Sidelineland Sounds – Episode 2

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Welcome back to episode two of Sidelineland Sounds. I’m Bard, and this is the audio supplement to Sidelineland, which is the blog I’ve been toiling away at in text for 15 years.  I say toiling, but most often, I refer to it as a labor of love, because whatever Sidelineland is about, it’s about what I love about homoerotic wrestling. When I started the blog in 2009, I had an inkling that I wasn’t the only guy turned on by wrestling, and in the intervening years, it’s been a pleasure to communicate with hundreds of others for whom wrestling, and watching wrestling, and reading about wrestling, and writing about wrestling is a primary turn on.  Sidelineland Sounds is another variation on a theme, in this case exploring what’s hot about listening to wrestling. So lace up your boots and put on your game face, because today, I’m talking about trash talk.

[Bell Ring – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6]

In the last episode, I touched on several aspects of what audio brings to my enjoyment of wrestling. For this episode, I’m going to do a deeper dive into one of those topics I mentioned last time: trash talk – the verbal sparring between two wrestlers. For my purposes today, trash talk includes the insults, the barbs, the mind games, the intimidation between wrestlers. It can happen before, during, and after a match. Trash talk can set the scene. Perhaps in the most straightforward way possible, it establishes the wrestlers’ motivation and defines the characters in the drama. I think trash talk is maybe the most spontaneous way that a consumer of wrestling gets a glimpse into why these two fierce athletes are invested in beating the fuck out of each other, and why the rest of us should be invested in watching it play out. In mainstream pro wrestling, trash talk most often happens before or after matches, in interviews backstage or in microphone takeovers inside the ring. But an advantage to how homoerotic wrestling is typically produced is its intimacy. Homoerotic wrestling matches are typically recorded in small spaces, usually without an audience, and with just a little production attention to audio, we get to hear what wrestlers have to say to each other from start to finish.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Weekend Wrestling’s Cash Kellogg & Dominic D’Andrea vs Blake starr]

That was Cash Kellogg for Weekend Wrestling, telling hottie Blake Star that he’s skinny and doesn’t have the balls to fill his tiny little trunks. Now, as fun as I think that is, I know for a fact that not everyone is as big a fan of trash talk as I am. Some homoerotic wrestling fans tell me that it distracts from what they find hot about the raw pretense of physical competition pitting one man’s body against another. The words seem out of place for some fans who want to focus on nothing but the wrestling. I suspect a similar divide may separate us along the lines of those of us who key off on classic, high production, pro wrestling-style homoerotic wrestling and those who dial into homoerotic wrestling with more of an amateur or MMA vibe. In my opinion, it’s all good, and I’m good with you, even if you’re one of those fans who finds trash talk downright irritating. And, truth be told, as big a fan as I am, sometimes I find it irritating. As with anything, when it’s done poorly, it can be a lot more cringey than sexy. But when it’s done well, I think it accentuates the drama. It can add to the stakes of a match and make me believe that the wrestlers care about who wins, and so should I.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Ripped Rookies 1 starring Austin Cooper and Jake Jenkins)

That’s Jake Jenkins gloating after scoring a submission on Austin Cooper in Ripped Rookies, rubbing it in by pointing to his hot, thick thighs. —  I do want to mention that I’ve talked to a few wrestlers who’ve told me that they find the expectation of trash talk even more intimidating than taking off nearly all their clothes and doing battle with nothing but their hot bodies in front of a video camera. Knowing that the line between clever and cringey trash talk can be a fine one, some wrestlers really dread that verbally performative aspect of it that I’m talking about today. The demand to be thinking on their feet, to be thrusting insults and parrying verbal blows while also executing feats of strength and wrestling skill to try to dominate an opponent… it’s a lot. For some wrestlers, it’s not being beaten or physically dominated that really scares them, it’s been made to look foolish because they stumble over their words or sound silly trying to improv some trash talk. So, I get it that not all of us turned on by wrestling have the same relationship to trash talk. Today, I’m just talking about me, and the value added to my wrestling pleasure from hot trash talk.

In my opinion, the most perfect example of scene-setting trash talk is the verbal sparring between Rusty Stevens and Aryx Quinn. It happens at the end of Rusty’s match in Can-Am’s Arena 1. I blogged about it several times starting in 2010, because, fuck, that scene grabs me hard when Aryx steps out of the shadows and strolls onto the mat just when Rusty is literally taking his victory lap around his demolished opponent, Brian Bodine. I mean, it’s not like the scene is lacking in homoerotic tension before the verbal sparring starts between Rusty and Aryx. Brian is beaten senseless, ass up and out cold. Rusty is circling that ass, looking like the sex gladiator he is, naked and gloating, Rusty’s monster cock is bobbing up and down hypnotically as he monologues about just what he was going to do with lucky loser Brian. And right then and there, Aryx busts into the scene, interrupting Rusty’s victorious trophy-taking…

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Can-Am’s Arena 1 starring Rusty Stevens, Aryx Quinn, and Brian Bodine]

So the confrontation between Rusty and Aryx immediately crystalizes into West Coast versus East Coast. Rusty is the LA badass who’s strutting around with contempt dripping from his lips, pointing out the undeniable evidence that he’s The Man, that he can win absolutely anybody’s ass he decides to wrestle and fuck. It’s classic Rusty, all accelerator and no brake, mean and gloating and with a fight record to back up his bragging. If I remember correctly, Aryx had just landed in LA, after starting his homoerotic wrestling career with BG East back in Boston. He’s rock hard and gorgeous as fuck. He already commands one of the most passionately devoted fan bases ever, and his brand is wicked sharp wit backed up with military combat training and private tutoring in professional wrestling at the hands of Kid Leopard himself. I’d never seen Aryx at a loss for words before this moment in Arena 1, but holy fuck, Rusty’s trash talk game runs circles around him! The clash of words, the taunts and insults, turn the heat way, way up, and even though you know they aren’t slated to wrestle until the sequel to Arena 1, Rusty’s huge, dripping cock pointing at Aryx makes you think, for just a moment, the heel-versus-heel battle very well may just bust out spontaneously.

Pre-match trash talk can be like that, like a flame thrower set to burn an opponent to the ground before the wrestlers have even put hands on each other. But sometimes, it’s more layered, more subtle. Anytime a wrestler shows up and starts dishing out compliments to his opponent, for example, you’ve just got to wait for the other shoe to drop. Inflating a wrestler’s ego with relentless flattery, only to pop him like a balloon moments later, isn’t just scene setting. It’s part and parcel of the wrestling offense. It is a move, in and of itself, that can be just as unsettling and overpowering as an outmatched muscle hunk getting bested in a test of strength. There are a few masters of that pump and pop pre-match trash talk, but my sentimental favorite master of the technique is BG East’s Lon Dumont. For example, when he shows up to face off against Braden Charron in Forced to Flex 4, Lon is openly in awe of Braden’s thick, sculpted muscles.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Forced to Flex 4 starring Lon and Braden Charron]

So, Lon can’t seem to compliment Braden’s hot bod enough. I swear you can just about see Braden blush under the relentless charm offensive, as his ego inflates bigger and bigger. Then, with his back turned, he takes a blind side shoulder tackle to the back of his knees that drops his hot bod just like that. And Lon stomps the living shit out of Braden when he’s down, pulling the plug on the big boy’s overinflated ego and revealing what he really thinks of him. And, fuck, it’s not like Braden’s in any position to defend his honor there, laid out and suffering from the little bodybuilder’s brutal physical and psychological attack. Lon’s dragged him over miles of rough road just 3 minutes into the start of the match.

