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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Nuts and Bolt

Although my life has hovered around all new levels of bat shit crazy lately, I have relied on some recreational viewing of homoerotic wrestling to keep me entertained, and relieve a whole lot of stress. Thunder’s Arena recetly announced that new babyface bon bon Bolt has taken a commanding lead in their sales lately, so I hunkered down with former HWOTM Marco and Bolt in No Holds Barred 49 to see what all the fuss is about.

Bolt is young and hung!

Okay, I get it. I mean, no, Bolt isn’t the second coming of Brad Rochelle exactly, though I think he hits similar notes. He’s seriously young, and he’s both painfully pretty and unmistakably masculine at the same time. In other companies, he’d be a breakout star of the “Fantasymen” genre, almost definitely fitting equally well on a homoerotic wrestling mat and a go-go boy pole. He’s a tasty boy-next-door with sweet muscles, hairy armpits, and (be prepared to do a double take) a massive bulge making that blue singlet’s pouch hang low.  Miss the pouch?  No worries. The camera helpfully zooms in to let you study the hinted at man meat packaged underneath.

The star of the match: Bolt’s bolt.

When the porn-star-ready newbie encounters Marco on the mat in a low cut red singlet, there’s that fratbro give and take that is Thunder’s Arena’s bread and butter. Dripping with Southern gentility and a heat-stroked slow drawl, Bolt says he’s wrestling today to represent all amateur wrestlers everywhere. Marco shrugs those massive, muscled shoulders of his and reminds the newbie that he’s here representing Thunders. In other words, buckle up boys, this is going to be an initiation of a naive newbie at the hands of a seasoned homoerotic fan favorite.

“We may be small, big we’re big at the same time.”

“I’m here to tear you up!” Bolt boasts when Marco is predictably underwhelmed by the pretty new flavor of the week.  The veteran points out that he has a distinct weight advantage over the rookie. In response, Bolt grabs that massive bulge and tugs on it hard. Fuck, that’s one big, hefty handful of newbie! “We may be small, but we’re big at the same time!” the rook slyly boasts about the relative size of his body to his eye catching pouch.

Marco wastes no time getting his hands on Bolt’s nuts and bolt.

So yeah, there’s the predictable innocence spoiled narrative here.  They scramble on the mat. Bolt is seductively fast and confident. Marco is steady as a rock and waits for just the right moment to snap his tree trunks around the newbie’s head.  Just to properly say hello, he also clamps on a ball claw, which I’m guessing is mostly just to test out whether that improbably massive mountain is all meat or some stuffing. My take is that’s 100% grade-A rookie meat by the look it and the sound of Bolt’s gasping whimpers.

So, so much camera love for Bolt’s bulge!

“You grab my dick!?” Bolt snarls, grabbing Marco back and then slapping him into bodyscissors.  That plaintive disbelief in his voice sort of pisses off.  Of course he fucking grabbed your dick, newbie.  99% of the audience is gay men. You know that.  He knows that. We know you know that.  You’ve been grabbing that anaconda stuffed in your pouch, shoving it in Marco’s face, bragging about it from the start. Shut the fuck up and do this thing.

Bolt gets a taste of Marco’s signature move.

“Did they warn you about my signature move?” Marco asks, sliding onto Bolt’s bulging chest in a schoolboy pin.  He pulls newbie’s face hard into his balls, and here’s where Bolt sort of starts to redeem himself just a little for me.  The kid laughs, somehow not exactly appalled, maybe just a little panicked, maybe just little intrigued.  The obligatory pass at being shocked and offended is quickly dispensed with, and, well, yeah. Getting your face shoved in Marco’s crotch should make you somewhere in the middle of panicked, intrigued, and laughing with embarrassment.  You’re getting owned, pretty boy. So thanks for skipping the gay panic defense and just enjoy the ride about 1/10th as much as I am enjoying watching it.

“Why don’t you get yourself another handful?” Marco invites.

As documented many, many times before, Marco is my favorite Thunder’s boy for not shying away from the homoerotic content (mostly subtext, but often pretty fucking explicit double entendre). So it’s pure Marco when Bolt defensively grabs the veteran’s cock to try to claw his way free, then quickly pulls away, like he’s a little shocked at the feel of the python beneath. “Why don’t you get yourself another handful?” Marco invites the kid to sample his meat selection again.

