Long Live the King

I’m following the trail of one of my favorites and tucking in to watch Drake Marcos bring a fantastic new authenticity to W4H. Not that I think W4H hasn’t always featured sensationally authentic sell. It just hasn’t always read “homoerotic” as much as I think it’s supposed to. That’s officially old news as of right now, because Drake is the gay wrestling avatar for all of us when he stares down beefy Brad Barnes and muses out loud about playing “tops and bottoms” once this oil wrestling match is over.

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Brad is the self-annointed king of oil wrestling

“Brad Barnes here, master of the oil wrestling!” Brad lubricates his flexing muscles slowly and seductively, bragging about being the king of this sub-genre. No one can argue with his well-established position in the pantheon of homoerotic wrestling stars. He’s not as big nor as ripped as we’ve seen him in the past, but damn, he’s every ounce as tasty as always. The beard disguises his ridiculous beauty. Maybe he’s cottoned on that being too pretty is a liability in this business.

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Drake enjoys his work

Drake strolls in and shakes hands respectfully. Hell, he even offers (and is welcomed) to finish oiling up Brad’s bulging physique in those hard-to-reach spots where Brad’s massive muscles get in the way of him reaching around. You know how, when we’re watching wrestlers apply oil, you can tell when they aren’t into it?  How many times have we noticed probably straight grapplers look a little bored and engage in the least possible bodily contact while still, ostensibly, being able to claim to have oiled an opponent up? Drake, on the other hand, is happy to help. He’s the Cheshire Cat for a reason, so just watch the corners of his mouth curl in delight as he liberally coats Brad’s mile wide back, then drop to his knees to get the backs of the bodybuilder’s monster thighs (Brad’s meaty ass right at eye level, of course). Drake reaches around from behind and palms Brad’s abs, slides his hands slowly and expansively up and all over Brad’s juicy pecs. If a wrestling match wasn’t in the offing, I’d say Drake just might have kept this up until he was pounding out a load across Brad’s gorgeous muscles.

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“Is the ‘master of oil’ going to take that?!”

But Brad pulls away, looking uncomfortable. That bitch. Right then and there, I want to see Drake kick his mother fucking ass. Drake is the everyman on the mats here. More precisely, he’s you and me and every gay guy who’s been told he should apologize for getting turned on by a hot, cocky gym bunny flaunting himself provocatively and then pretending he wasn’t cock teasing all along. They shove each other in the chest, the aggression coming to a quick boil. Brad’s got a lower center of gravity and a ton of power advantage, and our gay avatar looks momentarily like he’s about to get muscle bullied (….again….). Then, suddenly, Drake swings his open right palm and lands a cracking, hard, wet slap across Brad’s way too pretty face. Oh, fuck yes, this is going to happen!

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“Looks like master of shit right now!”

I’ve wrestled Drake, so I’m not nearly as surprised as Brad appears to be when the Cheshire Cat deftly slides to the side when the muscle tank comes charing in a rage. Smoothly, Drake lassos a side headlock and efficiently muscles the bodybuilder to the mat. “Master of oil wrestling?” Drake asks, cranking hard and making the bodybuilder whimper. “Looks like master of shit right now.”

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Drake really, really enjoys his work

I’ve faulted Brad for being flat-footed in the past. I’ve chided him for lacking initiative, for rolling over and taking it too quickly. And, honestly, this match could have easily been pulled down by that same dynamic if it weren’t for one thing: Drake makes him hurt.

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Drake tenderizes the beef

Brad actually mentions out loud at one of his brief moments in the driver’s seat that Drake is working the match way stiffer than Brad expected. Read: Drake is actually, genuinely, pushing the pretty bodybuilder baby-ass right up to the point of seriously hurting him. He repeatedly tries to wrench Brad’s left shoulder out of joint with a severe hammerlock. He threatens to snap his oil-lubricated spine in multiple camel clutches. Hell, he looks like he nearly rips Brad’s massive pectoral muscles off the bone in long, deep, vicious pec claws. Fuck, Drake does us proud, gay wrestling fans.

