There are some holds, some moves, some moments in homoerotic wrestling that are a sure bet to make me gasp a little and set off fireworks in my brain. I frequently mention my adoration of a beautifully executed OTK, for example. The position of the bodies, the contrast of powerful control and total vulnerability… hot, hot, hot every time. Another hold that regularly strokes my lusts with extra friction and speed is the standing headscissors.
Bulldog Barzini crushes Jeremy Burk’s skull between his thighs in BG East’s Catch-Weight 1.
There’s a lot to enjoy about a standing headscissors. The hold gives the hunk in charge the opportunity to display his upper body for adoration while his lower body bears down on the noggin trapped between his thighs. A dominating, powerful, beautiful body on display, as if he’s not in the ring but shooting a double bi for the bodybuilding competition judges, turns my crank hard.
Unquestionably value added from this hold is the narrative. There’s a strong can’t-be-bothered subtext about a sweet standing headscissors that absolutely electrifies me. It’s as if the upright stud is saying (and sometimes, he actually does say) I’m so in control of you that I can make you suffer helplessly by just standing here. Just a flex of those quads, a shift of muscle barely noticeable from a distance, and the boy in charge captures his prey and makes him wail. The hold communicates that cocky, told-you-so, you-should-be-humiliated-by-how-helpless-you-are story that, little wonder, speaks to the very heart of my homoerotic wrestling kink.
BBW applies a faceclaw to a totally crushed Dino Serra in Squared Circle IV, not because he needs to, but just because it’s so fucking hot!
Of course, I enjoy it when the hunk bearing down does bother enough to tear himself away from gloating and flexing and preening to rub in the total control and humiliation he owns in this moment. A completely unnecessary claw to the face, for example. Yanking on the poor fucker’s ears or hair, cinching his head up nice and tight, pressed against his new owner’s balls… that’s the ticket!
Look, Ma, no hands! Jonny Firestorm crushes Andy Hammer in body and soul in BG East’s Jobberpaloozer 8.
The standing headscissors seems to me to never be about what it takes to best an opponent. Guys don’t pull this one out of their quiver in a flurry of moves and counter-moves, for the most part. This isn’t a competitive hold that brings an opponent to submission or pins his shoulders to the mat or even efficiently wears him down, nearly as much as it is a gloating, sadistic, exploitation of a groveling challenger who’s already been beaten down to size. The standing headscissors seems to me to logically appear in the chain of the well-told homoerotic wrestling story right after the tide-turning offensive maneuver, but a few moves before the stick-a-fork-in-it-you’re-done-mother-fucker finisher.
Dante Rosetti’s gargantuan thighs say, “Welcome to your new home,” to Barry Longshaw’s skull in BG East’s Fantasymen 9.
My personal infatuation with the standing headscissors was featured in one of my favorite pieces of celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction from my collection, the Producer’s Ring. The match pits Scottish bull Gerard Butler out to wipe the smirk off the face of English beefcake, Sean Maguire, after Sean’s sweetly humiliating parody of Gerard’s muscle-fantasy performance in the movie 300.
Which naked hunk grinds out a standing headscissors? Gerard Butler on the left (scene from “300”), or Sean Maguire on the right (scene from 300 parody “Meet the Spartans”)?
Again, the scenario is precisely after the tide-turner, before the official end of the match. Spectacularly muscled Gerard (damn, I love his body!) has been crushed (starting with his scrotum), and terrorized into total submission. Smart-ass hottie Sean verbally commands the groveling Scot to willingly shove his head in between Sean’s thighs. There’s a moment’s pause, but Gerard has been laid waste by this point. In a moment of complete submission, on his knees, he slides his head in, and Sean proceeds to crush, nearly rips Gerard’s massive shoulders out of their sockets, and then pumps out a two-fisted orgasm, slathering the Scot’s wide, rippled back in cum. Yeah, that’s pretty much how that fantasy rolls…
Muscle fantasyman Wade Cutler gets milked dry trapped in an exquisitely beautiful standing headscissors by Nick Caruso in BG East’s Hard Pros 6.
Not long ago, in one of those nervous, self-concious, try-not-to-appear-criminally-obsessed moments, I wrote a personal note to encourage one of my top currently competing homoerotic wrestling infatuations to keep a standing headscissors in mind when he’s called up for another match. He promised me he’d take it under advisement. For my tastes, it’s underused, and some wrestlers can tell that story of total domination and barely-need-to-lift-my-finger-to-fuck-you-over narrative so, so well. My eyes are peeled, because just thinking about a standing headscissors is making me sweat!
It’s that time of year again. Once again, football fever has struck. This is my second autumn living somewhere that’s truly fanatical about football. I mean, some people should really be embarrassed (but they aren’t). I’m reminded frequently of the close association between masculinity and this particular sport in American culture, because football leaves me limp. My inability to care to express an opinion about the most recent game in casual conversation with coworkers invariably earns me askance glances and shrugged shoulders, and I never fail to feel like my “manliness” just took a hit. Honestly, for various reasons I’ve watched plenty of football at the high school, collegiate, and professional levels. I’ve felt the crowd-think as the stands erupt in roars of excitement or nearly rush the field with righteous indignation at a blown call. But it doesn’t move me, and I haven’t watched a game in at least a decade.
Looks like a viking god, but Clay Matthews is a massive Packer.
I can understand why a lot of gay men are fully on board with football. Certain playing positions tend to produce hardbodied hunks who can easily star in erotic fantasies. And, for that matter, other positions that tend to produce less hardbodies certainly have an appeal to those into bellies and something to grab hold of. Of course, the uniforms pretty much guarantee that football bodies are both covered and their proportions disguised beneath mountains of protective gear. Stunningly hot bodies that we almost never get to see? I can’t say I get so fired up about that scenario.
Jordy Nelson’s ass could almost make me watch a game.
I do admit that there are some sweetly provocative moments in football, mind you. The huddle, as sweaty, fierce gladiators wrap their arms around one another and psych each other up to crush the other side. The pile on tackle, as muscled men make a mountain out of their assembled bodies stacked on top of the other. The moments of ferocity, the expressions of primal rage, bruised egos, taunting trash talk… sure, I get that. But 9 minutes of standing around for every 1 minute of game play!? Puh-lease.
Sans padding, and a football player could definitely hold my attention.
Of course, fans of Can-Am’s “Football Fracas” classic can attest that football doesn’t have to be such a ploddingly ponderous, padded affair. More skin alone would instantly make me give a shit.
Quarterbacks taking the time to admire the view before the snap… that’s football that I could get into.
The explicit acknowledgement that pounding muscled bodies into one another possesses inherently erotic subtext would get my ass on the couch on a Sunday afternoon from time to time. Put on a little boom-chicka-boom soundtrack and slow it down to half-speed, and there’s no sane person on the planet who could deny that football is punctuated by tons of incredibly intimate moments.
Scoring the kind of points I want to see!
Add a rip-n-strip angle here, and I wouldn’t resent the hardbodied athletes showing up all covered in outsized jerseys and plastic pads. Because assigning points for ripping that shit off would make this more of a full-contact male-revue, and, sure, I’d buy that morning, noon and night!
Now that’s a tackle he’ll remember!
