Calvin Haynes scored the clear victory for best legs with those gargantuan, thickly draped quads and beautifully bulging, veiny calves. I feel like it’s time for us to see Calvin in a seriously sexy Wrestle Worship match, with Calvin earning the the kneeling, gasping, awestruck, licking adoration those tree trunks so richly deserve .
Brad Barnes huge pec pillows came just shy of getting the outright majority of voters in a seriously beautiful field of contenders. I think the pec claw was invented for the comic book superhero proportions of Brad’s chest. I’d give a kidney for the chance to see runner-up Lon Dumont (my choice, of course) climb into the ring with Brad and tear him to shreds!
Dev Michaels pulled out the victory in the seriously competitive category of Best Arms. This category had me struggling to settle on just one of these magnificent, mountainous set of biceps, but I have to admit I went for Dev’s stunning, thickly veined, aesthetically gorgeous, and functionally devastating arms. Have we seen an opponent openly acknowledge just how fucking SEXY Dev’s muscleman bod is?
The Best Back category was another super competitive battle. Van and Dev scored an exact tie (as of my counting this morning) for second place, but it was Dr. Cooper who pulled the victory out. There’s so much about Austin to love, and I bet his beautiful tapered-V isn’t always the first thing that comes to mind to admire, but fuck, yes, his back is a work of art! I actually voted for Van, because Dark Skyler has been haunting my waking dreams since I had the pleasure of watching his Muscle Showcase last year. But I have no problems at all with crowning Coop as sporting the best back at BG East in 2020.
The Best Ink category always brings out the haters. I used to feel defensive when I’d get comments about how tattoos universally suck, and it’s a waste of a hot body to ink it up. Some of you know I sport my own ink that I actually adore, so I feel pretty swept up in the sweeping generalizations. But there are clearly plenty of us who appreciate fine body art, and by a razor-thin margin, Zip Zarella came out on top by a fraction over his indy pro buddy Elite Eliot. My vote actually went to Ash, but Eliot and Zip are perennial favorites of mine for so many reasons, not least of which is their fine, bold, in-your-face ink. The two of them burned the house down in Wrestling with Pride 1 a couple of years ago, but I ache to see them show even more pride in a rematch, strip stakes, loser kisses the winner’s ass (lovingly). And if that idea were to materialize, I hope that Eliot knows I’m ready to be his corner man.
The Prettiest Face category was the only one to turn into a total route in the polls, with Kip Sorell leaving all 4 of his competitors in the dust and taking an actual majority of votes. I’ve never been as huge a fan of Kip’s as I know most BGE fans are, not because I wouldn’t love to strip him naked and fuck him for days on end, but because he’s such a fucking jobber. Not that I don’t love jobbers, mind you, but Kip just doesn’t quite suck me in to the wrestling drama. But that’s me. He’s ridiculously pretty, nonetheless. My vote went full-heartedly for Nino, who I feel like is way under-appreciated relative to his wrestling skills, passion, and raw sexiness. But that face of his is so boy-band pretty it makes me dizzy sometimes.
It was such a nail biter to the finish for the Sexiest Nipples vote! I started crushing on Chase’s nips from about 2 seconds after I first saw him in action a few years ago, so I have no complaints about him bringing home the gold. I also started crushing on Mason’s nips about 2 seconds after I first saw him in action a couple years before I first saw Chase, so I love that their sexiest nipples rivalry that played out in Gazebo Grapplers 20 played out in the voting, as well. I didn’t expect Dev to bring home the tie with Mason for second place though, which is an awesome surprise. I think this now deserves a 3-way contest, in the ring, climaxing with Mason and Chase cooperating just enough to tie Dev in the ropes and each of them work over one of the big man’s nips until he cums hands-free.
My hearty congratulations to all the winners, and I hope that the also-rans know that you are adored by an army of devoted fans, even if you didn’t get the votes in a totally useless poll like this one (or any of them). I think every wrestler who put in an appearance in a 2020 BG East release deserves a medal for making lock-down bearable, and I would personally be more than happy to demonstrate to any one (or all) of you just how much fans worship your beauty, strength, and skill!
With some frequency, I refer to a particular wrestling hold or image as art. In saying that, I’m trying to convey what I think transcends the solely titillating aspect of the wrestling moment, and suggest that I think there’s something transcendentally aesthetic about it. Should a prude deign to take a look, I argue that said prude ought to recognize the stunning beauty displayed, whether or not they are turned on by, or in any way interested in homoerotic wrestling. Every so often, a wrestling image sparks something in my memory, reminding me that it’s not just aesthetics in the abstract that’s drawing my attention to the artfulness of a scene. Here are a few of the wrestling images that I’ve managed to track down, in the filing cabinet of my memory as well as in the catalog of available images on the internet, demonstrating homoerotic wrestling life imitating art, or, more likely, how relatively transcendent motifs, proportions, and angles echo through different artistic genres, including homoerotic wrestling.
Hercules wrestling Antaeus has haunted me ever since I first saw Steve Reeves, as Hercules, play out this scene in Hercules Unchained. The key plot point of the myth is that Antaeus must be suspended off the ground in order to deny him the inexhaustible strength he draws from contact with the earth. So big, lifting bearhugs abound in artistic renderings of this moment. I believe this bronze of the scene, with a gorgeous, dominating reverse bearhug, is on display in Vienna. Similarly, BG East’s Johnny Modesto is Hercules to Brad Rochelle’s Antaeus in Matmen 16.
The first time I visited Stockholm, I took about 1,000 photos of the Sun Singer, a naked Apollo greeting the rising sun. It’s a pose of celebration and vulnerability. If you’re ever walking around Stockholm, you can’t avoid gazing at the spectacle of beauty, with his arms raised invitingly toward the sun. Austin Cooper’s pose for the BG East promotion of Hunkbash 14, both in substance and shadow, accomplishes the same ends, and similarly, I can’t take my eyes off his magnificent ass!
This bronze of the classical sculpture The Wrestlers has been often reproduced, though the oldest surviving version of it is, I believe, in Florence. It’s so directly erotically-inclined, it’s no wonder homoerotic mat wrestling regularly draws to my mind the allusion to this sensational image of intimacy and domination, with naked wrestlers (with perfectly muscled bodies) entangled so completely that it’s not always apparent which limb belongs to which combatant. I grabbed this comparable vintage black and white image from BG East’s Arena (Vintage Collections). I don’t know it’s provenance, but it so perfectly captures every last angle, that it almost certainly had to have been posed. Clearly, I’m not the only one who sees the homoerotic text and subtext in it!
The Torah telling of Jacob wrestling with the angel has inspired many artistic visions throughout history. The heavily muscled bearhugs are my personal favorites, like this French oil painting, with a naked Jacob who I wouldn’t mind squeezing me in nice and tight like that. Damien Rush captures the futility of Leloir’s angel, grasping at big Joe Robbins huge arms that, once latched on, will not let go until satisfaction is attained. There’s plenty to appreciate in Demolition 23!
Finally, back to Stockholm, because… Swedes. This sculpture of the Fången Viking (“captured viking”) again highlights the aesthetic beauty of youthful power tamed, constrained, and displayed in intimate vulnerability. A handcuffed Nino Leone, pinned against the mat room wall by Kayden Keller in BG East Grudge Match 6, signals the same gorgeous vulnerability.
