Pint-Sized

 

I went to college at a very, very small liberal arts school with a very, very unsuccessful Division III football team. They sucked. A lot. Literally, years went by without a single victory. Not that I was involved in the program, but it was no secret that recruiting for the football team was a major bitch. No scholarships. No pro career prospects. Very little hope of ever tasting victory before they graduated or, even more likely, they’d burn through eligibility while hanging on by the skin of their teeth to skimming by in their academics and finally just walking away to dig ditches. Our football team literally shrunk while I was enrolled in college, each year’s freshmen getting smaller, while bigger players went elsewhere. My junior year, the football team recruited a wide receiver who was, I kid you not, 5’2″ tall. Thing is, though, he was fucking fast, with big, powerful thighs, an exceptionally stellar muscled ass, and gorgeous, Tom Cruise-ish good looks. Despite their abysmal record, I suddenly took an interest in football that year.

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5’5″, 140 lbs Drake Wild bears down on 5’11”, 200 lbs Derek Fox in Pro Sex Fight 13

This pint-sized wide receiver with big league glutes and a baby face starred in many a homoerotic wrestling fantasy in my imagination. Just writing about him now is making me hard. There was just so much fabulous potential wrapped up in his tight, taut, petite jock body. In the never ending erotic wrestling tournament in my head, the little wide receiver inevitably got muscle bullied around the ring by bigger guys. I always pictured him getting picked up and thrown from corner to corner. Tall, ripped, cocky hunks (typically from our extremely successful and wildly popular basketball team) would, in the no holds barred wrestling matches in my collegiate imagination, deliver a barrage of high impact, high altitude power moves on him, gorilla presses, scoop slams, one-handed choke slams, spine-tingling suplexes that catapulted his magnificent, muscled ass from corner to corner.

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5’6″, 160 lbs Denny Cartier breaks big 6’2″, 240 lbs Joe Robbins down to size in Catch Weight 2

Rereading my interview with Charlie Evans and perusing several of the comments to that interview remind me of that hot, gorgeous little wide receiver firecraker with a supremely fuckable ass. As I’ve mentioned several times lately, the difference in size itself became erotically charged for me. But far beyond just visuals, I crushed hard on the little stud because of the drama of a vastly undersized hottie audaciously running out onto the field and climbing into the pro wrestling ring in my imagination (through the bottom two ropes, of course) and staring fearlessly up at the overwhelming odds towering above.

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5’7″, 150 lbs Bolt stares way up at 6’2″, 265 lbs Brute in Custom Series 33 from Thunder’s Arena

 

I was relatively agnostic about my all-time favorite wide receiver’s win-loss record in his homoerotic wrestling career in my mind. Like the very best babyfaces, he was always dangerous and perpetually vulnerable at the same time. I distinctly remember him getting his jock strap ripped to shreds and having his rock hard muscle cheeks plowed hard by a particular, hot, muscled black power forward. I also have clear memories of him turning the tide on a certain aloof, blond, aristocratic shooting guard who was schoolboy pinned and force fed the beer can cock of the smirking, flexing wide receiver. Win or lose, he was a favorite object of my homoerotic wrestling imagination not despite his stature, but because of it.  And not just because of his stature, but because of the inherent drama of an ambitious, earnest, hard working little stud throwing himself headlong at the big boys.

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5’9″, 165 lbs Cody  Cummings is jerked around by 6’4″, 220 lbs Zeke West in Mat Muscle Match 1

 

As I told Charlie, I continue to nurture a crush for David vs. Goliath homoerotic wrestling matches. I like big vs. little matches where the differential is massive, the odds are long, and the action is brutal. I love seeing audacious little studs hoisted over head and pounded into the mat. I love seeing them take every ounce as brutal an assault as any heavyweight and then keep peeling their battered, petite, bite-sized bodies off the mats and defying the big boys demanding that they submit in body and soul.

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Fearless 5’10”, 132 lbs Billy Lodi is just barely bested by 6’2″, 206 lbs Mitch Colby in Catch Weight 6

While I don’t care for many matches in which one competitor is just furniture, getting moved and manipulated and owned effortlessly, a match in which a seriously undersized wrestler is defiantly sucking down a mountain of abuse is in a squash-class of its own for me. If the little guy walks in with his head up, clenches his jaw in the face of fate, and demands respect by just surviving a magnificent beating, I will so get off on that just like I did when I staged wide receiver getting his sensational ass tagged in the middle of the ring by that power forward.

