I’m still catching up on neglected standout wrestling studs who abundantly earned praise for their new releases thus far this year. I believe it was March when Muscle Domination Wrestling released season 14 and their first collaboration with Steel Muscle God. Based on that release, I was haunted by a particular hunk who I’m retroactively awarding the title as Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month for March 2015…
… ripped, rocking rookie Stefan Ramos.
Even the Steel Muscle God is irresistibly drawn to get his hands on Stefan’s hot bod.
Stefan is one of my more unconventional choices, I realize. By that, I mean that I’m guaranteed to get grief from die hard fans who will bitch and moan at me for making the “wrong” choice. But regular readers know that I march to the beat of my own drummer, and this is an instance in which I’m saying handsome Stefan not only grabbed me by the balls in Six Pack Bash 7, but he left me quite breathless for more of him. Some of the fans who started the hating about 15 seconds ago are the hardcore Steel Muscle God fanatics who are going nuts that I’m passing over SMG for his rookie prey. If you’ve read this blog at all, you know I have a long standing crush on SMG, including a favorite interview I had the chance to publish with the European phenom. But it was the rookie’s hardbodied suffering sell that made me swoon here.
Classic beauty brutalized.
The crystal cuts in his incredible physique and that ample, sculpted, luscious grab-with-two-hands-and-pound-him ass left me seeing young Stefan in my mind’s eye in intrusive waking and sleeping moments. There’s something classically perfect about his breathtaking beauty twisted into horrified suffering, the mixture of disbelieving shock and terrified panic.
SMG serves up a feast of some of the finest cuts of rookie beef I’ve seen in a long time!
He has a look, a presence, and an athleticism that I think could make him a scorching hot commodity on the scene. He has a fantasy man bod that makes it a sensationally easy sell to believe him as a self-obsessed narcissist. I know, I know, he was supposed to be background wall paper for the SMG show. But taking a beating from start to finish, I was riveted by the rook, and I am completely infatuated with the severely deep cuts defining his flexed abdominals, and, did I mention that mindblowingly hot ass? Way to go, rook (aka, March homoerotic wrestler of the month). I’m hoping to see a lot more of you.
Stefan Ramos – Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month – March 2015
Holy fuck. I think the last time I crowned someone homoerotic wrestler of the month, it was January! That should tell you just a little about the winter and spring I’ve had this year. I’ve enjoyed a ton of new release wrestling in the mean time, however, so I feel like I’ve neglected some outstanding new contenders for the title. It may be cold comfort to the hard working hunks in question, but I’m retroactively awarding some HWOTM titles to give at least a little credit where abundant credit is due.
To start with, for today, let’s look back at February. That was the month BG East dropped catalog 107, and there were a ton of standouts in that field. One particular standout haunted my dreams and kept me toasty and warm and a little sweaty in the coldest months, though. So for a February (or thereabouts) new release, I’m placing the laurel wreath atop the head off…
Jonny’s trunks tent the more his adolescent wrestling hero, Christopher Bruce, gives the “rookie” pointers.
Jonny returns to the throne of HTOWM after last earning the title in May 2011. Perhaps I should be placing the laurel wreath around that massive, mountainous package that young Jonny sports throughout his Fan Fantasy 2 match with Christopher Bruce. Damn, that overstuffed pouch has got to give pretty Pete Sharp (2014 Best Bulge Winner) and Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua, aka 2012 & 2013 Best Bulge Winner, to you) a run for their money for 2015’s awards. The only thing that seems to make that bulge swell more than getting manhandled by hunky Chris Bruce is turning the tables and absolutely obliterating his former hero.
Christopher Bruce just can’t overlook how excited young Jonny is to take on his fantasyman crush. It’s staring him right in the face!
Honestly, it’s much more than just that mouthwatering mountain in his trunks, though, that makes me crush hard on Jonny in that match. It’s supremely sweet drama, a well told story, full on character development packaged sensationally with nasty small-brutalizes-big man shocks and awes. Christopher is a full on player in the drama, but really, Jonny is the total package of hot hard body, wrestling skill, full-in sell, and, oh yeah, did I mention his gargantuan package that convincingly telegraphs just how motivated he is to get this chance to wrestle his long-time wrestling hunk hero?
Jonny is even more excited to have his adolescent fantasyman humiliated at his feet!
Daddy’s hot, hard, hunky little rich boy, Damien Rush.