During a match, trash talk also dials up the temperature. It incites the grapplers to battle harder, to put more of themselves on the line to claim the victory. Trash talk in the middle of the action can act like a download progress bar, reflecting backward on what’s happened so far in the contest, and foreshadowing what may be in store. Like Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you, by the way!), muscle bullying adorably twinky rookie Christian Taylor in Demolition 27. Fuck, the erotic tension in this match is magnificent. Everyone, and I mean everyone understands that Christian is fucking awed by the sight of Mr. Joshua’s drop dead gorgeous body and his gargantuan bulge, and Mr. J just keep piling on the pressure, dialing up the humiliation and tension, both by manhandling the skinny boy and by pouring heaping helpings of taunting trash talk on him until Christian is nearly drowning it.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Demolition 27 starring Joshua Goodman and Christian Taylor]

And then, just to really rub it in both figuratively and literally, Mr. Joshua sits on his face and demands that Christian kiss his ass. Holy shit, the way Mr. Joshua can cock tease Christian, and me, into a drooling mess is just fucking magic. Interestingly, I think some of the best and some of the worst trash talkers are the guys with pretty extensive indy pro wrestling experience. Some of them, frankly, suck at it, and, rightly or wrongly, I always assume when they particularly suck at it, it’s out of some self-consciousness about the literal and figurative intimacy of wrestling for gay eyes. Like, some legit pro wrestlers are the most painfully poor at selling. I have a long standing guideline on the blog about not tearing down wrestlers or matches, so I’ll restrain myself from naming names here, but it just bears saying that some indy pro wrestlers who show up in matches for gay eyes look like they’re half-assing it. But, on the other hand, there other indy pro wrestlers who’ve made a mark in gay-oriented companies who bring it sensationally hot and fierce. I’m guessing  that spontaneity of wrestling live in front of an indy pro audience, of telling a story all exposed like that, night after night, must help a lot of those pro wrestlers who dabble in the homoerotic houses, really improv in a way that’s clever and focused and turns up the temperature. Here’s two indy pro wrestlers who wrestled quite a few matches for BG East under the names Flash LaCash and Zip Zarella.  Both of them are insanely gorgeous specimens of male beauty, but they wrestle hard and aggressive, and they narrate their brutal contest in this super clever, spontaneous way. Zip is the smart ass who’s cheesing it up almost too much for my taste, and here, Flash is getting more and more pissed until he’s twisted the smart mouth pretty boy into a single leg crab pretzel, taunting him relentlessly until the brutal hold and insults finally make Zip tap.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Backbusters 1 starring Flash LaCash and Zip Zarella]

Zip gets a lot less cheesy the more big Flash beats the living shit out of him, which is, itself, a hot little story told by the trash talk. Another value added in any Flash LaCash match is that fucking intense sound of his controlled breathing. It’s that rhythmic hissing you can hear, telling you and me that he’s working hard crushing the cheese right out of smart ass Zip. It’s like serious lifters at the gym, breathing in through the nose and then hissing out in long, controlled exhalations as they manhandle massive weights around.

Another hot variation on the trash talk theme is the wrestler who tauntingly demands his opponent humiliate himself before he’ll acknowledge the loser’s submission. Like, the forced-to-flex theme demonstrates this technique gorgeously. 

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Forced to Flex 1 starring Kid Karisma and Brad Barnes]

That’s Kid Karisma, proving you don’t have to be an indy pro wrestler to bring sensational, spontaneous trash talk morning, noon, and night, to make a homoerotic wrestling match sizzle. In that clip from BG East’s Forced to Flex 1, he’s just clawed Brad Barnes’ gargantuan, meaty pecs so viciously you can just about hear the tendons tearing away from Brad’s sternum. And then immediately, Kid Karisma demands to see the once proud muscle boy flex his pecs now. It’s this seamless, double-pronged offense of brutal physical domination and Kid Karisma’s diabolical, self-amused chuckle and snarling trash talk, and watching Brad flinch and scream in response to both is fucking brilliant!

It doesn’t have to be forced-to-flex for a dominating wrestler to drive home the point that he owns this bitch loser, body and soul. I love the schoolyard bully theme that plays out when a wrestler insists that a sniveling loser say something, on demand, before he’ll let the loser submit. 

[Audio Clip – sound credit: Rock Hard Wrestling’s Royal Punishment starring Austin Cooper and Tanner Hill]

That’s serious as fuck trash talker Austin Cooper making twunk Tanner Hill scream that he’s a peasant before Austin will let the destroyed kid submit.  That taunting obey-me-now-bitch trash talk is super sweet, I think. I think it taps into something primal that playground bullies and bad ass pro wrestling heels all know, that winning a fight is one thing, but owning your fucking opponent takes it to a whole new level.

And then, finally, there’s the post-victory gloat. Trash talk can be the symbolic victory lap. It can demonstrate the stakes and substance of the victory, as one wrestler demonstrates the fact that he can say (and maybe do) anything he wants with impunity, because he’s proven he’s the better wrestler, and the loser just has to take whatever taunts and insults the winner shovels on top of him.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Fanstymen 17 starring Mikey Vee and Brad Rochelle]

That’s charging bull Mikey Vee taking his gloating victory lap after trouncing Brad Rochelle in BG East’s Fantasymen 17. It’s petty and unnecessary. It’s just verbally rubbing Brad’s face in his humiliation. And it’s perfect for exactly those reasons, because it’s not like Brad’s in any shape to complain.

One of the most classic examples of the post-victory gloat  has got to be the legendary badass and trash talker extraordinaire, Brooklyn Bodywrecker. The Bodywrecker hasn’t been in front of the camera in a long time, and still, he’s got one of the most passionate homoerotic wrestling fan bases in the business. I’ve recently talked with 20-year-olds who put BBW at the top of their list of wrestling crushes, and everyone agrees that his appeal is about way more than his smoking hot, hairy body and his wrestling skills. It’s his in-your-face attitude. It’s like when he was fucking over Yves Larocque in BG East’s X-Fights 10. He terrorizes Yves every which way. He has him screaming and weeping in panic. He strips him naked and makes him wear his jock strap over his face. He literally shaves Yves’ chest while he’s got the pretty boy served up like a turkey dinner draped over the top turnbuckle. It’s not a contest, it’s a crime scene, and at one point Brooklyn Bodywrecker’s snarling trash talk can’t be contained to just his sniveling muscle boy opponent. He wrings out another of any number of submissions he can demand from the traumatized pretty boy, and then turns to the camera. And in a rare busting through the 4th wall in a homoerotic wrestling match, BBW shoves a finger in the camera and starts trash talking you and me and anyone else who might nurture fantasies of challenging him in his ring.

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s X-Fights 10 starring Brooklyn Bodywrecker and Yves Larocque]

So, that’s my take on the value added of hot trash talk. Did I convince anyone who wasn’t already as turned on as I am by snarling insults, diabolical verbal mind games, and contemptuous gloating? It’s okay if you aren’t on board, because it seems like homoerotic wrestling producers are pumping out plenty of snarling trash talk for me to enjoy. Let me know what you think about trash talk by dropping a text comment on the blog like ComixRay did in response to the first episode of Sidelineland Sounds, when he and I bonded over our mutual impulse to shake our fists and complain about kids these days. Or record a brief audio file and share it with me at wrestlebard@gmail.com, that is, if you aren’t too much of a pussy.  See what I did there? Trash talk to get a rise out of you, to move the story and motivate you?

For now, let’s bring Episode Two of Sidelineland Sounds to a close. For my next foray into exploring wrestling audio, I plan to turn the mic over to the sounds of suffering and ask what could be another controversial question, what makes for good sell? Until then, as always, thanks for listening and reading and commenting, and I hope you’ve the balls to let me know what’s turning you on about homoerotic wrestling these days… because, you know, I’m going to keep telling you about what’s turning me on about it!

[Bell Ring – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6]

Sidelineland Sounds – Episode 1

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Listen to Sidelineland Sounds – Episode 1 by clicking on the audio player above. Transcript of Sidelineland Sounds – Episode 1:

Hey there, homoerotic wrestling fans. This is Bard. I’ve been authoring the blog Sidelineland for the past 15 years. And in honor of Sidelineland’s crystal anniversary, I’m launching this little experiment. I’m producing a limited-run podcast to supplement my typically excessive written wordiness. So, yeah, welcome to this, the maiden voyage of Sidelineland Sounds.

[Bell Ring – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6]

For this inaugural episode, I’m going to reflect on the relationship between video, audio, and the written word. So, I’ve run into more and more wrestling fans lately who don’t read. I mean, not that they’re illiterate. They just choose not to read the written word more than is absolutely necessary. This blows my mind a little, because, honestly, I’ve been an avid reader from the moment when I was a kid and I found my older brother’s stash of Edgar Rice Burroughs novels, and I fell in deep, deep lust with the cover art of Tarzan. Right then and there, I had to be part of the world where that drop dead gorgeous muscle hunk swinging from the trees lived. And I’ve been a voracious reader ever since. Genuinely, I read all the time for pleasure, typically science fiction, fantasy… I’ve been getting into gay wrestling erotica and gay romance lately. But, over the past couple of years, I’ve run into more and more homoerotic wrestling fans who don’t read. It typically comes up when I’m talking to someone who shares my obsession with homoerotic wrestling, and I mention something about my blog, and either they’ve heard about Sidelineland but “don’t keep up with it” because they “just don’t read much,” or they’ve never heard of it and sort of snort derisively when I mention that I blog about wrestling, as if I just confessed that I type Morse code as a hobby. And I get it, I do. Most of these guys I’m talking about are a good generation or so younger than I am. I think they belong to the same cohort who tell me YouTube is for geezers because they don’t have time to watch videos more than 30 seconds long. They’ve been fed instant gratification and salacious clickbait from the cradle onward. They’ve been raised on TikTok and podcasts. It baffles me, but they’re the sort who prefer to leave audio text messages, while at the same time, they think that voicemail is something out of the stone age.