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5’7″, 150 lb Bolt momentarily schools 6′, 255 lbs Brian Cage in Ring Wars 21

However, I think my hardest David vs. Goliath fantasies flip that script with a vengeance. When the audacious little underdog battles back against the barrage of muscle and mass, now that is fucking hot. When he starts accumulating riding time on a thoroughbred 50 pounds bigger, my adrenaline pumps into overdrive. And when I pictured my pretty little wide receiver slapping down a big, cocky all-American who’s never tasted defeat before, when he wears the big boy the fuck out, slapping that beer can in Goliath’s shocked, humiliated face, then little David is fucking king of my world.

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5’7″, 120 lbs Charlie Evans shoved into the ceiling by 5’8″, 175 lbs Morgan Cruise in Gorilla Press 1 by MDW

 

I hold heartedly agree with the implication of Charlie’s argument that every homoerotic wrestling roster needs the little guys. Ever roster needs the underwear models and the bodybuilders. Ever roster should have raw edged street punks and square jawed All-American heroes.  They should all have daddy’s little rich boys and ripped, raging, beautifully endowed sex brawlers. The industry should invest in recruiting hard edged pros and hot, inexperienced nerds. It should put up flat footed pornboys and fierce, lanky, long-distance runners. Personally I’m longing for a snarling radical fairy doing battle with a white collar stock broker on the homoerotic wresting down low.

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5’10”, 150 lbs Skrapper is crushed by 5’11”, 240 lbs Brook Stetson in Catch Weight 2

The homoerotic pro wrestling industry is as susceptible to the tyranny of the capitalist market place as anything else, of course, so I certainly understand when, occasionally, it seems like everyone climbing through those ropes looks and moves and suffers alike. But as someone who has watched a TON of homoerotic wrestling (not even counting that running channel in my imagination of round the clock homopro), I’m always longing for producers to fill those niches Charlie and I talked about. Tickle those erotic fantasies we didn’t even know we loved. Populate our screens and imaginations with the great diversity of dramas, bodies, races, ages, etc., that makes oppressively straight real life bearable.

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Little 5’8″, 140 lbs Richie Douglas makes all the little guys proud against 6’1″, 170 lbs Goren Ford in Sunshine Shooters 8

And most definitely, gives us pint-sized baby face heroes audacious enough to climb into the ring with beasts a foot taller and 80 pounds heavier, and to tell us a compelling, seat of our pants, crotch-tugging homoerotic wrestling drama that reflects real life writ larger, more erotic, and completely improbable, but yet, speaking to our real lives.

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5’10”, 156 lbs TAK is dwarfed by 6’3″, 240 lbs Freak in Mat Rats 63 by Thunder’s Arena

And now, excuse me. I need to go dig out an old college yearbook.

The Heat Is On

Having recently moved, I’m getting accustomed to a lot of new things. The weatherman keeps reporting on “thund-uh-stoams.” There are apparently 100 ticks for every human being in the region. And it’s fucking hot.

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Mitch Colby & Tyrell Tomsen in Wet & Wild 3

That last part makes me rethink my decision to ignore places with swimming pools in my housing search when I moved here a month and a half ago. I’ve always thought of pools as a pain in the ass. And, honestly, this climate calls for outdoor pools no more than about 25% of the year, so it seemed like a waste. But damn.  It’s fucking hot.

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Jersey & Frey in Water Wars 4

I’m sure I’ve posted here about my ambivalence about the swimming pool genre in homoerotic wrestling, but I’m too lazy right now to look it up for you (did I mention how hot it is?). So let me just reiterate. On the con side, pool wrestling too often submerges more than half of the available eye candy. Upper bodies are privileged as the only thing we can see most of the time (and neglecting attention to hot legs is another, more global complaint I make often). There’s probably about 80% of wrestling holds that just don’t translate to a pool. A Boston crab would likely lead to manslaughter charges.

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Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor in Wet & Wild 5

But on the other end of the ambivalent spectrum, I love wet muscles. On that point, sweat, shower scenes, and oil wrestling tweak the same kink in me that pool wrestling does. There’s also something inherently playful about pool wrestling. Watching homoerotic wrestlers do it, it certainly appears to take many of them back to the same days of juvenile, carefree summers getting yelled at for horsing around in and around the pool, playfully bullying chums by seeing who can dunk the other, games of chicken, perched on top of each others’ shoulders and seeing who can topple whom.

