Who’s Counting?

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Neverland turns 4 years old today!  In some ways, it feels like 40 years, in other ways, it feels like 4 months.  The scope of what I do online in response to my infatuation with homoerotic wrestling has grown significantly since I posted my first post 4 years ago today.  Writing homoerotic wrestling fiction was, honestly, the first focus I brought, with neverland being primarily a vehicle for dissemination my interest in sharing fiction.  Since then, however, the fiction has taken a back seat to the blogging and promoting the outstanding ongoing scene of homoerotic wrestling productions and musing about my homoerotic wrestling fantasies that may, or may not, show up in a full-on piece of fiction.  In the last few months, I’ve been grieving that switch in priorities a bit.  If only I had more time for my writing, I’ve continually told myself. My goal of writing at least one new match a month has long ago been abandoned.  Happily, others with the writing bug have been contributing to the expanding library of homoerotic wrestling imaginations come to life in text (and choice graphic aids).  I think, with the maturity of 4 years under my belt, I’m coming to terms with the truth that blogging is feeding my kink and interest more than writing wrestling fiction.  I have a couple of fiction projects I’m very, very, very excited to be rolling out in the next couple of weeks, but otherwise, I think the 4th anniversary of neverland will mark a down shift in my intentions to write, to match the de facto truth that my attentions have strayed a bit from my fiction writing already.  So at the ripe old age of 4, I’m signaling my letting go of my grief over less fiction writing and my enthusiastic embrace of more time in neverland.
I’m playing Powerball in order to fuel my calling as an Eliad Cohen stalker!
And finally, as a birthday present to myself, I’m celebrating today with a focus on who, I think, may be the sexiest man who I’ve never seen in a homoerotic wrestling match: Eliad Cohen.  If I were a better (and especially richer) man, I’d be a full-on celebrity stalker of Eliad.  Sadly, his jet-setting schedule hosting Papa circuit parties across the globe far exceed my means to obsessively track him down.  On the other hand, fortunately, he is a generous Facebook poster, and my inner stalker is regularly sated with mouthwatering photos of this epic hunk going about his days, loving his family and friends, seeing the sights of the cities of the world, and, oh yeah, taking off his shirt… a lot.  Seriously, I think this man is as close to my physical ideal as any hunk I’ve ever seen.  If I had a category for my favorite non-wrestling hunk (don’t tempt me, you know how I like my lists), I believe it would be a close contest between Joe Manganiello and Eliad, with Eliad’s hairy chest and tats managing to just nose Joe into my “top contender” spot.  I’d donate a vital organ if it meant I could see Eliad climb into the BG East ring and put those insanely sexy muscles to the purpose they were, quite clearly, most naturally and meaningfully intended: wrestling another hardbodied hunk until one of them is stripped naked and worshipping the victor’s divine physique.
Quite possibly my physical ideal!
As an anniversary present for neverland (not really, but I can pretend), Eliad has posted this crotch-rousing tease of a video promoting (I think) another one of his Papa parties.  This is as close as I think I’ve ever seen what it would be like to watch him in a homoerotic wrestling match.  The performance piece features him and another muscleboy in gladiator gear… sort of… engaged in fantasy hand-to-hand combat… kind of.  There’s a poundingly hot gut punching montage in the credits, so be patient. Inexplicably in the heart of the video (full embed below), they abruptly rip off their utilikilts, and then Eliad demonstrates his status as a muscle god by blowing the head off of his opponent with a magic ball of fire.  Watch to the end, though, and you’ll see the gymbunny stud is quite fully alive and returns to Eliad’s side to begin to stroke his buliging, vascular muscles hungrily.  In other words, this is essentially a performance art version of pretty much 80% of homoerotic wrestling matches (hunks grapple, strip, total domination secured, and then erotic lust takes over).
Eliad’s dominance demonstrated, his muscle conquest returns to worship him (line starts behind me, bastard!)
To all of you who’ve made neverland a going concern, commenting, encouraging, challenging, linking, giving permissions for reposts, guest posting, and just being all around cool fellow journeyers in the wrestling kink universe, this anniversary is as much a celebration of you as it is an acknoweldgment of the passage of time or the accumulation of blog archives.  It continues to be a joy, and that (and, really, that alone) is what makes me fully expect to be celebrating year 5 exactly 12 months from now.

Me rindo!