I’m on the record many times over as a big fan of hot and hairy Damien Rush. It seems like he’s tried to shed the ignominy of being daddy’s little rich boy, but personally, that back story makes it that much more captivating to see him stripped to wrestling trunks and pounding that hot body of his into another man’s muscles. His return to the Muscle Domination Wrestling ring in Six Pack Bash 8 portrays him as a freelance fitness coach, thrusting his services upon Brad Barnes without waiting for an invitation.
Damien lends a hand to enhance Brad’s abdominal workout.
Brad is working his abs in the ring, sporting orange very-briefs and nothing else. Damien offers to enhance the work out with some light punches to Brad’s contracted abdominals, a la Rocky. Naive, dare we say, thick Brad concedes at first. But you and I know what happens next before we even see it. “Light” punches turn harder, more vicious, until Damien is beating the crap out of the muscle hunk’s gut with two fisted chops.
Damien is swimming in his own sweat, getting all hot and lathered beating the shit out of Brad Barnes.
Damien is luscious in his familiar sparkling purple trunks that manage to ride up high on his waist but not quite cover his sweet ass cheeks. Both studs are barefoot, and I love barefoot ring wrestling. It has a direct line to my adolescent self slack jawed in lust over a young Kevin Von Erich.
Damien prides himself on digging in deep, stretching you out in all different directions, and then pulling out hard.
“People pay for my services in the ab conditioning world,” Damien explains, clawing the living fuck out of Brad’s gut. “Because I give it to them better and harder than anyone else.” I love it when the double entendres fly thick and fast. “I dig in deep!” Damien grunts through gritted teeth, clawing his fingers past the first knuckles into Brad’s beet red gut. “And I pull out hard!” Like instructions in a sizzling hot night of rough sex, Damien marries physical brutality with a running narrative. “And then I stretch them in all different ways!” Yeah, Damien. Dig in deep and stretch me out in all different ways, rich boy!
Daddy’s little rich boy needs a blogger cornerman to towel off all of that slippery sweat!
I know I’m a broken record for pointing it out, but knowing some wrestling fans like I do, I feel obliged to warn you this is a complete, total, unequivocal squash from start to finish. There is one moment where Brad desperately slaps on a bearhug, but the look of unhurried contempt on Damien’s face makes this one of the more pitiful moments in the match for big Brad. And there are just so many moments to pity him!
Rope burn as homoerotic wrestling offense?
I also don’t quite get the rope. Damien appears to exponentiate the ab torture by stretching a rope across Brad’s gut. Huh? I mean, rope burn sucks, but… I’m just not buying it as the muscle crushing maneuver it’s made out to be. Brad’s capacity to sell is sorely tested there, as it is later when he’s “trapped” in the ropes (really, just draped backward across the top rope, but seemingly paralyzed). Brad suffers non-stop through this match, but you can see his skills wearing thin right around the same points at which the plot does.
Damien is ALL OVER hunky Brad.
Watching Damien work up a thick sheen of sweat, though, is never wasted time for me. Damn, this kid’s got my number. I mean, literally, I’ve been begging for an interview with Damien for years now, but I somehow never get past his personal assistant (not daddy’s little rich boy, my ass). The one-sided specialities at MDW do not serve him up nearly as movingly as Damien’s work elsewhere in the homoerotic wrestling universe. But those hairy pecs, that 5-o’clock shadow, and his sweet ass keep me tuning in, over and over.
I’d love to see both of these boys work about 10 times harder than they do (or at least sell that much more). I’m still lobbying MDW for fewer squashes and more wrestling competition drama. But this is Damien Rush and Brad Barnes and muscle domination and monologuing, so I know there’s plenty of market for Six Pack Bash 8.
I always feel like I need to apologize to pretty Pete Sharp’s baby blue eyes, his full lips, his sculpted torso, and his gorgeous ass. Because I struggle to tear my eyes away from, much less write much about anything other than that magnificent, mountainous, mouthwatering, award-winning Best Bulge of 2014.
Best Bulge of 2014
His ring gear in his match again Lon Dumont (same he wore against Braden in Jobberpaloozer 13) does not accentuate his gargantuan package as much as his mat gear does. However, I have a hard time imagining what gear could manage to disguise that massive ballast he’s stowing in the front of his trunks.
Check out that ass!