But honestly, tinkering with the gear won’t stroke me the right way until all of that muscle pounding, head-to-head aggression is unleashed, and tackles turn into submission wrestling. The restrained chaos, the constrained primal man who releases his foe at the sound of a whistle like a trained dog… what the fuck is that!? They want to pound muscles and crush one another, let them go at it, for god’s sake!
Eat turf, bitch.
Let’s see those muscles flexing, the nostrils flaring, the will to dominate burst the flood gates into full on public humiliation! Stuff his mouth with grass! Slap his flexed ass! Grab his balls to turn the tables!
So in control, he can take a water break.
This isn’t real, channeled physical aggression and man-on-man sport until asses are slapped (in domination), faces are sat on, and losers are wailing and weeping and begging for mercy.
Football done right.
Unleash the beasts and let this shit get real, or stop giving me those looks like I’m so nelly because I don’t care about whether some completely covered, indistinguishable hunk-or-chunk-I-can’t-tell touched his knee ever so slightly to the ground so that even on instant replay (viewed for another 10 minutes), it’s hard to tell for certain.
Yeah. I could be a football fanatic, but truth be told, only if it was a whole lot more like homoerotic wrestling.
It’s been a couple months now, but I’m just now finding some time to talk about a Rock Hard Wrestling match from this summer that got my engine revving. Billed as “Picture Perfect Muscle Match,” the foursome squeezed into the RHW ring epitomize the founding charter of RHW, featuring “rock hard bodies, fitness model looks, and skilled athletic abilities.” The formula is pristine, the messaging crystal clear, and the execution perfectly on mark. But the little moments of added value are what make me take the most delight in this tag team melee.
Brian Baker goes for a ride in Brodie Fisher’s arms, as constant trash talker Josh Steel mouths off to Alex Waters in the opposite corner.
First, the explicit heel-team of this confrontation: Josh Steel and Brian Baker. They’re contemptuous, smirking, sneering muscleboys with badboy ink and dominating size. Josh’s ass is as mouthwatering as ever, suction-packed beautifully in his white trunks. Brian, the “jolly green giant” as their opponents call him, is stunningly beautiful at 6’4″ and 205 pounds. They perch in their corner making fun of their shorter opponents before the match begins, clearly not impressed with the show of muscle and strength the babyfaces across the ring demonstrate as they warm up. “It’s not just show!” Brodie shouts angrily. “We got a lot of go, too!” Smart ass Josh puts his hand to his ear and looks confused. “Sorry, I can’t hear you with all that Canada in your mouth,” he taunts, making fun of the Canuck’s accent.
Alex Waters takes a moment to savor his opponent’s suffering as Brodie Fisher eggs Alex on from the ring apron.
Their opponents are a vision of earnestness, muscles pumped, bodies bronzed, matching singlets with straps pulled down to show off the rippling torsos. Two classic babyface beauties so similar in size and build they could easily pass for a brother act. Brodie Fisher is the anchor, clearly in charge, calling the shots, and setting the pace. Alex Waters isn’t far behind, however. Not quite as profuse a trash talker as Brodie, he is nevertheless quite a nice bookend for this fratboy, babyface tag team pairing. They are full of mutual appreciation for each other, as evidenced by their insistence on using their iphones to snap shots of each other posing before the match, showing off their beautifully pumped muscles in preparation for victory. The fact that they snap each other’s photos with their own phones (Brodie capturing Alex’ flexing muscles in his photo gallery, and vice versa) tweaks my kink a bit, with the suggestion that they each want a souvenir shot of the other.
Heels do what heels do best.
Again, the formula is incredibly sweet. The bodies are simply stunning to watch, everyone getting his turn suffering a double team, beautiful bodies brutalized, muscles dominated. Sneering Josh and Brian prove early that they’re more than ready to take short cuts and exploit “the rules,” with giant Brian trapping Alex in the ropes for Josh to pound the shit out of his abs with fists, stomps, and a head butt. The babyface heroes call them “cheaters,” but we didn’t need the scripting there. They’re both bigger and more lowdown than the fratboys, meaning the babyface heroes are going to be faced with a moment of truth. Climb down in the muck with them, or get seriously fucked up.
Babyface fratboys aren’t afraid to cut corners to level the playing field.
The babyface beauties don’t really require a lot of coaxing really. They restrain themselves from double teaming very early on, but once the heels open the door, the fratboys rush into rule bending territory quickly. Consummate trashtalker Josh gets most of the double teaming, because that smart mouth (and luscious ass) demand the focused attention from the wonder twins. Gorgeous giant Brian, on the other hand, just gets brutalized straight up, little double-teaming required. He’s fucking slow on his feet, and both Brodie and Alex make mincemeat out of this side of beef. He’s slammed to his back about 3 dozens times, but it’s the scoop up in the arms that makes me gasp most. Seeing a 6’4″ hunk hoisted helplessly in the air and paraded about the ring by guys literally half a foot shorter is an incredible display of musclehunk domination. Flop-haired towering beauty Brian is fucking lucky to have vicious little viper Josh in his corner, because Brian gets singlehandedly (then a double team, just to rub it in) owned by the wonder twins.
Collecting trophies.
When Brodie buttons up big Brian in a kneeling surfboard for the first fall submission, here’s where the value added components start to add up quickly for me. In their respective corners, Alex taunts notorious trashtalker Josh. “You like that shit!?” he asks Josh. “You like your partner getting his ass kicked?!” Josh is incensed, barking back, “Why don’t you come over here and talk to me!?” Brodie clearly likes that shit, because he barks at his Alex to grab an iphone and capture Brian’s moment of humiliation on camera. Brian gives, but it won’t count until Alex has snapped the moment the words are spoken. All that mighty muscle is stretched out, locked up, and forced to suffer, and Brodie wants to capture forever his handiwork. He clearly wants to come back to this moment later, and soak in the sight of what he’s done to the once smirking skyscraper. Brutalized and humiliated, Brian has no choice. He gives on command, with the camera snapping it up for Brodie to savor later.
Smile for the camera, bitch!
This is not a squash, by any means. There’s just too much muscle and athleticism for this to lean just one way. Big Brian is still learning how to capitalize on this insanely long limbs, but he gets in a few hot moments of fratboy beatdown. Josh is the steam engine on the heel side of things, though, instantly grabbing momentum with both hands every time he’s tagged in. But the collegiate standouts from Wrestle U. have got the taste for short cuts on the way to muscle domination, and slowly but surely the tide turns their way. Josh takes a dump truck full of abuse for all that trash talk, all those sneers, all the insults and slights and laughter. Alex ties him up in a crucifix across his back, leaving Josh’s pornstar quality muscled torso stretched out like a turkey ready for carving. Brodie is clearly so turned on by the sight that he, once again, insists on capturing the moment on his iphone. The once smirking muscle stud badass wails out his submission, and all Brodie can think is to capture precisely that moment on camera to be able to come back again and again and roll around the taste of total victory in his mouth.
That’s right, heels crushed in two straight totally humiliating submissions with the handsome fratboys snagging trophies of their victory to take home with them. Holy fuck! Babyface retribution, heroes dabbling on the dark side, the insistence on claiming personal momentos to savor their muscle domination over smart ass bullies… damn, yes! Wonder twin powers, activate!