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5’8″, 130 lbs, Rookie treat Lauden Sevior
I’ve been finding my eye captured lately by men who I lovingly classify as twinks.  There’s probably a more accurate, subtle and respectful way to refer to them, but I mean no disrespect.  Very lean, not thickly muscled but with that momentary coincidence of youth and cardio-tuned fitness, these are bodies that speak to me only when the mood strikes.  For some reason, lately the mood as been striking.
Gold Shaft works to possess every inch of Lauden’s lean body!

Case in point: Lauden Sevior’s BG East debut in Sunshine Shooters 6. He takes my breath away as he stretches out before his masked opponent, Gold Shaft, enters the room, and I’m as astonished at my reaction to him as I am at his obvious sexiness.  From some angles, there’s a Brad Pitt a la Thelma and Louise handsomeness about Lauden, but sweet Jesus, he’s so damn lean!  The flowing, shoulder-length locks and that the look of recent graduation from boyhood into downy, freshly sprouted chest hair makes my mouth water.  From Gold Shaft’s reaction when he walks in the room, I’m not the only one.  Even had we not already seen the cock-wrestling credentials of this masked stud, it’s impossible to miss the raw, testosterone fueled sensuality that pulses off his lovely, smooth body.  The contrast between this mysteriously and ominously masked cock-wrestling power-hitter and Lauden’s apparent achingly beautiful innocence is hot, hot drama!

Gold Shaft breaks the kid apart piece by piece!

Gold Shaft clearly needs a mouth stitched into that mask, because he’s so obviously famished to taste the tender corn fed veal dangled so tantalizingly in front of him.  Credit where due, Lauden slaps down some entirely respectable offense that makes me think that with a little more training and a lot more classes in the school of hard knocks, he could mount a dazzle and destroy strategy on some unsuspecting heel wannabe.  But he has two fatal flaws in his arsenal: his hot glutes and flowing locks simply demand for Gold Shaft to take possession of them.

Gold Shaft perches his golden shaft across the rookie’s baby face
Honestly, I don’t think there are a lot of rooks who get so erotically and entirely used their first time out of the gate.  Clearly, Gold Shaft has had that same hankering I’ve had.  The veteran spends days lustily squeezing the twinks lovely little ass.  He wedgies Lauden’s trunks up nice and high to get full contact with his milky white mounds.  The kid loses track of which is the ceiling and which is the floor along the way in the match, and the more vulnerable he gets, the more passionate Gold Shaft grows.  He grinds his crotch into the twink’s ass and across his face and against Lauden’s bulge and… well, everywhere.  
Gold Shaft can’t keep his fingers out of Lauden’s glowing locks

But it’s Gold Shaft’s lack of all self-conciousness or self-restraint when it comes to Lauden’s hair that transports me inside that white mask of his.  He runs his fingers through the twink’s locks everytime his hands wander anywhere near his head.  Gold Shaft seems lost in awed, dominating lust at the feel of his  baby-baby faced opponent’s hair wrapped up in a handy handle and used to perfection to drag Lauden humiliatingly off the mat, across the room, and plowed face-first into Gold Shaft’s monster bulge.  That body, that ass, those long, flowing locks were simply made for this moment of soul crushing wrestling domination at the hands of master artist who plays him to nothing short of perfection.

Lauden gets strummed like a ukulele! 

Damn, this kid is tormented and pleasured in such perfect harmony!  I mean, he’s putty in the hands of the terrifying masked god of some mythic homoerotic pantheon, but Lauden’s first go at homoerotic wrestling on camera documents the insanely pretty green rookie pounded into the depths of despair and almost hypnotically lifted to the heights of carnal pleasure such that the result is simply stunning to watch.  The persistent ebb and flow of brutal pain and dizzying ecstasy leave Lauden so entirely disoriented that there’s honestly very little left to the imagination when he’s dragged crawling on his hands and knees across the mat by the masked god who has taken full possession of what is guaranteed to be an obedient acolyte right in the middle of his initiation into the mysterious rights of homoerotic wrestling.

Gold Shaft continues his rites of initiation on the pretty rookie off camera

Here’s to hoping that Gold Shaft didn’t strike such terror into this tasty little biscuit that Lauden has been too seriously psychically/spiritually damaged to ever dare set foot in front of a BG East camera again.  Because I, for one, would like to be the first to suggest there’s nobody, but nobody more ideal to star in the next Hair Stakes match than Lauden versus Diego Diaz, both Latino beauties tempting fate to try not to be the first to scream “Me rindo!” before the clippers forcibly make him a shade less pretty.