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Kid Vicious demonstrates how standing headscissors take on a whole new significance in the pool in Wet & Wild 4

While I couldn’t stand an exclusive diet of homoerotic wrestling in the pool, like fresh corn on the cob and the sweetest of watermelons, it’s a seasonal treat that can work for me. Though I have to say I prefer it to conclude with bronzed bodies baking in the sun, making out naked poolside.

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Bodybuilders Jeff Renshaw & Brad Sargeant show of their physiques in Canadian Built Wrestle Club 3
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Mason Brooks makes an OTK (and ball claw) work on Trey Dixon in Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament
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Cole Cassidy & Rob Berlin’s muscles glisten in Wet & Wild 1
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Soaking wet horseplay between Marco Guerra & Cole Cassidy in Wet & Wild 2
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Billy Lodi grabs hold of Rafe Sanchez (mmmm, Rafe!) with everything in Catch Weight 3
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Cam Hudson & Shane McCall check-in to post match muscle play in Motel Madness 3
Everyone’s a winner after Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament
Trey Dixon & Ty Alexander heat up the pool post Wet & Wild 7: Pool Tournament
Kid Karisma & Christian Taylor heat back up post pool match in Wet & Wild 5

 

In Catchweight 3, the brutal wrestling was heading just one direction: into the pool.

The Right Hand

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Available to the highest bidder!?!?

As the self-anointed president of the Kid Karisma fan club, how am I the last to know that a muscle worship session with Kid Karisma was up for bids at a charity auction!? The 2nd match in BG East’s Fan Fantasy 4 is what happens with Billy Lodi wins said auction and the two BG East veterans get down to business.

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“Excited?” Kid Karisma asks.

I’ve got so many questions. What charity benefitted from this incredibly inspired auction? The Ginger Anti-Defamation League? Kid K’s local gay rugby team? The World Muscle Ass Hall of Fame? And seriously, again I ask, how did I not know about this!? I don’t actually know for a fact that I could have outbid Billy, but I’m confident that I’m older, have likely accumulated more assets, and possess a 401(k) that I’d have sucked the life out of to slap Billy into 2nd place.

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“Very!” Billy confirms just how excited he is.

There are a thousand and one things to love about this Fan Fantasy match, and I’m not even counting Billy’s hot, horny, skinny twink body or Kid Karisma’ magnificently muscled, fantastically fit, downright divine physique. For starters, this is muscle worship done right. Fan Fantasy does not skip on open, awed, slack jawed muscle worship. It’s hands on and intimate and enduring. Billy is counting his lucky stars even before Kid Karisma confirms that he can touch his body, tactilely adore his godlike muscles, and ask any questions along the way if he wants any curated details of the work of art out on loan to him.

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“Feel those powerful glutes!”

This narrative is fundamentally superior to the first match on in this collection, for my tastes. In Rafael Valmor’s bought and paid for muscle appreciation session with the object of his long-time infatuation, Kieran Dunne, Kieran insists on a no-touch rule. Rafael is permitted to eye fuck him all he wants, but he’s instructed to keep his hands off. Sure, Rafael ups the ante for a full contact wrestling session with his favorite muscleboy, but the muscle worship is constrained. The homoerotic text is ever so much repressed. Not so with Billy’s redemption of his winning ticket for a crack at Kid K. Hell, when Billy seems a little tentative about really giving Kid K’s multi-award winning glutes the adoration they so abundantly deserve, the physique star prods him on. “Feel those powerful glutes,” Kid Karisma demands when Billy’s hands awkwardly, almost shyly only graze those fantasy cheeks. With full permission and encouragement, Billy really digs in, turning me insanely jealous.

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“But, it’s a muscle, isn’t it?”

There is one constraint on the full-contact muscle worship auction award, it turns out. Although Billy has won the opportunity to worship Kid K’s muscles, the ginger hunk firmly, but not bitterly, shuts down the twink’s efforts to get his hands on Kid K’s crotch. “But, it’s a muscle, isn’t it!?” Billy asks perhaps the most provocative rhetorical question in homoerotic wrestling history. Despite his impeccable argument, Kid Karisma insists that while every other inch is on the table, Billy must steer clear of the seductive bulge that, thus far, has remained hidden from the camera in Kid K’s wrestling career.