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Squeeze the Charmin

Two things, in particular, Drake does that seriously bring excellent notes to the W4H catalog. One, he gropes the meat salaciously. The dragon sleepers lay Brad out best for Drake to use his free hand to slide his palm all over Brad’s fantasy man body. Brad bucks and kicks (more than usual, again making me believe the subplot that Drake is working this match harder than Brad is used to), and the Cheshire Cat just smiles brightly as he squeezes and feels up all of those bulging gym muscles. “You’re the kind of guy I admire at the gym,” Drake muses out loud at one point, treating himself to gently kneading, and then hard slapping, Brad’s muscle ass cheeks. “But, it looks like it should be the other fucking way around!” Drake narrates this drama beautifully, pointing out in both word and deed that Brad’s impressive muscles are nothing but fuel for Drake’s lustful fire. “This has got to be humiliating for you, right?,” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “I mean, look at your big ass! I’m destroying you!”  More to the point, the relatively average physique on Drake is equipped with everything he needs to not just neutralize the pin-up boy, but to so completely break him down as to leave him wide open for an erotically turned on opponent to familiarize himself with Brad’s body the way we’ve all fantasized about taking possession of those hot muscleboys strutting and grunting and posing for themselves (though, really, you and me) in the mirror at the gym. He strokes the writhing bodybuilder’s pecs. His hand slides down to Brad’s lower abdomen. He drags his hand, fingers stretched wide, down Brad’s quivering inner thigh, and then briefly, but unmistakably, takes an appreciative squeeze of Brad’s vulnerable crotch.

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“You’re about to be my favorite jobber!”

The other thing that Drake brings to the table that is a sensational addition to W4H is the narrative itself. It’s hard for me to describe this match without dipping extensively into the dialogue (Drake’s), because it’s accentuating and counterpointing every move and reversal. “You say you’re the king of oil,” Drake crows, saddling up across his upper abdomen and diving in deep with double pec claws, “but it looks like oil might be your kryptonite.” The reference to Brad as Superman, to the medium that the bodybuilder was convinced showed him and his skills off to perfection as his ultimate weakness, is multilayered and a loving nod to the comic geeks among the gay wrestling fan audience. “In some circles, I’m known as everyone’s favorite jobber,” Drake explains in an obvious reference to this blog. “But it looks like you’re about to be my favorite,” he sneers, nearly decapitating the man of steel with a camel clutch until Brad frantically taps out. Again. And again.

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“Good luck getting out of those monster things”

It isn’t quite a squash. Brad actually fights back, which isn’t always something we can count on from the pretty boy. His most successful offense is trying to snap Drake off at the neck with monster headscissors and an angry showering of oil. If he were half the wrestler Drake is, he’d have ridden those moments of momentum and the crushing weight of gravity all over the Cheshire Cat until he shut the prattling provocateur up decisively.

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Drake delivers the goods

But let’s face it, while Brad is undeniably gorgeous, while his muscles are magnificent, while that cleft chin is straight out of a comic book, while his body is the perfect, living rendition of my Stretch Armstrong doll from my childhood (which, yes, so got me off), he is not half the wrestler Drake is. I’ve long fantasized about Drake living into the moment and unleashing the heel within. I’ve told him, frankly, that he’s got all of the makings of a sensationally nasty, cruel, incredibly effective erotic heel. But this is the first time I’ve really seen that brilliance shine through quite this openly and directly.

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Your Drake’s gym bunny now, Brad

No shit, Drake accidentally sleepers the bodybuilder out cold. Now, if it were you or I, what would we do with Brad Barnes, flat on his back, unconscious and completely at our mercy? Yeah, Drake drizzles on more oil and feels this side of beef up one last time, just to make his own crotch swell that much more and enjoy the spoils of victory.

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At the mercy of the Cheshire Cat

Super sweet drama. The gayest thing I’ve seen on W4H, and believe me, I’ve been watching and hoping for them to highlight the “homo” in their bid to stake out more territory in the homoerotic wrestling market. Brad as the big, bulging, pretty muscle boy all shut up and humiliated and possessed by an unapologetically gay, obviously, superiorly skilled opponent is delicious. And seriously intense mat wrestling sold this hot and furiously is rare, and incredibly so when it comes to that most homoerotic of all contexts, oil wrestling.

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King slayer

The king is dead. Long live the king!

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Meat

 

Lessons in Hard

I’d wager to bet having Lon Dumont in your corner increases your chances of pro wrestling success by a factor of 10. Lon disclosed in my interview with him several years back that in his very early years of coaching, he had a hand in shaping the foundation of the babyface dynamo Cameron Matthews, and just look at all that Cameron’s accomplished on the scene!  In addition to wrestling around the world and starring in dozens of blockbuster homoerotic matches for BG East, Can-Am, Thunder’s Arena, and the predecessor to Movimus, Cameron now runs Wrestler4Hire, a growing player on the homoerotic wrestling scene, featuring high quality indy pros as well as established studs from other homoerotic wrestling companies. I’ve sampled Cameron’s products in the past, before the formal launch of W4H, and liked what I saw. So I recently signed up to sink my teeth into the meaty membership catalog and see what the newest kid on the block (although captained by one of the most established and productive kids of all time) is offering to the scene.