I’m exaggerating to make a point… maybe… just a little. If you’ve ever read Sidelineland, it should come as no surprise that I exaggerate for emphasis… at times. But after writing more than 1700 blog posts over the past 15 years, it gives me a little gut check whenever I find out there’s a 20- or 30-something wrestling fan who otherwise appears to be into all the same things I am, but who’s not about to take the time to read my 1300 word post about a super hot wrestling match. I seriously feel grumpy old man vibes at times, like shaking my fist in the air and complaining about kids these days. So, I’m really committed to the idea that trying out this podcast format won’t just turn into me reading out loud my blog posts for those with an aversion to the written word. Out of 1700 blog posts on what turns me on about wrestling, if I do say so myself, there are a few flashes of clever-bordering-on-inspired writing that you should just need to put eyes to and exercise that part of your brain that processes written language. I’m not planning on quitting blogging, so I really want to pursue this podcast only as a supplement to the written word… not just to reinforce apathy for the written word.

But as I thought about what this audio format could add to my copious text on the subject of homoerotic wrestling, it occurred to me that this could be novel… and fun… and maybe even hot in an entirely different way. I mean, I know for a fact that there are quite a few followers of Sidelineland who subscribe solely for the graphics. I’ve been honored to have been given permission by most of the homoerotic wrestling producers out there to repost their photos of hot, sexy, sweaty muscle hunks grappling. I’m pretty sure they see it as marketing, and as long as I point readers where to buy the videos, producer’s have been pretty okay with me illustrating my reviews with their photos. And in turn, I’m pretty sure there are quite a few guys turned on by wrestling who just browse the pics at Sidelineland for the “masturbatory value” of the graphics, let’s just say. So on the blog, I’m using words and photos to share my reflections on the (let’s face it) masturbatory value of my favorite sexy gay wrestling videos.

So can a podcast add anything to what’s already there?  I mean, other than making it storytime with uncle Bard for the younglings who prefer to be read to, rather than read with their own eyes…

[Audio Clip – sound credit: BG East’s Undagear 38 starring Tanner Ripley and Zach Ramos]

Oh, wait, yeah… fuck, audio can be hot. That was an audio sample of Tanner Ripley screaming in panic in Zach Ramos’ camel clutch in BG East’s Undagear 38, released a couple of months ago. Oh, hell yes, there’s value added to audio! I’ve written a lot about how sexy the sounds of homoerotic wrestling are, but text, and pics and GIFs just don’t quite capture those elements that turn me on about the sounds of super hot wrestling.

[Audio clip – sound credit BG East’s Ultra Fight 2 starring Scott Williams and Brad Rochelle]

And fuck, cocky trash talk turns me on. I mean, I transcribe some of the choicest dialogue from my favorite matches in my written reviews, but honestly, is there any sexier sound than Scott Williams’ snarling baritone as he taunts Brad Rochelle  and refuses to let go of his headscissors? It’s one thing for me to write about just how much it turns me on, but holy fuck, listening to that sound of shocked panic in fratboy muscle stud Brad Rochelle’s voice is most definitely value added.

[Audio clip – sound credit BG East’s Ultra Fight 2 starring Scott Williams and Brad Rochelle]

Audio is also pretty essential context to homoerotic wrestling videos. The sounds of springs and cables squeaking as a cocky hunk warms up in the ring, bouncing on the balls of his feet and testing out the tension in the ropes…

[Audio clip – sound credit: BG East’s Fantasymen 18 starring Jeff Phoenix and Brad Rochelle]

…it adds texture and depth to the visual stimulation of watching.The sound of hot, hard, sweaty muscles pounding into each other as wrestlers scramble for advantage… the dull, deep thump of one wrestler’s fist punching an opponent’s washboard abs… the higher pitch percussion of an open palm chop to a stunned wrestler’s bulging pecs… there’s a fucking symphony of ambient noises happening. While the visuals are what I think of as the heart of what turns me on about wrestling, the sounds are often what makes a match feel spontaneous. The sounds are 75% of the sell for me.

And speaking of sell…

[Audio clip – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6, starring Jonny Firestorm, Brad Rochelle, and Monstah Mike]

Fuck, is there anything sexier than a cocky muscle boy who climbed into the ring cock sure that he’s pound his opponent into submission, only to be crying and begging like bitch 15 minutes later? It’s not just the text, it’s the panic in the voice. It’s the cracking sob, like this hot hard hunk just got pounded so hard he’s regressed back to that pre-adolescent moment his voice changed. The same words coming from two different wrestlers could be like night and day, scorching hot intensity or eye rolling play acting. The difference is woven into the audio, and I love that, and now that I think about it, blogging for 15 years has just scratched the surface of what’s turning me on in what I hear in a sensationally sexy wrestling match.

It’s not like this is the first audio file on Sidelineland, either. I posted a series of interviews I recorded in 2014, when I had the distinct honor of being invited by Kid Leopard to be on site at BG East during a weekend of filming matches.

[Audio clip – original audio recorded by Bard, interviewing Mason Brooks]

That’s a previously unreleased clip of an interview I did with Mason Brooks back then that, for various reasons, I never published. I’ve posted dozens of text-based interviews with wrestlers over the years that have been a blast, but those live recorded audio interviews were something else. Not to overstate it, but there’s this chemistry that sometimes does and sometimes doesn’t happen when I’m interviewing a wrestler, and I definitely do not always capture those intangibles in text, no matter how hard I try. Like, my favorite example is when I interviewed Kayden Keller on a hot summer day down there by the dock on the lake behind the BG East compound. Kayden was there in his red graphic tee, black shorts, and flip flops. And he was sitting next to me, and I literally could not stop myself from continually checking out his long, sexy legs. And finally he caught me eye fucking his quads, and with a little taunting sneer, he just flexed them. And the chuckle in his voice and me nearly choking on my drool was this hilarious, spontaneous moment that just wouldn’t not translate to text, no matter how hard I might try.

[Audio clip – original audio recorded by Bard, interviewing Kayden Keller]

So, anyway, we’ll see how this podcast idea goes. I should disclose, though I’m sure it’s not necessary to the trained ear, that I’m no audio engineer. This is just me with Garage Band a thousand wrestling clips on my computer, stitching this together out of nothing but raw enthusiasm and a growing delight in connecting in new ways with other homoerotic wrestling fans. If you feel the need to bitch about my production quality, feel free, and then send me a few thousand dollars to hire someone who knows what the fuck they’re doing. But, seriously, I always get a kick out of seeing comments on the blog, and I’d be delighted to hear if this is scratching any itches at all out there among my wrestling-obsessed brothers. You can drop a text comment on the blog, or, if you’re feeling inspired, send me a brief audio file with your comments, and, who knows, it might even make its way onto a future episode.

For now, let’s call episode one of Sidelineland Sounds a wrap. Next up, for episode two, I plan to do a deep dive into the curiously controversial topic of trash talk. Until then, keep wrestling, keep watching and listening to hot wrestling, and keep letting me know what’s turning you on these days in the world of homoerotic wrestling… because, you know, I’m going to keep telling you about what’s turning me on about it!

[Bell Ring – sound credit: BG East’s Three-Way Thrash 6]

Brad Rochelle learned the hard way the importance of reading (his contract).

Lusciously Layered

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Charming Chase Addams has come a long way. I’ve interviewed Chase three times since he made such a huge splash in his BG East debut as an essential part of the multi-award winning Tag Team Torture 19 in 2016. You can listen to the audio of my most recent interview with Chase back in 2017, when I sat down with him down by the dock at BG East during a hot summer weekend of recording matches. For as long as I’ve known him, Chase has always had a “strong sense of self.” He showed up at BG East cocky, which isn’t so unusual, but Chase had the pro wrestling skills to back up his cockiness. While none of that has changed over the past 8 years, Chase has metamorphosed into one of the biggest personalities in the business.

Charming Chase Addams

In his newest match, Jobberpaloozer 24, Chase is fucking IN CHARGE. There are layers upon layers of allusion and backstory in this match, only some of which are fully excavated. Like, how did Mickey Knoxx end up in just a jock strap and that athletic cup muzzle, cowed and devoted to serve the Charming One? I’m not complaining about the cameo of Mickey’s gorgeous ass, mind you, but the provocative appearance is just rich texture to the world building of the opening moments of Jobberpaloozer 24. The scene is immediately lush with tension and suspense, with the deadly dangerous Queen of Hearts waiting for his bath to be run, letting his facial mask set as he works to calm the demons inside with meditation and deep breathing.