I’m still catching up from life outside of neverland, so excuse me for being a half a month late in anointing a new slice of beef as my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month. Being out of the country for half of August made it a stretch for me to do my due diligence in sampling the latest fare of homoerotic wrestling dished up during that month. But squeezed in nice and tight between a couple of major project deadlines, I managed to get a good taste of the fine new harvest of late summer 2013 homoerotic wrestling releases. There’s an avalanche of muscle mass barreling down hill and crushing another massive muscle beast would-be rival, and that avalanche is my August 2013 homoerotic wrestler of the month…
Naked Kombat’s August 21, 2013 New Release: Jessie “Cut-Throat” Colter v Marcus “Titan” Ruhl
Marcus has grabbed my attention with both hands and shoved his mountainous muscles in my face before, but he had his massive, burly body shoved into the back seat in past competitions for HWOTM. Not this time, my friends. No fucking way. His appearance in the NK summer tournament on August 21 had me toweling off before I could manage to log-in. His opponent, “Cut-Throat,” looks damn fine as well. On any other day, he’d be a top contender himself with that mouth and those shoulders alone. But the fates cursed Jessie to show up to battle his way to the next round of competition against a truly phenomenal force of nature, aptly named “Titan.”
Suck on that, Titan!
Jessie’s a massive hunk of muscle himself, which helps explain some fantastic offense he manages against the superhuman proportions and strength of Marcus. 6’2″, 200 pounds… no wonder he put the undefeated gladiator of my fantasies to his back and look damn fine doing it! Holy fuck, what it must feel like to even momentarily humble a mountain of a man like Marcus! “Yeah!” Jessie growls, pinning Titan’s head to the mat and grinding his crotch in Marcus’ face, “Come on big guy, huh!?” Jessie taunts. There’a break in the action not five minutes in because Jessie gives Marcus a dizzying elbow to the face.
Shooting daggers! Look at that intensity!
I pop my cork anytime a couple of big, powerful muscleboys tell the story of rock-meeting-hard-place, convincing me that they’re just too fucking big to ever have really been tested before, so they’re seriously fired up to be tested now. When big Marcus is letting his weight advantage tire his opponent out squirming underneath him, Jessie’s upper lip curls in rage and he kicks Marcus away, growing, “Get off me, you big son of a bitch!” The intensity is erotic gold. Psyching up, psyching out, staring down… there’s some seriously primal stuff here with two alpha boys lighting it up when nobody is about to roll over and take it easy.
Titan humbled!? That’s a lot of man pinning the back of Marcus’ throat to the mat!
Overwhelming power humbled is an intoxicating sight to see, and the moments that big Jessie is owning the Titan’s body, I’m drunk off my ass! Even for powerhouses like these two are, there are moments when hauling each other across the mat absolutely wipes them out, neither side of beef able to pry his gorgeous ass up to keep battling. In the post-match testimonial, Jessie cannot emphasize the point enough that, despite the fact that he knew Marcus before hand, that he understood exactly how huge Marcus is, he was simply unprepared for the physical demands of trying to climb on top and ride the Titan for 3 whole rounds.
Jessie Coulter senses the reckoning on its way, as Marcus starts to bear down on the would be Titan-topper.
As with every match that Marcus has captivated me in, there are just so many “Oh shit!” moments in the match, where all that muscle flexes and bodies fly. Watch Marcus in the post-match testimonials, and you’d think this kid was the easiest going teddy bear on the planet. Watch him latch those gargantuan arms around Jessie and throw a 6’2″, 200 pound man around like a rag doll, and you might still be thinking “bear,” but there’s nothing soft and cuddly that comes to mind.
Crushed.
There’s so much about Marcus that moves me in the match, but I’ll say again what I’ve said before: his thighs are unbelievably huge and insanely powerful. Part of the spell I fall under watching Marcus completely crush Jessie like a fucking grape is the contrast. On the one hand, Marcus Ruhl is unquestionably pretty. I mean, think disarmingly handsome Clark Kent. Neck up, and I’ll say it to his face: Mr. Ruhl you are a prettyboy! But that prettypretty face sits atop a telephone pole of a neck and one of the most beastly hot bodies I’ve seen in homoerotic wrestling. Calling that body “pretty” would be insane. Like, I’d beat Marcus to the punch to slap the stupid out of whatever dumbass thought to classify his physique as pretty. The hairy chest, the meaty, convex gut/belly, the dimpled ass cheeks, each thigh about double the combined circumference of Skip Vance and Christian Taylor’s waists. When he walks, flesh jiggles a moment before he flexes and everything flashes hard as a rock. This is not the typical pornboy body, not a common homoerotic wrestling physique (though I think it ought to be). The man is a series of contradictions, each one turning me on harder and making him completely captivate me when he does what he does best, crush an opponent.
Round 4: Titan’s Rules
Marcus Ruhl pounds out a hard fought victory over stunned beefcake Jessie Coulter. Here’s where NK typically travels down less than a handful of well-worn paths, as the fuck-stakes wrestling reaches the stakes-stage. Always, there’s forced cock-sucking as the winner taunts and humiliates his trophy, before plowing his ass. There is almost always one, rarely two gratuitous expressions of dominating humiliation thrown in at some point, typically sandwiched right in between the cock sucking and ass fucking. Said expressions typically come in just a few flavors: over-the-knee ass slapping, pony riding, the occasional forced muscle worship. But a few NK boys distinguish themselves by doing something that no one else really pulls off. For example, Rusty Stevens arm bar/leg scissors choke toying with Tommy Defendi, commanding him to stroke himself to the edge of orgasm and then denying it, while Rusty beats his own out with the thrill of it. Marcus immediately hoists Jessie up over one shoulder and walks around the mat, slapping that completely vulnerable and gorgeous ass beet red in a show of total ownership. A hardbodied 200 pound beefcake like Jessie so totally controlled and humiliated is so incredibly awesome!
A regular reader pointed out to me a couple of days ago that there’s an industry-wide crisis that’s hit Naked Kombat along with everyone else in porn, as taping has stopped after the disclosure of at least 2 or 3 porn stars (across the whole industry, including Rod Daily from an earlier NK tournament bout) have tested HIV positive. Fuck! Safe sex is, of course, not 100%, but I do believe that everyone in the sex industry should be absolute masters at protecting themselves (no judgment here, just a hope that there’s a path for porn to stay safe). I hope there’s a future for NK to finish this tournament, talented stars to make their living, and everyone to stay safe and healthy. In the mean time, I want to go on record that no one in homoerotic wrestling worked me harder than a hardbodied pornboy named Marcus Ruhl, plowing his way through the competition to deserve an appearance in the semi-finals and absolutely earning my unofficial title as Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month.
Perhaps the defining difference between homoerotic wrestling and straightforward porn is the context (or pretense) of competition. I own exactly 3 porn products that contain no wrestling. I own about 180 homoerotic wrestling products, some of which contain fucking and some of which don’t. That pretty much paints by numbers where I stand with regard to what turns me on hardest. The one criticism I would level at most of the porn companies that have dabbled in wrestling themed products is precisely the same thing: they appreciate and spotlight far too little the element of competition in their race to get to the fucking. Domination, humiliation, control, ownership… these words densely populate the pages of neverland because I key off of that aspect of homoerotic wrestling that sucks me in with the drama of sport, the suspense of competition, and the explicit reference to the struggle for carnal domination. Without it, or for whatever reason without enough of it, and I’ll hit that maybe two or three times in the average year. With it, and I’m grabbing hold with both hands, oh, let’s say 3 times a day.
