Video Diary of a Wimpy Boy

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I was taken a little by surprise the first time I saw a body worship video.  My surprise was how intensely sexy I found it, even without any explicit wrestling in it, which is typically what I’m looking for.  There’s something powerfully engaging about watching a man treat another man’s beautiful body with the awe and adoration that I, in my mind, am heaping up on him.  The muscled stud flexes his pecs.  I crave to reach out and feel them turn to granite in the palms of my hands.  And then, as if obeying my primal urges, his on camera worshipper reaches out and gives those beautiful pecs a hearty squeeze. For a moment, my lustful imagination and the lucky bastard feeling up his on camera partner meld into one, and that moment becomes intensely intimate and immediate for me.  It’s a sweet, sweet illusion when it’s done right.

Steel Muscle God has just posted a 3-part video series on his membership site featuring himself flexing (of course), but with the additional element of a recurring character buddy of his who he affectionately refers to as “Wimpy Boy” (sometimes, “Wimpy Dude”).  SMG introduced his minions to Wimpy Boy a couple of years ago, using the long, skinny blond kid to answer the question that SMG fanatics are always praying to know: what’s it like to feel those steel muscles crushing you?  Wimpy Boy was featured in several videos getting dominated and pummeled for sniffing around SMG’s belongings, not being respectful enough, or just because SMG had a hankering to humiliate a wimp.

Apparently these two recently reunited, and SMG thought his adoring fans might like to hear first hand from Wimpy Boy what it’s like to witness the evolution of a god over time.  Wimpy Boy (with less hair, but then again, who am I to talk?) is treated to an SMG-style bodyworship session to repeatedly pose the question to the lucky wimpy one: how do you like me now, bitch?

These two are fascinating to watch together.  They both appear completely at ease with one another.  There’s no self-consciousness about discussing the subject matter at hand (SMG’s godly muscles).  There’s a lot of verbal foreplay to start off with as they sit side by side addressing the camera.  Then, at about 2:30 into the first chapter-video, SMG stands up, stretches, and without even glancing at Wimpy Boy, flexes his left bicep in front his little buddy’s face.  Holy shit, the hungry look in Wimpy Boy’s eyes as he sits up straighter is incredibly hot.  His eyes are fixed on that bulging bicep.  He scoots forward in his seat, as his hands twitch.  Without his gaze straying for even a second from the gorgeous peak, his hands start to reach out several times to touch it, but he pulls them back.  Wimpy Boy has clearly been trained well.  “Really huge,” he mutters is testimony to the camera once he’s finally been permitted to wrap his long fingers around the softball.  “Hard like steel… that’s really the right name for you!  Really impressive, those biceps… there’s no way if I try that I can get my fingers in there,” he says, trying to force his fingertips in the deep vertical crease between SMG’s deltoid and bi.

I have seen body worship videos that I’d evaluate as being in the “not done right” column.  There are several possible reasons for a body worship video to strike me as less than fully erotic, most of which I’d just sum up as involving a lack of “chemistry.”  Although chemistry is, technically speaking, an exact physical science, when it comes to erotic chemistry, there’s a whole lot of a “I know it when I see it” vagueness about it.  Generally speaking, if no one appears to be getting any particular thrill out of the body worship, then I say there’s lack of chemistry.  Personally, I like seeing the object of worship with a clear pay off, obviously enjoying being adored.  But at the very least, the worshipper needs to be into it, making that imagined connection between my lust and his hands clear.  There are moments when Wimpy Boy seems too nonchalant, a little too comfortable with his musclebuddy next to him.  However, there are many more moments when Wimpy Boy communicates with wide eyes, a fixed gaze, a stutter as he tries to obey SMG’s command to verbalize what he feels, that he’s awestruck.  He appears to seriously get into the task of trying to dig his fingertips into SMG’s thick muscles, letting us on this side of the camera know that it feels like trying to claw granite.  I have no idea what SMG or Wimpy Boy’s sexual tastes include, but there’s no doubt in my mind that Wimpy Boy is getting a major kick out of getting his hands all over his studly, condescending, gorgeously handsome buddy’s body.

Did I say “claw?” Why yes, yes I did.  And if there’s one thing that SMG wrestling kink fans like me know, we know that SMG’s mind is never far from the topic of wrestling.  Wimpy Boy obediently does his best to claw SMG’s steel pecs, biceps, and quads.  SMG orders him every step of the way like a drill sergeant, raining down condescension and complete psychological domination.  And all of it, inevitably, leads to SMG’s core need to use those muscles the way they were intended to be used.  He suddenly wraps his arm around Wimpy Boy’s head and squeezes until the veins on Wimpy Boy’s scalp pop out.  He adjusts his grip, sliding his arm down around Wimpy Boy’s neck and flexing that point peak of his bicep across the wimpy one’s carotid artery.

When an object of body worship seems to barely even notice the gnat buzzing around feeling him up, there’s something pretty hot about it.  There’s sort of a sense that the muscle hunk is so massive and above it all that he doesn’t notice the intimate treatment he’s getting.  That, however, is NOT this story.  SMG dominates Wimpy Boy a half a dozen different ways, from talking about his own devastating physique, to demanding that Wimpy Boy talk about it, to shoving his muscles in Wimpy Boy’s face, to using the self-same muscles that Wimpy Boy is in awe of to then exact punishment on him.  When you’re honored with the opportunity to enjoy such intimate proximity, you’re gonna get physically controlled to go along with all of that psychological domination.

A couple of things that would have made this an even tastier treat: 1) if SMG had demanded Wimpy Boy strip him, rather than doing it himself, and 2) tongue.  That said, there are some delightful moments that go above and beyond my expectations.  For example, SMG decides to use Wimpy Boy’s skull to demonstrate how hard his washboard abs are, pounding Wimpy Boy’s head over and over into his rippled gut.  Wimpy Boy starts to look a little disoriented soon enough, and suddenly SMG holds his head pressed firmly against his lower abdomen, forcing Wimpy Boy into position to check out the muscle stuffed inside those crazy hot trunks of his.  
I also have to say the pec smothering turns me on in a way that totally catches me by surprise.  Again, add tongue and this would’ve been outrageously hot.  Even sans tongue, with Wimpy Boy’s muffled grunts starting to fade as he’s smothered deep in those mountainous muscles, there’s something in the definitely “done right” category about this!

Again, I say, there’s some hot, genuine chemistry here that turns me on.  Wimpy Boy isn’t fawning.  But there are just some wonderful moments that capture me when he’s so clearly marveling, his eyes riveted, his attention totally and completely fixed on the truly lovely, divine body pumped in front of him and shoved in his face.  I get the feeling that these guys probably went out and had dinner together after all of this luscious on camera intimacy, because they actually enjoy each other’s company.