That Look

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In Friday’s post, Alex posed some provocative questions about what’s said in a homoerotic wrestling match.  Specifically, whether hearing a wrestler taunt his opponent by asking if he’s “gay” (by implication meaning weak, wimpy, less than a real man, et.) is a turn-off or perhaps ought to be out of bounds for wrestling for a gay audience.  The post generated some fantastic conversation, which is exactly what I expect every time Alex puts pen to paper.  His thoughts, coupled with some images I’ve recently been obsessing over, reminded me of the flip side of the equation, as well: when without so much as a word, a wrestler turns me on full force in an instant with just a look.
Kevin Crowes looks pleased.
The recent photo releases from Can-Am of my long-time favorite wrestler emeritus, Rusty Stevens, in Pro Sex Fight 4 against Kevin Crowes, has been making me sweat buckets.  But this particular shot of angelic beauty Kevin sweaty, pumped, and swinging pipe caught my attention.  Specifically, look at the look on his face!  Fuck that’s hot.  He’s been taking a mauling at the expert hands of Rusty for eons at this point in the match.  It’s looked like Rusty’s got this adonis crushed and sprinkled over an intensely tasty dish of sex served hot, until deceptively pretty Kevin catches the veteran sex wrestling champ getting a tad too cocky, a smidge too over-confident, and just as Rusty is sizing up the slice of beef he’s about to eat whole, Keven lays him down, strips him naked, and starts pounding the hell out of Rusty’s balls.  In an oh-how-the-mighty-have-fallen moment, Kevin takes a strutting victory lap around his opponent’s vulnerably body.  All that viciousness, all the bile, all that contempt and scorn pouring out of Rusty earlier is doused, and the look of pleasure on Kevin’s face sells a whole novel’s worth of story to me.  The abs, quads, and simply gorgeous cock don’t hurt his case either!
Gabriel Ross looks hungry
Honestly, I’ve been trying my best to watch BG East’s Wrestle Shack 16 all the way through, but fuck me if I can manage to get more than about 5 minutes at a time watched before I’m stoked into delirium and exhaust myself entirely.  Holy fuck, Lorenzo Lowe (I don’t give a damn what his frat brother’s call him, he’ll always be bespectacled Lorenzo to me) is an insanely sexy little scrapper.  But damn, damn, DAMN when he’s getting his crotch ripped apart with muscle bunny fallen archangel Gabriel Ross leaning over top of him, I’m helpless.  The look of calm, chill, confident, hungry pleasure on Gabriel’s face contrasted with Lorenzo’s agony-twisted visage, is worth about 10 orgasms (and that’s not counting the one Lorenzo’s about to pop).
Ethan Andrews looks delighted.

Rock Hard Wrestling was the first to make me an Ethan Andrews believer.  Like the catty bitch I can often be, I once questioned whether Ethan was rock hard enough to qualify to be in their stable of pretty pretty muscle boys.  Ethan made me eat my words and lose load after load climbing into the RHW ring and wringing symphony after symphony out of his bulging, pumped opponents like a maestro.  Ethan tends to give better than he gets at RHW, and the look of serene delight that inevitably plays across his handsome face as he makes another gym bunny scream like a tantruming two-year old makes my heart skip a beat.  He flashes that smile at so many pitifully wailing opponents, but possibly never as entertainingly as the moments in which he catches handsome powerhouse Jake Jenkins by surprise.

Tak looks ready for his close up.

I keep coming back to Thunder’s for the humor and the subtext, despite lapses in good taste and common sense like Alex mentioned on Friday.  One of the TA wrestlers who completely catches me by surprise by how compelling a character I find him is lean, blond, doe-eyed twink Tak.  He plays twink among the muscle gods beautifully, and perhaps precisely because he stands out in the TA crowd, his lovely, lean bod sorts me out extra hard. But when Tak has both hands wrapped around the throttle and another gym bunny muscleman is at least momentarily getting humiliated by a blond, blue-eyed, babyface lightweight twink, Tak gives some sexy sexy face! His look is somewhere between a champion bronco rider eight seconds into his ride and a seasoned pornboy a split second before his money shot.