Pete is wild card, it seems to me. He’s been bested more than he’s come out on top in his young career with BG East, but at no point has he ever failed to earn respect. His natural habitat seems to me to be on the mats. He seems more settled inside that flawless skin of his when he’s barefoot. There’s a shade more uprightness about his bearing in boots and inside the ring. Lon seems to be certain that he’s got the bronzed god’s number, alluding to some tag team collaboration they’ve had somewhere that went terribly awry (read: they lost, and Lon is convinced it was the rookie’s fault). Lon promises to take the dazzlingly beautiful hunk back to first grade, reviewing the basics of professional wrestling for the aspiring grappler. He promises to exact just a little retribution for the humiliation of being yoked to Pete’s rookie mistakes in some indy pro tag team match I’m guessing we will never see. But best of all, Lon promises that nothing short of total submission will count in this match. In other words, these two shining, gorgeous specimens of muscle are in a forced-to-flex match!
Pretty Pete turns fucking fierce!
All of that beauty, the dreamy eyes, the tasteful ink, the pumped and glistening muscles seem to inevitably make opponents discount pretty Pete Sharp from the start. And it’s true, looking that pretty is frequently a one-way ticket to an ass-kicking in these parts. But Lon discovers instantly that the ass kicking is a two way street on this fine day, and big, powerful, blindly beautiful Pete goes full throttle all over the lightweight bodybuilder.
Thank you, Lon Dumont!
Lon is incensed. I love that moment when an opponent nudges Lon over the edge of calm, rational calculation. He morphs from pedantic college professor into vile, heartless heel in the blink of an eye. And holy fuck, does he go to town on pretty Pete. I think Lon has his BG East fans in mind as he manages to twist and rip and pry apart Pete’s phenomenal physique at all the right angles. He bends him over backward, threatening to rip the rookie’s head off, and not accidentally showing off that fan favorite huge package along the way. He repeatedly ties the golden hunk up in the ropes, torturing the beautiful kid like a vision of St. Sebastian.
Right where Lon wants him.
And Pete sells the suffering sweetly. I could almost feel sorry for the battered hunk… if I weren’t so damned turned on by the sight of him so bashed and controlled so completely. True to his word, Lon manages to zero out the advantages that pretty Pete has in sheer size and raw strength. I confess to having a warm and moist spot for a smaller opponent totally dominating a big, ripped, superhero-looking stud like Pete.
Pete slaps the veteran heel down hard!
Thing is, Pete’s a fighter. There’s no point at which you should count him out until the camera turns off, because he keeps coming back. He keeps upending the veteran heel. He keeps defying him, refusing to be crushed. And out of nowhere, he puts my long-time infatuation on his shoulders and pounds out a stunning 3-count.
So much muscle locked in such an intimate embrace!
Pete’s bronzed muscles soaked in sweat are dizzying. His astonishing refusal to play the cowed rookie is breathtaking. And while, sure, watching Lon ride him like a bronco is at the top of my list of favorite things, I’m loving the suspense that these two weave, earning begrudging respect from one another and total, slack jawed adoration from me.
First, let me just reiterate why I find Lon so compelling: aesthetics and attitude. His body is phenomenal. As a competitive bodybuilder, Lon brings a rare level of muscle quality and leanness to the ring. There are plenty of guys bigger, of course. But as Lon points out to his opponents often, there’s a difference between size and functional strength. And as I’m often reminded, lost in reverie admiring his body, there’s a difference between muscle mass and muscle beauty. Lon is one fantastically beautiful muscle man.
Lon typically controls his opponents and owns every corner of the ring.
There’s nothing wasted about Lon’s physicality. There’s no ounce of weight or inch of topography that isn’t devoted single-mindedly to the construction of a gorgeously proportioned physique. The manner in which he deploys all of that beautiful muscle is similarly efficient. His attacks are quick and incapacitating. Every hold is strategically timed to climax into maximal brutality. He’s decisive, calculating, and with both hands in control of the momentum in the ring, I don’t think there’s anyone else that holds my attention or takes my breath away quite as commandingly.
Lon exploits the small things, like raking pretty Pete’s baby blues with his taped wrists.
Then there’s that attitude. I’ve had the immense pleasure of meeting Mr. Dumont in person, and I’m delighted to report that his larger than life personality, his command of the room, his emotional presence is as powerful in real life as it is in the ring. Intellectually, Lon is always on the move from one place to another, and in the ring that translates to an awesome capacity to weave a narrative, to build suspense, to convey character and plot structure that turn the passion play of homoerotic wrestling into captivating melodrama. There’s a start, middle and finish to Lon’s matches, carried through by a fantastic skill in possessing character motivation and embodying a back story. Throughout his long awaited (by me) Wrestler Spotlight, Lon is at the top of his game from every angle.