Damien Rush is one of those wrestlers I love to hate. I fucking hate that guy with a passion. I once told the behind-the-scenes studs at BG East that I wouldn’t write their website match descriptions for Damien’s matches any longer, because my head would explode if I heard him growl the phrase “alpha dog” just one more time. Of course, I think my embargo lasted no more than 2 or 3 catalogs, before I saw him impeccably paired with some sensational favorite of mine, and I was irresistibly drawn to discover if my pick would plow Damien under like he deserves.
Fuck, I hate that guy. It may be my proletariat roots, separated as I am by no more than a generation from coal miners and steel workers who would have sooner pissed on daddy’s-little-richboy Damien than given him the time of day. He’s so fucking over the top with his 1% pedigree and his “best training money can buy.” He’s got nutritionists and personal trainers and wrestling coaches, and he climbs into the ring with hard working hunks who’ve earned every ounce of opportunity that Damien has been spoon fed from the cradle. Fuck, I hate that guy.
He’s in rare form when he climbs into the ring against Austin Cooper in Forced to Flex 3. By rare form, I mean he’s impossibly buff, draped with luxurious muscle, thick head of coiffed hair, periwinkle briefs sown around his wasp-thin waist and meaty glutes. I also mean he’s in rare form because he’s monologuing like a Batman villain, predicting his rising stock price launched that much higher on the back of the living legend, Austin Cooper. “Everyone knows Damien Rush is the best, the wealthiest, the most supreme wrestler in the ring.” Fuck, I HATE it when Damien refers to himself in the third person like a fucking 16th century monarch. Then he bounces his huge, hairy pecs, and I sort of despise myself for the involuntary response in my crotch.
I adore a forced-to-flex match, and there’s no way I could avert my eyes from the chance that it could be Damien so completely humiliated. This is Austin Cooper, after all. For those keeping tabs, this is Dr. Cooper, M.D. (master of destruction). Austin’s mild-mannered, babyface alter-ego could very well get crushed by the likes of dandy and diabolical Damien Rush, but when Dr. Cooper climbs into the ring, all bets are off. He demands to get the full tour of Damien’s bought-and-paid-for muscles, but Damien refuses to take orders from a member of the hoi polloi. “You don’t want to flex? I’m going to make you flex,” Austin predicts (and my crotch jumps to attention again).
If I’m being entirely honest and frank (which, of course I am), Damien dwarfs Dr. Cooper, which is a seriously fucking big deal. Austin is gorgeous and thickly muscled and every inch the goldenboy he always is, but no shit, Damien is noticeably bigger. His biceps are about as big around as Austin’s head. His hairy pecs, shockingly, put Austin’s lovely chest in second place. It’s irritatingly child’s play for the blueblood to easily dominate an opening test of strength. “Yeah,” Damien scoffs, bearing down and threatening to snap Austin’s wrists, “I don’t think I’m going to need to flex any of these muscles.”
I’m livid when Damien throws Austin to the mat like yesterday’s trash. I’m literally yelling at the screen furiously when Austin bounces off the mat like the pro he is, only to be nearly decapitated with a vicious clothesline. Holy shit, those 20″ biceps on Damien can do some serious damage! Like fucking child’s play, he hoists Cooper up across one shoulder, holds him there like a boss, and then slams him to his back, brutally. It’s like the 2016 election night nightmare all over again, as I watch the Park Avenue loudmouth latch on a totally dominating full nelson and wring Austin out like a wet washcloth. Austin grunts. He flexes his gorgeous muscles, his face screwed up in concentration. And then Damien literally laughs at the goldenboy’s total impotence. Fuck! Is this the match that pushes that fucking arrogant prick into legitimate contention!?
I won’t spoil every moment of the match, but I will say that my initial adrenaline pump of rage turns into a sustained adrenaline pump of lust as the wheels start to come off of Damien’s Aston Martin. Dr. Cooper nearly rips the hairy hunk in half at the groin until Damien obediently flexes his gargantuan biceps on command. “That’s damn right, you obey Austin Cooper!” Austin works up a head of steam, fucking up the richboy’s right knee in a figure-4 leglock, until Damien sucks on the humiliation of flexing his peaks again, as ordered. “You don’t have to do this,” Damien begs like the cream puff he genuinely is underneath all of that hired muscle. And, of course, Austin doesn’t have to do this, which just makes it that much more delightful to watch him do it, nonetheless, and with so much passion. “Look at me,” Dr. Cooper orders when Damien is literally hiding his face in his hands to cover his shame. “I want to see your pain-face!” Me. Fucking. Too!
An enticing plot development is just how much Dr. Cooper appreciates Damien’s undeniably stunning body. He takes a special interest in the magnificently wide lats on the blueblood prince. In a picture-perfect kneeling surfboard, Austin is ripping him apart at those hugely bulging shoulders, when he transitions to digging his claws into Damien’s lats and prying him backward by the flaring back muscles. I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen something like this move before, and it’s compelling at shit. Damien screams like a wounded animal, which certainly makes sense. “Where did you get those lats?” Austin asks with genuine wonder in his voice. “How much did those cost?” Damien can’t answer. He just screams, which sort of pisses me off, because I was genuinely hoping to hear him quote the hundreds of thousands of dollars he’s invested in his physique-staff. “You gotta talk to the Wright brothers,” Austin chuckles, ripping the muscle from the bone. “You just might be able to fly with these things!” It’s taunting and that much more humiliating that he’s delivering these compliments even as he’s making the Park Avenue beast weep and beg. But I am honestly super turned on just hearing Austin acknowledging just how hugely muscled his prey is. He drags Damien up and literally hoists him off his feet by the lat claws (fuck!!!). He parades the man-baby around the ring screaming and pleading, “Please, please, pleeeeease! I give!” BG East ought to bottle those tears and sell them as champagne. Ship me a couple of cases!
Austin molds Damien’s muscles like clay, twisting him up in a sensationally nasty abdominal stretch. “Flex your quads,” Austin barks. “Hit ’em! I want you to flex them so hard you get a muscle cramp.” Damien is carved and served up like leftover turkey, so he has no choice. He flexes those thick, hairy, sweaty quads, and I can’t help myself but ache with a desire to lick his quivering, inner thighs. When Austin throws him down and shoves his own beautiful, bronzed legs in Damien’s face, the pampered powerhouse stares at the naked truth that his yes-men are too afraid to tell him: Austin’s quads are objectively superior. “Have you ever even seen real quads?” Austin sneers at him. “Look at that right there!”
“Now, I want you to get on your knees,” Austin explains (channeling my fantasy), “and tell me how sorry you are. Beg me to let you out of my ring.” Fuck, yes. All of that. But the beaten rich boy digs deep into his heritage and cheats. Viciously, he wracks Austin’s balls. It’s not like I’m surprised, but I still have to bark my frustration out loud at the screen. “Did you have fun torturing my legs, my abs, my back?” he asks. “Well, you failed to pay attention to my chest!” He scoops Coop up into a stunningly sexy bearhug. He parades the goldenboy around the ring helplessly, pounding him into the corners, shaking him like a rag doll.