3-peat Jobber of the Year Forrest Taylor

So it’s stark narrative tension when Forrest Taylor shows up brimming with earnestness, challenging Chase to a match. Chase imperiously dismisses him out of hand. “What makes you think this is going to be any different, Forrest?” When I heard that line, I immediately pushed pause and checked the BGE catalog, because I don’t remember an earlier match, and BGE is notoriously stingy with rematches. And no, this is the first product we’ve seen Chase and Forrest in together, so again, the storytelling continues to grow three-dimensional with more layers of backstory. “I had a dream that I was going to win this time,” Forrest insists, and he’s just so fucking earnest about it. It’s not like Forrest is pretending to be something he’s not (after all, he is winner of 3 consecutive Jobber of the Year titles). His challenge isn’t exactly aggressive or heated. It’s just pristinely earnest. He’s on a hero’s quest handed down by the wrestling gods who graced him with the tempting taste of victory in a dream.

“I had a dream I was going to win this time!”

Chase is so over it all, though. It takes Forrest ripping the facial mask off of the Charming One’s face to finally get a rise out Chase, and then the thrashing is on. There’s so much lush context already, it’s almost beside the point to see the contrasts between these two. Chase is about half foot taller and (I’m guessing) 30 pounds heavier. The David vs Goliath angle is just another unspoken layer that dials up the tension. Within the first 10 seconds, Chase knees the dream-inspired redhead in the gut, chops a bright red handprint on Forrest’s lovely, lily white chest, flings him across the ring like a shot putter, and viciously steps on the stunned stud’s fingers. Then things really start going down hill for Forrest.

Chase has always been the master of punishing pro wrestling holds. These days, he serves up those innovative and intricate combo holds with even more indulgent helpings of erotic humiliation. For example, he plants Forrest in a tree of woe and stomps the living shit out of the hot little leprechaun, pounding the redhead down until the back of Forrest’s head rests on the mat. Then Chase adds insult to injury by sitting on Forrest’s face, just smothering the lucky little fucker under the Charming One’s beautiful cheeks. “How’s that vision quest working out for you so far?!”

Forrest digs really, really deep and gets a rally about halfway through this match. It’s fun to watch the redheaded stud’s anguish turn into a cocky sneer, as irrational optimism makes him drunk with just a taste of power. He slaps Chase in the face hard. He pounds the heel’s face into the turnbuckle. He yanks on Chase’s hair and flings the big man across the ring as if he was born to bully. “How’s it feel to be the jobber for once, huh,” Forrest demands to know, certain that the winds of fate are going to let him sail his way to earning back his demolished dignity.

Surely, I don’t need to give a spoiler alert for a Jobberpaloozer match, right? Suffice it to say, Chase unloads both barrels on the pretty boy, and reloads over and over again. I stand up and cheer when Chase executes his signature Will Breaker, and only a little bitter when Forrest is screaming his submission a half a second after getting strung up in the spine snapping hold. Chase is an artist, and his primary medium is molding a magnificently hot jobber like Forrest into homoerotic wrestling sculpture. “Are you humbled yet,” Chase shouts in Forrest’s face before stringing the hopeless redhead up in the ropes. He slaps Forrest’s pale body beet red. He smothers the bearded beauty with his crotch. He plants his ass in Forrest’s face again and again, eventually inspiring the redhead to defensively take a bite out of Chase’s lush cheeks. “Oh, you want to eat some ass?!” Chase seems both enraged and thrilled to have more reasons to thrash on his outmatched opponent. “Here’s the full course!”

Forrest can’t handle the Will Breaker

In a stroke of storytelling genius, when this match reaches its fated climax, we’re treated to a replay reel of highlights of every humiliating defeat Forrest has suffered at Chase’s hands. Forrest is flashing back to one decisive loss after another over the months (years?) he’s been trying to overcome the odds and defy his impeccable jobber cred to finally defeat the Charming One. It wasn’t just a fabricated backstory. Forrest has been thrashed by Chase five times before this match, and the glimpse we get of each loss is gorgeously decisive. You have to imagine Forrest has got the inside track on earning his fourth Jobber of the Year title, considering he loses six times to the same opponent in just this one release!

An artist at work

There’s still another layer to the storytelling involving Forrest arranging for Freddy Campbell to show up after the match with Fireball to toast what Forrest had been certain would be his first victory. Forrest has not learned any lessons whatsoever, as he vows “next time” will be the charm, giving us insight into the tragic depths of the most notorious jobber currently on the roster. And the homoerotic pro wrestling fan that I am, I love that naivete and irrational optimism. And I love Forrest’s petulance that keeps earning him more heel thrashings. And I’m infatuated with his sensationally beautiful ass that, like Mickey’s ass, was clearly robbed by not even making it to the ballot for Best Butt last year (despite me knowing for a FACT that they were both nominated!). Such awesome storytelling in this larger than life match make it one you shouldn’t miss, if you like diabolically sadistic heels, boundlessly hopeful jobbers, and the homoerotic sculpture of top notch pro wrestling holds.

Do NOT Touch the Beard!

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Tarz Lando sandwiched between Shane McCall and Scott Williams

At Wrestlefest NYC in February, I had the unexpected pleasure of meeting Tarz Lando at the Gay Wrestling History panel that I co-moderated. I’ve followed Tarz on social media for ages, technically before I even knew he was part of the wrestling community. He’s got this incredibly sexy handsome brute vibe on social media, with beefy muscles, a shaved head, and a luxuriously thick, full beard. There’s something cerebral about him that’s extra attractive to me, like he’s got the total package of muscle and brains to bring to a fight. And fuck, he’s even sexier in person! He shared some of his pics from the panel and gave me permission to post them here, so he’s also cool like that. That, in turn, sent me down the rabbit hole of checking out Tarz’ wrestling videos on WatchFighters, which led me to tucking in recently to enjoy his muscle bully beatdown of adorable Isaac Andrews.

There’s sweet dramatic tension from the start, and it hinges on Isaac’s flirtatious playfulness repeatedly running aground on Tarz’ serious-mindedness. Tarz is doing bench presses when Isaac keeps insisting on “spotting” him. “Spotting” him, in Isaac’s book, is straddling Tarz’ head and insisting on “helping” him count his warm up reps and “assist” with the bar unsolicited. It’s sort of cute, really, because Isaac is clearly just pulled into Tarz’ super sexy orbit and wants to admire the big man’s hot, hairy, huge muscles up close. Fair play. Looking at Tarz, I get that. But Tarz is attempting to have a serious workout. Isaac playfully pushes his luck too far (or, just right, really), and takes a sucker punch to the gut. Like Tarzan carrying Jane through the jungle flung over one shoulder, Tarz lugs the irritant indoors and dumps his hot ass down on some wrestling mats. “You wanted me, big boy? Well, now you got me,” the bearded beefcake growls, ripping off his shorts and getting down to business.

Tarz is a gorgeous beast. When I met him in February, I had to restrain myself from reaching out and palming his huge biceps straining the seams of his sexy tight t-shirt. The dude is just fucking solid and magnetic. So there’s something intensely ironic every time he calls Isaac “big boy.” This is WatchFighters, so I don’t have the ability to scratch all my itches, like looking up their respective stats. But, Isaac is solid and fit, with a sexy carpet of hair almost as on point as Tarz’ hairy muscles. But every time Tarz calls him “big boy,” it just keeps driving home the point that Isaac is way, way, WAY outgunned. The naughty spotter gets buried under an avalanche of muscle again and again, and it’s sexy as fuck. “Tell me, are you ever going to spot me again,” Tarz demands to know as he’s transitioning from a spine snapping Boston crab to a single-leg crab, so he can have one hand free to throttle Isaac’s balls. “Now,” the big man demands with cold command, “scream for me.” And fuck, Isaac does!

Isaac continues to be a naughty little punk, though. He literally bite’s Tarz’ finger when the big man latches fishhooks in to finish off a camel clutch. “I know you didn’t just bite me,” Tarz growls, and I swear you can see the heat rising off of his sexy shaved head. “I did just bite you,” Isaac sasses back, a little less impressive for having to mutter it through clenched teeth while trying not to get his skull ripped off his spine in that camel clutch. Isaac is flailing helplessly at one point, buttoned down in about 3 holds at once, and he reaches up to try to yank on Tarz’ sexy-as-fuck thick beard. “Do NOT touch the beard,” the big man barks so loud it makes Isaac flinch. The sexy unsolicited spotter even latches on a ball claw at one point and threatens to rip the beast’s balls off, and for a little while, Isaac has this irrepressibly proud grin on his face as he’s catching some riding time on the muscle man.

Isaac’s naughtiness just keeps adding to the long list that Tarz is keeping of reasons why the irritating punk deserves more torture. Tarz smothers the punk with his massive biceps, and I don’t believe the kid’s protests for a second (fuck, those ARMS!). Tarz yanks Isaac’s trunks halfway down to give this oppositional-defiant kid a severe swat on his lily white ass. Isaac just keeps deserving it, from start to finish, and it makes watching Tarz muscle bully him absolutely any way and every way he wants fucking satisfying. I think it’s Tarz’ leg nelson that makes me cheer hardest. I feel pretty sure that those tree trunks of his could easily snap Isaac’s arms out of their shoulder sockets if he really wanted hurt the kid.

