finally agreed with me. Last year’s winner, Chace, wasn’t even nominated, which certainly begs the question of who would fans want to worship more today. And there’s absolutely no other possible way to resolve this question than a jock strap wrestling match in the ring. And I STILL say Kid K’s body would rock the competition out cold.

Honestly, I’m unaccustomed to being so much in the majority when it comes to the Besties. But like me, a whole lot of the rest of you also noticed Kirk Donahue’s gargantuan bulge this year. I can think of no hotter scenario than Pete Sharp and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) coming back in 2017 for a 3 way bulge off.

I’m shocked and aroused to learn that Guido Genatto just got beaten by Jonny Firestorm for the title to Top Heel. I said that if anyone could do it, it would be Jonny. Guido is loud, and huge, and nasty, but Jonny just shut the Dirty Daddy up but good by taking the title.

Again, I say, fuck, yeah! At what point do we just name this the Kid Karisma award? I’m thrilled to be with the herd in getting behind (and I mean, close behind) Kid K’s glorious glutes for yet another year as Best Butt. I know of at least 2 former contenders who didn’t get nominated who are bitter as shit, but not me. I’m just leaning back, a little light headed, and soaking in the sight of the Eighth Wonder of the World, Kid K’s unsurpassed ass.

Again, I was consistent with the popular vote in calling Ty Alexander Top Jobber yet again. On the one hand, it’s a dubious distinction to be a Top Jobber repeat. No one exactly likes to lose, do they? On the other hand, a jobber of Ty’s quality can make even a train wreck of a match compelling. And I predict that if he keeps that bleach blond ‘do, he’ll get his ass spanked relentlessly yet again in 2017.

I hedged my bets big time in the Debut of the Year category, but true enough, my vote didn’t swing things Chase Addams’ way. Instead, it was one of the other hot newcomers I thought was in contention taking the title this year, rock hard Beauxregard. I love what he brings to the table, and I think all of BG East is better for it. I’m looking forward to seeing what big Beaux accomplishes in 2017.

h0310_lg — Best Submission of 2016 – Jonny Firestorm & Calvin Haynes in Hunkbash 18

Congratulations to Jonny and Calvin for taking the enigmatic title of Best Submission of 2016. I had my eye on another contender, but it’s not so surprising that the bad ass who just took the title as Top Heel would lock down the Best Submission follow up. And there’s no arguing that he fucking brutalizes doe eyed babyface Calvin.

A hearty congratulations to Kayden Keller and Debut of the Year winner Beauxregard on taking home the title for Sexiest Match of the year. It was a scorching hot field of contenders, and though I didn’t side with the majority on this one, there’s no denying they slapped down what was almost certainly the most explicit, sweaty, sexy assed heel on heel beatdown of the year. Well earned praise for KayK and a super hot haul for Beaux’s first year in the business.

Best Ring Match of 2016 – Tag Team Torture 19 – Addams & Alexander vs. Evans & Taylor

I wasn’t playing coy with just how infatuated I was with this match, so I’m thrilled no end to see it take the Best Ring Match title. If even one of the four of these young studs was a weak link in the chain, a complex tag team melodrama like this could have easily been a dud. But every one of the wrestlers in this match earned every praise and every award it got. Now when do we get to see Team All-Americans tear into the tag team ranks again?

Best Squash of 2016 – Demolition 21 – LaCash vs. Sorell

Kip Sorell got squashed like a bug by Flash LaCash, and fans picked it as the best of 2016. I’m generally lukewarm on this genre in general, but I get it. This is a hot match. My vote went elsewhere, but I’m so not in the mainstream when it comes to squashes in general, I’m not too surprised.

Best Mat Match of 2016 – Undagear 25 – Andrews vs. Marcos

This was a close second choice for me, but I was irked not to get a chance to vote for what I thought was an even sexier Drake Marcos match. In any case, kudos to Drake and Ethan for nailing down this victory with gallons of sweat and tears and some damn fine mat wrestling. This was super competitive, brutal, and sexy as fuck.

Hottest Liplock of 2016 – Wet & Wild 8 – Taylor & Haynes

I didn’t vote with the majority in this category, either, but there’s no denying the remarkable passion in that pumping, grinding, grunting make out session between Christian Taylor and Calvin Haynes. I’m thrilled to see both Christian and Calvin starring in multiple award winners this year. And when it comes to liplocks, really… is anyone a loser?

Best Wrestler Spotlight of 2016 – Chace LaChance

Chace continued to show off his blazing fan power with a win in the category of Best Spotlight. I had this as a third place on my score card, so I clearly broke with the herd. But the definition of a wrestler spotlight is fan power, so congratulations to Chace and all of the opponents who made this DVD a winner.