So life will be left just a little unfulfilled if a couple things fail to happen:  1) More Wimpy Boy on SMG action needs to happen, preferably including tongue and Wimpy Boy stripping SMG; and 2) Steel Muscle God partners with his tag team sidekick, Wimpy Boy to take on a couple other Eastern European bodybuilders (preferably a couple guys SMG has faced 1:1)!  Steel Muscle God continues to totally turn me on and entertain me, and Wimpy Boy does nothing but multiple both the hotness and the quality entertainment!

Joining the Club

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Picking up on yesterday’s sub-theme of “reading is sexy,” I’ve just posted to the Sidelineland fiction group a new fictional homoerotic wrestling story penned by fan-favorite Alex.  It’s a new chapter in the AWL series, in which we get some backstage, locker room insight into what could have made early ’80’s professional wrestling the sexiest business in the history of the planet.

“Joining the Club” stars a recurring character, young stud Jake Justice, having returned from his road shows and motel madness to keep his on-air career chugging forward as a tough young face.

Jake comes face to face, pec to pec, and cock to cock with a mighty hunk of meat who has more in store to teach young Jake about games within games, moving the career ball forward, and finding your people along the way.  This story features what I can only describe as a breathtakingly awesome return of another AWL feature star who lit up the Sidelineland listserv the last time he appeared in one of Alex’ matches.  Like Quantum Leap, Alex has jumped our perspective into young Jake’s head this time, and there’s something insanely hot about seeing a hunk of meat we’ve grown to know and lust after from the inside out, now described through the eyes of another star-struck hunk.

This has most definitely been the year for homoerotic wrestling fiction, in huge part thanks to Alex’ incredible productivity.  I believe he’s authored no fewer than 17 of the highest quality pieces of homoerotic wrestling fiction on the Sidelineland fiction site, and I’m happy to report that there’s more coming from Alex and others.  So be part of the pouch pounding action by signing up to get all hot and bothered reading these gems.  Better yet, be a total stud and contribute your own pieces of original writing!

Enough About Me… What Do You Think of Me?

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Yesterday neverland saw one of the busiest (if not the busiest) days of traffic.  More than 3,500 hits from around 1,800 unique visitors! A sudden surge like that typically means just one thing: some major router of gay internet content gave us a shout out.  This time, it was the high honor of being an Editor’s Pick for the GayDemon gay porn blog.

I’m much more accustomed to being the reviewer than the reviewee, so it was a fascinating exercise to see what GayDemon’s take on neverland is. He refers to my little corner of the internet as “a personal blog with words and images, written by a guy who shares his fascination with homoerotic wrestling.” Yep. That’s me in a nutshell. Some aspects of neverland seem to leave GayDemon a little confused. For example, my distinction between my “Pornboy Division” and “Non-Pornboy Division” leaves the gay porn connoisseur GayDemon scratching his head. For any newbies around these parts, I make a (probably arbitrary) distinction between homoerotic wrestling starring hunks who (at least) jack-off on camera (“pornboys”) and homoerotic wrestling hunks who may or may not wrestle naked, but as far as I know, they don’t cum on camera (“non-pornboys”). Since Naked Kombat went dormant (yes, I know they’ve reincarnated themselves, but they’re a shell of their former selves), the pornboy division has been pretty damn quiet. So when GayDemon says that it all looks the same to him, I can understand his confusion. It’s just one of those little things that means a lot to me, avoiding trying to compare pornboys and non-pornboys in homoerotic wrestling as essentially comparing apples to oranges (or bananas, really).

My commitment to the companies that give me permission to post their pics is to always cite/link them appropriately, which admittedly amounts to a form of advertisement.

GayDemon references “adverts” on neverland, which makes me cringe just a little. About once a year I teeter back and forth between giving in to pressure and allowing paid advertisements to be posted on neverland. So far, I’ve resisted the pressure, however, and I feel an admittedly self-righteous pride in saying that any link you find on this site is placed there voluntarily by me as a personal endorsement and not a paid advertisement. I possess a (probably illusory) sense of independent license to present my unvarnished opinions of homoerotic wrestling products, relatively unsullied by conflicting financial interests (for the most part). So, sure, technically the links to sites in the margins of neverland are literally advertisements, but they are not paid advertisements. They’re just there for your illumination, not my renumeration.

Are you hitting on me?

There’s something charming about GayDemon’s summary of what he sees when he visits neverland. “All in all this is a neat pace to get a general picture of what the wresting and eroticism combo is all about, or to find some in-depth thoughts and writing on the fetish, genre, subject. Which is another way of saying that you can click there for a sexy look around as well as an intellectual one.” Neat. In-depth. Sexy and intellectual!? Is GayDemon making a pass at me? And if so, is he prepared to trade bodyscissors until one of us cries uncle?

Enough Said.

One of the things about GayDemon’s review of neverland is the obvious way my text-intensive nature strikes him. Now clearly I love images of the beautiful men of homoerotic wrestling! The pages of this blog are littered with laboriously chosen pics intended to be the perfect complement and exemplars of my opinions and thoughts on the subject at hand. But from the beginning, and I expect until my dying day, I’m a man with a passionate fetish for words. The right words, the precise turn of phrase, the strategic deployment of metaphor, the particular poetic provocation of alliteration… these things dial up for me the intoxicating allure of what turns me on: homoerotic wrestling. Writing about it… writing it in the form of fiction and reviews … what I’ve been broadcasting for three and a half years has been not only the subject of homoerotic wrestling, but the subjective experience of appreciating homoerotic wrestling as conveyed through my perpetual self-narrative. I have zero doubt that there are some, quite possibly a majority, of regular visitors to this site who never, ever finish reading my epistles, drawn instead to click-through or settle in with a particular visual for a chart-topping release. Not everyone gives a flying fuck about what GayDemon identifies as an “intellectual” element to the pages of the blog (you FLIRT, GayDemon!).

Denny Cartier makes it to the sweet, sweet end of his match with Alexi Adamov

However, I know for a fact that at least some of the time that there are tenacious readers who make it all the way to the end of even a pretty long swath of text like today’s, because thoughtful readers leave comments (hint). I also know some certain someones in particular read me, because as happened last Friday, I’m occasionally extensively quoted by the likes of the brilliant boys at BG East who sometimes appreciate a particular turn of phrase I offer in praise of one of their gems.

I could still write a novel about what Alexi does to me in Leopard’s Lair 4!

Some back office boy there sent out a promo referring to my detailed admiration of the striking appearance of Alexi Adamov in Leopard’s Lair 4 as me “gushing” about the Russian bodybeautiful superstar. Gushing? Okay, okay. Sure. I gush. Take a look at Alexi’s sweat soaked muscles and just try not to.

I’m gushing at this very moment!