Like Alex suggested, it doesn’t take a lot to suck the air right out of a homoerotic wrestling match. Just a word, an implication of genuine contempt for the audience that slapped down plastic to watch, and at least some of us find our buzz killed. And at least for me, the opposite can also be true. As much of a fan of trash talk as I am, some of the sexiest moments that sends fireworks exploding in my head are entirely about one compelling, silent look that tells the most homoerotic wrestling story of all.

What, are you gay? [Guest Blogger: Alex]

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Alex is back to take the reins here at neverland today, and I want to thank him again for pitching in.  His insights are spot on; his eye is incredibly astute; and his writing is inspiring.  His topic today is one echoed in other posts on this blog and similar ones with increasing frequency.  It isn’t one we all agree about, by any means, but it’s an important topic in the “evolution” of us all about the place of gay men in society.  And for the record, I agree with Alex 110% here…

————
What, are you gay?

Be warned, I’m getting on my soapbox.

Words matter. Even in the intensely physical world of wrestling, words make a difference. They can amplify a moment or kill the mood. I’ve just experienced the latter.

Vinny is the man who brought me back to Thunder’s Arena. I hadn’t even gone to the website since Halloween. However, one pic posted on Joe’s Ringside blog drew me back in. I’ve since bought all four of Vinny’s matches.

Now, I’m not happy again. During his fight with Dakota, Vinny insults his opponent by asking him, “What are you, gay?”

Ugh. Why couldn’t he keep his trap shut?

Maybe it’s in character that Vinny, whose Thunder’s persona is an amoral meathead, uses “gay” as a pejorative. So far, he’s already been accused of stealing a laptop and protein powder, stiffing his housemate on the rent and hitting a car then leaving the scene of the accident. Not like he’s depicted as a hero. Vinny is 100% heel.

And wrestling is often politically incorrect with heels – full of every kind of stereotype.

But for me, it was an immediate turn off. As in turn off my iPad and be done with the match. It seems weird to me that a company targeting a gay audience lets that slide. There are plenty of other ways to insult someone. Doesn’t it seem immediately wrong? Admittedly, I boycott companies at the drop of a hat. Maybe most gay wrestling fans won’t care, but I really think they should.

And yes, I am aware I’m probably selling videos with the pics.

Am I too PC? Does the fact that it’s a character like Vinny make a difference? Do those Hillary Duff public service announcements mean nothing? What say you?    -Alex

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Tan Lines

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I got my first dose of serious springtime sunshine this weekend, and I soaked it up like a sponge. Having recently moved from a place where April showers are followed by more May showers, it’s quite a joy to see what spring can really do to people who’ve been literally snowed under for 4 or 5 months.

Aaron Tanner and Rik Jammer show their tans in Nasty Sex Fights

Of course, with sunshine and warmth comes hot boys who simply need to expose as much of their beautiful skin as possible. Temperatures on the rise in the atmosphere equate to my internal temperature stoked hot and heavy with a sudden wealth of eye candy everywhere I turn.

Dan Melino’s massive bod and luscious tan lines in Frisco Fights 2

Personally I avoid too much sun. After a few too many bad burns in my youth, my doctor advises me that pasty-white is the perfect shade of hot-bodiedness for me. That doesn’t, however, prevent me from happily spectating that rite of spring that is the public display of skin with the implicit, if not explicit, purpose of marketing oneself for warm-weathered sexual activity.

Eduardo rocked the erotic tan line hardest in All American Oiled Trio Bash

I’ve always had a special kink for tan lines in homoerotic wrestling as well. There’s something extra intimate about the pale pattern of a skimpy bikini to mark where a hardbodied hunk sunbathed in his speedo before getting his gear peeled off in the ring. The implication of modesty (he didn’t tan au natural) coupled with seeing a wrestler stripped naked in combat gives me value added arousal for the sexy reveal.

Jimmy Dean’s thong tan-lines in 

Is it me, or are their fewer tan lines in homoerotic wrestling? Perhaps it’s the public health campaign to keep us from tempting the cancer fates by staying in the shade (as my doc has done). Then again, there are the beautifully tanned hardbodies for which there’s no tan line because they slip into the privacy of the tanning booth with nothing to leave a line.