Best Overall Match of 2016 – Tag Team Torture 19 – Addams & Alexander vs. Evans & Taylor

You don’t know how thrilled I am to see fans select the opening match of Tag Team Torture 19 as the Best Overall Match of 2016. It got universally rave reviews from all of us who take the time to blog about this stuff. I’m pleased as punch that fans were of like mind with us bloggers, and I hope it does nothing but push for more tag team matches, more selfies, and much, much more of Christian Taylor, Charlie Evans, Ty Alexander, and Chase Addams.

Congratulations to everyone who won, and to all the nominees. It was an outstanding year at BG East, precisely because everyone in front of the camera and everyone behind the camera did such an excellent job producing high quality homoerotic wrestling of that flavor that only BG East can quite manage. I would argue there are no losers here.

Tug on Superboy’s Cape

January 14, 2017 wrestlebardLeave a comment

Mr. Mike at Thunder’s Arena thought I’d enjoy reviewing a copy of Battlespace 89, featuring a bodybuilder showdown between babyface muscle giant Steel and pint sized muscleman Dolph. Well played, sir. Well played.

It’s not like Steel is actually a giant. He’s right on the money for the average height of men in the United States, at just over 5’9″. But at 5’6″ Dolph makes the doll faced Superboy look pretty towering. The newer kid on the block, Dolph takes the initiative by flexing for fans before Steel shows up. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. I sort of hate his facial hair, but that’s easy enough to fix with a Queer Eye intervention. But shit, those gargantuan biceps! And don’t even get me started on his spectacular, round, all beef muscled ass. There’s something raw and spontaneous about his choice to wrestle in relatively utilitarian Calvin Klein mid-rise briefs. As if he hadn’t planned on wrestling today. He just happened to be hanging out at the Thunder’s compound with the bros, and Steel needed an opponent, and Dolph instantly dropped trou and smirked, “Let’s go,” in phenomenal, camera ready shape at all times. When Steel arrives, he takes some long, tense seconds to check out Dolph’s muscles. Finally, even competitive bodybuilder Steel has to concede that Dolph’s muscles “aren’t bad.”

Dolph has Superboy stuck between a rock and a hard place

There’s not a lot of erotic tension in this match at all, which is no surprise for a Thunder’s match. It feels more like Straight Guys for Queer Eyes: Wrestling Version, than a more forward homoerotic wrestling tale. But what most explicitly signals this is for gay eyes, I think, is mostly the pre-match posedown. One man taking his time, silently watching, appraising another man’s flexing physique just isn’t something I think of straight dudes doing all on their own. Dolph pumps out a most muscular, and Steel’s pecs bounce as if in reply. Dolph’s pecs bounce back, like some subliminal conversation at a frequency that only gay wrestling fans can hear.

Objectively, I have to say Steel’s pecs are more magnificent

I don’t actually know the sexual orientation of either of these muscle men, but their pose down brings to my mind how often straight physique stars assume that everything we want to ogle is in the front. They compare double bicep poses, most musculars, lat spreads, quads… everything without turning their backs to the camera. I have a longstanding theory that straight guys performing for gay eyes often skip turning around because, usually unconsciously, it makes them feel vulnerable to know that we’re lusting after their asses. Fortunately, this is wrestling, so we get to see their hot, muscled asses from multiple angles over the course of the next 17 minutes or so.

Steel sweats enough for the both of them

Steel breaks a sweat just posing. Fuck, I love a man who works himself into a lather. Dolph notices and chides him for it. “Can’t imagine how tired you get wrestling,” he taunts. Um, Dolph? Fuck you. This wrestling fan goes crazy for liberally lubricated muscles, and your odd inability to work up a sweat is not value added. Fortunately, Steel sweats enough for the both of them throughout this match. Dolph gets coated in his opponent’s perspiration, which as far as I’m concerned is lucky for him.

Steel works on snapping Dolph off at the elbow

The wrestling is pretty much what I’d expect from guys this fucking huge. There’s not a lot speed or finesse. Mostly power move after power move, buttoned up holds battling against massive muscles bulging to escape. Steel has a significant reach advantage. Dolph seems to exploit a lower center of gravity. It’s more like battleships maneuvering in the open sea than spitfire dueling. But once those epically huge muscles latch on, the battle for those fractions of an inch between submitting and escaping are sensationally slow, grinding, and sexy to watch. The scissors and armbars beautifully feed my well documented lust for big, powerful, meaty, sweaty thighs.