See? Words. Images. More words. It’s a style that I’m sure I’ve plagiarized from plenty of other places, but somehow it’s just how I start to think as I open up Blogger, curse our Google overlords for the pain in the ass interface, and then start to compose a new post. It’s a strange thing to look out into the virtual world and see yourself reflected in the mirror of another’s eyes (I told you I’ve got a thing for metaphors). While occasional commentators has assigned me much less flattering labels than “neat,” “sexy,” and “intellectual,” I’m pretty okay with how my work around here seems to be received, perceived, and reflected back.

Reflecting on reflections.
And being referenced as both sexy and intellectual will feed my often wavering ego strength for weeks to come!  Thanks, GayDemon.

As the World Watches

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I actually wasn’t going to post today, but a very sweet, direct appeal from a reader for something to divert his attention from election day anxiety convinced me otherwise.  I’m not sure what topic is appropriate for a day like today, as Americans go to the polls to cast votes with such big potential to impact people around the world.  We have way too much influence on the well-being of people worldwide, those of us who live and vote in the US.  So many people may prosper or suffer based on the (let’s face it) fickle and often superficial election choices of Americans.  So today, I honor those who have to sit on the sidelines and watch the wingnuttery of American politics play out yet again, just hoping that those crazy Americans won’t elect a(nother) nutjob who will start yet another war of expedience, exploit more of the earth’s resources while ignoring the impact of our exploitation on the global climate, or arm more wingnuts worldwide to fight wars of ideology that ultimate do nothing but increase overall human suffering.  So here are a few of the fantasy men I lust after who today, as far as I know, don’t get to vote in the 2012 US election…

Even armored in newly minted, mouthwatering muscle, high impact x-wrestler Gabriel Ross can only sit back and sip his tea, hoping that those crazy Americans get it right.  Then again, Gabriel and his UK buddies have their own political insanity to sort out on their side of the pond…

Monstercocked leatherboy Rob Chandler and dizzyingly handsome x-wrestler Chris Xaos both command my lustful adoration.  These gorgeous, nasty battlers do such things to me! But one thing that they can’t do: cast a vote for the American politicians who will undoubtedly have undue influence over the world economy and their own local well-being in the UK.  Truly, I’m sorry boys.

Ben Monaco and his hot and hairy pecs are Canadian, which is a particularly hard place to be on a day like today, I’d think.  There’s so much American shit that rolls down hill and across our northern border.  Again, Canada’s got their own bizarre politics to cope with, but at least they have universal health care.  And if it’s any consolation, at least Ben and his compatriots will have another 3 years or so before they have to hear completely ignorant and misleading American political ads warning against being “too much like Canada.”

Rio Garza compete for Mexico in fitness competitions, though his livelihoods seem intimately tied to his commercial success in the US.  I can’t imagine what the US campaign season looks like from south of the border.  Even worse than for Ben and the Canadians, Rio and his countrymen can almost certainly count on being continually demonized as the barbarian hordes beating down the gates of America, all of them drug dealers and mafioso murders who want nothing more than to sneak across the border in order to sit in their lazyboys and soak in all the free shit American’s mistakenly think we provide anyone, much less undocumented immigrants.  It’s guaranteed that U.S. policy makers will bat around Mexican interests like a cat with a ball of string, but do Mexicans get to have any voice in directly influencing their overly wealthy cousins to the north? Despite wildly misleading allegations of voter fraud (always implicating Central and South American immigrants), the answer is no.

Vlad Varek is billed a Russian cage fighter who made just one trip to this country to beat the living shit out of a few weak-assed Americans.  True story or promotional gimmick, I can’t actually attest, but if Vlad is indeed from the motherland, he’s also got to be wondering just how much more saber rattling American politics will get based on who we elect today.  The right wingers in this country still try to dabble in resurrecting Cold War terrors to motivate the electorate, and let’s face it, Russians have more than their fair share of both widespread corruption and undue influence over their neighbors, near and far.  But whether the US will keep trying to put the boogeyman mask on them or, conceivably, deploy actual diplomacy that doesn’t come at the point of our over-estimated sword, Vlad and his peeps can only wonder.

I’ve got a crrrrazy infatuation building for the particular combo of Dan the Steel Muscle God and the return of his plaything, Wimpy Boy.  These Hungarian beauties have managed to reach halfway across the globe and grab me by the balls with the intoxicating chemistry that they’ve got going.  I sweat to god, I’d do a lot of things for the chance to get my hands on SMG, but I’d give my left kidney to round out the entirely naked threesome with BOTH SMG and Wimpy Boy.  I have no idea what their politics are, but if they know what’s good for them, they’d better be hoping for increased prosperity for their army of gay US fans.  Whether they think that would come from re-electing President Obama or siding with $Romney$ and Ayn Rand budget slasher, it doesn’t really matter, does it?  Because Hungarians don’t get a vote in our crazy hot mess of an election in the US.

I’m sure there are more citizens of the world in our homoerotic wrestling universe, but those are the ones I could come up with on short notice.  Whether this little jaunt across the globe actually serves as a distraction or not from the insanity of election day in the US, I don’t know.  But for those of you like me feeling extremely tense and at least a little nauseated today with worry about the future of the US and our social and civil rights, I encourage you to pop in a homoerotic wrestling tape, lay back, and pound yourself into a stupor until the political ads start to fade.  After you’ve voted, bitches.  But then, let your favorite wrestlers take you far, far away.

Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month

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I think it’s entirely possible that we’re living in a new Golden Age of homoerotic wrestling.  Just saying that will likely fan flames, but hear me out.  The crop of last month’s new releases to pick nominees for homoerotic wrestler of the month is exhaustingly extensive, AND BG East did not release a new catalog.  I’m sure wrestling producers might have a different impression of what it means for us to have so many exciting options (over-saturated market?  I hope not).  But for fans, I have to think we’ll look back on seasons like this and marvel at the scope and depth of homoerotic wrestling being produced right now.  For example, take a gander at new face and gorgeously hairy legged Geo, always erotically supercharged Brendan Cage, and ripped to shreds Bradon Charron putting their muscles on the mats for Thunder’s Arena’s 2012 edition of Halloween Havoc.  Consider Thunder’s fratboy-gone-wild Dominic and muscle giant Austin Wolf making muscles quiver in Mat Rats 25.  Pendulously power-packed Hooper is eye-catching as ever in both Mat Rats 26 and 27.  I’m just now introducing myself to new kids on the block, Muscle DominationWrestling, but already they grabbed my attention with a wildly sexy three-way battle between big, hunky farmboy Tony Law, increasingly ripped trust fund baby, Damien Rush, and nasty new handsome heel Henry Sandow for Superhero Contest Interrupted.  Eastern European niche fantasyman, Steel Muscle God, turned the lights out for The Wimpy Boy (who is, frankly, a guilty pleasure of mine) for their bearhugs and headscissors features.  Over at Can-Am, always dangerous Jobe Zander digs deep to punish achingly fresh Bobby Blake in Decrotchery 4.  Tyler St. James and Travis Wild are nothing but a brilliantly cast catch-weight pairing for Pro Sex Fight 10 (I’m thinking more catch-weight fuck-stakes could scratch a major itch for me).  Despite going heavy on the sex and light on the combat, I have to acknowledge JetSet Men’s “parody” of The Ultimate Fighter that they call The Ultimate Top, including two nominees for HWOTM: a potential nominee for sexiest legs on the planet, Logan Vaughn, and ass-pounding heel Tristan Baldwin aka Aryx Quinn. And finally Rock Hard Wrestling has a crop of nominees that rock me, including goldenboy turning nasty, Austin Cooper, barely legal mouthful of beef Brodie Fisher, British muscle beauty Will Stanley and teen heart throb Jason Kane for Tag Team Torture, as well as Brit pounder Will Stanley yet again getting Brutalized by both expert tormentor Ethan Andrews and his heel apprentice Aaron Travers.