Bolt seems to enthusiastically enjoy Marco’s lesson in what makes this homoerotic wrestling.

Somewhere in the scrap, Bolt starts to blossom.  His hands inadvertently claw at Marco’s big, bulging pecs, and the veteran instantly calls attention to the subtext. “You grabbing my chest?” he asks. “Yeah,” he coos seductively. “Feel that. You like that?” And then, with more enthusiasm than any of us had any right to expect, Bolt gushes enthusiastically, “I like it! I like it!”

“Kinda big,” Bolt marvels at Marco’s pecs. “I like it!”

Honestly, I doubt either of these body beautiful beefcakes plays for my team. Just a guess, and my gaydar has been known to be off before. But there’s a long and deep tradition of straight boys populating homoerotic wrestling products. And Marco brings Bolt along in one of the innovations at Thunder’s that makes me give them a lot more credit than I used to. They acknowledge the homoeroticism in this moment. They talk about what you and I are thinking, bringing into the foreground the sexual, sensual eroticism of two hot young hunks locked body to body. In an inexplicable break in the action, the two shrug their big shoulders out of their singlets and compare upper bodies. Marco is bigger. No contest. But it’s Bolt treating himself to an eager feel of his opponent’s pecs that make this much more than about size. “Kinda big,” Bolt’s Southern drawl curls the awed compliment out like molasses. “I like it!” the newbie concedes, again with more enthusiasm than I expect. Marco clearly appreciates the Adonis in front of him as well. “Little happy trail,” he grins, pointing at the kid’s flat lower abdomen, “Big package down there!” Marco acknowledges. Yep, that’s what I like about Marco. I don’t ever expect to see him sucking on any guy’s cock, but he’s stone cold unafraid to signal that this is homoerotic fare to you and me. There’s none of that old school “no homo” bullshit that drags too much “homoerotic” wrestling into the self-loathing side of things. Just some hot boys living in the moment and not backing down from acknowledging that all this muscled man-on-man friction is ridiculously sexy.

“I LOVE BALLS IN MY FACE!” the rookie screams.

There’s fratboy hijinks as well.  This wouldn’t be Thunder’s without them.  Sitting on the rookie’s face, the newbie’s hot, sweaty bod all wrapped up in a small package, Marco refuses to let him go until he screams the words, “I love balls in my face!”  Trash talk, spanking, taunting schoolboy pins back and forth in less and less gear.  Bolt is always following the veteran’s homoerotic lead, but it’s a tried and true hot lead he’s following.

“I’m going to kick your ass,” Bolt whispers hauntingly.

There’s one moment that haunts me just a little from this match.  It comes after an awkward camera cut, so I’m feeling absolutely certain it’s completely scripted. But Bolt climbs on top of his supine hunk opponent, leans in, his lips pressed right up against Marco’s ear, and whispers “I’m going to kick your ass.” Fuck, that whisper is hot. If he’d screamed it or laughed through it, it would’ve been standard fratboy fare. But delivered just that way, in the context of Bolt seeming to grow more enthusiastic the more explicitly Marco draws attention to their hot bodies, that whisper grabs me by the balls.

Speaking of getting grabbed by the balls…

Both of these boys have stellar bodies that look better and better the more gear that gets ripped off. There’s a high lickability about Bolt’s baby smooth upper body and ever so lightly hairy peach fuzz legs. And Marco’s flexing, muscled ass… holy shit.  Thunder’s has some of the hottest young physiques in the business, and the attention that both of these beautiful boys pay to each other’s bodies it pitch perfect for the best of what this match has to offer: hot, sweaty, gorgeous bodies.

The money shot: Bolt’s popularity in clear focus.

It’s an abrupt knock out finish to the match that brings this all to a close. The moment is sort of apropos of nothing else in the match. It’s sloppy story telling, as far as I’m concerned. It has a little feel of “we’ve got enough action recorded, so wrap this up.”  So I’m a little bitter about that. So much raw material to work with in these two young men. But there’s some big picture perspectives missing.

Marco has to adjust his hand placement repeatedly as he goes for this gorilla press.


But for what it’s worth, for what it is and what it does, I’m significantly satisfied with Marco vs Bolt. Just like Marco, I really, really want to hear Bolt scream. And just like Bolt, I really, really (really) like the look of Marco’s hot, bulging, big muscles.

Marco knows how to handle nuts and Bolt.