So I like to have a favorite in a match, and a third of the way through, I’m still wavering. On the one hand, I do love the angle of a “little” guy (hard to call Dolph little) taking it to a big, cocky boy like Steel. On the other hand, Steel’s pecs are spectacular, seriously outclassing Dolph’s lush chest. Then again, Dolph’s ass is mind blowing, like, muscleboy porn star quality, absolutely putting Steel’s hard, taut glutes to shame. But then again, Steel is the better wrestler here. He leads Dolph through a series of tit for tats (Steel applies leg scissors, Dolph escapes, and then Dolph applies leg scissors… not quite as convincingly). And I’ve already mentioned the sweat advantage. It’s a close call, but I’m naming Steel my boy. As the action unfolds, more and more I’m wanting to see Steel crack this beast like a nut.

So I’m about to pop my cork when, about halfway through the battle of the big boys, Steel snaps those sequoias around Dolph’s head and just stands there, absolutely immobilizing Mighty Mouse. It’s like Hester Pryne pilloried. Dolph is on his knees, trying to pry apart that vise. Good fucking luck, buddy. The only thing that could make this sexier is me there, pulling down those trunks and blowing Steel’s rod as he doesn’t even need to break a sweat keeping that prideful sinner suffering between his knees.

Dolph does not like an ego bruising. He punishes Superboy with a rear bearhug, hanging all that soaking muscle out to dry. It’s huge and powerful and stunning to watch. 4/5ths of the way through the match, and it’s Dolph working up momentum, and I feel a little guilty, because I’m really, really enjoying watching Steel outmuscled and suffering. There’s a thick man-tames-boy vibe when Dolph starts taking charge, flexing for the camera, getting enough distance between them to showboat with impunity.

I know there’s choreography involved in the double handed suspended choke, but it still makes my crotch stir watching Steel wrap his hands around Dolph’s thick, thick neck and hoist him into the air. So dominating. So huge and powerful. When Dolph squeezes his knees into Steel’s tiny hips, his muscled ass hanging there looks so vulnerable. So fuckable. I’m instantly back to aching to see Steel break him down and put a stamp on him to ship him to me. All of Steel’s sweat making them both shine. His (arguably) bigger muscles holding Mighty Mouse in mid-air. I’m convinced again that Steel’s my boy.

Ah, fuck he didn’t just do that to Superboy!

And then, holy fuck, Dolph returns the favor. He has to lean backward a bit more because of the height disadvantage, but no shit, he straight arms Superboy off his feet. Fuck. I want to be a Steel booster here. I want to want to see him dazzle and awe the little muscle man with the bad facial hair. But he looks so sensationally shocked hanging there like the laundry. Dolph is on fire. He slams boy wonder to the mat with contempt and flexes, and I’m racked with guilt because I want to see him do it again to the babyfaced boy of Steel.

Instead, he gorilla presses Steel overhead. This is about 17 minutes into the muscle contest. How the fuck does he still have the strength to do that?! He’s superhuman and insanely sexy. He owns Superboy. He wears him out. My head tells me I should be concerned for Steel. I should be worried that Dolph took this too far, that some sense of fair play should have propelled Steel’s objectively superior, beautiful muscle body to victory. But as so often happens, all I can think is, fuck, I love that brutal bad ass flexing over top of him.

So you should be able to tell that I bring a ton of homoerotic heat to this match that Dolph and Steel, on their own, don’t. The holds are a little sloppy, but the aesthetics of all of that close up, gargantuan, bulging muscle on muscle pretty effectively distracts from that. The final hold is far more compelling in my imagination than it is on the screen. The press shouldn’t knock him out. He moves too much when he hits the mat. It feels more like they reached the 20 minute mark and someone called “cut” from behind the camera. But all of that said, I won’t lie, these muscle beasts got me off. This sends me scurrying back to the Thunder’s Arena website to check out more, and of course the ring match between these same two titans instantly catches my eye.

Thunder’s has some of the biggest fantasymen in the business, as far as I can tell, and these two are sensational representatives of what Thunder’s is doing so well these days. I’d be a broken record to say again that this would work 20 times more effectively for me if these guys just appreciated each other’s bodies a fraction more, just acknowledged a little more explicitly that there are gay eyes lapping up all of that sweat and muscle and domination. But for what it is, it’s hot, mega muscle magic.

PSA: Kirk Donahue’s ass is better than fair-to-middling

January 13, 2017 wrestlebardLeave a comment

For the second time in as many years, I feel compelled to print a retraction/correction on comments I made about Kirk Donahue’s ass.