But Tarz gives off more “stern coach” than diabolical heel. I mean, sure, I get the distinct impression Tarz is enjoying himself, planked overtop of Isaac and pounding his crotch into the punk’s face over and over again, but it’s the life lesson that’s really the point. “Now, think about what you done!”

Honestly, I’m not sure if Isaac learned his lesson, because interlaced among the screams and submissions, I’m pretty sure he was fucking enjoying being on the receiving end of this mauling. And I enjoyed watching it. I’m pretty agnostic in the whole smooth vs. hairy debate, but both of these sexy men serve up gorgeous fur and seriously attractive facial hair. And fuck, it’s a sexy, intimate, so supremely deserved beatdown!

Rookie Intensity

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Iceman Bobby Carter

Motel Madness 21 features my friend, Bobby Carter, making his BG East debut, and I’m so here for it. I’ve spent hours talking BG East trivia with Bobby. I understand why I’ve been accused of having an encyclopedic knowledge of the BG East catalog, but honestly, Bobby knows it better than I do. He’s a true fanatic. So, there’s just something immensely satisfying seeing one us sliding out from behind this side of the screen and stepping in front of the camera to live the dream!

Charming bad ass Gilles Limber

Neither Bobby nor his MM21 opponent, Gilles Limber, are newbies. They’re both extensively experienced meet-up wrestlers, and they both have some sensationally hot WatchFighters content that demonstrates why they showed up on the BGE recruitment radar. I reviewed Bobby’s Wrestlefest Live match last month, and I still can’t say enough about how fucking intense and sexy that battle was. Gilles shows up on camera on WatchFighters against big leaguers like Mason Brooks, Freddy Campbell, Forrest Taylor, and Ash DeLeon (though I’m also obsessed with watching the clips of him working out and crushing watermelons!). So, it should come as no surprise that Bobby and Gilles show up in that New York hotel room sexy as fuck, with legitimate grappling skills and sensational instincts for telling a homoerotic wrestling story.

I know nothing about Luxembourg, but I feel like I need to visit, just to see if Gilles’ tastiness is typical, or if he’s something extra special. Fuck, I love his look! “Limber” isn’t just a surname, and what he can do with that gorgeous, flexible, deceptively strong body is fucking fascinating. His “charming bad ass” vibe makes me laugh a little and turns me on A LOT. There’s something almost polite about the way he compliments Bobby’s wrestling shoes and announces that he’s going to take them from Bobby once he’s beaten him. I swear it’s not just the accent (though, fuck, that’s a sexy fucking accent). It’s his innocent, little boy face, and his chill, understated cockiness that sneaks up me before I realize Gilles has got an intense mean streak. It sneaks up on Bobby, too.

Their hotel room battle is 52% competitive and 48% erotic, but the numbers are deceptive, because it’s clear that both Gilles and Bobby are stoked hotter and hotter by the hard fought competitive holds and battle for dominance. Bobby looks like an X-Men character, with his chiseled, tiny waist, and huge sculpted muscles. There’s a sense of gravitational pull about just how solid he is, irresistibly attracting Gilles’ groping hands to feel Bobby’s grade-A beef. Gilles’ m.o. is to aggressively lock Bobby in place and then have his way with stroking and possessing Bobby’s lush muscles. Honestly, Bobby’s quads are significantly bigger (and 100% rock hard muscle) than Gilles’, but it’s Gilles’ scissors that keep setting the pace in this match. He’s wringing Bobby out hard in a way that makes the muscle man’s body go rigid and the breath freeze in his lungs, and the look of knowing pride on Gilles’ innocent baby face is just so fucking sexy. He has clearly shocked, punished, and possessed plenty of opponents before now with the deceptively brutal power in his aesthetically graceful and lean legs.

My crotch twitches with a mind of its own whenever Bobby stomps on the gas pedal. You can see the frustration simmer and then boil as his politely mean opponent punishes him long and hard, until he’s had just about enough of that. Suddenly, all of those gorgeous, superhero muscles on Bobby are for more than just turning on me and Gilles. It’s raw, gorgeous power that busts Bobby out of Gilles’ clutches repeatedly, and it’s stunning every time. It’s like watching my gym crush pumping out feats of strength that I can’t take my eyes off of, but in this case, he’s pumping out feats of strength that end up with Gilles’ defenseless inside Bobby’s rear naked choke. For a few moments, Gilles looks a little more like a bitterly bullied little boy than that politely cocky badass.

There’s a decent-sized patch of wrestling mats on the hotel room floor where about 60% of the intense back and forth action plays out, but the volume on the erotic side of this battle turns way, way up when Bobby suddenly hoists the flailing little Luxembourger over one huge, boulder shoulder and tosses Gilles onto the bed. It’s not playful, mind you. It’s not like the competitive intensity dials down even a fraction. But it’s just hungrier as they scramble for domination on the bed. They lose their singlets, and fuck… those are two phenomenally beautiful asses on display. I would’ve thought that Bobby’s size and strength advantage would keep him on top of Gilles in the topography of a hotel bed, but Gilles just gets meaner and more aggressive and Bobby keeps getting his rocking bod upended again and again.

There’s this intensely sexy moment when Gilles clamps those magical thighs of his around Bobby’s head and an arm at the edge of the bed in standing scissors. Gilles’ ass framed in that jock strap makes me swoon, flexing and squeezing on Bobby’s trapped skull. And then, holy hell, he will NOT be denied when he suddenly picks Bobby up in his arms, hanging the muscle man upside down with Bobby’s head crushed. Fuck, I thought it was Bobby’s feats of strength that were pacing these reversals of fortune, but… damn! And then Gilles starts stroking on Bobby’s cock possessively, playing the muscle man like a musical instrument.

There’s a point at which I think the boys have melted into their obvious mutual lust, and it’s sexy as hell to watch them sucking face and worshiping each other’s gorgeous muscles. But the full throttle erotic wave never quite comes untethered from the competitive battle for domination. The last submission reads like the loser just no longer able to resist the relentless erotic domination. Like, they’re equally matched in hunger, but the victory here goes to the wrestler who’s able to keep his head in the game, surfing that wave of erotic pleasure, but staying on his feet to lock on that last reverse bearhug and make his opponent give it all up.

I can’t wait to see more of both of these BG East rookies, and I LOVE the beauty, power, and personality that they bring to keep spicing up the BG East roster!

Horny Bro Battle

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Undagear 38 is my first glimpse at Tanner Ripley in action. Well, I’ve seen pics of the pretty boy all over the place, but this was the first time I’d seen him in motion. He’s ridiculously pretty. There’s a Hollywood badboy look about him, like TMZ should be trailing him to catch him inevitably starting a fight with Colin Farrel outside an exclusive celebrity LA bar. He’s an example of this curious phenomenon where a super hot wrestler suddenly seems to be everywhere, as if he isn’t a rookie, but a fixture. I know, Tanner has been heating things up at Muscleboy and Weekend Wrestling for more than a blink, and he’s got an extensive catalog of videos on WatchFighters. Weekend’s bio claim that Tanner is “a ten year veteran of various forms of combat, including Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, professional and submission wrestling,” but he comes across to me as a roughhousing fratboy bully. And he looks too young to be a ten year veteran of anything, but I know, we all wear age differently.

Tanner’s opponent in Undagear 38 is definitely a known quantity. Zach Ramos continues to impress and titillate me. His body is luxuriously muscled. His long, curly locks and playfully sinister van dyke give off a maverick vibe. But it’s his personality that really grabs me. I always get the impression that Zach genuinely fucking LOVES to wrestle. He’s out for fun, and by fun, I mean testing that rocking body of his in hard, sweaty, mean competition against a closely matched opponent. He sucks on his own moments of suffering pretty compellingly, but Zach in the driver’s seat is riveting. He has this breathy, nearly giddy laugh that busts out of him just at those moments when he’s grabbed the steering wheel out of his opponent’s hands and he hears the grunt of shock, pain, and frustration coming from his rival. He definitely gives the impression that he loves that moment hard.

I’m dialed into the chemistry between Zach and Tanner from the moment that they’re checking each other out before the match. I love a pair of hot, sexy, powerful wrestlers who seem to genuinely admire each other’s bodies. Zach likes the sight of Tanner’s meaty biceps, but the blond pretty boy boasts that it’s his legs that are his strong suit. He flexes them for his impressed opponent’s inspection, and fuck, yeah, they look strong. “Want to get tested by these?,” he asks in a way that could read as bro-y bravado or super sexy wrestling kink. They agree to trade scissors, and both big powerful muscle boys give us a taster of how they roll, giving and taking punishment. When it’s Zach’s turn, he does that sadistic chuckle, as he makes Tanner wriggle and writhe red-faced.