What a field!  The breadth and depth here is stunning.  From hard hitting, hardcore porn to the homage to muscle worship fratboy fun and games, there’s a custom gem to suit so many varied kinks!  Picking just one homoerotic wrestler of the month from this crop is essentially comparing apples to oranges to dildos.  On the dildo side of things, let me just say that someone needs to sequester Logan Vaughn in a wrestling ring with a serious pro coach and turn those wad-blowing quads into the lethal weapons they’re meant to be.  But the pitifully shortchanged combat in Ultimate Top just can’t make even a Greek God like Logan actually come out on top as HWOTM.  After painstakingly eliminating one worthy nominee after another, I’m left with a fantasy beast who’s been a recurring superstar in my erotic wrestling dreams over the past couple of months…

… Thunder’s Arena’s Austin Wolf.
“They’re up here, man!”

Speaking of itch-scratching, I honestly didn’t even know I had an empty space inside just waiting to be filled by a gorgeously muscled, 6’4″ 235 pounder with an aversion to a razor. An in case that metaphor was too subtle, let me just reiterate that Austin Wolf is welcome to fill one specific empty space inside of me any day!  In his pre-match confessional for Mat Rats 25, Austin says that he’s a football jock who decided to moonlight for Thunder’s sort of as a lark, coming down to Florida “to kick a little ass.”  When rosy-cheeked fratboy Dominic tries to demonstrate the muscle mass that he predicts will make big, big, big Austin suffer, Austin lifts his arm, flexes his bicep, and points out where the quality beef is hanging: “They’re up here, man,” he taunts “little” D.

Let me repeat, big, big, BIG Austin Wolf!

In my blow by blow review of Austin’s first match, I spent a lot of time marveling at the “unexpected guest” that showed up in a big way in Hooper’s trunks.  And who could blame the kid!? My pants grow uncomfortably tight just thinking about getting my back cracked across massive Austin’s thigh, looking up at that incredibly handsome, rugged face and knowing that I am entirely at this muscle god’s mercy. However, as if to point out that it’s not just his lucky, lucky opponents who are swinging pipe, there’s delightful movement in big Austin’s trunks, particularly evident when Scrappy-Doo locks on an improbable rear bearhug and lifts the powerhouse off his feet.  Those trunks did not start out that full, my friends!

Wake up and smell the muscle!

Austin is perfect pitch in Mat Rats 25 for where my mind wanders the moment I see him on camera.  His voice is about an octave and a half deeper than his fratboy stud opponent.  I’d love to offer my services to manscape every inch of Austin’s fanstasyman body, but there’s no way that I could do better than the clearly loving hand keeping this lightly hairy muscle monster so perfectly trim and coiffed.  And if anyone has a moral imperative to flex and pose his crazy-intimidating giant muscle physique as a devastating offensive tool to strike terror into the heart of an opponent, it’s Austin Wolf.  In my currently running fondest dream, I’m waking up, drowsy and a little woozy, from being sleepered to the edged of consciousness, only to find myself locked in a crotch-to-face headscissors looking up at the massive mountain in Austin’s trunks in the foreground, his fur-coated six-pack and pecs a little farther away, and the huge peaks of his biceps on the horizon, looming over me like a terrible, thrilling, unstoppable disciplining god.

Austin muscles Dominic into position.

Spoiler alert for those who care, Austin gives up multiple, wailing submissions to a half a dozen different holds that the acne-faced D-bomb applies to his long, powerful body before all is said and done.  That deep, bass rumble jumping up an octave in panicked submission is, undeniably, highly erotic for my tastes.  The fact that a physical specimen like Austin can sell anguish and fear does nothing but make me that much more infatuated.  However, I have to say it’s Austin on top that transports me, and it’s Austin on top that cinched his scissorhold on the title this month.  In particular, Austin is unflinching in riding D’s barely clad bubble butt like a capital “P” Porn Star.  The stills that I include in this post likely oversell the eroticism, but not by too terribly much.  It doesn’t take me a lot of imaginative license at all to picture Austin’s muscled ass flexing rhythmically as he fills a particular empty space that Dominic opens up for him deep inside those sweet, pale cheeks of his.

Austin could rip D’s head off without even trying!

Somebody thought that it would be a good idea to have ruddy-cheeked Dominic teach big, bruiser Austin “a lesson,” and I’m sure that there’s a big audience for that angle.  As for me, even with Austin selling like a high-class pro, there’s a suspension of disbelief that’s a fraction too fantastical for me to entirely buy, because any moment at which Austin seriously puts his hands on this kid, it’s clear he could rip his head off without breaking a sweat.  The initial collar-and-elbow, for example, doesn’t cut it, because D just doesn’t pull off the appearance that he isn’t utterly outmatched, even though Austin refrains from tossing the kid through the wall.  But when Austin’s on top, with his meat pressing down into Dominic’s ample ass crack, with Austin’s tree trunks planted firmly around the kid’s hips and D’s face almost disappearing underneath just one of the giant’s HUGE hands threatening to rip his skull off his neck, Austin owns me as completely as he does little D.

Dominic’s vulnerable back needs a fresh, damp, sticky coat of Wolf juice!

I’ve harassed Thunder in the past for sticking so fervently to the rowdy frathouse schtick that they leave behind a gay wrestling kinkster like me in service to, I presume, a more closeted gay wrestling kinkster who’d be too freaked out by something more explicitly erotic.  Thunder’s knows my thoughts on the matter, and Mr. Mike knows that there’s a level of appreciation I can’t reach for quite a bit of their catalog that appears pointed at an audience other than me.  But Austin Wolf growling, sweating, and flexing his bazookas as he stares down at little D’s back with his powertool poised in the fuck-the-loser position is a beautiful example of homoerotic wrestling that does not require (or even warrant) a literal fuck-finisher to communicate something intoxicating to me.  Some chaw spitting closet-case probably looks at Mat Rats 25, curls his upper lip, and through his rotting teeth spits out the words, “Aw, fuck, that’s so gay.”  And in this rarest of cases, I completely and enthusiastically agree with the inbred self-hater.