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Naughty, naughty, Billy…

It’s a dangerous line to walk, as far as I’m concerned, in any story that explains violence in response to amorous advances. Fortunately, Fan Fantasy 4 steers well clear of a “gay panic defense.”  When Kid Karisma finally lowers the corporal punishment boom on the auction winner, it’s not at all about Kid Karisma having some sexual insecurity about getting his junk fondled. Fuck, Kid K is quite clearly as turned on by getting worship as Billy is to worship him. When the mat scrap breaks out, it isn’t even really centered on the mystery of the anaconda Kid K is smuggling in his pouch, or his chastity belt struggling to prevent him from, for the first time, going truly full monty on camera. No, much more seductively, the twink discipline that breaks out is really about respect. Kid K asks for respect. Billy disrespects him. Kid K insists on respect.  Again, Billy defies him. Obstinately disobedient, Billy keeps pushing the envelope until Kid K enthusiastically opens a can of whoop ass on the lithe punk.

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Billy gets a handle on the situation

The wrestling is sensationally sexy, with considerable focus on both battlers punishing the fuck out of each other’s balls. Kid Karisma is transcendent, that teasing package swelling with the pleasure of completely manhandling the tenacious, oppositional-defiant young hottie. But hands down (pun intended), the highlight of this match, the scene-stealer to end almost all scene-stealers is when Billy latches onto Kid K’s balls like a beartrap, dropping the hunk to his knees, and then slides the vulnerable, bulging, sensational muscle star backward into a dragon sleeper and shoves his hand down the front of Kid K’s trunks.

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Where no opponent has gone before

Judging by the look on Billy’s face, the prize that, to date, only he has sampled on camera was worth every penny he begged, borrowed, and stole to win that charity auction. And Kid K may have never looked so outrageously gorgeous as splayed out and totally at the mercy of his overtly amorous worshipper turned tormentor simply determined to get every penny’s worth from this once in a lifetime opportunity.

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Kid Karisma continues to bulge and swell sensationally

I wasn’t physically present to actually measure the evidence, but I swear that Kid Karisma’s bulge is demonstrably bigger after he’s escaped from Billy’s hands-on cock and ball attention. And, perhaps, the avalanche of muscle torture Billy endures for the duration of the match was worth it, to be the first to say he’s handled Kid K’s goods. It would be for me. And you, admit it. Hell, for you and me, the subsequent getting totally owned and pounded into a withered pulp would just be value added.

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My 401(k) for this prize!

There’s a reason that Kid Karisma continues to be my favorite homoerotic wrestler running, and a reason that, I believe, he has held that title longer than anyone else to date. He is as fearless and unapologetically erotically oriented as he is unbelievably beautifully built. Honestly, I sort of hate Billy right now for his luck, but I grudgingly acknowledge that his insistence on sledgehammering right through the boundaries turned this Fan Fantasy into the closest we’ve come yet to getting to truly appreciate ALL of Kid Karisma’s fabulous muscles. If only vicariously, I have to admit that Billy deserves the respect of all of the Kid K fanatics out there who are ragingly jealous of his right hand right now.

Expiration Dates

I’m venturing into highly contested waters today, so put your life vests on and buckle in. Age. I’ve chatted with homoerotic wrestling fans who consider hunks old enough to legally drink alcohol as getting too old for their tastes. Mind you, the fans in question are more than twice that age, but for the time being, let me just focus on the wrestlers. By the same token, I’ve talked with homoerotic wrestling fans who are a tad creeped out by wrestlers that look too young. Hell, I had an extended exchange with a fan who was gagging for a silver fox bracket of homoerotic wrestling for mature muscle only. I’ve also heard rumor of homoerotic wrestling companies who turn away handsome, magnificently muscled, high quality man meat with impeccable wrestling credentials and a sensational sell because they only work with guys younger than 30 years old.  Age is clearly something that factors into the homoerotic wrestling scene in complex ways.

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Billy Lodi looks like a high school sophomore and wrestles like a wildcat.