The carefully negotiated trading of holds to open Undeagear 38 up is a stark contrast to the sensational spontaneity of the rest of the battle. “Spontaneous” could be a euphemism for messy, like blown holds and lack of momentum, and sure, there are a few blown holds here, but the momentum chugs along relentlessly like a steam engine. There’s nothing clumsy about the back-and-forth battle. Both boys have legitimate arsenals. They give the impression that even they don’t exactly know what’s going to happen next from moment to moment, but there’s nothing indecisive about the relentless ebb and flow of testing offenses. They both look hungry and turned on when they’re in control, and someone is convincingly in control almost every split second, as counters and reversals keep them and us guessing.

They have beautifully matched horny bro energy. Like, when Zach muscles Tanner into a foldover pin and sits on his ass, he treats himself to some hot, indulgent strokes of Tanner’s straining hamstrings. When it’s Tanner’s turn to pitch, he muscles big Zach into an abdominal stretch and alternates between pounding a fist into the trapped hunk’s gut and tauntingly pinching Zach’s nipples. And holy fuck, the look of triumphant pride on Tanner’s baby face as wrings whimpers and grunts of helpless pain from his opponent is fucking HOT!

Tanner suffers harder and hotter than Zach, which could be testimony to Zach’s superior offense or to Tanner’s full throttle sell (probably both). You can see Zach wring buckets of sweat and tears out of blond badboy with combinations of high impact pounding and long, slow submission torture. About 2/3rds of the way through the match, Zach is parading Tanner around in a fireman’s carry, before planting him into the floor with a seriously sick slam. You can pretty much see the stars circling the prettyboy’s head, even as Zach is driving elbows into Tanner’s pride-and-joy legs and throttling the blond hunk’s crotch. Zach hooks a leg and rips apart Tanner’s thick thighs so hard you can basically hear the battered boy’s groin shredding. And Tanner screams bloody murder like a trapped animal! Holy fuck, the intensity! And then, with that blazingly hot horny bro vibe, Zach massages the blond muscle boy’s hole and balls, smiling and chuckling like a Bond villain.

Tanner sells cocky bro badboy as compellingly as he suffers, though. He executes an opportunistic escape with a violent yank on Zach’s long, curly locks and, without a break, snaps big Zach into a dragon sleeper. The look of satisfied delight on his face is just fucking adorable. He samples liberally from this tasty buffet laid out in front of him in the dragon sleeper, pounding Zach’s gut, wrenching on his neck, twisting viciously on the trapped hunk’s nipples. He hungrily strokes his palm down Zack’s torso, stretching slowly and seductively down his writhing opponent’s torso and then clawing the fuck out of Zach’s balls. Tanner’s pumped pecs glisten majestically as he tortures his captured prey, and that little boy face of his shines with undisguised glee. Finally, he’s wringing a compellingly suffering sell from Zach, whose panicked screams are muffled deep up Tanner’s pit.

A horny bro battle that careens into shattered egos and abject suffering grabs me right where homoerotic wrestling turns me on hardest. And then, when one hot, cocky muscle boy is reduced to begging for mercy… fuuuuuuuck, that’s tasty. “Please, no more,” one of these mighty muscle men cries. Crying, weeping, whimpering, bested and conquered… fuck, now that’s a fucking climax to a sensationally told homoerotic wrestling story! The crowing winner slaps the hunky loser’s ass possessively. He grabs a couple handfuls of crotch like a trophy. It’s mean and sadistic, milked long and luxuriously.

I remain a huge, huge fan of Zach. I particularly love seeing him seriously tested by an opponent with the meanness to really wring that desperate edge out of Zach’s suffering. But, yeah, that gleeful, nearly maniacal, chuckling glee of his when he’s playing an opponent like a musical instrument is gorgeous. And now I’m officially a Tanner Ripley fan. Yes, he’s as ridiculously pretty in motion as he is in still frame. He can dish it out, and he can take it in a way that feels like he’s genuinely ready to slap his big, well earned ego down on the table and legitimately see who’s got the strength, skills, and will to conquer. Sometimes, I really get off on contrasts, but Tanner and Zach are just so fucking well matched in attitude and energy, I’d really, really love to see them tag team. One way or another, I want to see more of both of these horny bros.

Sunny Side Up

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“They’ve been putting me on the mats lately,” Nathan FX muses out loud as he walks into the mat room to square off against Sunny DeLeon. “Not my forte,” he confesses. “But I’m here to play.” Fuck, NFX irritates me. He provokes me. It’s the tall boy’s need of a haircut. And his lazy cockiness. It’s the way he walks up and intentionally stands mere inches in front of Sunny so that he can stare down his nose and tauntingly point out that he’s literally head and shoulders taller. “We’ve got a fun little David and Goliath situation,” he says with a sneer. “I’ll try not to hurt you too much.” Fuck, that fratboy bully vibe instantly makes me want to see him punished hard. And his effortlessly sexy, long body poured into that breathtakingly tight white singlet… fuck, I just immediately want to see that sneer rubbed off his face with nothing but agony, fear, and a few tears left behind.

So, I’m taking the long odds at the start of Undagear 38 and putting my wishful-thinking bet on stunningly pretty Sunny. Sure, I know that Sunny’s taken some spectacularly brutal beatings in his tenure at BG East, especially in the ring. But NFX is facing him on the mats, which is, most definitely, Sunny’s forte. The blond bro seems to be aware that Sunny has Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu training, but I’m not sure he realizes just how dangerous “little David” can be. I had the immense pleasure of watching Sunny work his craft on the mats at Wrestlefest Canada last summer, and holy hell, he’s fucking fierce. I literally have rechecked his stats on the BGE site several times since then, because my memory of him in-person is just a whole lot bigger and immensely more solid than his reported 5’6 height and 140 pounds. I saw Sunny honestly manhandle a muscle hunk at least 40 pounds heavier and also MMA trained. He was a fucking BOSS! So, sure, sure, maybe this is “a David vs. Goliath situation,” but… um, does NFX not know how it went down when David fought Goliath?

Sunny is cool and unimpressed. “Don’t underestimate me,” he warns Nathan. “I’ve got some skills,” he boasts in a spectacular understatement. NFX rolls his eyes and waves him forward with a smirk. “All I can do is underestimate you,” the tallboy sneers, “you’re so far below me.” Fuck, it’s on. Size and reach are indisputably in Nathan’s favor. He thinks strength is in his favor, but I honestly call that a draw, because Sunny is pound-for-pound insanely powerful. And mat skills and experience are unquestionably in Sunny’s favor. It’s a classic story, and I’m all in on NFX getting his perky, lean ass handed to him.

Nathan keeps up his contempt for the ground game, even as Sunny swarms him and snaps on submission holds at will. Sexy Sunny is playing chess while NFX is struggling with tic-tac-toe. The power-packed petite grappler traps him repeatedly, immobilizing the shaggy bro, piece by piece, and then piling on a second, third (fuck sometimes fourth) joint-compromising hold that paints NFX into one corner after another. In under two minutes, Sunny has the player struggling to breathe in bodyscissors and trying not to get his arm ripped out of the shoulder socket with a hammerlock. And still… STILL NFX manages to sound like the chapter room bully after he taps, rubbing out his aching shoulder and conceding “I’ll give you this, you know your stuff.” There’s almost this chuckle in Nathan’s voice, like he knows something that Sunny doesn’t know. Like, Sunny’s obviously superior and ice-cold dangerous skills are still laughable compared to what NFX has secreted up his sleeve.

Okay, okay, what NFX has up his sleeve/under his singlet is a fucking sensational reveal. It’s a power move that gets him back in the game. Just when Sunny is rolling over him, locking on an elbow-jeopardizing arm lock, the tall boy muscles him off the mat and slams him down hard. Quickly, NFX pins Sunny’s crotch underfoot. And then out of nowhere, the blond bro strips his own singlet off. Woah. Woah. He’s just wearing a g-string under there, and fuck, all 6’1 of him is nice to look at. Somehow, in next to nothing, NFX is suddenly uninhibited, now nasty enough and hungry enough to ride rough shod over the little guy. And damn it all, he looks good bullying! I sort of resent myself for being quite so turned on by watching him rack Sunny across his shoulders and parade him around the room. He does squats that show off that sweet ass and make his pouch shimmy hypnotically. He doesn’t need to do it, but he crushes Sunny’s balls in the rack, just because it makes him smile.