But just when I think my dreams of seeing Dr. Cooper totally humble the rich boy are about to be dashed, Damien cannot help himself but monologue and flex when he should be sealing the deal. Fuck, the unrestrained hubris on this prick! Austin brings Damien’s momentum to a screeching halt with a knee to the gut. “You told me I forgot something, huh?” Austin says, catching his breath, dragging his gasping opponent up to his feet. Again, in a sweet innovation, Dr. Cooper slides in nice and close from behind, reaches underneath Damien’s huge arms. It’s like he’s about to go for a full nelson, but instead, he digs his claws into the blueblood’s huge, hairy pecs. Fuck me, that is a sexy, sexy position! Damien weeps like a man-baby again, as he’s lifted off his feet by the pec claws. “Flex your traps!” Coop orders. True enough, Damien possesses superhuman, gargantuan, hairy traps. “Hit your traps! You’re going to regret it if you don’t!” Damien sobs just a little, but he obeys.
There’s more in store for Damien-fucking-Rush, and I’m here for every second of it. The Park Avenue prince begs and cries. He obediently flexes the muscles that his opponent calls out, as he pleads for the mercy that you know full well he would never grant in return. Not that it’s an issue as Dr. Cooper wears him the fuck out. He’s been so successfully broken and terrorized, that he starts flexing for his opponent’s pleasure as soon as Coop slaps him into a dragon sleeper. Austin just laughs. “Hit all the flexes you want, but at the end of the day, you’re going night-night.” Damien whimpers. He begs. He quivers. “Say, ‘Austin Cooper is the greatest.'” The one-percenter’s voice is muffled, deep up Austin’s underarm, but he croaks out, “Austin Cooper is the greatest!”
Fuck, I LOVE watching Damien Rush get humiliated! The only thing that would make this moment better would have been having Damien’s rich-prick daddy and his entourage of personal trainers, wrestling coaches, and assorted ass-kissers at ringside, watching him suffer, beg, and get owned entirely.
Like I’ve said repeatedly, I hate Damien Rush with a passion that speaks to what a brilliantly compelling character he is in the ring. He wins just often enough to keep my outrage alive, but it’s a moment like this reckoning at the hands of Austin Cooper that seriously fuels my homoerotic wresting fantasies. In real life, Damien may be a total mensch. For all I know, he volunteers at his local homeless shelter and fosters rescue dogs. But in the ring, he’s an incredibly hot, hunky, brash, annoying. offensively over-inflated cocky asshole who leaves me aching for the opportunity to climb into the ring after Austin has left him out cold in a pool of his own sweat and tears, to work out some of my own frustrations with the vicissitudes and inhumanity of the worst injustices of unchecked capitalism.
I’ve often written about just how titillating I find it to see behind-the-scenes images of my favorite homoerotic wrestlers. It’s like how I get off more on Clark Kent than Superman (true story, also related to why I get off on hunks in glasses). Several years ago, I received the first of several batches of candid photos of BG East wrestlers, clearly taken before, sometimes during, or occasionally after since-published matches. These photos come to me anonymously and shrouded in mystery, much to the annoyance of powers that be at BG East, as well as some of the wrestlers. I know for a fact that at least one wrestler, accused of being the mole, was threatened with bodily harm if he were discovered to be the one smuggling BGE intellectual property off site and leaking it to the media (I love being considered “the media”!). But thus far, Our Man Inside (or OMI, as I affectionately refer to him) has remained unmasked, and the plucky mother fucker has continued to sneak shots my way, risking life and limb, just to get me (and you) hard. Fuck, I love that guy!
I am thrilled to announce that OMI apparently continues to work among the crew at BG East, because he just dropped me a bunch of new contraband. As always, there’s absolutely no context given for any of these shots. Some of the look like they came from recent releases, and some of them look like they may foreshadow yet-unreleased match-ups. The men are all gorgeous, of course, but it’s the unguarded, half-shy smiles, that turn me on so hard. There are real life, beautiful young men behind the larger-than-life wrestling personas they put on to compete at the elite level of homoerotic wrestling. I love catching that glimpse of the wrestlers just being guys, playful, shy, quirky, and effortlessly themselves.
Thanks, OMI. You are truly my hero, and your courage and commitment to feeding my libido leave me owing you a debt I fear I will never have the pleasure to repay!
It’s been a long time since I composed a post devoted solely to admiring a particular wrestling hold. I’ve been recently obsessing once again over my favorite wrestling hold, the over-the-knee backbreaker.
It’s such a massively dominating move. The pitcher often literally cradles the catcher like a child in his arms, clutching him across his chest, and then drops to one knee, pounding his opponent’s back across his thigh. I love the geography of this hold. The victim splayed out, his vulnerable core stretched wide, legs and upper body pressed backward such that he can’t assume the instinctive duck and cover defensive position to protect his internal organs.
I catch myself gasping in awe at high impact OTKs. There’s a raw, primal, intensely arousing aspect to watching a dominant hunk seriously pound his opponent down with authority, his knee driving viciously into the helpless stud’s spine. It’s magnificent drama when he scoops him directly back up across his chest, standing tall and hoisting the victim high to repeat the move again. And again. Total domination.
I also also love an OTK punisher with big, bulging pecs flexing powerfully, his face hovering so close to his opponent’s muscled torso and quivering crotch. Stretched out on his back, the victim of an OTK is flattened, the topography of his physique stretched out and impotent, in contrast to the flaring shoulders and pumped pecs of his tormentor.
Then there are the subtle variations and innovations that dial up the inherent eroticism of this hold in a homoerotic context. The stolen moments to take advantage of the victim’s helplessness, sadistically brutalizing muscled abs and pecs. Not content to just torture his spine, the man in charge pounds fists, drives in elbows, perhaps digs his finger tips into defenseless muscle and wear him out from every angle.
Ace Aarons handles Richie’s rocks
Richie’s balls demand Mason’s attention as well.
An OTK seems paradigmatically gay (or at least bicurious) when the dominant hunk pays serious attention to that tempting bulge at the apex of his opponent’s bridge. Frankly it doesn’t often go there even in homoerotic wrestling, but every OTK seems like a head nod to those sensational moments when a wrestler leans forward and sucks his opponent’s nipple, seductively slides the palm of his hand possessively across his lower abs, and appreciatively throttles and fondles his arching cock. That’s the heart of homoerotic wrestling for me, with the purpose of the battle to determine who gets to take possession of whose body.
Calvin’s muscle melt
Mitch stiff and in agony
I’m fascinated watching muscled hunks sell this hold. Clearly some wrestlers are built a lot more for strength than flexibility. A stiff, tabletop OTK actually works for me because it looks like it hurts just that much more. When a muscle laden stud doesn’t really have much of a lower back arch to bend across his opponent’s thigh, it also just seems that much more humiliating. But there’s nothing quite as arousing as watching a flexible hunk melt into the hold, bridging dramatically, as if his muscles are draped across a hanger. The submissiveness, the giving himself over blindly to man who’s claimed his body, is golden.
My gratitude to all of the homoerotic wrestlers who have recently fed my craving for OTK hotness. For those moments when you’ve reached through your opponents legs and cupped his beefy ass in the palm of your hand, I salute you. For your graceful bridge and packed, quivering bulge gasping in anticipation of whatever is to come at the mercy of your opponent, I applaud you. I realize this hold is not exactly intuitive to pull off, and for many of you it’s downright awkward as fuck to sell, so I appreciate the gorgeous erotic art of your human sculpture just that much more.