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W4H has a sweaty, hard bumping pro vibe

W4H has a provocative pro feel about it. Even the occasional mat match has pro attitude. There’s also a strong whiff of overflowing testosterone, with big, beefy bros messing around at the chapter house, but knowing full well the cameras are rolling and the audience is whipping out their dicks. If Rock Hard Wrestling and Thunder’s Arena had a baby, it’s be a lot like W4H (I’m probably not the first to make that analogy, but I think it’s apt).

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Well-known pros pound the mat for Cameron at W4H

With Cameron’s extensive connections in indy pro and homoerotic wrestling circles, the roster is pretty fucking amazing. There are up and coming, quickly rising indy pro stars showing up against sex wrestling veterans. And knowing Lon Dumont and Cameron go way, way back, little wonder Mr. Dumont shows up frequently on W4H. Even less a wonder, knowing my perpetual infatuation with the wrestler-turned-bodybuilder-turned-wrestler, I was immediately drawn to one of Lon’s match on W4H to enjoy first.

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Brad Barnes is strong, but can he wrestle?

Coach Lon has apparently taken Brad Barnes under his wing, and holy fuck, it’s about time. Brad is as beautiful as they come. You can see Brad go full monty and jack off at Randy Blue. He has a sensational sexiness about him, built like Adonis and sporting a painfully pretty face with a superhero square jaw and leading man cleft chin. However, all that magnificent, mouthwatering muscle and beauty have been, at best, a liability in his homoerotic wrestling appearances to date. He’s so fucking pretty and so completely ill equipped to seriously defend himself in a wrestling match. You get the impression that the long, long line of opponents who have beat his pin-up boy ass senseless never, ever get tired of owning all that hollow promise and impotent raw talent.

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Let’s do this, coach!

So thank the homoerotic wrestling gods that Lon has accepted the job of whipping the jobber Adonis into shape. As A Hard Lesson Learned starts, Coach Dumont is urging big Brad on as the kid does sit-ups. Lon is dishing out well-earned praise, liberally spiced with smart ass backhanded compliments (just the way I adore him). But despite Lon’s credentials as a physique star and personal trainer, not to mention his illustrious career heeling like a mother fucker for multiple indy pro circuits, Brad seems somehow a tad… ungrateful. It’s hard to put my finger on it at first. Lon has to remind the beefcake to show him the respect of calling him coach. There’s a spring in his step missing as he slowly rises to follow Lon’s instructions. But when he implies that Lon may not be strong enough to pick up the heavy bag that Brad has, moments ago, hoisted overhead, his contempt for coach really rings out. Not strong enough?! Are you fucking kidding me?! Have you seen Lon’s ripped, stage-ready physique and mountains of bodybuilding trophies!?

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Don’t worry, Brad! Coach just needs to test your core strength.

It seems like Brad senses he may have crossed a line, because when coach orders him to test his abs by lying on his back (so Lon can gingerly drop the heavy weight on him, simulating the bodyweight of an opponent), Brad looks nervous. “Just don’t drop it on my nuts,” the jobber beefcake insists. He again expresses concern that coach may not be strong enough to handle the equipment. But he need not worry. Lon can handle his equipment like champ. He can also hoist high a heavy bag and slam it with authority into the unsuspecting gut of an ungrateful trainee.

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Yeah, Lon’s got this.

“Ahhhh, FUCK, DUDE!” Brad screams, clutching his gut. Lon follows up with a stomp to one of the kid’s hamstrings. “Dude, what the fuck!!!?” Brad protests. Lon follows up with a stomp the chest, slamming his trainee to his back hard. “Don’t question my leadership skills, Brad!!!” Lon screams, slapping the kid’s ridiculously handsome face. “That is NOT something you want to do!” Lon unzips his warm-up jacket and peels it off, showing off the master-carved torso that has made me swoon for years. “Coach Dumont does not take kindly to that kind of activity!”

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Coach gets handsy.