Naked Kombat’s Rod Daily puts his would-be rival in his place!
So when I noticed that Naked Kombat was advertising new matches starting in mid-August as elimination matches in a 10-man pornboy tournament, I was immediately extra-attentive! Neverland readers know full well the extensive role that a single-elimination wrestling tournament can have on my homoerotic imagination. Competition, domination, control, winners becoming losers, beasts humbled… fuck, yes. With that in mind, I want to catch us all up on exactly what we know so far in the NK 10-man “Kombatant Tournment.”
Rod “the Real Deal” Daily mounts Tyler “the Assassin” Alexander – Naked Kombat August 14, 2013.
First of all, the brackets make no sense to me whatsoever, so we’re just going to roll with it and see if NK can see the through-story to the end. The first match pitted triathlon lean-meat Tyler “the Assassin” Alexander against raging bull beefcake Rod “the Real Deal” Daily. On face validity, I’d have said there’s no way that the Real Deal wasn’t going to carve up the Assassin for lunch and eat him raw. The bouncing pecs, the massive thighs, those tats, that Mohawk… I’ve most definitely pulled for a catchweight upender, with a little guy humbling his bigger opponent, but this time, I have to say I was pulling really hard for (on my) Rod. The final score was much closer than I’d have guessed it would turn out, but after 3 rounds and 30 minutes of kombat, it was a Blue: 31, Red: 24 spread, with Rod winning the day. The fact that this was not the squash I expected pleases me immensely.
Marcus “Titan” Rule drives home his domination of Jessie “Cut-Throat” Colter.
A week later, the second match in the tourney featured a huge, huge, huge infatuation that I’ve talked about before, 5’11”, 210 pound Marcus “Titan” Ruhl. That’s all you needed to say for me to do two things. 1) Drop down a wager on the telephone poles that Titan calls his thighs and cock, and 2) pound one out in nothing but anticipation. Jessie’s a big, strong motherfucker, mind you, and I love his look, but there was more than a sense of “of course” about it when the final score was Blue:23, Red:37, with Marcus Ruhl yet again on top, in charge, and riding that train to victory.
Randall “the Rock” O’Reilly has Bryan “the Constrictor” Cole precisely where he wants him.
Week 3of the tourney introduced me to two new lean pornboys, Randall “the Rock” O’Reilly and Bryan “the Constrictor” Cole. First blush, the Constrictor looks a little terrified and the Rock strikes me as a once-nelly-boy turned still-nelly-but-will-kick-your-ass wrestler. My knee jerk conclusion, go Rock!!! Tale of the tape after 3 rounds of elimination tournament competition? Blue: 20 points, Red: 29 points. Nelly-boy-goes-bully Randall delivers my satisfaction with my guilty pleasure: the cock-tuck pony ride!
Doug “the Destroyer” Acre knows how to keep a big man (Alex “the Axe” Axel) down!
OKay, that’s 6 of that 10-man elimination tourney accounted for. However, week 4 of the tourney and suddenly NK says this is the final elimination round. The aforementioned bewildering brackets show two beats mentioned here before, Hayden Richards and Landon Conrad, seemingly waiting like spiders for the semi-finals, which I have no idea how that makes sense. An 8-man tournament has better mathematical properties anyway, so either way, I’m not worried. Worried, however, is the look on 5’10”, 180 lbs. Alex “the Axe” Adams’ face as he stares down at little 5’6″, 150 lbs. Doug “the Destroyer” Acre. Perhaps it’s little wonder, since Alex has tasted defeat three times in a row at NK, and little Doug is undefeated. Blue: 36, Red: 25, Doug extends his undefeated streak by easily crushing a much bigger opponent!
So if the brackets are indicative of what actually unfolds, I’m guessing that Randy “the Rock” O’Reilly and Rod “Real Deal” Daily will go cock-to-cock in the next round, leaving Marcus “Titan” Ruhl and Doug “Giant Killer” Acre (yeah, I’ve redubbed him) to square off. I’m predicting Rod comes out way on top, with 30 pounds of low-slung beef advantage being far too much for nelly-boy-bully Randall to overcome. I also predict Randall loves every second of it. The real match of this tourney, by far, I think, is the giant killer versus the giant. Doug Acre is a fucking mat master! Holy shit, he can work a big man hard, and there’s just about none bigger than Titan. I’m seriously torn here, because I can easily see either of these men plowing the other by the end of the day. But a 60 pound differential!? Holy shit, that sounds completely impossible, and just to put myself way out there on a limb, I’m still going to call it. 150 pound Doug Acre beats 210 Marcus Ruhl. That’s my prediction. And should that happen, a still of Doug fucking previously undefeated Titan into a dripping pool of sweat and cum will be guaranteed to be my next screensaver!
Whoever makes it that far, Hayden Richards is going to fuck. You. Up.
The brackets suggest that the winner of the Daily/O’Reilly match will face Hayden Richards, to which I say good-fucking-luck Rod. Hayden is a fucking badger, and you’re going to be little more than an appetizer.
Put Doug Acre underneath Landon Conrad, and let’s see what the giant killer can do with that staring him in the face!
And, if I’m reading this correctly, the winner of Ruhl v Acre will go against golden god Landon Conrad. In which case, having predicted that Conrad’s two-time nemesis Titan is knocked out before this point, I think Doug Acre could have run his luck to it’s natural end right around the time that Landon is oiling up that jackhammer and pounding the would-be giant killer’s hole, with every humiliated big man Doug’s owned on the sideline cheering him on.
Finally, the brackets may be suggesting that the tourney final match is not a singles competition at all, which seems a little silly to me. However, the promise of Hayden Richards having owned, then tag teaming with Rod Daily and competing against the team of Conrad and Acre is an incredibly sweet possibility. If I were batting 1000 by this point, then I’m giving the tag team climax without a doubt to Conrad/Acre, hands down. Rod’s the weak link, and Doug would tip the scales between Hayden and Landon their way.
I am a little dehydrated, just discussing the brackets. Homoerotic wrestling needs more of this!
I just turned in a project that was on a deadline, so I’m back to add to my collection of thoughts about what’s turned me on lately. The truly epic moment of seeing Michael C. Hall’s naked ass in Dexter this season has been a recurring fantasy image that wakes me up at night (needing to pound one out before I can possibly go back to sleep). The other, less freakishly rare, but nearly as thrilling subscription eye candy that’s fueled my homoerotic wrestling imagination was from the final episode of True Blood just a few weeks ago, featuring none other than my #1 Swedish infatuation (believe me, there are many lined up behind him), Alexander Skarsgård, capping off the season with not only his beautiful, long body completely naked, but some honest to god full frontal Swedish sausage!
I won’t bother you with the details of why Alexander’s character is sunning naked on a lounge chair in the middle of a glacier in Åre, Sverige. You either care enough about that sort of back story to have watched, or you’re still reading this for the sole reason that I mentioned full frontal Alexander Skarsgård. There are even a few of you, I know, who are only familiar with this gorgeous descendant of vikings from his appearances in my celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction, where, by the way, he’s undefeated and continuing to strike stark terror in potential celebrity wrestling opponents after nearly castrating Ashton Kutcher in the ring. Good times!