You know me, of course. I can pump out a teary eyed infatuation for hunks across a wide range of demographics.  I’ve been known to get off on one of those barely legal babyface kids who, although he’s old enough to vote, has the look of a high school sophomore. Now, I fully endorse limiting the subjects of erotic products to those of legal age to comptently give their consent. I don’t want to see (let me repeat for the morality police: I DON’T want to see) an actual 14 year old, no matter how sweet his ass, step into a wrestling ring to be an object of erotic lust for grown men, much less for him to be groped or ground by an amorous wrestling opponent. If a 21 year old could pass for a 14 year old, and he has that sweet ass I just mentioned, fuck yes, get his legal signature on a contract, throw him into a ring to get slammed, stripped, and sucked, and then pay him handsomely. My line isn’t whether the audience could imagine the hunks to be underage. It’s just a question of whether they are, in the eyes of the law, legally capable of consenting to adult decisions like starring in media targeted toward erotically interested consumers. There’s got to be a line with regard to age, maturity, and capacity to give consent, and I’m just fine with the legal standards that operate in the homoerotic wrestling industry.

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So there’s that threshold of age on the bottom end of the scale. But what about the top end of the scale? Do (should) wrestlers age out of being suitable stars of homoerotic wrestling?  Of course, I continue to advocate for legal capacity as a requirement. Guys with impaired capacity due to intellectual disabilities or mental health issues, no matter their age, no matter how rocking hot their six-pack abs and sculpted, tree trunk thighs are, shouldn’t be professional homoerotic wrestlers. But other than that small minority of adults, I see nothing wrong with, and in fact see many things very, very right with, wrestlers having no inherent expiration date for steaming up screens.

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Mitch Colby started homoerotic wrestling only after his phenomenal physique was aged to perfection.

My thoughts are distinct from, but related to, the occasional wrestling narrative of a younger stud taunting his older opponent. I actually love seeing younger and older wrestlers go to town on each other, though I confess I typically ache to see the more mature guy own the young buck’s ass (and any other body part he wants).  When Mitch Colby showed up for his debut match with BG East, wrestling against hottie Alexi Adamov, Alexi was already disparaging Mitch as ready to be put out to pasture. Mitch smirks in response to the “old man” banter, and then lets his gorgeous pecs and bulging biceps give the only answer necessary, laying Alexi the fuck OUT when all was said and done.

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Go on, Alexi. Take a look at the “old man” who just put you down.

Now I’m terrible at guessing ages. But I’m thinking Mitch couldn’t have been over 40 years old when he wrestled Alexi. Possibly early 40’s, but that absolutely requires that he have the genes of a comic book superhero. Look at that fucking rocking muscle bod!? So sure, he’s older than Alexi, and Alexi wants to unsettle this physical phenom of a newbie muscle stud, so the young Russian gets all snarky about the only thing he can imagine sensational Mitch could be, in any way, insecure about. About the time Alexi is doing the backstroke in a pool of their combined sweat, unable to pry is wasted, hot, gorgeous young body off the mat, the “old guy” drama comes to what I think of as a sensationally satisfying end.

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Bear daddy Brooklyn Bodywrecker takes full possession of every naked inch of Joshua Goodman (though we only see his gorgeous backside).

Physical maturity, pitched well, makes me weak in the knees.  Take Brooklyn Bodywrecker with salt-and-pepper goatee and chest hair bringing us as close as we’ve come to seeing Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) stripped naked and showing off the ballast he carries in his pouch. Joshua tries to get underneath the classic heel’s skin with the “o” word. Bodywrecker tags him, bags him, and takes out the prettiest trash on the planet. How old was BBW? I have no idea. I’m guessing over 40, but like I said, I suck at guessing ages. But one thing I do know for certain: he wasn’t “too old.”

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Christopher Bruce was a luscious babyface during his first stint with BG East well over a decade ago.

Take Christopher Bruce’s big comeback a few years ago, returning in mindblowing condition after last appearing a decade earlier as a doe eyed, shapely, lean go-go boy, now older, marginally wiser, and stealing the spotlight from every frustrated opponent with that insanely sexy, infinitely fuckable, massively muscled bubble butt. Cole Cassidy, Jonny Firestorm, they keep calling Chris out as some sort of doddering elder statesman, but that’s just the narrative tension in the story. The obvious truth is that he’s a fucking muscle god who, as far as I’m concerned, is about 30 times overtly sexier than he was a decade ago. Proving that it isn’t just the story of the mature hunk schooling a cocky young upstart that gets me off, he’s still getting his ass handed to him most of the time, but the years are absolutely nothing but value added in my book.

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Take a good look at an “old man” of the ring, Jonny!