Kyle Bradford’s newsmaker-tanned ass in Make Me Submit

A hot, lickable tan line still gets my blood boiling a little faster, though, with a sweet scent of innocence defiled coupled with a strong whiff of nostalgia. So if you’re going to worship the sun with your pumped muscles bare and beautiful, I just hope that you apply the SPF liberally to blunt the worst of the effects, and wear your speedo, because the pale imprint of your gear left over once your opponent has ripped and stripped you naked is incredibly sexy!

J.T. Sloan’s picture perfect tan line in Fantasy Fight 10 vs. Dave Russell

Heat

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Reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy: 5’10”, 145 lbs Skrapper

My pornboy favorite rankings have been stagnant for a while.  When Naked Kombat went down, the need for a separate pornboy category from the non-pornboy homoerotic wrestling favorites seemed less important to me.  Now that NK is back and I’m back paying attention to them, I’m guessing there will be new pornboys capturing my fancy and shaking up the ranks.  Mr. Intense, aka BG East’s Skrapper, has held the title of my favorite homoerotic wrestling pornboy forever, though I’m hoping the likes of someone like babyface sadist Vance Crawford might give Skrapper a run for his title.  The heat that dude-meister Skrapper generates, however, is incredible, and even when no on (on camera) is losing a load or two by the end of a match, Skrapper’s mastery of a homoerotic wrestling opponent is nothing short of scorching.

Scorching Jake Jenkins: 5’7″, 155 lbs.

Did someone say scorching?  Holy Mary Mother of God, have you seen that “little fucking monkey” (lovingly dubbed so by Kid Karisma) Jake Jenkins in mouthwateringly low rise Calvin Klein briefs!?  His mat match in Sunshine Shooters 6 against Skrapper presents Jake as insanely sexy as we’ve ever seen him, somehow stoking my fires a tad more for eventually wrestling in nothing but his tighty-whities soaked through with buckets and buckets of sweat.

A little “training”
Jake has a notoriously steady hand on the rudder when he wrestles.  He looks like a chess master through most of his matches, as much as a seriously dangerous powerhouse muscleman who, as Skrapper learns, can wrestle, punch, and kick with equally devastating results.  Skrapper spends the first half of this match chipping away at the cool as ice exterior on lovely Jake.  Having lured him to the mats for some “training,” he instantly and literally knocks Jake on his heels with the surprise that he wants to box.  It takes approximately a blink of an eye for Jake to recalibrate and start unloading a semi full of bell ringing strikes with fists, feet, knees and elbows.
Skrapper may not have gotten the memo that Jake is also an MMA fighter!
Bit by bit, Skrapper keeps chipping away, not giving Jake a moment to breathe, not a second to recover when he gets the wind knocked out of him.  Slowly it dawns on Jake that this isn’t about “training” at all.  As Skrapper starts both dominating and humiliating the “little fucking monkey,” Jake starts to lose his patience.  “What’s your problem, dude!” he snaps angrily when Skrapper stays on the offense well past the point of “practicing” a hold.  Between Skrapper and Jake, I suspect there may be more utterances of the word “dude” in this match than any other in the history of homoerotic wrestling.  I could find that grating, but I don’t.  Not for a second.  Because like Jake, I just don’t have time to catch a breath or be bothered by anything.  Skrapper sucker punches and pounds and squeezes his way inside Jake’s guard and underneath Jake’s flawless skin, and right around the time sweat is pouring off of both of these boys’ bodies in streams, Jake is seriously pissed off and I’m completely turned on.
I’d pay good money to trade places with Skrapper at this very moment!
The baggy shorts come off pretty quickly, thank the homoerotic wrestling gods.  More than 5 minutes with Jake Jenkins in anything more than very low-rise briefs is a crime against all that’s right and good in this world, as far as I’m concerned.  And fuck, Skrapper!  Damn!  He’s no muscleboy, mind you, but he’s seriously fit, toned, and does a mighty fine job of making his own pair of athletic-fit Calvins stretch at all the right seams.  Their two well-lubricated bodies sliding and squeezing all over each other is somewhere between a religious experience and insanely masterful art.  Skrapper’s face and hands go places I’d give a kidney to go, and the more moisture their bodies generate, the more I swoon at the sound of hard, muscled bodies slapping wetly into each other… and the mat… and the walls.
I don’t know what you call this, but I call it sexy as hell!