Alexander also completely dominated in a private mat-match first authored by another reader/writer who joined me in co-authoring a couple of my favorite Producer’s Ring matches, Swito. Swito brought the heat, as well as the svenska-cred to that match, in which Alexander used those long, luscious, alabaster limbs to squeeze, pummel, and corporally terrorize that fucking cocky Australian it-boy, Chris Hemsworth, for daring to try out for, much less accept the role of Viking god/superhero Thor for the big screen. You’d think the Aussie beefcake would have toned down his shit after that humiliation, but Producer’s Ring readers know that wasn’t the case.
I never really doubted it, but apparently the producer of True Blood had to issue a statement after this cliffhanger shot of Alexander’s naked cock bursting into flames (I’ve got a lotion for that, Alex!) to assure fans that his character is, indeed, returning as a regular in the next and final season of the series’ next go-round. Like teasing us with that cock and then ripping him away from us was an option. TB producers clearly know better. And so do I, because one of these days I’m getting my ass back to the keyboard for more Producer’s Ring matches, and I guaran-fucking-tee you that a certain juggernaut expert in cock torture and merciless ring destruction will also be returning to my homoerotic wrestling imagination.
I’ve said it before many times. I’ll say it again. Best god damned casting director in the history of television. And I’ve got so, so much love for a blond, Swedish beefcake who shows his cock for the rabid TB fans who are fanatical for the show for precisely this Dark-Shadows-meets-softcore-porn element.
This is the only point of reference I care to have for Miley Cyrus.
I did not watch the MTV Awards, so somehow I feel like I should be entitled not to be subjected to the constant bombardment of commentary and judgment of them that I see from every news outlet that I visit. My only, and I mean ONLY point of reference for giving the smallest shit possible about Miley Cyrus is that she is/was/pretended to be at some point engaged to Aussie body beautiful Liam Hemsworth, who appeared in the most recent addition to my celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction universe, Producer’s Ring, in which Liam battled nasty and naked against big (BIG!) brother Chris. Way, way, way back there in the chain of associations there’s someone I seriously could not pick out of a lineup who goes by the name Miley Cyrus. That’s all I want to know about her. She has zero further importance to me, other than that I must cut her out of my Aussie brother fuck-fantasies and insert myself, pasted directly between the embattled muscle bodies of Liam and Chris. Period. Seriously people. Move on.
Now if JT strips and dirty dances, that should be televised non-stop for weeks.
Speaking of moving on, I give a slightly bigger shit to the news I saw that the MTV Awards provided the setting for NSync to get back for about two blinks of an eye. Sure, I got hot and sweaty over them when they were barely legal, but more importantly in my erotic fantasy life, Justin Timberlake starred in an all-star, three-way erotic combat fantasy match in the Producer’s Ring against both Ryan Reynolds and Bradley Cooper. For those familiar with Producer’s Ring, it was a Focus Group match (as was the Hemsworth v Hemsworth beatdown), which means the boys battled it out in a gay bathhouse fight-pit wearing, at least to start, nothing but terrycloth. Yeah, somehow I feel a little dirty and a little shallow admitting that Timberlake was polishing me off long before he and his personal trainer carved that hardbodied torso he likes to show off when he’s moonlighting as an actor. I’m okay with it, though.
JC Chasez may not be dating Chace Crawford, but he is wrestling down and dirty in my homoerotic wrestling imagination.
But Justin is not the only NSync boy to make a satisfying appearance in my celebrity homoerotic wrestling fantasy fiction. JC Chasez sorted me out quite nicely when they were actually a boyband, and then he turned up just a couple of years ago climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination for a battle of the boyander resurrectionists, fighting for a second set of 15 minutes of fame against 98 Degrees pec-master, Jeff Timmons. I swear to Neptune that then and now I’d kick Nick Lachey to the curb in an instant for a naked romp with Timmons. The Chasez v Timmons ring match was seriously ugly, permitting me to sort out seriously guilty vices from a decade earlier when I crushed, in shameful silence, on boybanders-who-should-wrestle.
This is precisely how I imagine Jeff Timmons looks after a seriously brutal, no-holds-barred homoerotic wrestling beatdown in the ring.
I saw the news today that Timmons is back to tempt me into further flights of erotic fantasy, hosting a new stage show called the Men of the Strip, putting his Chippendales stintto good use by stripping down alongside eight other hardbodied hotties and teasing audiences to as much sexual arousal as they can legally experience in public (it is Nevada, after all).
Jeff Timmons is screaming for a face-sitting pec claw!
I’m lighting some sage and placing a shot of JD at an altar to the gods of homoerotic wrestling, praying for Men of the Strip to morph into a reality television series in which the strippers compete in a single elimination tournament of professional style homoerotic rip n’ strip wrestling in front of a live audience of unbuttoned gay men (I’ve got my seat reserved in the front row). It’s my wrestling fantasy, so I get to make the rules, and they’re simple. Single elimination, pinfall or submission, the eight d-listers pound it out in quarter finals, semis, and then finals to decide which hardbodied fantasyman gets to face Timmon’s nipples for the grand prize of being a backup dancer for a Timberlake music video. Please, oh please gods of homoerotic wrestling, hear my plea…
Which also-ran do you think would pound his way to the top of the heap, and could he take Sweet as Sugar Timmons for his shot working Timberlake from behind? Here are the Men of the Strip that caught my eye as contenders…
Joel Sajion is said to be a Latin soap star… I say he’s got the ammo for a fantastically brutal side headlock.Nate Estimada is billed as a pro wrestler wannabe, meaning he’s got the inside track on a potential pec-to-pec bearhug contest with Timmons.Chris Boudreaux is said to be a former football star (don’t ask me) who looks so, so pretty… but I think he’d have strong potential for a nasty, narcissistic heel.Dwayne Baldwin is apparently a fitness trainer, but those bedroom eyes convince me he’d be a serious contender for distracting an opponent with a come-and-fuck-me gaze.UFC fighter Charles Dera could easily bring the goods to blow the competition clean out of the ring with high impact strikes and stomps.Kyle Efthemes is described simply as a veteran Vegas stage performer, but I’m having a hard time picturing any homoerotic opponent not popping his cork the moment he gets his hands on Kyle’s insanely proportioned fantasy physique!
Bard: Thanks for making time to chat with me today, Morgan. You seem like a busy guy. I’m seeing you in a lot of wrestling products!
Morgan: Yeah, been a busy a few weeks orienting new talent filming seasons 5 and 6 at MDW, as well as work on a superhero season, and of course I have spent a fair amountof time down at BGE.
Bard: You all are already producing season 6!? Season 5 just came out! Damn, you are busy! I’ve been seriously enjoying some of that new talent MDW has been getting their hands on lately. Tidus, Rodriguez, beefy boys in need of getting a beatdown. What do you do to “orient” fresh meat?