Lon Dumont treats us to the best angle in the house, showing off pretty Pete’s Best Bulge of 2014.
Like manna from heaven, Lon announces that his battle with pretty Pete is going to be a forced-to-flex match. I’m not sure there’s ever been a more perfect pair to exploit forced-to-flex better. Lon is absolutely dwarfed by his big, stunning, bronze opponent, but that attitude of Lon’s seems to even the odds. And then some. I tend to believe the words that come of Lon’s mouth as gospel, so when he promises to take Pete to school like a naughty truant, I’m just praying there’s some big, pendulous ball claws involved in the coming discipline.
When Lon attempts an Irish whip, he discovers that moving this mountain of muscle is going to be a lot harder than it looks.
According to Lon, pretty Pete is a weak link. Lon’s given the gorgeous stunner a shot at glory, apparently even tag teaming with Lon in an indy match. But all that promise and muscle on Pete weren’t sufficient to hold up his end of the bargain. Lon berates the bronze beauty. He goes probably a step too far in pronouncing Pete an ugly brute (show me an inch of ugly on Pete, anywhere!!!). He predicts that his ring savvy and superior intellect will enable the veteran to not just punish pretty Pete for his disappointment as a tag team partner, not just teach the blue eyed bombshell some much needed lessons in pro wrestling technique, but Lon assures the dazzling hottie that he will possess him, body and soul, and transform the very essence of Pete’s power into the vehicle of his utter humiliation.
Outmuscling Lon is child’s play for big, beautiful Pete Sharp!
They start to tangle, and Pete completely overpowers the lightweight bodybuilder. Lon charges again and again, only to be swatted away like a gnat. Suddenly, Pete snatches him up in the air, calmly marches across the ring and plants the veteran on his ass atop the top turnbuckle. With a sly, cocky grin, Pete musses Lon’s long locks like playfully chastising a child. Holy fuck, I love this drama!
Tomorrow, I’ll muse a little longer on the most prominent bulge in wrestling, and exactly why I love these two stunningly hot wrestlers going pec to pec.
It was 6 years ago yesterday that I sat down and found my first words to begin a conversation about what turns me on. The quick answer then, as now, is that it’s complicated. Of course, “beautiful men wrestling in a homoerotic context” are at the heart of pretty much everything that I’ve written about. But if it were truly that simple, I can’t imagine that I’d have kept posting for 6 years. The pages of this blog have become considerably more self-disclosing than I’d ever imagined 6 years ago. Faithful readers know way more about me than 90% of the people I interact with in person.
One of the somewhat unexpected pleasures of this journey has been hearing from readers who’ve said, “Hey, that’s my story, too!” As much as I make everything about me, a lot of others have seen something true about themselves as well. As idiosyncratic and kink-marginal as I’ve always thought of my erotic fantasies, I’m clearly in good and abundant company with homoerotic wresting fans across the globe.
This is the first neverland birthday since my fellow homoerotic wrestling blogger, Joe, shuddered Ringside at Skull Island. I’ve thought of Joe as my big brother in this adventure, setting the pace, typically a step ahead of me, but cut from the very same cloth. Not infrequently over the past 6 years, I struggled to say something different than what Joe had already said so perfectly about the homoerotic wrestling industry, about pop culture, about bodies and beauty and wrestling holds and kink. Working to make a contribution to the conversation without simply repeating what Joe had already said made neverland what it is as much as anything else did. With Joe on hiatus from blogging these 6 years later, I feel just a tad untethered as I think about the future of neverland.
I’m excited to see what the future holds for neverland. Life is pulling me a lot of different directions offline, but I remain committed to keeping the conversation going. Where these musings take me next, I honestly don’t know. But looking back at the journey these past 6 years, I’m happy to say it’s been good. Thanks for being part of it.
Andy Hammer is beautiful, young, ripped, and soaked in sweat.
The newbies have been commanding my attention in the new releases at BG East. Even newbies who’ve been around a while! By that, I’m referring to watching veterans Blaine Janus and Andy Hammer go at one another in Matmen 25, apparently pulled from the archives back when both of them were just babies.
Blaine Janus fresh, raw, and bulging with promise!
There are hints of the accomplished fan favorites they will grow to become. Blaine is intense as hell and constantly looking like he can’t decide whether to submit Andy or just go directly to fucking him. Andy is a vision. Tanned, ripped, ferocious, and already looking like he’s learning to seriously savor the sweet bouquet of his own anguish. But this is so clearly from very early in their wrestling careers. They’re raw, occasionally clumsy, still learning to pace themselves, execute a finisher, know when to lose a battle in order to win a war.