The heel clinic Lon treats Brad to is classic Dumont. He pounds fists into the kid’s gut with abandon. He chokes the kid with is bare hands. Ominously, coach picks up Brad’s ankles, spreads them wide, and then drives his full bodyweight down, pounding his knee into the prettyboy’s testicles. “Why don’t you try a sit up for me now, Brad!?,” Lon yells furiously.  “How do you like my coaching style, Brad?!,” Lon screams in his face as he’s twist-tying the screeching manboy into an abdominal stretch.

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Brad grabs a handful of trouble.

Perhaps Brad is, finally, learning something from the avalanche of heel abuse he’s received up to this point, because he knows enough about pleasing fans to use Lon’s ridiculously long locks to pry his way free from one hold. He latches hold of Lon’s balls with a claw that elevates the heel’s typical baritone to a wailing countertenor. Brad racks coach across the top rope, bouncing him up and down on his balls a bit, to drive home the fact that he has, indeed, been taking notes.

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Lon’s muscles make me swoon.

I probably ought to be getting off on gorgeous Brad getting his big, bulging muscles owned like a bitch, but regular readers will be completely unsurprised to learn that I cannot take my eyes off of coach. When he has Brad screaming incoherently in a camel clutch, it’s Lon’s magnificent chest and shoulders that bring a tear to my eyes.  I know that it’s Brad’s bubble butt that I probably ought to be obsessing over, but it’s Lon’s zero-bodyfat glutes I can’t stop staring at as he digs a wedgie out of his crack.

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Brad delivers a forehead blow

I’m aware that Lon’s incessant, smart ass banter and perpetual psychological warfare make some fans absolutely hate him with a passion. Knowing Lon, I suspect he’s sort of proud of that. As for me, a match like this one demonstrates why I think Lon remains one of the most entertaining, provocative, engaging personalities in the homoerotic wrestling ring, and why I continue to submit my resume for the job of rubbing baby oil into every last one of his beautiful muscles before every bodybuilding competition and wrestling match. At the end of the day, I don’t know if Brad Barnes has what it takes to really benefit from coach’s lessons, but as for me, today, tomorrow, always, count me as a lifelong member of Team Dumont.

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Those. ABS!!!

For the record, A Hard Lesson Learned (copyright 2014) is one of 9 “new” videos available for streaming for the price of membership at W4H.  There are also dozens of photo galleries of many more matches available for members to peruse for the price of admission. The roster is pretty damn charming, with brief, one-sentence character descriptions (presumably in Cameron’s own words… Lon is described as “The most intelligent wrestler on the roster,” so maybe they’re Lon’s words), along with the vital stats that, inexplicably, turn me on. There are also dozens more videotaped matches for streaming or download for an additional price or the purchase of credits, that will cost you between $9.50 and and $12 per credit, depending on how many you buy (and it looks like most matches cost 2 credits for download). The math seems to me to be getting complicated. There’s a 3-day streaming rental option for a break in the purchase price. The combination of abundant photo galleries and relatively few full matches seems pretty typical of the industry these days, though it is frustrating to feel like you just ponied up for sizable membership dues and then have to dole out more for access to 90% of the catalog. But, like I said, I don’t think W4H is remarkably dissimilar to other sites with membership upgrades.

The production quality is solid. It’s not the most polished you can find. It’s certainly not the roughest. There aren’t many close ups so the effect is sitting ringside, which has both its value added as well as its drawbacks. Just one camera, but also almost no cuts, so the narrative feels fresh, the gasping and clawing their way off the mat feels authentic. This match is right around 20 minutes in total, including the opening “coaching” session, which looks right around the average run-time for most of the matches in W4H.

I’ll keep exploring W4H. Like all of the homoerotic wrestling productions I follow, I certainly want it to succeed, so I’m keeping my eyes open for value, quality, and innovation in what can feel at times like an increasingly crowded field of homoerotic wrestling productions.

 

Services Rendered

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Daddy’s hot, hard, hunky little rich boy, Damien Rush.

I’m on the record many times over as a big fan of hot and hairy Damien Rush. It seems like he’s tried to shed the ignominy of being daddy’s little rich boy, but personally, that back story makes it that much more captivating to see him stripped to wrestling trunks and pounding that hot body of his into another man’s muscles. His return to the Muscle Domination Wrestling ring in Six Pack Bash 8 portrays him as a freelance fitness coach, thrusting his services upon Brad Barnes without waiting for an invitation.

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Damien lends a hand to enhance Brad’s abdominal workout.