So age, age differences, “oldness,” “youngness,” sure all of these things are moving parts, contested, manipulated, foregrounded strategically. But in and of itself, the actual notion that someone is too old, as a function of a particular number, just seems ludicrous to me. Sure, maybe over the course of his years a wrestler has fucked up his knees or lost his strength or gone on blood thinners, in which case high impact, highly entertaining homoerotic wrestling competition may not be for him anymore. But’s that’s about injury, disease, and fitness, not a number.

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Dirk Caber is reported to have only started muscling up and settling into porn at age 30. With a handsome, grey beard and insanely hot, mature beef, he is a raging bull when he wrestles and fucks for Naked Kombat.

As with any professional athlete, I’m sure there’s a time when they may choose to do other things than exercise, diet, and train with the intensity it requires to be safe and healthy and successful in a pro wrestling ring. But I’m also sure there are plenty of hunks who are talented and enthusiastic enough to keep climbing through those ropes past their 30’s (for god’s sake), definitely past their 40’s, many, I’m sure past their 50’s and maybe even 60’s. While I know there are those fans who want nothing but barely legals, I’m in the camp (and I know there are many of us) who are happily entertained and fully aroused by homoerotic wrestling hunks of a variety of ages, in a broad array of scenarios, pitching, catching conquering and being conquered by peers and young punks alike. Bald spots and grey hair can grab me by the short hairs, when paired with a sexy body, an engaging attitude, and a skillful sell.

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Shane McCall returned to BG East competition this past year as a more mature, salt-n-pepper bearded bear daddy with a crazy sexy belly and a fierce readiness to teach twink Ty a thing or two (or twenty) in Catchweight 6.

Before I finish what has turned into a very long post, let me just add a word of encouragement and another word of caution to those who are inspired to comment here. First, I always enjoy hearing from readers, comparing notes, seeing where our tastes overlap and where they diverge. Please do let me know what you think about homoerotic wrestler expiration dates. And, as has been my policy for quite a while, note that I won’t approve posts that attack particular wrestlers or that disparage anyone with the balls to climb into a ring and wrestle for a bunch of horny gay men. You don’t have to like the same wrestlers I do. You don’t have to agree with my opinions. But comments are welcome here that are respectful of me and the homoerotic wrestlers who populate the pages of this blog and who deserve courtesy, even if you or I aren’t fans.

Soap, Please

I have a hair trigger for shower scenes. I’ve gone weeks at a time obsessed with sleuthing out hot, steamy, glistening muscle hunks in the shower, preferably immediately following a wet, sweaty, thumping wrestling match. Some of the best sex I’ve ever had was in the shower. I sometimes wonder if it’s my obsessive-compulsive tendencies coming up when I get seriously fixated on shower scenes. I won’t even try to deny that messes turn me off, and so incorporating personal hygiene and immediately washing away the aftermath probably appeals to my inner approaching-disordered mind. But even if you aren’t OCD, you have to appreciate glistening, wet naked bodies, which is pretty much guaranteed in a shower scene.

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Sub Zero peels off the spandex preparing for his post battle shower. Where, oh where do I apply to be his very personal super-valet?!

Last week’s update over at Eye of the Cyclone got me all infatuated again with shower scenes. EOC’s superhero Sub Zero narrowly escaped his own destruction in the serial “Hard as Ice.” Having returned to his secret Ice Lair, the dashingly hot mystery muscle man breaths a heavy sigh of relief and peels off his skin tight super suit to wash away the bitter bruises of his battle with the Xtractor.  Last week’s comic panels of Sub Zero prepping and beginning his shower are the motherload of post-wrestling homoerotic shower scenes (though I’d prefer to see Xtractor join him).

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Now that is a super sensational ass!!!

I’m in crazy lust with Sub Zero! I’d say that ass could pose a serious challenge to Kid Karisma’s Best Butt reign, if Sub Zero ever made my fantasies come true by appearing in live action homoerotic wrestling. Though I am crazy in lust with Kid K’s ass as well.  Hmmm. Clearly the only way to settle this would be a rip ‘n’ strip ring match, followed by a tandem body worship shower scene, of course.

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I need a hero, bad!