Andy repeatedly smothers Blaine with his big, beautiful bulge.
Somehow, I had missed the part of Andy Hammer’s resume that indicates he’s one of the Boss’ special projects. The online description for Matmen 25 points out that Andy’s phenomenal capacity, nay, carnal delight in taking a tidal wave of hurt comes from Kid Leopard’s up close and personal training sessions. Like tumblers clicking in a lock, this suddenly makes so much sense. His combo of balls out, intense offense paired with an unmistakable enjoyment of being pushed to the edge of human endurance is exactly what I’d expect from a beautiful, blond, blue-eyed, bubble-butted babyface who’s graduated from Kid Leopard’s personal wrestling tutorials.
Andy learned a thing or two from the master!
I’m not used to seeing Blaine get knocked on his ass so commandingly, which makes this romp from the time machine that much more engaging. When Andy has his foot on the gas pedal, which is most of this match, Blaine is sore pressed to keep up. It’s a fierce shoot with trading momentum back and forth, but early on I feel like there’s a surprising inevitability about Andy’s performance. This is the first match I’ve seen where, early going, I think Blaine very well might get crushed in a lopsided schooling, if not a full blown squash.
Slowly, savoring the moment, Blaine pulls his mouthwatering prey close.
Something inspires the erotic mat warrior we’ve come to know and love in Blaine to finally show his face, though. At one point, when he’s finally, slowly, painstakingly maneuvered his prey into a sensationally vulnerable rear naked choke, with Andy’s torso locked down tight between Blaine’s thighs, the Canuck leans his face in close and starts nibbling seductively on his gorgeous opponent’s earlobes. There’s the Blaine Janus we know and love!
Blaine’s lips drive Andy crazy!
They may be diamonds in the rough at this point, but the wrestling here is sensationally brutal. I think about half a dozen times that one or the other of them has got control permanently in hand, but then an awesomely vicious pec claw or a savage, no-shit-that-really-happened jab to the testicles pushes reset and they scramble all over again to come out on top.
Clearly, Blaine isn’t the only one who can mount a disarmingly hot erotic offense.
I’ve been a Blaine Janus fan for a long time. His catalog is populated with some of the most arousing homoerotic mat wrestling that I’ve seen. I’ve loved watching him poke and prod and drive rookies crazy with his disarming erotic offense. His work initiating Mason Brooks is outstanding, and his breaking in of incredibly sexy Rafael Valmor (where the hell has that sexpot gone!?) requires IV fluids to keep me hydrated. But Matmen 25 is my first full blown gasp and awe session with beautiful Andy Hammer. This man-boy is phenomenal! His physical conditioning here is epic. His astonishingly blue eyes and boyishly handsome face are achingly sweet. His light, golden tan is pitch perfect, and his ass is solid, masterfully molded, rock hard muscle.
Andy Hammer has one at least one new fawning fan!
This match ends perfectly. The final fall is decisive, but the crotch grinding and face sucking that follows is the real climax. At least for me. And anyone else who sees the unbroken through-line from trash talking young studs sizing one another up all the way to just one of them climbing on top and taking full possession of the other. All of the essential elements of homoerotic wrestling gold are right here.
My circles are quivering with excitement at the news out this week that Marvel’s Iceman was outed/came out in the newest reboot of X-Men comics. This doesn’t cut me to the core quite as much as it does to many of my friends who are much more fanatical about superhero comics. It does titillate me, though, particularly when I think about the possibilities of Shawn Ashmore exploring this plot twist on the big screen. I won’t hold my breath. But considering Shawn has a perfectly equally beautiful twin brother actor, and the capacity of superhero universes to bend time and space and big screen adaptations to star multiple actors playing the same character opposite one another, let’s just consider a self-actualized Iceman ‘mo helping a still-closeted Iceman to come to terms. And it all devolves into a supersexy Bobby-on-Bobby popsicle sucking contest.
Eye of the Cyclone’s SubZero took some nasty ball bashing before escaping the tortures of his archenemy, XTractor.
Just me? Well, homoerotic superhero and wrestling fans can get a little assistance with their Iceman fantasies by strolling over to Eye of the Cyclone and checking out this week’s release in the “Hard as Ice” serial starring SubZero. I’ve marveled at this particular narrative before. Well, let’s be honest, I’ve marveled at SubZero’s crazy sexy body and, in particular, that phenomenal ass. I popped my cork when SubZero barely escaped his battle with XTactor, returning to his secret Ice Cave lair and quickly stripping naked to shower off the stink of getting seriously dominated by his archenemy.