Brad is working his abs in the ring, sporting orange very-briefs and nothing else.  Damien offers to enhance the work out with some light punches to Brad’s contracted abdominals, a la Rocky.  Naive, dare we say, thick Brad concedes at first. But you and I know what happens next before we even see it. “Light” punches turn harder, more vicious, until Damien is beating the crap out of the muscle hunk’s gut with two fisted chops.

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Damien is swimming in his own sweat, getting all hot and lathered beating the shit out of Brad Barnes.

Damien is luscious in his familiar sparkling purple trunks that manage to ride up high on his waist but not quite cover his sweet ass cheeks. Both studs are barefoot, and I love barefoot ring wrestling. It has a direct line to my adolescent self slack jawed in lust over a young Kevin Von Erich.

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Damien prides himself on digging in deep, stretching you out in all different directions, and then pulling out hard.

“People pay for my services in the ab conditioning world,” Damien explains, clawing the living fuck out of Brad’s gut. “Because I give it to them better and harder than anyone else.”  I love it when the double entendres fly thick and fast.  “I dig in deep!” Damien grunts through gritted teeth, clawing his fingers past the first knuckles into Brad’s beet red gut. “And I pull out hard!” Like instructions in a sizzling hot night of rough sex, Damien marries physical brutality with a running narrative.  “And then I stretch them in all different ways!” Yeah, Damien. Dig in deep and stretch me out in all different ways, rich boy!

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Daddy’s little rich boy needs a blogger cornerman to towel off all of that slippery sweat!

I know I’m a broken record for pointing it out, but knowing some wrestling fans like I do, I feel obliged to warn you this is a complete, total, unequivocal squash from start to finish.  There is one moment where Brad desperately slaps on a bearhug, but the look of unhurried contempt on Damien’s face makes this one of the more pitiful moments in the match for big Brad. And there are just so many moments to pity him!

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Rope burn as homoerotic wrestling offense?

I also don’t quite get the rope.  Damien appears to exponentiate the ab torture by stretching a rope across Brad’s gut.  Huh?  I mean, rope burn sucks, but… I’m just not buying it as the muscle crushing maneuver it’s made out to be.  Brad’s capacity to sell is sorely tested there, as it is later when he’s “trapped” in the ropes (really, just draped backward across the top rope, but seemingly paralyzed). Brad suffers non-stop through this match, but you can see his skills wearing thin right around the same points at which the plot does.

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Damien is ALL OVER hunky Brad.

Watching Damien work up a thick sheen of sweat, though, is never wasted time for me. Damn, this kid’s got my number.  I mean, literally, I’ve been begging for an interview with Damien for years now, but I somehow never get past his personal assistant (not daddy’s little rich boy, my ass). The one-sided specialities at MDW do not serve him up nearly as movingly as Damien’s work elsewhere in the homoerotic wrestling universe. But those hairy pecs, that 5-o’clock shadow, and his sweet ass keep me tuning in, over and over.

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I’d love to see both of these boys work about 10 times harder than they do (or at least sell that much more). I’m still lobbying MDW for fewer squashes and more wrestling competition drama. But this is Damien Rush and Brad Barnes and muscle domination and monologuing, so I know there’s plenty of market for Six Pack Bash 8.

Winning Assets

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Reigning Homoerotic Wrestler of the Month & overall Favorite Homoerotic Wrestler Kid Karisma.

When the stars align and my homoerotic wrestler of the month is also my reigning favorite homoerotic wrestling overall, it’s time to sit back and appreciate what makes a particular hunk so dominant in my affections. There are a lot of stunning attributes to Kid Karisma, many of which I don’t mention nearly enough.  Those glacial blue eyes are riveting. There are not nearly enough hot, hunky gingers populating homoerotic wrestling, so again, Kid K fills a necessary role in what turns me on.  And he suggested in my interview with him a while back that he’s actually particularly proud of his mammoth horseshoe triceps. But let’s face it, there will never be enough said, nor enough photographic studies done to exhaust the wonder that is his stunning ass.  So, again I say, let’s face it…