I continue to find Zip Zarella one of the most reliably entertaining and arousing wrestlers turning my crank in new releases these days. I love his body about 85% as enthusiastically as Zip does (which says A LOT). He has that kind of face that makes me unconsciously devoted to doing anything it takes to make him flash his boyish smile (seriously, anything, Zip). I love his combination of playfulness, dangerousness, and his unflinching nod to the gay gaze of a homoerotic wrestling audience.
I was also an early adopter for Zip’s tag team partner Cap Landon as well. Charlie Evans’ new releases are just too far and few between to fully satiate my sexy, skinny boy moods, and Cap fills that empty space nicely. Zip and Cap seem to bring out the best in each other in Zip’s Spotlight. They’re posing their contrasting bodies, flexing their mouthwatering muscles and practically licking their lips with hungry excitement upon learning that they get to sink their teeth into a solo Austin Cooper. “Oh yeah, easy night to night, brother, two on one,” Cap purrs, flashing his compelling, superlean double bicep side-by-side with his partner. Astonishingly, Zip shares the mirror, perhaps seeing what I see, which is some awesome complementary aesthetics, with his pale partner making Zip’s beefy, tanned double-bicep that much more stunningly sexy. “We’re green, and we’re mean, baby!” Zip crows, turning to the side and checking out his meaty ass in the mirror (me too, Zip).
Austin refers to their simpatico as a “bromance” when he struts his legendary physique into the ring and snarls at the earnest twosome determined to pick him apart. “What do we got, a couple of leprechauns here,” Austin asks rhetorically, critiquing their matching, shiny green trunks. “Here are some real muscles come up in here,” Coop smirks, pumping his own fitness model double bicep intending to swipe away all memory of Zip and Cap’s gun show. “Moderate, at best,” Cap spontaneously disparages Coop’s legendarily hot muscles, not because Cap thinks his own muscles measure up, but as an almost intimate compliment to his partner’s heavy artillery. “You’ve got this,” Cap murmurs from the ring apron, with a little hero worship enthusiasm toward Double Z as Austin and Zip start to circle one another. “Your partner is fucking dead,” Austin growls at Zip as they crash their beautifully built physiques into one another.
Coop is a fucking beast in this match. I wouldn’t say he’s full-on channeling his heel master alter ego Dr. Cooper, but the seasoned veteran muscleman gets a solid grip on the initiative and wrings a whole lot of anguish out of aspiring “body guy” Zip. Now, I have more than a passing familiarity with Zip’s work, so I’m not too worried that the ring savvy pro can weather the storm and come back strong. But Cap seems a little worried. When Coop shoves Zip’s lower back violently into a turnbuckle, Cap bitches from the ring apron, “Get him out of the corner!” When Coop scoops Zip up into about the third of an infinite string of near coital rear bearhugs, there’s a twinge of desperation in Cap’s voice as he pleads with his partner, “You’ve got to stop letting him do that to you!” Zip’s jaw hangs open, struggling to endure the crushing embrace. “It’s so hard,” Zip gasps, which is lovely double entendre considering Coop has hoisted him off his feet and Zip’s muscled ass cheeks are pinned against Coop’s crotch. “He’s so strong,” Zip concedes with more than a little bit of awe for his opponent’s power.
If this were a straight up singles competition between Coop and Zip, it would be a great muscleman vs. muscleman contest. The wild card here is Cap, whose cheerleading for his partner and insults flung at their opponent is stirring the pot. “I”m showing him who Austin Cooper is,” Coop narrates his dominating performance for Cap. “Who’s that,” Cap snaps back with a lot of frustrated contempt. In a rage, Coop abruptly hoists Zip’s 205 pounds across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry in a stunning display of power. “Your partner is questioning me,” Coop says to Zip by way of explaining his growing motivation to break Zip hard. The more Cap spouts off from outside the ring, the worse conditions grow for Zip inside the ring. The 2-on-1 advantage suddenly seems to be backfiring.
Coop hobbles Zip like a boss and then sends him scurrying to the corner to tag in his partner. You can tell his vicarious torture of Zip isn’t going to be nearly as satisfying for Coop as it will be to bear down on 140 pound Cap directly. While Zip is licking his wounds outside the ring (I volunteer to help you with that, too, Zip), Coop unleashes a clinic of power moves on the lightweight smart ass. Cap’s feet don’t touch the ground for many minutes at a time. Coop hoists him up across his chest with absolutely zero effort and, with a flourish, pounds him down into a violent OTK. Cap screams and squirms helplessly as his opponent impales his lower abdomen with deep elbow strikes. When Coop scoops him back up off his knee, standing back up with Cap cradled helplessly across his chest, he asks, “You want to see how strong I am?” Now, in the moment, I’m thinking that it’s a rhetorical question. But Zip is so entranced by Coop’s power (perhaps still lingering on the memory of just how “hard” that rear bearhug was a few minutes ago), Double Z can’t help himself but blurt out the answer, “Sure!”
“No, no, don’t say that,” Cap protests in a panic. Coop fulfill’s Zip’s wish by gorilla pressing Cap straight-armed overhead, and then draping the skinny boy’s body around his neck like a scarf. Zip is visibly impressed with the move. Abruptly, Coop flings Cap around his neck and, in one motion, violently drops him into a tailbone-trashing atomic drop. Fuck, it’s such a high impact move I sort of wonder if Cap’s prostrate got a little thrill from Coop’s knee impaling him. “Are you okay,” Zip asks his bromantic partner with sincere concern in his voice. Cap literally can’t answer, clutching his ass and writhing on the mat breathlessly. Coop rolls on relentlessly, yanking the skinny boy into a kneeling surfboard, positioning the hold deliberately for Zip to watch the torture play across his partner’s face. “Oh, this is embarrassing,” Zip confesses.
Look at me, turning myself on just trying to narrate this sexy, sexy bit of this match. Before I get further carried away, let me pan back and just say that I stand up and cheer when Coop basically insists on taking the both of them on at the same time. It’s a great bit of hubris-meets-instant-karma when team leprechaun starts to beat the shit out of him in tandem. Personally, I would have been profoundly satisfied to just watch Zip and Cap rip apart the legendary Austin Cooper and enact a perfectly synchronized muscle mauling. Coop has the elusive power to make me lust to see him dominate as Dr. Cooper, and yet crush like hell on seeing him plowed under as the babyfaced golden boy. “You’ve got nothing, big man,” Zip crows, kicking him to the mat so the two of them can make Coop’s juicy ass jiggle as they stomp him from head to toe and back again. Zip snaps his gargantuan thighs around Coop’s gut, forcing the air out of his lungs, a second before Cap zip ties his legs scissored tight around Coop’s throat, refusing to allow the muscleman any chance of replenishing the oxygen in his lungs. “Come on, tap out, bitch,” Cap snarls in his face.
That, in and of itself, is worth the price of admission. 140 pounder Cap Landon calling 170 pound fitness phenom Austin Cooper a bitch and, successfully, demanding that he tap out is all I need. It is not all we get in this match, though. Hubris-turned-instant-karma strikes again as team leprechaun celebrates a little too much, giving Coop the chance to rally. Coop demonstrates why he’s a legendary fan-favorite, starting to handle the both of them with power and precision. He isolates them in turn, seemingly feeding off of the reserves that he’s siphoning off of each of them.