But bros are going to bro, right? The really delightful suspense in this match is all about Sunny. He manages to go from the “little David” underdog to the unstoppable BJJ badass to finding himself stripped to his own g-string, with his gorgeous bod displayed like a trophy kill stretched across the blond bro’s shoulders 6 feet in air. Holy SHIT does he suffer!!! And fuck, he’s gorgeous every second of it. In this stunning reversal of expectations, it’s little Sunny, who was the badass moments early totally bullying NFX, suddenly slapped down, scooped up, and screaming in helpless panic. Fuck, I’m kissing my long shot bet goodbye, but not entirely hating it as the tall boy stretches Sunny’s hot, squirming body out suspended completely off his feet in a gorgeous full nelson. How fucking humiliating, that the ice cold BJJ badass is getting thrashed, and damn it all if Sunny sucking on humiliation isn’t even tastier, now we know about the deep arsenal of submission holds he’s got in his quiver that are just out of his petite little reach.

Do NOT count out Sunny DeLeon, though, my friends. On behalf of all of us short kings, and determined not to let an untrained, disrespectful fratboy bully wipe the floor with him, Sunny sucks down the panicked screams, taps back into the icy cold depths of his BJJ badassness, and makes NFX regret the liberties he took when he had Sunny at his mercy. Fuck, the 16 minutes of this 25 minute match that they spend going at each other in nothing but their g-strings is intensely beautiful. Almost every inch of their gorgeous bodies is visible and glistening with sweat. The holds are mean and vicious. The taunts are raw and bitter. They’ve both made runs at proving whether it’s size and reach or skill and experience that’s the formula for success, but it’s the intense intimacy of their hot-as-fuck bodies locked together, flexing and grinding and punishing that’s suddenly the point of it all.

You get the sense that they’ve both learned a little bit more respect for one another’s assets than they started with. But there’s no love lost by the end of this runaway train, and so the climactic knock out finisher is just sweetly satisfying and sexy as hell. I still don’t think I’m likely to grow tired of wanting to see Nathan FX get thrashed and humiliated, but the total reveal of Undagear 38 is that untrained bros better take note. Sunny DeLeon may be half your size, but he just well may be twice the man you are!

Hammer and Nails

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Writing a review of the Wrestlefest Live match between Bobby Carter and Seon Cruz is more challenging than I anticipated. As I watch the video on WatchFighters, I’m immediately biased by having been in the audience that night last month in NYC. It’s not just what’s on the video that I’m experiencing, but my vivid memories of sitting in the second row, instantly turned on as I watched Seon and Bobby face off on the mats 5 feet in front of me. The sights off camera, the smells, the other audience members sitting around me, none of that shows up in the video, but they’re an inextricable part of my experience of watching the recording these 4 weeks later. I’m also transparently biased because I’m watching my friend Bobby do his thing. I’m Team Bobby all the way, not only because he stepped in front of the camera that night like an absolute boss, in insane shape, instantly bringing the heat, but also because I consider him a good friend with as many and as varied opinions about homoerotic wrestling as I have. Reviewing the match for someone who’s thinking about watching it on WatchFighters is challenging because of so many layers of bias and background, but I’ll do my best, because I know a lot of homoerotic wrestling fans are going to enjoy this super intense, incredibly sexy match.

And this is just the first 15 seconds of the match!

As they step on the mat, Bobby is the knock dead gorgeous muscle hunk rookie, and Seon is the cocky, smirking, pretty boy veteran. The tension quickly builds like the first bubbles in water coming to a boil, as Bobby stares down his seasoned opponent. I say “stares down,” but let’s be honest, at 5’6, Bobby has no choice but to look up to meet 6’0 Seon’s gaze. But honestly, Bobby’s the big man in his match. His luxuriously thick, stunningly built muscle mass has an obvious gravitational pull on Seon and the audience. The momentum ebbs and flows, but Bobby is primarily the aggressor through more than his fair share of the match, out-muscling his stunned challenger again and again, and quite literally savoring the taste of every mini-moment of victory. Locking on a dragon sleeper, he’s sucking on Seon’s nipples while smothering the overwhelmed veteran deep in his armpit. At another point, with brutal bodyscissors, Bobby is absolutely snapping Seon in half with his huge quads. When Seon is gurgling and gaping like a fish out of water, Bobby leans in and plants his mouth over his trapped opponent’s lips, absolutely sucking the oxygen directly out of Seon’s lungs like administering mouth-to-mouth, but in reverse. Fuck, it’s intense and intimate and has perfectly balanced portions of hot homoeroticism and aggressive wrestling.

Mouth-to-mouth, but in reverse

Like I said, I’m biased. I’m Team Bobby from start to finish. But part of the magic of this match is the slow turning of the audience as Seon and Bobby wrestle to impress. Bobby gets a ton of oohs and ahhs from us when he’s manhandling Seon like a fucking boss. When Bobby takes his standing dragon sleeper to the mat by just dropping on his back and yanking his opponent down on top of him, there are literal gasps from the audience. He’s fucking powerful, and all of his mouthwatering muscles impress the onlookers almost as completely as they wring his long, lanky opponent out. One particularly vocal fan gushes (at least metaphorically) when Bobby rolls right in front of him as he crushes Seon into pieces with a full nelson and body scissors. “You’re hurtin’ him so good, Bobby,” the enamored fan purrs. “You’ve got some shredded-ass shoulders! And you’ve got the craziest-ass legs I’ve ever seen!” Bobby, large and in charge, was owning more than just Seon in that Manhattan high rise, with his rocking physique and merciless muscle-forward offense.

Showing off the manicure

But then Seon casts his own spell on the audience in this spontaneous and audacious way that tugs at the crotch of even a Bobby-loyalist like me. The savvy veteran suffers hard and sells with authenticity that pulls at me deep in my gut as I watch. But he never panics, and he’s poised to counter at any second that Bobby loses focus (typically because Bobby distracts himself sucking face and possessing Seon’s trapped body… totally understandable). One such reversal of fortune relatively early on in the match features Seon, mid-liplock, popping out of Bobby’s rib crushing bodyscissors and using his long, strong limbs to yank the muscle hunk up into a kneeling abdominal stretch. It’s decisive and aggressive and graceful all at the same time. You can hear the unmistakable voice of Bob Wood who was sitting right in front of the action at this point, as Bob mutters his approval, “Right, stretch him out!” Another audience member from across the room calls out Seon’s so-pretty-in-pink-polished fingernails in this blunt way could have landed as a “man-up” provocation to Seon. But no, the pretty boy veteran lights up and wags his painted nails at us, and then sucks hard on each finger of his right hand, before jamming the heel of his palm under Bobby’s chin and stretching the trapped muscle hunk out that much farther. Every one of us in the room roars with delight, as Seon makes it clear he came to play and isn’t about to play jobber to this hard-bodied rookie.

No, ref! Bobby’s not finished with him yet…

The entire match has this intensely sexy catch-and-release, conquer-and-possess rhythm to it. Both wrestlers score seriously intense submissions that keep tugging us in the audience back and forth between them. Bobby has Seon literally weeping in agony and frustration, and you can hear my voice leading the cheers for the relentlessly hot strong man. At one point he’s got the long-limbed pretty boy folded like origami and pinned with absolutely nowhere to go, but with cocky swagger, Bobby waves off the ref when he tries to slap down the three count, so that Bobby can tenderize the fuck out of Seon’s abs and make the veteran submit. But Seon keeps pouncing on those rookie mistakes and making Bobby pay a premium charge for them. In this stunning reversal of expectations, it’s long, limber Seon who hoists a rocked, rock hard Bobby up across his shoulders in a torture rack, playing to the roaring applause of the audience and showing just how flexible his opponent’s massively muscle-armored body can be. They both showcase their hot bodies, compelling personalities, and intensely sexy submission wrestling skills, and they’ve got us (and you) in the palm of their hands as they milk the suspense and drama with stolen kisses, muscle groping, and achingly hot suffering.

Bobby locked up TIGHT!

Watching this play out in real time on the video does a seriously decent job of capturing that feel of spontaneity and the battling, seductive spells that these two sexy grapplers weave over each other and the rest of us. The running time is about 21 minutes, and there isn’t a break or a pause. It’s just intensely sexy wrestling drama rolling across the mat from start to finish. There were about 40 of us there in the room that know how the whole thing played out, but I’ll be intentionally coy about who scores the decisive final pin fall when that sexy-as-fuck masked ref with huge legs slaps down the three count. Both wrestlers get my enthusiastic endorsement for tossing together this incredible feast of homoerotic-forward hot wrestling in front of an unpredictable and intensely engaged live audience.

Seon making a pretzel of Bobby’s huge muscles

But at the end of the day, I’m still Team Bobby all the way.