Skrapper’s got a tiger by the tail when he’s finally succeeded in provoking Jake, but damn it all if the skrappy one doesn’t hold onto that hot, hot piece of tail with precisely the fearlessness and tenacity that propelled me to lustfully anoint him my top of the pack pornboy wrestler.  I don’t know what the technical term is for this combo acrobatic/yoga/little-fucking-monkey move that Skrapper manages on the muscleboy, but he plants Jake’s handsome face into the mat, folds his legs at the knees, and pries the rest of Jake’s shiny body upward, slowly cranking Jake’s back arching backward.  Damn, that needs to be mounted and framed and hanging on my wall!

Skrapper messes with the bull…

I never, ever count Skrapper out until he’s been unconscious for at least a minute, and Jake figures that lesson out for himself eventually.  The skrappy one’s tenacity and endless reservoir of momentum and sheer nerve sincerely appear to stun his gorgeous opponent.  But tenacity and nerve, in the end, aren’t nearly as stunning as Jake Jenkins provoked, unleashed, and just plain fucking fed up!  The can of whoop ass he opens up as Skrapper keeps peeling himself off the mat and charging headlong into the buzzsaw is breathtaking.  Just ask Skrapper right about the time that sweat-soaked Jake Jenkins plants his luscious ass down on Skrapper’s sternum, his hefty package lodged sweetly in Skrapper’s cleavage, and Jake breathes deep and pumps out a double bicep in victory.

Is he finally down for good!? 
Chalk up another victory for that little fucking monkey!

By the end of this match Jake, Skrapper, AND I need a shower, and I can think of one easily solution to that problem!

Lusts of My Life [Guest Blogger: Alex]

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So I know I wrote that my lusts are usually low profile, but that’s not the case for this one. Mike Columbo. I mean, he is one of BGE’s big stars and has been in tons of videos. However, the reason I like him may be unique. Tarzan. Yes, Tarzan is why he was one of the first guys I gravitated to.
Now, I admit that if I were casting a Tarzan, Mike Columbo wouldn’t be my first choice. So how does my brain relate the two? Here’s my explanation:
My favorite Tarzan is Gordon Scott. Mike Columbo taps directly into my lust for him. Big chest. Narrow waist. Big muscles. Haircut. Face. Scott isn’t a classic, long-haired Tarzan, but when I saw his movies on TV, I was quite young and wowed. In fact, he might be the first ever lust of my life. So Mike Columbo drafted off Scott. The fact that his matches consistently delivered made him an immediate must-buy for many, many years.

So do you see the resemblance or am I crazy? Post your thoughts in the comments!

Back for More

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It looks like NK is back to their old production schedule, and I’ve been missing hard more pornboy mat competition, so I’ve rearranged my porn budget and signed back on.  Their newest match makes me a satisfied customer already.

Hayden “the Swank” Richards – 6′, 185 pounds

“I’m Hayden ‘the Swank’ Richards, 6-foot tall, 1 and 0… What I think about my opponent is that he’s a big bitch, and he has a lot of tattoos.  And I know these big guys; they wear out easily…. When I win, I’m going to toss his little bitch ass across the mat and fuck him hard and make him wish he never came to Naked Kombat.” Hayden’s handsome, boy-next-door material.  His reported 10 pound weight advantage looks bigger to me, just eyeballing the two of them.  He’s not carrying the muscle mass his “bitch ass” opponent is, but speaking of asses, Hayden’s got a world class one!

Jeremy “Stonewall” Stevens – 6′, 195 pounds

“I’m Jeremy ‘Stonewall’ Stevens, 6-foot, 195 pounds, and my record is 1 and 1…. What do I think about my opponent? I think he looks like an oversized baby and I should probably put him down for a nap…. When I win, I’m going to teach this little man a lesson, shove my cock down his throat and really show him who’s boss.”  He’s blond and tanned.  He’s got scruff and tats, and incredibly beautiful pecs.  He looks like precisely the rough trade type to take a particular delight in spoiling a pale, pretty boy-next-door.

Swank says his plan is to ride his bigger opponent out and then blow past him in the 3rd round when Jeremy has exhausted himself.