You know from the DVD menu that Cap and Zip finish off this collection with a grudge match, so it shouldn’t be too much of a spoiler to reveal that all of that tag team partner love and mutual admiration comes crashing down around them as Coop manages to single-handedly dish out heaping helpings of humiliation. Blame rains down on everyone except for the man who rightfully deserves the credit for the undoing of team leprechaun.
This could so have gone a totally different direction. Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but honestly, the chemistry between Cap and Zip was a thing of beauty. I seriously wanted to see their post-victory love fest, Cap leaping into Zip’s big arms, hugging it out, slapping each other’s asses appreciatively. Cap as the Bruce Wayne’s ward and apprentice, hero worshipping the muscleman in this dynamic duo, could have been so right. Fuck, Cap being unable to restrain himself from treating Zip to an enthusiastic muscle massage as thanks for saving his bacon and captaining a successful campaign to fuck over a legend would have made such perfect sense.
But alas, bitter betrayal as a set-up for a mismatched grudge match comes in a close second.
Congratulations to the winners of the BG East Besties for 2017! It was a fabulous year in homoerotic wrestling, and all of the nominees demonstrated the deep bench that BG East can rightfully boast. Some of my picks earned the most votes overall. Some didn’t. They all (but one) get nothing but respect from me. It’s certainly not the first time I’ve seen evidence that my tastes intersect and diverge with other homoerotic wrestling fans. Happily, there’s plenty for all of us to enjoy, and awards or not, my sincere thanks go out to the beautiful men in front of and behind the camera that make BG East a leader in wrestling for a gay audience.
Sexiest Match: Sexiest Match – Ty Alexander vs. Bruno LaBestia (Ringwars 28)
Best Mat Battle: Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor (Undagear 28)
Best Ring Match: Cole Cassidy vs. Joshua Goodman (Ringwars 26)
I’ve learned that discussing how I vote in the BG East Besties is dangerous territory. The longer I’ve been blogging about homoerotic wrestling, the more I’ve grown to know many of the hard working men who make it happen. They never begrudge me my vote, but when I handicap the field and disclose how I cast my ballot, I’ve needed to smooth over some ruffled feathers and tend to friendships at times. So here are some special instructions for the BG East wrestlers I know and have affection for: don’t take any of this too seriously. We love you all. This is way more about the fans than it is about you.
With that preamble out of the way, let’s dig into the Bestie nominations posted on Friday. As opposed to my own personal categories of favorites that I started sharing yesterday, these are my thoughts on those that BG East has nominated for their awards. I don’t see when polls will close, but I’ll try to make this quick so that it may inform any undecided voters looking for tips.
1. Sexiest Match
Instantly, I’m navigating those complicated waters with the first category. I’ve met six of the wrestlers involved in the six nominated matches and interviewed most of those. There’s a spectacular double debut match that burned holes in my retina it was so hot. None of these were misses, but some hit the spot just a little more squarely than others for me. The nominees are…
Ty Alexander vs. Steve Mason (Wrestleshack 21)
Drake Marcos vs. Goren Ford (X-Fights 45)
Ty Alexander vs. Bruno LaBestia (Ringwars 28)
Tommie Hawk vs. Noah Samson (Undagear 28)
Kayden Keller vs. Leon Cyrus (X-Fights 44)
Cage Thunder vs. Mitch Colby (Motel Madness 14)
When I sort through who to vote for sexiest match, I look for a match where both wrestlers express explicit, mutual lust. Kissing is nearly essential. Naked bodies and fully engaged cocks are a major plus. I want to believe that the action is stimulating the wrestlers as much as it is me. Of these nominees, the match that did this best is, arguably, Ty Alexander vs. Steve Mason in Wrestleshack 21. It hits all of my buttons, and the big (HUGE) reveal of Steve’s crotch monster is epic. My fall back option is the astonishingly sexy match between Tommie Hawk and Noah Samson in Undagear 28. Since Ty is splitting the vote this year, I’m guessing that someone else may take the popular vote, but honestly, I don’t even have a good guess as to who that will be.
2. Best Mat Battle
The best mat category is probably the most competitive for me this year. I met 5 of the hunks in these nominated matches last summer and was delighted by them all. When it comes to evaluating mat matches, I look for competitive, intimate, battles with long held moves and close ups of exquisite anguish. I like to see amateur moves translated into a gay, pro context. I prefer the serious sell, with big egos convincing me that they want it, and that the final, humiliating victory is up for grabs. The nominees this year are…
Kirk Donahue vs. Carter Alexander (Backyard Brawls 9)
Cage Thunder vs. Mitch Colby (Motel Madness 14)
Tino Valencia vs. Ski Vance (Catch Weight 8)
Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor (Undagear 28)
Calvin Haynes vs. Nino Leone (Catch Weight 8)
Ace Aarons vs. Ash DeLeon (Mat Rookies 3)
So much to choose from! I’m bitterly torn between Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor in Undagear 28 and Ace Aarons vs. Ash DeLeon in Mat Rookies 3. My hunch is that when it comes time to pull the lever, I’ll go with the shockingly intense Undagear match with that sensationally surprising ending. My hunch is that the popular vote will swing to Austin and Christian as well, as two of the popular headliners that regularly draw the fans (an advantage over Ace and Ash). Cage and Mitch’s match is, however, already the stuff of legends. But if you really like shocking endings, Calvin and Nino’s battle is soooo sweetly surprising. Damn. This category is tough for me.
3. Best Ring Match
In judging the quality of a ring match, I’m looking for a match that exploits the context. I want a match that treats pro wrestling with the respect it deserves. I like to see power and speed, with a strong narrative and larger than life characters. The nominees for best ring match are…
Joey King vs. Zip Zarella (Ring Kings)
Jonny Firestorm vs. Kirby Stone (Pros in Private 11)
Kid Karisma vs. Jobe Zander (Bulge Battles 1)
Kid Karisma vs. Ethan Andrews (Heel Bash 2)
Cole Cassidy vs. Joshua Goodman (Ringwars 26)
Toney Rico vs. Chase Addams (Ringwars 28)
Another highly competitive slate! Kid Karisma may split his vote. My vote will almost certainly go with Toney Rico vs. Chase Addams in Ringwars 28 this year (see my review for all of the reasons). Kid K and Jobe is awfully close, though. Jonny vs. Kirby has got to be the best ring wrestling of the year, but the narrative isn’t as colorful as Toney and Chase’s. Cole and Joshua put together the most colorful characters and delightful drama, but the wrestling isn’t as pro-forward. My very tentative guess as to who the majority will break for is Jonny and Kirby, mostly based on the hardcore Jonny fanatics out there.