SubZero just can’t stop flexing and worshipping his own phenomenal physique!
What SubZero failed to notice, however, is that one of XTractor’s devilish little cybermites hitched a ride along with SubZero back to his lair. Even as smoking hot, ice cold SubZero steams up the place entirely naked except for his minuscule mask (sexy, sexy, sexy, sexy shower scene!), that vicious looking little parasite climbs up the shower wall and launches itself precisely where my eyes are fixated: SubZero’s gorgeous bubble butt!
I’m not the only one intent on exploring that bubble butt!
SubZero apparently doesn’t realize what it is tickling his prostate, and he doesn’t seem to need to ask any questions. Anally stimulated to cruel perfection, the master of ice can’t help himself but grab hold of every succulent inch of his fantasy physique. He squeezes his gorgeous glutes (I’m way ahead of him there), and then turns around to reveal a roaring, raging, beautifully aroused cock.
Hello, SubZero!!!
With something unexpected up his ass, SubZero is in ecstasy, dropping to his knees, working his popsicle like a piston, self-stimulating his asshole, enthralled with his own naked perfection reflected up at him in the mirrored ice floor of his shower. This is phenomenal staging! I’m admiring nearly every perfected angle of this hunk’s beauty at the same time. The masked ice cold hottie explodes, losing his load across the mirrored floor. Of course, these are still frames and text, but damn it if this hunk doesn’t sell this lovely, long cum shot to perfection!
Mmmmmmmm!
Spent and satisfied, SubZero is astonished to discover the vile cybermite crawling out of his ass, slurping up some supercum, and transporting back to his evil master with SubZero sperm filed away for some genetically diabolical scheme. Which brings me back to the potential for an icy hot superhero homoerotic self-confrontation, if XTractor does some fancy cloning shenanigans. The possibility of seeing SubZero’s lovely rod up SubZero’s incredible ass seems inevitable…
Look at this,” Mutant flashes his gargantuan biceps. “I’m the best in the ring. Look at these arms!?” he marvels almost disbelievingly at his own magnificence. Mutant is, indeed, a marvel. There’s something almost too big about him, like he’s wearing an inflatable muscle suit. But time and time again, tested and not infrequently bested in the wrestling ring, we’ve seen abundant proof that everything about Mutant is grade A beef, ready to be tenderized and chewed up.
Muscle Master Kevin puts the big man out cold. Repeatedly.
Of course a physique star who presumes to monologue that he’s “the best in the ring” is going to garner the attention of Muscle Domination Wrestling top heels, and there are none topper than Muscle Master Kevin himself. Kevin can be seen sliding into the ring quietly behind Mutant as the beefcake poses for the camera. Suddenly, Kevin slides his gloved hand across the muscle man’s mouth, pinching his nose, completely cutting off all sources of oxygen to feed his hungry mutant muscles. “Look at those arms, indeed,” Kevin smirks, smothering the stunned muscle stud and quickly making Mutant’s knees buckle. “Look at those muscles go nice and limp.” When I say Mutant goes out quickly, I mean really, really, quickly. Kevin says that he has “special gloves” guaranteed to make short order of a massive mountain of muscle like Mutant. Perhaps there’s a little chloroform on them, because Mutant drops like a sack of potatoes with astonishing speed. He’s out. Way out, and flat on his back with Kevin posing over top of him and trash talking like only MMK can.
Kevin impatiently urges Mutant to gather his wits about him as he rouses. “I want to see those cocky muscles deflate time and time again.” And that sentence, my friends, is the cliff notes to this match. If you want to see a mountain of muscle go limp over and over, Zzzz 4 is right up your alley. Kevin enjoys applying a half a dozen or more variations on sleepers and chokes, tipping giant Mutant over the edge of unconsciousness repeatedly. Like a cat playing with an all-but-dead mouse, MMK exercises complete control of his prey for his (and our) sadistic delight.
Brutalizing a helpless muscle phenom.
The payoff for wrestling fans isn’t just the repeated sleepers, though I know plenty of homoerotic wrestling fans with a special kink for watching that money shot of a powerful gladiator going limp and helpless. For my money, I also enjoy the humiliation of watching Kevin exploit his often slowly rousing, sometimes still completely out cold “opponent,” applying vicious holds, dragging the barely clad beauty across the ring, hanging him like drapes from the ropes. It’s not like a full nelson or a kneeling surfboard are technically “offense” in this scenario, because Mutant is toast from start to finish. He’s not being “worn down” by these brutal, joint wrenching, soul crushingly painful manipulations of his magnificent body. It’s just gravy, with MMK milking the muscle exploitation theme for every ounce of homoerotic wrestling nutrition you’re hungering for.