NK is filmed this week in a club in Sacramento, clearly when patrons aren’t around.  However, there’s a row of spectators matside watching, including a couple of pornboys in NK gear, clearly waiting their turn to hit the mats.  Regular readers know how much I love erotic wrestling in front of a live audience!  The lucky boys at mat side cheer both boys on, clearly hungry for a competitive match.  The catcalls and whistles of appreciation for particularly humiliating moves sweetens the pot considerably for me.  Hayden says his strategy is to let his bigger opponent wear himself out in rounds 1 and 2 and then blow past him in round 3 for the victory, but clearly that’s just psych-out bullshit, because he’s all over Mr. Pectacular like a swarm of bees from the moment the first round starts.

Round 1: Hayden’s purported game plan of sitting back and letting Jeremy tire himself out was a ruse.  He’s ALL OVER Stonewall!

Hayden comes across as a bit of dick, I think.  Jeremy taps out early, complaining of a tweaked shoulder.  When the action resumes, Hayden instantly starts wrenching on said shoulder and repeatedly going back to full nelsons to work on the injured joint.  Hayden is the first one to strip his opponent out of speedo, but Jeremy returns the favor almost instantly.  I get the impression both of them were pretty eager drop the pretense of trunks, anyway.  The idea that “the Swank” was going to get outmuscled by his bigger opponent and then hope to wear Jeremy down over time quickly flies out the window.  Hayden’s faster, more skilled, and astonishingly outmuscles the big man over and over, powering his way to a 23-8 lead in NK points.  Jeremy smiles embarrassedly and looks up at the ceiling is shock.  That was supposed to be his round.  Muscles pumped from the round 1 action, suddenly Hayden doesn’t look so small or outclassed by Jeremy’s big muscles.

The jockstrap round goes a little better for big, beautiful Jeremy… not a lot, but a little.

One thing I love about NK is that you can watch the sweat slowly coating these hard hunky bodies as they huff and puff and work their asses off.  The boys are soaked by the end of round 2, the jock-strap (briefly) round.  Jeremy does little better than his first round efforts, standing at 21 points to the Swank’s 40 points.  Hands on his hips, sucking down air, the boy-next-door Hayden looks like one cocky, sexy bastard.  There’s no other way around it.  That pre-match testimonial suggesting he was prepared to get outmuscled in the first two rounds while Jeremy slowly tires out was all bullshit to misdirect his opponent.  “Stonewall” looks clearly demoralized and there’s still another round to go!

Hayden watches icily as Jeremy breaks face before round 3.

They start round 3 naked, on their knees, and fully erect.  They’re both sporting gorgeous, comparably sized cocks. Jeremy looks like he’s trying to summon some mojo, staring into his opponent’s eyes with renewed intensity.  Hayden stares back icily, barely contained contempt glimpsed from behind partially lidded eyes.  Just before the whistle blows to start the action, Jeremy’s game face breaks.  His feet twitch nervously, and a shit-eating grin breaks across his face.  It’s like he’s asking, “All fun and games, right?”  Hayden is like stone statue, pounding on the big stud’s battered ego before their bodies even touch in round 3.

Jeremy finally gets in position to use his weight to his advantage, crushing Hayden beneath his balls.

It’s Hayden whose pace slows in round 3, but he’s still more than up to the task of putting muscle-beauty Jeremy on his back, spanking his ass, and roughly stroking his cock until the big man groans.  It’s much more competitive, once the Swank is slowing down, but in the end, Jeremy can’t tally more than 36 points, not managing to rack up in 3 rounds what Hayden banked in the first two.  With a total of 49 points, the Swank goes undefeated.  “Down on your knees, bitch!”

Hayden can’t keep his hands off Jeremy’s meaty, hairy pecs.

Hayden force-feeds the muscleman his cock, controlling the pace with a handful of Jeremy’s dirty blond hair.  This is much less about domination than most other NK matches I’ve seen (new direction, or just a feature of Hayden’s victory lap?).  While the wrestling is what satisfies me, I will say that watching the Stonewall straddle the victor’s hips, slide Hayden’s cock inside, and ride him with such gusto that those lovely pecs bounce hypnotically is sweet icing on an already tasty cake. Hayden clearly enjoys not only the feel of his cock up the loser’s ass, but the feel of Jeremy’s hot, hard muscles in his hands as he strokes and squeezes the big man appreciatively mid-ride.

Single-leg cradle fuck.  Hell.  Yes.