4. Best Squash
My least favorite category. Though I know a lot of you love a good squash. I guess when squashes work for me, I have a reason to both particularly want to see the victim suffer and the dominator dish it out. I also need to be convinced by the stud on the receiving end. Squashes can become boring for me, so the guy getting squashed needs to seriously convince me that he’s hurting, and he’s not phoning it in. This year’s nominees are…
Kayden Keller vs. Carter Alexander (Wrestler Spotlight: Kayden)
Thrash vs. El Favorito (Masked Mayhem 12)
Kid Karisma vs. Reese Wells (Ringwars 27)
Lane Hartley vs. Kirk Donahue (Demolition 22)
Kid Vicious vs. Devon Britt-Darby (Gut Bash 13)
Cap Landon vs. Kelly King (Knock Outs 3)
My choice is Kayden vs. Carter in Kayden’s Wrestler Spotlight. While I do love watching Kayden dig back from a deficit, I never grow tired of watching him plow pretty boys under. I’ve also had a craving to watch Carter getting hurt ever since he let slip in his match with Kid Karisma that he not-so-secretly (anymore) enjoys getting his hair pulled as he’s dominated. For a squash, Kayden keeps the pace intense, and Carter suffers exquisitely. He has this choking, half-laugh sob that makes my crotch twitch. A close second place in this category for me is Thrash vs. El Favorito, though El Favorito has more offense than I typically credit to a squash. Same goes for Kid K vs. Reese. I’ll guess the majority will break either for Kayden and Carter or Lane and Kirk, depending on whether the tide breaks for the leaning-to-erotic or the hardcore indy pro vibe.
5. Best Submissions
Somehow making this category plural clears up my confusion about how to evaluate it. I’m using a standard of making my pick based on the number, variety, and creativity of submissions in a given match. The nominees for the match with the best submissions this year are…
Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor (Undagear 28)
Tino Valencia vs. Skip Vance (Catch Weight 8)
Kayden Keller vs. Richie Douglas (Kayden’s Wrestling Spotlight)
Jonny Firestorm vs. Kirby Stone (Pros in Private 11)
Joey King vs. Zip Zarella (Ring Kings)
Chase Addams vs. Charlie Evans (Ring Rookies 5)
By a long shot, for this category I’m going with Jonny vs. Kirby in Pros in Private 11. The submissions fly nearly frantically, except everything is polished, exacting, and precise. Both of these pros are marvelously talented, and they bring out the best (and worst) in each other. It’s just an added bonus that Kirby’s ass drives me crazy. When it comes to the rest of the field, my next choice is a tie between Chase and Charlie and Joey and Zip. I won’t be surprised if Jonny and Kirby win this category, but if not, I suspect it could swing Austin and Christian’s way.
6. Hottest Liplock
When I’m deciding which wrestling liplock is hottest, I’m looking for passion. I prefer liplocks harshly ambivalent, with equal parts rage and lust. The nominees this year are as follows…
Christian Taylor vs. Mason Brooks (Bedroom Brawl 3)
Calvin Haynes vs. Nino Leone (Catch Weight 8)
Ash DeLeon vs. Ace Aarons (Mat Rookies 3)
Lauden Sevior vs. Drake Marcos (Undagear 27)
Nino Leone vs. Bruno LaBestia (Wrestleshack 21)
Ty Alexander vs. Steve Mason (Wrestleshack 21)
I’m solidly voting for Ash and Ace in Mat Rookies 3. Talk about a gorgeous concoction of passionate lust and passionate aggression! Damn. A runner-up option for me would be Lauden and Drake. I don’t know who the popular vote will follow, but if I had to guess, I’d say Ty and Steve, based mostly on Ty’s get-out-the-vote credentials.
7. Best Overall Match
This category seems self-explanatory. I feel obligated to swing toward one of the “Best of” matches I’ve already picked, though there are a couple of matches in this category that weren’t nominated above, which makes open to a dark horse pick in my mind. In any case, this is the slate of nominees:
Cole Cassidy vs. Joshua Goodman (Ringwars 26)
Jonny Firestorm vs. Kirby Stone (Pros in Private 11)
Ty Alexander vs. Bruno LaBestia (Ringwars 28)
Austin Cooper vs. Christian Taylor (Undagear 28)
Kid Karisma vs. Jobe Zander (Bulge Battles 1)
Kid Karisma vs. Reese Wells (Ringwars 27)
So yes to all of the above, but of these options, I’m going with Kid K vs. Jobe in Bulge Battles 1. This was a sensational match against two astonishingly accomplished homoerotic wrestling veterans. The suspense is fantastic. The action is graphic. The personalities are over the top in a way that only the likes of Kid K and Jobe can quite pull off. Second place for me is somewhere between Cole and Mr. Joshua, Jonny and Kirby, and Austin and Christian. My hunch is that Kid K splits his vote again and neither of his matches take the category. Instead, I think Cole and Mr. Joshua might pull of an upset, based on the fevered pleasure both Alex and I have for that match, though again, there’s Ty and his aggressive get-out-the-vote campaign.
So that’s my take on the first half of the ballot. What’s yours?
Austin Cooper is huge. Of course, that includes his muscles. Check out the diameter around each of those gargantuan upper legs in his most recent BG East release, Mat Rookies 2. I repeatedly think to myself, fuck, Dr. Cooper can’t get bigger without popping at the seams. And then he shows up bigger and juicier.
But of course, when I say Coop is huge, I also mean that his presence in the homoerotic wrestling universe is massive. He’s variously been an anchor headliner at RHW, BG East, Thunder’s Arena, and most recently W4H. I have a horrible habit of bitching about wrestlers being “over-exposed” when they show up in too many places at the same time. I’m not at all sure it’s fair of me to moan about a wrestler being so successful that every producer wants a piece. But when it comes to Coop, I somehow never get tired. I still think of Ripped Rookies as his career defining moment, ripping, stripping, and sweating buckets of sweat all over his dreamboat bromantic partner Jake Jenkins. But Coop has continued to entertain, in large part because he has continued to develop as a wrestler and a personality on the scene. Despite his obvious amateur wrestling background, he threw himself almost exclusively into the pro ring for a while, eventually turning into one of the most sensationally sexy muscle heels in circulation, by my counting. But lately, he’s been reminding the world that his roots are on the mats, and, most delightfully, he’s been executing a really beautiful, innovative hybrid of amateur and pro sensibilities.
Enter gorgeous, blond newbie, Kerry Cunningham. I mean, fuck, this kid looks like he was kidnapped from a frat house. He’s pretty without being delicate. He has a sexy-as-fuck body, without being ripped to shreds or magnificently huge. He has a 5-inch height advantage over Coop, and seconds into his arrival on the mat, he has me thinking that he could be a serious player. He’s so fucking loud. I mean, he’s barking at Coop, telling him that he should’ve asked permission before he showed up on “his” mat. Kerry sells it impressively. He comes across as cocky and accustomed to having guys fall into line behind him. My mind tells me that this hot newbie is about to broken into a thousand pieces, but my heart (/cock) is experiencing a rush of adrenaline at the thought of a complete unknown possibly dragging Dr. Cooper to the bitter edge and, perhaps even, scoring one of the biggest upsets in homoerotic wrestling history.
If you hate spoilers, then you hate this blog, so I’m not going to be coy about what comes next. The balance of the universe is maintained as soon as Coop opens up a wrestling clinic and a can of whoop ass all OVER this fratboy next door. It’s lush and beautifully intense. Coop out-hustles the newbie as if Kerry is standing still, but not because Kerry is standing still. Coop is just that fucking fast! He scores take downs at will. If he earned points for exposing the rookie’s back, it would be a total rout within the first 3 minutes.