Crane your neck upward and gaze at towering HWOTM, Austin Wolf!

That’s not to say, however, that I wouldn’t blow a gasket to see smokin’ hot Austin Wolf’s exquisite proportions in a wrestling ring.  I’d give my firstborn to see him tied in the ropes, his trunks peeled off his mile-long body, and his raw meat punished viciously in the hands of the sort of competition that he’s almost certainly not going to face at Thunder’s Arena.  But this brown-eyed powerhouse ripped from Greek mythology stares unflinchingly at me and my unapologetically gay wrestling fetish, pumps his fantasy physique, and demonstrates that even with just 2 matches under his belt, he’s ready to be a crowd pleaser.  Step back, all you other contenders, because a man this big needs room to strut to the front of the line and take a seat on the throne as my reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month!

Voter Fraud

wrestlebard3 Comments
Is that a guilty grin on Z-Man’s handsome mug!?

What the hell was that?  The Reader’s Choice poll this month was an unmitigated failure, I’m afraid.  Votes were continually erased over the past two days that the poll was open.  At the end of day one of voting, it was looking like a tight race between Denny Cartier (buoyed by Aryx Quinn fans), Diego Diaz, and Jake Jenkins.  Then the next morning at least 20 votes were erased, and we started all over with a big surge in the poll for Z-Man.  Yesterday evening, at least another 20 votes disappeared, and Hooper was suddenly in the lead.  Early this morning, the poll results reported just 2 votes: a tie between Hoop and Gold Mantis.  Just 30 minutes ago, there were 3 votes recorded, adding up to a total of 150% of the vote.

Is is just me, or does Aryx look like he’s up to something?
I wish I were a tech forensics geek with the ability to definitively prove who or what was to blame for this gross miscarriage of democracy.  As with all all-electronic voting debacles, there’s no way to trace what went wrong or who was disenfranchised (though, frankly, it looks like nearly everyone was cut out of the official count).  Was it Z-Man’s minders (and I know he has quite an organization of them) scrubbing the record clean every time a competitor jumped out too far ahead of him?  Then again, I know for a fact that Aryx Quinn’s people were pushing votes for Denny based on the fact that Aryx was Denny’s tormentor in his nominated OTK.  Was it the Aryx Quinn/Tristan Baldwin machine throwing the vote when stuffing the ballot box wasn’t working?

Is Jake Jenkins as mouthwateringly innocent as he looks? 

There’s something ominous about this object lesson in relying on electronic media to approximate a democratic process.  I try not to even think about the implications of electronic voting machines in national elections for fear that I’ll never sleep restfully a whole night again in my life.  Of course the notoriously ill-supported and impersonal Google overlords that run Blogger and its in-house apps like the Blogger Poll widget are likely supremely uninvested in the outcome of the poll to determine who suffered the sexiest in an OTK backbreaker, as opposed to cronies of Presidential nominees who invest in electronic voting hardware and software, so the comparison is surely spurious.

If it was Diego Diaz, I don’t want to be the one to accuse him….

Ah, hell.  I’m not going to sleep restfully through a whole night now, at least until November 7.  The fiasco of this Reader’s Choice poll will haunt my dreams until President Obama is reelected.  I’m hoping they’re the sort of dreams where Tagg Romney gets forcibly stripped (yeah, those “undergarments,” too), surprisingly found to be packing a rock hard bod and 8-inches of pipe, and then cracked across Cage Thunder’s thigh while the masked master crushes his balls and makes him scream, “Bernie Sanders, make me your sex slave!”

Tagg Romney fantasizes about at man-on-man combat

However, I suspect my dreams will be much, much darker and more disturbing…

I offer to pay Tagg Romney $500 to let Cage Thunder do this to him….

Reader’s Choice Poll – OTK Delights

wrestlebard2 Comments
“Words are flowing out like endless rain into a paper cup….”  I’ve been quiet around here lately, but I’m happy to report that it’s not a sign of writer’s block.  In fact I’m writing a lot, and on several different projects, all of which I’m finding very enjoyable and exciting.  You’ll have a chance to see it all sooner or later, but for now I’m designating today for a “reader’s choice poll” to make you all do some of the heavy lifting around here!
I’m on board with team Shutt!
Before we get to the poll, however, I want to make this brief shout out to a particular fan of this blog who made a special appeal for neverland readers to support his burgeoning, ass-kicking career.  My shirt for team Shutt arrived, and it fits great.  I’m looking forward to regular reports documenting his rise  through the ranks of hardbodied battlers, and I’m fully expecting him to generously remember those of us who were hopping on his bus way back when he was just a newbie with an attitude.  Readers can still order their own shirt, promoting and supporting the MMA career of a driven young man who appreciates all of our support.
Now, however, let’s move onto today’s assignment.  Homoerotic wrestling fans frequently have special g-spots for particular pieces of the complex puzzle of wrestling eroticism.  For example, Joe at Ringside at Skull Island recently posted that he’s a thighs-and-shoulders-man more than an abs-and-ass-man, whereas when it comes to someone like Kid Karisma, I’m entirely fixated on those world class glutes!  Same thing goes for many other aspects of wrestling, including holds and maneuvers.  There have been virtual rivers of virtual ink spilled by raging fanatics of bearhugs, for example.  There was for a while (I seem to have lost my link) a blog devoted to the erotic power of the bodyslam.  Regular readers know my particular kink is tweaked hardest by a hard, lingering, sweaty, spine realigning over-the-knee backbreaker.  So the reader’s choice poll for today is to sample the recent OTK backbreakers in new releases and select the one that’s the sweetest example of how exquisitely sexy this maneuver can be.  Like a tango, it takes two, but I’m convinced it’s the boy getting backbroken who sells this maneuver most, so the boys up for your vote are on the receiving end of this particular delight. Check out the nominees below, and then vote in the poll to the right.
Hooper’s trunks rise to vote for him for best wrestler in an OTK backbreaker.
Speaking of having spilled virtual ink, I’ve already waxed fanatical about the chemistry generated in the Thunder’s Arena recent release, Mat Rats 21.  The surprise star of the show is that growing bulge in Hooper’s trunks, god bless him, but possibly the most perfect moment in this match for me is when big (and I mean BIG) Austin Wolf pounds Hoop’s back down across his thigh and then leaves the little studpuppy slowly cracking in half.  Hoop’s agony is nothing short of sublime, and the rising tide in his trunks totally catches me off guard for it’s erotic appeal.
Rookie Gold Mantis bends like rubber while getting crotch-clawed by the master.
Gold Mantis learns immediately upon entering the gym to be careful what he wishes for (and wishes to avoid).  Within seconds, his #1 nightmare, Cage Thunder, has the hardbodied rookie locked up tight and cracked backward across his thigh. And can Gold Mantis bend or what!? Damn, a hot, hard body like that that’s also as limber as a gymnast is… well, it’s golden! With Cage Thunder’s claw squeezing his crotch, Gold Mantis is going nowhere at the speed of light, and this mouthwatering OTK ticks off just about every single box I’ve got!
Z-Man makes my mouth water with his no-hands OTK agony!