Suddenly Hayden throws Jeremy off of him, flings him to his back with a single-leg cradle, and shoves his cock back inside in a very hot homage to the wrestling kinksters watching.  There’s a bit of trash talking, but Hayden enjoyed that sex way too much to convince me that he’s anything but in awe of the feel of the banished pornboy he beat.  After slapping down his victory load across Jeremy’s chest, he stands, plants his foot victoriously on Stonewall’s tasty pecs, and demands that the loser release, which Jeremy is clearly happy to do.

The winner at his cocky, shit-eating grin.  Well done, boys!

In the post-match interviews, victorious Swank marvels that the point spread was merely 13 points.  What a cocky bastard!  Asked at what point in the match did Hayden realize that he was definitely going to win, he thinks for a second and then says it was definitely the moment he walked in the room, saw his opponent, and thought, “oh, well, I may have to work for it.”  Jeremy concedes in his interview that he was completely surprised that his opponent was such a “strong little fucker!”

Boston on My Mind

wrestlebard3 Comments

I’ve been struggling with wanting to post something, but not wanting to disrespect the victims and survivors of the Boston marathon bombings by being as frivolous as is my default here at neverland.  I’ll keep this brief, so as to not get too distracted from my main point, which is my affection and respect for Boston at all times, and most poignantly over the last couple of days.  The time I enjoyed spending there taught me some lessons about Boston and Bostonians.  For example, I come from a metropolis where people are fastidious about braking for pedestrians.  Not so, Boston.  They’ll run you down in a heartbeat, crosswalk or no.  I learned that it’s not that they are contemptuous of pedestrians.  They do not wish them harm.  It’s simply that they trust that pedestrians are tough and savvy enough to know better than to cross a street in front of oncoming traffic.  It’s certainly not that they aren’t looking out for each other, but rather they count on each other to be smart and exercise common sense survival instincts.  In the time I’ve spent in Boston I witnessed a lot of honking, a good deal of yelling, and a fearlessness about casual confrontation.  I also enjoyed random Bostonians striking up friendly conversations with me about my tattoos, why I was there in the city, if I knew about the best places for connoli (none of these things would ever occur in my uptight and icy hometown at the time).  Unlike other places I’ve lived, I found Boston not at all shy, not reserved, neither in swearing at you for being in the way or shooting the breeze with you about where you got your ink.

While the bombings will undoubtedly leave a lasting impact on Boston and the rest of us, I have to think that there’s something fundamentally bostonian that it is tough as hell, practical and pragmatic, unafraid of confrontation, and not at all reticent to reach out to a stranger with genuine interest and friendship, that no assholes with explosives can make a dent in.  And I can think of nothing more appropriate than for said assholes to be identified and dropped on the streets in South Boston just after the bars close.  I’m not a fan of state-enacted executions of criminals, but somehow I don’t seem to have a problem with the idea of some man-on-the-street Boston justice in this case.

To my Boston-based friends and family, know that we’re thinking about you, hurting with you, and knowing that “terror” is the furthest thing from your hearts.

And at the risk of devolving into the frivolous, here are just a few of some of my favorite examples of “Boston justice,” courtesy of my very favorite Boston-area based homoerotic wrestling producer…

  

Make Me Feel It!

wrestlebard9 Comments
Another fine year has passed for me, and a new one is beginning today.  Birthday’s rock.  Love them, and not just because of the corporal punishment aspect of getting a swat on the ass for each year.  I’m treating myself to a day of doing absolutely nothing, so I’ll make this post brief.  Thanks for the well-wishes and offers to slap down a spank or two (or 42) or even the occasional offer of some birthday headscissors or an OTK backbreaker.  You all are damn sweet, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything… except possibly one of these guys below wailing away at my ass.
My pick last year for Spanker-in-Chief, Kid Karisma, gets his award winning ass tanned by Mike Martin in Sunshine Shooters 5
Missing my wrestling pornboys lately, so I’m back to enjoy watching swoonworthy Vance “The Vice’ Crawford slap down the spoils of victory on a bent-over Cameron Kincade.
Classic tormentor Dino Phillips relishes the sweaty slap of his hand on Peter Bishop’s trapped ass in X-Fights 11

Jeremy Stevens sets up shop all over Jessie Coulter’s muscle ass in Naked Kombat’s recent Muscle Match.

Possibly the sexiest pairing of asses includes Big Sexy smiling down at Cameron Mathews’ angry red ass as he wails away in Rough and Ready 21.