Mutant, literally, sleepwalks through this match almost from start to finish.
I have one buyer beware caution, and one catty bitch complaint to level, because Zzzz 4 does a whole lot for me, but there are a couple of distractions. First my word of caution. If one-sided muscle squashes leave you limp, this, like most of MMK’s matches, are not your cup of tea. There are moments when the extremely up-close camera work here catches Mutant looking a little less like he’s dazed and a little more like he’s a little bored with his sorry lot in this match. Honestly, when was the last time Kevin was on camera in even the slightest jeopardy? I think his parallel industries of muscle domination kink and muscle domination wrestling kink seriously limit what Kevin can offer wrestling fans, because he seems constitutionally self-prohibited from being at risk on camera. I pretty much get it. Before he was wresting, Kevin was seducing hardcore fanatics of being dominated by a blue eyed babyfaced muscle god with (literally) in your face psychological and physical intimidation. His bread and butter has long been stroking the kink of those who want to be dominated by him, who want to be conquered by his bulging muscles and torrent of trash talk, who are slack-jawed betas to his persistent “alpha dog” performance art. I have to imagine it could damage the brand in that arena for fans to see him lose, hell, even suffer a little in the wrestling ring. So yeah, I get it. MMK on offense, in total control, dominating and destroying and taking full possession of a magnificent muscle specimen is part of the entire MMK empire. But you know me, and I know at least some of you, so if you’ve been waiting for MDW and MMK in particular to wade deeper into the drama of wrestling competition storytelling, keep waiting.
Call the homoerotic wrestling fashion police!!!!!!
And I feel like I’m being bitchy when I say for the second time in a handful of weeks that there’s a major gear fail that’s distracting me. It’s not the barely there leopard print jock strap that Mutant is bulging out of, of course. It’s the not-so-tighty off-whities that Kevin has donned for this match. They’re gathered, elasticized, built for sucking tight to a hot bod like designer briefs do. The only problem is that they’re a size too big for Kevin. They sag in all the wrong places. Kevin has undergone some impressive muscle reformation in the past year of so, so perhaps this is symptom of his wardrobe still catching up to his redistribution of muscle and mass. But these briefs give the unfortunate (and false) impression that Kevin has no ass, and the bunching and gathering at the legs cast an illusion that his hunky, hairy thighs are somehow skinny and underdeveloped. Let me reiterate here, before MMK fans grab their pitchforks (too late, I’m sure), that I adore Kevin’s body. I’ve offered to suck Kev’s mouthwatering nipples raw and worship his bulges and peaks for days, and to his credit, Kevin confirmed that if a certain blogger ever found his way into his ring, he might just have to make that happen. So I am not complaining about anything at all about Kevin’s hot, bulging body. It’s just those fucking briefs!
Mutant is ripped and helpless for your pleasure.
Like your cat, Kevin lays his conquered prey out and proudly displays for you, his fanatical audience, the prize. Mutant is, indeed, a sight for sore eyes, all of that superhuman muscle brutalized, owned, and defenseless at Kevin’s feet. And clearly there’s not been nearly enough of a neverland reader campaign to demand that blogger muscle worship session that Kevin teased when I interviewed him a couple of years ago. As is so often the case, this MDW new release doesn’t do everything for me, but it does do some things very well. Now, let’s burn those fucking briefs and get MMK a (blogger) stylist.
Of the many things I’ve learned about sophomore heel rising Kayden Keller, he’s demonstrated repeatedly that he has phenomenal taste in wrestlers. Like me, Kayden was impressed with the blue-eyed, blond powerhouse rookie debut of big Biff Farrell. But in Kayden’s opinion, even gorgeous Biff’s earth shaking entry into homoerotic wrestling takes a back seat to another debut in BG East’s catalog 108.
Chet Chastain – 5’10, 185 lbs
Stunningly handsome, silky smooth Chet Chastain is Kayden’s pick for hottest new hunk mixing it up in the BG East ring. It’s not hard to see why. Damn, this stud is dazzlingly pretty! And making his debut in BG East’s newest genre of heel on heel brutality, clearly tasty Chet arrives on the scene already minted as a fresh, promising heel. Built like that? A face like that? And down and dirty vile disdain for the dignity of his opponents?! Is it hot in here, or is it just Chet Chastain?