Z-Man fans will, I’m sure, chime in when they see that the playboy model turned homoerotic wrestling fantasyman is nominated here for his gorgeous display of his totally vulnerable yet incredibly powerful body wracked so appealingly across Dick Rick’s right thigh. Dick is a consummate salesman, and the sweat dripping off his meaty pecs are icing on this cake, but the cake itself is Z-Man totally committing to this involuntary chiropractic procedure.  So much beauty and power made so completely at the mercy of the heel pro… wow…

Denny Cartier’s hot bod, hairy thighs, and gasp-worthy flexibility on gorgeous display

Reigning homoerotic wrestler of the month, Denny Cartier, sells and sells and sells in his anchor role on Leopard’s Lair 4.  The quantity of abuse he soaks up from both Alexi Adamov and Aryx Quinn are epic, but I swear to you that it’s the quality of his suffering that makes Denny second to none in this new release.  Singlet straps down, on his tiptoes trying to relieve the pressure on his lower lumbar while his forehead is smashed to the mat on the other side of Aryx’ leg, the hairy legs, the stretched abs, the tats, the bulge… gorgeous.

Diego Diaz’ 6’3″ frame stretches for days as he bridges across Kirby Stone’s thigh.

Diego Diaz is another of the tallboys turning my head hard lately.  When Kirby Stone catches him across his right thigh and bends him backward, Diego is nearly too much man for Kirby to handle.  Keeping those long limbs and hot muscles in place makes the heel-rising Kirby have to work at it, and if a little gratuitous squeeze of Diego’s right glute happens along the way, all the better! There’s just so damn much of Diego to love, and this OTK makes loving every inch a deep down pleasure.

Pec-perfect playboy model Z-Man doesn’t only know how to catch an OTK, he can pitch with some sweet finesse as well.  When he’s got a sweat-soaked Jake Jenkins where he (and you and I) want him, it’s like sculpture.  But when JJ screws up his face, wails like a wounded animal, and clutches his lower back pinned across Z-Man’s knee, there’s pathos is all performance art!  Damn, I love JJ’s sweaty locks plastered to his temples as his head hands upside down!  This boy hurts like a champ!
Brit battler Will Stanley takes two opponents to work him over in an exquisite OTK!
Rock Hard Wrestling also chimes in with the only recent 2-on-1 OTK I’ve seen recently, and I have to say, I love a 2-on-1 OTK!  In this case, young muscle stud Will Stanley gets cracked across Ethan Andrew’s thigh and laid open for opportunistic punk Aaron Travers to pound the muscle stud’s vulnerable, yet armored, abs.  This scene would achieve ultimate perfection should Aaron’s left hand slide down underneath Will’s trunks and throttle his balls as he bashes the boy’s gut.  Alas, even short of perfection, it’s an incredibly hot contender for the most provocative OTK backbreaker of recent releases.
So who’s your pick for the wrestler selling an OTK backbreaker sexier than all the rest?  I’m wildly ambivalent and my loyalties are shattered 7 ways!

Larger than Life

wrestlebard2 Comments
6’3″, 225 lbs Alexi Adamov

While it was Denny Cartier who got my pick for homoerotic wrestler of the month, his opponent in the first match of Leopard’s Lair 4, Alexi Adamov, is nothing short of breathtaking. I’ve seen a lot of Alexi’s work, mind you.  His debut with BGE against the legendarily living legend Brad Rochelle was astonishing for the beauty of his long, hunky body beaten to a pulp by the freshly minted heel Brad.  And Alexi’s welcome of Mitch Colby to BGE was one of the most beautiful pair of sweat soaked bodies ever cast.  But I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alexi as ripped and gorgeous as he is in the ring against Denny.

Alexi is larger than life!

The contrast of his body and Denny’s body is almost certainly a major part of what makes Alexi’s appearance seem so unprecedented.  5’6″, 165 lbs Denny is solid, compact, and hot as hell, but facing off against 6’3″, 225 lbs Alexi serves only to make Alexi seem to grow at least a couple inches and 40 lbs bigger than he was as the fresh, painfully pretty rookie facing newly lethal Brad those years ago.

Alexi bulges in all the right places

Denny makes Alexi work, and he makes him hurt. When they aren’t on their feet, Denny holds his own and, more importantly, holds and hammers and squeezes and contorts the muscled Russian’s sculpted body beautifully.

Downward Dog never looked so good!

But what a huge, powerful boy like Alexi can do with a spunky, incredibly flexible and fearless wrestler 60 or so pounds lighter is absolutely art. Early in the match, he manages this astonishing move that’s sort of a combination of downward dog and a rib crushing body scissors.  Denny is helplessly suspended in mid-air and getting sliced in between the luscious Russian’s gorgeous thighs. It’s an incredible feat of strength and coordination, and it could as easily appear in a modern dance routine as in a homoerotic wrestling match.

Denny soaks in the sights, sounds, smells, tastes, and feel of being owned by Alexi

And lucky, lucky Denny gets introduced to every fantastic nook and cranny of Alexi’s mouth watering body. There’s not a moment that Denny looks like his mind is on anything other than doing his best to survive the ugly Russian brutality from the pretty, pretty Russian muscleman.  But Denny is nothing short of my hero for the moment his face is trapped way up Alexi’s crack, and of all the things he could do, he just squeezes those luscious glutes.

Like me, Alexi likes what he sees

I often find it a little distracting when wrestlers can’t quite tear their eyes off of the mirror when they’re battling in the BGE ring room. I’ve been in that room, and I know how big and alluring the mirror must be for boys as beautiful as Alexi.  But typically, I find the boys’ mugging for the mirror a little annoying.  But somehow Alexi pulls it off just fine.  He likes what he sees, meaning not just the sight of his fantastically beautiful muscles coated in sweat and pumped, but the sight of his big beautiful muscles in the moment of dominating an opponent.