Morgan: Glad you like the new boys. These guys did not need much of a training session; they got in the ring ready to wrestle! Rodriguez in particular is going to be a damn fine talent. When a new guy comes in, though, the procedure is to have them spend time watching myself or Muscle Master Kevin wrestle a couple of matches so there are noquestions as to what is off limits. [laughing] All reservations quickly fly out the window using this method. Once they feel comfortable in that regard we set ’em loose.
Morgan tenderized fresh beef back in MDW Season 2, breaking in Mateus Shogun in Meaty Muscle Massacre.
Bard: Voyeur first, then climb in and go at it? I like it. I like it a lot. I want to ask you more about other wrestlers and about the companies you’ve wrestled for, but first let me ask more about Morgan the Mastodon Cruise. It seems to me like you’ve gone from a rookie to a seasoned heel in the blink of an eye. To what do you owe your success as a terrifying force ofdestruction in the homoerotic wrestling universe?
Morgan: I take full credit for in my in ring prowess! [laughing] But in all seriousness, I have been a wrestling fan for as long as I can remember, and when I got to BG East for the first timeit was like a dream. I learned a lot from my first match with Lon Dumont – it was kind of like, “Oh, this is what I am going to be doing? Hell, yeah!”
Morgan learned the ropes at the mercy of indy pro veteran and competitive bodybuilder, Lon Dumont, in BG East’sRookie Wreckers.
Bard: That was a monumental match with Lon. I’m a huge, huge, huge fan of his, and I go back to that match often. I had a strong feeling even then that with a little “orienting” from an indy pro veteran like Lon, you were going to be a force to be reckoned with. What would you say is the most devastating hold in your arsenal at this point in your career?
Morgan bearhugs Lon Dumont in Rookie Wreckers.
Morgan: Interesting, well that match was all about the bearhug; I bearhugged Lon; he bearhugged me; and I definitely have to put that one high up on the list. But as far as my most devastating hold, the torture rack has to take the cake
Bard: Fuck. Yes. Hoist an opponent up across those big broad shoulders of yours and make them scream. I’ll be in the front row every time. I know what a move like that does for me as I watch you completely dominate a sorry bastard totally off his feet and under your control. What’s the experience like for you?
Morgan racks the hell out of Christian Taylor, humiliating him in front of Christian’s lover, Skip Vance, in BG East’s Tag Team Torture 16.
Morgan: I am always surprised at how easy it is to throw an opponent up there and secure them by their neck and balls. Once they are on my shoulders and I am cranking down, they have no choice but to submit. It is the perfect chance to run my mouth, make them say whatever I want. It is complete control.
Bard: Complete control. That’s what it looks like on this end, too. I hope you don’t mind if I ask about your body, because I’d swear it’s straight out of some of my fondest erotic fantasies from watching old school 1980’s pro wrestling on television. Big, solid muscles, unapologetically hairy, liberally dowsed in sweat, built for function. How would you describe your physique?
Morgan’s opponents know what’s going down.
Morgan: I am THE hairy he-man. When my opponent comes to the ring and sees me standing across from them, they know what’s going down. My chest is the kryptonite of all men. When I wrestle, I sweat all over guys – always was a heavy perspirer. My bi’s are built tall and peaked; my back is the thickest out of any other wrestler; and I am secretly extremely athletic. Obviously you are not going to see me doing any dop-kicks or high flying moves, much too methodical for that, but letting everyone know now that I can bust any move out. I was built to wrestle.
Bard: Built to wrestle. Excellent summary, and I can’t agree more. So tell me some numbers, because I get off on numbers. What’s your height and weight right now?
Morgan: I’m 5’8, 175 pounds – had been dealing with a shoulder injury and was forced to lean out for quite some time, but now finally am back to my usual bulky self and packing on more muscle than ever.
Bard: How big are those mountainous peaks you call your upper arms?
Morgan: Last I measured, they were in the realm of 18.
Bard: Sweet. How far does the tape measure have to go to get around your pecs and that thickest-of-all-upper-backs?
Morgan: [Laughing] Have not taken that measurement, but let me just say I have ripped a few shirts on the way on and off.
Bard: Damn, you need to get Kevin to grab that measurement… and send me a photo of him doing it. Waist?
Morgan: [Laughing] Good luck getting that photo. The boss is a busy man. My waist is 28 inches.
Bard: Thighs (including copious hair)?
Morgan: Measuring now…
Bard: Damn, I wish I were there to lend a hand with that….
Morgan: You are not the first. 26 inches.
Bard: But I promise, I’d be the best. Fantastic. No wonder opponent’s are weeping when you get those tree trunks wrapped around them. So in the “real” world, when guys are hittingon you, ’cause I know guys are hitting on you all the time, what’s the first compliment they’re giving you to start flirting?
The gaze draws people in.
Morgan: They try and guess the color of my eyes – first they say grey, then green, sometimes blue, ultimately concluding they are hazel. Either way it has always been my gaze that draws people in that is invariably where they start – then the bicep compliments start.
Bard: I could totally see that, though if you had your shirt unbuttoned, I’d have to make a comment about those hot hairy pecs. Coincidentally, I put “hazel” as my eye color on my driver’s license, just because no one can tell me a better description for my eye color, either. So back to wrestling, I’m of the opinion that you’ve moved the bar wherever you’ve wrestled. For example, at BG East, you’ve done some amazing work blending old school pro wrestling style with incredibly sexy, trunks off eroticism. And at Muscle Domination Wrestling, it seems to me you’ve been on the envelope pushing the explicit, full-frontal homoerotic combat angle. Do you think of yourself as a trailblazer?
Morgan wrestle raw against Tony Law.
Morgan: I ama stickler for wrestling logic. That is where the old school style comes in. If a move in a sequence is out of place it really bothers me. I religiously watch back all my matches to fill in the gaps, always thinking about what I could have done here or there. I own a very raw wrestling style which goes hand in hand with baring skin. My main objective at MDW was to incorporate skillful wrestling within the sub-dom framework. Originally Muscle Domination Wrestling utilized wrestling as a medium to explore different facets of domination. My job is bringing the product to a level where wrestling assumes its natural artful position while MDW expands its vision for alpha male conquest. Season 5marks the first huge strides towards this goal.
Bard: I’m thrilled to hear about that continuing evolution at MDW. And I like the word “raw” for your wrestling style. It’s raw, hardcore, in your face wrestling without losing an ounce of respect for the art and science of it. And I’m here to confess that watching you pound the shit out of some pretty, pretty boy turns me on… a lot. Is wrestling a turn on for you?
Morgan: Turn on, fulfillment, gratification… all those words are appropriate.
Bard: Nice to know that it works that way on your end. Speaking of you pounding the shit out of pretty boys, name some names for me. Do you have a favorite match so far in your career?
Morgan: Ah, always a tough question, picking my favorite, but to name a couple… One from BGE, one from MDW. I loved wrestling Diego Diaz. He was a really naturally talented guy. We had a great back and forth before I crushed my way to victory. Chemistry is just one of those things – until you are in the ring working off one another you just never know how a match will turn out, but right when we started and he responded to my shit-talk I knew we would have a good scrap. As for MDW, it has given me many chances to wrestle Tony Law. Myfirst filmed match with him was also at BGE, but since then we have faced each other more times than I can count, so we work very well together – no punches pulled, just intense grit. The most recent match we had was a celebration of our “rivalry,” the culmination of our many bouts – Tony’s final chance to get one over on a 60 minute straight-through Iron Man match. We filmed it all in one shot, non-stop action, and boy did it get sweaty – my favorite match from the new season 5 for sure.