Like the perfect homoerotic wrestling twist on Psycho, Sub Zero doesn’t see the vile-looking “Cybermite” climbing the shower glass, positioning its vicious-looking metallic legs threateningly inches away from Sub Zero’s glistening, naked ass. Our sizzling hot hero sees the threat too late, turning around just as the mortal threat pounces, diving deep down naked hunk’s throat (well, okay, that orifice works as well, sure). What will happen with his enemy’s remote appendage rooting around inside his sensationally built muscle body? Fuck. To be continued…

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I’ve got my loofah in hand… well, in one hand…

So that’s what sent me spinning down the shower scene rabbit hole again. Here are a few more of my very favorite shower scenes from the homoerotic wrestling context.  Do you have a favorite, because I’m always looking to add to my go-to collection.  Now you’ll have to excuse me, I need to go get cleaned up…

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In Motel Madness 8, my long-time favorite homoerotic wrestler (emeritus) spanked Jeremy Burke like a naughty boy before the two retired to the motel bathroom to strip each other and slip into the shower together. Honestly, I can’t see Jeremy at all in the shower scene… all I can see is me there soaping up Mitch’s naked muscles.
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One of the hottest, unscripted shower scenes ever to grace the end of an outstanding homoerotic wrestling match took place in BG’s Fantasy Oil Wrestling 4.
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In X-Fights 33, a twinks-gone-wild barnburner, Skip Vance and Billy Lodi got completely hot and bothered first on the mat then in the bathroom, proving that some old flames never entirely die, even when soaking wet in the shower.
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An iconic homoerotic wrestling production, Lords of the Lockerroom may have not been the most competitive sell in wrestling, but the quality of the bodies featured was extremely elite. A pre-NK Van Darkholme was eaten up and spit out by hot stuff Mark Wolff, but looked very happy to relive the memories as he jerked off in the shower afterward.
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And arguably the lordliest of the Lords of the Locker Room, Billy Herrington took his fantasy physique to the showers after squashing Nick Steel like a musclejobber bug.

Leaving My Photo ID at Home

Completing what appears to be my trilogy of posts on my taste for mature beef, I have to slap down some enthusiasm for getting to enjoy homoerotic wrestling match starring long-time favorite wrestler around these parts, Mitch Colby.

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Former Favorite Homoerotic Wrestler and Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month and constant infatuation of mine: Mitch Colby.

Joe has already done the heavy lifting in introducing you to the Catchweight 6 match featuring magnificently muscled Mitch swatting down irritatingly cocky Billy Lodi. I’ll just paint in around the edges a little where my long-standing Mitch-lust demands that I send up a little worship. First, there’s the little tidbit that Mitch tends bar where his wrestling fans seek him out. Why am I cursed to live in the wrong geographical location to appropriately stalk the homoerotic wrestling icons that command so much of my lustful attention!? The fact that Billy tracked him down to challenge the bare chested beauty behind the bar to a wrestling match (victory to be accepted in lieu of the photo ID Billy seems to have lost when Mitch tries to card him) titillates me no end. The motif of stumbling across a homoerotic wrestling fantasyman “in real life” is a bit that I could enjoy a lot more of.

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Billy tries to play it cool.

Billy gets in a dig about Mitch looking older in person than he does in his wresting matches. He refers to him as “Mitch the Bitch,” clearly needling the headliner hunk with the taunting moniker that Cage Thunder has been spreading everywhere. If Billy weren’t lapping up the drool dripping from his luscious lower lip as he stares at Mitch’s phenomenal physique, I’d say the kid was delusional.  But clearly the punk is just trying to weasel his way under Mitch’s skin in order to get mat time with the muscle hunk.  It works. Of course it works. This is a BG East prime time wrestling release. It doesn’t take long for this story to pick up after Mitch’s shift at the bar is over and Billy comes a knocking.

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For starters…

There’s the catchweight quality to the story telling that speaks for itself. Guys particularly into bigger guys and smaller guys doing battle should line up to watch this on automatic repeat, because the contrasts between Billy and Mitch are visually stunning. Mitch is massive, thickly muscled, bronzed, ripped off of a fitness magazine cover. Billy is lean, pale, certainly fit but with little visible muscle tone, looking like one of the obnoxious kids at the skateboard park that I so despise. It takes about 15 seconds before the homoerotic wrestling subtext becomes just the text. Billy sinks his fingers deep in Mitch’s mountainous pecs, and the bartender does the same to Billy’s sweet little ass (which Mitch can’t help but notice has less mass than Mitch’s pecs).  Mitch commandingly steals a kiss. Billy is clearly put off his guard with the stunning hunk sucking his face.  Mitch makes him pay, however, transitioning to a gasping, squirming, helpless bearhug and hoists the kid way up off the floor and sucks the air from his lungs.  First hold of the match: Billy concedes with his face buried in Mitch’s chest. Oh hell, yes.