Every last angle of Alexi’s body is gorgeous!
Every inch of Alexi is beautiful.  Every stretch and squeeze Denny applies reveals perfectly smooth and unblemished Alexi from every angle.  The only thing missing is another pair of hands tactilely appreciating the wonders that Denny reveals.
The spoils of victory

And speaking of revealing, after choking Denny with his wrist strap, he gives a nice big yank on Denny’s trunks and shows Denny fans what’s underneath the signature white trunks with blue piping.  Big, sculpted, soaked in sweat, muscled to perfection and pretty as a picture… and so generous with his fans!?  Damn boy!

Alexi looking his absolute BEST!

Winning the Hard Way

wrestlebard5 Comments
Jake Jenkins is stunning to watch use those muscles to choke out Eli Black

Sometimes I think of myself as a homoerotic wrestling kink therapist.  I often hear from wrestling fans who have questions and problems they want solved with regard to homoerotic wrestling.  “Tell BG East to…” or “Why does Rock Hard Wrestling always…?” And not uncommonly, I get messages from readers who tell me that they “just need to vent.”  For example, a reader and homoerotic wrestling fan recently “vented” to me in an email regarding a recurring frustration.  Like me, he’s a major Jake Jenkins fan. And like me, he enjoys watching Jake kick ass.  So when he sees a lot of JJ’s new releases in which the stud puppy clearly gets squashed, he’s irritated.  This reader knows my recurring answer to these types of questions: tastes vary.  Some of us likely get more kink for the buck to see a hot muscle kid like JJ dominated, while others of us get a harder push over the edge by watching handsome Jake on the conquering in of the equation.  But this reader still questions what makes those on “the other side” tick, and what makes them want to see more and more of JJ getting owned.

Jake goes down in a puddle of sweat beneath a victorious Kid Karisma

This exchange brought to mind a similar brief correspondence I had with a reader several months ago, who asked me to exercise influence over Steel Muscle God to convince him to tape some wrestling action in which the godly one gets dominated.  This is hardly the first time someone has vastly overestimated my influence. And it’s actually not the first time I’ve heard this particular plea.  Personally, I LOVE watching SMG totally use an opponent, particularly one of those hot muscleboys he’s pummeled lately.  There’s an absolutely intoxicating scene in SMG’s recent release of a ring “bout” in which he repeatedly sleepers a hot, hard hunk.  He puts the fiesty stud out flat on this stomach, and I’m 110% on board with the sell that this is an actual choke out.  The hunk goes limp like a noodle.  And when SMG shakes and shoves him and rolls him over, the hottie looks absolutely out cold.  SMG prods and pokes the unresisting hunk, standing over top of him and flexing his guns, leering down into his slack face, until finally after a half a minute or so, the vulnerable hunk of meat comes to.  Fuck me there something so erotic about that little exchange!

Steel Muscle God wreaks divine justice all over another hot muscle buddy

But ripping myself back to my topic for today.  Some readers have repeatedly complained that SMG “always wins.”  Why doesn’t he star in a muscleboy-in-trouble-scenario for those desperately waiting for him to stroke that g-spot where many fans get topped off by the powerful muscle stud shocked, laid out and humiliated?  For the record, SMG has said that he does have a wrestling match in which he “loses,” but I haven’t actually seen it (I think you have to buy it separately from the membership site, and I’m too frugal).  But the issue seems to be repeated from many of my kink therapy clients: “my getting off on a homoerotic wrestling match requires that my primary object of lust win (or lose).”

Brad Rochelle wrote the book in making a muscleboy loser epically homoerotic.

And both of these conversations call to mind still another set of exchanges I’ve had with a long-time commentator and avid student of homoerotic wrestling who more than once has chided me that I’m too focused on who wins and who loses.  What tweaks the subconscious wrestling kink, he argues, is almost entirely unrelated to specifically whose shoulders are pinned to the mat or which hunk sobs, “I give!”  The passion play that homoerotic wrestling presents us is about themes broader than the specific “winner” or “loser,” like broken egos, revenge on bullies, the battle of might versus right, or our personal secret longings to be dominated or to dominate.  And, this commentator has also argued, it’s about much more specific elements than the literal “win” as well, such as the particular sell of suffering, how persuasively we’re sucked into longing to see someone punished, the precise angle at which a wrestler’s lower back is pried backward in a Boston crab that convinces us he’s hurting while simultaneously displaying is gorgeous body and bulging package so tantalizingly.  There’s definitely the school of thought that literal “winning” and “losing” is almost entirely beside the point.

Brad Rochelle also looks GORGEOUS milking victory out of Patrick Donovan’s withering body!

I’ve pushed back against that hard line.  I think the drama of coming out on top is very central to what strokes my homoerotic wrestling kink.  The notion of two powerful men, both fully expecting to be top-stud as they climb into the ring is precisely the tension that thrills me.  One of them will end up defeated, knocked down a peg, put in his place, while the other will stride out of the ring victorious, top dog, in control.  Turn this into a non-competitive, everybody wins, nobody loses, passionless dance of pretty bodies, and I might as well be watching a yoga class, which even when the bodies are smoking hot, it’ll never do for me what a hot wrestling match does.

Pectacular Patrick Donovan also looks dizzyingly hot slapping down a humiliating victory all over Z-Man’s  beautifully vulnerable muscle-bod.

And then there’s one last mental association I’m having with all of this talk of winners and losers. At the BGE Headquarters discussion group, someone who has frequently commented on this blog wrote a seemingly straightforward opinion, suggesting that he’d prefer the initial photo galleries in the membership site of BGE not “give away” which wrestler wins and which one loses.  He suggested that he’d prefer to maintain the suspense, particularly for those matches that he’s planning on purchasing.  Give him enough time to get the new release shipped to him before revealing who ends up top dog.

Z-Man can also delight in victory as he rips apart loser muscle boy Brody Hancock

Personally, I think this sounds entirely reasonable and well-reasoned.  However, another commentator left a bizarrely mismatched diatribe mocking anyone who could “believe these matches aren’t fake.” This commentator prejudices his own oddly aggressive response by tying them to appalling politics, but my point is actually not his apparent political self-hatred.  My point is really that he misses the point entirely.  The point is not how choreographed wrestling-for-pay may be in any given example.  The question of wanting to milk the suspense of not knowing who wins is wholly unrelated to whether the wrestlers or promoters are staging the matches as melodramas rather than as Olympic sport.  It seems to me that the investment many of us have in winners or losers in homoerotic wrestling is entirely about how wrestling speaks directly to our erotic fantasies, not some “objective” evaluation of who, in a fair fight, would kick whose ass.

Babyface Brody Hancock also make victory look so, so sexual when he puts magically nippled muscle hunk Cody Nelson on his back for good.