It’s Chet Chastain.
If there’s anyone who should be fucking furious right about now, it’s Chet’s Heel Bash 1 opponent, fellow rookie heel Dolph Danner. Dolph is a hot, intimidating, remarkably powerful newbie. He’s instantly one of the fiercest bad asses in contention. He’s lean, long, and illustrated. On another day, I have to imagine I (and perhaps Kayden) would be musing about how decisively dastardly Dolph knocked my socks off. But timing is everything.
“3rd Fucking Place!?”
Rookie on rookie action is a rare treat that I love. As Chet and Dolph smirk and strut, sizing each other up and immediately waging psychological warfare before laying a hand on each other, I’m fully engaged in anticipation of all of this untested promise. They both have ice in their veins. They both promise to fuck the other up, and there’s something about the delivery that convinces me that they’ve fucked up more than their fair share of opponents in the past. These guys clearly have arrived with luggage full of ring experience, and they quickly sell a three dimensional narrative.
Dolph likes something pretty trapped between his thighs. And speaking of between his thighs, Chet spends 1/3 of this match spread eagled in one way or another!
The action is extremely hard hitting and high impact. Early on, I’m expecting that Chet may be about to have the pretty smacked right off that beautiful face. Dolph just has the look of a beast emerging from the shadows of a back alley, and Chet is just so fucking pretty! Have I mentioned that Chet is pretty? Chet is pretty. And Dolph looks like he enjoys making ugly happen.
Rub ever so slightly, and you’ll find a dark, vicious heel under all of that distractingly dazzling pretty on Chet!
But Chet is no babyface jobber, by any stretch of the imagination. He goes toe to toe with his taller opponent, and no shit, Chet is confident, calculating, and laser focused. There’s this intensity that descends like a cloud over his handsome features when you can see a deep down raging sadist shine through all of that dazzling beauty. He likes to hurt people. He fucking loves it. There’s a lustfulness about his brutality, an aching desire in the way he wrenches Dolph’s joints in the wrong direction, that’s entrancing to watch.
Chet’s promise as a heel could be seriously jeopardized by how insanely sexy he looks trapped in the ropes.
If there’s one potentially catastrophic roadblock in the way of Chet’s ascendency in the ranks of homoerotic wrestling heels, it’s that he looks so insanely hot suffering. He looks genuinely shocked when dastardly Dolph starts to manhandle him. Just finding himself overpowered and at his opponent’s mercy appears to be so unfamiliar to this ripped, beautiful athlete that his eyes grow wide as he desperately tamps down moments of panic. That silky smooth, golden hued, classically proportioned body of his rises to the level of high art when he’s trapped in the ropes, hanging helpless, or slowly morphing from flexed muscle god to soft, slack stud on the brink of unconsciousness. This hunk has a phenomenal range, and if anything, I think the homoerotic wrestling world struggles most with recruiting and holding tight to highly skilled wrestlers who can sell suffering and inspire a thousand erotic fantasies while doing it. I’m always partial to a gorgeously muscled babyface heel, mind you. But seeing Chet writhe and wriggle on the line, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a mass uprising of fans pleading to see him get taken down again and again and again.
Look this up in the dictionary under “mouth watering!”
Both Dolph and Chet are fantastic trash talkers. They’re awesomely comfortable in the ring. They know their own bodies. They are aggressive, decisive, and highly skilled professional wrestlers. They tell a captivating story of young, brash, sadistic warriors forced to debut against one another, promising to leave only one of them with an unblemished claim to stand on the heel side of the dance floor. Two phenomenal debuts.
There’s something simultaneously beautiful and vilely ugly about Chet when he tries to rip Dolph’s face off.
So I won’t be surprised a bit if I hear that Dolph Danner is pissed as hell to hear fans like me left absolutely infatuated with the beauty and the potential of ridiculously handsome Chet Chastain. I haven’t heard a word from Kayden Keller about his opinions on Dolph. Which sounds to me like the perfect prelude to Heel Bash 2. And just to stir the pot, I’m going to say here and now that unlike Kayden, I have to give the edge to blond bombshell big Biff Farrell as the most impressive ring debut in catalog 108. His hairy thighs with meat draping luxuriously off the bone left me only marginally more infatuated than with devastatingly handsome Chet. But if Chet and Biff need to fight it out face to face to determine which of them is the hottest new commodity at BG East, I’ll keep an open mind.
Sidelineland 