Morgan digs deep into Tony’s pumped pecs in Morgan’s Spotlight Wrestler match.
Bard: Again, I’m a big fan of big, big, big Diego Diaz, and that chemistry you describe definitely comes through when watching that match. And I’m not surprised to hear Tony Law’s name pop up. By the law of averages, since you’ve beaten him so many times, it makes sense one of those times might be on your favorites list. I’ve seen your match with Tonyover at BG East, and again, the word “raw” comes to mind. The match description for this Iron Man match for MDW’s season 5 makes it sound as if Tony may have finally turned the tables on you this time around, which I for one find hard to believe. Anything more you can say about Iron Man and how you left Tony’s meaty ass when the 60 minutes were up?
Morgan leans into his longstanding rivalry with beefy farmboy, Tony Law
Morgan: Well, the Iron Man contest allows for multiple pins and submissions (not that any heel is going to stop at the first tap out anyway), so I will say that Tony had a lot of chance to make up for lost time. The man that walks away with the most victories at the hour’s end is declared the ultimate winner of the contest, so either we exchanged a few wins in a closely contested bout, or I kicked his ass for an hour straight, but you will have to watch it to find out.
Bard: Nicely teased. Damien Rush is another hot stud you’ve brutalized over and over from MDW to BG East and back again. The level of brutality and humiliation you’ve dragged him through is an astonishing body of work all on it’s own. I’ve got to hand it to the handsome hunk that he’s got some serious nerve climbing back into the ring again and again with you. You look like you could just about eat him for lunch, but I wonder if, at the end of the day, you walk away with respect for even the mewling, weeping opponents you leave crushed in the ring behind you, like hot hunk Damien.
Damien works up a sweat all over trashed boy toy, Damien Rush again and again.
Morgan: Damien is a hot-headed talent, and I do respect him, but at the end of the day I have job to do and that is putting everyone in their proper place beneath me the one true wrestling god. Now, if Mr. Rush wanted to admit that I am and always will be better than him in every way and wanted to form a tag team with me then I could really respect him.
… and again, and again the Mastodon works to teach Damien some respect.
Bard: Message sounds loud and clear to me. By the way, if you find yourself ripping Mr. Rush’s sweat-soaked trunks off his hot bod again, keep me in mind. I’ve got a trophy case with a spot reserved. Your most recent release for BG East featured you taking on both Christian Taylor and his notorious jobber boyfriend, Skip Vance at the same time in Tag Team Torture 16. I’ve only seen previews of the match so far, but it looks like you fucking own the both of them in body and soul. A boyfriend tag team beatdown is a long-standing pet erotic fantasy of mine. What was it like for you to not just work over another pretty boy like Christian, but to crush him in front of his anguished lover and then humiliate the both of them at the same time?
Morgan works his way underneath Skip’s skin by humiliating Skip’s lover inside the ring.
Morgan: Let me first say if you want Damien’s trunks you will have to peel them off his throat, but it is fine by me. Someone needs to do him the favor after my many mean encounters with him. Boyfriend Beatdown was exhilarating. While I owned Christian in the ring, Skip cheers on moral support from the much safer exterior of the ring. For the first time I was able to bash one hunk while taunting another. My game plan was of course to get both in the ring at once because obviously alone they are both squash material. Skip and I went back and forth for a good while before I got underneath his skin playing with his boyfriend in whichever way I wanted. Christian was no match for me and failed to save any face even with his boyfriend there cheering him on. I felt badly for him so it was only natural to provoke skip so his boyfriend could see that no one stands a chance against the Mastodon. Squashing both together was like playing god I was the ruler of their relationship; I was the master of all things private to them, it was Morgan Cruise who determined when and where they kissed along with other things.
Morgan has both Skip Vance and his lover Christian Taylor right where he wants them.
Bard: Holy shit, that’s hot. That match is officially next on my BG East order form. So here are a few stream of consciousness questions for you. Don’t think too long… just answer what comes first into your head. Okay?
Morgan: Sure.
Bard: Steak or seafood?
Morgan: Seafood.
Bard: Boxers or briefs?
Morgan: Neither.
Bard: [Laughing] Perfect. Legs or chest?
Morgan: Chest.
Bard: Scissor or bearhug?
Morgan: Bearhug.
Bard: Top or bottom?
Morgan: Top.
Bard: Of course. Country or rock?
Morgan: Metal.
Bard: Nice. So you’ve got a lot of fans, I’m sure you know. Watching you in the ring, however, you seem completely focused, like you don’t give a shit about anyone else, what anyone else thinks or wants. What do you make of the legions of Mastodon fans out there who can’t get enough of the magic that you make in the wrestling ring?
Morgan: The truth is that my namesake the Mastodon went extinct, but I am the perfect breed – an ever-evolving specimen, and that means listening to feedback and taking direction and criticism. I keep in close contact with my die hard fans, and they tell me what they like and what they do not. Luckily there is very little to not like. When I am in the ring I tap into the primal force that is the Mastodon, and everything else dissolves. My focus becomes how I want to break my opponent down and how to do it with precise logic and incomparable style.
Bard: Good to hear. You are a crowd pleaser, it’s impossible to deny. What’s something that Mastodon fans don’t know about you that they should?
Morgan: I am very quiet outside the ring. [Laughing] I hardly speak. I meticulously dissect the way in which others communicate so that I never misunderstand anyone. Everyone has a different method or nuance to the way in whcih they articulate the idea they want to get across, so attention to detail is key. As a result, I do not own a cell phone. I heavily prefer direct contact
Bard: Fascinating… and suddenly I’m second guessing what I’ve said this whole interview. Just a couple more questions for you. Is there any particular wrestler currently competing that you haven’t wrestled yet that needs to trampled by the Mastodon?
Morgan has his eye on none other than BG East’s Kid Karisma.
Bard: Holy hell, yes! I’d pay for a front row seat for that one! Hell, the image of all of those muscles locked with muscles is making me a little dizzy right now. Speaking of muscles, if you found yourself climbing into the ring again with Lon Dumont, with considerably more experience and practice under your belt now than when you first wrestled, do you think things would turn out differently this time around?
Morgan: I have been waiting for that question. He can come to MDW, or we can meet back up in the BG East ring any time, any place. I am there. This time around, you can bet your “firstborn,” The Mastodon is walking away victorious.
A rematch with Lon Dumont: Would this happen again!?
Bard: Sweet. I’m hoping to sit down for face-to-face interview with Mr. Muscles in the not-too-distant future, so I’ll be sure to let him know. You’ve been a delight to chat with, Morgan, and for someone who typically hardly speaks outside the ring, you’ve been an awesome conversationalist. Is there any last word you’d like to pass along to Mastodon fans out there before I let you go?
Morgan: The Mastodon is watching over the works at MDW, and would like to encourage my fans to check Muscle Domination Wrestling out as I am making sure my in-ring work extends beyond my own matches. The landscape has changed, and the wrestling has come to the forefront. And thank you for the interview it was a pleasure to have this experience. I have learned a good few things from your blog. And do be sure to let good old Lonny Dumont that he can come to me, or I am coming for him [laughing].