Suspense, anticipation, the establishment of tension in the plot, the development of compelling characters who establish motivation and commit to their particular roles… these are essential elements of satisfying homoerotic wrestling as far as I’m concerned.  However much a pretense it appears in any given match, the context of combat is a core component of what turns me on and tops me off as a homoerotic wrestling fan.  It isn’t so much who would win in an actual barroom brawl (not at all, really), but who tells a provocative story about passion and heat, power and strength, skill and strategy, muscle and beauty, and, without a doubt, winning and losing.

Sweat soaked and savoring victory, Cody Nelson titillates musclebully fans when he crushes handsome, lanky, lovely Christian Taylor aka Chris Cox.

So why do some JJ fans never seem to get tired of seeing him humiliated and defeated?  Why are others desperate to watch him use those gorgeous muscles of his to pick apart and make another hunk his bitch?  How are some fans filled up on a steady diet of SteelMuscleGod owning one opponent after another, while others are insanely aching to see SMG crushed and dominated?  I think this state of affairs is simply the landscape in which we live as homoerotic wrestling fans.  Our fantasies vary, even as we share a common passion for the eroticism of wrestling drama. It seems clear to me that winning and losing is far from beside the point, and who wins and who loses is directly and intimately tied to what strokes many of us hardest.  It’s not that we’re naively buying into the competitive pretense of wrestling-for-pay. I for one love watching Olympic wrestling, but the hottest amateur match is only a fraction as sexy as even the average homoerotic wrestling product as far as I’m concerned.  Explicitly homoerotic wrestling is much bigger than the raw rules and tests of strength and skill of amateurs, and more importantly, the point is entirely different.  The point of amateur wrestling is entirely winning and losing.  But the point of homoerotic wrestling is to get you and me off, and while it’s not the whole story, the drama of winning and losing is one of the elements that makes wrestling the kink that defines me (and many of you!).

For my tastes, Christian never looked hotter than when he brutalized his lover and rumored-to-be tag team partner Skip Vance, tying together homo, erotic, and wrestling in as beautiful a bow as any victory ever has!

Friends with Benefits

wrestlebard1 Comment
Sam Champion (r) announces he’s marrying his partner (l) who is, shockingly, a man.
Breaking news! Sam Champion is gay!  Well, really now.  Breaking news? I’ve probably spent more time than most studying newsboys and speculating on their sexualities, but even a casual observer of that glazed look of unrequited lust and conspicuous blushing every time 6’2″ Italian thoroughbred Chris Cuomo gives him a wink and a smile couldn’t miss the obvious truth.  So excuse me if I fail to look surprised, even as I sincerely celebrate another hot celebrity throwing wide the closet doors.  Seriously, ABC has been handling the whole thing with remarkable poise.  It’s all about the good news, unrestrained excitement, gentle kidding… all the stuff that happens when anyone tells their friends that they’re engaged.  Because that’s the real news.  Sam’s tying the knot in a state where that’s legal with his smoking hot, sultry Brazilian (all of that’s redundant, now, isn’t it?) fiancé. 
Chris flexes his mouthwatering gun: Sam blushes and adjusts his position on his bicycle seat.
Sam and Chris were stars of the first homoerotic wrestling fiction I posted nearly 4 years ago.  They were tag team partners who had to compete head-to-head in a singles match to start off the newsboy tournament.  Their notorious gay/straight bromance turned nasty quickly when winning was on the line.      Sam used the excuse of the opening handshake to sucker punch (kick, really) Chris in the gut, dropping the big muscle stud to his knees, and slapping on a skull crushing standing head scissors.
Chris feins indifference to Sam’s straightboy crush
I imagine Sam to be a seriously vicious scrapper, while Chris is just stunned that his good looks and rippling muscles aren’t making his little buddy weak in the knees like they usually do.  Sam rips Chris’ tank stop off and ties the red-faced Italian’s wrists together with it before stepping back and taking in the sight of the muscle stud transformed into a vulnerable meatscicle.
I suspect Sam volunteered to co-star with Chris in a wet t-shirt scenario
Sam and Chris were at the very beginning of this blog, too, inspiring me to snag my first caps to post what it looks like when they get dropped into a dunking booth, their wet t-shirts plastered to their bodies.  Soaked to the skin, Chris’ hot pecs and tight abs on display as the fabric goes transparent… this is the type of “news assignment” every gay man wants to be part of!
Chris points at his pride and joy: that gorgeous, bulging bicep (oh, yeah, there’s a fish there, too)

Chris Cuomo remains a fixture in my homoerotic wrestling imagination, appearing in an astonishing 5 fictional wrestling matches in the Producer’s Ring.  His real-life penchant for absolutely needing to show off his massive, bulging biceps doesn’t do anything to douse this fire I’ve got burning for him.

Technically, one doesn’t actually need to roll one’s sleeves up past one’s granite carved deltoids to display one’s catch, does one? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.

If somehow fishing could be worked into my erotic tastes, Chris would certainly be my patron saint.  As it is, his insistence on showing off his catch with his shirt sleeves rolled up past his massive shoulders, letting the heft of his catch pump his mountainous bicep up to a mouthwatering peak, is sufficient to cement him as a recurring character transported into my erotic wrestling fantasies.

Chris makes Sam sweat with a hands-on weightlifting spot.

Now with Sam trading up his bromance with Chris for a romance with Rubem, it makes me wonder if the chemistry between the two newsboys had a part to play in driving my instant infatuation with the big, handsome, muscle clad Italian.  The chemistry between them most definitely inspired that no-holds beach match between them.  Just to round out that action for those who missed it, there’s hair pulling, a heat-butt to the groin, face punching, and a rib crushing body scissors that makes one stunned newsboy wish he had air left in his lungs to be able to cry, “I submit!”

I’m pretty certain the green is photoshop, but the muscles are all Chris Cuomo!

With some major projects in my rearview mirror, I’m recommitting myself to the Producer’s Ring universe in the coming weeks.  First up, my infatuation with homoerotic wrestling newsboys is inspiring a rush of new action.  Chris Cuomo, the hunk featured most in my writing thus far (of any celebrity genre!) is almost certain to make an appearance again soon.  He’s pumped. He’s hard.  He’s been bicep curling massive fish and ripping that physique of his with triathlon training.  Somebody’s in for some hurt, even if the big, gregarious muscle stud tends to be a rather tragic babyface object of muscle-bashing sooner or later.

Chris unbuttons his shirt, flexes his pecs, and ponders the direction his homoerotic wrestling career is heading.

Then again, even the biggest boy scout on the planet (or the one with the biggest pecs) can be pushed only so far.  One of these days, our baby face hero may just decide that playing by the rules and flashing his dimples and nipples isn’t the key to success in the wrestling ring.  And if pec-pappa Chris takes a legitimate heel turn, holy shit! There are some hot newboy objects of lust who’d better watch their backs!