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Stunningly sexy and sweaty in a perfectly fit jock strap in Gear Wars 1.
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Skip Vance enthusiastically studies the front end as we get a breathtaking shot of that award winning backend, flexed and fantastic in Matmen 23.
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Functional strength is one of the lesser appreciated aspects of these incredibly built glutes, but Kid Karisma made full use of that power in his Spotlight match against Pete Sharp.
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He inaugurated the Forced to Flex series by doing exactly that to Brad Barnes, but check out the flex of those glutes as he hangs the sweaty bodybuilder out to dry in a bearhug.
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Another double pleasure shot, treating Blaine Janus to a close up inspection of his crotch while giving the rest of us another long, lingering look at that perfectly shaped derriere in Gazebo Grapplers 16.
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Perhaps those muscles are never so blindingly hot as when Kid K is writhing in a pool of his own sweat in the middle of the ring, which is exactly where massive mountain Dev Michaels left him in Kid K’s Wrestler Spotlight match.
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The Undagear 22 match that earned him this month’s HWOTM title, Kid K definitely bared it all in the end, but every step along the way was a feast for butt lovers. Ray Naylor not only got his hands on those two slices of heaven, he managed to momentarily turn that moneymaker into a couple of quivering, vulnerable mounds of exquisite beauty and power tamed… briefly.

A Rock and a Hard Place

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Muscle tease infatuation #1: Mr. Joshua Goodman

Regular readers know that my infatuation with Joshua Goodman (that’s Mr. Joshua to you!) and his bulge know no bounds.  I’ve long muttered that I wish I knew how to quit him, because he’s a horribly cruel tease. But the moment I see that there’s a new Mr. Joshua release, I salivate uncontrollably and start obsessing all over again.  So I was thus already entirely physiologically aroused when I sat down to slurp up Tag Team Torture 18: 2 on 1.

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Team B&B: Braden Charron and Brad Barnes

The “2” are similarly slurp-able Braden Charron and Brad Barnes. Braden has recently emerged from jobberhood as an increasingly dangerous ring veteran. He’s still full of attitude, but these days he actually has a lot more than just looking pretty to back it up.  Brad seems appreciative as hell to learn at the feet of seasoned Braden, as the two quickly and effectively establish their characters as muscle master and obedient apprentice.

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Team B&B cannot believe their luck when Mr. Joshua announces he’ll take them both on singlehandedly.

When Joshua shows up dressed in badboy black and announcing his tag team partner has stood him up, B&B can’t quite believe that Mr. J has decided to take them both on singlehandedly. Joshua doesn’t seemed concerned about his odds.  Atypically, he’s checked out the competitions’ resumes and seen them both repeatedly manhandled. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Braden’s more recent graduation to the ranks of the serious competitors, though. Too much Mr. J arrogance? Or does he know something about the B&B boys that evens the score?

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Mr. Joshua goes where so many muscle bashers have gone before.

Mr. Joshua joins the long line of BG East badboys who have sunk their claws deep into Brad Barnes and made all of his mouthwatering muscles melt in agony.  He OWNS musclestud Brad beautifully! Perhaps J’s strategy is simply to pick the muscle jobber clean and never allow badass Braden a moment to intervene.  If he can manage that, I totally believe the odds have tilted in his favor.

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Mr. Joshua taunts Braden who watches helplessly from the ring apron as his muscleboy partner is humiliated.

Soaring on top, Mr. Joshua gets cocky (I know, that’s redundant).  He taunts Braden who, as a competitive face, has to watch helplessly from the ring apron as his muscleboy partner is completely humiliated. J flaunts his domination of crumbling Brad, pointing out to worrying Braden exactly where team B&B’s achilles heel lies (somewhere between Brad’s ears). J provokes and preens the fresh muscle master, riling him up and daring Braden to take a dip on the dark side and fuck the rules.

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Muscledaddy Braden steps in to school his boy’s bully.

You knew it. I knew it. Mr. Joshua’s overconfidence would come back to bite him in his gorgeously muscled ass (sign me up for that job!). Brad tags in his muscle master partner. Braden demonstrates to J that he’s no longer the infinitely crushable muscle jobber he was in days gone by. He out hustles and outmuscles Joshua with total command, seriously stroking my homoerotic kink by revisiting upon J revenge torture for pretty much each and every humiliating maneuver that Joshua had subjected Brad to. How dare you hurt my partner, the subtext screams. Now I’m going to teach you a lesson for making my baby boy cry!

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Braden’s abdominal stretch makes Mr. Joshua teeter on the edge of a humiliating defeat.