Bard: You are a one of a kind, hot, sweaty, raw, old school mass of muscle wrestler, and I cannot wait to catch up on your newest releases now, and to check out the evolving landscape at MDW. I hope we can chat again sometime, perhaps after I can get Lon back on the record. Thanks again, Morgan. You’re awesome!
Before I left for vacation (“holiday”), Kid Leopard sent me some sweet, behind-the-scenes shots of the new BG Eastfacility in Florida. I love a glimpse behind-the-scenes of homoerotic wrestling. A lot. I still ache for more behind-the-scenes galleries in the BG East Arena “Surprise” Galleries. Something just turns me on about that moment at the edge of one reality and another, the muscle studs of my wrestling fantasies geared up but lounging about, the snarling, hot hunks of the ring clowning around, showing some affection, or just whatever it is they do outside the ring. That one foot in, one foot out aspect of behind-the-scenes shots works me up just fine!
The art before it hits the walls and becomes the context within with homoerotic wrestling magic is made.
There were just a few shots that I didn’t have to post from The Boss’ indulgence of my lust for behind-the-scenes insights. They are of the “lounge” area, the break room for homoerotic wrestling hunks. Taking a break between matches? Grabbing a quick bite or rehydrating before climbing back in the ring and pounding the hell out of an opponent? Stop off here and kick back, text your boyfriend, shoot the shit with the gorgeous, barely clad hottie in pro trunks and mid-calf boots across the room from you.
Kid Karisma and Jake Lorenzo hang out in the break room with a couple of hot hunks I can’t identify.
Now, first on my bucket list is to weasel my way into a closed set filming of a sweat-filled, muscle pumped, full-contact, preferably rip and strip pro wrestling match. Make said match starring Kid Karisma’s award winning ass, and I could die then and there. Second item on my bucket list is to pull up a chair in this lounge, do my best to tear my eyes off of the beautiful, mostly bare muscle bodies around me, and enjoy discovering what these guys are like when the cameras are off.
3rd on my bucket list…
Third on my bucket list is some one-on-one time rubbing down a homoerotic wrestling god in the massage room in back, preferably while he’s still soaked in sweat from the ring and he hasn’t gotten off in a week. Okay, that’s probably #2. At least.
The boys of BG East, poised to work their magic.
So I may die unfulfilled, but I’m incredibly grateful for the boys behind the cameras at BG East, and The Boss in particular, for giving me (and you) a little glimpse of palette upon which they paint the homoerotic wrestling masterpieces that are the reason for neverland’s being. And I cannot wait to be introduced to the new faces poised to show up for their debuts with BG East, who we catch a glimpse of in the group shot above!
Regulars here at neverland are aware of a handful of longstanding frustrations I have that I affectionally refer to as my “unrequited lusts.” These are the subjects of relentless and ruthless teases that I’ve been a total sucker for. For example, Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and his momentous, mountainous, pendulous package. He is forever shoving his hands down the front of his trunks in his matches and readjusting the baggage that’s shifted during flight. He persistently points at the behemoth that strains the stitches holding together his trunks, reminding opponents and fans that there’s a hidden anaconda yet to be unleashed. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m so torqued by the Mr. Joshua package-tease! I’ve pleaded desperately for a rising upswell of popular demand crying out for a Mr. J strip stakes match (or series of matches, however many it takes before an opponent instantly becomes my #1 favorite wrestler by peeling off Mr. J’s dignity and finally, at long, long last unleashing the beast).
Michael C. Hall has gone shirtless, plenty, but…
Another frequent topic of my unrequited love has been more in the realm of my erotic wrestling fantasy material, namely Michael C. Hall’sass. His character grew on me in Six Feet Under. But as Dexter, the sympathetic serial killer, he has played a starring role in several homoerotic wrestling fantasies of mine, one of which I actually wrote down and shared as part of my collection of celebrity homoerotic wrestling fiction. Not too surprising, Michael managed to come out on top in that match by pinning granite-hardbodiedJustin Theroux to the mat via sitting on his face and letting those luscious cheeks make Mr. Anniston forget that he didn’t want to be trapped right there, right then.
Justin Theroux got the honors to wrestle Michael C. Hall in my homoerotic wrestling imagination (lucky son of a bitch!)
However tantalizing Michael’s ass has appeared in butt-hugging trousers in Dexter, though, the actual glutes themselves have never made an appearance. Dexter sex scenes? Sure. Naked boobies everywhere you look? Absolutely. The barest glimpse of Michael’s uncovered, bulbous booty? Not a one. Damn it.
Dexter’s naked ass has landed!!!
That is, there has been no sighting of those pound-able melons in the flesh until now. After being overseas on vacation, I’ve spent the last week scarfing down the episodes of True Blood and Dexter that I missed while away. I finally caught up with both, and glory be, after so much teasing, so many close-ups on that fantastic (but clothed) bubble butt, long after I’d intellectually given up on ever seeing that ass in the flesh, Michael sated my deep down lust with a long, lingering, full-on sex-scene starring (and I mean STARRING) his g-g-gorgeous ass!!!
Simply gorgeous.
When I say this steamy scene stars Michael’s ass, I mean, seriously, there was clearly nothing else on anyone’s mind as they blocked this scene. The woman that Dexter is supposed to be banging is naked and, in her way, for those with that predilection, I’m sure attractive. But there’s no way to put it other than to say that her naked body is completely and entirely upstaged. It’s not just that Michael’s beautiful nakedness is always on top with most of the scene shot from above. His ass literally gets several of it’s own close-ups! I mean, how often does this happen, that the camera zooms in, pans away, and then zooms in again on the guy’s ass in an opposite-sex sex scene!? It’s as if Michael, who you know had been asked a thousand times before to bare it, finally just said, fine, fuck it, film my ass!
The camera lingers…
Enough of the phenomenological critique. Let me just say that even with all of that build-up and all of that teasing year after year, still, without a doubt I did not leave disappointed. His co-star kept trying to wiggle into the shot, but there was no disguising that those glutes are simply beautiful… powerful, sculpted shelf, fuckable for days.
Worth the wait…
Michael had a cancer scare that, sounds like, is behind him now. I’m still astonished that he was apparently diagnosed, treated, and in remission all basically within the time constraints of a between-season hiatus. It’s also incredible that despite what was apparently some aggressive treatment, his body is rocking my world every ounce as much today as when Keith first stripped him and threw him into bed in Six Feet Under. I love that he’s at it for one last season as the lovable serial killer, and he is most definitely a fan-pleaser with this fulfillment of so many unspoken promises over the years.
Someday… Maybe…
This, of course, fills up my tank of hopefulness again for so many of my unrequited lusts. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance that we’ll see someone unpack Mr. Joshua’s oversized baggage. Perhaps sultry stunner Rio Garza will, indeed, someday shock a cocky opponent with a picture-perfect flying drop-kick to the chin AND peel off his own sweaty trunks and stuff them into his opponent’s stunned mouth. Possibly, just maybe, I may even get that custom DVD I ordered from a wrestling fantasyman going on two years ago. Michael C. Hall let us take a lovingly long, lingering gander at his gluteus maximus… anything is possible!
Sidelineland 