My longstanding ambivalence about squashes aside, there are several elements that make this lopsided match compelling and suspenseful. First, Kerry is toasted about 15 minutes before he recognizes that he’s toasted. He doesn’t get it. His ego won’t let him face the truth, even as Coop single-leg cradles him and rides his virginal ass to one humiliation after another. Coop demands that the kid acknowledge he isn’t a real wrestler. To you and me, the writing is in ALL CAPS all over the wall, that Kerry is going to be sniveling and groveling and conceding to anything Coop wants before this is all said and done, but in early days, Kerry is still stuffed with bluster and that delicate, swollen, youthful ego born out of being raised in a generation when it’s considered emotional abuse to tell a kid that he’s not the brightest, the smartest, or the best at something. Coop crows about how he’s annihilating the newbie. And he is. “Now, that’s the strongest bearhug in the state of Florida!” Coop brags about crushing Kerry’s ribs. But the newbie refuses to read that writing on the wall, opting for provocative trash talk rather than admitting he’s fucked. “That’s not what your mom said last night!” Kerry snarls defiantly, making his second yo-mamma joke of the match.
The other thing that makes this squash much more complex to the taste is the slow, seductive reveal that each of these characters makes to one another, and, vicariously, to us. I honestly didn’t know what to expect when Kerry goes down to a muscled lockdown of a single-leg cradle, absolutely pinning him and owning him. Coop hops up and demands that the newbie remove those retina-scorching pink shoes. It’s a total domination move. It’s easily read as just a bunch more trash talk to up the ante on the ego wager. A wrestler with even a couple days more pro experience would have told Coop to fuck off and punched the provocateur in the testicles instead. But, it turns out that Kerry is, for all his bluster, a TOTAL babyface. Having been schooled, he agrees to take off his shoes. It’s like he thinks there’s some accounting of debits and credits and fair play operating here. He’s not happy about it, but he pays up, as if he owes it. “Fine, I’ll beat you without them!” Kerry snarls almost petulantly, bending over and sliding his size thirteens out of the shoes. Again, you, me, and Dr. Cooper know that this kid is fucking toast. The only one who doesn’t know it yet is Kerry. Coop suddenly attacks the kid from behind even as he’s still pulling off his second shoe. “I’ll beat you WITH them!” Austin promises gleefully, before literally beating the fuck out of Kerry with his own shoes.
So the suspense turns out to be the anticipation building up waiting for that moment that Kerry Cunningham realizes that he’s bought, paid for, and owned by Austin Cooper. Like I said, he has the willful ignorance and irrational gullibility of a Trump voter. “This isn’t wrestling,” Kerry bitches like a sniveling, snot nosed 7 year-old when Coop mounts his back, cinches the tallboy up in a sweaty camel clutch, and wrenches another gasping submission out of the kid.
Moments later, Kerry is flat on his stomach, with his opponent’s right knee digging mercilessly into his lower spine. He’s stuck like a bug on a pin. The rook tries to muscle his way up to his hands and knees, and Coop just muscles the kid back down flat on his face again. There’s a furious scramble as Coop slowly but surely positions the impotent young buck for another cradle pin. But this time, Coop uses his free hand to rip the singlet straps off of Kerry’s square shoulders. The rookie starts bucking and squirming in panic, as he realizes that his wrestling opponent’s agenda for the day includes stripping the new kid to nothing but his pretty-in-pink super-briefs. Abruptly, Coop locks up the newbie’s right arm in and armbar and threatens to snap it at the elbow if Kerry keeps resisting the forgone conclusion that he’s losing his gear.
Right there. That’s the moment, I think. When Kerry lets out the air in his lungs that he’s been holding onto furiously for the past 30 seconds. When he doesn’t exactly go limp, but he acquiesces to his new master’s instructions to settle the fuck down and allow himself to get stripped on camera. Right then, Kerry Cunningham’s homoerotic wrestling cherry gets popped. It’s not that the kid stops whining and bitching. “You won’t get away with this,” the 6’2″ man-boy snivels when he’s been left almost naked and, astonishingly, defenseless. But the dialogue no longer conveys the swagger and threat of the newbie’s booming voice at the beginning of the match. It’s more like an implied threat to tell his big brother how Austin has totally bullied him, so that some day, some indeterminate day in the foggy future, Austin will look back and regret having so completely humiliated Kerry Cunningham.
However, that day is not this day. Dr. Cooper clocks in and starts absolutely terrorizing the fratboy. He pounds the kid’s long, lickable body down in a gorgeous OTK backbreaker, digging his elbow long and deep into Kerry’s exposed abdomen. You can practically see the stars and whistling, cartoon birds circling the rookie’s dazed head when his eyes are spinning after a brutal snap suplex. A crucifix displays the kid’s helpless, long, beautiful body gorgeously. With a reverse bearhug, Coop applies just the right pressure in the just the right spot to let the once-cocky kid know that, should he want it, Coop can take his ass anytime. Anywhere.
It’s the figure-4 leglock that finally brings Kerry Cunningham’s world shattering down around him. He’s giving up left and right now. The rookie is nearly trying to submit before the veteran can apply a hold, because the kid is worn out. He’s terrorized. He’s a plate of meat, already carved, just waiting to be devoured. And then that figure-4 leglock starts to pry apart the muscles and tendons in the rookie’s knee. He isn’t just beaten. He’s about to literally be broken. “Stop!!!!” the rookie screams in panic. “PLEASE, stop!!!!,” the kid begs so desperately that it makes Cooper laugh out loud. It doesn’t, however, make him release the hold.
Kerry Cunningham had no idea what a sick mother fucker he was facing off against. But rest assured, he learns. “What’s wrong with you!?” he screams at one point, somewhere both before and after being choked with Coop’s bare hands. I sort of wonder if, right then and there, Kerry Cunningham may be replaying in his mind’s eye those first 10 seconds after he stepped onto the mat and brashly, loudly, cockily demanded, “Austin Cooper, who told you that you could come in here and wrestle on my mat!?” Oh fuck, how the mighty have fallen, eh Kerry?
And, just for the record, there’s not one thing at all wrong with Austin Cooper. That bitter, screaming edge of terror he dragged you to, before tossing you over like the pretty boy chump you are.. that was fucking perfection.
As for Kerry Cunningham, I would guess that he does not count his debut BG East match as having gotten off on the right foot when it comes to his wrestling career. Rookies so often don’t quite “get it,” that pro wrestling is at least as much about the drama as the victory. I, for one, think that the tale of tragedy Kerry Cunningham tells in this match is sensationally sweet. He has all the raw ingredients to be an incredibly hot staple, and I, for one, am hoping we get to see him many more times walk this raw edge of big, tall, beautiful fratboy hijinks smashing face-first into the bitter, brutal, humiliating realities of homoerotic wrestling. Sooner or later, he’d have to cotton on to the lay of the land and either take early retirement or majorly invest in building the particular skill set required for homoerotic wrestling success. But, in the mean time, I would LOVE to see him try to strut onto the made and scream in the face of a few other forces of nature, like Kid Karisma, Jonny Firestorm, or Kid Vicious.