Brad grows visibly excited on the ring apron watching his muscle master take control and defend his honor. Taking in the sight of his muscle daddy beating up his bully, the muscleboy literally bounces on the balls of his feet, pleading to get tagged in to savor the moment of making cocky Mr. J submit. Braden’s got J trussed up gorgeously in an abdominal stretch, millimeters away from wringing Joshua dry.  He shakes his head, clearly pissed that earnest Brad is pleading to give up a sure thing in order to wrench revenge out of his bully’s battered body.  Braden is an indulgent muscle daddy, however. Against his better judgment, he tags Brad in.

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Earnest Brad struggles to pick up where Braden left off.

Brad quickly, just a little awkwardly wraps Mr. Joshua’s aching body back up into an abdominal stretch.  But his center of gravity is too far forward. He doesn’t quite stretch Mr. J out to the limit.  Braden tries to coach him into position from the corner, but Joshua is obviously catching his breath in Brad’s clumsy control.  Brad struggles to nail the submission hold down when abruptly J flexes those stunning abs, twisting forward, pulling the jobber off balance and flipping him over, slamming him to his back. Brad’s blown it!

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Mr. Joshua grabs control of this situation with both hands.

If Mr. Joshua was cocky before, if he was taunting and shaming-by-association Braden before, he’s out of control now.  Brad is putty in J’s hands. Joshua scolds Braden for letting his muscleboy suck him into such a rookie mistake.

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Mr. Joshua defies the rule-abiders from allowing muscle daddy back into the ring.

As long as everyone is playing by the rules, with Mr. J staying on message by neutralizing Braden by monopolizing Brad, he’s got this all wrapped up.  But this is Mr. Joshua, and self-restraint is not his strong suit.  He both provokes Braden a step too far and completely unnecessarily cheats in his possession of withering Brad.  Faces B&B hear the dinner bell ring when Joshua signals that the rules are out the window.

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So you don’t want to play by the rules, Mr. Joshua!?

Here’s where the most epic promise of this match is realized. Mr. Joshua is absolutely brutalized in a muscle bashing double team. The visuals here are simply stunning. Joshua is completely overwhelmed under two mountains of muscles bearing down on him. B&B toss him back and forth, both muscle daddy and his boy staying perfectly fresh even as Joshua is wearing down to pieces.

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Braden hoists the screaming muscle heel high and tight.

Mr. Joshua is nothing but B&B’s plaything as they trade him back and forth in bear hugs. Mr. J’s legendarily dangerous muscle physique clad in badboy black suffers with the majesty of a mighty predator-turned-hunted.

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Braden feeds his muscleboy with a morsel of crushing his bully.

When B&B turn Mr. Joshua into deli meat in the middle of their muscleboy sandwich, I’m thinking that this has become a game changer in Mr. J’s career arc. Mr. J has suffered before.  He’s been crushed by some of the best. But squeezed like jelly between two of the prettiest wrestlers to have jobbed for BG East, Joshua’s humiliation has never been more poignant.

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Delicious muscle sandwich!

The crushing of Mr. Joshua is complete.  B&B are delighted with themselves as they soak in the sight of the notorious badboy turned into their bitch. Brad, in particular, is intoxicated, bouncing for joy and luxuriating in flexing over the once mighty king of the ring. The Best Bulge winner two years running is an impotent puddle on the mat, not just outmuscled, but outmuscled by a pair of pretty boy jobbers-no-more. I’m smelling fresh meat, and if I know the ranks of ambitious young BG East wrestlers (and I do), I’m certain I’m not the only one. Mr. J’s hot ass and massive, pendulous, legendary package have got a pair of bullseyes painted on them.

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Dive in, boys! Mr. Joshua’s broken body (and ego) is open for business!

And I for one am THRILLED!

Hot off the presses!

The weekend I leave home for vacation, BG East goes live with Catalog 104.1!  Damn!  There’s a lot of eye candy I’m already enjoying on the website.  I’ve had a chance to enjoy a couple of the new releases already, but  I’m not sure if I’ll be able to give any of these fine offerings a fuller treatment before I get back.  Damn, damn, damn! There’s some fine temptations here!

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Muscle sandwich! Mr. Joshua Goodman takes it from the front and the back going 2-on-1 against Braden Charron and Brad Barnes in Tag Team Torture 18.
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Cameron Matthews glistens with a bashed Lorenzo “Jake” Lowe draped across his shoulders in Submissions 9.
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Instant top tier entry into the Fantasymen category, Big Barry Burke brings the muscle in Ring Rookies 4.
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Guido Genatto appears to completely humiliate cocky stud Jake Jenkins in Demolition 17.
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Jonny Firestorm appears to be about to rip the head off of Nick Rush in Demolition 17.
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Jayden Mayne is in a world of hurt against Charlier Panther in Demolition 17.
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Drake Marcos, who has yet to deliver on the Christmas present he supposedly has picked out for me from last year, looks like he’s getting owned by one of the most babyfaced babyface rookies, Ty Alexander, in Babyface Brawl X.
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Thing appear to get delightfully wet and wild with a bevy of babyface beauties in Wet ‘N’ Wild 7.