Kirk’s ass didn’t grab me as top notch the first time I saw it

To catch you up, two years ago I found it highly suspicious that Kirk’s tasty little derriere somehow managed to get nominated for Best Butt for the 2014 award season, despite having appeared in only one match late that year, and despite donning gear that did not show off his ass particularly well. At the time, I ungraciously* speculated as to whether Kirk had possibly exchanged a bite of that ass to someone with influence in the nominating process, in order to weasel his way into the elite ranks. It was total gutter journalism. It was rumor mongering and likely trend setting for the rampant “fake news” epidemic threatening to topple world powers these days. I was a total bitch.

No one less than the Boss himself reached out to slap me upside the head and demand a little more respect for Kirk’s freckled cheeks. So I ate a little crow, posted a PSA acknowledging my overreach, and moved on.

The Boss’ Exhibit A: Kirk’s ass in Demolition 20 this year

Apparently, in my voter’s guide that I feverishly completed over the past week for the 2016 Besties, I returned to my old ways and came down a little hard on Kirk’s ass (which, I don’t mind acknowledging, sounds like a lot of fun). In order to counter any innuendo that Kirk has unfairly benefited from being teacher’s pet, the Boss once again reached out to insist that Kirk’s sweet cheeks stand on their own merit. In order to disprove any implication that freckled-faced Kirk is daddy’s favorite, Kid Leopard intervened on his behalf to argue against the opinion that Dudley Do-Right must’ve spread those cheeks in order to squeeze them into the nominating pool in the past. Let me just reiterate. Heel Papa himself, the Boss, the Puppet Master, he-who-makes-the-BGE-world-go-round, the Godfather of Winning at All Costs, the Daddy of Dirty Dealing who pretty much defines the scope and depth of a rule breaking homoerotic heel… Kid Leopard made an extremely rare contribution to the comments on this blog in order to rush to defend… nay, extol Kirk Donahue’s ass and dismiss any innuendo that would suggest Kirk might have “earned” special favors from someone in power.

Uh-huh.

Kirk’s ass unquestionably looked hot in Demolition 20

So, for the second time, let me apologize for impugning the nominating process, the powers that be, or Kirk Donahue’s hot little athletic ass. I officially retract the statement that his ass is “fair-to-middling quality.” On the merits of Kid Leopard’s photographic evidence that he sent in a rush to defend his hot little boy, I have to concede that Kirk’s ass is clearly above average. I’d probably put it in the 65th percentile. Maybe the 70th. I can totally see why someone in charge of recruitment at BG East might feel compelled to slide their hands down the back of Kirk’s trunks and squeeze the Charmin. Whether or not it happened, and I’m not saying it did, I could certainly sympathize with a mover and shaker behind the scenes who happily accepted Kirk’s offer lick those hot little cheeks in exchange for an unearned push and teacher’s pet treatment.

Is that roll of Life Savers in your trunks?

And happily Kid Leopard and I are in complete agreement when it comes to Kirk’s gargantuan bulge. That monster is huge and mouthwatering, and considering how saccharine sweet Kirk is in the ring, I’d bet his cock tastes like Life Savers. If some BG East executive had, indeed, exchanged carnal favors for giving Kirk a push, I’d have totally wanted to ask him if Kirk tastes like candy. Not that that ever happened. As far as I know.

*Okay, so, all kidding aside. I can see how casual readers might mistake my good natured ribbing of Kirk Donahue as a personal attack. I continue to screen out comments to this blog that offer scathing take downs of some of the nominated wrestlers this year, and perhaps my jibes at Kirk (and KL) give you the impression that I’m good for tearing some wrestlers down in an effort to build my favorites up. For the record, I think insulting the homoerotic wrestlers who populate the industry runs counter to building up a healthy cadre of hot hunks for us to form opinions about. If we pull out the claws and start acting like the worst stereotypes of gay men by trying to eviscerate the very wrestlers who strip down, oil up, and put nearly every inch of their fine bodies into competition for our entertainment, then we will only chase off the talent (both the ones we like and those we don’t), and discourage prospective newbies from bothering with giving this industry a shot. I guarantee you that the wrestlers you would be ready to trash are someone else’s favorites, and once the insults and body shaming and ridiculousness take hold, everyone will suffer. So chill out. I’m just kidding about Kirk. I love his ass. I’d fuck his ass 7 days a week, plus twice on Sundays. If he’s into that, I hope someone gives him my number. I love that he’s willing to bring his high quality indy pro skills into the BG East ring and take such monumental, humiliating, debasing beatings time and time again, for the very reason that there’s an audience (me at the head of the line) eager to pay to watch. I’ve never actually spoken to the kid, but I respect the fuck out of him, and every other wrestler nominated or not for an award.

And I still bet Kirk’s cock tastes like Life Savers.

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