Clearly I’m not the only one who was instantly infatuated with Mark Muscle. His popularity has ended up getting him featured spots on Wrestler4Hire, Muscle Domination Wrestling, and Thunder’s Arena. As far as I can tell, his initial recruitment is credited to Cameron at W4H, where they describe Mark as 6’4″, 255 pounds, and 28 years old. Fuck, I love numbers. If you don’t, let me just give you some words: huge. Gargantuan. Ripped. Muscle giant.
Clearly the kid is a bodybuilder. That fact alone lowers my expectation for watching him wrestle. Unless you’re Lon Dumont (who, let’s face it, was a pro wrestler first, then a bodybuilder, then a pro wrestler again), if you’re a bodybuilder, you likely suffer from limited flexibility, a dearth of wrestling skills, and you probably sell like shit. However, put someone like Austin Cooper in the ring with him, and my expectations suddenly spike. Because Austin is one of the most experienced homoerotic wrestlers across multiple promotions, on the mats, in the ring, and in my fondest erotic wrestling fantasies. Austin lends instant class to what could be a beautiful beefcake yawnfest of a pro wrestling match. W4H tosses these two remarkably different gladiators into the ring, and I’m eager to sample the goods.
First, let me reiterate. Mark is HUGE. His brief black gear is probably an expansive square cut, but on his outsized physique, it almost looks like a posing strap. His muscled ass cheeks don’t come close to being covered. He’s darkly bronzed and dazzlingly beautiful. And as if in a nod to my recent comments about straight guys never turning their backs to the camera, Mark slowly and seductively gives us a straight on view of his magnificent backside, generously, slowly flexing what I think is his most intoxicating and very best side of an all-around sensational body.
When Austin arrives, he doesn’t try to disguise the stark contrast between them. He comically hops into the air to try to give a valid side by side comparison of their double biceps. “Just give me a couple of more years,” Austin protests the unflattering comparison, as if he’s the younger brother aspiring to grow into the man-boy next to him. “You’ll need more than that,” Mark smirks. Namely, a geneticist with bone and muscle growth technology not yet invented, because Austin isn’t going to just “grow into” being 6’4″ and 255 pounds of ripped muscle mass. Mark is a genetic anomaly. A mouthwateringly gorgeous one, but an anomaly, nevertheless.
It’s Austin’s idea that they should arm wrestle. WTF, Austin? Did you not see the size of this behemoth!? But, it’s a legitimate contest. They’re both working it, because let’s face it, they’re both incredibly built specimens. Austin’s huge right bicep is mouthwateringly luscious, straining against the giant. But come on, people! Mark overpowers the veteran handily. Austin even tries to use both arms at the end. No love. He’d be humiliated, if it weren’t for the fact that the seasoned pro rolls around and mounts the slow, stunned genetic masterpiece before Mark realizes what’s going on.
As I’d figured, Austin brings about 90% of the wrestling narrative. In the beginning, Mark just repeatedly outmuscles him and tosses him across the ring. When Mark pulls him to the mat in a sloppy rear naked choke, no shit, Austin’s lush, thick muscles are nearly swallowed whole by the bronze beast wrapped all around him. Then Mark lets go with one hand so that he can smirk at the camera and flex his bicep for us again. Honestly, the other hand mostly just rests on Austin’s huge left pec. There’s not really a hold anymore, because the muscle rookie is crowd-pleasing. Rather than try to sell a product that just isn’t there any longer, Austin slips free like the experienced pro he is and climbs on board to (attempt to) power those 255 pounds of Mark’s into a camel clutch. Fucking rookies.
I do like that Mark is explicitly here to be gazed upon by adoring gay fans. Like I said, he shows his glorious backside generously. He flexes for the camera repeatedly, clearly too often in fact, because Austin keeps taking advantage of the distraction. But I don’t exactly begrudge those moments of watching Mark Muscle flex his gargantuan biceps and slowly, salaciously lick and suck at them. He strokes the palms of his huge hands slowly across his pecs, down his abs, over the huge, bulging beef of his quads. He’s not the first muscle narcissist that I’ve forgiven for letting the wrestling side of the story go slack, but he very well could be the biggest.
About a third of the way in, and Austin hasn’t seriously, successfully laid a hand on the giant. They’ve tussled back and forth, mind you, but the story has been all about Mark’s magnificent physique. I worry, momentarily, whether this could be the entire story: seasoned pro squashed by such superior muscle mass (and nothing else). Austin’s breathtaking ball rack from behind signals that there’s a significantly more complex narrative about to unfold. Even as Mark crumples the 6’4 inches to the ground in a heap of beautiful, gorgeously desconstructed muscle, Austin saddles up and takes the reins, and I’m instantly fully engaged in this drama.
If you’re a fan of either of these guys, or of rookie wrecking, or of muscle on muscle, or big versus ginormous, watch this match. Austin does some fucking incredible things with a muscled body as huge as Mark Muscle’s. Mark submits to a seriously jeopardizing arm bar. And to a bow and arrow. And to a sensationally intimate crotch-pillow figure-4 choke. The last submission is phenomenal. I usually don’t get quite so turned on by an abdominal stretch. I like the hold, mind you, but as a submission, it isn’t one of the more exciting or titillating. But watching Austin manage to use every inch of his 5’9″ body to muscle massive Mark Muscle into a legitimate, jeopardizing abdominal stretch (ropes aided, albeit), is pretty incredible human sculpture. When big Mark refuses to submit at first, Austin digs his knuckles into the giant’s ribs, and Mark starts whimpering and wailing and choking into an all out humiliated submission.
The biggest surprise here, however, are those whimpers and wails and choking tears of Mark. It’s a little rookie-ham-handed at first. He awkwardly narrates “Oh, my pecs, you’re hurting my pecs,” when Austin is slapping on a nasty looking armbar, for example. First of all, it’s your elbow that’s being threatened with getting snapped off. And, yeah, a literal accounting of the body parts that are hurting seems a little less than a genuine sell.
But bless him, Mark starts to fucking suffer! Again, I credit the class that Austin is bringing here, but credit where due, Mark ramps up the intensity between light groaning to panicked screams to gasping, shocked whimpers. It’s those whimpers. Fuck! A muscled specimen like this, who absolutely dwarfs his competition, with the biggest, most ripped muscle physique I think I’ve ever seen (definitely in a ring), whimpering… fuuuuuck, that’s hot. The big man sounds like he’s on the verge of honest tears, and I absolutely fucking love him for it. I believe his vulnerability. I believe his humiliation. I believe every magnificent inch of him just got owned by a handsome hunk well over half a foot shorter and upwards of 80 pounds lighter.
“Austin Coop, the champ,” Coop sneers, flashing us a double bicep as he flex pins a 3 count to drive home the total humiliation. Officially, I say Mark Muscle still has a boatload of learning and practicing to do before I’ll even start calling him a homoerotic pro wrestler. Learn some more holds, you magnificent beast you. Bodyslam some lucky punk, for gods’ sakes, you’re 6’4″ tall!!! Bounce some devastatingly handsome face off of a turnbuckle, at the very least. But, in the mean time, stick close and take notes from harsh taskmasters like Austin Cooper.
And keep showing off that spectacular muscled ass of yours.
And cry for us like a sniveling bitch, on your hands and knees. Whimper, just right. That’ll cash a whole lot of checks that your rookie wrestling skills (or lack of) couldn’t back up. Until they can.