Breaking Away

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Leroy Blaze and Evan Sterling occupy a similar spot in my brain. I mean, they’re a study in contrasts. Black. White. Long and lean. Luxuriously beefy. Deceptively baby-faced. Nefariously mustachioed. It’s not like I’m going to mistake one for the other with a cursory glance. But they arrived at BG East around the same time, and have had a similarly tough go in their first matches. I think the folder they both get filed under in my brain is eye-catching rookie hunks with attitudes befitting serious contenders, but who, so far, have looked an awful lot like major league jobbers.

Not that I have anything against jobbers. Far from it, in fact. But Leroy and Evan both give off vibes that they definitely wouldn’t want to get typecast as a doormat. So seeing the two of them square off in Babyface Brawls 6 feels a little momentous to me, because all signs are pointing to one of them scoring his first victory and maybe, just maybe, not finding himself nominated for best jobber at the end of the year.

Leroy Blaze and that smirk

Leroy may have the smaller frame, but he’s got the bigger personality. He’s playing mind games from the start, taunting Evan when the muscle man pauses to look suspiciously at Leroy’s offer of an opening handshake. Leroy has that fucking smirk that you know every opponent he ever faces is going to instantly itch to smack off his face. They wrestle like rookies. Not messy or half-hearted (at all), but just without the smooth edges and polished shine of more seasoned veterans. Their collar and elbow opening pushes are just a little awkward, like they know where their hands should go, but take an extra beat to figure out the positioning. In early days, Leroy challenges Evan to a test of strength (yeah, re-read that sentence). It’s that fucking smirk again that, I’m sure, is what lures Evan in to show off his clearly superior muscle mass and strength. But Leroy’s quick, sharp, cheap shot kick to the gut stomps the momentum right out of the mustachioed muscle man. Leroy’s self-congratulatory sneer as he locks on a side headlock and cranks on it is so fucking irritating. “How do you like it,” the babyface scrapper snarls, trying to pad his resume as nobody’s jobber.

Mustachioed Muscle Man Evan Sterling

Evan is a workhorse. Sure, Leroy gets the jump on him repeatedly, and he’s digging his way out of one disadvantage after another through much of this match. But fuck, he muscles his way out of each predicament with serious power that Leroy just can’t tame. I don’t think the still photos of Evan quite capture the power he clearly packs in his chiseled, sculpted, sexy as fuck muscles. At one point, he’s cranking on a headlock and using his free hand to give Leroy’s suction packed silver trunks a wedgie. While fans are applauding the move, giving us a good look at the lean wrestler’s hot cheeks, Leroy’s seriously pissed off, which he channels into kneeing Evan in the gut, putting him down on the mat with authority, and ripping Evan’s trunks off in one fell swoop. Leroy is showboating (again), slapping Evan’s muscled glutes repeatedly. It’s this stunning, unexpected tableau of the “skinny” kid viciously taunting and bullying the hardbodied muscle man, and it’s fucking hot when Leroy’s choking the big man with his own trunks. But so is Evan having had fucking enough, flipping his opponent to his back and planting his balls on Leroy’s face to hold him in place as he punches the fuck out of Leroy’s pride-and-joy abs. When he climbs off of his stunned rival, Evan’s got a super sexy sweat stain on the back of his purple underwear tracing its way down his crack. And then the strong man stands there, wide stance, hands on his hips, sweaty muscles glistening, looking like he’s about to rip apart a rack of lamb with is bare hands. “I’m more comfortable now, anyways,” Evan growls, making lemonade out of lemons and hopefully knowing just how much we fans appreciate him owning his stripped down hotness.

I love that these guys are keeping track of their submissions. There’s definitely this ego-driven vibe about the contest, as they fight for each go-head fall. It feels like they’ve got stakes in mind. They haven’t said as much, but I swear they’re thinking what I’m thinking, namely that one of them is going to walk away a first-time winner, and the other one is going to have that much harder a time trying to convince anyone that he’s not a perennial jobber. They get mean, with that desperate edge of rookies struggling to decide just how vicious and low they’re prepared to go to make a serious run at the brutal world of our corner of pro wrestling. Evan’s absolute manhandling of Leroy into a sick-severe Boston crab, twisting the long lean scrapper’s spine into a U-shape (nearly V-shape), is ugly. Leroy screams out his submission, but the mustachioed muscle man just laughs like the 1930’s silent movie villain he looks like he is. “I’m not done yet,” he crows, his upper lip curling with delight at the panicked whimpers of his victim.

Leroy gives absolutely as convincingly as he gets, too. At one point, he kicks the big man to to his back, adding a few gratuitous stomps to make sure Evan stays down. Then he lifts the big guy’s sweaty, massive legs by his ankles and spreads them wide. He milks the suspense, delighting in the look of panic on Evan’s face, wondering if his balls are going come out of this still in 3 dimensions. Finally, Leroy stomps the shit out of the muscle man’s gut. Just when Evan is writhing and choking on the pain, Leroy leaps between his legs, and lands every ounce of his 150 pounds onto his shocked opponent’s throat. Like, fuck, that’s mean. Watching Evan wriggle and writhe, gaping like a fish out of water until his throat opens back up again and lets oxygen back into his lungs, is insanely hot. Leroy doing his own chuckling like a baby heel-in-training keeps that momentum careening forward, as they continue counting up the submissions with increasing fierceness.

I still say that both of these hot hunks have the raw ingredients to be serious contenders. Even as rookies, they tell a sweet, sweaty, suspenseful tale, just the two of them tearing into one another and sucking on what the promise of victory just might taste like. The final fall is decisive, and the post-match taunting delivers a message to the rest of the stable of wrestlers eyeing these new guys like corn-fed veal. One of these skilled men has had a taste of hard-earned victory, and he’s licking his lips and wanting more of it. The limp, passed out body of his defeated rival, glistening with sweat and helpless to defend himself against the winner’s nasty slap in the face.. well, that sends an entirely different message.

Is this the pump of victory for a first-time winner…
…or is this?

Training Day

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When, in my last post, I was thinking so deeply about different aspects of how wrestling turns me on, I should have also included reading about and writing wrestling fiction, as well. I was recently recounting for TxWresl how my original impetus to start this blog was to establish a platform for exchanging homoerotic wrestling fiction. I was (and remain) a big fan of John Savage’s wrestling comics and, back in the day, his celebrity wrestling fiction. It looks like he’s still creating from a profile hub on DeviantArt, though he reports that his old celebrity wrestling fiction got wiped when the original platform they were published on was made redundant. Which sucks a lot, because they were fun and funny and hot, and totally got me wanting more. Thus inspired back at the beginning of my blogging journey, I started writing my own fiction, and decided to build the blog as a vehicle for promoting those stories and inviting others to share theirs. I nearly lost all of my old story archives when Google made the original platform I published them on redundant, too, so the same thing that happened to John nearly happened to me. But I still have my archives, and I’ve been slowly rebuilding a couple of sites to share them on, repackaging the old stories I was writing and publishing as early as 15 years ago. Somewhere in those intervening years, AR started following my stories, and it was AR who reached out over a year and a half ago, inviting me to collaborate with him and ultimately inspiring me to get back to writing again. AR and I write a ton together now, and we’ve been slowly prepping our extensive catalog of new-to-you homoerotic wrestling fiction, spiced up with AR’s 3D artwork. Reading and writing is absolutely another portal into the big, awesome turn-on that wrestling is to me, and both reading and writing is powerfully shaped by my love of watching wrestling and, more recently, my own experiences wrestling.

One of the fun series that AR and I have been building in our writing centers on a hot, naive rookie who sort of stumbles into the rough and tumble world of BG East wrestling. His “origin story” has been available for download (for free) for a while from my site Sidelineland Stories. And just about a week ago or so, I posted the chapter 2 to the Will Strong anthology, describing the rookie’s first visit to BG East north headquarters, where he makes an earnest friend and a dangerous enemy all in the same day. So I’m feeling all nostalgic today, as AR and I share this new piece of fiction that we had such fun writing, as I’m taken back to eagerly sinking my teeth into John Savage’s artwork and celebrity fiction, and all of that leading to this exciting journey I’ve been on ever since.

If reading homoerotic wrestling fiction strokes your pleasure zones the way it does mine, please feel free to check out “Training Day” at Sidelineland Stories. You can also find the Will Strong origin story “Discovering Will” there, and if you poke around a bit, you can find quite a few other pieces of fiction, new and old. My celebrity homoerotic fiction archives, which most definitely owe their inception to John’s work back in the day, has it’s own site and lives within it’s own literary universe called the Producer’s Ring, which also includes a lot of stories I wrote over a decade ago, as well as some sensationally hot new pieces AR and I have written over the past year and a half. Read and get turned on, if it works that way for you the way it does for me. And if you write homoerotic wrestling fiction, let me know! I always enjoy discovering new authors and happy to promo your work here.