A New Brad In Town

“I’m not fucking around! I’m through with this!  Fucking oil my leg! Fucking. Oil. My calf. Right now!”

There are a lot of classic, dominating heels in homoerotic wrestling who I might expect to say those words. There are brutal sadists with a passion for crushing opponents’ spirits as completely as they destroy their bodies, who you just know would get OFF on then forcing their prey to spread baby oil all over their bodies. But the hot hunk who said those words took me by surprise. Those words came out of the mouth of notorious muscle jobber, Brad Barnes.

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5’8″, 200 lbs, Brad Barnes

I’ve been on the record for expressing concern about homoerotic wrestling hunks who get overexposed. Too many appearances across too many producers all happening at the same time can diminish any brand, I think. But this isn’t the first time that also I’ve noted with some delight a wrestling fantasy man crossing promotions in order to push an entirely new side of himself. In this case, big, beautiful, comic book hero hunk Brad Barnes has been jobbing like a madman, first at Thunder’s Arena and more recently lighting things up at BG East. Now that Muscle Domination Wrestling has got a hold of him, we get a glimpse of what Brad can deliver when he’s pitted against a twink half his size.

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One of Brad’s thighs is significantly thicker than Enrique’s waist.

In Oil Hunks 1, Brad is as gorgeous as ever, with his ass not nearly squeezed inside of a pair of incredibly brief orange posing trunks (no matter what the online description says). He’s not as ripped as we’ve seen him before. His conditioning isn’t as peak as he’s reached in other matches. But there’s no denying he is one incredibly juicy, meaty hunk of man. So it’s no wonder that Brad immediately starts schooling lanky, awkward Enrique from the moment the young lightweight climbs underneath the bottom rope to enter the ring.

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What the hell!? Enrique laughs awkwardly, embarrassed, when Brad instructs him to coat his bulging muscles with oil.

Brad talks trash, and I’ve never been turned on so much by him before (and that’s saying A LOT). What’s a luscious specimen of thick, masculine muscle to do when faced with a clearly intimidated punk who’s clearly embarrassed by his own inadequacy as he stares across the ring at one of the pretty faces on camera? There’s nothing to be done but to insist that the gangly lightweight gets down on his knees and starts to oil Brad up, starting with his calves.

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Brad gets what he demands, time and time again.

I do not remember seeing Brad so cocky, decisive, and absolutely and utterly in charge, and it sits really, really nicely on those mile wide shoulders of his. His deep baritone is silky sexy, and if I’d been in the room, I’d have tossed reluctant Enrique over the top rope and thanked my lucky stars to obey the magnificent muscle man who just wants what’s coming to him, namely, a personal assistant to rub oil into every single muscle and crevice on his gorgeous body.

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WHAT THE HELL!? Enrique looks like he’s about to be sick stroking the stunning torso of the muscle god Brad. Move the fuck over, Enrique, and let me show you how it’s done!

The one thing that does not work for me in this match is Enrique. I mean, I’m getting a major kick out of watching Brad humiliate and absolutely own the concept of muscle domination. But when Enrique concedes, over and over, body part by body part, to obey Brad’s command to spread oil across his body, the kid looks like he’s about to vomit. Talk about buzz kill. Again, I say, get a certain fanatical blogger to toss Enrique’s ass to the curb and give Brad’s every mouthwatering inch the adoring, oil-soaked stroke it deserves!

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“Now come over here and OIL UP MY BACK!!!”

This season at MDW is a significant turning point, I think. Like their reimagining of beautiful Brad Barnes, MDW is actively and obviously reframing their focus on wrestling. Oil Hunks 1 is clearly in MDW’s stable of domination videos, but the hot squash wrestling action punctuates the psychological domination like the perfectly paced grasp of an expert lover. Muscle Master Kevin has been promising that MDW is ready to reclaim their block of the homoerotic wrestling neighborhood, and with tasty rookie Carter Alexander and a heel-reinvented Brad Barnes, I like the reboot.