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Hurts so good

Billy’s fans will not be surprised that he is more than ready and able to take cheap shots at Mitch’s balls to having a fighting chance against the ripped muscle stud.  Frankly, I think Mitch isn’t so surprised either. Nor does he work all that hard to stay out of danger’s way.  I think Mitch very well may nurse a little fetish for getting his balls bashed, because every time Billy does it, the look on Mitch’s face is a cross somewhere between horror and orgasm. And he keeps fighting back harder, locking lips that much more furiously on the ballsy lightweight.

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Stoked harder and hotter, Mitch strikes back with everything.

Because Mitch is a classy dude, he refrains from clawing the living fuck out of Billy’s balls… until Billy goes for his first low blow.  Unleash Mitch, 70 pounds heavier and without feeling compelled to fight fair?! Oh, fuck, yes.

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There’s the hold that I, and Mitch, enjoy so, so much!

I think I’d like to wallpaper my bedroom with all of the stills of Mitch crushing all of his opponents’ skulls between his massive, flexed, gorgeous thighs. It wouldn’t be a Mitch match without it, nor would it be everything I’ve come to expect and be entranced by if Mitch didn’t look like he could easily whip out his cock and explode all over Billy’s head because this hold turns him on so hard. And I don’t think I’m just projecting.

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“Is this why you came here?”

Billy is outmuscled and out classed from start to finish, but the running question between the two battlers is why did Mitch concede to this match? Why did he invite him over?  And why was Billy, doomed from the start, so eager to hustle his way inside Mitch’s abode?  It’s not really much of a mystery at any point, really, but when Mitch hoists the punk over one massive, bulging shoulder and strolls into the bedroom smacking his chops, whatever tension there was with Billy at the bar, resenting being carded, calling Mitch “old,” referring to him as “Mitch the Bitch,” it’s all released, like me, as the boys turn the corner and turn down the sheets.

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Brutality and tenderness in perfect measure.

What gets me, after I clean myself up a little, is that this is now the second young stud to work Mitch into a lather by taunting him with the nickname Cage Thunder has given him, “Bitch Colby.”  Read Cage’s blog and you’ll see reference after reference disparaging Mitch for beating up little guys, but the thing is these little guys are taking their cues, begging for a session with the muscle hunk, using Cage Thunder’s insults.  When, oh when is the raging homoerotic wrestling tension between Mitch and Cage Thunder going to come to a head?! And who do I need to blow to get to see that golden moment live!?

 

It’s Political

My interest in professional football has primarily centered on a three-way ring wrestling fantasy in which Aaron Rodgers, Jordy Nelson, and Clay Matthews beat the living shit out of each other (obviously including extensive double-teaming by Aaron and Jordy), until they’ve all been stripped out of their trunks and the winner gets a blow job from one loser while he racks the other across his gargantuan shoulders (yep, you can pretty much guess who’s who). Actually following a season has been outside of my frame of reference for well over a decade, and actually paying attention to draft day has frankly never been on my radar. But it was hard not to notice Michael Sam getting drafted by the Rams and sucking face with his boyfriend in celebration. The kiss seemed a tad forced and uncomfortably choreographed to me. Nevertheless, it was hot.  For me.  Others were clearly offended. There were apparently the predictable junior high level “ewwwwws” from the un-self-reflected narcissists privileged to remain far too long in angst-ridden adolescent ignorance and knee jerk self-defensiveness around their own secret same-sex fantasies. There was the wildly hypocritical “shield my baby’s eyes” indignation from the same mothers who blissfully see no irony in wanting more guns in their children’s schools while earnestly believing that witnessing g-rated affection between consenting adults will scar their offspring permanently. And there’s the “homosexual agendaists” who whip themselves in sackcloth because of the “politicization” of sport, and sports television, and masculinity itself.  Whatever it means for football or football fans or sports television, the kerfuffle highlights the simple truth that persists regardless of where you stand: the personal is political. Oh, and two men kissing is sexy.

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Wrestleshack 18
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Pro Sex Fight 10
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X-Fights 35
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Pro Sex Fight 4
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Pro Tag Team Sex Battle 1
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Raunchy Rookies 7
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Passion and Punishment 1
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Lockerroom Sex Encounter
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Wrestle Shack 18
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Gazebo Grapplers 16